Title: The Cleaning of Confederate America's Storage.

Fandom: Hetalia

Rating: T

Characters: Beau J. (Confed. Am.), Sarah J. (Beau's human wife), Leeander J. (Beau's human son)

Authoress Ramblings: The first appearance of modern Beau! This assumes that Beau didn't die and come back (making 150 now an AU.) It's sorta a set up for why he's such a nasty evil prick now.

My name is Bl00dstain3d, and I own Hetalia. *shot* OW! BEAU! Sorry...My name is Bl00dstain3d and I do NOT own Hetalia.

Beau coughed as his footsteps kicked up dust. The light from his flashlight bounced off the mirror in the corner. The mirror wasn't anything special, just a mirror, but it was the first mirror he looked into as a new nation. It was the first mirror to reflect the image of the Confederacy. The steamer trunk next to it was younger, from WWII, it contained his navy uniform, and the uniform he wore as an American spy among German troops. It also contained various medals. His old desk was on the other wall, and he was sure it still contained his letters from General Lee, and several from Alfred begging him to stop the war. It had been in his office in his capitol building until his dissolution, when his estate reclaimed it. Several tubes lay on top of it. One of the tubes contained the original survey for the plantation. The others were maps, the newer surveys were in his study downstairs. The tubes were moved to the pile to take downstairs, he needed the original survey, as well as the plot map, he'd forgotten where the old slave cemetery was, and wanted it dug up and relocated. Behind the desk was a trunk with his Vietnam era stuff in it, and an old civil rights protest sign leaned on it. He stopped next to a very old trunk. His Civil War stuff. Some of it was in his study, but the majority was in the trunk. He opened it.

On top was his flag. Not the Rebel Cross, but his first flag, the Stars and Bars. He lifted it up, feeling the delicate material for the first time in a long time. Underneath that was his uniform, the one he'd worn when he lost his country. He set the flag on his desk, and lifted the coat out of the trunk. He put it on and looked in the mirror. It was a bizarre combination of what he used to be, and what he'd become. His hair was longer than it had been 150 years ago, the cowlick he despised didn't flick out when his hair was longish. He no longer wore glasses. His bearing was different. He picked up the hat from the trunk and put it on. The image was even more bizarre.

The image looking back at him from the mirror was a bizarre mixture of him from 150 years ago, and him now. The naivety he'd had 150 years ago was gone, and in it's place was a ruthlessness. He looked into the trunk again, letters from his wife, a beautiful young woman named Sarah, were tied with one of her bonnet ribbons. They'd married two months after the start of the war, and she'd died shortly after his dissolution. A photograph of her was in there too, as well as one of them on their wedding day. Sarah had loved photography, and there were tons of pictures in another trunk. His revolver was in a small box next to Sarah's letters.

The revolver and photograph of Sarah had gone into the pile to take downstairs, the flag, coat ,and hat had gone back into the trunk. He'd moved on to one of Sarah's trunks. This one had their clothes in it. Sarah's dresses, and his uniforms, he suspected the rest of her clothes where somewhere in the attic, but the uniforms were all that was left of his once grand Civil War era wardrobe. The dress Sarah wore the day he lost almost everything, the dress she wore the day he left for war, a photograph of him riding away from her, another wedding photo, one of his president, several of her pregnant, a few of a toddler aged boy and the dress she wore when she'd been forced to leave her parents house in Richmond. He'd kept a lot of her things…and learned valuable lessons from her.

He'd peeked in trunks holding items of Sarah's, and some with baby items in them, which were slammed closed, kicking up more dust, and some with children's clothes in them. His white dress shirt was going to be filthy. He didn't realize how much of the stuff in his storage was Sarah's…he should donate some of it to one of the Civil War museums. He opened another trunk. This one made him want to cry. Sarah's wedding dress. She'd had no clue he'd put it in storage, she'd planned to donate it when they needed the linen for bandages, but Beau had packed it away, and hidden it in the attic. Even 150 years later he could see her in it, smiling as they said their vows. A small box was next to it. Beau knew it held their wedding bands. He'd put them in there the day Sarah died. He closed the trunk.

Beau carried the box of items he'd picked up down the ladder. He dropped it on his desk. His saber hung on the wall, his revolver went on the shelf under it. Sarah's picture went into his desk, and when he'd located which tube was the survey and plot map and which the maps, he set the maps aside to be framed, and the survey and plot map aside to be looked at later. He sat at his desk and rested his head on his hands. He felt drained. He always did after going through the storage, even though today was the first time he made it to Sarah's section. He'd tagged several trunks of her clothes to be donated to a museum, and he'd decided against donating the baby stuff at the moment. He could start to let Sarah rest, but he wasn't quite ready to let their little girl go yet. He knew that his biggest mistake had been to start a family, but he was naïve then, and he'd learned. Over time he'd become sort of a womanizer…although he'd date his fellow countries, male or female, but never a long term committed relationship. He'd also realized that it was all Alfred's fault, he could've had more time with Sarah if he'd won the war. Beau growled. Alfred had cost him his family, and Beau would take away everything Alfred loved.