"No! You can't touch that Ameri-" Screamed England as he quickly jumped up from his sleeping position, stretching his hand out in front of him where his dream used to be. "Huh….?" He said to himself, letting his hand fall back to his side. The confused country looked around. He was surrounded by several sheets in a large, old fashioned, wooden bed.

"Oh….." He sighed, rubbing the sleep of his eyes. "It was just a dream."

It wasn't everyday that England had a dream about little America. Actually, he hardly ever remembered his dreams, so even if they were about America, he would never really know. Too tired to get ready, he crawled out of bed and stretched.

"Stupid kid, trying to play with my musket like that." He muttered, discussing his own dream with himself as he pulled on his bedroom shoes. Memories of his little 'brother' filled his head with confused thoughts. England never knew where to store those emotions, so he simply hid them away; where America, China, or even France couldn't reach them. He lazily zipped his overcoat up over his shirt and pulled on a new pair of dark green pants to match his jacket. He pulled a black strap that held his outfit together over his head and ran a small comb through his hair in attempt to make himself look presentable.

"Well, here's to another day." He said as he set the brush down and sleepily walked down the stairs and into the kitchen.

"You look dead." Declared a familiar voice from the kitchen table.

"What are you……" England mumbled softly, "I mean, who is, wait…..what?"

The taller country gracefully slipped out of his chair and walked over to England, putting his hand on his shoulder.

"I said," He announced again, "You look like someone just sapped you in the face with a raw fish."

"That's not what you said." An annoying England argued, shoving the man's hand off of him. "What are you doing in my house anyways, France?"

France sighed, "What? Am I no longer welcome in my own home?"

England stared at him blankly. "What does he mean by 'his own home'?"

"Shame on you, dear sir, shame shame." Laughed France, who was now waving his finger at the confused country.

"Since when do you live here?!" England fought back, suddenly awake. "This is my house, I've owned it ever since I found America! Now get out, will you?"

France laughed, "America, huh? He is another one of your fairy friends, isn't he? Or have you just gone insane?"

"W-what?" England asked, struggling to find the words. "What do you mean fairy, no…wait. America! What do you mean you don't know America?"

"What do I mean? Dear brother, what do you mean? Don't you hear yourself? Blabbering on about some imaginary, Amanica or whomever we are talking about!" said France, gently setting his coffee mug on the table.

England was starting to get red in the face. Why was France pretending he didn't know America? America sat next to him at the meeting only yesterday!

"If this is some kind of joke, then just quit while you are ahead, Francis! I'm done with playing these damn games with you!" Yelled England, slamming his fist on the door frame in which he was still standing under.

"You know what? Forget it." Said France, putting his hands up. "I clearly have no idea what you are trying to get across here, so just drop it."

England moved out of the way as France stormed out of the kitchen. "It's only nine in the morning and you already have yourself all worked up." He muttered to himself as he marched up the stairs to his room.

England heard the door slam from upstairs. "Stupid git." He pouted. "What right does he have to make up things about America?"

It was strange to him how that every time France or anyone else brought up America; England always ended up defending him. He slowly sat down in one of his antique chairs, sinking back into the seat so that his back was flat against the seat of the chair. He could just picture America coming out of nowhere shouting 'England! That is no way for a proper Englishman to sit!'

"That's so America," He laughed to himself, sitting up. "He's always making fun of what I do, no matter what it is."

By now, England was over what France had said. He had convinced it was just a joke. "It's no big deal, just another prank."

But he still wondered why, of all things, France pretended he didn't know America. What was so funny about that?

"I doubt I'll ever understand that guy," He said to himself before standing up and heading over to the sitting room. He pulled the curtains open, letting bright rays of morning sun shine through the glass. He sat down at his desk, pulled open the top, and snatched a small pocket-sized album from inside.

Small edges of old photos stuck out of the book. England gently opened the front cover, hoping it wouldn't tear from old age. It was a memory book, full of pictures of both America and England when they were living under the same roof. But when he saw was had been placed on the front page, both of his eyebrows lifted together to form a very confused face.

"What is this?" He asked.

He flipped through the book, watching picture filled pages fly by. But something was wrong; there were pictures in the book, but they were the wrong ones.

"Did I get the wrong book?" He asked himself, looking at the cover. "No…."

All of the pages weren't filled with the ones of him and Alfred like he had pasted originally. They were full of unfamiliar picture he had no memory of taking.

England stopped at one; on it were several photos of him and the other Allied Powers. His eyes moved from one face to another. Yao, Francis, Ivan, himself…..but no one else.

"Where's America?" He wondered.

He franticly skipped through the pages, searching for the pictures he was looking for originally. He had put them in himself; old photos of him and little America, all put together in a tiny little memory book. He remembered putting some new photos in it a while ago, but none of the ones that were in their now matched the ones that he had put in.

"Where's America….?" He said softly, small tears forming in his eyes.

He let the book fall from his grasp and land on the floor in a crumpled mess. Without the pictures of his little brother, the whole book had no value to him anymore.

"No one could of stole them," He assured himself. "My desk is locked at all times."

"But, where could the pictures of gone?" That was the question that bothered him so much. They were his last physical memory of his good times with America; how could he of let them get away from him, almost the same way America did?

Just saying that to himself brought painful memories back to England's thoughts. A cold, rainy night, a battle field full of wounded, tired soldiers, and two men; drawn even farther apart because of some stupid little thing called 'independence'. What was so good about being independent anyways?

A hard knock at the front door was all it took to scare the living hell out of England. He quickly stood up to answer the door, pausing to check who it was through the window.

"May I come in-aru?" The man said.

England slowly opened the large door. In front of him stood a country of rich, vast lands and a thick culture; China.

"You are mighty slow today! It may be the week's break, but we still have work to do-aru!"

"Yao." England said suddenly, "I'm sorry, I am just a little out of it today. Francis is playing games as usual and my pictures of-"

Before he could say anymore, Yao put his hand on the taller country's shoulder, "It's ok, I understand. I can come back tomorrow if you would prefer to meet then."

England was about to agree, but before a word could get out of his mouth, Francis had overheard their conversation and was already at the door.

"Of course we're not busy today!" He sang happily, shoving England out of the way of the door. "This guy's just being a bit of a grump this morning, that's all."

England didn't respond. He denied himself the day of rest China was offering to give him. There was work to be done, how could he think this selfishly when there was work left unfinished?

"Are you sure? England looks awfully tired-aru!" Yao asked again.

"No, really; it's fine." Said England, opening up the door even more, so that there was room or the three of them. "Please, do come in."