It was a cold, crisp winter night. The moon burned through the flat and wispy clouds and a small collection of stars pushed through the light of the city beyond.

America sucked in the cool night air, burning his throat with its chill. It tasted faintly of exhaust and of fast food grease. He fought the sudden urge to go and find a hot dog stand. He gave an involuntary shiver and continued his walk through Central Park.

He paused on top of a hill and looked down at the bright orange and yellow cluster of lights below. The glow flickered off his glasses and made a ghost smile play on his lips.

In a weird way, he found the unnatural lighting somewhat beautiful. The civilization and the thought of how far he'd come made his heart flutter with pride.

"Beautiful, aren't they," he muttered to himself, sending puffs of his breath into the air. But he wasn't referring to the city.

The smile disappeared as he returned his gaze to the sky and thought of distant days when there were more than a handful of stars up there…

A full moon illuminated the prairie grass as it swayed to some unheard rhythm. A fire cracked and popped, sending smoke drifting up with the other wonderful smells of the old western.

"America."

America looked up from his absent-minded strumming. He looked up into the faces of the small group of young men, including his brother, Canada.

"America," he said again in his quite, breathy voice. It was so light that America thought it might be lost in the wild prairie wind. "Will you play us a song?" He asked hopefully.

America smiled and adjusted his guitar, his fingers twitching to get started. "Why, sure! Anything special you fellas like to hear?"

There were a chorus of different requests but Canada just leant over and whispered, "Why don't you pick the song." After considering, America smiled and began to strum.

"Oh, the high hawk knows where the rabbit goes,
and the buzzard marks the kill
But few there be with eyes to see the tall men riding still
We hark in vain on the speeding train
for an echo of hoofbeat thunder
And the yellow wheat is a winding sheet
for cattle trails plowed under

Hoofdust flies at the low moon's rise
and the bullbat's lonesome whir
Is an echoed note from the longhorn throat of a steer,
in the days that were
Inch by inch, time draws the cinch,
till the saddle will creak no more
And they who were lords of the cattle hordes
have tallied their final score…"

As he sang, he could hear the call of a coyote and the soft hum of his men as they sang with him. It made him smile and his heart fluttered with pride.

"This is the song that the night birds
sing as the phantom herds trail by
Horn by horn where the long plains fling
flat miles to the Texas sky
And this is the song that the night birds wail
where the Texas plains lie wide
Over the dust of a ghostly trail
where the phantom tall men ride."

His men gave out a little cheer and the coyote cried out with them in compition. America set his guitar down and took a swig of his coffee. "How about another one," someone called.

"Sure! Uh… Let me think…Ha!" He began to strum," I've been working on the railroad!
All the livelong day!"

"NO!" Everyone cried out, shaking their heads and chuckling.

"Anything but that," Canada said wiping away a laughing tear.

"Well, since yell are so picky," America said good natured," Why don't you, Mr. Canada, take on over the singing for the rest of the night?" And he thrusted the guitar playfully to his twin brother who turn pink.

"I-I don't know about that," he muttered bashfully.

"Why don't ya play a slower song," America sugested as he leaned back on his saddle and slipped his hat over his eyes. "One to unwind to, ya know?"

"W-w-well… Alright," he said, giving in. "Something slow, huh?" He fumbled with the insterment for a second, still getting over his shyness. After he settled down, he began to play Cowboy Jack.

"He was just a lonely cowboy
With a heart so brave and true
And he learned to love a maiden
With eyes of Heaven's own blue

They learned to love each other
As they named their wedding day
When a quarrel came between them
And Jack, he rode away…'

America closed his eyes and listened to his brother's mellow and soft voice as he sang the triadicc cowboy song about two lovers. He took a deep breath of that western air. It tingled his nose with the trail dust and had the perfect mixture of prairie grass, smoke, coffee, and freedom.

"Your sweetheart waits for you, Jack
Your sweetheart waits for you
Out on the lonely prairie
Where the skies are always blue…"

"America. America!"

America snapped to attention and took in his surroundings. Somehow he had wondered through the park and back to the hustle and bulse of the city. Taking a quick glance at his watch, he realized that it was rather late.

"America!"

He turned around, searching for the owner of the voice but found he could not.

"Over here, stupid!"

He wiped around to find himself face to face with his twin brother, Canada. The poor boy's hair was all ruffled and he had a black eye and, over all, looked pissed. When his brother faced him, he paled and began apologizing.

"He he. No no! I didn't mean that. That was just a-"

"What happened to you?" America asked, truly concerned.

Canada was taken aback. This was the first time anyone wanted to know what in God's name had happen to him. There were so many things he wanted to yell at his dumb ass brother but just settled for one word, "Cuba."

America adjusted his glass and with a sad smile asked, "How come we don't hang out as often?"

"Uh… Here's a better question, since when did you stop care? I mean…" But with a wave of his hand, America stopped his babbling short.

"What do you say if we went back out to the old cowboy land, just me and you, and rough it like we use to? Ya know, campfires, sleeping under the stars, singing to the guitar."

Canada gave him a look that said he either wanted to make a break for it or ask if he was feeling ok. Instead, his look turned suspicious and asked, "You're not going to leave me out there all by myself like you did that one time in Europe, are you?'

"No! Why would I do that? When have I done that?"

"Four times."

"Um, wow." America rubbed the back of his head. Then he straightened up. "Well not this time! How about after next week's summit, we head on out. On a hero's honor, I will not forget." He shoved his hand towards Canada who regarded the hand with suspicion.

He looked the cheerful man up and down as if to look for any tricks. He gave an inward sigh. "Fine," he muttered quietly like he was out of breath and shook his brother's hand. "But if you forget me…"

America threw his hands in the air. "That won't happen! Ok?"

Canada smiled. "Alright!"

America patted his brother on the back and the two began to walk off together while Canada talked about the upcoming meeting, America glancing over his shoulder for a last glimpse of the stars and of a taste of the past.


"Your sweetheart waits for you, Jack
Your sweetheart waits for you
Out on the lonely prairie
Where the skies are always blue…"

Author's note: This was totally inspired when I was on a walk, looking at the stars. I had to look up a lot of these songs, none of which I've ever heard of but apparently they were popular when they were written. Go figure.

.com/america/

Cowboy Jack

I've been workin on the railroad

Tall men Riding

I made sure that all these songs where from or close from the era I hopefully protrade in this little fanfic. Hope you enjoyed this fluffy Hetalia story. (I'm a geek)