Interlude: Dreams of Burning Part 1

Canada watched with undisguised glee as his "brother's" beloved White House burned. America should have known not to mess with the Canadian man, especially on his own land. It was exhilarating, doing what Alfred had done right back to him, but still, Matthew winced, trailing his hand to the fresh burn scar over his heart; it was almost vulgar what his brother had done. Not only had he started a war but he went against the rules of war and attacked private property and innocent civilians.

And he wasn't entirely sure if it was Alfred.

Alfred hadn't seemed like himself at the time. The man who had marched into York holding a torch and a maniacal smile didn't act like Alfred at all with his harsh, forced laughs and cruel, taunting words. That man was a monster, as he had even freely admitted to while chuckling and agreeing with every name that Canada had spat at him while writhing on the ground as the smell of smoldering human flesh filled the air.

He stood near Matthew while 'enjoying the show' as Alfred had crudely put it. The entire time his eyes had been hidden by the fire reflecting on his glasses whereas Canada's own had fallen off on the ground some time ago. The only good thing that Matthew could say about this new America was that he didn't do the… horrendous things… that England had warned him about when countries invaded one another.

Matthew watched as American soldiers committed arson to the buildings all around him and as they plundered and looted his beloved city. Newly formed screams tore from his throat at the nearly identical blond who had merely gave him a malicious smile and continued snickering; even confirming that what he was doing broke the unspoken laws of war.

To took quite a while, in Alfred's words, but at one point his body gave out from the convulsions and his throat had ripped open from screaming and the most he could do was give a weak, but loathing glare towards Alfred. America, in turn, walked over and kicked over Matthew's body so the man was on his back with Alfred's foot holding his chest down with the sole of his shoe grazing over the new burn wounds.

It was only when he spoke did Canada realize something was seriously off.

"Tell me, Canada," He leered down on the trapped nation, "Tell me, does this hurt?" The sole of the shoe pushed down onto his burned, destroyed skin and Canada screamed in pain before the pressure was taken off.

Violet eyes glowered into the ominously glaring glasses while he coughed out, "I hate you."

Who are you?

"Oh, that's fine with me," He spoke lightly, almost cheerily if not for the malevolent undertones, "You can hate me all you want and I doubt I'd care. But you shouldn't hate Alfred, he was against this."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Matthew snarled at him.

You're not Alfred.

This didn't seem to faze the man at all, then again, he was in the advantageous position and instead stomped on him once more, "I don't know, but what I do know is that if I had my way you would be in so much more pain then you're in now…" He had leaned down, shifting position so he was kneeling next to Matthew, and grabbed the collar of his shirt, holding their faces closer together. Something seemed off about Alfred's eyes but before Canada could figure out what his face was facing the smoke filled sky and America's mouth was directly beside his ear. Matthew felt a tingle of fear run down his back, "If it was up to me then you wouldn't even be able to talk, much less insult me. But I won't because I have a headache now, you know why?" He drew back and gave Matthew an almost insane grin while the flames reflected off his glasses, once again hiding the blue irises.

Matthew shook his head slowly, close to paralyzed with fear.

You're not my brother.

"It's because, Mattie," Canada was shaking at this point and America seemed to notice this for the smile had turned crazier as he tapped his temple and whispered, "They're telling me not to. You know, the voices in my head. They're always arguing and I don't know how Alfred deals with it. It's more than enough to drive people-" Only now did the reflection in his glasses disappear, but a black abyss replaced it and seemed to attempt to draw Canada's soul into its endless vacuums- "absolutely insane…"

Get away from me!

Matthew was spared whatever would have came next when an oh-so-familiar and thoroughly welcome voice called over, "Canada!"

The relief he had felt was incomparable to anything he'd felt before. He always knew that America was a little weird, but this had been borderline insane, scratch that, it had been completely insane. Desperately he screamed back, though the action reopened the damage in his throat, "England! ENGLAND! OVER HERE!"

Alarmed green eyes locked onto terrified violet ones and England ran over, swiftly taking up his musket and aiming it towards America's back, "AMERICA! Let go of him! This was only between you and me! What has he done to you?"

Canada still couldn't see America's face as it was back over his shoulder and now resting on it, at some point his hands had loosened their grip on his collar and were now wrapped around his shoulders. Heaves wracked the chest pressed against him and for a moment Canada thought that America was crying until the harsh, uncontrolled laughter filled the air and America stood up, bringing Matthew's immobile form with him. The former turned and turned Canada so the slimmer man was in front of him, directly in the fire of England's musket should he shoot.

"Well," Alfred laughed, looking at England without concern, "Alfred says 'hi.' And some choice words to me."

England glared, "Let go of him!"

"Why?" The lunatic chuckled, drawing Matthew even closer to him, "What has the world come to when I can't even hug my brother's so called 'brother?'"

Fingers curled and clawed into his already damaged skin and Canada screamed once again, writhing against the body he was pressed to. England was screaming with him but Matthew couldn't hear him. The fingers retracted from his flesh and he slumped forward, utterly defeated.

"Ugh, Alfred's telling me to stop," He sighed and adjusted their position so he could rub his temple with the hand that wasn't stained with blood, "And I think he actually means it this time. What a pest, a promising pest, but still a pest."

England was screaming again, trying to aim his pistol but knowing very well that if he shot then it could easily be Matthew who would the take the bullet, "What the bloody hell? He's you're bloody brother, you bastard! What did he ever do to you?"

"Nothing, really," Canada felt him shrug, "But all's fair in hate and war. Besides, he's Alfred's brother, not mine. He's about as much my brother as you are."

"What do you mean by-"

"What do you think I mean by that? Hmm… You know, I really should have attacked Kingston in actuality, you know, where all your ships are... Whatever, too late to worry about that now- DAMMIT ALFRED, SHUT UP!" He screamed the last part, throwing Matthew harshly to the ground, hard enough that the Canadian was sure something cracked, to clasp his hands over his ears. England and Canada stared in fear as he seemed to go through a violent argument with himself or 'Alfred' as he called him. Finally he seemed to win the feud and turned back to the other nations, he glared at Matthew, "I wasn't supposed to burn this place, you know, they're probably going to kill me when I go back. Or at least try to."

"Who are you?" England asked, his gun pointing, once again, at America, who just broke into an insane smile and a glint entered the midnight blue eyes.

"Why me? I'm America."

"This is going to be a problem…"

"He blocked us! HE BLOCKED US! WHY CAN'T I SEE-"

"Alfred, calm down-"

"DON'T YOU F-"

"I highly recommend refraining from unnecessary profanity."

"Go **** yourself. That's my ******* BROTHERS OUT THERE AND YOU'RE ALL JUST SITTING AR-"

"There's nothing we can do."

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN THERE'S-"

"There's nothing we can ever do."

Silence.

Green and midnight blue eyes glared at each other one with frightened, almost disgusted anger and the other brimming with a sadistically joyful type of hate. England snapped.

"Go. NOW! I don't know who you are but I know you're not America."

"I don't like being ordered around. Especially by- Great, I'm not allowed to curs-"

"Get the hell away from here you bloody insane wanker or I'll-"

"You'll what? Shoot me? I'd like to see you try," America scoffed, rolling his eyes.

Anger gleamed in Arthur's own as he hissed out, "You think I wouldn't? I went easy on you during your blasted Revolution but I swear if you think I'll do so again you have another thing coming."

"I'm sure I will," America chuckled in a condescending manner, "Or at least whichever one of my... brothers... that'll replace me... Ah well, I wish I could stay for longer but they're calling me back as we speak... And I haven't even had much fun, t-"

A bullet shot past Alfred just as he swiftly leaned over to one side, leaving a bloody gash deep in his cheek. Both Arthur's and Matthew's eyes widened, Arthur never missed a shot. Even worse, they both knew he had actually been aiming to kill, something not taken lightly by nations even when accounting their immortality.

Alfred, meanwhile, looked almost surprised, as though he thought that England wouldn't shoot him. His hand drifted to his cheek in a preoccupied fashion and the only things heard was Arthur's heavy breathing and the distant crackling of the flames. His fingers brushed his cheek and the tip of his index finger purposely slipped into the gash, further opening it. Alfred didn't even seem to be with them any more as the tensions mounted to a nearly tangible feeling. Without warning he plunged the entirety of his index and middle finger into the open wound, slackening his jaw as he did so as the fingers evidently entered his mouth. Blood spurted from his face and trailed down his face and hand but he paid no heed to the spreading crimson liquid that stained is clothes.

Meanwhile England was gaping at him and Matthew wanted desperately to scream, but the sound caught in his throat as Alfred drew his fingers back out and examined the blood coating them with wide eyes.

"You… you actually… you actually shot me," He whispered in a trance, turning his fingers over as the blood covering them dripped down his hand.

"Alfred…" England trailed off before shaking his head and replacing his face with a cold charade, "I shot you and I'll shoot again if you don't leave now. And this time I won't miss."

The words were biting and cold but they didn't seem to affect the sunshine blond man at all; he continued to stare down at his fingers, the blood had dried from the heat of the fire that was miraculously still blazing. His body was shaking again, "You shot me. You shot me! I didn't th- You actually-" He fell onto the ground, holding his maimed cheek in one and grasping the ground in the other. Incomprehensible words tumbled from his mouth.

England looked on in disgust, wondering when his ex-brother had turned so weak. His eyes flicked towards Canada, the young man had propped himself up with his arms but it was evident that the fire and America's morbid administrations were taking a dreadful toll on him. In all truth the British man was impressed that he wasn't already dead to the world with eyes glazed in unbearable pain as… or at the very least thrashing and flailing from the terrible pain of having his capitol burned. Indeed the lad was very strong in the face of this disgraceful attack; his eyes narrowed as they focused on the perpetrator of the attack who was trembling on the ground like the scum he was all because of a little cut.

In a scathing tone he hissed between clenched teeth, "Now go. Never let me see your face a-"

"You've got balls, man."

He was swiftly cut off as the now clear and mocking voice interrupted him. His eyes widened in alarm as the not even midnight blue but black eyes locked onto his. With a sickening type of clarity he realized that the younger man had not been crying but once again laughing. The taller man stood up as the insane smile split his face once more, except only this time it literally tore the skin on his cheek apart and blood flowed gruesomely. Still laughing, the black eyes bore into the green, like an empty vortex.

"Can't say I like you. At all,"America began.

"Why thank you,"England snapped back on instinct before recoiling as though expecting an attack from this new America.

But the other man continued as though there were no interruption at all, "But I got to say you earned some respect… I didn't actually think you'd shoot,"He chuckled, "Guess you have a back bone after all. Maybe I even underestimated you… Nah. Now,"His voiced suddenly hardened,"put down the gun."

England blinked, surprised at the sudden change, "What?"

"Put. Down. The. Gun. Now,"America hissed and quicker than any of them could comprehend he had leapt over to and snatched up Canada while drawing a blade from the pockets of his coat in one fluid motion. He quickly had Canada against him once again, effectively blocking him from any stray bullets. But this time a blade was running, skimming over the tender flesh of his neck and leaving the odd shallow cut and nick. England hesitated but didn't yet drop the pistol to America's consternation. The blade swept down to Matthew's collar bone and then pressed into the porcelain skin, drawing out red, "Just put the gun down. Or do you think little Mattie's here not in enough pain? 'Cause I whole heartedly agree."

As if to punctuate the statement he drove the blade partway into Canada's shoulder, forcing the man to scream as muscle and flesh gave way to the cruel cold blade penetrated skin and began to twist inside of his shoulder.

"ARTHUR!" The silky blond man screeched at the top of his longs, trying to struggle but at the same time trying to prevent the blade from going any deeper.

"Strong, aren't you?" America grinned before tightening his hold into a death grip.

"ENGLAND! ENGLAND! MAKE IT STOP! IT HUR-"

"STOP IT!" England screamed back, unable to see his colony in so much pain. He threw pistol to the ground, "Fine! Take it! Just let him go!"

"As you wish," He let go of the slimmer man and then shoved him into the ground. Black eyes didn't as much gleam as suck the light out of the surrounding space as they observed the two broken men in front of them, "Pathetic," he muttered under his breath but the tone changed to mocking as he spoke aloud once more, "But still, you earned my respect- or at least some of it… Maybe… Ah, well, au revoir as they say," he chuckled and stepped back- only to suddenly swing his leg back forward and kick Matthew. A sickening CRACK sound filled the air as several ribs were instantly caved in and the body was sent flying towards England, who struggled to catch it. Alfred grinned again then turned around and began to walk away, bringing a hand to his mouth he hollered, "C'mon boys! I'm done here! Move out!"

The last thing Matthew Williams would remember that day was the dark outline of his brother against the glare of flames and sheets of smoke. And somehow he knew that wasn't his brother.

I do not own Hetalia.

Yeah, going to update on New Years. Yada-yada-yada. Wasn't that a lie?

Excuses: Family, health problems, school, procrastination, wrestling (only girl on the team! Sorry, I brag a lot...)

I'm not quite happy with this. It's this story's version of the War of 1812. There'll be a part 2 later.

Tell me you can guess who this was. If not... well... Fail on my part.

Sorry to all those Canada fans for making him so weak. But in all truth, he's kinda having his capitol burned and then there's the insanity and super strength to deal with...

Review if you love, like, don't like, hate... maybe not hate...