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[ He wakes up and he's back in Wonderland, and all those foggy memories snap into place. They still stick together like pages of a book that's had soda spilled on it, so it's impossible to separate them chronologically after so long away. But the things he remembers are sharp and clear.

Except he notices that Wonderland is sorta fragmented into pieces. He thinks something catastrophic has happened and, now more than ever, he desperately wishes that his friends are somewhere, happy, that they've escaped what's happened here. They can't still be around after so long. Then again, who knows how long it's been with this place?

The last time he was here, he probably would've sat down and spent an hour freaking out somewhere behind a bush. This time he does the exact same thing, except he doesn't feel ashamed or embarrassed about it. Fuck it he is a global economic power he'll do what he wants.

After a while of rocking and shaking behind a tree, he gets up, dusts himself off, and decides to reintroduce himself.

Somehow he's found his phone again, with everything on it and the chipped in the corner. Just the way he'd left it. Maybe he should take this as a sign that he hasn't been away so long, at least in Wonderland time, but he doesn't. Too busy preparing his reintroduction.

Normal people would probably just turn their device on, say their hellos and see who is around and who is new. If you are expecting normal behavior from America I don't know what to tell you. Except "lower your expectations because this asshole is still a crazy motherfucker."

He'd found himself on a lone piece of forest, which is not the ideal location for his reentry. In the distance looms the lone, floating entrance hall. After a few seconds of debating the value of his life, he realizes he's immortal and abandons the last fuck he could possibly give before making a running start to leap to the next floating island. A manic grin and one thought propel him to his destiny:

Do it for the vine. ]

[ Finally everything is set up just the way he wants it. Camera placed just behind the closed doors of the entrance wall, it's propped up to frame the hall in such a way that it looks like just any normal day in Wonderland. The real trick is turning it on at just the right moment. He decides to turn it on from behind so the video doesn't capture his initial appearance. Slipping away as quietly as possible, the video just captures a few silent seconds of the doors.

Which then BURST OPEN IN AN EXPLOSION OF SHRAPNEL AND FIRE. USA USA USA.

The smoke clears and, surprise surprise, guess who's standing at the center with arms cross and cocky grin in place? No Crowley, that's for fucking sure, like he'd be capable of anything this epic. For those who knew him the changes are small and subtle, probably nothing to catch amidst the chaos. A taller stature, unhindered by painful wounds, a face that's still young but no longer burdened by self-consciousness and undercurrents of fear.

In the split-second he opens his mouth, just before he speaks you might be expecting something like YOUR HERO HAS RETURNED. But no. ]

WHERE THE FUCK ARE MY RAPTORS?

[ Good news: he's even more of a selfish shithead than before. Bad news: that was the good news.

God help you all.

and now a million years later do I add an obligatory nsfw warning?? don't read my threads if you value your time and integrity ]

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[ He has to stop on his journey at the edge of the fractured bit of Wonderland he'd been traversing. The next bit is higher up, not within average jumping distance. SURE WOULD BE HANDY IF HE HAD A RAPTOR THAT COULD JUMP MUCH HIGHER THAN A PERSON. ]

A week?

[ What the fuck, Wonderland. How do you even work? But as surprised as he is to hear that, he also looks immensely relieved. That means no one was stuck here for nearly thirty years; a time span that's almost nothing to a country who can live thousands, but a good chunk of a human lifetime. ]

That's not bad at all. I was imaginin' anyone stuck here would be a lot longer than that. [ And because he can't resist to inject a cocky smile into the conversation: ] That long without me around would've been a damn shame for everyone!

[ Not the least of which is his ability to keep two prehistoric carnivores under control. ]

Bet they missed me. Sure sounds like it if Jackson ended up throwing a fit! He always was temperamental, but weirdly clingy in a way. [ The names of his beloved creatures come back to him quickly. To no one's surprise, America seems pleased to hear that both Luke and his feathery monstrosities managed to get along with minimal injuries, blissfully ignorant that this is not how pet ownership works. ] What a wake-up they're gonna get! But first, I gotta make the rounds. Probably need a running start on this one...

[ Before Daryl can protest, he switches off to a fate unknown. Well. For the moment anyway. ]

Time don't work right here.

[...Probably grossly oversimplified, but it helps Daryl sleep at night.

Other things that help Daryl sleep at night include bourbon and the knowledge that someone is minding those clawed monstrosities. Crazy bastards... Daryl isn't too sure about their ability to feel affection for their keepers like a dog or cat might...

But he's not gonna piss in America's ~~bookshelf~~ corn flakes about it. He'll just... Not say anything about the fact that in his estimation they'd been missing bein' fed regularly.

He's spared that, though, because before he even has a chance to move on, America's cut the feed and he's left wondering what calamity this is gonna bring...

BRING IT ON, BRO, HE'S READY.]

[ AND THEN AMERICA FELL INTO THE ABYSS no just kidding, Wonderland isn't that lucky. Maybe it was a level of inhuman strength and agility, the kind that would allow an immortal being to jump from plane to plane or right out of the fucking ocean. Maybe the adjacent chunk of floating Wonderland was within easy reach. Whatever the case, America has made some progress back to a patch of forest, alive and well and just a little dirty. A huge smile is plastered across his face to greet Daryl's stony look. ]

There we go! Made it! Don't think I'll be able to get to every spit of land with hopping alone, but I'll figure out a plan!

[ That plan is to ride a demon to his destinations. Flawless. He waves a hand flippantly as though it'll be an easy task. ]

Kinda glad to hear y'all weren't stuck here all this time. You, I wasn't hopin' you'd go home, but I didn't like to think that everyone else was trapped here for thirty years! That's like a third of your lifespan, ain't it. Maybe more if you run into bad luck or bad health.

[ Both of which Daryl is an extreme risk to. America starts tromping around the land he's found himself on, searching for some way to Daryl, chattering all the while. ]

Ahhh good to be back, in a way. I missed you! And all my other pals. I never thought I'd see any of you again, and I accepted that and all. Little weird to tryin' to figure out how to pick things back up after that. Or start anew. I dunno.

[ It's weirdly reminiscent of their first meeting, America thinks (he remembers, at least the important bits, even from that long ago). Daryl aloof and looking at him strangely. America wandering aimlessly through the woods. The big difference is that this time there's no caginess. He doesn't shrink away from honesty, terrified that once Daryl learns the truth about who he is, he'll hate him. It helps that they were well-acquainted for a year, but also America just isn't so afraid anymore. Better at honesty, even better at dodging honesty when need be. ]

[Daryl watches from his forest-chunk perch as America hops around, making his way to him with more agility than Daryl'd expected. Thirty years might not be a long time to America, but it sure as hell has made a difference in how he carries himself, how he speaks, his general demeanor and presence.

It's... Weird. And highlighted even more when he brings up not knowing how to "pick things back up" without any hesitation at all. It's... It reminds him, hilariously, of when he'd been a kid, when school started again after the summer and his classmates had come back different, older... It's not a bad thing. It's probably the most normal thing to happen here, actually.

But the truth is, Daryl doesn't have the slightest clue how you'd go about working with that; he'd never been close enough to people for anyone to notice and so he's never had that problem.]

Don't look at me, I got know idea how that shit works. [SO HELPFUL.] ...You remembered everything?

[Maybe he should get America in touch with James... That's his thing, ain't it? Keepin' his memories to change his future and his kid's?]

[ Completely unhelpful, but it makes America grin nonetheless. ]

Great! We can figure things out together then!

[ He actually looks excited at this prospect. The unknown isn't so intimidating now that he's clawed his way out of war to become a major industrial power. The nervousness is still there, settling into an uncomfortable lump in his stomach, but he has the confidence to meet it without hesitation.

Scanning around the edge of his piece of Earth, he glances up to an adjacent chunk of forest and spots the unmistakable outline of a Southern man hunched under the weight of a crossbow and the endless tragedy of his life. One of the best friends America's ever had. ]

DARYL!

[ His smile is so wide and bright Daryl can probably see it from the distance. He waves excitedly, pacing the edge of his floating bit of Wonderland like a horse at a fence when it hears someone approaching with a bucket of oats. It's too far for any average person to jump without plunging to certain death, a fact that doesn't deter America from backing up like he's about to get a running start.

Suddenly he stops because another dumb idea strikes him.

You know those massive trees in the forest? The ones that rival the redwoods of the West coast in size and grandness?

He goes goes ahead and kicks one right the fuck over. It splinters with a deafening crack that sounds like thunder splitting the sky open. Dirt flies as its roots are ripped from the ground and it falls across the chasm between them. The upper branches land on Daryl's chunk to make an adequate bridge for America to leap up on.

After such a flagrant display of absurd strength, Daryl should be worried that America is now running across the goddamn tree he kicked over with arms outstretched in an imminent hug. ]

DARYL!

[ He doesn't falter in his steps, either because his balance is just that good or he is so recklessly fearless of the plunge below. Probably both. ]

DARYL!

[ Before the poor man can run to safety, America launches himself into the air right at him. This is what seals must feel like right before they're devoured by an orca. ]

DARYL!

[ Now is the time for Daryl to question what's worse: to be grabbed by the sluggish hands of a walker, or tackled like a linebacker by a teenager made of solid muscle and the excitement of a golden retriever. Probably the latter; at least walkers are stopped with a knife to the head, whereas this kid is clinging to Daryl with a desperate hug thirty years in the making and it looks like he's breaking down for the millionth time today. At least this time it's happy crying. ]

DARYLLLLLLLL!

[ Everything is awful. ]

[When Daryl spots America and his flailing arm (and yeah, that insanely smiley smile, god damn), he almost holds a hand up to tell him to wait while he scans the area for a way to get him from there to here or to move himself...

But he doesn't have to, because as soon as he sees America's head turn in the direction of that massive goddamn tree he knows it's all over. He doesn't even need to see the idea flicker across his face to know that he'd better get out of the way- there's no stopping this insanity and so it's his only shot at staying in one piece.

And maybe it's his imagination, but he's pretty sure he can feel the entire piece he's standing on shake when that tree falls over... But in the end it doesn't matter because he doesn't have time time to ponder it because America is hurtling towards him like it's the goddamn super bowl and he just can't move out of the way fast enough. The force of the tackle is enough that he skids backwards with a grunt, boots scraping across the dirt like he's the friggin' roadrunner from them stupid cartoons as the air rushes out of his lungs in one loud huff. It's kind of like being punched in the gut- and he's gonna feel it tomorrow, no doubt about that- but he can't even bring himself to be pissed about it. If some bruises are the price he has to pay for his friend being back he'll suck that right the fuck up. He's had worse, anyway.

He doesn't fall, either, and so his pride remains mostly intact. As intact as it can with America's person clinging to him and his hand moving to settle at the kid(?? is he still a kid? does it still count? WHO KNOWS)'s shoulder almost against his will.]

Good lord-- [He gives America's shoulders a firm, one armed squeeze- the Daryl version of clinging to him and picking him up like they do on Wife Swap- and there's even a slight pause before he pulls away a bit.] Thirty years been good to you, huh?

[Rough translation: "IT'S GOOD TO SEE YOU AMERICA WELCOME BACK".]

[ Once again (or perhaps for the first time today, depending if this is before or after the Crowley fiasco DOESN'T MATTER FUCK CONSISTENCY) the tears start to fall, outlining his wide smile and streaking his cheeks. ]

Gotta get the blubbering outta the way so we can get back to the happy stuff!

[ That his explanation for the loud sniffling and desperate clinging. The more Daryl tries to pull away the tighter he holds on. He's gained a few inches, standing nearly as tall as Daryl now. Muscles have replaced the horrible wounds that had carved up his body and soul decades ago. Since then the skin has smoothed over like the charred flesh and ugly bruises had never been there, leaving only a diagonal scar where the stitched chasm had been. Without the pain to make his shoulders slump and lungs rattle, without the weight of fear and misery to hang over his head like a storm cloud, America holds himself stronger and higher. All the little things that dragged him down have lifted.

The thirty years haven't been all sunshine and roses, but it's a step in the right direction. ]

Yeah! Yeah, well enough, it's been–– it went by so fast but so much has happened in only a few decades it's hard to know where to start! And you, it's only been a week?

[ He pulls his head away to get a good look at Daryl. The years have made his jaw a little squarer, the bones of his cheeks and clavicle more pronounced, but his eyes remain as wide and childish and bright as they've always been. It's one of those faces that can look anywhere from sixteen to twenty six depending on the expression he's making. Since it's almost always a stupid grin, he's usually at the younger end of the spectrum.

He'll always be a kid at heart though, even if he's several times Daryl's age. ]

You don't look any different than how I remembered ya! Except...

[ He finally releases Daryl only to pinch the corners of the other man's mouth, trying to maneuver it between a tight smile and a scowl. ]

You're probably the frowniest friend I've ever had, good lord.

[ Those last two words are done in exact imitation of Daryl's accent, tone, and inflection. Apparently he likes to greet old friends with playful mockery. ]

Urk- [That's it, that's all you're getting until that vice-grip lets up. He can't even grumble out a properly gruff response until America pulls back, and even then any comment he may have had is silenced by the fingers pinching at his mouth; he jerks away, of course, shaking his head violently to free face...

And it's a credit to how glad he is to see America back that he doesn't punch him in the mouth.

(He lips actually do twitch into a blink-and-you'll-miss-it smile at that imitation though- it's pretty good.)]

'S 'cause I ain't. You didn't miss much.

[Except for the raptor fiasco, really, but that's not really out of the ordinary for him, right?

What a life... And speaking of that, now that America's right up close it's hard not to notice the differences even more. Daryl's eyes narrow as he silently takes in the changes in stature, expression, body language...

He probably doesn't even notice he's doing it. WHOOPS.]

[ America doesn't have a reputation for being particularly astute, but he can be observant when he wants. He doesn't miss those beady eyes roving over him. Not that America thinks it's weird; the changes came slowly, almost imperceptibly every time he looked in the mirror, but it's probably jarring for someone who last saw him at his worst.

Once the conversation dips into silence, he wipes his eyes and nose with the back of his hand so he can fully flaunt himself. What can he say, he actually has some things to be proud about now (even if some of them are grounded in sketchy business practices but he doesn't really care about that), and of course he revels in any bit of attention people offer him. He cocks the hip that holsters a Colt revolver, tilting his chin up like he's trying to show off the skin dipping below the collar of his shirt. Either he's wised up and actually started buying clothes that fit or he's grown into them; his dusty shirt and trousers actually stretch across his muscles instead of hanging loosely and his worn vest isn't buttoned like he's trying to cover himself as much as possible. It no longer looks like he's trying to hide beneath layers of clothes. Without the wounds to show the depths of his vulnerability, pained both physically and emotionally, he holds himself breezily. Like he doesn't have a care in the world and has no fucks to give about how people look at him. The only thing missing from his cowboy get-up is the broad brimmed hat, and that flew off on his ascent across the tree.

He thinks he's casually showing off like some kind of hottie, but in reality he's trying way too hard and ends up posing almost unnaturally. Which is actually kinda awesome in its own right. Fitting for an eccentric guy like America. One day he will achieve JoJo posing status. One day... ]

Well you may not've had the time to change, but as you've noticed, I sure have! And mostly for the better. Made it out just like y'all said I would, and look! I'm attractive now!

[ "ADMIRE ME. REGARDLESS OF YOUR SEXUALITY, GIVE ME PRAISE AND ATTENTION." He is an egotistical, embarrassing creature. ]

[Daryl actually has to fight to keep the smirk off of his face at America's preening. Yeah okay hot stuff, go get your damn beach ball and be done with it. It went that way.]

Got some weight on you. You gonna be pickin' the whole damn Mansion up now?

[...Please don't take that as a challenge. For the love of god.

CHANGING THE SUBJECT:] What's goin' on back there, anyway?

[Refresh his history memory, bro.]

It's all muscle, too!

[ He adds it quickly enough that it teeters from "proud exclamation" to "highly defensive about his weight issues." His ongoing war with lovehandles rages on but for now he's winning.

America doesn't consider it a challenge because he's confident he could pick up the magical, infinite building if he wanted to like some modern Atlas. But that doesn't sound like fun so he's not going to try unless pressured into it. ]

Oh, nothin' much. Revolutionizing the world with my technology, built my cties up with steel so high the scrape the clouds, got enough oil in my blood to light up the whole world, pretty much swimming in cash, surpassed England in industry, France gave me a statue of a pretty girl... you know, just usual world power stuff!

[ His ego is so big he could declare it a new state, mine it for narcissism, and sell it to Russia. ]

[KEEP FIGHTING THE GOOD FIGHT, AMERICA.

Daryl listens as he gets the Cliff Notes version of thirty years of US history. He's a little lost but ome bits- like the statue- jog his memory, blow the dust off of the parts of his brain where he'd stored bits and pieces of information he'd dismissed as mostly useless at the time. Hell, it's still mostly useless, especially here... But at least he's got some damn idea of what America's talking about.

The world power things makes the most sense- because that's how he'd remembered it, being from Georgia and all- and he cocks his head to the side with the slightest quirk of his lips.]

Doin' alright, then.

[...He won't bring up any of the wars he knows are in America's near future- he's an asshole but he ain't that much of an asshole.] No walkers?

[ There are darker parts too, some so horrific as to leave more scars on his body, others much harder to see because they've seeped into his blood like an infection, the sorts of sicknesses that are imperceptible even to himself.

He decides not to share either. It's much easier to hide the parts of himself he doesn't want people to see when it's no longer manifested on his body. Still not okay in the head but what else is new. ]

Notta one! Unless ya count Johnnie Walker. [ His grin widens. Some things never change. ] The dead still stay down. Even the trouble makers who said they'd never go down.

[ A conflicting set of emotions that makes his smile flicker, traversing quickly from melancholy to amused to smug. Lots of trouble makers, lots of deaths. ]

Anyway, even if there were, I'm in well enough shape to take 'em on! Got all sorts of new weaponry and infrastructure to take on just about anything!

[He snorts. Daryl's okay with that particular Walker.]

Yeah? ...Don't got planes yet, right?

[What year was that...? Christ.]

What?

[ The confusion on his face tells it all. It'll be another decade before the Wright Brothers to get things up in the air. But he has hot air balloons, do those count???

No. Not really. Not unless you're monitoring a horse race across the continent that's actually a secret government ploy to collect the scattered parts of Jesus Christ's corpse so that America will become an eternal utopia. But only Johnny Joestar would know about that. ]

...Takin' that as a no. [He'll get there eventually.] Don't matter, sounds like you're doin' real good back there anyway.

[Got his shit together better than it was, and that's all you can ask for sometimes.]

[ When the age of flight comes, America is going to dive into it faster than a penguin chasing a fish. Airplanes man. He's so into them. Or, he will be soon enough. Right now he decides not to press for answers when there are so many more important things to address. ]

Sure am! [ And, because Daryl's a friend, his chest deflates slightly as he injects a little honesty: ] More or less.

[ But that's life. He shrugs nonchalantly, like he doesn't think it's worth the time to elaborate. At least that's the impression he's trying to give; in actuality he just doesn't want to elaborate. The only reason he offered is because he doubts Daryl will pry. That makes it much easier to puff up like a peacock again. ]

Man, I could go on for ages with stories to tell, but first! You! Any use askin' what you've been up to, other than herding raptors and teenagers? Usually when I'm catching up with people, time has gone pretty congruently for both of us and they've aged accordingly. Not... just a week. Huh. Must've been a helluva boring week without me!

[Daryl catches that small gesture of... Well, he's not sure what it is. Self-consciousness? That seems closest, but it's still not quite right or nearly as pronounced as it might have been, had thirty years of apparent prosperity not gone by. He catches it, but he nods it off, because the bigger stuff's what's important and it looks like that's goin' okay.]

Woulda said it was real quiet without them pets of yours raisin' hell like they were... Aside from that not a whole lot's been goin' on... [He inclines his head in the direction of a floating piece of woods, one that houses a single, lonely tree.] Not 'til this shit started, anyway. Kid fessed up, this one's his.

[Not what he'd expected from his few conversations with the guy... But in all honesty it ain't like he really gave it all that much thought in the first place.]

Which kid?

[ This is what happens when you call the half of Wonderland under the age of twenty "kid", Daryl. America doesn't know Kid, but even if he did, he'd likely still ask the same dumb question.

It's an offhand question though; he doesn't actually care much who's behind this. ]

Don't seem so bad though. Inconvenient, but I still got both hands and nothing's tryin' to eat me!

[ Is that insensitive? Does he care? ]

Kid, that's his name.

[And Daryl's eyes shoot to both of America's hands when he brings them up; he'd actually forgotten about that whole ridiculous goddamn fiasco. Thanks for reminding him.]

Could be worse... 'Side from bein' a pain in the ass it don't got shit on the other stuff that happens here. [He peers out into the nothingness around the chunk they're hanging out on.] ...Just waitin' for the flyin' monkeys.

[No, really. He's ready. He's got his crossbow.]

[ He's almost about to disregard the name, but then something clicks and he suddenly turns to Daryl with rapt attention. ]

His first name ain't Billy is it? William? Henry?

[ He isn't joking. Everything in his expression from the wide eyes and flicker of hope in them to the suddenly rigid stance indicate just how genuine the question is. America's stomach flips at the mere possibility that the answer will be "yes." And yet he steels himself for disappointment because there's no way that Wonderland would be that generous. He's already surrounded by the impossibility of seeing so many friends again after only, from their view, a short absence, not decades of entrapment and loss. That alone is a blessing. There's no way he would be fortunate to see a lost friend from home again.

But in the few seconds before his hopes are inevitably dashed, he still allows himself to wonder what if. ]

[Daryl looks... A little confused, but he shakes his head.]

It's Kid, if that's some kinda nickname I don't know what it's for. He's been here for a while.

[He narrows his eyes slightly. Far as he knows there's no one here named "Billy".]

Somebody you're lookin' for? Only Henry I know's Emma's kid-- That ain't the one?

[ Yeah, he knew he wouldn't be that lucky. A few seconds of thinking maybe he was that lucky had strung him up with tense shoulders and a stiff back, all of which snap like a frayed wire so that his stature quickly falls back into place. Relaxed and with only the barest hint of disappointment in his smile, America shakes his head with a shrug. ]

Nah. It's okay. I figured as much, that it wasn't... just thought it'd be worth asking.

[ And it's probably for the best, he thinks. Wonderland isn't some magical vessel ferrying people from the afterlife for tender reunions. It would be a cruel wish to disturb the eternal rest (or whatever the hell they're doing in the afterlife) of people he cared about just because he misses them. He wouldn't want to stop at just one either; there's too many to count, friends and loved ones spanning centuries. What would he even do with that many people all at once? That's like being the host of a party where you have to frantically prevent your exes from swapping stories with each other while making sure a fight doesn't break out or a chair isn't thrown out a window.

Accepting loss is a part of life, one that America is good at. Good enough to continue on anyway.

Besides, he's already fortunate to have his inter-dimensional friends at his side again. No use getting worked up over people who aren't around when there are so many who are. With another shake of his head to dislodge any lingering melancholy, he perks right back up. ]

Oh well! I got you, so I ain't gonna be lonely! [ He turns to study the nearby chunks of land. ] Wonder if these things are stationary or if we can float them around? 'Cause if there's flyin' monkeys, we could rope 'em and drive this hunk of rock like a team of oxen!

[ CREATIVE SOLUTIONS TO MINOR PROBLEMS. ]

[At the risk of sounding like one of those crazy republicans who somehow connect gay marriage with fucking baby seals (perhaps due to a suppressed desire on their part to fuck baby seals), THAT IS A SLIPPERY SLOPE. It's like potato chips, you can't just have one friend resurrected, you gotta go for the gold with the whole fucking tube.

And that's how heart attacks happen.]

Sorry.

[He actually is, too. One day he'll have some good news. ONE DAY.

Daryl all but rolls his eyes at that suggestion (though he's both pleased and amused to hear that kind of shit after being convinced he never would again), but turns to look at the pieces anyway.]

Assumin' they cooperate. ...Sounds too much like horses.

[NO, AMERICA'S THIRTY YEARS HAVE NOT CURED DARYL OF HIS LOATHING FOR HORSES.]

[ He shrugs again--acknowledging the sympathy, a gesture that he appreciates it but there's nothing to be done. No use dwelling.

Especially not when there's a completely plausible engineering challenge of using flying monkeys to drive the floating earth. He can't suppress the sudden bark of laughter at Daryl's lingering hatred for horses. ]

You're still sore about horses? That is one intense and peculiar grudge to hold onto, man!

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