What would you do if your history haunted you?

On a bright, sunny day, fluffy white clouds hung lazily in the sky. A young man with short, dirty blond hair was carrying black trash bags out to his shed. Mentioned shed was shunned in the corner of this man's property. And to say a house was on this property would be the understatement of the century. It was grand house - three stories high, not including the attic and basement. It was regal and grand, hundreds of years old, yet still nice looking. The shingles were slates of dark grey colour, the house's sidings were but a few shades darker than a rich cream, a white trim around the doors and windows. The look was completed with brick red shutters and a grand front and side porch, which were decorated nicely with patio furniture. The yard itself was something to marvel. Plants of various sorts were arranged and placed about the yard in a way only a mad genius could make it look nice.

The yard was lush, but by no means symmetrical. From the bright, dancing poppies trailing along the sidewalk, to the swaying daffodils along the driveway, to the maple trees providing comfortable shade over soft grass, to the gnarled, twisted, half dead oak trees that cast an ominous shadow over the shed. Only the lonely stone pathway dared entered these shadows up to the dusty shed. But on this particularly fine day, our protagonist was making his merry way to the shed. This was no ordinary man, and he was by no means a human. At first glance, he is like you and I. Two legs, two arms, two eyes, a nose and a mouth. A head of hair, clothes on his back, and glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose, showing his curious baby blue eyes. He was slightly tanned, and his arms rippled with the strength of an Olympic athlete. A human, you say. But alas, he is not. An immortal human you might call him. For as long as the nation of the United States of America stands, this man lives, for he is the representation of said nation. Yes, from the time Native Americans roamed the land, to the present day of which you and I live, he has existed and thrived. But even he, Mr. America, has his own dark tales. The man's name is Alfred Jones.

Chapter 1: Shadows of a Feather

A breeze scattered some papers lying loosely on a table, blowing them to the dusty wooden floor as the American entered the shed. "I wonder where I should try and start today…" Alfred muttered aloud. He had, on several occasions, tried to clean out this shed of useless junk that got shoved to the side after he found no further purpose for them. Some of them really were useless junk items though. Socks without a partner, pool floats, childhood play toys, and many other things that had long since fallen by the wayside. Alfred had no problem generously donating these things to Goodwill though. It was those items with a history to them he had difficulty discarding.

Previously he had found a suit from colonial times, sparking memories of him and his former caretaker, Arthur Kirkland, the personification of England, representation of the United Kingdom. Toy soldiers also brought up that time he was a small child, a young country, which Arthur had made for him with individual personalities each. And then there was that gun he used during the American Revolution… It was that item on that day which caused him to turn away the rest of the proclaimed 'cleaning day'. And here he stood, a few decades later, ready to try again. Cleaning out this shed was a very emotional task indeed.

Alfred wandered over to the corner of the room, where a broom a dustpan leaned against the wall. "Perhaps I'll start with dusting today." And with that, the blond began to sweep up the wooden floor. He hummed his national anthem to himself as he worked peacefully, not having a care in the world for once in a blue moon. However, after about an hour of sweeping and dusting, he grew bored. Long since haven opened the window to let some sunshine and fresh air in. The birds that had previously been chirping stopped their sweet tunes as dark storm clouds loomed on the horizon. Alfred hadn't noticed this, being the semi-oblivious person he was.

He swept his way across the room, bumping the table with his hip accidentally. Well…it was actually more than just a bump. The table was the kind with the wooden top and foldable metal legs. One side of the table collapsed at the nudge, the contents scattering everywhere. Alfred cursed his luck as he leaned the broom against the wall and stooped over to pick up the papers and other small trinkets. Among the papers was an old wooden box filled with various accessories he had been given as gifts. His cross, an old pair of dog tags, piercings from his 'delinquent' years, and a small red maple leaf on a thin silver thread from…uh…who was it again? Alfred couldn't remember. Nonetheless, he tossed these items back in the handmade box carelessly. He was about to throw the last item in when he paused, holding it up to his face to examine it more carefully.

Dust lined the black and white feather of a bald eagle. The feather was attached to a rectangular turquoise rock with two spherical red pebbles on both sides of the turquoise rock, and they were strung up on a thin fragment of an animal carcass. Alfred gazed at it for a long time, grief flooding his eyes as he stroked the feather. "I miss you Mama…" He uttered. Suddenly, a flash of fight crossed his vision and he became unaware of his surroundings.

It was a bright, cloudless day. The silhouette of a woman in a Native American Lakota tribe outfit stood at the top of a hill at sunrise, holding the hand of another young child. The two were standing under an apple tree, chatting. As Alfred moved forward in his daydream, the two figures turned and waved to him, beckoning him over in their native tongue. "Alfred." The woman cooed and embraced him. "Alfred!" The child grinned and hugged his leg. As the sun began to rise, their faces filled in with more detail.

"O-oh! Mama!" Alfred gasped and staggered backwards a bit in astonishment.

"Alfred!" a sharper voice not of his daydream…memory?

The vision began to get fuzzy around the edges, fading into white nothingness. "N-no! Mama, come back! I don't want to lose you again!"

"Alfred Jones I swear if you don't get up this instant!" The American was snapped back to reality by an angry sounding English accented voice. He opened his eyes, rubbing his head. When had he collapsed to the floor? "Thank god you're okay. Git, you had me worried!"

"Oh…hey Iggy." Alfred replied, smiling brightly, "When did you get here?"

Arthur let go of him and stood up, "Not too long ago. One of your servants said you'd be out here and I came out here to you on the ground. You pick the oddest places and times to take naps. What happened anyway?"

Alfred shrugged and helped himself up, brushing some dust off his shirt. "I dunno. I just picked up my mother's old necklace and then there you were."

Arthur pressed the back of his hand to Alfred's forehead. "You're warm; dehydration most likely. Ah well, come along chap. I'll see to that you get some water." The short Englishman bustled around the piles of junk and started closing up the windows and drawing the curtains and blinds shut again. Alfred smiled to himself as he watched his former caretaker hustled around. The man was short and had blond hair that never seemed to be combed. He had a fiery temper and Alfred though he was a psycho because he talked to imaginary friends. Arthur Kirkland was a nation, just like himself – the nation of England. Though Arthur's brothers, Caley, Owen, and Alastair, didn't want to deal with bothersome nations at World Summits and massive piles of paperwork, so in a way, Arthur also represented the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland.

Arthur also had very nice eyes, Alfred noted. They were as bright and magnificent as emeralds – the same color as an emerald too. But his eyebrows were huge and that was no understatement. Alfred often swore that there were wooly caterpillars growing on Arthur's face. Despite his temper and constant spirals into depression, Arthur was a pretty good guy with nice things to his personality. He was the type who knew how to treat a woman well and took shit from others without a word (though he would be plotting their bloody murder from the safety of his mind). The Briton usually fussed over his colonies and former colonies like a mother hen and his cooking was terrible. Where was Alfred going with this again? He couldn't remember.

"Alfred! Come ON!" Speak of the devil. Arthur was already squawking at him in the usual irritated manner. Alfred sighed and carefully placed the necklace in his pocket before following after Arthur. Immediately upon stepping outside, he was blasted in the face with a strong gust of wind from the approaching storm. The sky was a dark grey, looking as if it would pour down by the bucket loads at any given second now. That was when a raindrop hit Alfred's nose. He wiped it off before closing and locking the shed's door, then trotting after Arthur, who was already on the front porch. Arthur tapped his foot impatiently as the American took his sweet time getting there.

"I ought to stand in the pouring rain for a while then come inside and shake like a dog just to get you and your British ass wet," Alfred laughed and ushered a scowling Englishman inside. "Make yourself at home as always. So what did you come for anyway, dude?"

Arthur wandered into the kitchen and began snooping around Alfred's cabinets and closets of food looking for ingredients for his precious tea. He seemed as if he wasn't going to be saying anything more until he got it so Alfred reached into a drawer and pulled out a tea bag. Arthur gave a brief nod of acknowledgement before taking out the other necessary tea ingredients, thus proceeded to set it on the kettle. It was after the tea was done he took his little plate and teacup to the den and settled in an armchair. Alfred joined him in the den, switching on the lights and flopping onto the couch, turning on the TV.

"I came to discuss the relations between Britain and America. Things have been very unsettling recently since one of your demonic- ah, I mean, presidential candidate, insulted us in our very own homes. My people are not satisfied and some nations are starting to think you don't care about your responsibilities as a nation anymore. You haven't been to any of the Summit meetings since-"Alfred decided to drone out Arthur as he went into lecture mode.

Why did I have that strong memory of Mama? Was it just her necklace that triggered it? What was that…? Can I even call it a memory? I don't remember that ever happening and my name wasn't 'Alfred' when Mama was still alive. It felt more like a reality. I heard the birds so clearly and the wind felt nice and cool on my face…and I was taller than Mama and that boy she was with. Who was that boy anyway? It couldn't be me… Oh my gosh that so freaky! If that was me at a younger age then why don't I remember it at least from that point of view?!

WHACK. "Ouch!" Alfred yelped, covering his now stinging cheek with his hand. "What the hell was that for?!"

"I knew it. You weren't paying attention anyway." Arthur scowled and stood up, sliding into his coat. "Well if you ever need something, you know where I am. But it's not like you'd ever need my help."

"Dude you're acting like a total jerk right now! You never get this mad at me for not listening. Nobody listens when you drone on at meetings. What's up with you today, old man? On your period?" Alfred laughed at his own joke.

"Males don't have periods, git. It isn't just this one thing that has me pissed off. All this shit you do just adds up to the point I can't stand it anymore and everything you do is just so annoying! So sod off and if your arse isn't at the Baltimore Summit meeting tomorrow I will personally skin you. It is the duty of a country to attend Summit meetings, especially if they're the hosting nation. Which is you. A lot of countries came ahead of time so they wouldn't suffer jet lag and I know some of them needed to talk to you ahead of time but they couldn't get ahold of you." Arthur snarled, walking to the door.

"Vlad never shows up to the meetings and I don't ever see or hear anybody lecturing him…" Alfred pouted.

"Because nobody gives a shit about the vampire; nobody wantsa leech sitting next to them. You, on the other hand, are the world power. You brush it off like it's nothing. If that good for nothing Mitt Romney fellow becomes your President, you're practically calling it quits. That's like saying 'Oh hey everybody! Let's start a third World War!' God Alfred! I'm your closest ally and when you piss off your closest ally, you are officially screwed. And you just let this Romney go around and insult other nations like Russia, China, and France. See? You've pretty much taken everything the five of us have been through in World War II and shove it right back in our faces like it never even happened.

"It wouldn't surprise me if Yao started making you pay more and force your debt into the 20 trillion ranges. And if Ivan and Francis decide to nuke your ass, don't expect me to help. Someday, Alfred, you're just going to screw up everything so badly that nobody is going help you." Arthur was outside the door now, "Good. Day." Alfred flinched when the door slammed shut. He wandered over to the window and watched the Briton storm away in a huff, not caring about the rain that was soaking him to the bone.

"Ugh… What am I doing wrong?" Alfred let his head hit the glass. A soft 'meow' from behind him made him turn and smile softly. His cat was standing there, looking concerned. "Where's your brother Freedom?" He asked the white cats with a poofy black mane and tail. The tom cat meowed again before bouncing over to the fireplace, glomping his older littermate. The other cat hissed angrily. The second cat was a grey tabby with deep navy blue eyes and a lighter grey chest and belly. On the upper part of his front legs on both sides, his stripes were in the form of an X with a star in the center of it. Funny how nature works sometimes.

Alfred sat down next to them, Freedom instantly scrambling onto his lap. "You're putting on some more weight boy." Alfred teased, rubbing the white cat's ears. Freedom swatted his hand gently and purred in satisfaction. Freedom cast his brother a smug look, which Alfred caught and poked the side of his belly, "Be nice to Liberty, chubby." Freedom mewed in dismay at being called 'chubby' and simply rolled onto his back. Liberty flicked his tail and gave Alfred a look that screamed 'Like you have room to be talking'. Alfred sighed again and laid back. Liberty stood, then walked over and started nosing through Alfred's pocket, retrieving the necklace and dragging it around to Alfred's face.

Freedom saw the feather and pounced on it, thinking it was a toy. "No! Don't!" Alfred scolded and tapped Freedom's nose, making the cat recoil and shoot him a frightened look. The American sighed and held up the feather adorned necklace. "Oh Mama…you said you'd always be there for me but you aren't here now… It was easier when I was a kid and there wasn't any political tensions or troubles to worry about except how to catch our next meal…" Alfred turned on his side, facing the wall. His pets scrambled over him to lie beside him.

"Shhh…my darling its okay," a gentle female voice spoke. Alfred tensed when Liberty hissed and Freedom cowered behind his brother. Something removed his glasses from his face and it took everything in him not the screech like a little girl. "Why don't you rest, darling? You have a big day ahead of you." Alfred was finding it hard to force himself to calm down. In a single, swift motion, he had whipped around in a sitting position to face the voice but once his back was against the wall, he found himself staring at one of his plants. He blindly reached for the fireplace poker, still glancing around nervously. Liberty was still hissing in a threatening way, fur bushed out to look twice his normally small size.

Alfred finally found the fireplace poker and gripped it tightly, standing up and holding it like a spear, ready to stab anything abnormal to him. He gingerly made it to the kitchen and flipped on the lights, whipping around to survey the room, but finding nothing out of place. After checking the entire downstairs of his home (which took a while, mind you), he let himself relax. "S-silly ghosts! They can't scare the hero! R-right, Freedom? Liberty?" The cats mewed.

"Who said I was a wanagi, darling? How do you know who you're talking to?" Came the voice again, from behind Alfred. He whipped around to a shadow darting just out of his sight. The voice came from elsewhere in the room, "I could be a demon, darling." Again Alfred spins around, thrusting the fireplace poker forwards, only catching a wisp of shadow. He backs up to a corner of the room, surveying the entire kitchen. He watches the shadow and its wisps slither across the linoleum floor. He jabs at it when it comes to a stop in front of him. "That didn't hurt, dear," the shadow spoke before coming up from the ground taking a more three dimensional form.

"M-Mama?" Alfred stammered, nearly dropping his temporary weapon. The shadow gives him a gently smile. Alfred presses further back against the wall, shrinking into his socks. "D-dude…not cool; my mom is dead… And she's not some dark demonic looking shadow thing that seems as if it just came straight from that Harry Potter movie! Ugh…what was it called again…? Dementor! Yeah! Are you one of those?!" Alfred started to become seriously frightened, "Don't kill me! I didn't do anything! And if did I'm really sorry!"

The…thing, whatever it was, put her finger to Alfred's lips. He shivered out of fear. "You talk too much, darling. Come and rest, you are tired. How are you sure you aren't dreaming right now?" Alfred stared at the spirit doubtfully but allowed her to take him back to the couch and lay him down. He was surprised as this spirit unfolded his blanket and laid it over him, and began softly singing a lullaby in his very first language – Native American Lakota style.

"But Mama…I don't want to lose you again…" the blond yawned as he snuggled under the sweet smelling quilt. This, somehow, smelled like Arthur; tea, roses, and all. Alfred eventually drifted off into inky blackness. But what seemed a few minutes, he was awake, but completely blind. He could see himself but his surroundings were entirely black. Blank. He felt the ground under him slide out from under him like sand and he fell backwards. Expecting to hit what was under him, he braced himself for a slight jolt of pain but felt nothing. It was like he was falling. Falling through endless time and space. He wasn't prepared for it when he smashed into black and red checkered flooring. "Ugh…" Alfred sat up and rubbed his head, which has hit the floor first.

A royal white carpet with gold stitching was rolled out, ending at a royal looking throne. Just like the shadow…spirit? Whatever! Just as the creature that impersonated his mother had morphed around, another creature came into view at that throne. Alfred got up and walked over to it. The creature strangely enough took the form of Arthur, but in much more royal in appearance than the proper Brit. "Excuse me, do you know where I am?"

"You dare ask a question before you bow to your king?" the creature growled, snapping his fingers and some unknown force pushed Alfred down to his hands and knees. "Better," the creature smirked, satisfied. Alfred growled inaudibly, being forced to stare at the carpet. He was allowed to look up when the creature pretending to be his mother came into view besides this…king. He watched and strained to hear them as they exchanged word. He heard it after trying hard enough, but it was a language he didn't know, and he knew a wide variety of languages. The kingly creature gazed down at him, "Tell me, boy," he sneered, "Who are you?"

Alfred snarled and looked up at him uncomfortably, "As if I should tell the likes of you. I don't even know you!"

"That's how you make friends, child," the king purred. He waved his hand dismissively, "Ah well. Usually I like to know the name of the soul about to flounder and die."

"D-die!?" Alfred squeaked in a very unmanly way. The king simply nods and faster than Alfred could blink, it was upon him.

AN:/ IDK about this, I posted it on deviantART and didn't get much love. So I'm posting this here and seeing where it goes from here on out. What do you guys think? Should I continue this or not? If its continued the rating may go up due to violence - just sayin' So uh...some more warning for this story...

There is planned character death, possible multi-pairings (America X World basically...maybe...still debating), time looping, supernatural beings (ghosts, monsters, etc.), lots and lots of OOC goodness, and best of all, notice for underappareciated characters (Romania, Norway, etc.).

Flames will be used to roast marshmallows~

It feels so rushed! Ahhh! I confused myself at a few points too. Oops. Please don't tell me Arthur is OOC, I know he is but it could be part of the plot gais. You will not know until chapters are released. Uhm...I forgot to mention this last chapter, but I'm really not good at finishing things. All my other chapter stories have been dicontinued so if I ever finish a chaptered story more than 5 chapters long, that's going to be an achievement for me. After the 4th or 5th chapter of something I'm writing, I usually lose interest so yeah... But anyway, I hope you like this chapter! Faves, reviews, and critiques are appretiated! :D

Love, Alex

EDIT: Removed the prologue and simply put it onto the beginning of chapter 1. It was throwing the numbering system off and I didn't like it. Chapter names now correspond with chapter number. Before it would be 2. Chapter 1 now it's correct and 1. Chapter 1 The rest of the story remains the same and has only been bumped down to the appropriate level.