[log] would you tear my castle down? [closed]

[keepscalm]

Characters: England, America, and Ginger
Location B9, building 46
Date: Night 122
Summary: It has been a sad few days, but there are still some things that need to be discussed.
Warnings: None yet, will edit as needed!

[Actually getting into the house is a bit of a pain in the arse, but discovering that the bathroom has running water makes it well worth the trouble. Especially after yesterday. Ginger could probably use something luxurious right now.

England just hopes the anomalies can't climb ladders.]

Comments

[fifty]

[America dropped all his stuff by the door and set about exploring the place as soon as it was clear nothing was going to jump out at them. It's not long after he tests out the bathtub that he turns it off again and returns to the others.]

Hey, this place has hot water! [That's really exciting! It probably shouldn't be, but here it is!]

[keepscalm]

[There isn't exactly a lot to explore, so England just decides to settle in the master bedroom and sort out their food for the night. He's examining a small carton of milk when America speaks.]

Brilliant. Though I'd wager it won't last for very long. [Nothing nice in this place ever does.]

[keepscalm]

[The past few days have really been an awful whirlwind of danger and drama. And it seems to have been the case for the rest of the town, as well, judging by the size of the obituary this morning. There were even a few familiar names, and though they weigh on England, he feels he doesn't have any right to show how upset he is when Ginger has just lost someone incredibly important.

This whole matter is trite in comparison, really. But their encounter with that monster — and England can't call it anything less, not when it looked like that — has made him acutely aware of his own mortality now, as well as the mortality of his friends. At any moment, some freak accident could claim one of them, and he might never see them again.

The size of the obituary just strengthens his resolve.

So, after Ginger disappears into the bathroom to wash up, England speaks. He doesn't look up from where he sits cross-legged on the floor with his tablet.] ...America? May I speak to you about something?

[fifty]

[America is fussing around with the things in his bag, as he often does when he gets bored, which is increasingly often as of late. Sometimes he really wishes he didn't burn his pin the tail on the donkey game. And then England speaks up, and--well, that's not anything he generally likes hearing from England, especially when he's staring down at his tablet like that. The dream America wandered into comes to mind immediately, of course. But England hasn't said anything yet, so there's no way he remembers it! Probably. Yeah. It's fine.]

What's up?

[keepscalm]

[Despite making his decision, England still regrets speaking as soon as America asks what's going on. His palms feel sweaty in his mittens and it feels like his throat is slowly closing up.

There's a moment of silence before he can bring himself to elaborate.] ...did you see anyone else's dream? When we were all— you know.

[fifty]

Uh! [America's face gives it away immediately. His mouth hangs open anyway.] Uh, mayyybe?

[keepscalm]

[That is an incredibly obvious answer. England doesn't even need to ask any more, so he phrases it as a statement, a toneless sentence from a dry mouth.] So you saw mine.

[fifty]

I mean, maybe a little bit? I might've--y'know, peeked in, and--Yeah. [America admits defeat, as much as this counts as defeat.]

[keepscalm]

[Okay. So England was right to worry. This isn't the worst-case scenario yet, but he braces himself for it, his heart hammering frantically in his chest.

He sets his jaw and keeps his face turned down towards his tablet, staring at nothing. Thankfully he thought about what he would say if the answer was yes, so his silence doesn't last as long this time.] ...are you upset?

[fifty]

[America didn't expect this sort of response. He was expecting England to be upset if he knew, actually.] No! No, why--why would I be upset, I mean--I'm not. [America isn't quite sure what the words he just said imply, if anything.]

[keepscalm]

[This was an outcome that England had not considered. For a moment, he's stuck, trying to process those words and analyse them for further meaning in the few seconds he has before his lack of response gets suspicious. He feels a wave of nausea roll over him; his stomach turns while his brain works frantically to get his mouth to make words.

After a few failed attempts of opening his mouth and not managing anything, the final result is despondent.] I didn't intend to complicate things.

[fifty]

You're not? I don't think you are? [America's brain is running fast, but his mouth is running faster, dropping words even as his mind tries to process what England is saying.] You were dreaming, so, and things were weird, but, so, what did the dream mean?

[keepscalm]

[What did the dream mean?

The bubble of frustration that forms in England's chest is immediate and familiar. He finally looks up from his tablet to level America with an incredulous look.] How dense are you? Isn't it obvious?

[Maybe the most obvious clue about that answer is the fact that dreaming England asked the very same thing.]

[fifty]

[America's words run dry for a moment, and he stares at England with a similar level of incredulity, though not as much frustration. His heart twists.] Then it meant what it seemed like? [England kissed him. A lot.]

[keepscalm]

[England's heart drops into his stomach, and the frustrated look in his eyes takes on a shade of obvious pain, a twitch at the corner of his lip and a crease in his brow. There's a noticeable flush in his cheeks, too, and for once he can't bring himself to be grateful about the heat in his face, despite the awful weather.

He grits his teeth and looks away again, at the floor this time instead of at his tablet.] We can just forget about it if it bothers you.

[fifty]

[England is upset. He's definitely upset.] No, I don't, don't be--don't be sad! [America waves his hands wildly in front of his face.] I just, I was surprised, I didn't think you'd--be... Interested... In me...? [America can feel his whole head heating up. He's blushing right to his ears.]

[keepscalm]

[Despite America's efforts, England really does not feel better. Nervous tremors shake him right down to his fingers, which he clenches in his mittens in the hopes of keeping them still, and his gut churns with sour mortification. He's such an idiot. What was he thinking, bringing this up?

The shaky breath he takes in an attempt to calm himself rattles unpleasantly in his lungs.] Well. It doesn't— it doesn't matter, anyway, if you don't...

[He can't bring himself to finish the sentence, but he pushes on anyway as if he had.] So.

[fifty]

[America is so desperate to stop England from getting increasingly upset that even more damning words come out of his mouth before he can even begin to think them through.] No, I do! I do, so, so it does matter! But even if I didn't it'd matter I think 'cause you're, you're just getting sadder! Stop!

[keepscalm]

[It takes a moment for America's words to break the miserable fog building up in England's mind. He's already planning ahead to what he'll do after he splits off from America and Ginger, because of course America wouldn't want to be around him after something like this, and what he'll tell Ginger because he's sure she would want to know why he's leaving...

It all screeches to a halt after a brief pause. For a few long seconds, everything is silent, even the turmoil within England.

His voice is blank; not even hopeful, just empty, lost.] What?

[fifty]

What what? [What is he asking what about? He just repeats everything again with different wording.] Stop being sad! Stop being more sad! And I--I like you, you know, like--you know!

[keepscalm]

[There's just no way to logically process this information. It gets stuck between the gears and leaves everything at a standstill even as the metal grinds and grinds, trying to work past the disturbance.

Finally, it works free as a disbelieving, borderline manic laugh.] I— what? No. No, you can't, that's impossible. Don't be so absurd!

[fifty]

Why is it impossible? It's not impossible! [Should he be offended? He has no idea.]

[keepscalm]

Because! [England has many good answers to this question, but all of them have evaporated out of his memory, leaving only the pitiful remains of his previous conceptions. He tries again and dutifully ignores the horrific blush pooled in his cheeks.] Because you— no one— because it's foolish! Why would you—?

[fifty]

You can't tell me it's stupid to lo--to--you know. [America doesn't know what's going on anymore, but he knows he's embarrassed.] I just, you're cool? Sometimes, I mean. And we fight but it's fun anyway? And you come to my birthday parties even when you're sick and sometimes you come over to celebrate Thanksgiving with me even though you don't have Thanksgiving, which is weird since Thanksgiving's great, and. And--and-- [He waves his hands uselessly.] You were my first Twitter follower.

[keepscalm]

[I'll tell you whatever I want, but England can't say it. His tongue is stuck fast to the roof of his mouth by that unresolved syllable, that sound that might have been "love."

He aims his unnerving, vaguely lost gaze in America's direction this time, staring at him while trying to work out something that's impossible to place.

Eventually, he decides:] I'm dreaming again.