He wonders how long he's been crying - he's long since lost track of time. The room is too empty and too big, every sobs and sniffle echoes around the room, the only sound other than his is the remaining liquor dripping slowly off the table where he spilled it. When, he can't remember.

What a sight he must be, drunk and still sobbing, surrounded by broken glass and puddles of alcohol, eyes red and puffy from crying, his clothes covered in his own blood and tears. The prideful and sarcastic, short tempered United Kingdom reduced to this sobbing mess.

The room is too quiet too, so when there is a knock on the door, the sound reverberates around the room.

Dimly, England wonders who it is, Scotland wouldn't bother knocking and he left anyway, his other brothers and France are too wary and trying to give him space, the other nations probably don't even know or care.

"Fucking leave me alone!" He screams at the unknown person behind the door when the knocking continues relentlessly, it's probably the mailman or some debt collector.

He isn't surprised when the knocking continues on. Some people are too persistent for their own good. He'll just lay here till they leave since he can't be bothered to get up from where he's sprawled on the table to answer the door.

Not that he'll be able to anyway because the next second, his door shudders like a moose ran into it and suddenly flies entirely off it's hinges and slams into the opposite wall, chunks of the wall still attached to one side, and crumbles into what is only fit to be used for firewood.

And it's then that some still sober part of his brain starts panicking, not because his door has just been completely obliterated, but because there's only one person he knows with that kind of strength.

America.

Hello, anyone wanna cliffhanger? So dun dunDUN the heroes here and hopefully the next chapter will be longer.