So, this is my second story. This is not original in any sense-this is a Water of Elephants AU, featuring Alfred/America as Jacob.

I, of course, do not own Hetalia or WoE. The only things in this fic that belongs to me are the OC's and the slight twist of certain facts in that story.

Please do read and review! Constructive criticism is always welcome.

It was raining heavily that night.

I squinted, trying to make out just what the shape was. The rain obscured most of my vision, preventing me from seeing clearly through my window. Whatever it was, it was bound to block traffic later, what with standing in the middle of the road. I sighed, putting on some boots and grabbing my red umbrella on the way out of my office, thankful that for once, Feliciano wasn't absent-minded enough to forget returning my umbrella for once-I had ended up having to run all the way home in the pouring rain more often than not thanks to the ditzy owner of the Vargas Circus.

Once I had stepped out of the warm confines of my office, I had to maintain a strong grip onto my umbrella; otherwise the wind would grab it like a thief and send me chasing after it like a madman. It sprayed rain all over my face anyway.

All the more reason to get this done and over quickly, dammit.

I approached the silhouette of the object I've been peeking out of my window for quite a while now, and I frowned when I saw that it was a man.

What the hell is he doing, standing in the middle of a downpour?

And he was old. Practically ancient.I could see that clearly now. His wispy hair was plastered to his face, apart from a stubborn strand that seemed to defy gravity. He had a kind face, aged by wrinkles and laugh lines etched all over his face. I imagine he had been a handsome lad in his youth. He had bright blue eyes behind his glasses, and his eyes were still bright, intelligent and sharp for someone of his age. He seemed to be in his own world though, peering over his glasses as if he's seeing something other than the lamp post and the dark of the night that envelopes everything. I doubted he even heard me approach him.

I cleared my throat, trying to garner his attention and held out my umbrella to him. The old man needed it more than I did, judging by his thoroughly soaked bomber jacket. "Excuse me, sir?"

He started, turning slowly to face me. He seemed slightly surprised when he found out he had an umbrella thrust above him. What, didn't you feel the rain NOT hitting you any longer?

"You need to get out of the rain, sir. It wouldn't do for you to catch a cold."

He smiles, his grin lopsided. "I was hoping to watch the show, but it seems I've missed it. Ah, well..." he lets out a boisterous laugh. "It's a pity, though. After I've managed to escape them with my heroic abilities, I've got nothing to show for it."

...Heroic abilities?

I took his arm, urging him to move together with me towards my office. The rain is really pouring now, so the umbrella was wholly useless by now, but I tried to keep it aloft above his head. It wouldn't do to have the old geezer faint in the circus' premises, now would it?

As we reached my office, I passed him one of the towels and Raden's old jacket and slacks (it was too big for me, anyway) that I had kept in my cupboard. On days like these I had to stay in the office, due to the fact that I don't even have a car, and I'm completely drenched from head to toe, plus whatever energy I had before in me, together with my resolve to just run home simply abandoned me. I could just sleep in the office, but then this old guy could hardly be subjected to the same treatment. His back would probably kill him next morning, if the cold hadn't got to him first.

He stares at the old, yellowing laminated newspaper clippings under the slab of see-through glass of my table, a nostalgic, almost wistful look passed over his face. I didn't have to look at it to know what it was, Romano had gave it to me the first day I came here, and lectured for almost two hours about how the freak accident in that piece of paper-and how I was never to allow that to happen to the Vargas Circus, he ranted, You're the goddamned manager, you fucking idiot, it's your fucking job to keep those bastards toeing the line-and I notice his hands are shaking.

"Here," I slid the glass of brandy into his hand. "Something to warm you up, sir."

"I-Thanks. Mighty kind of you."

"Sure," I waved my hand dismissively. I notice that there's a rubber band beside his wristwatch-and the swirling letters there were so faint a green I had to narrow my eyes to get a better view of the words-Fairside Nursing Home?

"You're...interested in circuses, sir? You've been staring at that for a while now."

He laughs, his blue eyes twinkling merrily. "I was on two shows." Each syllable rolls of his tongue easily, as if he's proud of it. Heck, he's preening, obviously sure he has my full attention. "Bonnefoy's Most Spectacular Show on Earth was my first, and then on to Ringling."

He did succeed, though. I stared at him, almost incredulous. "You were with Bonnefoy's?"

"Yeah." He pauses. "Never liked him though. This piece of news," he points to the clipping with a slightly shaky hand, "is part of my memories. I was there, that summer of 1931." His smile turns rueful. "Hell, I was in the thick of it. In the menagerie itself. I was the show's vet."

Both of us looked at the title of the news, Stampede of the Bonnefoy's Circus kills 38 spectators. I shake my head, trying to absorb this in. This man is practically legend, a living survivor to tell the tale of what exactly happened in that disaster. Up till now, no one knows exactly what caused the stampede to occur.

"After the Hartford fire and the Hagenback-Wallace wreck, that's most probably the most famous circus disasters of all time." I mused aloud. "And you say you were there, sir?"

"Heck yeah. It really was something. I remember it like yesterday. I remember it better than yesterday."

The corners of my mouth twitches slightly upward, in response to his energetic grin that lit up his features like those small light bulbs adorning a Christmas tree. "All right." I stuck my hand out. "Ilya Kirkland."

The man practically did a double-take, staring at me with serious scrutiny and incredulousness so suddenly that I immediately felt self-conscious. "Is there something wrong?"

"Ah...No. No. Of course not!" He laughs again, but this time the quality of his laugh sounded albeit forced, somehow. "Alfred F. Jones." Despite the bony frame of his frail looking hand, he pumped my extended hand so vigorously with some kind of hidden strength that for a moment it felt like my arm was ready to drop from its socket.

"Okay then. Mr. Jones-"

"Call me Alfred."He chirps enthusiastically.

I looked into his eyes, and his earnestness startled me for a moment. "Of course. Mr. Alfred, then. I would let you watch the show now, if I could, but there's nothing to be seen now. I apologise. However, it would be a privilege if you would tell me what happened that day." I fidgeted with my hands, twisting my fingers around and looping them over and over again. "I mean, you're practically living history. N-not that you're that old, I mean-I'd really like to hear what happened there firsthand. I can send you home afterwards."

Mr. Jones-no, it's Alfred, now-smiles, and said, "I'd be delighted."

Author's Notes:

Anyone noticed the name of the circus that Jacob went at the beginning of the movie was named Circus Vargas?

I squeeed when I saw that, hence Feliciano and Romano became the joint owners of this circus.

Ilya Kirkland is an OC of mine. He's the personification of Malaysia, as is Raden, who is representing Indonesia.

Thanks for reading! :D