Hello, my readers! This fic is something that I have been encouraged to write, and it will basically be a collection of a whole bunch of jumbled points in history suggested to me by you guys, or thought of by yours truly! This is purely for everyone's entertainment (you reading, me researching... Yes. It's true. I love history.), so flames and bashes will hopefully not be seen here! Now, let's get on with it then, shall we?

Disclaimer: I don't own anything! Also, note: I don't really know if Henry Clay and John Quincy Adams acted this way, but it is how I imagined them.

Warnings: mentions of war, suggestions of war, threats, talk of war, and minor cussing

Song of the Chapter: Miss Me by Andy Grammar

So, this is the section I'll be writing a bit of necessary background on the history of the story. You can skip this (who's stopping you?), but it is recommended that you read this if you don't know anything about the topic.

Background: So, it's December 24th, 1814. The War of 1812 has been raging for the last two years, give or take, between Britain and the United States. Canada has also been in the mix, angered by the US supposedly trying to annex them back in 1812. There has been some majorly bloody campaigns and battles (Chesapeake, New Orleans, Ludy's Lane) and some attacks on both capitols (Burning of Washington, and I think some Americans burned Ottawa, too). Britain, seeing that this war was winning nothing but more bloodshed, offered a peace treaty to the United States, and they met in a territory of Holland (Ghent. Current-day Belgium) to discuss the terms. America sent some of their best officials, John Quincy Adams, son of the second president, John Adams, Henry Clay, and Albert Gallatin. The British Empire sent some random minor officals that no one cared about (at least not enough to post their names anywhere .). That's about where we are. The story starts with Quincy telling America about the suggestion of a treaty.

The Treaty of Second Ends: The Treaty of Ghent

1814

December 24

Quincy sat at America's bedside. The boy just hadn't been the same since the Burning of Washington, and there was a nasty burn mark that took up his entire left breast. The Chesapeake campaign was worse on the boy emotionally and physically, though. It was very bloody, and America had been horrified that Britain had done such atrocities. He had many scars from that campaign. Among those scars, he also had fresh wounds on his leg and on both of his wrists and lacing up his right arm.

The start of the war had made America very depressed. It was bad enough that Britain was purposefully attempting to get him to start a war, which he did with help and support of Congress, but then when the British troops had come to start it, America had found out that his own brother, Canada, had joined in the fighting because he thought America was going to try and annex him.

Quincy and the President, James Madison, had tried to tell the boy that it wasn't true, but he had somehow knew that it was. James then told the boy that they had only planned to rid their northern neighbor of the British, which was true, and America had somehow knew he was telling the truth.

Quincy shook his head. No need to get distracted by the past. He shook America's shoulder. "Get up, I have some good news."

America woke up with a start, moaning in pain when he suddenly jerked upwards. He rubbed his two sore spots on his chest and shoulder, then looked over at John Quincy Adams.

"Oh, hello Quincy." He said as happily as he could probably manage. "How is everything with you?"

The boy looked only about fifteen years of age, and it broke the older man's heart to see how much the young country was trying to make the pain seem less than it should have been. Quincy sighed.

"My young country, I should be asking you that." He said, smiling softly down at him. "You are, after all, under the most pain."

America smiled that smile: the smile that brightened the room around him. Quincy, though, could see it was somewhat strained. "Oh Quincy, you know what I was asking. Has that bastard of an older brother surrendered yet?"

Quincy laughed. "That's actually what I'm here about, my dear boy! Britain has offered a peace treaty signing in Ghent, Holland, and Madison has assigned me and a few others to take you there and show those bastards how resilient the American people are!"

"Who is Britain sending to this meeting?"

"Some minor officials that answer to the big guys up in Parliment."

America's eyes darkened. "They think we're not worth the effort." Quincy smiled. That's what Madison had thought. "Madison better be sending our best, because we'll show them."

Quincy laughed again. Madison really had connected with America. "We should get you ready then, my boy, because we leave at noon!"

"Do you think they'll be mad?" America was obviously having second thoughts about this meeting and seeing them again, Quincy thought.

Quincy smiled and put his hand on America's head and ruffled his hair. "Don't worry. If they don't like it, I'll be there with you. The other two are going to start, and I'll come later."

America smiled. "Thanks, Quincy. You're the best guy to back me up... Other than maybe Madison."

Quincy smiled. "Now that's the America I know!"

He was late. But wasn't he always? The British Empire rolled his eyes. This was pointless. If Lord Liverpool hadn't thought that the war was pointless, he'd be out on the seas, slowly deteriorating the American Navy. Next to him, the accursed country's twin brother, Canada, was sitting quietly.

The door opened, and a young man limped into the room. The British Empire's eyes widened when he saw that it was the country he had been fighting for the past three years. Behind the boy was a man, who was now closing the door, that had on fancy, aristocratic clothes.

America slowly approached the table. Canada stood beside the British Empire. America had finally reached the table in the middle of the small room, and he was now standing in front of it. He glared down at Britain with pure hatred, and the Empire was surprised to find no other emotion, except maybe hurt and betrayal, in his bright, deep, blue eyes.

He sighed. "Quincy, I actually think I can handle this alone."

Quincy? As in Quincy Adams, the Russian Ambassador of America? "My boy, are you quite sure? They aren't expecting me for some minutes now-"

America narrowed his eyes, still glaring directly at Britain. He was starting to feel quite angry. "I'm fine, Quincy. They can't do nothing I can't do back."

Quincy sighed. "Okay, America, if you're quite certain, then there's nothing I can do to change your mind." He walked over to the door. "Show them how resilient us Americans can be!"

The renowned Ambassador then closed the door with a soft click. America looked around, then found a chair. He carried it over - Britain saw that even in his weakened state, he had still managed to keep his inhuman strength - and sat down in it.

"Now then, I hear this is about a peace agreement?" America asked, looking at The Empire across from him. No matter how much he hated the bastard right now... He still had brotherly feelings for him. Canada was the same story, except his hate was more for betrayal and distrust.

The British Empire sighed. "You show up late, and yet you somehow manage not to read the documents I sent you? How irresponsible can you get?"

America's eye twitched. Britain was talking to him about irresponsibility?! He was the one that spent more time out on the sees as a Privateer than bonding with his colonies!

America smiled softly. "Oh, did you not hear? I've been bedridden the past couple of months. The Burning on Washington was quite a doosey, don't you think?"

America could see it: Britain's eyebrows creased in worry and guilt. America enjoyed it thoroughly, his humor dark and lustful. He had been waiting for a moment to make them both feel guilty, and he would do the deed gladly.

"It wasn't that bad. I went easy on you, after all." Britain said nonchalantly.

America laughed, outright laughed. This seemed to surprise both of the nations across from him. "You haven't gone easy on me since the beginning of the war! Oh wait, were you going easy on me in New Orleans?" More guilt flashed across his former older brother's face. "Chesapeake?" More guilt. This was fun! "Oh, or how about Ludy's Lane?"

Canada flinched at that one, and America turned on him. "You think you had it bad? Did you know, that battle field is also part of my land. I felt every single death, every single cry, every. Single. Stab."

Canada looked up at his twin. His face was filled with anger and hurt, but Canada saw through the act. His brother was hurting, hurting very bad. Not just because of physical wounds, either. No, Canada could bet that he was suffering greatly from his brothers turning on him.

America's face softened. "Why'd you do it, Canada? Why'd you team up against me?" His voice was so full of hurt, of betrayal, Canada's heart melted. But on the outside, the young boy's face hardened.

"You were going to annex me. Britain told me." He said confidently. Britain smiled next to him. Canada's heart lifted, until America started to softly chuckle. He sat back against the back of his seat.

"Ever think of doing your own research? Ever think of finding out if the Brit was lying? Which, I can inform you, he was."

"I was most certainly-" The British Empire started hotly. America cut him off.

"Oh, sorry, you're right. He didn't lie to you, he told you the facts that would make me look like the bad guy, then left out the rest."

Britain's eyebrows furrowed, but this time Canada interrupted him before he could speak. "Britain, tell him he's wrong! Tell him you're right!"

Britain was silent, and America rolled his eyes. "I'd explain, but I feel no need to. I will, however, tell you want I was going to do." America cleared his throat. "My government and I were going to annex you, yes. But, what Britain didn't tell you was that we were going to let you go almost immediately afterwards." America's face softened and filled with care and concern as he looked at Canada. "We just wanted the British out of North America, was all."

Canada couldn't believe it. His caretaker had... Lied? Britain stood up, and took America's wrist. America jerked in shock... Or was that pain?

"Let me tell you one thing: I would never lie to Canada ever, and I would never-"

America looked over to the door that had opened. In it stood a young blonde women hold some official parchments, quills, and ink. "Britain, let go of him."

The Empire did so, and America rubbed his wrist, wincing slightly at the pain. Damn, it hurt so much!

The girl walked to the table. "Now, then. The people from your governments have decided on the best solution. You may read this and sign it."

Britain got it first, and he quickly skimmed it, then signed his scrunched-up signature. "Canada, you sign next."

Canada must of heard the statement more as a command, because he didn't even read and it before he signed. The parchment was passed to America, and he slowly read it.

Or, more accurately, skimmed for the signatures of his people. Quincy had signed here and there, and if Quincy agreed with this, than America definitely did.

America smiled. He had practiced for this moment. He took the quill and the ink dish, dipped the quill slowly and delicately into it, then put the quill to the paper.

He started with the 'The', then the 'United States of', and finally, dipping the quill back into the ink, the 'America'. His signature swirled and dipped and raised at all of the perfect points, just as John Hancock had taught him to do. Sadly, though, this was after the British had surrendered at Yorktown, so this was the first time his signature was going on an official document.

America smiled at his signature. It was perfect, and was bigger than either of the other two. He handed the parchment to the lady, and she looked at the signatures.

She smiled at the last one. "That is a very nice signature, Mr. America."

America smiled proudly. He puffed his chest out, but slightly winced at the pain and decided to just sit taller. "Why thank you, miss. I learned from Mr. Hancock himself."

He heard a chocking noise across the table, but kept his blue eyes on the women in front of him. "There's no need to call me miss. I'm a territory of Holland, but my real name is Belgium. Feel free to call me it if you wish."

America smiled. "Why thank you, miss Belgium. I hope we can meet again."

She nodded and walked out of the room, her long dress swishing about her legs. No sooner had America turned around to a glaring Brit did the door burst open again. America felt no need to turn around, as he knew exactly who it was.

"America! Are you hurt? What did the bastard do to you?!" Henry Clay, one of the representatives sent from America, asked, running into the room.

He turned America's head to and fro, then pushed his sleeves up. There was an intake of breath, and America glanced over to see that Canada was staring at his scars in horror and guilt, and Britain was still glaring at him. Clay touched one of the scars, and America's reaction was to slap his arm.

"Ow! Dammit Clay, stop worrying! I'm fine!" America said, rolling his sleeve down again. He had not intended for his brothers to see his wounds, and he felt embarrassed. "Where's Quincy? I need not stay here longer than I must."

"Mr. Adams said he would go ahead and prepare the boat for our departure. He said to tell you it was the quickest way."

America sighed and stood up. He must have done something wrong, because he immediately toppled into Clay, then to the floor with a loud thud.

"Mr. America! Are you alright?!" Clay said, helping the nation up. He dusted himself off.

"I must have stepped with the wrong foot again. No need to worry, Clay." He turned to his two brothers. "It's been so nice seeing you both again, but I need to go now. Canada, I hope you break away from this tyrant soon. And Britain, or should I say, The British Empire?" America smirked at the slight frown that formed from his title. "I promise to surpass you some day. Maybe not soon, maybe not in the distant future, either. But I promise I will show you the might of a country built on freedom can achieve much more than one built from a monarchy."

And with that, the proud country limped out of the room, his nose held high. Clay followed him, and closed the door behind them.

Britain sighed. "Preposterous. He will fail. I give him ten years."

Canada smiled softly, listening to his adoptive father rant about his brother. Don't worry, brother. I'll make up for not believing in you. I promise to break free as soon as I get the courage.

Canada excused himself, saying he had to go to the bathroom, and ran after his brother. He stopped at what he saw. America was crying on John Quincy Adam's shoulder, shouting in between sobs about the pain he was feeling. Quincy seemed to be telling him soothing words, but they had no effect.

Canada nearly broke down into tears himself. This was not like his joyful, happy brother. Canada promised himself that we would do his brother's wish, even if he didn't have the courage to.

With his resolution now set in stone, Canada marched back into the room, Britain completely oblivious to everything. Canada said he wanted to go home, and Britain obliged. Canada smiled as Britain was leading him away from the crying America.

How would he break away from Britain and make him pay for what he did?

Yay! Why the title, you ask? Oh, that's because it's said that the War of 1812 was the second chance for Britain to get us back, and the second time failing. Also, America got a whole bunch of goals accomplished with this war.

If you'd like to see a certain part of history in here, then by all means, as long as it has a character that has been developed somewhat, then send it in! (Aka: no countries like Laos, Vietnam, Brazil, Crete. Places like that that I have no idea about their general behavior, y'know?) They'll eventually make it in here! Drop me a review and/or PM about it!

Thanks for reading! Reviews are welcomed, but not required!

~PurpleLuna98