[log] you know how hard it can be [closed]

[keepscalm]

Characters: England, America, and Ginger
Location: Building 131
Date: Night 181
Summary: Might be wise to talk about all that stabbing business.
Warnings: Discussions of character death and breaks from reality.

[England has been pretty quiet most of the day. Though it might have been beneficial to take a day to rest, being in the ice tunnels made his skin prickle in a way that was hard to explain, and he didn't want to waste travel time moping around.

Unfortunately, now that lockdown has come, there's plenty of time for moping. What else is he going to do besides log the day's activities and sort his supplies for the thousandth time?

He's doing exactly that, of course, sitting in a chair in the corner of the room they've chosen to spend the night in. Writing away in one of his many notebooks, as he does. But he can't stop glancing sideways at his own reflection in the various shiny surfaces of the hospital, and too often, he stops writing to rub at the eyes that still bear the symbol of the Prophet.

Eventually, like a rubber band snapping, he breaks his tense silence.] I think I should apologise for what happened last night.

Comments

[lacecase]

[The tension in the air is palpable across the whole space they occupy. After what happened before when Ginger tried to talk to England, she refrains from trying to soothe him without provocation. It goes against most of her instincts to keep to herself. To keep quiet.

The quiet eats at her insides. It turns into bees in her brain.

And then England speaks. She drops what she's doing.]

Oh, no. It wasn't your fault.

[fifty]

[America has been tense since getting back. Tense and exhausted, after getting no sleep. He's trying to ignore it, though, since everyone is quiet and upset and he's not even mad at England, really, even if he still can't help the immediate tightening of his muscles when he sees the way England's eyes still look.]

Ginger's right, y'know.

[keepscalm]

[England can't look at either of them. He looks anywhere but at his two companions—the walls, the beds, the floor. Eventually they settle back on the notebook in his lap.]

Regardless of whether I should be considered to be at fault, I still hurt the both of you. I can't imagine if— if the two of you hadn't escaped...

[lacecase]

Wait, wait, stop!

[You just stop right there, mister! But what would normally be a somewhat cute gesture is colored by her own nerves.]

We didn't not escape, right? So, like, there's nothing to imagine.

[She doesn't want to imagine it. It's so easy to imagine--why is it so easy? Ginger shudders, rubbing her arms.]

And we're all fine, now! Like it was a...a dream, or something crazy...

[fifty]

[America nods even as he chews on the inside of his cheek.] We're both totally fine. [Physically, anyway, but the point is England wouldn't have done any lasting damage even if everything hadn't vanished.] I still trust you.

[keepscalm]

[A sigh leaves England, heavy and guilty.] It wasn't a dream. I've still got these. [He lifts his head so that he can gesture at his eyes with some frustration.]

Whatever was going on isn't over yet.

[lacecase]

[Ginger agrees with America. She trusts England. But even still, she feels her breath catch at the mention of their eyes.]

You don't, like, think it'll happen all over again?

[fifty]

England's always a pessimist. [And America's an optimist.] It probably won't! But if it does, I won't let you hurt anyone else.

[He'll be ready this time and he can tie England up or something.]