Warnings: blood, pain, depression, and insane!America(s)

WARNING: ALFRED SWITCHES FROM CALLING HIMSELF ALFRED AND AMERICA A LOT. PLEASE TRY TO DECIPHER IT, AS I DID THAT ON PURPOSE TO EMPHASIZE HOW HIS MIND ISN'T IN THAT GOOD OF SHAPE AT THIS POINT IN TIME. THANK YOU.

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia, but I do own Alexander (and also Confederacy). I don't own Lincoln's Address, so pleaseplease don't mistake it for something I made up

Suggestion of the end of this chapter was made to me by Eron Elric aka the malchemist. To be perfectly honest, I thought of Gettysburg, but not the address made by Lincoln. Thanks for that!

Side Note- return of the four Americas. No Avery (he came around in the first world war), but all the others are here. Alecia is sane in this time period, actually representing the border states at this point in time.

If you don't know what I'm talking about, there are four different American personalities in this chapter (they each represent part of the United States of America as we know it today): Alfred, Alexander, Andrew, and Alecia. They all inhabit the body of America, which is what all the other countries see. Alfred is the Northern states (Union), Alexander is the southern states (Confederacy), Andrew is the western-most states (California, but mostly territories at this time), and Alecia is the mid-western states (border states).

If you still don't understand and want to go read another one of my stories titled 'America's Journal'. It has all five American personifications in there.

History Time! So, it's the middle of The American Civil War, way back in 1863 which is about the middle of the war. There's been some major losses on both sides, but at this point in the war, it would seem that the South was on top. General Robert E. Lee, wanting to get the war away from his home state (the war-ravaged Virginia) as possible, continued to advance on the north. He invaded Pennsylvania in a campaign called the Gettysburg Campaign. Lee's goal was to make notherners lose hope of winning the war by capturing cities as far north as Philadelphia.

Basically, the Union General Joseph Hooker was sent after the (rather large) army of the South. Hooker was replaced by General Meade three days before confrontation. The confrontation happened in the southern-Pennsylvanian town of Gettysburg. The battle, later named 'Battle of Gettysburg', lasted for three days. It was the bloodiest multi-day battle in the entire war, and in American history on American soil (excluding Antietam (that was only one day, sillies!) and attacks on America (9/11, Pearl Harbor)). The second and third days of the battles were the bloodiest, the second being the bloodiest of all three (around 15,000 people wounded/killed in six hours). On July 4-5, the Confederacy, having not made any progress with the Union, withdrew back to the South. The battle is remembered for more than just the numbers of killed or wounded, because this was THE major turning point in the war for the Union. Without it, who knows what could've happened...

On that happy note, let's start!

The Worst of it All - The Slaughter Pen

Battle of Gettysburg

June 31, 1863

asdfghjkl: Alfred

asdfghjkl: Alexander

asdfghjkl: Andrew

asdfghjkl: Alecia

'I won't do it, South. I'm still sane enough to never hand the body of America over to the enemy.' America barely blocked a ruthless attempt to forcibly put him into unconsciousness. His stride wavered a bit, as did his happy-go-lucky mask, but it all came back on as soon as the cussing started.

Fuck you, Yankee! Let me have control! I'll kill your damned President and put an end to it all!

Alfred examined his nails as the angry voice continued to cuss him out in his head. To him, it didn't particularly matter what the hell was happening. All he wanted was for Alex to calm the hell down and the southern states to call this whole recession business quits. The war had taken too many innocent lives all ready.

Alfred, I might be fairly new to this, but shouldn't we not be tearing each other apart at the seams?

I would have to agree with little Andy. Do you even hear the things Lexi is yellin' at you?

'So you guys are agreeing with him?'

America looked up as his President walked into the meeting. America stood respectfully, then sat back down to take strategic notes.

Damn Yankee! It's just like one of you Cheeseheads to let your enemy see the plans that you're going to use against them!

'Just like a southern cracker to be looking at the notes of his brother.'

Why you-!

Shut the hell up, Lexi! You too, Alfie!

Seriously. You two are gettin' on my nerves more than usual!

Alfred sighed to himself, attracting a couple looks, but nothing that threw him off of his train of thought.

First Day: Battle of Gettysburg

June 1, 1863

The Union men woke to the blowing of trumpets. One of them was America, or the 'Union' as called by the citizens of his country. Alfred was in control of the body that morning. Somehow, upon waking, he knew that this would be a horrible day of loss and sadness. However, the young country knew that he had to push through this, or his country would break into two.

Alfred ignored the jabs of pain that ensued through any movement made by him at all. Alfred noticed the eerie silence in his mind, and suddenly his mind shifted to his 'America mode'. 'Guys, are you there?'

Sorry, old friend, but it's only me here today.

America froze, mid-yawn. He would know that obnoxiously-snooty voice anywhere. "Two things wrong with that statement, Confederacy." America emphasized the voice's name in case any of the trained guards were listening in. Anyone trained to be his guard knew that if he used that term in the form of a name, to go and fetch Lincoln. "First is that 'old' would mean that we were both old - which we aren't, on country standards. Second is that 'friend' would infer that you are my friend - which I, I can confirm, am not."

Chuckles. Feeling feisty today, are we? It would make sense, considering the fight your nation is putting up.

"What the hell are you talking about now?" America sat up, feeling the world tilt dangerously out of the amount of pain. There was definitely a major battle going on somewhere.

You'll find out. By the way, how are your northern states doing up there?

"Fine. What was that about my nation's feisty-ness?"

Oh that? Let's just say that Penni will be sore for the rest of the war. Also, Illinois might be a tad on the short-sighted side.

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU GOING ON ABOUT?!" America yelled, sprinting into the bathroom, straight to the full-length mirror. All pain was immediately banished from his mind. In the reflection was himself perfectly reflected - minus the fact that the man was the CSA. He wore Texas, as Texas had receded, (shortly afterwards America's glasses disappeared), and a standard grey CSA military uniform. "What did you do to my kids?!" America practically screamed at the mirror.

I didn't do anything. You know I can't do anything with you in the way.

America stopped. "So you're saying... That Penni and Johnny are hurt... But they wouldn't do that! You're a liar! LIAR!" America screamed the last word, backing slightly away from the mirror.

Confederacy looked at him, then quirked an eyebrow. Your clothes are a little outdated - don't you think, America?

America looked down at himself, and took a sharp intake of breath. Seeing the bright blue coat with red and white highlights on his body sent his mind into turmoil, remembering the memories that came along with the coat he was wearing. Bloodied men marching through a town who's people stared at them either filled with pride, or filled with hatred. His own men setting up tents in a snowy valley to survive through the winter. A rookie general standing at the front of a boat sailing on an icy river, encouraging his men to keep going, but not to push themselves so hard that they would die. A man dressed in blood red, disarming him. Pointing a musket at his temple. Placing his hand on the trigger. Falling to the ground and weeping, finally realizing that the man before him had grown away from him-that he was powerless to stop it.

What do you see, Union?

America gasped again, then stumbled back and away from the mirror. His memories were bleeding into his current-day vision, and he could see the rain mixed with the cruely-smiling face of Confederacy.

The images bled together more, so much so that the young country could not decipher past from present. Fake from real, memory from reality. England looked up at him. He smiled an insane smile, his eyes swirling from the deep, forest green that they were to the greys of Confederacy's eyes. 'Having fun over there, ripping yourself in half, America? I told you this would happen-I knew that you weren't ready. But who needs to listen to dear old Britain, huh?'

America bristled. 'Belt up, old man! I can handle Alex just fine!'

The man with tear-stained cheeks stood up in front of him, dusting off his red long coat. He did not seem to notice the rain that was drenching them both. 'Ah, sweet youth, thinking that you can do everything yourself, solve everything yourself. France and I felt that way once, and in many ways, we still do. But you know, we both know what it means to grow up.'

America frowned. 'Are you lecturing me?'

'No, America, I'm helping you see the monster you've become. Look at you: hurting your own people day after day, just because you won't let go of land that is rightfully Confederacy's.'

America's eyes widened. His hands clenched. It took all of his willpower to stay put where he was. 'You're on his side, aren't you?'

There was no answer from the brother that America had not had a formal conversation with in nearly a hundred years. America bristled again, growled a little. 'Are you, or aren't you?' He inquired in a low voice that promised pain if his question wasn't answered.

'Who isn't America?' A familiar European lilt asked from behind him. America spun to see his long-time ally, dressed in his fine, light-blue silks and his smooth blond hair tied back with a ribbon of the same shade, standing behind him. 'He is better in every way than you are, mon petit héros. [my little hero]'

'Cooperative, unattached, plenty of raw materials to sell.' Britain commented from behind him.

'Stop it, that's not true!'

'You can only go so far with the Union, America. With our help, the Confederacy will keep their farmlands and build factories bigger and better than yours ever were. Then, we will help him eliminate you.' France said easily.

'Stop trying to make me angry, France!'

'Eliminate. Eliminate.' The two older European blonds said in usion, over and over again. They seemed to be ignoring America's pleas for them to stop. America clutched his head.

"Stop it, stop it! I'm not a monster, and Alex won't ever grow stronger than me!" America screamed, his fingers wrapping in his rain-drenched locks of hair. "I'm America! I'M AMERICA!"

'America... America...' Voices he couldn't recognize started chanting as the colors of the battlefield swirled together into a green and blue and brown mush.

"AMERICA! Wake up!" An older gentleman's voice yelled, snapping Alfred suddenly awake. His surroundings melted from the muddy battlefield of his past to the present-day White House room. The lamps had been changed, and America slowly took in the scene before him.

His room was in tatters. The bed sheets were torn, the curtains were ripped in big streaks, the couch stuffing was strewn all over the unwoven rugs, and the solitary America flag that hung across from the bed on the wall had been torn into a million shreds, and replaced with the Confederate Flag.

America's head was forcibly, yet gently, turned to face a man's face. America instantly recognized his President by the scraggly black beard adorning his face and matching locks atop his head, which had noticable grey streaks in them. "L-Lincoln...?"

The greying man sighed with relief, then released his country. "Yes, it is me, America. Who are you this time?"

America blinked, and adjusted himself out of 'country-mode', to find that he was still Alfred. "Alfred, sir."

Lincoln glanced around the room. "Confed took over Alex again, didn't he?"

Alfred had sudden flashes of icy rivers, bloody snow, a rainy battlefield- Alfred, stop this nonsense before you drive yourself insane.

Indeed. We've subdued both Souths for now, but not for long.

"Yes, sir."

"Try not to let it happen again, Alfred. Letting him take over is driving America more and more insane, yourself is also added into that insanity."

"Yes, sir." All three awake Americas said through Alfred's mouth.

Second Day: Battle of Gettysburg

June 2, 1863

Alfred awoke to blackness. Immediately, he started to freak out, thinking that Alex or Confederacy had gotten control of America again.

"Calm down, Alfred. I let Alecia have a spin so you wouldn't drive yourself insane." A voice with a deep tone said to the side of Alfred. Alfred turned to see a man dressed in stereotypical settler clothes, with even the musket in which the man had fondly decided to name 'Freedom'.

"Andrew? Is that really you?" Alfred asked hopefully. The dusty man smirked, then held out his hands in a welcoming gesture. Alfred practically tackled the younger sub-country to the floor, then started to squeeze the life out of him. "Oh my lord, I've missed you two too much these past couple of months!"

We know, Alfie. I feel the same way as you do. But Alfie... You should know something that Andrew and I have been keeping from you... Alecia's echoing voice said, drifting through the black room that the duo was currently in.

"What is it?" Alfred turned to Andrew, to see him sheepishly rubbing his neck, a habit he had recently picked up.

"Well, you see-"

We've been talkin', North.

"And... We think that one of either I or Alecia should take control of the body for a couple days, give you a break."

"Why would I need a break?" Alfred asked, confused.

Andrew actually stared at him, and Alecia was silent. Only the sounds of her breathing were heard for many seconds. Then, she exhaled slowly. North, you're going crazy. And the craziness you're emitting is seeping into America's mind, making it vulnerable to Confederacy's attacks.

"What in the name of God's Goodness are you talking about? I'm not going crazy!" Alfred said, suddenly feeling very alone as Andrew just started to look at him sadly, to look at him like he would look at someone he thought was in denial. "And I'm not in denial, West!"

"Oh, North... You really are frazzled up about that made-up memory, aren't you...?" Andrew said sadly, a look of pit on his face.

"That... Didn't happen?"

No, it didn't... It was just an attempt by Confederacy to startle you into submission. So far, it's worked. Alecia's voice revealed that she regretted saying it.

"We're sorry, man."

Alfred slowly nodded. He got what they were saying, of course, but he couldn't shake the feeling that they were worried he would break any moment. "Hey Alecia, can I ask a favor, then?"

What is it?

"Well-" Alfred blinked. The stab was faint, and Alfred was sure that Alecia got the bunt of the damage, judging by her outburst.

Ah, God damn! Who just got shot?! She exclaimed loudly. Alfred looked up and saw that America was on the floor, his hands clutching a bleeding wound right below his left armpit.

"North, it's from you." Alfred frowned, searching through his memory banks for which state that part of America was. Andrew sighed, then pointed at the part of his body America was bleeding from. "Illinois?"

"Right, sorry! Um... Well, from what I can see, wait. I can't." Alfred frowned, tapping into America's mind again, searching frantically for said state. "He's either dead or unconscious."

Oooooh, Penni's hurtin', too... Alecia moaned, most likely suddenly getting hit with all the pain Alfred had kept penned up over the last day. He suddenly felt bad, and even said as much. Sure, Alfie... Could'a warned me, though... She said somewhat-breathily.

Alfred frowned. This would be a long day if Alecia couldn't take the pain. "I'll gladly take over America again."

"No." Andrew said sternly.

No way in hell am I letting you take control again, not until after this battle, maybe even the war. Alecia said, her echoing voice also having a hint of sternness. Alfred knew he would never be able to sway them.

Third Day: Battle of Gettysburg

June 3, 1863

Alecia stood up and went to check up on the southern Americans. Alfred watched her, then looked back up at the ceiling of America's mind.

The third day of America's immense pain was Andrew's turn to play. He blew off the meetings and decided to clean up Alfred's room, which-by request, mind you-had stayed the same.

Andrew grunted every now and then, mostly muttering about Confed while he picked up the mess. When he reached the flag, Alfred saw, he took it into his hands and stared at it. He then carefully ripped it into two long strands, and opened the window. He let the strands fly, all while not saying a word.

Let the wind take you where you need to go... Andrew said as the small, so inevitably light, pieces of the American flag also started to fly out of the window. Somehow, Alfred knew he appreciated the gesture made by his western self, whose dark hair usually adorned his face.

Alfred, promise me one thing. Andrew said slowly. Alfred looked up, not trusting himself to answer. Andrew took that as a gesture to continue. When we make it through this battle, this war... Promise me we can be a big family again, that we can face the world-together, like we always imagined it?

"If we make it through-"

Andrew cut him off. No Alfred, when. When we make it through.

Alfred smiled, as did Andrew while looking out the window when Alfred let out a low chuckle. "Stubborn as ever, Andy. Yes, I promise on my American status."

Too bad that will never come true, Alfie... The eerie voice of Confed said remorsefully.

Alfred slumped over, and Alecia screamed out in pain.

Soldiers' National Cemetery Dedication

November 19, 1863

Four and a half months after the Battle

Alfred winced, seeing China smile cruelly. His hands were clasped and hidden under his gigantic sleeves. He was standing on the dock that he had waved America off of not too long ago. "It looks like the man with the flower flag is going to fall. How am I not surprised-aru?"

Alfred straightened back up and looked down at the elder man, attempting to seem intimidating. "I'm America, land of the free and home of the brave. I will not fall, and I will stand-"

Alfred faltered when China's being began to blur. "花旗 [United States], I wish you a fast fall, for I fear you may not have such luck."

America sat bolt-upright. He wasn't surprised to find that another once-happy memory had again been morphed into a nightmare. What he was surprised to see, however, was that he was on a train. His President, looking more weather-worn than America remembered him being, looked up when America shifted after waking up.

"Sleep well?" Lincoln asked, knowing the answer but obviously trying to be optimistic.

America, not willing to crush his President's small hope of trying to spread optimism in those dark times, looked out the window. "Where are we going?"

"Do you not remember, lad?" Lincoln asked, penning something down on a paper that sat in front of him. Getting no answer, he looked up to find a questioning look on his nation's face-both for their destination and what his President was writing. Lincoln put his pen down. "We're going to the dedication ceremony, America. For the battle..." Lincoln looked like he didn't want to continue-to help his country remember the pain that he had been put through that day. Sometimes, ignorance was bliss.

However, at the word battle, images, words, and symbols all came flying back into America's brain of those three days. Alfred remembered one thing alone about those days... that those were the last days that Andrew and Alecia had had enough time to talk to him. Alex and Confed, having basically morphed into one being, kept constantly assaulting America's mind, no matter which representation took over. Alecia had volunteered to fight them off herself, and Andrew went after her, hearing her scream... It was a mess, in it of itself. America shook his head, coming to his senses when the train came to a stop and guards came into their car. America, still deep in his own thoughts, followed them and his President out of the train car.

Everything was a blur after that: people, faces, speeches. America couldn't remember any of it, mainly focused on the sheer number of deaths that had been created on that very soil. America, however, was pulled in when he heard those first words...

"Four score and seven years ago, our fathers brought forth on this continent, a new nation, conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal..."

America perked up. He would recognize those low timbres anywhere. And, sure enough, his President had left his side and was standing in front of him, at the podium, reading what he had been writing on the train that very morning.

"...We have come to dedicate a portion of that field, as a final resting place for those who here gave their lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this..."

Suddenly, it dawned on him when Lincoln locked eyes with America. His President, the one that had been through countless things that no president should have, was talking about him. America. Pride welled up inside of him, and the countless lives lost were pushed to the back of his mind as his President looked at the crowd with his final words evidently on his lips.

"...It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us - that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion - that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain - that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom - and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth."

America sprang up, tears spilling down his features as he clapped until his hands turned purple. People around him were doing the same. Again, America's chest filled with pride. These were his people, cheering their - his - leader on, encouraging the Union - him. It hurt so much that it didn't, it felt so good that it stung. America felt that he could never, ever be able to move from that spot.

He was surprised when Lincoln came up and gave him a firm hug, his own tears spilling onto America's standard Union jacket.

Done! I am finally done with this! THREE DAYS STRAIGHT! *collapses*

*ahem* So, 1984. Interesting book, no? I'm reading it in Honors Lit... It's a bit morbid, and somewhat insane, but hey! Aren't all good books? I just started it (no spoilers, please!), and I'm very excited!

Thanks for reading, guys! I'm going to attempt to do more things this week, maybe even post some one-shots!

Reviews are welcomed, but not required~

~PurpleLuna98