A.N.: Quick thing. Scotland will pop up in this story for a moment so just find the typical visual for him (red headed one that looks tough) if necessary. Just giving a heads up (I LUV SCOTLAND :D)


This event occurred around when the Hunger Games first started. Maybe a few already passed by and it's a natural thing now.

Three hesitant knocks on the door.

The door opened and a pretty woman opened the door with a sweet smile. The smile looked quite forced but maybe that was because of who was at the door.

"...Oh, hello, Mr...Kirkland was it?"

"Yes, hello, Jennifer. How have you been?"

"Oh splendid, just splendid! And you, sir?"

"Just fine. I was wondering... is Alfred in? America?"

The maid stood behind the door to the large, luxurious mansion. Although England could see her face, the door was only slightly ajar.

Jennifer's clothes, which were once red, white, and blue, now was completely covered in various colors of glitter; especially emerald green. Her pure, white hair cupped her face, but extended in the back, a braid handing off her shoulder. It used to be brown. Her skin was just as white as her hair and her lips and eyelids made a drastic difference of bright green.

Everything on her seemed completely glued on. However, although she was as bright as a light, her expression turned shocked and frightened at the sound of her boss' old name.

England remembered Jennifer as a young girl. She worked for America before this whole mess happened. Now, after ten years, she has changed into this... The thought of it brought England down.

"...I-I'm very sorry, sir, but I don't know of any Alfred or America who lives here. Now, if I may, I must be goi-"

England pushed his hand onto the door to prevent Jennifer from closing it. She looked right into England's eyes as he said, "Sorry, I'm just not used to his...new name. I meant to ask if...Panem, was in."

Jennifer looked down to her bright, green shoes, feeling nervous.

"Well, yes he is but he instructed us to not allow you others in..."

England's eyebrows furrowed in anger. He knew America was angry at the other nations, but did he really need to break away from his friends?

"Do you mean friends?"

"No, no-"

"Then what?"

"Mr. Kirkland, please, I must ask you to leave-"

England became angrier at this nonsense and decided to use force.

"Jennifer, you know what I am and you know I can push you out of the way without a problem. I'm going to ask nicely."

At this point, Jennifer began to lightly quiver in fear but kept her glance to her shoes.

"Is Panem in?"

"...y-yes, Mr. Kirkland. But, but you can't-"

"I've come to see him so may you please move out of the way?" Arthur replied, making his words sound more like a demand rather than a question.

Jennifer bit her glistening, green, bottom lip and moved away from the door, allowing him to completely open it and walk inside.

England looked around the new mansion America moved into. It was more on the west side of his land as the other ends were practically demolished.

The inside was full of luxurious items his people made. America stopped importing and exporting since the incident so he could only rely on his own materials, which have been decreasing since most of his country was charred. Although the people were full of colors, his house revolved around reds and browns, having solid figures that were interestingly shaped. A few other maids and butlers walked around the main hall of his home; all busy and dressed vibrantly.

With a deep breath, England went up the left set of stairs, remembering the exact location of America's room. As he made it to the second floor, he walked through the main hallway, passing by a multitude of doors that led to various rooms. England only knew about a few of these rooms as he once took a tour around the house. But as he wanted to quickly find America, he decided to skip the rest of the tour and go straight to him.

This led England to feel as if he was a little lost, but America's room wasn't that hard to find. It's doors were the largest and most well defined. As England was about to open the door, it already began to open, and an old, well-refined man walked out. He gave England a cold, empty side glance that gave the nation an eerie feeling. As he watched him leave, England noticed that Jennifer had followed him up. She paused her speed walk to bow to the elderly man then as he left, she turned back to him.

Before she could comment on not being allowed into this room, England opened the door and walked in, quickly noticing that America wasn't in his main office. His bathroom was to the left and his bedroom was on the right, so England walked over to the bedroom and knocked twice before walking in. He knew, or at least believed, that he would still be able to barge in without giving America a notice beforehand.

England walked into the luxurious bedroom, noting that although it resembled the rest of the house, there were still slight remnants of the red, white, and blue from his past. However, they were well hidden.

That was when he saw him. The broken nation that he was looking for was sitting on a stool in front of his bed as one of his doctors' wrapped bandages around his bare torso. England's eyes widened at the sight of his disgustingly scarred back and was reminded of the scars on America's chest that were even worse. All the suffering America had gone through back then...it was unforgettable.

America turned his head, expecting to see one of his maids, England assumed, but was shocked at who was there instead. The American nation's face turned red with anger for a moment before his new, stoic expression masked his emotions.

"Mr. Panem, I am so sorry! I tried to stop him but, he threatened me and I-"

"I'll deal with your situation later, Jennifer. As of now, please leave," he replied without giving her a glance.

Jennifer's eyes widened, a sudden fear passing through her expression. Then with a bow, she replied, "yes, sir," and sadly left, closing the door behind her.

America's eyes were fixed onto England's, barely showing any emotion. His arms were up as the doctor continued to change his bandages, not even looking up at who came in. Did America have to rule his people to such an extent...?

America turned away from England, moving his glance towards his bed as he stated, "I'll be done here in a moment. If you would be so kind as to wait in my office, I will assist you shortly."

England was shocked by how he was bring treated, but knew that America really hasn't been living an easy life. He decided, for now, to agree and wait in the other room.

Roughly twenty minutes passed before America came out of his room. England looked at him as he now wore a refined black suit and his hair was combed back. He couldn't help but notice the absence of America's signature cowlick. It had become so natural that when America ripped it off, it was difficult to adjust to. He, however, still had to wear glasses. His skin was smooth but still seemed fake, much like the rest of his people. His eyes were a dull blue, creating an odd illusion of his eyes being more flat rather than rounded.

England assumed that America expected him to sit in front of his desk, but England decided that the couches on the side of his room were much more comfortable.

America seemed to notice this, but allowed himself to succumb to England's choice. He sat across from England, demanding tea from one of his maids.

England sat there quietly, wondering if America was going to start this conversation. It was something he...always used to do. But England had to remind himself that America changed. He changed too much.

And that was why he was here today. He had already tried to help America when he first lost everything, but America was in a rampage at that time and denied any type of assistance from anyone. He stated he didn't need anyone anymore, especially other countries. He even disconnected himself from his own brother, Canada, who he threatened a few years ago when this all happened. Canada obtained a gunshot wound on his arm for continuing his attempts to help him. After that, the twin nation completely disconnected himself from his broken brother.

England was risking himself as well just by coming here. But America seemed to have controlled his outbursts as he only looked at England, rather than glare or threaten him.

With another breath, England got ready to speak. It was now or never.

"It's...been a while."

"...yes, it has."

"...How...have you been?" England asked, seeming to find the question quite irrelevant and idiotic.

"How have I been...interesting question, England. 'Better' could be a good choice of words. The Games start today, you know."

America paused as their drinks came, taking the tea cup and it's plate from the maid. The maid walked around the small coffee table to England afterwards, and England took the tea and thanked the maid.

England heard about these so-called "games" America started. The ruler of his people wanted to punish them for a large rebellion that occurred. The punishment was the separation of classes to a maximum extent and creating a colosseum to watch children kill one another. England found this absurd and wanted to talk to America about it to see if he'd consider talking to his boss about all this.

As England took a sip of his tea, he looked up from his cup to see America drinking it without hesitation. America never really liked tea...

"So why are you here?" America asked as he placed his cup down onto his lap.

"Well...I...wanted to see if I could give you some assistance as you and your boss are rebuilding your nation and all."

America looked up at England, seeming uninterested to his words.

"I already told you before that I am doing just fine. Like you stated, my nation is rebuilding."

"Well, yes, but...it seems that the way you're dealing with it is quite...harsh."

"Harsh? How so?" America asked and he looked down at his tea, bringing it up to his face. England could tell that America was merely entertaining his comments.

"Well for one, your people. Can't you tell that they are suffering?"

"That's none of your concern."

"...Actually, it is. As a nation who has citizens as well, I can see that you are treating yours unfairly."

"Which means..."

"Which means I have the right to tell you that you're boss is acting immorally and should be spoken to."

America stayed silent after this comment, not seeming to be affected by it negatively or positively.

"I was wondering if you could talk to your boss about possibly socializing with...with my boss or maybe another compromising country. We could help you, if you want."

"We."

"Yes. I've spoken to some nations in Asia and because they are so close to your location they would be glad to talk, maybe start some imports and exports with-"

"Not interested. Are you finished?"

England looked at America who was now looking at his watch then turning away, seeming bored. The way he was living the life of a stubborn recluse bothered him. It not only bothered the British nation; it hurt him.

"No. I'm not finished, actually. I agreed to this as well. Although many see you as someone to avoid, I am not afraid to keep my connections with you...I think we can work something out again if and only if, you find a way to stop your boss from continuing these...games."

America looked up at England, his expression never changing.

"There's nothing wrong with the games we made. Those Districts decided to rebel against the capital. They attempted to break down the laws we created."

"But those laws, you see...they aren't necessarily fair."

"Explain to me why," America replied, still seeming quite relaxed about this whole conversation.

"How about how your boss has separated your people, hurt them emotionally, mentally, and physically? He keeps them in 'districts' and the poorest people live like dirt! They barely have housing and to make things worse, those games steal children away so they can kill one another for their entertainment! Children, America. Think about that. I remember when you wanted to save children. Why are you allowing this to happen?"

"...You say this assuming that I'm being forced. This lifestyle seems much better than the one we used to live in in the past."

"By killing children?"

"By expressing control. My boss and I tried to rebuild this nation without problems and with more laws to make sure the economy could not fall again. We tried to fix this place but they decided to go against the capital; against their own nation. That deserves prime punishment. For example, what if your people went against your Queen and wanted to take her down?"

"I highly doubt that would happen."

"Just play into the scenario for me. If they went against the highest authority, wouldn't they earn prime punishment?"

England paused for a moment as he thought this through.

"Yes. They would."

"Then what am I doing wrong?"

"The way you rule to begin with is the issue. The only reason my people would not going against the Queen is because she rules our people with respect and equality. Your people went against you because your rulers had no idea how to rule a country. How to rule you. It's, it's practically Germany's past all over again but at a slower pace! They need to learn the correct way of ruling."

"And what justifies the right and wrong way of ruling your own land? What if I believe that this is right?"

"Then, by the rules of humans, you are thinking immorally."

The intensity of the room seemed to increase as the conversation was built, both nations becoming quite infuriated inside. America did not comment back to this and only took a deep breath and drank more of his tea. England could tell that he was getting frustrated and decided to take a deep breath and cool himself off.

"Look, I know you want to try to survive on your own ever since that huge battle but... you have to remember. You were in a war with them, not me...You can at least allow me to help you, America. I want to help you."

America's eye twitched at the name as he lightly frowned. He ignored it the first time as he thought it was a slip of the tongue. But now he realized that England still labeled him that way.

"That isn't my name anymore. And I would be happy if you would stop calling me that."

England frowned as well.

"No. I won't accept this change, America. The world your boss made isn't who you really are! and i want to help you get out of it! You aren't this 'Panem'; an area you all decided to make up. You are The United States of-"

"Shut up."

England was taken aback as America interrupted him. His fa├žade began to crumble as his emotions began to show.

This must be the other side of America. There were the people who truly believed that they were living a fine life. Then there were the poor, the broken, the tattered, and almost forgotten...if it wasn't for those disgusting games. They hold in their emotions that have to spill it out somewhere. And, it seems, if provoked, America will express these traits.

"Amer-"

"I told you to shut the fuck up!" America yelled out.

England noticed the dull look in his eyes was now replaced with a sick emotion of sadness, fear, and anger. He could see his old friend was broken in two.

"My name is Panem. That is who I am and I will not be called a fake!"

America glared at England as England allowed this to sink in.

"Alright, alright, I'm sorry! You are... Panem then. But... That doesn't mean you should block yourself away from everyone-"

"And why not?"

"Because we're your friends! We- I don't want you doing this anymore! Hurting yourself, killing your own people, to hide the bigger problem! I'm worried about you!"

"Oh, keep your pity to yourself. This is how I rule my land now and in my eyes, this is right. If you don't like it then get the fuck off of it," America darkly stated, placing his cup on the coffee table and standing up.

England stood as well, leaving his tea on the table too.

"I don't want to just leave you behind while we all work together to fix ourselves! America, please, listen to a friend-"

But England was cut off as America quickly reached into his coat and pulled out a gun, aiming it directly at England's forehead. The shorter nation froze, looking at the weapon then the shaking man who held it.

"I told you not to call me that. Is it really that hard to get it through that goddamn skull of yours?" America said through gritted teeth.

"I am no longer that weak piece of shit of a nation. It's Panem now. Pa-nem. But since that's so difficult for you to get, I guess I'm gonna have to force it into your head, huh?"

"N-now now, let's settle down here. It was a mistake, just a mistake. You're Panem; I understand...s-so how about you put that gun down and-"

America removed the safety from the gun, pushing it directly onto England's head.

"What if I don't want to put this gun down? What if I want your fucking brains on my wall, hm? You pretty much walked into my home knowing your life was at risk. Why should I listen to you?" America spat out roughly, though his voice was low.

England looked up at America, feeling pain in his heart. He didn't think there would come a time where he had to truly fear America; one of his closest friends.

"You really want kill me...? Your old friend...?"

"I have no friends. Not from other nations, at least."

"But what did I do to deserve death? I only want to help you...Panem. It's me, you know? England. Don't I mean anything to you anymore...?"

America looked at England, not losing any eye contact with the British nation. He was lightly panting from his adrenaline and anger clashing. America's hand still shook but England could see that he was beginning to settle down. Maybe America was still in there somewhere...

"To answer your first question, you are against the laws of my capital while standing on my land; that's why you deserve death..."

England noticed how America dodged the second question. Did that mean that America had a chance of coming back?

Slowly, England moved his hands up to the gun, hoping to take it out of his hands.

But instead of shooting him, America turned and pulled his arm back, swinging the end at England. England quickly moved back to dodge the hit then went to grab for the gun, gripping onto America's wrist and the top of the gun.

Since America grew weak over the years, the two were now practically on equal levels when it came to physical strength, so before he could fire, England was able to pull the gun out of his hands then kick him in the stomach, lightly regretting it as he remembered the wounds there.

America cried out at the pain, but abruptly pulled himself together and went to grab for the gun again. But England quickly opened the gun and let the chamber fall out, tossing it to the side before America could tackle him for it.

England kept his ground as the taller nation tried to push him down, but did not notice when America grabbed his arm with his left hand then punched him in the face with the other. England was then tossed onto one of the couches and kicked on the side.

As America was about to go for a kick in his stomach, England quickly threw the gun at America's head, hitting him above the eye.

While America cradled his wound for a moment, England got up and tripped America, making him fall onto the floor. The Brit then climbed on top of him and gave him a few punches to his jaw. He was getting tired of what he believed was one of America's temper tantrums and couldn't stand the way his friend was falling back into tyranny. This wasn't right!

"When are you going to realize that you're acting stupid?! This isn't the way to rule your people!" England yelled out after punching America again.

"Breaking them apart then killing them off?! What the hell happened to you?!"

England paused his attacks as he thought that America finally settled, but when America turned his head to look at him, England felt a chill of fear. That innocent light that used to be in his eyes years ago was long gone. It was replaced with a dead and insane emotion that England recalled he had during his pirate days.

At that moment, England felt a sudden surge of sadness, depression, and pain pass through the land.

He looked away and realized that the Hunger Games were starting.

He then noticed that America's power seemed to grow along with this anguish and before he could see what was going on, America swiftly jabbed him in the face. The blow was powerful enough to throw him off of the American and onto the couch, which flipped over and made him fall to the floor.

Before England could collect himself, America already picked him up by his hair and threw him to the other side of the room, causing him to slam onto the bookcase which then toppled on top of him.

England's body was in pain from head to toe, but he got ready to move as he knew America wasn't done with him.

The British nation watched as America picked up the book shelf with one hand, tossing it to the side. He didn't even seem angry anymore. He only looked at England with those dead, blue eyes.

England tried to make a run for it but America managed to grab him by his left arm then twist him around, using his right hand to grip onto England's neck and slam him against the wall. He picked him up with ease, his power growing by the minute.

England kicked at America and beat at his arm and face, but America did not let go. He merely stared at the smaller nation.

"You really want to die, don't you? I already told you, this is how I rule now. I don't need pathetic nations like you telling me what is right or wrong. This world has gone to shit and you think you know what you're doing? Do me a favor and stay the fuck out of my life. We have a goddamn separation for a reason."

Through the hold, England still managed to speak out even though it hurt to.

"Our...world hasn't gone to shit! Just you! We're working...together and m-making it better! You're the only idiot who wants to...stay in the...ditch!"

At that America tightened his grip which made the nation gasp, trying to obtain some sort of air. Although nations could be revived, dying still hurt and felt dreadful just like a human.

England's vision began to blur and his movements began to slow down. Was America really going to kill him? What was he going to do with his body? Hopefully nothing too insane that would take too long to heal...

The thought of everything that was happening made England's eyes water. Why did it have to be this way? Why is it that this nation who always ranted on being the best and never stopped smiling...why did he turn into this?

Using what he believed would be his last few breaths, England forced out the words that kept running through his mind.

"What...happened to...our hero?"

America's eyes widened at England's words. England never noticed the memories that went through America's mind and the way his heart began to break at the sound of that phrase..."the hero."

America's grip began to loosen as he felt another death of another innocent. He shut his eyes, feeling the power this gave him. It was enough to push those memories away. Those memories that no longer mattered.

With a newfound rage, he tossed England to the ground and allowed him to cough and wheeze for a moment. As he shook, England attempted to pull himself up onto his knees, quivering as his body mechanically tried to force air back into itself. But he was aired out again as America kicked him in the stomach, causing him to fall onto his side.

The American nation went down on one knee and pulled England up by his collar, awarding himself with a grunt of pain from the man. America moved his face to England's ear as he did not want someone coughing in his face. He waited for his opponent to settle down so he would not miss a word of what he was about to say.

"...America is dead. Do you hear me? That worthless excuse of a nation is gone. And it doesn't matter what you do or what you say. He will never come back..."

England did not reply as these words hit him roughly. He continued to breathe heavily as America picked him up again, opened his door, and threw him out into the hallway. He managed to push himself to the opposite wall and rested his back on it, looking at America who stared back at him. And even though England seemed to have been spared, he still couldn't stop himself from speaking his mind. It was as if he knew this was going to be the last time he would be able to speak to America. And England did not want to lose that chance.

Through coughs, England managed to force out the word, "coward," before America completely closed his door.

England watched as America froze, then opened his door and stalked over to him, going down on one knee again and gripping onto the tip of his chin. He forced England's head up so they were eye to eye, only inches apart from each other.

However, England showed no fear. He angrily looked back at the man who was one of his closest friends. And in retaliation, America laughed.

"Do you- do you want to know something, England?"

With a whisper, he continued, "there is no such thing as a hero."

England's eyes widened at these words and he felt his eyes water again. America wouldn't say this...no. He'd never say heroes aren't real...because... America truly was one...

"Heroes are fictional characters that parents tell their children about. They tell them... that heroes will save them from their problems...They say...that if there is a hero, you will never be harmed for he will come to save you...I am not a hero. No one is a hero. Because at the end of the day, the only person you can save is yourself."

America, no...Panem let go of England's chin and stood up, walking back to his room. England looked down at his chest, not wanting Panem to see the tears rolling down his cheeks. He bit his lip to prevent any sounds from coming out. Where did the hero go? When was he going to come back to stop this madness?

"Oh dear, you ruined my suit...That's fine I have another. By the time I finish cleaning myself up I expect you to be gone from here Mr. Kirkland."

As Panem went to close the door, he paused for a moment then opened it again. He looked over to England and said, "oh, one more thing. If I ever see you again...I won't hesitate on killing you and possibly scattering your body parts across my land...You have been warned."

When the door shut, England looked up and sat there for a moment, letting this all sink in. After a minute or two, he pulled himself up and limped out of the house, ignoring the stares he gained from the brightly colored humans surrounding him.

He limped all the way back to the empty field he came from and nation hopped* back to his land.

How coincidental was it that it always rained when something terrible happened?

Standing close to Big Ben, which luckily survived any and all attacks, England looked up into the dark sky and allowed his tears to fall with the rain.

He is gone. The America they all knew and loved...he is gone. Replaced with a foul nation called Panem. Who enslaves its people and takes their children...killing them without a care.

He heard many people walking by and after a few minutes, he noticed one particular person pausing behind him. He felt the man's presence and knew that it was his older brother, Scotland.

They silently stood together, understanding what the other one felt. After a few minutes, England decided to speak out.

"He's dead, Alec**," England said, using his human name as his voice lightly cracked.

"He's not here anymore...He's changed...Our hero is dead," he continued, lightly laughing at the end although that made him cry more.

Scotland stayed quiet, knowing that out of everyone, England was the most wounded about this. He lightly nodded and placed his hand on his younger brother's shoulder, the two getting soaked from the rain.

"Hey...the brothers are getting together today over at my place. Come on, let's go."

England would rather drink his problems away, but he knew that staying with his brothers was a better idea. He didn't comment on the idea but he allowed Scotland to lead him away.

After all, realizing that there was no one to save you anymore was a big thing that he, and the rest of the world, had to take in.


*the idea of "nation hopping" is taken from another author. Her name is Kimanda and I love the idea so I want to use it lol

**Scotland - Alec Brown Kirkland / Not an official name for him but I saw someone use this one and I liked it.

This was just a one shot that I thought of when someone told me that the Hunger Games was only in America. So just imagine how bad that must've been for him when it first started. He must be so tormented inside lol it made me feel so sad and I wanted to share my sadness with you :)

Lol I almost cried writing this (and rereading this and gaaaahhh) but yeah.

I plan on making a one shot when Katniss comes in and that small rebellion starts (since that will affect America [or should I say Panem]) and another for the end (when I figure it out and such lol) so maybe this'll end well? ^.^"

No one send me spoilers! I prefer learning on my own thank you :)