"I do not make films primarily for children. I make them for the child in all of us, whether he be six or sixty."-Walt Disney

January 4, 1967:

When England arrived at America's semi-large colonial Victorian house, a mix of anxiousness and anticipation flooded over him as he pushed past through the iron gates and made his way to the red-colored wooden door. The closer Britain got to said object, the harder his heart pounded into his chest that he swore that he would go into cardiac arrest. 'Relax Arthur, you are not in some bloody war fighting for your life. You are just here to talk some sense into the isolationist git and that is all. You can do this!' he said to himself with confidence as he inhaled deep long breaths to calm down his mad, racing heart.

Before reaching the door, he noticed the noticeable pile of newspapers and mail that were left on top of the "Welcome" doormat. 'Has the lad been putting off his national duties?' Though hesitant at first, England crouched down to look through the disregarded mail to see if they were in fact from America's government. But he quickly found out that most of the mail is junk aside from two envelopes that originated from Canada. After pushing them aside so he would not step on them, he began knocking at the door.

As he waited for some sort of response, he glanced around the garden and observed all the ludicrous amount of Christmas decorations that America had set up. One of the few things in particular that gave the British man a sense of unease came from the props of various characters (some of which he was able to recognize) with plastered smiles slapped upon their faces. Not only were they a bit too happy for England's liking, but they only reminded him of a certain Russian whose own creepy smile would put these smiles to shame.

'Honestly, does he have to put so much stuff up?' England slightly shook his head back and forth before turning his attention back to the door. With no one answering so far, England called out the American's name,

"Hello, Alfred?"

No answer.

He knocked again, but there was no sound of movement or shouting from the Superpower to let his visitor know that he was coming. The winter weather in Washington D.C. was not helping either as it was starting to cause the Brit to shiver. When his hands were becoming very numb, he instantly began rubbing them together to produce friction and blew hot air onto them to speed up the process. 'Where on Earth is he? Why is he not answering the bloody door?' Once he got back some warmth, he knocked even harder at the door.

"Alfred, lad, can you please let me in? I know that you are still not feeling very well but I would like to come in and have a word with you." Looking down at the doorknob, he bit his lower lip as he reached for the metal object; pleading that the door would magically open as his hands touched the cold handle. He turned the doorknob back and forth but, unfortunately, disappointment hit him in the face as the door did not budge. Of course it would be locked, what was he expecting? America may be an idiot at times but he would not be so stupid in leaving a door unlocked. It may not seem like it but the lad does enjoy his privacy.

After two minutes have passed and the door still remained undisturbed, England shifted his feet from side to side before coming up with an idea. If America was not going to let him in, then why not let himself in? It is not like America never once entered into his home before without the Brit's permission…especially without either breaking a door or window to do so. For God's sake he even tried to enter his flat once by going down the chimney and, not surprisingly, got stuck.

"Oh, bugger all" said the Briton as he tried to push aside those irksome memories and started searching his pockets till he found the item that he was looking for. After fiddling around with the door with his lock pick for a good minute or two, he congratulated himself when he successfully opened the door. Before stepping inside, he yelled out once more to inform the American of his presence,

"I am coming in now America. You better not bloody shoot me all right?" Scanning the room for any telltale signs that the Yank is still here, England's mind started to recall back what happened these past few days as he went on the search for the blue-eyed and blonde-haired boy.

ooOOOOoo

By the time the personification of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland arrived at his current residence-in a secluded suburban neighborhood-it was nearing eight o' clock at night. He was exhausted after being in a rather long meeting with the Prime Minister and all he wants to do now is to get out of the cold night, listen to the news on the telly as he reads a book, and go to bed. Stepping inside his house, he was immediately embraced with the warm air hugging him and once he adjusted the TV's volume—so England could hear the news but not have it loud enough to disrupt his reading—he sat down on his couch then opened up his book to continue on where he last left off.

He was a good few pages into the chapter when he barely heard from the newsreader that someone famous passed away today. England at first did not want to pry his eyes away from his reading material to look up at the screen; however, his growing curiosity was egging him on to look till he conceded defeat. Peaking over at the television screen, England froze in place when he saw the picture of a very familiar American man and the words under him read, "Walt Disney Passes Away."

England was a bit surprised to say the least and after quickly getting over his initial shock, he approached the television to turn the volume up in order to hear more clearly how the befallen the man died. After hearing all the information he needed to know, England's mind started to move onto thinking about how his little brother, America, is taking in the somber news.

Though England could care less about Walt Disney's passing, he knows how much the lad loves Mr. Disney…or "Uncle" Walt Disney as America started to call him years ago, much to England's annoyance. Whenever the boy receives news on what Mr. Disney was going to do next—whether it involves a new cartoon staring the rat and his chaps, a motion picture film, or even building an amusement park—America would no doubt blab about it for hours on end to whomever is unfortunate enough to be with him at that time. And his obsessive talking anything Disney-related gets even worse after seeing the newest entertainment and he would express how "boss" and "far out" the medium was.

The mere thought about how heartbroken the lad might be feeling at the moment made England feel as though something has just stabbed him in his guts and is twisting around all his insides. Perhaps this feeling was brought up because he does not want his brother to go through a lot of heartache or maybe it is due to recalling back his own past human death experiences? Whatever the case may be, he wanted to call the American regardless and see if he is all right. Getting out of his spot, he made his way towards the rotary phone that was only a few feet away from him and dialed in America's home phone number.

No response.

England re-dialed the numbers in again but was still received with the same answer. After the third unsuccessful call, the Brit massaged his forehead and looked at the grandfather clock in the corner of the room as he calculated the time difference.

'It would be 3:24 pm over there. He is probably at a meeting right now discussing about the Soviet Union's nuclear weapons with some of his bigwigs', England thought. The Briton gave a loud yawn as the idea of going to sleep started to invade his mind. He wanted to stay up for another hour or two, but he knew that he was too exhausted to do so. Stretching out his back and arms, he decided that he would try again later tomorrow in contacting America.

The next day, England called the American up again. Only this time he even made sure to call the Superpower up around the morning timeframe that he would be home; but yet again, America still did not answer the phone. He tried one more time but he was greeted with the same response, unsurprisingly.

Placing the phone back down in defeat, England came to the conclusion that he might just be running into some back luck and missed the lad before he stepped out. Surely later on tonight America will return home and when he does, England will finally get a hold of his former colony. With that being the case, and his day being free from doing any national duties at the moment, the Englishman pondered what he should do now. He knows that he was running low on food so a trip to the grocery store is a definite. It also doesn't hurt to stock up on a few other items as well like yarn and other knick-knacks. After that, he could cook something nice to eat…if the food does not come out charred, again.

Upon grabbing his umbrella in case of a heavy snow fall, England hoped that by tonight his patience will be rewarded and then proceeded to exit his home.

'It should be 7:33pm over there right now. America has got to be home. Why in God's name is he not answering the damn machine!' It was twelve thirty-three in the morning over in the U.K. and describing the British man's current mood as being grumpy would be an understatement. The time he spent going out to get all his errands done turned out fine; but for the rest of the day, he ran into headache after headache after headache.

When he arrived home at around four pm, he looked through his cook book to see what he could make until he was settled on preparing Shepherd's Pie. However, despite cooking it at the right temperature and at a shorter time then what the book recommended, the mashed potatoes came out too charred to the bone for even England to stomach it and ruined the entire cuisine. Fed up after trying to fix it, he settled on having leftovers instead.

A few minutes later after that incident, the phone started ringing as Britain was in the middle of scrubbing the burnt food off of the cooking wares. Thinking that it was America calling him back, he quickly put the half clean dish down and went to go pick up the phone. To his sheer disappointment, it only turned out to be France.

He was about to hang the phone up on the frog when the pompous windbag asked his neighbor what he made for dinner and if it did not turn into charcoal again. Insulted and embarrassed, England spent a good twenty minutes defending not only his cooking abilities but insisted that it was the brand new oven's fault for overheating his dish. However, France just ignored him and remarked how "sad" it was for the Englishman to fail at properly making one of his own English cuisines.

After a while of hearing the Brit's squawking for far too long—and already having succeeded in his mission to annoy his rival—France concluded their "conversation" saying this, "As much fun it is to ruffle your feathers, I do have other important matters to deal with, Angleterre. Adieu~". Before signing off, the Frenchman blew a kiss over the phone and chuckled after hearing a gagging sound coming from his neighbor.

Now here England is, not only staying up very late, but he tried calling the Yankee for the past four hours every thirty minutes. He even tried calling the American's government to see if he possibly left D.C. and is currently at another State. Yet they informed the Briton that America was not only still in D.C., but that he left to go home early and requested a bit of vacation time.

Dialing America's number in for the last time, England found himself, once again, waiting anxiously for the American to pick up. With no answering the phone so far, he began tapping his fingers on the wooden desk out of habit whenever he was getting more irritated. It is a habit he wishes to break but right now he could not give a damn. Too tired and annoyed to really care.

"It is half passed midnight; you better pick up the bloody phone you wanker" he mumbled to himself. As though on cue, England heard what sounded like clicking on the other end of the line and after a few seconds have passed, a voice emerged.

"H-Hello?"

When England barely caught the hoarse sound in America's voice, his irritation was quickly replaced with concern. To be honest, England was not surprised to know that America must have heard the news by now; but hearing the sadness in America's voice was a bit unpleasant for him to bear. America is obviously upset…but the real question in England's mind is about how depressed America is; though he had his suspicions.

Pretending that he did not pick up the sad undertone coming from the American, England cleared his throat and replied back.

"Hello America. I am glad you finally answered the phone, but I was calling to see if you are okay." he asked a bit cautiously. "I, uh, heard what happened….to Walt Disney, I mean."

Silence.

England waited nervously for his former colony to respond back to his question but the lad was, in his mind, taking too long. Usually England would be glad to have his loudmouth of a little brother be quiet more often but not like this. Getting a bit uncomfortable with the awkward silence between them, the Brit was about to say something till America decided to speak up.

"Oh, well, umm. I'm...no. I'm not really okay Arthur. To be frank, I feel like complete shit right now" the American said flatly.

Mentally stumbling around to find the right words to respond back to, Arthur blurted out,

"Do, uh. Do you want me to come over Alfred?" Though probably not the most elegant choice of words that the Englishman wanted to say, he hoped that America would nonetheless accept his offer.

"…No. I'll be fine. I just…need some time, ya know?" Alfred was still speaking softly and was trying his best to keep his emotions in check but to no avail.

Though hurt that his offer was shot down, Arthur understood where he was coming from. It would probably be for the best to give the American the space he still needs. Besides, this is not the first time Alfred experienced a loss like this and he will eventually get over it. How different could this death be compared to the other death's America faced beforehand?

"Okay, well then, if you need me do not hesitate to call me…or what's-his-face that lives north of you. Do you understand me, Alfred?"

After a brief moment, Alfred finally responded back.

"Yeah, I'll do that. Thanks for checking in on me, Artie."

It has been about eighteen days since the last time he and Alfred talked and quite frankly Arthur was getting rather concerned. By now Alfred should have at least started opening up to him or…or…err, what was the name of the bloke that lives just above America? England got a call from him a few days ago about Alfred's current state and he was sure the lad told him what his name was. He also mentioned something about him and America being brothers? 'Oh for Pete's sake, what was his name!?'

After a few minutes of brainstorming, Arthur suddenly came to an epiphany and recalled the boy's name. 'Canada! His name is Canada!' Arthur feels bad for not remembering the Canadian's name; but honestly, it is not his fault that he does not remember! He rarely ever shows up to any events anyways so how is he supposed to remember the name of a country that he only sees' once in a great while? It is a bit sad too because Canada seems like a nice enough fellow.

Anyways, Canada called him to ask him if he has heard from Alfred lately. England mentioned to the Canadian of the conversation he had with the American on the sixteenth; but other than that, not a peep.

Canada then stated that when he went to pay Alfred a visit to check up on him a few days ago, America looked very gloomy and apparently asked Canada to still give him some space.

"And he just said, 'Matthew, I am still not feelin' a hundred percent well. Thanks for checking in on me and stuff but I still need some more time to myself' ", as Arthur recalled the last parts of their conversation.

"And what could I do, eh? I kept on trying to persuade him to let me stay because I was really worried about him, but he kept on insisting that he'll be fine. And when I tried to walk past him to enter into his house, he kicked me out and locked the door behind me. I tried asking Al politely to open the door; I tried to bribe him; and then I tried threatening him that I will never make pancakes for him ever again. But those tactics failed and all he said to me was to 'go away'. Since he won't talk to me, I thought that maybe…"

"I can knock some sense into him" England finished his sentence.

"Er, yeah. I'm sorry to bother you Arthur, but I don't know what else to do. You're the only other person I can turn to right now."

"….I will see what I can do. I just hope for God's sake that he will not give me any headaches along the way. I got enough problems to deal with."

"I doubt that, but thanks Arthur. Though, I don't know why, but even if you are able to help Alfred out I just feel like he just won't be the same anymore…in some way. Bye Arthur . Good night and good luck."

'Alfred just won't be the same anymore…Alfred just won't be the same anymore' kept repeating in the Briton's head. What does Matthew mean by that? The Englishman pondered over this question for a while now. However, without coming to any solid conclusions, he pushed it in the back of his mind. He will more than likely get his answer once he confronts the American.

After informing his government that he is planning to go to visit America, the former Empire started gathering and packing up his stuff for the few days that he will be in the States. While he did so, he thought about what he should say once he and Alfred confront each other. From his past experiences, he knows that he needs to tread carefully with his words when it comes to the American on delicate situations.

Checking over his baggage one last time, he then shoved off and stepped into his vehicle. As he began driving to the airport, the Canadian's words once more plagued his mind, 'Alfred just won't be the same anymore'.

ooOOOOoo

"I am coming in now America. You better not bloody shoot me, all right?" With that now said and done, he closed the door behind him and started looking around for the Superpower.

After checking the whole ground floor of America's home, but has of yet run into him, England decided that America was more than likely upstairs on the first floor and in his room. As he headed upstairs, he faintly heard what sounded like…singing? Arthur stopped almost midway up on the staircase and adjusted his ears to confirm his suspicions. When he was sure that was the case, he kept ascending up as the voice became more audible and the music grew louder.

"…the birds. That's what she cries.

While overhead, her birds fill the sky.

All around the cathedral,

The saints and apostle's look down as she sells her wares.

All though you can't see it,

You know that they are smiling.

Each time someone shows that he cares."

England knew the name of the song immediately and the voice of the woman who was singing it. It wasn't too hard to figure out, that song was made not that long ago and it came from a movie that was an adaptation of one of Britain's many literary works. 'Why on Earth is he playing that song?' England tried to figure it out but came up with no solid answer.

"Though her words are simple and few.

Listen, listen, she's calling to you.

Once he found the source of where the noise was coming from, he was about to raise his hand to knock on the door but stopped shortly when he decided to let the song end before doing so.

"Feed the birds, tuppence a bag.

Tuppence, tuppence, tuppence a bag."

As the song comes to an end, Arthur decides now would be the perfect time to strike at the door.

Knock, Knock.

Soon after his hand made contact with the door, he heard what sounded like shuffling and a yelp of surprise from the voice of a young man.

"Fuck! Who's there!?" shouted the owner of the house.

"It is me Alfred."

What Arthur heard next—though he barely made it out—was what sounded like "you have got to be motherfucking shitting me right now". Ah, what such a lovely thing to say. Where the lad gets such colorful language is just beyond the British man's head. While he contemplated on about Alfred's choice of words, the American by then has turned off the phonograph record and is heading towards the door. Arthur's mind snaps back to reality as a very livid American stood in front of him. His usually bright blue hyper eyes were like that of a raging storm.

"What the hell England! Why the fuck did you break into my house!? Breaking in and entering without consent, ever heard of it!?" Alfred exclaimed out.

'Says you' England wanted to bark back bitterly but kept his mouth tight shut. Though Arthur agrees that America has the right to be angry with him for his actions, he was determined to sort out this issue his brother is having. Straightening his form and coming up with a determined and serious look, England began to speak,

"Alfred, we need to have a talk. Right now", purposely emphasizing the last few words with a stern tone to message to the American that he was not going to leave till he was done talking with him.

America was a bit taken aback by England's demand and then looked at the Englishman up and down as though his mind was playing tricks on him. Wanting the lad to stop what he was doing, Arthur rolled his eyes and spoke out,

"Yes, I am here Alfred. You can stop staring at me now like some buffoon." After saying those words, he immediately regretted the insult he accidently slipped out as he noticed that the American's facial features hardened. 'God dammit! Great, now you made things even worse for yourself! So much for being careful with your words! Now he is going to kick you out for sure! I will not be surprised if he-'

"Fine" Alfred responded bitterly before stepping out of his room and pushed past his older brother. As America started to head down the flight of stairs, England released the breath that he did not know he held back. He was actually quite proud at America for not throwing him out and for agreeing to have a confrontation without needing to argue about it first…however, the tension between them still lingered.

England trailed behind America as he wondered if they were going to talk in his private office; but when the American passed by the office room and took a right turn when they neared the front door, England quickly realized where they will be going to have their little meeting: in the kitchen. Splendid.

Once both he and America took their seats and settled in at the kitchen table, Arthur folded his arms together and was mentally preparing himself for what will come, 'Well, here it goes', he took a deep breath before locking his emerald eyes with Alfred's sky blue ones.

"Alfred, I know how upset you are…about Walt Disney's death. I truly am really sorry for your loss, I mean it. And I can fathom that you want your privacy and that you are rightfully upset at me for not only breaking into your home, but for not giving you your time alone." America's frown deepened at the mentioning of the Englishman's previous actions, but he still listened on without uttering a word.

"In spite of that, America, I am concerned about your well-being. Canada is too. And soon the other countries will start to notice your current state as well. So before you are bombarded with curious nations, and you will more than likely take your anger out on them, I came here to help you out".

England scanned the American to see what emotions he might be portraying, but so far Alfred was mostly unreadable…aside from looking annoyed at the Briton's presence and assumption.

"Do you really want to help me out, Arthur?" America responded. But the way he said it so dead-toned made England's nerves stand on edge. He has not felt this way with America for a very long time.

"Then bring him back."

"…Um, I beg your pardon?" Arthur was flabbergasted at what the American asked of him and double checked to make sure he heard the Yank correctly. Alfred leaned a bit closer towards the Brit and repeated his previous words, but this time he said it much more slowly.

"Bring…him…back."

England did not know what to say, he literally had no words to express his sheer staggerment. All he could do was to continue on staring at his little brother, looking utterly confused and shocked. Seeing as how he left his big brother speechless, America shifted his gaze downwards and once more spoke.

"No, you can't. Can you? Then there's nothing you really can do to help me."

Sympathy fell into the British man's eyes. He desperately wanted to stop this interrogation and comfort the poor boy just like he used to when America was so young. But he knew that that approach would not work out. America did not want to be comforted or pitied at the moment. No, England had to stay strong in order to get through to him. But at the same time, he hoped that America could truly see the Briton's sorrow and condolences as well. England closed his eyes as he recovered back most of his senses from that rather insane request and continued on with the conversation.

"Alfred, I understand how you feel—" but before he could continue on, America cut him off.

"Don't you dare say you know how I fucking feel, England. You don't know jack-shit about what I am going through right now!" the American growled loudly at him.

Though annoyed at being rudely interrupted and yelled at, England bit his tongue from lashing back at the boy as a means to defend himself. Instead, he tried his best to keep calm in order to ease the emotionally unstable American down. It is a long shot to tranquillize him, but Arthur raised both his hands in a surrounding manner and tried to talk reason with the lad without further agitating him

"Alfred, just calm down and listen to me. I came here to talk to you and help you out, period. If I did not care much about your feelings then I would not have become so bloody worried about you when you have practically isolated yourself from me and Canada; flown on an aeroplane all the way over here to check up on you; and break into your home when you did not answer the door." England said as gently and firmly as he could, hoping to get through Alfred's thick skull.

Instead of further yelling—like England expected him to do—America just clenched his fist, followed it up by relaxing his whole body, and then seemed to consider what Arthur just said to him. What America did next surprised England even further as the former Empire could not believe that the same young man who defied him so many years ago is, in some way, almost succumbing to defeat. Alfred looked pitiful as he, once more, sought out comfort by looking down at the kitchen table; puts both his hands through his disheveled hair; and in a last ditch effort to win out the argument, began to plead.

"Arthur, would you just please fucking leave. I am really not in the mood to talk or have a fight with you right now."

England was completely at a loss. What could he do? Respect the boy's wishes and leave? Or stand his ground and tell Alfred that he is not going to depart till this has all been sorted out? If he went with the latter, he would have to put up with more of the lad's rollercoaster ride of emotions and probably make the boy get more upset. But if he left, then who knows how long Alfred would wallow around before he even somewhat gets over this obstacle.

Closing his eyes, England weighed in the pros and cons of his two possible options as he also mentally murmured to himself on how much a hassle America is to deal with. When he opened his eyes to look at the American, England took notice the lad's condition. He previously noted Alfred's state earlier when he first gazed upon him, but he did not really analyze it till now. The most striking feature though that caught England's attention was that America looked fatigue; like he hasn't slept in weeks.

Sighing out very loudly to implicate that he has made his decision, Arthur got up and headed towards where Alfred is sitting. With the American still not looking at him, Arthur placed one of his hands gently on top of America's shoulder.

"No Alfred, I am not leaving. But I do not want us to get in a shouting match like we usually do. I want us to have a peaceful conversation; but since I apparently do not understand what you are going through, then you need to inform me so I can help you out."

After a minute of Alfred remaining silent and not bothering to look up at the British man, Arthur decided that a break was needed in order to soothe out the awkwardness and tension that hung over them.

"I am going to go outside and take a breather. When I come back we will continue on with our discussion and try and resolve things from there. Sound good to you?" With Alfred not confirming or denying what England had said, Arthur patted his brother on the shoulder; grabbed his coat that he left on the coat hanger; and opened the door to go outside.

Once he stepped out, Arthur let the nippy winter air calm down any remaining pent up nerves before he commanded his legs to start walking. A trip around the unexplored half of Alfred's neighborhood will surely do him some good to clear his mind. However, after ten minutes of walking, he was still having a hard time keeping his mind off the previous event.

He was trying everything to distract himself, from looking at his surroundings to kicking any stones in his way, but it proved to be rather difficult and only made his head throb. When he was nearing the end of the neighborhood, and he was finally able to ease up a bit, England decided it was high time to head back and confront the American again. Hopefully Alfred would too have calmed down enough in order to have a smooth and straightforward conversation from here on out.

As he was nearing the American's house, England quickly thought about how unresponsive America was towards the end of their last discussion. Will Alfred open up to him or will he give him the silent treatment and provide England with another challenge to keep his calm? He can only imagine the hassle if the latter were to be the case. Grumbling at the very possible idea, he knew that he would not be able to control his temper for very long if that were to be the case.

Upon reentering into the house, he was a bit surprised to see that America moved from his seating spot in the kitchen to the violet velvet couch in the sitting room. A knitted Native American blanket wrapped around him. As Arthur closed the door behind him, Alfred became a bit startled from the unexpected sound—apparently not hearing the door open a few seconds ago—and turned his head towards the source of the noise. When he saw that it was only his former caretaker, he nodded slightly to the Brit before refocusing back his attention to the blank TV across from him.

'Guess he is ready to talk' Arthur remarked. After taking his spot on Alfred's right side, England waited for the American to start.

"I was there with Walt when he died…Well, I wasn't physically there, but I was there." Alfred rubbed the back of neck as he spoke before bringing his right arm back down, letting it rest on his knee as he continued on with his story.

"When Uncle Walt went to the hospital for the last time, I just felt something inside of me that told me that he was not going to make it. I couldn't fly over to Los Angeles in time to see him in person, but I was able to tap into him during his last moments. At, ah….At one point, I listened to him tell his brother about the 'Florida Project'. Walt visualized the map of the project and…well, you should have heard Walt's vision Iggy. It would have blown your socks away. Hehe." Alfred weakly laughed a bit, whether to release part of the stress that he was holding back or for something else, Arthur could not tell.

Though it seemed like America wanted to further discuss his experience tapping into the man's last remaining moments alive or on other related subject matters, he was apparently having a hard time getting the words to come out. Out of his brotherly instincts, England stretched his hand around his little brother's shoulders to pull America towards him and embrace him with a tight hug.

"I'm sure whatever he had planned, it would have surprised this old geezer" Arthur merely said.

America was a bit stunned at the Englishman's surprisingly unexpected action. Britain used to hug him eons ago; but when he grew up physically, England just kind of stopped all together. Sure they are starting to hug each other more often recently—usually he'll be the one giving the hugs—but the majority of them were not like the good ol' ones. Not wanting his brother to possibly let go, he quickly responded back with the same action.

"Artie, he had so much to still do. He had so many ideas and dreams that he wanted to accomplish. I…I just fucking miss him. He was like family to me. I know it sounds weird but he was. He made me and so many others feel like a kid again…but now he's gone."

This piece of information was new to Arthur. Hearing the main reason why Alfred was so upset over this death made Arthur also realize that he too will miss Mr. Disney's magic—despite criticizing the man's work on numerous occasions. To try and brighten both their spirits, England responded back,

"I am sure his company will continue on with his magic, Alfred."

"Maybe….but it won't be the same."

Author's Notes:

I decided to write about the death of Walt Disney and America's reaction mainly because when I scrolled through all the fanfics crossing over Disney with Hetalia, I saw that none of them explored the relationship between them (and America's feelings on how he missed out on a lot of childhood things by growing physically mature so quickly…guess which particular person helped filled in some of those holes). Not sure if I succeeded at my quest but I tried my best and that's all I can do.

Now just to be clear, 'cause there's bound to be someone out there who's gonna bring this up, but yes Walt Disney is not a saint. Do I think he's racist, anti-Semitism, sexist, and all that good dirty stuff? No. So if I agree that Walt is not the perfect golden boy he is made out to be, then why do I still, in a sense, adore him? Simple, I love his views and passion for art/animation and storytelling. I love what he has done in pushing the envelope, raising the bars, and I love how he treats his audience.

Also, side note, I could not find articles or footage from the U.K. that would have helped me get a better sense of how they reacted to Walt's death so hopefully I was not too far off the mark on balancing the reactions from the people in the U.K. and Arthur's.

One last thing. I like to leave clues on my next fanfic in every story. I don't know how often this will happen but if there's a clue then I will let you know and guess. Hint: this line is short, irrelevant, and could be cut out entirely without affecting the story. Good luck =)

Historical and Fun Facts:

1) The Florida Project and Walt's Death: In 1964, Walt Disney Productions began purchasing land in central Florida for Disney's "Florida Project". Disney and his brother Roy then announced plans for what they called "Disney World." Disney World was to include a larger, more elaborate version of Disneyland (the Magic Kingdom), and the heart of it was to be EPCOT (the Experimental Prototype City of Tomorrow).

EPCOT was designed to be an operational city where residents would live, work, and interact using advanced and experimental technology, while scientists would develop and test new technologies to improve human life and health.

However, Walter Elias "Walt" Disney was diagnosed with lung cancer in his left lung, after a lifelong habit of chain smoking. He was checked into the St. Joseph's Hospital and his health eventually deteriorated. On December 14, Roy came to visit his brother and Walt pointed up to the ceiling as he used the tiles as a grip map for the Florida Project. He signaled Roy about the roads and major places in EPCOT and Disney World. Walt died on December 15, 1966 (around 9:30 am) at the age of 65. –Disney Wiki

2) Song Used: The song I used is called "Feed the Birds", sung by Julie Andrews in the film "Mary Poppins". The reason I had this song being played in the fic was mainly because this was not only Walt Disney's favorite song, but it is said that anytime he visited the Sherman brothers (Robert B. Sherman and Richard M. Sherman) during the rest of his life, all he would have to do was say, "Play it," and they knew he wanted to hear "Feed the Birds". I believe America would have known of this fact and he would play this song in order to honor Walt.