My dream is of a place and a time where America will once again be seen as the last best hope of earth.

Abraham Lincoln

Remember me

Now, I wasn't always a paranoid person. The people flooding in from the other side of the world used to fascinate me. They actually looked like me for one, and they brought all sorts of things that I'd never imagined in my wildest dreams. Before, the earth took care of itself, and I was just fine letting the tree be a tree and having the water flow where it may. Then, I had to meet Arthur. Let's skip past the whole sweet kid and loving brother history to present day, I swear he's annoying me on purpose. He stomped over to my room, knocked very loudly and shouted my name at the top of his lungs on a Saturday at eight a.m. This wouldn't matter much on a weekday, but I don't have much planned for today, sleeping in would have been nice. I've been awake for a good thirty minutes now, taking my sweet time getting up simply because I can, (annoying Arthur is a plus.)This doesn't last long as I smell breakfast. Meaningless quips aside, Arthur can make breakfast. So, I begrudgingly get dressed. Downstairs, I almost let out a gripe about my rude awakening, but it dies in my throat.

"Matt?" I said, the shock taking over my senses for a minute. We've talked a few times recently as the war's results have become hard for me to ignore, but it's by no means a normal occurrence for him to drop by.

"Hey, "Canada said, focusing on his plate. Like last time there is an awkward silence, we really only have two topics that we can readily think of when looking at each other, both involve war. Our last spat doesn't matter as much now that time has passed, and we've seen each other face to face. The other issue will determine if we will be at each other throats once more or continue to coexist peacefully. Because of this, there is a vacuum that invokes silence as any little thing could set us off like a match too close to the gasoline tank, (and there is plenty of fuel.) As a result, there hasn't been much progress. At our previous meeting, I had made due with talking non-stop about how good the pancakes were instead of talking about the real issue. Canada no doubt wants to try again.

England has gone all out on breakfast. He's cooked eggs, bacon, toast, and even black pudding. (It's an acquired taste, but I'm used to it.) There's already a glass of orange juice waiting for me. He's spoiling me, but I know better than to bring it up. Besides, he could use more food in his belly. I doubt he ate much at home, and only since we've come to my place has his appetite returned, perhaps because he knows we have the extra food to spare.

I don't sit down right away as I look Canada over. He's taken off his fedora and he's wearing his black suit and red tie today. I'm wearing navy blue; otherwise, you wouldn't be able to tell us apart at first glance. There are two subtle differences in our appearance that helps. His eyes are violet and mine are blue, and he has a loose curl sticking out of his hair while I have a cowlick that stubbornly stays up. This doesn't stop England from losing track of who is who most of the time. Usually, it's Canada who gets mistaken for me. We don't really know why it only seems to work this way, and I think we're both too scared to ask. I readjust my tie. I probably shouldn't have picked the tie with the pin up girl on it, but I hadn't planned on any visitors today, and I don't particularly care what England thinks of it. Canada's looking at me though, not my tie. He never did answer my letter. I'm nervous and want to know his response already. England's hasn't sensed the mood.

"Sit down and eat breakfast, America," England said, pulling out a chair for me. I go ahead and take a seat. He sits down between us and that's just as well. We need something else to stare at. The styles are so similar this decade that we all look alike. The only real differences are the ties and that England prefers top hats instead of fedoras. I move my eggs around my plate, and don't look at any of them. We haven't eaten together in a very long time. I feel like a sentimental old fool.

"Why didn't you tell me Matthew was here?" I asked because I would have come down a lot quicker if I'd known. England's passive as he takes a drink of his orange juice.

"I tried," England said as if yelling like a maniac in the morning to wake me up is normal. It is, I probably would still be asleep if he'd knocked softly.

"Right," I said, deciding it isn't worth fighting about; for all I know, Scotland used to do the same thing to him. No one talks for a while, and I don't feel like carrying the conversation. I'd had to do so with Japan, and even then, there had been stretches of silence. I will enjoy the quiet while it lasts.

"So, how have you been?" Canada asked me, and I automatically think of the stressful foreign relations negotiations I had to put up with lately. I kind of miss my isolationism streak. I don't really want to get into it right now.

"Fine," I said, and Canada frowns at the short answer. What? Did he expect to spill my guts and breakdown? He already knows what he needs to. We're eating, but we are also observing each other. We can't talk casually yet, not really. So, we are guessing what the other is thinking. England coughs to get our attention. We both jump a little. I forgot he was there.

"I think there is something we are all avoiding, but please, talk about something," England said, pleading to us both with his eyes. He was all alone during the air raids. Silence is not something he can bare. Talking isn't usually a problem for me, and there is certainly a need to. To England, it is reassuring and familiar. As kids, Canada and I used to talk nonsensically over every little thing. For Canada, it is a sign that we are ready to move on. The pressure to say something intensifies; I ignore it. I'll just say the wrong thing. Unfortunately, England seems adamant about this as if some old instinct to have us get along has returned. He hasn't stopped watching us, and I know Canada won't try to speak again; it's my turn. Well, I know one thing that won't lead to an argument as pathetic as it is.

"I like the pancakes you served last time," I said which elicits the reaction I want. Canada smiles, but there is a "You're hopeless," undertone to it. England's response is less positive as he throws down his fork defiantly and scowls.

"Besides pancakes, Alfred," he said, but I can't bring myself to ask the question that needs an answer soon. I want things to stay quiet and peaceful between us, even if the rest of the world seems to be fighting each other. I take a bite out of my toast to bide my time, and the crunching sound that follows pervades the air. Arthur sighs and deflates instead of pushing the matter. He takes a drink of his juice, and by Canada's sudden frown, he has noticed Arthur's lack of ambition and fire as well. I think it might be broken beyond repair.

"I . . . I'm glad you're okay England. When I heard about the invasion . . . I," Canada said, approaching dangerous territory. An invasion alludes to war, talking about war will lead him to alliances and the topic will presumably shift to where I stand.

"Thank you, Matthew, but let's talk of happier things," England says, eyes on me before concentrating on his black pudding. Perhaps, he wants to shut out thoughts of perpetual torment and lost hope or he simply noticed the look of horror on my face and decided to change the subject. Still, this is the first time we've managed to get this far. I think the time for quiet is over. As much as I hate to continue, another meeting may pass without anything getting resolved otherwise.

"You mean the stuff that's not important," I said, and the words sound harsher than I mean them to. I don't mean to be cruel about the matter. Everything sounds trivial when one considers what's happening on the other side of the world. There is an agonizing urgency in deciding what to do next, and yet, we're all frozen in place. Usually, there's a strength to Arthur's perpetual denial, but today, I can't stand it.

"America," England snapped at me for speaking so rudely, but I'm tired of not saying what I mean. Yes, we're having issues. Yes, I've been a coward about facing them. No, it isn't the time to forget about it. Honestly, I don't want our meeting to be unbearably stuffy and formal like it has to be with everyone else. Like it or not, anything one of us does will affect the other. I've put Canada in a bind, and we both know it, what remains to be seen is if he'll hate me for it.

"No, he has a point England, but I think we should finish eating before discussing anything," Canada said grimly if accepting of my outburst. He's twirling his knife around, and something slips out, not akin to malice but to light joking. No one takes it as a joke.

"Yeah, I suppose we should avoid having sharp objects around," I said, and suddenly, it's as if we're back in the inferno that first wedged us apart, or I guess, since I started it, that made the split worse. England has grown cold at the idle comment, shaking his head. Canada's patient though. He may no longer want to look at me, but he only seems the tiniest bit disappointed. Or Hurt? Sad? I can't know for sure.

"I don't hate you, Alfred. It was complicated. You know that," he said as his naturally soft voice adds a sincere quality to it.

"I know," I said, feeling as stuck on the past as the old man. It is a stupid thing to bring up. I can't say that I wasn't brash back then or that I didn't make the situation worse. At the time, it really seemed unnatural to me that our opinions should differ. Despite our temperaments, we'd lived harmoniously. We were one part of a whole, and Britain was the one that didn't belong. A sudden depression entered the room and all communication is lost. England's downing the juice as if its alcohol while Canada's chewing slower than usual. I don't really feel hungry anymore, but I don't want to start a serious talk right after mentioning that. It's guaranteed not to go well. So, I grab some more eggs and bacon.

The supply of food dwindles fast, and I have another ten, twenty minutes tops before we have to talk business. I need something, anything to get us past the awkwardness. What's the most harmless thing to say right now? Something we both cared about. Let's see. I've already exhausted the food avenue. I can't talk about the past after what happened a few minutes ago. Still, there is one thing that hasn't changed from back then, probably.

"Do you still have the polar bear?" I asked, and Matt reflexively jerks back in his chair at the disruption before collecting himself. He appreciates the effort enough to attempt a smile, but we're not in synch and haven't been for a long time. The gesture is empty. Nothing has changed.

"It's technically an animal spirit but yeah," he corrects me. The spirit has been around for a long time so it's pretty obvious, but Kuma does look like a damn polar bear. You can so tell he's Arthur's kid when he corrects silly things like that.

"Cool," I say anyway. I'm trying to be pleasant after all. England has finished eating but sticks around since we've started communicating again. He rolls his eyes at our small talk as if he's never resorted to such mundane conversation. I still remember him having similar talks with France, albeit it deteriorated to fighting right away. I hope that won't be the case with us.

"Do you still have the rabbit?" he asked, bothering to look at me instead of his food. He flinches when he sees a dark look cross my face. I know this sounds like a reasonable thing to ask after the polar bear incident. However, he has no idea what's he's just done to me. I loved that bunny. He followed me everywhere. Then, I left him with Arthur for a few hours while I played outside, and it's gone. He never told me why.

"Yeah, apparently it's green and flies now," I said smartly with a big grin on my face so Matthew can brush off what he saw a few seconds ago. England's been fidgeting since the bunny was mentioned. I knew he was guilty. The nervousness quickly shifts into indignant disbelief. He grits his teeth as he turns the edge his cup with his fingers.

"For the last time Alfred, I didn't kill your bunny," he said, collecting the empty plates and cups. Oh, yes, I'm sure that's true. It's been several hundred years. Why hasn't he ever told me what happened to it then? I would understand if it ran away or something, but no, he's never said anything of the sort. It has to be denial.

"Why else would a green floating rabbit thing haunt you?" I said, raising my arms and wiggling my fingers. Canada has put his head down on the table in defeat. Arthur turns on the water to wash the plates and grins coyly.

"I thought you didn't believe in ghosts," he announced, and I can't think of anything to say for a few seconds before coming up with a decent excuse.

"I believe you're guilt ridden enough to make up a flying mint bunny," I say, pointing my nose up in the air. As he scrubs away the food bits, he takes a deep breath.

"Your bunny ran away," he murmured, and it still sounds like there is something he's not saying. Canada looks up curiously.

"Liar," I said, and Arthur lets the cup slide from his hand in frustration. Canada removes his head from the table. He straightens himself and puts his hand to his forehead in utter dismay.

"I'm sorry I brought it up," he muttered, and I finally understand that he doesn't get this is quite normal between us now, ( not bringing up the dead bunny but the fighting.) The last normal interactions he witnessed between us had been during my colonial days, and we were always civil and overall a delight to be around. That's not really possible anymore; Matt will just have to get used to this new way of existing.

"Don't worry about it Mattie," I said, and the silence stretches on, and we are holding onto our last bit of breakfast, unsure how to proceed. It's the slowest breakfast I've ever experienced. England's given up being the parental figure and is drying the plates. Matt finishes his toast. There is no food left on his plate and nothing to replace it with. I finish the last of my eggs. It's time.

"I like your tie," Canada said, and my shoulders relax a little at the affirmation. I hold it up and take a look at it. I like the way she smiles, and I hope to find a real version of it someday. It's a trivial dream.

"Thanks, I've always liked blonds," I said, and I have given him enough information to start a decent conversation. England glances at the two of us as he starts stacking plates, somewhat amused by our interaction.

"Papa, says that too, but he always looked sad after he said it," Canada said, looking to the sky. Arthur almost drops one of the plates and clears his throat.

"Well, I do believe that you two need some space. I'll be upstairs if you need anything," Arthur said, returning to his crocheting. He seems to be making winter clothes. I don't blame him for wanting to avoid being part of this particular conversation. Still, it is only one incident of their many, many fights. All together, they are equally destructive to each other. This happens to be one of the incidents that hit the Frenchman the hardest, and Francis is in a precarious situation as it is at the moment.

"So, Canada, have you decided what to do?" There, I said it. Canada sucks in a breath. He is staring at the tie, and gradually, he makes the journey to my eyes. The gaze is hopeful, and the dread returns. Please don't say it, Mattie.

"I want to help France, but I can't do it alone. I need you to back me up," he said, pausing often as he measures my reaction. The look on my face can be read in a single word, Damn. I make my face become passive and decide to continue our not so neutral position when it comes to these things.

"I'll send you supplies, and you can fight on your own," I say, and I do not expect Canada to explode like a sudden blizzard. He stands so he can look down on me. I feel the cold.

"We all know how well that turned out for England," he said, and it's like he's punched me in the stomach. I did everything that I could; I did.

"I can't do anything else for you. Actually, I'm not even supposed to do that much,"I said which is completely true, and I knew it might come to this when I read that condition in the treaty. Would it kill him to be grateful for sticking my neck out that much? He knows that the smallest thing can set a war into motion. It's something hotly debated by my people. Canada nods, but there is a touch insanity to his eyes as he starts to speak.

"There is that thing we've been working on," he said, and I know exactly what he means. We haven't made much progress with the A-bombs yet; they're duds. It also seems pathetic to use it on a war-torn Germany, especially when his soldiers are in England. Even though, I am trying to get them out as quickly as I can.

"It's not ready, and even if it was, I'd rather not," I said, and it's as if I've struck him. He has narrowed his eyes, and the fire has returned. It's all the more disconcerting after the cold. My loyalty has come into question because I won't help my poor little brother. The situation isn't so simple as that, but I still hate that look, even back then.

"What's the point of being free if you never do anything?" he said, deliberately chocking my philosophical core. After all the careful planning and successful negotiation, I hate that he has a point. My options have become less and less obvious as the time goes on, layers and layers of chains restrain me with every promise I make. Still, I have no delusions that war helps anything. The treaty of Versailles proves that. I refused to acknowledge that pitiful excuse for a treaty.

"Canada, I simply do not want war. That is my choice," I said with clear resolve, and his eyes widen, expecting quite a different reaction after his accusation, but it only fuels the fire.

"You don't care about anyone but yourself," he hisses, and I can't help but add to the hostility. That's rich. I enter a war, which has little to do with me, help win said war with the idea of bringing world peace afterward. What does it lead to? Another freaking war.

"I find it funny that you actually want my help now when you've always refused it," I said, and believe me, I was quite adamant about it. However, Canada is the good son, and waited and waited, until it was no longer financially feasible or desirable for Britain to keep him. Is it so wrong that I bide my time as well? The time to act isn't when the enemy is at their strongest and acts as a united front. They will fragment and splinter. I simply have to wait and hope that the opportunity to help France will come.

"This is different. It's affecting everyone," Canada said, and he has just proven my point without realizing it. If everyone is hard pressed with their own problems, even with my resources and my boys, it won't be enough.

"Exactly, I can't save everyone, not by myself," I said, and Canada's position weakens with my honesty. He furrows his brows and frowns, picking up Kumajiro.

"I said I'd help you," he said, and I've been worked up to a frenzy. I don't hesitate to go negative.

"Aren't most of your soldiers sitting on their asses because of conscription?" I said because how can he expect me to risk my boys when he won't risk his, hypocrite. They are a waste of resources, appropriately nicknamed zombies.

"I can get more," he said, and I don't like the sound of that. Inexperienced cannon fodder can only get us so far, and I don't see enough of a reason to give in. So, it's time to compromise.

"Look. We can talk to Germany. Maybe we can work something out," I said, knowing he's been vacationing in Paris since England was invaded. Japan said he was in a particularly good mood, now would be as good a time as any to ask. While it doesn't completely sit well with Canada, his strengths rely more on politics than war. He scolds Kuma for pawing his curl. As he holds the bears paw, he thinks deeply.

"Okay, Alfred, we'll try it your way for now," he said reluctantly. I blink a few times. I did it. I was so worried Canada would drag the war into this hemisphere, but he is at least willing to try it my way.

"You know what this means right?" I said, sporting a full on grin. Canada tilts his head in confusion. Kuma chews on his hair curl. Matt glares at him and confiscates it.

"What?" he said, smoothing the curl and flicking the saliva off his hand. I put my hands on my hips.

"Since I'm being less hostile than you, I'm more Canadian than you are,"I said with a puffed up chest. Matt doesn't take the accusation well as his glare turns acidic when he puts Kuma down. I expect a few kiddy blows, but too late, I realize that he means to hit me hard.

"Shut up," he said at normal volume and punches me in the stomach. I hold my wounded middle tenderly as I lay on the floor. I shouldn't have left my front exposed. Still, he offers his hand to help me up, and I gladly accept it.

Getting a meeting with Germany proved more difficult that I originally imagined, for one thing, I was kind of hoping to jump on a plane and make our demands. We had to schedule a meeting time a week in advance which wasn't entirely a bad thing. The next week for a lack of a better word, I'll call quality family time. Canada stayed with us; so we all reminisced and fought. Canada learned to hit harder and join in on the petty squabbles that England and I got into. I learned to crochet upon Matt and Arthur persistence. Kumajiro got a new hat. Still, the time came to go to the airport and try to negotiate France's release.

"Alfred, why are you walking ten times faster than normal," Canada said, finding it difficult to catch up because of jet lag. I signaled for him to hurry up. We had to get there on time. If we didn't, Germany wouldn't listen to anything we had to say.

"Ludwig insisted on meeting us at five at the old school building," I said, and Canada nodded, relieved when we got into a carriage. There didn't seem to be any cars anywhere. Bikes and carriages were the main mode of transport here with only the occasional car passing through. More often than not, they were military vehicles. I turned to the driver of the carriage hoping to get a better idea of the situation. So far, it all seemed fairly okay in Paris.

"Bounjour, comment allez-vouz?" I asked, and the driver smiled, but kept his attention on the road.

"Je vais bien, but there is no need for you to speak French. I was specifically chosen to take you because I can speak English," he informed me which was just fine, even if both Canada and I could speak French. It annoyed the hell out of Arthur when we would talk like that in front of him.

"Ah, then if you don't mind, could you tell me the situation in Paris?" I asked, and luckily, he didn't clam up in response. He slowed the horses down which is not what I wanted when we dangerously close to being late. However, the information he had could prove useful.

"Paris is still Paris. Food may be scarce but with enough Francs or stuff to trade one can get by with little difficulty," he said, patting his stomach for emphasis.

"Pauvre Pappa, he must be hungry," Matthew said idly as he looks at the empty shops, either shut down so Germany could have more supplies for his troops or because they simply had nothing left to sell. The German troops walked freely along with the citizens with only a few of them in actual formations.

"What of the soldiers?" I asked, and this did take the man a while to answer.

"It's a little like having a pack of German tourists in the city every day. They buy things freely and see the sights when not on duty. They behave when here. As citizens, we have little to complain of in that regard, " he said, sounding hesitant to say such things to me. The news did dampen my want to liberate Paris so soon. They could survive a while more, and it seemed that the Germans treated them with a level of respect not always present in the nations they conquered. ( I only have rumors to go on in that regard.)

"I see," I said as I can't help but notice a swarm of French girls talking amiably to a few German troops at a café. The driver noticed.

"Do not judge us too harshly for surviving. As long as we have a bite to eat and have some level of freedom, we are content," he said, and I started to question that word. Free-dom, what did it mean anymore? I nodded all the same, and he quickened his pace as he noticed the time. We'd have to make a mad dash to the door.

"What do you think Canada?" I asked in a low murmur. Canada hugged Kuma harder, subconsciously garnering strength from the action.

"Pappa's city is empty, but the people do not seem to mind," he admitted. We didn't say anything more until we arrived.

I grabbed Matt's hand and dragged us to Germany's office. I knock, and Germany opens the door. I go in first as I figure I would be the oldest if one went by our respective political consciousness and not when we were first populated. Matt followed behind me.

"Herr ambassador Jones, I am glad to finally meet Japan's friend face to face. It will be a pleasure conducting business with you" he said as we shook. So, he recognizes me as the more important party because of my relations with Japan in this situation. I should do most of the talking then. He moved on so he could confront Canada.

"Herr, ambassador Williams, I am glad we can resolve our past differences today" he said, shaking his hand. Canada nodded, and Germany moved to his chair.

"Please sit," he said as he takes out some papers we had sent him a few days before. Once we are seated, he addresses the reason we are all here.

"I see from the papers you have sent that you both wish to discuss my current occupation of France. Once we have finished discussing this matter, you are free to leave, Mr. Jones. Then, Mr. Williams and I will settle a peace agreement," he said, and we both nodded. He looked up from the papers and gave me his full attention.

"Now, what do you believe should be done about the situation Mr. Jones?" he asked, and I decided that it was best to start out with the best case scenario.

"The war has officially ended. As a token of good will, we would like you to leave so France can begin to recover," I said, knowing that Germany may take issue with letting France recover when he was given no such favor.

"I'm afraid that is impossible Mr. Jones. The supplies Monsieur Bonnefoy provides are still needed, and we have allowed him to continue running his own government. I do not see why you take issue with the present circumstances," he said, and from what I heard from England, he did not trust the Vichy government. I wasn't sure that I trusted it either, but now, wasn't the time to discuss that.

"Very well, then, I would like to suggest that steps be taken to redistribute resources as your difficulties elsewhere lessen. I would also like the eventual removal of your troops. On a more personal note, we would like the opportunity to visit France and Francis Bonnefoy as we see fit without soldiers present," I said. Germany considered me a moment with a critical eye. I could see that there was a level of distrust to his gaze.

"All of this, does seem fairly reasonable, however, France's eventual release cannot be guaranteed. I would be happy to grant you access to France and Francis provided that you follow through with you agreements, Mr. Jones," he said, still somewhat sour from our skirmishes at sea. Like freedom, the meaning of neutrality can be twisted. He did not wish for such leeway to be present this time.

"Of course," I said, and Germany nodded, satisfied by the quick response. He turned his attention to Canada.

"Is there something else you wish to bring up Mr. Williams?" he asked, and I could not see what else we could possibly ask for at this point.

"I would like France's art returned in good condition, and something to be done to relieve the hunger caused by rationing," he said, and we both avoided starting at Raphael's portrait of a young man stolen from Poland above Germany's head. Germany nodded gravely.

"The process of returning paintings to a place of safety has already begun. Unfortunately, some soldiers did place such art in unwise locations and are in need of repair. If either of you has any art restores willing to help, I would be grateful for the added expertise," he said and we both nodded, and I noted he never said the paintings would be returned to their rightful place, only salvaged.

"As for the food rationing, I will do my best to lessen restrictions as conditions stabilize," Germany said before returning his attention to me.

"You may leave now Mr. Jones. I do hope both you and your brother will join me for dinner at my house so I may get to know the kind of men you are," he offered and shook my hand.

"Yes, I will be sure to come. If you don't mind, can you tell me where I may find Mr Bonnefoy ?" I asked, and a trace of sadness crossed his face before becoming stern once more.

"You may find him at the Louvre looking upon a fallen angel," he said, and I do not like the sound of that.

"Thank you, Mr. Beilschmidt," I said and make my way to the Louvre. I take my time getting there, observing France getting by as best they could. The soldiers are barely acknowledged, and France's complicated fashions reduced to simply acquired things like flowers. Still, I eventually arrive and am directed to Francis location. The museum is vast, but my goal is not to observe the artwork that remains on display. I find my way into the recesses of the museum to a deserted corner where a desolate room lies filled with statues and artifacts, most of which are draped in plastic. Among this graveyard, there is a large space where a broken statue is neatly organized by its broken parts, and some blond man cries openly near its remains. A few parts are recognizable such as the fragmented pieces of the wings although the man has yet to determine if the parts are from the left or right wing. The angel's draped body is so broken apart that a few pieces might be mistaken for ordinary rock if seen outside. Still, as I looked at this old nation whom I'd never seen so distraught, I cannot help but think this is but a small token to cry over. It can't be more important than his people and their situation, yet the tears are for this angel alone.

"Why does it make you cry?"I asked, and the bearded man looks up slowly, cradling a large piece of the broken wing. There is recognition of who I am in his blue eyes of which he always compared to mine in front of Arthur, in the early days, when all you had to worry about was muskets and bayonets. I think he may have whispered my name but I'm not sure. Finally, after a period of silence, he gingerly returns the wing to the broken pile.

"So you understand, it is my burnt capitol," he said, and he really need not explain further, the moment I saw the white house burn was the moment when every single doubt that I ever had flooded me ten fold, a moment of utter despair. So in this old relic, he had pinned as much emotional significance as I had in my white house.

"Oh," I mouth as I understood this was a private moment I had interrupted. I would have left without another word if Francis had not spoken.

"Please, if you cannot save me, save my art," he said, and this surprises me. Matthew had mentioned this first and foremost in his demands. It is not something I would have given priority over his release. Yet, it seemed Canada understood his Pappa much more than I did.

"Why? Why not something-" I said unable to grasp the significance of it, yet Dolly had done the same hadn't she? There had to be a reason that went beyond appreciating the beauty of the work.

"If there was but one American flag left, would you not save it?" he said, and the question hit me hard. Of course, I would. I am much more attached and respectful of my flag than most other countries were. My pride, my love, my entire being could be presented in this one little thing. I would risk everything for such an important part of myself.

"I - I understand now. These paintings, these sculptures, even the ones left behind by others, they're your hope," I said. Francis nods and smiles, stroking part of the fallen wing. He looks up, wiping the tears from his eyes and growing serious.

"Oui, but I must ask you one more favor," he said, and I couldn't help but associate it with my previous encounters with England and Canada. Everyone always wanted favors.

"Anything that won't bring me to the front lines," I said, and France shakes his head and chuckles softly. So, he is not after my blood.

"Amérique, we're close to assimilation, to a sort of peace with the Germans," He paused as if debating telling me something and deciding against it. That single moment will keep me up and pile together with the rest of the surprising normalcy of the Parisian day to day life. I don't know. I always assumed that my path would remain clear, and that evil and wrong doing would be easy to see, but I only see people living as if the German occupation doesn't exist, the same as England's people do. I should be happy that it's not as horrifying as Matthew and I feared, and yet, there is something I don't trust about this peace.

"And that is very frightening," He looks down to the German flag pinned to his suit, and there is a swift and crucial pain that stirs within me at that. How would I feel so many years ago now had my "Big Brother" done the same to me? Burned away everything that I stood for, what I believed in and stuck his British flag on my shores, once more, as if I didn't exist. Behind the hate, I would feel hollow, and what makes it all the worse for France is that in his own way, he brought this on himself. He didn't deserve the theft of his culture, the extortion of his people, but he pushed Germany to hate him as he did. Francis blamed him for everything and charged him with an insane amount of money in reparations because he could, and now, Germany would curse him with the same resolve.

"You and Matthieu stick together. Do not let him go to war. I am touched that he thinks of me and my oppression, but I do not want him to suffer as I have," It had become clear from my previous talk with Germany that they could not liberate France with words, too much animosity remained for that. Canada, would either have to fall in line with him and attempt slow negotiations armed with economic pressures or tote a gun once more for one of his dear parental figures. Sometimes Matt truly helped too much. That's why I'm the brat of the family. I see how self destructive getting too deep into familial relationships can be. And yet, I very much doubt France should worry so, a good chunk of Canada's trained army is stuck in limbo because of ill-advised mercy brought on by the conscription crisis. Home service, (pfft), really, if they volunteered, they should fight. It's a luxury Canada could not afford while at war, but I understand not wanting to be split apart. So, I can't blame him for making such concessions. Not that it matters anymore, he's having his own talks with Germany now. I'll be sure to give him France's wishes.

"Good Luck America, if there is any good future left, it lies with you and Canada," And Mexico and South America, the Monroe Doctrine spells it out pretty clearly. I leave France to mourn over part of his crushed soul and go to Germany's house.

Hope in reality is the worst of all evils because it prolongs the torments of man.

Friedrich Nietzsche

Translations:

Bounjour, Comment allez-vouz?: Hello, how are you?

Je vais bien: I am fine

Pauvre Pappa: Poor dad

Herr: Mr.

Oui: Yes

I've had about half of this written for months. I was extremely nervous about the Germany part, but I went ahead and wrote him as he might act at a business meeting. So, I apologize if he comes across as too stiff or flat. I also thank the person who brought the Manhattan project to my attention as it wasn't something I was considering before then. It is a big Chevok's gun to introduce, but I think I know when it will become a pertinent issue at this point. I will be taking my time with this fic as I have a lot to consider in the coming months. (Although since summer is coming up, I will be writing more often, most likely.) So if I am not active at all in my fiction, Hetalia or otherwise, please know, it will be because of real life issues rather than me giving up on it. I do recommend you put this on alert if you're interested in it as I'm working on several fan fictions at once. Lastly, I do realize that many of you are in different time zones, but do review if you can to let me know people are reading this and how you feel about the chapters.

Until next Chapter