[It's pretty late. England should have gone to bed already, but he's had some difficulties getting to sleep the past week, between the mess with Andromeda and that monster they ran into. He generally prefers to keep these troubles to himself, but he knows he isn't the only one in the house that hasn't gone to sleep yet. America is still in the kitchen.
Eventually, England sighs and makes his way into the kitchen by the light of his tablet, moving as silently as possible so that he doesn't wake Sealand.
Wordlessly, he pads over to the counter America is seated on and leans back against it once he's next to America. For the moment, he's quiet, simply hoping that America will acknowledge his presence.]
[America is a bit more distracted than usual. At first, it looks like he's staring at his tablet, which is common enough for him. Even when he's too busy or cold to comment on anything, he reads through almost everything on it. But, really, he's looking at the map he drew, following the contours of his coastlines with his eyes over and over again. As a result, he doesn't notice England until he's right beside America, and America starts just a little before smiling out of habit.]
[England's eyes are trained on the image displayed on America's tablet. Of course that's what he's looking at. He knew when Andromeda told America where they were that it would be a mess, but they've had so many other things to deal with that there hasn't really been a lot of time to address it. And especially when they're with Sealand, they can't afford to seem afraid.
He politely averts his eyes from America's screen to glance up at his face, but only for a second, betraying that he intends to be a tad more honest than usual with his next words.] No. Couldn't manage it.
[America catches the look--this place forces more of his perceptive skills to the forefront as much as he'd rather act like everything is normal.] Yeah, half the time it's too cold to sleep that much. ...And, y'know, there's stuff to think about.
[The smile on his face fades into something more contemplative, but he doesn't seem to notice it.]
[England lets out a small, humourless breath.] What I wouldn't give for a nice pair of gloves. Or a hot cup of tea.
[He tries not to complain about the cold, as a general rule, but he's trying to make an effort to commiserate with America for once. He'd never admit it in so many words, but he's a little concerned about America. No nation would take news like this well, and as America's closest ally here, England is responsible for making sure he's not having some terrible mental break.
He's just being a good ally, that's all.]
...it sounds like you've got something on your mind.
[America makes a vague noise, sort of a tuneless hum, and fusses with his glasses, pulling them off and worrying at the arm of the frames with his teeth.]
Well. I mean, nothing important. It's not like it's my Alaska, really. [Even when he answers, the glasses don't leave his mouth.]
[England watches the journey of the glasses with a sidelong gaze; he feels like he should be surprised at himself for knowing that the fidget isn't a good sign, but he's always trying to fool himself into thinking he doesn't know America as well as he does.
He tilts his head away from America as he places his tablet down on the counter beside him.] That may be so. But I don't think that makes it unimportant.
It'd be better if it wasn't any Alaska. [America will allow that. England is a nation, too, so it's not like he wouldn't understand. Even if America knows that his Alaska isn't buried in fifty feet of snow and dotted with horrifying dead towns, even though he can call up a list in his mind of every inhabited place in Alaska that belongs to him and know Norfinbury isn't one of them, the whole situation is unsettling.]
[England doesn't disagree with that, but he doesn't think saying that out loud will be particularly helpful, so he remains silent for a moment while he turns this over in his mind. Distantly, he realises that if they're in a world where the United States exists, there's probably a United Kingdom somewhere out there, dealing with God knows what beyond these snowy walls.
England folds his arms and tries not to fidget with his fingers, his gaze falling to the floor.] ...it's all right to be upset. It's your country. I mean— not yours, but it's...
[He stumbles a little on that, a corner of his mouth pulling into a frown as he regards the floor in the dim light of their tablets.] ...I think any of us would be upset to know something like that.
Yeah, probably. [America can't think past wondering about the issues this version of the United States is facing, because it's obvious enough something must have gone horribly wrong. A place like this couldn't just go unnoticed, right? Even if it's in Alaska and out of the way, someone would realize. And fifty feet of snow--that's so much. Where's it all coming from? Someone would realize, if there was anyone left to care about that sort of thing. Which means there probably isn't any government or anything.]
It's just really weird. I can't really feel home--I can, but it's all frozen--and I wanted to go home this whole time, but I'm sort of already there. [He's still on some version of American soil.] But it's all--weird, and cold, and it has monsters and no people.
When Sealand showed up, we'd already been gone for nearly two weeks. But he said he'd just seen us where he came from.
[What that means for them, England doesn't exactly know. But it does give credence to the idea that there's more than one world out there with countries like theirs; countries almost exactly like theirs, save for one frozen town or a few less nations gone missing.]
This isn't your home. You've still got a country to get back to, somewhere. We both do.
Yeah... Yeah, if Sealand just saw us, it can't be--a Rip van Winkle thing or whatever. [America isn't totally sure if England will get that reference. Is that just an American tale? It's still the quickest way he can think of to get across the stupid concerns that have been bouncing around in his head.]
Ah...? [Rip van Winkle? England has to run that through his brain a few times.
His mouth twists like he's just eaten something sour when he finally remembers that it's set during the American Revolution. It's about that man who sleeps through the end of the war and returns to find that everything he knows is no more.
...oh.
Just as abruptly, England's face falls, his expression shifting from disgust to sympathy before he can catch it. When he looks back toward America, he's a bit more guarded, but there's no hiding the worried angle of his brow and the slight downward turn of his lips.] That wouldn't happen. If something like this were to happen to your country, you would feel it. It's impossible to sleep through.
[He barely got a wink of sleep during the Blitz, and that wasn't even the end of days for him. England can't even imagine sleeping through whatever caused this.]
Yeah, it'd definitely be impossible. [But a lot of impossible things happen here. There are monsters and little spider things that deliver injections and America feels like he's frozen in time with his body reduced to near-human levels. If he's here long enough, would he age like humans do, too?] It's just--I don't know what's going on at all. It's really frustrating! [He laughs it off weakly, but only out of habit.]
[The laugh is grating to England's ears in a whole new way. It has a hollow quality that causes a pinch in England's chest, which he immediately tries to smother with a heavy sigh.]
None of us do. But we've just got to keep going. That's what we do at home, and it's what we've got to do here. Even though things aren't as we know them.
[Survival is the only option. Particularly when the people on the obituaries don't always come back.]
[America nods, finally putting his glasses back onto his face. He really shouldn't chew on them. They aren't going to just fix themselves here.] I can do that. [Maybe the sentiment isn't the most comforting one, but it's a very England one, and America has known England for almost all of his life. He can't help but derive comfort from it anyway.] I'll figure it out. ...We'll figure it out?
[The reference to them as a unit brings tension to England's shoulders. It's easier when it's not about him, of course. He can give advice as long as he doesn't think it means he'll look invested.
He gives in and starts worrying the sleeve of his windbreaker between two of his fingers. All the same, he doesn't have the heart to reject America's olive branch (and truthfully, he doesn't want to).]
...we will. [Worrying turns to plucking with his fingers as he bows his head slightly.] We— you know, we're allies. So it's...all right, I mean, if you need to...
[He folds his arms a little tighter, giving the impression of a turtle gradually retreating into its shell.] It's, er, better to support each other. That's what makes a strong alliance.
Yeah, friends work together. [That's not what an alliance is and America knows it, but England is his friend on top of being his ally, and that's important to him. Here, especially, when everything is more frightening than it has every right to be.] We should probably get some sleep, huh?
[Since in the end he, England, and Sealand are all going to end up tumbled together on the couch for warmth anyway. But that's kind of nice, too, in spite of the circumstances.]
[England feels a morbid gratitude for Norfinbury's gutted electrical systems when he realises there's not enough light to illuminate his changing complexion. He didn't expect such an easy return of his attempted gesture. They don't exactly make a habit of talking about their friendship, or whatever it is this decade.]
...right.
[He tentatively unfolds his arms, though his fingers still occasionally brush the cuffs of his sleeves with restless energy.] I think that would be wise.
[England lifts his hand, then, just a small margin into the air. But he reconsiders whatever he was reaching for and lets his hand fall again, and only after it rests at his side does he look America in the face.] We'll get home. Don't you worry about that.
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night 42; action
Eventually, England sighs and makes his way into the kitchen by the light of his tablet, moving as silently as possible so that he doesn't wake Sealand.
Wordlessly, he pads over to the counter America is seated on and leans back against it once he's next to America. For the moment, he's quiet, simply hoping that America will acknowledge his presence.]
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Oh, hey. I thought you were asleep.
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He politely averts his eyes from America's screen to glance up at his face, but only for a second, betraying that he intends to be a tad more honest than usual with his next words.] No. Couldn't manage it.
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[The smile on his face fades into something more contemplative, but he doesn't seem to notice it.]
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[He tries not to complain about the cold, as a general rule, but he's trying to make an effort to commiserate with America for once. He'd never admit it in so many words, but he's a little concerned about America. No nation would take news like this well, and as America's closest ally here, England is responsible for making sure he's not having some terrible mental break.
He's just being a good ally, that's all.]
...it sounds like you've got something on your mind.
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Well. I mean, nothing important. It's not like it's my Alaska, really. [Even when he answers, the glasses don't leave his mouth.]
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He tilts his head away from America as he places his tablet down on the counter beside him.] That may be so. But I don't think that makes it unimportant.
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England folds his arms and tries not to fidget with his fingers, his gaze falling to the floor.] ...it's all right to be upset. It's your country. I mean— not yours, but it's...
[He stumbles a little on that, a corner of his mouth pulling into a frown as he regards the floor in the dim light of their tablets.] ...I think any of us would be upset to know something like that.
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It's just really weird. I can't really feel home--I can, but it's all frozen--and I wanted to go home this whole time, but I'm sort of already there. [He's still on some version of American soil.] But it's all--weird, and cold, and it has monsters and no people.
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[What that means for them, England doesn't exactly know. But it does give credence to the idea that there's more than one world out there with countries like theirs; countries almost exactly like theirs, save for one frozen town or a few less nations gone missing.]
This isn't your home. You've still got a country to get back to, somewhere. We both do.
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His mouth twists like he's just eaten something sour when he finally remembers that it's set during the American Revolution. It's about that man who sleeps through the end of the war and returns to find that everything he knows is no more.
...oh.
Just as abruptly, England's face falls, his expression shifting from disgust to sympathy before he can catch it. When he looks back toward America, he's a bit more guarded, but there's no hiding the worried angle of his brow and the slight downward turn of his lips.] That wouldn't happen. If something like this were to happen to your country, you would feel it. It's impossible to sleep through.
[He barely got a wink of sleep during the Blitz, and that wasn't even the end of days for him. England can't even imagine sleeping through whatever caused this.]
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None of us do. But we've just got to keep going. That's what we do at home, and it's what we've got to do here. Even though things aren't as we know them.
[Survival is the only option. Particularly when the people on the obituaries don't always come back.]
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He gives in and starts worrying the sleeve of his windbreaker between two of his fingers. All the same, he doesn't have the heart to reject America's olive branch (and truthfully, he doesn't want to).]
...we will. [Worrying turns to plucking with his fingers as he bows his head slightly.] We— you know, we're allies. So it's...all right, I mean, if you need to...
[He folds his arms a little tighter, giving the impression of a turtle gradually retreating into its shell.] It's, er, better to support each other. That's what makes a strong alliance.
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[Since in the end he, England, and Sealand are all going to end up tumbled together on the couch for warmth anyway. But that's kind of nice, too, in spite of the circumstances.]
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...right.
[He tentatively unfolds his arms, though his fingers still occasionally brush the cuffs of his sleeves with restless energy.] I think that would be wise.
[England lifts his hand, then, just a small margin into the air. But he reconsiders whatever he was reaching for and lets his hand fall again, and only after it rests at his side does he look America in the face.] We'll get home. Don't you worry about that.