Kiku sighed as he leaned against the bannister on the back porch and stared blankly into the woods behind Alfred's house. Stealing a moment to part from the loud blond and listen to nothing but the wind through the trees was nice, to say the least. Not that he didn't enjoy his occasional vacations States-side, the hours of geeking out over the latest technology before grabbing the nearest device and spending hours more on the latest video game. This time, the two had felt particularly nostalgic and grabbed a pair of Gameboy Advances to spend a few more hours reuniting a certain bandicoot and purple dragon.

After a while, the impending darkness of sunset made staring at the small screen too straining. So, they stowed the handhelds, and while Alfred began to gather ingredients for a relatively late dinner, Kiku slipped out through the back door for fresh air. He meant to take only a few moments, but something in the way the trees swayed in the dying sunlight caught his attention. He had almost dismissed it as nothing, but suddenly could swear he heard a voice – or maybe a chorus of voices – on the wind. So he stayed.

The cacophony of whispers and twilight birdsong and distant clanking of Alfred's food preparation relaxed him until he tried to find the meaning in it all. His eyes had glazed over as he reminisced about how easy it used to be back then, when he could barely walk three paces without stumbling on a shrine devoted to doing just that: listening. It seemed the earth used to hum with the voices of the divine, the waters to stir with them, the trees to dance to their song, and the critters to accompany them. It seemed he used to be able to hear (dare he say, understand) them. Back when the world was quieter. (Back when he cared enough to pay attention.)

The screen door slammed shut behind him. Kiku started and half-turned to see Alfred walking across the porch to join him. "Ah, America," he said. "You startled me."

Alfred mumbled a "My bad," before joining his friend at the bannister and leaning against it. "Food's in the oven. Now we wait." He shook his head. "I can't believe you've never had lasagna before, 'specially with all that time you used to spend with Italy." He laughed good-naturedly.

Kiku winced a little. He always found it fascinating how casually Alfred could mention that war –hell, the whole time period. To the victor, indeed. "Y-yes, well, he certainly offered," Kiku replied. "But when he explained that it was a 'pasta cake,' I just thought his obsession was getting the better of him."

Alfred laughed again, this time more quietly. "Well, you're in for a treat tonight." He glanced behind him to the trees Kiku had been fixated on earlier. "What were you looking at out here, anyway?"

"Nothing," he replied reflexively. He felt a twinge of guilt at lying, which made him consider admitting the truth. Before he could second-guess himself, he said, "Actually, have you ever...have you ever heard voices in the trees?"

"You mean, from people?" Alfred furrowed his eyebrows and looked at the line of trees again, as though expecting someone to suddenly emerge from them.

Kiku recognized the look as nervous curiosity, which usually preceded nearly inconsolable fear of the supernatural. He decided to intervene before he'd have a trembling America on his hands who would want to draw salt lines across his doors and windows (again). "No," he said quickly, "not from people. From the forest itself."

"Oh," Alfred said in understanding before brightening. He waved a hand dismissively. "Japan, have you seen my Disney movies?" He moved a hand gracefully over his yard with a dreamy expression. "I used to paint with all the colors of the wind." He dropped the façade and looked back over at his companion, grinning.

Kiku was ready to dismiss the statement as more of Alfred's inability to take too seriously anything older than himself, but he caught a rueful, almost nostalgic twinkle, in those blue eyes and pushed on. "I have seen all of your princess films," he said, his serious tone belying the silliness of the statement itself. "Was any of it true? Have you ever really asked a bobcat why he grins? Or sung with the voices in the mountains?"

Alfred's grin shrunk to a small, knowing smile. He turned to rest his elbows on the bannister in semblance of Kiku's earlier pose. "That bobcat thing was made-up," he said, though not as playfully as before.

A brief moment of silence passed between them. Kiku started to worry that he would lose Alfred to his own memories, and then he would never get the answers he sought. It wasn't characteristic of Kiku to be this persistent, and part of him wondered why this was so important all of a sudden, anyway, but persist he did. He sighed and followed Alfred's gaze back to the trees. He tried to remember where his story began before he opened his mouth to speak.

"Before me," he said at last, "there were many lands. One day, the Gods decided a new one should be created, and they commissioned Izanagi and his wife, Izanami, to do it." The companions exchanged a glance, but Alfred let Kiku continue his story. "The Gods gave them a spear to command the waters, so Izanagi parted the waves and created first an island for the two of them. But they were not content with this. So, they decided to make more islands by bearing children through a special ritual. The first two island-children were misshapen, so they reversed the ritual and tried again. This time, they were able to create eight perfect island-children. Together, the children formed my home. But Izanami wanted even more children. So Izanagi had the idea to create spirits to live with the islands. The two of them gave birth to all the kami, including me." He chuckled. "So the legend goes. Anyway, Izanami gave birth to Fire last, and it killed her. Distraught, Izanagi went to the underworld to try and save her. The other kami left to the far corners of the islands. So my earliest memories are of being alone."

He looked at Alfred and prepared to drive home the point of his tale. "My people believe that the children of Izanagi and Izanami are everywhere in nature. If you are still, you can hear them speaking to one another, and to us. They built shrines in their honor so that we could be closer to them. They even worshipped me." Alfred turned to give him a shocked look, and Kiku waved his hands frantically, suddenly self-conscious about what he had admitted. "No, no, it wasn't like that. It was only one small town, and only for a decade." He sighed and calmed down. "Anyway, sometimes...sometimes I thought I could hear the voices. Sometimes, I still can." As if on cue, a gust of wind filled the space between them.

"When I was little," Alfred began, "like, really little, before I could even talk, I was alone, too. I wandered, sometimes joining a tribe, but for the most part I kept to the wilderness. No one really knew who or what I was, so they didn't always enjoy my presence, if you know what I mean. But there was one group that was kind to me. They always let me at least spend the night before sending me on my way. One night, the chief wanted to tell us a story. He said I'd like it because part of it was about me, so I stayed up and listened with everyone else.

"He said that in the sky lived a Woman, who has been there since before the earth had land. She had two friends she talked to all the time, called Big Turtle and Big Toad. She sat with them and look out across the water, and they would talk about what to do with all of it. Then, they would return to the water, and she would watch them leave, sad that she couldn't join them. One day, she came down to look at the water more closely and fell in. She couldn't swim and began to panic, causing her to sink even faster. When Big Turtle and Big Toad came to talk to the Sky Woman, she wasn't there, and they got worried. They tried to look for her in all of the water, but it was too big. So, Big Toad came up with a plan. He dove to the bottom of the water, dug up some mud, and brought it back to the surface. He spread it across Big Turtle's back, and after a few more trips, he had created an island. This let the Woman climb up from the water. When she first stepped onto land, dust rose from her feet and became the sun, stars, and moon. The island that was her refuge they named Turtle Island, and together the friends created more islands for the Sky Woman to use as she pleased.

"Since then, me, Canada, Mexico, and the others, we've all had many names. Isla Tortuga. Abya Yala. Mexico sometimes likes Cemanahuac, herself. And now..." he sighed. "And now we're – I'm America." He took a long pause before standing upright and stretching.

Kiku remained quiet, still absorbing the weight of his friend's stories. This was the first time they had spoken about times before modernity, and certainly only one of a few times that he remembered that Alfred was older than the United States.

"To answer your question," Alfred continued, "yes, I did sing with the voices. Not always on mountains, per se, but I definitely heard them. Sometimes, they were helpful – you know, telling people's fortunes and giving them omens. Sometimes, they were downright scary, especially if you were alone at night. But mostly they were just comforting. It was nice knowing you weren't alone. That there was the same thread of life connecting everyone and everything. And then he came." Alfred didn't have to clarify for Kiku to know that "he" meant England. "He wasn't the only one. He wasn't even the greatest. But he was the biggest." He stopped again, and a film seemed to pass over his eyes. "Anyway, soon all the voices became one singular Voice, the one he worshipped and taught me to fear." He smirked. "Now, it's just habit."

Despite the ensuing stillness between them, Alfred seemed to want to say more. Kiku stayed quiet so that he could hear whatever the American wanted to say when he finally got to it, but the oven timer broke the hush first. Alfred clapped once, loudly enough to startle Kiku (again) and made for the screen door.

"Food's done!" he said excitedly. "You're gonna love it. I still can't believe you've never had lasagna before." He held the door open for Kiku, took one last look out at the trees, and disappeared inside, too.

A/N: The stories Japan and America share are Shintoist and Iroquois creationist myths, respectively. I embellished them a bit, but you'll have to guess which parts.