England was confused. For the first time in recorded history, America had gotten to the meeting room before him, but was not inside doodling on the chalkboard. Indeed, the North American stood in the hallway looking lost and a little scared. He occasionally peered into the meeting room through the little window in the door, wincing at what he saw each time.

"Oi, brat, what are you doing?"

America turned to shoot England a strained look. It was actually a confused pout, the kind you'd see on a puppy if you took its toy. "Oh, hey Iggy. Look, it's not the best time to go in there."

"Pish-tosh, we're supposed to go in there. We have a meeting in ten minutes."

"I really don't think-!" England interrupted America by pushing past to open the door. What he saw inside made him freeze in concern.

Canada- quiet, polite, cheerful Canada- was sprawled in a corner of the room, surrounded by empty beer cans. The young nation's eyes were red and puffy; salty tear tracks stained his face. He hadn't even bothered to dress: Canada still wore his PJs, as if someone had dragged him from his house. Pained moans occasionally escaped the blond's throat.

"Canada dear, what happened?" England rushed to his former colony's side, oblivious to America's snort.

"Oh, so he's dear, but I'm brat?"

"Get used to it Amerique," France said as he arrived, "Canadien was always ze cute one."

It took several minutes for Canada to answer England's question. When he finally spoke, the words were barely understandable, a strangled croaking noise. It reminded the other nations of a dying crow.

"He's dead! Gone, gone, gone! Why? He was the best, so why? Seventy-seven's not that old, is it?"

"Who's dead?" Germany demanded. More nations were arriving now, pouring into the room. Canada's words filled them all with concern. Had a smaller nation died? One of Canada's allies? Or a province of his maybe? If such a thing could happen without the other nations knowing about it, they had reason to be afraid.

"Tom." Canada's voice was small now, barely audible, and squeaky like shoes on tile. "Renal failure... My Stomper's gone!"

Well, that relieved most of the other nations. There weren't any personifications referred to as Stomper who could've died. This was about a human. Of course, that left the nations puzzled. It was rare for one of their own to form such a connection with an individual citizen. Only American and Australia recognized the name.

"Whoa bro, you mean Stompin Tom's gone?"

Australia's face fell as America spoke. "Aw damn mate, that's a right downer." The southerner moved to comfort his brother, rubbing Canada's back and glaring at the confusedly insensitive nations around them.

The others turned to America for an answer. "Who's Stompin Tom?"

America chuckled nervously. "Well, I'm not the best to say, haven't heard most of his stuff. But he wrote a lot about Canada, and his Hockey Song is really good."

Then Canada began to mumble. Over and over, a silly little poem, but one that captivated the other nations and made them forget why they were there. It was a reaction only Prussia understood. After all, Stompin Tom was to Canada what Old Fritz was to him.

"Oh he's been everywhere

But now he is the wind

Long gone to the Yukon

For ne'er has he sinned

He stuck to it and at it

Like a man in the moon

And late at night he'd have us dance

The gumboot cloggeroo

A Confederation Bridge

Across his native land

Singing of the love he felt

For each shore upon he'd stand

Around the bay and back again

He'd wander shore to shore

But now he's gone, no cares to tend

He'll wander evermore."