(A/N: This will be told from Arthur's point of view. Human names used. I know most of you know this – but for those that don't – Alfred is America's human name. Arthur is England's. Simple? I'll put parenthesis of the country's name when introducing a new character using their human name.)

There were a few things I resented that night. The sound of tires screeching, the blaring headlights – getting brighter and brighter;blinding me and my father as they came closer. I resented the glass that shattered and scattered everywhere, the scarlet red that spilled all over – staining my clothing and my memory. I resented looking around frantically; looking over at that particular spot. Yet none of those things could ever amount to how much I resented myself at that moment – and how much I resent myself now.

If only I had payed attention. I could have warned him, I could have saved him. I could have . . . it could have been me.

"Don't ever say 'if' in remembrance of past events, nothing will change and you'll just feel helpless. You don't need to make yourself feel guilty when you couldn't have done anything in the first place."

That's right, he told me that – he always did – when I was younger. It always seemed like he never cared. When I cried and said my regrets, he'd glare at me and tell me to never use the words 'if I' because it made me look pathetic. Heh. I guess I looked pretty pathetic back then – and even now. I guess nothing's really changed. As much as I'd like to believe it – everything's changed. Nothing is the same anymore, and never will be.

"Nothing will be the same. . ." I muttered under my breathe, looking at the ceiling fan spin in circles in my room. I eventually got dizzy and just stared off into space. It wasn't long until I fell asleep; sad thoughts still lingering in my mind and slowly transferring into nightmares – no, the correct term is memories. . .but to remember them and wake up where I'm at now. . . the impact is equivalent to a nightmare.

. . . . . . . . . . .

I woke up the next day cold as hell. The fan was still on, the windows – open, the sheets were underneath me and were in perfect condition – excluding a few wrinkles and curtains danced along with the breeze that instructed them. I glanced at the clock with my eyes. It was hard to see, I presumed it was because my eyes were dry and would check them when I got up to get ready. 5 A.M. What time did I go to sleep again? I thought back, I was lost in my thoughts for a while and didn't know how much time had went by – but I closed my laptop around 1 A.M, I would guess I feel asleep around 2. Oh isn't that just abso-bloody-lutely fantastic? 3 hours of sleep. Oh well. I might as well get up now, I can never fall asleep again anyways. I got up and slowly walked to the bathroom, my eyes half open and it took all my strength to drag myself across the room.

I looked at my twin who lived in the mirror and frowned. My eyes were red and so were my cheeks. There were a few dried tears and gray bags under my eyes. I knew this meant I had dreamed – remembered – that night, it's easy to not remember a dream but I learned over the years that I always woke up like this after I had that same nightmare and after looking at my appearance I would remember it again – even if I would prefer to leave it behind me. I sighed and closed my eyes – letting myself fall victim to my conscious and fall into the memories of the one thing I oh-so-hoped to forget more then anything.

. . . . . . . . . . .

I stared at him in his usual state. He was furious and yelling at me, but I ignored it and turned my head. I placed my head on my hand and looked out of the window and watched as rain fell onto the glass and slowly dripped down, like tears would fall down a pale-colored cheek. I let his words come in one ear and out the other. I've memorized this speech by heart anyways.

"You're 11 , Arthur! 11! I don't know if Patrick (Scotland) and the others are influencing you or not but you can not act this way! Sooner or later Patrick is going to be in High School! That is when everything goes wrong and we'll be lucky if he keeps his sanity! His grades might drop and he might turn into a delinquent. If that's the case then I do not want you to follow his example! Peter (Sealand) will grow up with you as one of the only siblings he knows and I want him to be under a good example! Unless of course – "

"I'm not going to boarding school Papa, I've already decided that." I interrupted, knowing the next five words out of his mouth. He looked over at me and blinked in surprise, but then frowned.

"Things change Arthur. You say some things now, but sooner or later you may find yourself saying those things without any meaning or true belief. " I grew silent at this.

Like how you said you loved me when I was little?

Can you still say that with all the feeling you had back then?

And that's when God decided to play the movie of my life in slow-motion.

"Dad!"

I feel glass piercing into my skin, I bring my hands over my face in defense. I screamed. He slam his chest against the wheel. His head against some glass. Blood runs down his forehead and there are cuts all over him. I slowly turn my head.

"Daddy?" I choke out. I never have felt more childish in my life, but this, – this brought back too much. . . to see something here a few seconds ago and gone in less then a minute – this was the first time I've experienced true pain. Not physical – although I've had a incidents here and there – but mental. It tore me apart in side. "Daddy, wake up! Please!" My voice strained, tears rolling down my cheeks, my face turning red.

He turned his head a bit, his green eyes half open, no longer shining with the bright confidence they usually held. He smiled at me. Weakly. Bitterly. Then he muttered five words that make me burst into more tears. I hear sirens coming in behind. I see the lights reflecting off the glass all around me. After that everything went black, and I woke up to find that it wasn't the dream I had hoped it to be when I first opened my eyes.

I woke up to a fan above me, going in continuous circles. Once I was fully-awake – or at least grasped the situation I was in and what had happened before I shot up,

"Daddy!" Nurses came in and held me down, telling me countless times I had to rest. I kept struggling as best I could, but I could feel skin being ripped open and blood drip down my thigh, I yelped in pain and held my thigh, tears of pain forming in the corner of my eyes.

"Someone get the doctor, he opened some of his stitches!" I opened my eyes reluctantly and took my hand of my thigh to look at it, it was drenched in blood. I stared at it and caught the scream in my throat. I began missing every chance I had to breathe and not long after that I blacked out again – at least it was easier for the nurses to patch up my stitches.

. . . . . . . . . . .

After I woke up, I was surrounded by my brothers. Patrick . . .was crying? Mother was a complete and utter emotional wreck. She held Peter close to her and he cried into her shirt. Scáthach (S. Ireland) and Wally (Wales -I could /NOT/ think of anything so sorry for the bad name) were crying too. Everyone was, and when I mentioned Father they only cried more and it didn't take anything else for me to get the hint and start crying as well – but somehow, I ended up crying more then anyone – despite how close he was to my older brothers, despite how much my mother loved him, despite Peter being so young and sensitive.

That's when things went downhill. Patrick, Scáthach and Wally began to abuse me – they would have been playing rugby with Father if it had been me. Mother was always crying and rarely left the house – she would be preparing a nice dinner for when Father got home if it had been me. The only normal one was Peter, because he never quite understood the concept of death. He began to spend more and more time with me and we became so close – that was the one bad thing that could have happened if it had been me.