~Canada's PoV~
I choked on the smoke as I forced my way through the rubble.
"America!" I called out for my brother. Please, please, please let him be okay… And let me not snap when I see him… Though, I knew the probability of that.
I knew the way we worked.
I wasn't that foolish.
When put face to face with an enemy Personification, our instincts took over.
It was like we became barbarians, nothing more than savages.
It didn't matter who the opponent was.
We fought. That's just the way it is with us Personifications.

The formerly crisp night air was now thick with smog, the dark of night lit by untameable flame. Screams of men and squeals of horses were everywhere. I couldn't even tell the difference between those of sorrow and those of anger and war.
My head swam, though whether it was from breathing in the air or the noises, I couldn't tell.
The truth of the situation struck me, as it always had in the past.
This is reality.
This is the way it is.
This is the way war is.
We don't get a choice.
We never do.
We never have.
Britain had ordered me to take some of my top units and attack the White House, to set it ablaze.
I couldn't say no.
It wasn't our nature to reject orders from our superiors. No matter how much I wanted to, no matter how much my heart didn't want to hurt my brother, my first and only instinct was to say yes.

So now, I walked through the rubble of the formerly great structure, searching for said brother.
"America! Answer me, will you?" I called out again.
Still, nothing. Jeez, that idiot… I should be able to sense him. Is this really hurting him that much? It's only one building, but…
"M-Matthew?" I heard a weakened voice through the screams. Scrambling in the direction it came from, I came to a small divot in the rocks.
"Alfred?"
"Don't call me that, dude," He snapped, his voice changing from weak to harsh. "Not after this."
"Well then what do you want me to call you?" I shouted.
"Anything but my human name."
"What? I'm your brother, Al! We promised each other we'd call the other by human names when we were alone!"
"What kind of brother would do this?!" He shouted back. I strained my eyes, trying to make his familiar figure out through the smoke.
"One that was ordered to by his father! You know what that's like!"
"That's why I became independent, dude. So I could make my own choices, choose who I fought! So I wouldn't have to attack you!"
"For the love of- Can you please show yourself? I don't like talking to a cloud of dust and embers."
"Why the hell should I listen to you?"
"Because we're brothers, America."
"No. We aren't. Not anymore." He growled. I heard footsteps to the right of me, backing off, so I turned towards the sound, taking a few tentative steps forward.
"Can we just talk, maybe?" I asked to the shadows, taking a risk and slinging my rifle over my shoulders. "If you want, I'll toss it away completely. I just want to talk to you."
Only silence answered me.
"Please, America." There was a moment's pause before the American answered.
"Is that a request from Matthew, or British North America?" I winced when he used my proper name as a Personification.
"Does it make a difference?"
"One will try to kill me, the other will follow through on his word. So, yes dude, there is." I hesitated. There was no way to know how my body would react when I caught sight of him.
"You know I can't control what I do, America. That's the way it is with us-"
"I don't care."
"Please…" I breathed, praying the stubborn country would at least listen.
"Toss the musket." I complied wordlessly, unslinging the weapon and tossing it away into the flame. It crackled, and there was another small explosion from the remaining gunpowder. I heard the footsteps again, though this time, they came closer rather than further away.
Then I saw him.
A moment of instinct took over, and it was all I could do not to dash forward and wrap my hands around his neck, or toss him against the wall. Because, even through the smoke, I could tell I would be able to easily.
Leaning against a tall Boulder for support, covered in grease from the ashes and fresh blood, uniform either torn to shreds or burnt black, America glared daggers at me. There wasn't anything but hate written all over his face.
"Amer-"
"Don't," He cut me off, "I don't need any of your damned pity."
"But you need help!"
"I don't need any help from the one who did this," He got straight to the point after that. "You said you wanted to speak? Say what you need and get lost." I sighed, knowing he wouldn't take anything except what was needed. Grudgingly, I took a deep breath, trying my best to not stare at my brother - I couldn't think of him as anything but, despite what he told me - in his current condition.
"You know if I had a choice, I wouldn't have done this." I said softly, looking down. I could almost feel his glare turn more intense as it burned into me.
"You always have a choice."
"But I don't know what the right one is!"
"Then go by instinct, dude!"
"It hasn't been that long since you've been a colony, too, America. You should know I was. I'm fighting them right now, so I can tell you this!"
"Yeah, well, fight harder, British North America," He spoke coldly, turning around and limping towards what remained of the white walls. "Because I'm having a hard time distinguishing the difference between blindly following an idiot's orders and following your instincts."
"I guess they're the same, then." I said, frozen in place as he passed me.
"I guess they are." I looked over my shoulder after him, bidding the tears I knew were there not to fall.
"I really am sorry, America." I muttered. He paused. But he never turned around to look back at me.
"Sorry doesn't bring back lives, dude."
With that, he vanished into the flames. I was left alone to fall to the ground, burying my face in my hands and desperately trying to stem the sudden onslaught of tears. It finally registered in my mind what had just happened, and my chest ached.
"But nobody has died yet…"
"Alfie, please… Come back… I love you…" I quietly wept to the rubble. I don't care if he attacked me first, this isn't what I wanted...
I felt the excitement of my people; I knew what they felt, but I just couldn't feel the same.
Not right now.
Right now, the last thing I wanted was independence.
Right now, I just wanted my brother.
The soft crackle of embers in the night air had never been so deafening.

A/N: Gaaaah, my feeeeeels. This was tough to write…
I looked up what British North America exactly was, and I got probably ten different results of groupings between Canadian land (since the provinces/territories weren't formed in 1812) and northern U.S. states. It especially got confusing after the Revolutionary War, so I was just like "SCREW IT! Canada's name before Canada was British North America! Cause Upper and Lower Canada need to have a united name in this!" and yeah... Cause my brain just works like that. XDD

I might continue this, I might keep it as a one-shot… I dunno. For now I'll tag it as complete, just in case.

Summary: In response to the recent American destruction of Port Dover in Upper Canada, the British government issued an order for the Burning of Washington, in which the majority of the town was burnt to the ground and occupied by British Forces. Only a few (British) casualties were dealt in the aftermath, due to a storm that had forced the occupying troops to retreat, thus allowing Americans to reclaim and rebuild their old capital.
The war of 1812 had an enormous significance to Canada. Not only was it one of the first times where "Canadian" forces fought a battle without direct backup from Britain, but had the United States been successful in their several attempts to retaliate, it is likely that Canada would have evolved into an entirely different country from what it is today. It was the very first time before the Canadian government started the route to true independence during 1867-1931 where the British/Canadian people started thinking that, they too, could be independent from the British Empire, along with their American kin.
It was the only time in U.S. history that Washington had been successfully occupied by foreign forces.