Somehow, England had allowed himself to be suckered by America into spending his short stay in New York at his former colony's house, much to his chagrin. It wasn't an unusual occurrence for the two to be spending time together. In fact, the pair spent most of their leisure time together, despite their supposed loathing of each other. Part of this was due to England and America having been drinking 'buddies' (as America so eloquently phrased it) for quite some time now. The younger nation would always request to see the newest movies with his former mentor, normally choosing a three-hour long action film before persuading England to come play videogames for the remainder of the night or something equally ridiculous.

And, personally, England didn't mind the companionship, however tiresome it may have been as of late. He couldn't imagine that anyone else would ever invite him to see 'Justin Bieber's: Never Say Never' movie over nine times (England had gotten his revenge for that little ploy by taking America to see 'Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part Two' ten times), and he secretly enjoyed the younger man's free-spirited (euphemism for obnoxious) attitude as well as his antics. Perhaps, he hadn't done such a poor job in raising the child, after all.

Needless to say, he'd spent the entire day watching street performers, eating heart-attack inducing food, and browsing through more ridiculous videogames with the younger nation, causing him to be completely drained of energy by the time he had returned to the guestroom.

Then, he basked in the pleasure of a well-deserved sleep, dreaming of sitting on a beach in the middle of summer, a chilled margarita in one hand and a good book in the other. Dark sunglasses were perched on his nose, and a sunhat nested on his head as he flipped through the pages of his reading in total bliss. Nothing could ruin his relaxation time at this rate, warm sunshine bathing his sunscreen covered torso while his feet were plunged into the sand. He took another sip of his alcoholic beverage, throat burning and head spinning with a pleased sigh as he stretched his legs out further.

The ocean tossed and turned under the horizon as others swam and played in the glistening water, faces lit up with pure glee.

Could things get any better than this?

England made a move to turn to the next page of his book when—

SLAM!

He jolted up in bed, gasping heavily in fear as his eyes flittered around the room, trying to find the source of the ruckus that had rudely awakened his slumbering form. The nerve of it all.

Seeing no major threat in his vicinity, England began to wonder if perhaps he had imagined the sound and roused himself out of his own dream, but was able to hastily reject that possibility as a similar sound reverberated through the house seconds later.

Vigilantly, England got out of bed and put on his slippers, wrapping his bathrobe more tightly around himself before shuffling over to the threshold. His eyes quickly caught sight of America's lone, baseball bat peeking out of the closet and his hands reacted by grabbing it without a second thought. A baseball bat was no replacement for a gun, but he supposed it was better than having no weapon at all. Perhaps, America had a gun stashed in one of his dresser drawers or—

Where in God's name was America, anyway?

Clutching the baseball bat more roughly, England made a move toward America's bedroom to make sure he was unharmed (though he wasn't concerned in the least), stealthily swinging the door open only to find the American's bed void of an occupant.

England sighed, lowering the baseball bat in embarrassment. Obviously, America had caused the clamor, seeing as he was up and about somewhere in the house. Still wary, England stood the bat up against the wall of the room before shutting the door to the bedroom once more and making his descent downstairs.

And, lo and behold, America was sitting on the living room couch, laptop in his lap and fingers sifting through a bag of potato chips on the coffee table.

"America, I thought you went to bed hours ago; after I endured an entire marathon of 'The Real Housewives of New Jersey' with you!" England growled, but was met with no reply as America's eyes remained glued to his computer screen. "Are you even listening to me, you bloody tosser? You woke me! What the hell were you doing down here?"

"..."

England finally took notice of the headphones in America's ears as the man shoveled another handful of greasy potato chips into his mouth. His hands quivered as he finished chewing and started clacking against the keyboard again.

Fed up, England stormed behind America's reclined form and ripped the headphones out of his ears, resulting in an earsplitting scream emitting from his former colony's mouth that would have been hilarious had England not been so furious.

"OH MY GOD! SLENDERMAN'S GOT ME!" America roared, screwing his eyes shut and covering his ears with his hands before screaming like a banshee again.

England stood stiffly in place. What in the world was a 'slenderman'? Had America been watching another horror movie? The man rarely watched scary movies on his own, seeing as he'd always needed someone to cling to halfway through (England's arm was usually the victim).

The elder nation pried America's hands away from his ears, hissing dangerously, "It's only me, you stupid git."

America seemed to hyperventilate for a moment before calming down, revolving his head around to get a good look at England in order to assure himself that there was no real threat to his safety. With a relieved sigh and a wide yawn, America went quiet, moving his laptop to the coffee table and shutting it.

"Heh, sorry about that, dude," he awkwardly grumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Caught me off guard, y'know?"

England resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "America, what on earth is a 'Slenderman'?"

America visibly blanched, shrinking in fear at the word. England took notice of his still trembling hands as the nation sat up, crumpling the now empty bag of chips.

"It's just a computer game," he replied uncertainly, as if to convince himself of the fact as well. "I've been trying to beat it ever since we finished watching 'Housewives'. Slenderman creeps up behind you and takes you away into the night."

England inwardly groaned. According to the information he'd just received, he was certain America would have difficulty in getting any proper sleep tonight. How predictable of him. The man was truly still a child at heart; barely an adult.

"Don't tell me you're frightened by a fictional character in a videogame, America," England antagonized for old time's sake, his face splitting into a rare smile.

"No!" America responded defensively like a petulant five-year-old denying his role in causing mischief.

England grinned even more widely. "Alright then, America. I suppose I'll just be going back up to bed then. Please try to keep it down this time. Goodnight."

America frowned after England's retreating form, biting his lip in apprehension. Part of him wanted to shout after England to have him stay with him, but the other didn't want to let his pride take such a ferocious hit.

"Goodnight," America finally murmured, deciding he'd have to just suck it up and move on with his life. He was a hero! He wasn't afraid of any face-less man with skinny arms and legs. In fact, he soon mimicked England's movements and raised himself off the couch to return to bed as well.

Yet, as soon as he turned his back to go up the staircase, America twisted his body around to make sure a certain scary figure wasn't following him. He repeated this action several times before making it to his bedroom door, hands sweaty in trepidation. He spared himself a glimpse of England's closed door and glowered, dragging himself back to bed.

As he pulled the bedcovers back, a gust of wind brushed against his shoulder from the open window and he whimpered in fear, picturing white tentacles squirming toward his form to steal him from the world he'd always known and loved. Swallowing the rock in his throat, he tried to ease himself onto his bed, but couldn't find the strength to do so, eyes scrutinizing the tree outside of the window. Did those branches look suspiciously like arms?

Admitting his defeat to the mental battle taking place in his brain, America dashed out of his room and rammed down the door to England's bedroom, eyes bulging and hands shaking more fervently than ever before.

"E-England," he whined from the doorway, snatching a quick look behind him and into the hallway. "Englaaaaand, wake up!"

Groaning, said man sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes tiredly. "What do you want now, America?"

"I-I came to protect you from Slenderman," he clumsily lied, a sad pout working its way involuntarily on his face. He felt like a sheepish colony all over again, running to England for protection from the dark.

"You can't sleep?" England had guessed correctly, fully knowing the true reason behind America's restlessness. He'd raised him from a toddler; he knew him like a book.

America spared him an answer, leaning against the door anxiously instead. "He's going to get us!"

England wearily smiled, nostalgia working its way through his veins as he went into mother-hen mode. Without further comment, he rose from his temporary bed and made his way over to America, laying a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Come along," he urged, treading back downstairs and to the kitchen with the young nation in tow. "You shouldn't have had all those crisps at such a late hour," he chided lightly, opening up the door of the refrigeration and removing a carton of milk from one of the shelves. He poured a healthy amount into a small pot and set it on the stove, warming it up.

"They're called 'chips', man. What are you doing anyway? I don't need warm milk to help me sleep!" America scowled indignantly. "I'm not a little kid anymore; it doesn't work on me."

"Hush," England huffed. "Do you want to feel better or not?"

America grumbled something unpleasant under his breath and a few words about Brits being 'so uptight it should be illegal', but made no further argument, plopping himself down in a chair by the kitchen table.

A few moments later, England turned the burner off and poured the steamy milk into one of America's mugs that was most appropriately captioned, 'Healthy food makes me sick', before setting it in front of the sulking American.

"Drink," England commanded, taking a seat across from his former colony and rubbing his face drowsily.

America unhappily took a disdainful sip of the milk before risking to speak again. "You used to give me milk whenever I refused to go to sleep because I'd snuck too many cookies out of the cupboard again. I used to get high on sugar," he mused with a smirk gracing his lips before drinking another mouthful of milk.

"It worked like magic. Honestly, you were such an active child. It's a surprise I haven't spotted any gray hairs on my head yet," England said breathily around another yawn, covering his mouth absentmindedly.

America gave off his own yawn as well, warm milk rushing down his throat and settling into his stomach, spreading its warmth around the entire perimeter of his body.

"That's right, lad," England encouraged, noticing America's increasingly sluggishness and docile mood. "Just shut your eyes for a moment and relax."

America finished the final sip of his milk and pushed the mug away, eyes drooping as he slumped over the table. "What time is it?" he murmured quietly, stifling the next yawn.

"Almost three in the morning," England informed softly, too tired to be annoyed at America for keeping him up at such an atrociously late hour. "Feeling sleepy yet?"

"No… S-Slenderman is still out there," America groaned through half-open eyes, spinning around to check behind his chair for the monster.

England scoffed and rose up from his seat. "Will you stop going on about that silly, fictional creature? Off to bed with you; hurry up," he demanded, guiding the groggy nation up the steps and to his bedroom. Once America had finally lain down and had been properly tucked in, England continued to fret like a worried mother.

"You aren't getting a sufficient amount of sleep with all of this caffeine you've been ingesting as of late. It isn't healthy in the least and it's going to kill your heart sooner or later," he scolded, trudging to the guestroom and back with a newly acquired, small bottle at hand.

"What's that?" America mumbled, stubbornly refusing to fall asleep in fear of the mythical creature he still believed to be stalking him from a distance. He'd never managed to collect all eight pages of the game; always getting stuck at page six or seven.

"Lavender essence oil," England muttered impatiently, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. "Give me your wrists."

The younger nation complied, not wanting to aggravate the sleep deprived nation any further. England could get quite frightening when pushed to his limits. He extended his wrists forward, laying them on England's awaiting lap. His former guardian placed a few drops of the oil onto one of his wrists, massaging the substance into his skin thoroughly before moving on to the next hand.

"You carry lavender scented oil around with you?" America murmured disbelievingly, not knowing whether to laugh or be concerned.

"It's the perfect home remedy for insomnia. Now, shush," England retorted, releasing America's wrists. He hoped to get back to bed as soon as possible, unsure of whether or not he would be able to refrain from collapsing out of exhaustion till then. "Now, I want you to close your eyes and picture the park I used to always take you to when you were just a colony in Virginia. Remember the chirping birds, the stillness of the lake, the yellow grass, and your favorite part of all, the swings."

America sighed contentedly, though his lips curved into a mild frown at the memories.

"Remember how you used to always beg me to push you higher and higher until you felt as though you were touching the sky. Remember how fearless you were when you foolishly jumped from the swing like a madman and landed in the grass, only realizing your mistake after you made contact with the ground. You'd thought you were invincible, yet you cried and cried like there was no tomorrow," England recalled softly, closing his own eyes with a sly smile.

America frowned, cracking his eyes open. "This story isn't as happy as it started out, England. I'll never fall asleep like this."

But England dismissed the complaint, ordering him to close his eyes once more before continuing with the tale. "You cried and cried until I was convinced there were no more tears remaining in the world. Thus, I gathered you into my arms and carried you home, where you were promptly bandaged with plasters before being fed the most cavity-inducing food stuffs I could find. I kissed your battle wounds in a way that normally made everything 'all better', yet you still sniveled into my shirt when I sat beside you on the couch. As a matter-of-fact, I'm willing to bet that my shirt is still wet from that little adventure. Because, you see, the tears that fell from your eyes that day were not dominated by pain, but by the realization that you had fallen from your highest point; failed to stay at the top. Then, you asked me how something so fun could go so drastically wrong and I explained to you that happiness can only be experienced in intervals and that the greatest satisfaction in life is felt when you fall down, but persistently stand up and brush yourself off again. I told you that there was no need to be sad or fearful of the past, but to move on and take pride in the challenges you'd overcome and to look forward to the many, great things you would accomplish in the future."

America let a ghost of a smile grace his lips at the memory, relaxing into the mattress and completely forgetting about Slenderman.

"And I was right; you would accomplish great things in the future. That didn't stop you from transforming into an obnoxious prat though," England finished with a scoff, crossing his arms across his chest.

"Hey!" America chuckled subtly, eyes still shut as he began to drift off.

England allowed himself a sardonic smirk, observing America's resting form for a few, extra minutes. By the time he had prepared himself to leave the room, the younger nation was softly snoring, already far gone in a world of dreams.

The mother-hen in England caused him to pluck America's spectacles off of his nose and fold them on the bedside table before brushing back a few, scattered strands of dark blond hair from his former colony's forehead.

"Sleep tight; don't let the Slenderman bite," England whispered jokingly, making sure America was as comfortable as possible before making his way back to the guestroom to return to his dream of his day on the beach.

He dozed off rather quickly, finding himself back on the bright beach with his beverage. He settled into his beach chair and adjusted his position under the parasol above him before kicking back once more.

However, his peaceful aura was cut short when a volleyball came hurtling from his far right, colliding with his cheek rather painfully. Fuming, England broke away from his chair to search for the culprit, only to find a familiar American rushing over to him to apologize for the trouble before inviting him to play a match of beach volleyball. Planning to get back at America for ruining his peace even in his dream-state, he agreed. Moments later, he was in a full-blown fight with the American after arguing over a debatable net-violation. They plummeted into the sand and began to wring each other's necks, only to be pulled apart by a lifeguard that suspiciously resembled Germany.

Well, boys would be boys, no matter how gentlemanly they tried to be perceived as.