Wrong Reflection

Help and Trauma

Alfred was ready to pull his hair out. He had tried everything he could think of but couldn't find anything to help him get his counterpart back home. America said he didn't blame Alfred and knew that Alfred was trying his best to get America home.

The kindness was appreciated, but it just made Alfred feel like shit. America should be mad or upset that Alfred can't find America a way home, but he was just understanding. Alfred felt guilty that he couldn't find anything to help America return home.

America has kids, some of whom probably depended on him, yet he was incredibly nonchalant about Alfred's failure to find him a way home.

When Alfred had confessed this fear to America, however, the nation had laughed, informing Alfred that the oldest of his states was physically thirty and that they could all take care of themselves.

Alfred had never felt more shocked than at that moment. It was one thing seeing his counterpart was in his thirties, but it was another hearing that the states, the children of his counterpart, were also physically older than him.

Alfred felt self-conscious after that conversation.

He couldn't even drink in his country without a fake ID, and...and Alfred's counterpart was so cool and mysterious, and Alfred didn't want to disappoint him. No matter how...unannoyed and disappointed America seemed, Alfred still felt like he was disappointing him somehow. It sucked a lot.

So Alfred, in all his insomniac glory, was up at one am reading emails from NASA officials, trying to track down if anyone noticed whatever portal must have brought America here. Alfred was wiping sleep from his eyes when a hand landed on his shoulder, causing him to let out a curse as he jolted in surprise and fear. Hand over his heart, Alfred turned around to face America, who had the largest smile Alfred had ever seen on him.

"You fucking asshole! You scared the shit outta me. You can't do that to a person at one am. What's wrong with you?" Alfred exclaimed. America's smile turned sheepish.

"Sorry, Alfred," He said, his accent, which was prone to change, now sounding like a Texan one, "I didn't mean to scare you. I just wanted to talk."

Alfred felt a pit grow in his stomach. That was a sequence of words he didn't want to hear.

"You're not in trouble! I didn't mean it that way." America added when he noticed Alfred's confusion, "You made the same face my kids do when they hear that."

"Then what's up?" Alfred asked, trying to act nonchalant.

"Now, I know this doesn't mean much coming from me, the world's biggest hypocrite, but you need to sleep, or at least try to. Don't run yourself ragged trying to help. Taking a break will help." America said.

"Don't you want to go home? You act so chill about the lack of progress. I'd think you don't want to go back!" Alfred snapped before clasping a hand over his mouth as he realized what he had said. He knew how badly America wanted to get home and heard the stories America told after he had worn him down enough.

Fidgeting with his fingers, Alfred waited for America to get mad and yell, as Alfred would have in his position. Instead, America just sighed.

"Of course, I want to get home," America said, his voice not mad...just sad, his hand clutching his chest over his heart, "I miss many things. My kids, my–my friends and...I want to get home, but I don't want you hurting yourself in the process. You..."

America trailed off, muttering something in a language Alfred didn't understand.

"I what?" Alfred asked.

"You've checked this already, I'm pretty sure. Get some sleep, and maybe a solution will come to you, but running yourself ragged for two weeks isn't going to help." America said. Alfred sighed but relented, closing his laptop.