Author's Note: I actually do not really like the OC thing. I'm a very canon type of person. But I wanted to do an outsider's view of the Hetalia world and I couldn't do that using an existing character. My goal is to have as man characters as possible in this story without it seeming overcrowded!

It wasn't that I was afraid or that I thought I was too weak. I was ashamed of the things I had done. Okay, and maybe I was a little weak, but I was mostly incognito because I felt that if I came back, not only would I not fit anywhere, I'd feel like I was something criminal. Obviously I was not and am not and will never be just the only one of my kind to commit atrocious acts or back something I thought was for good, but I, unlike most of the others, lacked true friends or something to offer. And before I knew it, I, the American South, was thought to be dead for more than a century. America should have known better.

It was hard to be a rogue of my kind. I don't age like normal humans and I still feel the effects of the economic conditions (I almost always have a cold), so I mainly just traveled around. It was when Hurricane Katrina hit New Orleans I saw him again. I was in Alabama at the time and once it happened, I rushed down to help out. I don't know why I didn't think to find some disguise. I saw so many blue-suited government men that I don't know why it didn't surprise me when I saw an unusually young one.

I hadn't seen him in forever, so I had to get a closer look. I trusted the fact that I was wearing a volunteer T-shirt and not a Confederate uniform or an antebellum dress. I trusted the fact he thought I had vanished into thin air like our kind do once we cease to exist. I remember the sunshine hitting his hair and they way he looked so concerned. His blue eyes were so serious behind the glint of his glasses. He looked a little older than when I saw him last. He looked a little less murderous, too. My stomach wrenched. I had deserved that.

He was talking to some of his men. For a moment I wanted to reach out and touch him, but I quickly shook the idea out of my mind. It was impossible. He probably still hated me. If he knew I still existed, I would probably be put under government supervision in some concrete cell in the deepest confines of the CIA building. But how could I not hate him like he so obviously hated me?

I wasn't paying attention. It was my fault I got too close to him. He turned around and the look on his face- He definitely recognized me. America recognized me. I ran and I dodged past other volunteers and the refugees. I ran through the streets lined with French-style pastel buildings and soon I had sweat pouring down me as I dodged into an alleyway.

I didn't know if he had followed me or not. I assumed he had. I mentally smacked myself; I was an idiot for running. I could have just told him I had a question and that I was some twenty-something girl from Georgia who was with her church group. America would have probably hit on me. I smiled, but it quickly disappeared. I heard footsteps. Loud ones. Suddenly the cobblestone turned into a muddy field. I could smell gunpowder and blood. My heart started racing while my body went into panic mode. I looked around desperately as men fell around me, their cries as clear and sharp as the sound of the cannons firing.

It didn't stop until everything started shaking. Had I been hit? I tried to focus, but everything turned to black.

"Hey, hey!" I lurched upward, smacking my head against something hard. It was America's head. "Damn it…." I tried jumping up, but he held me down.

"Just a second!" This was the first time I had seen his face this close for a very long time. The first time I had seen him since I was presumed dead was when I had managed to have a small apartment in Nashville. I was watching President Kennedy on the small TV when the camera panned out. Beside several men in black suits was a handsome young man I couldn't mistake anywhere.

I tried making eye contact, but my eyes couldn't stop wandering to his mouth as he stared at me blankly. "Who are you?"

"It doesn't matter. Let me go."

"Tell me."

"Let me go!"

"Tell me now!" This wasn't the first time he had yelled at me, but I flinched. I didn't know what to say. I didn't know how to explain.

"You know who I am."

I could tell he didn't believe me. One of his eyebrows was raised and he leaned back- but he didn't take his hands off of me. "No, it can't be you. I… You dropped and your men carried you off and…"

"They took me into a cave nearby. They knew I wasn't dead and they waited until I regained consciousness. I've never been dead. I've been… hiding." I looked away past his shoulder.

"I should have known…." America was still staring at me blankly. There remained a big divide between… Well, him. The South didn't necessarily belong to me anymore.

"Now let me go."

"No." My body froze. "You can't go."

"Why not? If I were planning some revolution, I wouldn't be here handing out food. I'm no longer one of your kind, America. Leave me alone."

"No, you are. You're just like Prussia."

Prussia? I tried to remember him. Some tall, German guy with red eyes. I only had a glimpse of him years and years ago when I attended a World meeting against America's orders.

"How…?"

"You could be taken like Russia took him. You could still rebel. But how to make you stay…"

"You do know your talking out loud, right?"

His eyes, the color of the sky, narrowed. "Listen, you could very well be taken hostage. That being said, I'm sure you've noticed that you can see through your hand." My eyes focused on my tan brace laying beside me. "You're disappearing. It's what happens to all nations after they stop existing. It can only slow down if you come with me."

He was right. I was starting to vanish with time. The lack of my involvement of the territory I was supposed to embody was causing me to die quicker. Something bubbled up in me, though. "I'm not going to let you imprison me."

"No…. I wouldn't. You can come live with me. You can just work for me."

His face was so serious and dutiful. This is what I loved about him. He was a goofball, but he knew how to manage himself. Maybe it was because of this I numbly shook my head yes. Maybe it was because I was so lonely. Whatever the reason, I found myself on a plane to Washington D.C. escorted by men with very large guns.

There's about to be an explosion of drama and funniness and all sorts of good stuff. It'll be fun describing all the characters! Hopefully this was a good beginning. Please review! I kind of want at least three or four before I continue, but... Thank you for reading!