On the night of October 19, 2015, a little cottage stood alone in a field. Although the dark sky and crisp wind closed in all around it, a soft light burned steadily within. Ceremoniously, Arthur lit another candle. The sleeves of his heavy black robe were rolled up as he stirred a pot of bubbling brew. Arthur was humming to himself, reviewing the ancient incantation, when Alfred burst into the kitchen.
"Y'almost done there, bro?" he asked, his voice tinged with urgency. "Matt's really suffering." As if on cue, Matthew groaned from the living room. Arthur gestured with his spoon for Alfred to go wait with his brother.
"The spell can't be rushed," Arthur muttered, and went back to humming. Shrugging, Alfred wandered into the living room again. He fought to swallow all his nervous energy. Poor Matthew. His condition had been steadily degrading since he had gotten sick ten years previous. It would all come to a head that night.
Matthew lay frail on the couch: pale, groaning, a bluish tinge to his cheeks. Francis sat in the armchair beside him, lovingly stroking his hair. Without taking his gentle hands off of Matthew, Francis looked up. He and Alfred exchanged a series of meaningful glances, ending with Alfred shaking his head and Francis sighing sadly.
Just then, Matthew's eyelids fluttered. He coughed, then mumbled something.
"They're counting," he muttered. "The whole eastern part is red." Then he dropped off to sleep again. Alfred and Francis looked at one another, confused. The kitchen door swung open and Arthur strode in, carrying a bowl of steaming potion. He had his magic wand tucked under his arm.
"I'm ready if he is," Arthur said, readjusting his hood. Francis looked down at Matthew, concerned.
"Are you certain this is going to work, Angleterre?" he asked. "It's been a while since you performed an exorcism."
Arthur scoffed. He wafted the fumes of the musky potion over toward Matthew, whose eyelids faintly fluttered. Holding their breath, Alfred and Francis leaned in to watch closely.
"Let's have some space," Arthur grunted. He began to chant in a long-forgotten tongue. Matthew's fingers twitched. Arthur chanted faster and Matthew's body jolted like he was being shocked.
"Whoa, dude!" Alfred shouted. Arthur held up a hand for quiet as he finished the last lines of his chant. A moment passed in tense silence. Arthur pulled back his hood.
"I can't say for certain how well that worked."
"We all saw him jump, though," Alfred said, patting his little brother's hand. With a short sigh of frustration, Arthur shook his head.
"I didn't make that happen," Arthur said. He gave Matthew a long pensive look. Then he shook his head again. Francis nodded in acknowledgement of this heavy news. Impatient, Alfred poked the other two nations.
"What?" he asked. "What's wrong with him?"
"I did my best," Arthur replied. "Our Matthew is in deep - very deep. Whatever happens next is all up to him."
The three conscious nations watched their little brother fight his silent battle. Occasionally, a slight twitch or quiet groan would let them know he was still determined to win. When the clock struck midnight, the furniture in the room began to rattle. A coffee cup tipped over but went largely ignored; all eyes were on Matthew.
"The... the..."
Alfred, Arthur, and Francis leaned in close, straining to hear Matthew speak.
"The votes are in," he muttered, monotone. "They're calling it a Liberal majority."
The three nations exchanged puzzled glances.
"What the heck does that mean?" Alfred asked. In an instant, he got his answer. Matthew's body shot up off the couch and levitated into the air. He convulsed for half a minute, then let out an ear-shattering scream. Thick blue smoke spilled from his mouth. Shrouded amidst the miasma, a demonic figure appeared. It had pasty skin, and eyes as lifeless as winter, and ashen hair molded like a half sphere.
"Holy moly!" Alfred shrieked. "Did Mattie just barf up the ghost of a lego man?"
The demon wailed an ungodly note and then vanished into nothingness. The room stopped shaking. Matthew's body dropped back onto the couch. His familiar purple eyes opened, their light having returned. While Arthur and Alfred hung back in stunned silence, Francis leaned forward and whispered into Matthew's ear.
"Mon petit chou," he said. "Do you recognize your family?"
"Of course I do," said Matthew, sitting up. He pointed to everyone in turn. In a bored, laughing tone, he listed their names. "You're Arthur, Alfred, Francis, and... Kuma-giraffe?"
Kumajiro shrugged and wandered off to raid the fridge. That's when Matthew became awkwardly aware that everyone was still staring at him. What he initially thought was a joke seemed to be something else entirely.
"What?" Matthew asked. "I take a short nap and everyone gets suspicious."
"Uh, dude," Alfred said, grinning awkwardly, "that wasn't a short nap."
"You've been... not yourself for several years," Arthur said. Francis pulled Matthew into a tight hug.
"We were afraid we might lose you," he said, welling up.
"Lose me?" Matthew said, confused but gratefully returning the hug. "Years?"
"It's 2015."
"What?!" Matthew screamed. He blinked several times, unable to do much else. He couldn't believe it. He asked to borrow Alfred's phone, to check the calendar and make sure this wasn't another prank. Alfred handed him a device he'd never seen before. It was a phone, of course, but it looked and performed more like a handheld computer.
"What's Snapchat?" Matthew asked, but quickly settled upon a more pressing question. "Was I in a coma?"
Alfred plunked down on the couch next to his brother and gave him a heartening pat on the shoulder.
"Yeah, no, sorta. Don't worry about it," Alfred assured him. "It happens to all nations, from time to time. I wasn't doing so great myself just a short time ago."
Matthew blinked. More memories came rushing back. He had just gotten a new boss at the same time Alfred's old boss was voted back in for another term. The two bosses seemed to like each other a lot, but then they started saying things that didn't make sense to Matthew. Matthew remembered drilling for oil more than he thought he should. He remembered ignoring people who needed help. He remembered a war. Or two. From that point on, it was all kind of foggy.
"Don't worry," Alfred said, still patting Matthew's shoulder. "My new boss has been working hard and things are going a lot better. Not perfect, but better."
More patting. Matthew's shoulder was starting to hurt, so he politely slid out of Alfred's reach.
"I've got a new boss too now," Matthew said. "I think things are going to start getting better for me too." He smiled. His heart felt warm with a sense of optimism and peace.
"The important thing is you managed to expel the demon on your own," Arthur said, gathering up his exorcism tools. "The type you had was deeply embedded. No outside magic could have removed it."
Matthew nodded. Surrounded by his family and his home and, for some reason, a polar bear, he felt like anything was possible. Deep in his heart, he knew that when the sun rose the following morning, it would be the dawn of a new era for him and for the world.
Leaning in close to Francis, Alfred quietly asked what they should do with all the pea soup upstairs. Francis pouted.
"That too is a part of his cultural heritage," he said bluntly.
"Oh..." said Alfred. He hadn't been to too many exorcisms before and this was his first for a former French colony.
"So, he's totally back to normal now?"
Alfred and Francis watched their little brother cheerily reacquaint himself with Kumajiro. At long last, everything appeared to be just fine.
"I'm going to wash up," Arthur said, collecting his potion flasks.
"I'm going to ask Matthieu to introduce me to his new bishounen Prime Minister," said Francis.
"I'm going to buy hamburgers for everyone," said Alfred, getting up and making his way to the front door.
"Hamburgers?" Arthur said in disbelief. "It's the middle of the night." Alfred saw no problem with that and left to go get hamburgers. Meanwhile, Matthew and Kumajiro were still trying to remember one another. Both of their recollections were muddled at best, which they mutually attributed to Matthew's ten year spell of being completely out of character. Although many things in Matthew's country were about to get a lot better, his ability to remember the name of his bear was not.