Hamburgers

It was once again time for the world conference and England found that, once again, he couldn't wait for it to end. It was only lunchtime on the first day and already there had been several screaming matches and at least three fist fights. They decided to adjourn for lunch when Italy mistook his hair for pasta and attempted to eat it. Even though it was definitely a very strange way to break for lunch, most of the nations didn't seem to care as they bolted for the door, eager to escape the insanity, even if only for an hour. England supposed that the worst thing about these conferences was that they lasted for an entire month and yet nothing ever seemed to be accomplished. England was in the middle of contemplating just how to avoid being drawn into a fist fight (which America will likely start) when across from him, America bit into his hamburger in what England considered to be a disturbingly violent fashion. A little perturbed, England watched America finish his burger and start in on the next one. From the way he was eating them, England couldn't see how he could possibly taste the dreadful things. And every time he finished one, the silly nation had this strange look of triumph on his face. This wasn't the first time England had noticed this, but it was perhaps the first time he felt inclined to say something about it. After watching the gluttonous nation finish off three more burgers in this fashion, England finally spoke up, although the question came out differently than he had intended. "Why do you even like those things?"

America paused, and England counted himself lucky that America swallowed before speaking. "Cuz they're awesome, duh!" Then he proceeded to finish his current heart-attack-on-a-bun off.

Rolling his eyes, England couldn't stop himself from commenting, "I'm astounded you can even taste it, considering how you devour the things."

America paused in the middle of lifting his next victim to his mouth. "What d'you mean? I can taste them just fine."

England glowered at the younger nation, battling the urge to correct the younger's grammar. He was distracted as the blond bit into the next grease patty. "Why do you do that?" He asked absently before he could stop himself.

"Do wha'?" America asked, this time not bothering to swallow first. He took another bite, every bit as vicious as the last.

Biting back his disgust, England said, "That! You eat it so, well, violently!" He watched in shock as America actually stopped eating and looked at the burger. "Alfred?" He asked, hesitantly. America didn't say anything, just stared at the burger with a far off look on his face.

The year was 1940 and it was currently two o'clock in the sleepy little town of Arlington, Virginia. Everyone in the neighborhood was fast asleep. Well, almost everyone. There was a small two bedroom home at the end of a quaint Cul-de-sac in which every light was on. If one were to look in the window, they would see a tall blond man roaming his house restlessly with a military-issued rifle in hand. If any of his neighbors were to see him, they would be shocked. The man, known as Alfred Jones, was a gentle and cheerful man who never even raised his voice in anger. He and his infant son, William, had moved to this small town a little under a year ago. The single father had garnered much sympathy from the townsfolk, although there was much speculation concerning the mother. Alfred refused to speak of her, often acting as though he hadn't heard the question. However, Alfred and William Jones had other identities unbeknownst to their neighbors. They were the United States of America and the newly formed Territory of Alaska. Due to the Depression, America had closed his large mansion in Washington D.C. and moved to a smaller (and cheaper to maintain) house in the small neighboring town. The fact that the house was wired for electric lights was merely a benefit that America found himself liking more and more.

And that brings us to the reason America was prowling his house at two in the morning. Having ascertained that there was no one in the house; America went to check on Alaska one more time before turning off the lights. Gazing down at the young territory, America couldn't help the fond smile that crossed his face as he watched the little child sleep. While he would never admit it to anyone, he knew full well that the little boy looked a great deal like Russia. His hair was white blond and when he smiled; his chubby face did indeed bear a great resemblance to the childish yet terrifying nation. However, America had no problem admitting that he loved one feature that had absolutely nothing to do with his father, a long curl that hung in front of his eyes, exactly like Canada's. Forcing himself from his parental reverie, America reluctantly began turning off lights before settling in the study. He knew it was no use attempting to go back to sleep, it never was. However, he also knew that he would never admit the reason for his insomnia out loud to anyone, not even to himself. America knew it was ridiculous to be frightened of a dream, especially given how ludicrous the dream itself was. But, despite his denials, it continued to haunt him, ever since he'd first seen it at a county fair New York had invited him to five years ago. America supposed he was lucky he was in an economic depression at the moment as everyone attributed the effects of his insomnia to that rather than the real reason.

Sighing, America supposed he might as well get some work done while he was awake. Several hours and a large stack of paperwork later, America came across a letter that had somehow managed to bury itself in his official documents. Confused, America opened it. Why would California be writing to him? Most of his states were very upset at the Depression and blamed him for it. Which he supposed was fair, seeing as they seemed to be weathering the effects more than he was. After reading the contents, America sat back in his chair, more than a little amused. Apparently there was a new restaurant in San Bernardino that California really wanted him to try. Really, of all the reasons to write, she chooses to write about a restaurant? America debated with himself, could he really afford a train ride to California? And he'd have to take Alaska with him… Ah, California hadn't met Alaska yet. America smirked and shook his head. Perhaps that's what all this was about. Well, in that case, he'd just have to scrounge up the funds. Perhaps he'd stop and visit some of his other states while he was at it. Yes, this plan was sounding better and better the more he thought about it.

America stepped off the train at San Bernardino, little Alaska tucked safely in his arms. As he glanced around the station, his four western states that had decided to join him also exited the train. America listened; amused as Nevada and Utah continued their argument (they had begun arguing the moment Nevada had stepped onto the train). Colorado and Wyoming just laughed as they followed; both thoroughly entertained by their stubborn siblings refusal to agree on anything. Thankfully, their agreement was cut short by a young woman with short blond hair. The woman ran up to America and embraced him cheerfully, only pulling back to coo happily at Alaska. America and all his states stared at the blonde before Colorado asked, "Cat, what did you do to your hair?"

The woman, California or Catalina, just beamed cheerfully at her brothers. "Do you like it? I just got it done last week." She pouted and added, "Teddy said it looks silly."

"It looks fine, Cat." America said reassuringly. "Did Ted and George come down too?" America recalled her saying that she was planning on inviting Oregon (Ted) and Washington (George) to visit as well.

"Yeah, they said they'd meet us there." She glanced over at Utah, who looked like he was sucking on a lemon. "What's your problem, Jim?"

"…You cut and dyed your hair." Utah (Jim) scowled at his older sister.

"Leave her alone!" Nevada jumped to California's defense. "I think it looks good." He added with a grin.

Utah growled, "I suppose you would, gambler."

Nevada opened his mouth, but America cut him off. "That's enough, you two." He sighed and looked over at his elder daughter (well, in this group anyway). "They haven't stopped fighting since Brian boarded the train."

California just laughed merrily, "Don't worry about it, Papa. I'm sure they'll get along someday."

"Pigs will fly first." Nevada (Brian) mumbled under his breath.

California just rolled her eyes and mumbled under her breath in Spanish. "Come on, the restaurant isn't far and Ted and George are waiting for us."

America wasn't quite sure what he expected, but a burger joint wasn't it. He tried to hide his uneasiness, but his kids apparently knew him a little too well. "What's wrong, Dad?" Washington asked quietly. His purple-blue eyes filled with concern.

"It's nothing, George." America tried to reassure his son with a smile, but it felt a little forced. He couldn't help feeling guilty when the sweet boy gave him a hurt and disbelieving look. America glanced away from the son he'd named after his first boss to find that he'd now caught the attention of all his children.

"Come one, Dad." Oregon said, "You're not gonna fool us with that 'everything's fine' crap." He shook his short red curls out of his eyes. "Obviously something's upsetting you."

"Is there a problem somewhere?" Wyoming asked curiously.

America suddenly had eight pairs of worried eyes on him. While their concern was touching, especially considering the state their economies were in, America found himself unable to admit the real reason for his nerves. "No, it's nothing like that." He laughed dismissively. "I've just never actually tried a hamburger before, that's all."

"Really?" California exclaimed. "Well, you'll just have to try one! I just know you'll love them!" The cheerful state beamed happily, her expression clearly stating that she was certain she had done well in inviting her adopted father to visit.

"Ah, I don't know." America said hesitantly, his nightmare flashing across his mind. At California's crestfallen look, he felt his resolve strengthen. No, he would not be defeated by some ridiculous dream! "Oh, alright." He made sure the make it sound as though he was exasperated, only giving in for her sake.

He had been so focused on California and his dilemma that he found himself jumping when his other states burst into laughter. "Man, Cat," Oregon said mirthfully, "You're good. You've got to teach me how to do that."

America raised his brow, "Do what?" He said in his most dignified voice.

The states just grinned at each other. "Does it work for getting out of trouble too?" Wyoming asked eagerly, although he recoiled a bit from the stern look his father gave him. America made a note to watch out for any mischief his wilder son might do.

"No," California replied. "I have a completely different technique for that." She grinned at the blond nation, completely unfazed by the look America shot her.

"If you're done discussing how to manipulate me…" America grumbled, shifting Alaska in his arms. "Can we just get this over with?"

The states just laughed at their father's obvious reluctance to try the new food that was such a hit at all of their fairs. After they had received their food, the states all watched their father as he nervously poked his burger. "C'mon, Dad," Nevada teased, "It's not gonna eat ya."

America glared at his son, privately not so sure about that. Visions of a giant burger eating him flashed across his mind. Gathering up his flagging courage, America grabbed the burger awkwardly, bits of tomato, lettuce, and various condiments falling out of the bun, and, only hesitating slightly, bit down into the burger. He almost dropped the bun as the flavor coursed across his taste buds. He chewed it for a bit, letting the different flavors caress his tongue for awhile before swallowing. "It's good!" He exclaimed, surprised in spite of himself. He just grinned when his states laughed at him, tearing into their own burgers eagerly.

"See, Papa?" California said teasingly. "It's not that bad."

America just rolled his eyes. "Oh, be quiet." He replied, pretending to be annoyed as he took another bite.

England was starting to get worried. America had been staring off into space for several minutes now. "Alfred!" He shouted anxiously, yanking on his former colony's arm.

"Huh?" America blinked at the other nation, still slightly dazed. "What?"

England rolled his eyes. "Are you done with your flashback?" He asked dryly. At America's blank look, he sighed and asked again, "Well, why do you eat them like that?"

America glanced down at his burger again and shrugged. "I just do." Then he took another bite of his burger. England sighed and went back to his own lunch; he knew he wouldn't get anything else out of the silly boy.

A.N. Okay, this was inspired by an interesting fan art I saw where America was getting eaten by a hamburger. By the way, if you couldn't tell, that's what America's nightmare was about.

The history of hamburgers is rather debated, but all the stories I read all agreed that by the turn of the century they were popping up in county fairs across the country. In 1921, White Castle began selling hamburgers. The first McDonalds opened in 1940 in San Bernardino, California. It didn't actually become a franchise until 1953 (after WW2 ended, so I'm not sure how America got so many hamburgers during the Allied meetings unless he was having a shipment flown in from California everyday).

As for the states, in case you missed the references, their names are as follows: Alaska William, Colorado Michael, Wyoming John, Utah James (Jim), Nevada Brian, Oregon Theodore (Ted or Teddy), Washington George (I couldn't resist), and California Catalina (Cat). For everyone from these states, I hope I didn't offend you or anything. I've never been to any of these states, so most of my information came from Wikipedia. Also I tried to get the sort of personalities/viewpoints they would have during the Great Depression. I figure that California was correct in her prediction that Nevada and Utah would eventually get along… I think. For those who don't know, Utah was settled primarily by Mormons and this was a cause of contention between him and his surrounding brothers, mainly Nevada.

About California being adopted: All the states that were actually nations of their own (even for a short while) are 'adopted' children and were at least teenagers when they were 'adopted.' The exception to this is Vermont as he was part of the thirteen colonies to begin with.

Um, I think that's everything. If anyone has any questions, please don't hesitate to ask.