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America was having a pretty un-awesome day.
Or year.
Years?
He'd much prefer to be at home, cocooned inside his blanket in his bed than to be at this stupid meeting.
He was tired.
He was tired a lot, lately.
Much more tired than usual, but also, strangely energetic at the same time? It was like an anxious sort of buzzing feeling inside him, spreading out from his chest until his entire body felt like it was being electrocuted.
Maybe saying he was tired wasn't correct.
It was more so that his brain seemed to be made out of mush. His thoughts came slow and sluggish, processing his surroundings with an annoying delay.
Trying to focus was hard.
Everyone was paying attention for once, Germany was speaking and everyone was watching.
All those eyes.
All of them staring.
Listening.
The idea of being in Germany's position filled him with a strange sense of discomfort.
He was acutely aware of the security cameras, recording his every move.
He wasn't really listening, not like everyone else. Just watching.
His eyes passed over the presentation slide currently being shown, the information on it lost mere seconds after it entered his brain.
His field of vision seemed narrower than usual. The focal point of it being shown in stark, almost unreal detail.
Everything around it was just a blur.
The edges of his vision seemed to darken the longer he stared, he wasn't sure if he was imaging it or not.
He blinked, refocused his eyes. Everything was bright and clear again.
Germany was no longer speaking.
Voices overlapped, blending into eachother. None of the words America could make out made sense, he knew, faintly, that they were words. Actual words. With meanings.
But it all just sounded like noise.
A random mess of syllables.
He wasn't sure how long they'd all been here.
How much time was left.
The thought of returning home made him feel weird.
The thought of having to see his boss for the debrief of this meeting caused nausea to rise up in him.
He felt sick.
There was just. Something.
Something about the way he looked at him, maybe. That made America feel strange things.
A fluttery feeling in his gut, like a swarm of bees.
A numbness. A strange disconnect between his thoughts and body.
He'd be aware, seeing himself. Seeing his boss. He would feel the things his body felt.
He'd be present. Aware.
He was aware.
He was there, he was witnessing everything. It just, wouldn't save properly.
Visual information reduced to senseless shapes of colour that he knew were objects and people but couldn't sort into the right boxes. Sensory input that just seemed off, like it wasn't really there, wasn't really happening, despite him being able to feel it.
Everything would just feel wrong.
His memory wouldn't work right, his body would act without his own say so.
He would just be watching.
A witness.
It seemed to be happening more often. In all kinds of circumstances.
Lately it was like he was never really there. Nothing mattered enough to register.
Everything was a blur, his days blending together until he couldn't recall a single thing.
He was supposed to be the hero, a protagonist, here to save and protect everyone else from those who do evil.
He couldn't even protect himself.
He wished he had someone he could go to, that he could ask for advise or at least confide in. But everytime he tried to talk about any of the weird, bad feelings inside of him it was like his throat closed up.
His tongue would feel heavy, he wouldn't be able to breath. Like he was getting suffocated.
He wasn't scared.
He wasn't.
There was nothing to be scared of.
No reason.
He was sure that the pounding, ever-present fear inside of him was not his own. It was a separate thing, a monster waiting in the dark, waiting for him to show any weakness.
Sometimes it felt like he was back in the cold war, constantly looking over his shoulders, scared that anyone could be an enemy.
He felt like everyone was out to get him and the more he tried to reason and convince himself it wasn't true, the more afraid he got.
He couldn't trust anyone. He'd ruined all of his friendships. He was sure that they all hated him, all wanted his downfall.
He had nobody he could go to.
No allies.
Everyone was a potential enemy.
He felt like he was constantly under observation. Everyone he did or said was being recorded and judged. He couldn't step out of line. He wasn't sure what would happen, but he knew he couldn't.
He could barely even bring himself to think anything negative over his current government, scared that they'd somehow know.
He felt hollow, an empty aching feeling in his chest.
He felt violated.
His constitution was a mere suggestion, a sacred part of him being walked all over. Hands reaching into the heart of him and leaving their filth all over insides on the way.
It made him want to throw up, every time he lingered on it for too long.
It felt wrong.
Bad.
Lots of things made him feel bad lately.
He wished he could ask someone about it, that he knew why he felt so sick each time his boss so much as looked at him. Wished he knew why the way his contact always seemed to linger brought up such weird feelings.
He couldn't even Google it. He was sure they'd know even if he wiped his history afterwards.
They could see everything, he was sure of it.
He felt caged, a bird without wings.
He felt like he might be dying. Which was an absurd thought.
There was nothing wrong.
There was no reason for him to feel this confused. This awful.
It was just the monster, trying to get to him.
Whispering lies.
Nothing was wrong.
He was stable. His country was stable. He wasn't dying. There was no need to fear. He was fine, just being overdramatic.
He just held that thought in his mind, running it on loop.
He was fine. He was stable. Everything was fine.
He was the hero! Nothing bad ever happens to heroes! And if does, they epically overcome those battles and end up better of it!
He needed to stop whining like a stupid crybaby and just pull himself together.
This was all for him, everything his government was doing! They said so, they were going to make him even better! It was all wrong, this dreadful fear inside of him!
It wasn't him.
It just wasn't him.
These feelings weren't his feelings.
Everything was fine.
"America! Are you paying any attention at all?!"
He jumped, his heart feeling like it wanted to explode right there and then in his chest. His head snapped up towards the noise, eyes focusing onto a familiar shade of green.
England was staring at him.
"What?" He heard himself ask, somehow managing to squeeze the words past his constricted throat.
He felt cold. His fingers were numb.
He swallowed, his eyes bouncing between the other nations at the table.
Everyone was looking at him.
He felt sweat beading down his face, his hands suddenly clammy.
"Sorry- did I miss something?" He grinned sheepishly, looking fine and acting fine because he was fine.
He was fine.
They were still looking at him.
He couldn't breath in.
England scoffed, saying something that his brain couldn't quite catch.
He looked angry.
It made the hole inside him bigger.
Were they all angry?
He kept smiling. He wasn't sure why.
His body wouldn't listen to him. He felt like he couldn't move at all.
He wanted to be home.
He was surrounded by people he couldn't trust. They all wanted to see him fail.
They hated him and they were angry at him and they wanted to hurt him.
All of them.
He couldn't trust them.
He couldn't trust anyone.
Everyone wanted to hurt him.
Except his government.
He couldn't quite trust them either. No matter how hard he tried to suppress that feeling.
He couldn't trust himself, he couldn't trust his own feelings. Because they weren't his, not really. He couldn't trust his own thoughts.
He was the hero.
Heroes were loyal.
They didn't doubt. They didn't feel scared.
It was something else feeling those things.
He was loyal.
They would never hurt him. They only wanted what was best for him, even if he couldn't always see how their methods were supposed to help him.
They weren't hurting him.
He was fine. He was stable. He was fine, better than fine! He was amazing, even! Awesome!
He was doing great! The greatest, even! He'd never been better!
England finally finished his tirade. America said something in response.
Words coming out of his mouth.
He hoped they made sense, he wasn't sure what exactly he was saying.
Like playing a game without actually reading the dialogue options, just randomly selecting the first one that pops up.
A video game.
Everything seemed like a game, actually. An unskipable cut scene. Too boring to pay attention to.
Nothing felt real.
Enough so that he questioned if he could be dreaming. But it all seemed so mundane for a dream.
He considered pinching himself, but it seemed like too much effort to try and make his body obey.
He watched as he was drawn into a conversation with whoever was sitting next to them.
Their facial features wouldn't quite come together and make sense.
He wasn't part of the interaction, not really. It was just his body, operating without his own input.
He wondered vaguely if it might have a mind of it's own. To be able to act so normal without him directing any of it.
He wondered what he even was. He wasn't his body. He wasn't his feelings either.
What did that make him? What was left for him? His thoughts?
Was he merely a barrier between the monster and the body? A mechanism, the hero that kept it's foe away from the prize?
Had he always felt like this?
He wasn't sure, at the moment, whether he always felt so separate from his physical form.
His body wasn't him right now.
He wasn't sure if he'd ever really been his body.
It was kind of weird, wasn't it? So unassuming and human looking.
Like there was supposed to be a person inside of it.
He was a country, a big pile of dirt.
More of a what than a who.
It was kind of funny, really.
All of them, here together, pretending like they had actual agency, like they were people.
Bickering and arguing as if it actually meant something.
They were objects, all of them. Things that were owned. None of them were free.
No liberty, no death.
Neither were things they were deserving off.
Any of them.
It wondered if they knew it too. That they were aware, knew they weren't actually real, weren't human, not in any way that mattered.
Objects. All of them.
Things.
It was funny.
Kind of.