A/N: I'm sooooooo obsessed with the civil war right now… Especially with my OC, the Confederacy (James C. Jones), and his relationship with his brother. Plus, he's so CUTE! Like Alfred with dark hair and green eyes, basically.

And if there's any historical inaccuracies… Yeah, sorry and junk. Just please don't flame me.

"I just don't know what to do with him anymore," the young blond sighed.

"Don't take it personally." America's boss, a tall, gaunt, bearded man, placed a large hand on his shoulder. "These things happen, don't they?"

"I guess," said America sadly. "But… That still doesn't make it any easier. I miss him a lot."

"I understand."

America gasped. "I bet he's mad at us about the whole slave-freeing thing! Maybe if we-"

"Alfred, we can't," the man interrupted. "That was a punishment. If we go back on our decision now, he won't comply with our demands in the future."

Defeated, the nation nodded, eyes downcast.

"We're doing everything we can to bring him back."

"I know." America smiled. "Thanks, Abe."

0

A dark-haired soldier sat in a tent inside the army camp. His face was pale, save for a slight flushed tint to his cheeks. The boy's breath came in heavy pants, sweat drops forming on his skin from fever. He was deathly ill and dog-tired, but he still refused to give up.

Since the war began, he had watched his men fall. Thousands hurt, more killed. Valuable land ruined. Economy falling, perhaps never to rise again. Civilian towns reduced to ash. He still refused to give up.

Nothing, absolutely nothing, would make James C. Jones go running back to his brother like a scared little kid. Nothing in the entire world. He would rather die than go back to that life, and he would never stop until he either died or became his own nation. The Confederate States of America.

"Jim?"

He jumped, startled by the sudden calling of his shortened name. "…Lee…"

The boy's general stood at the opening, a look of concern on his matured face. "You alright, son?"

Confederacy nodded with false energy. "Yeah! I'm okay! Why'd you ask?"

"You look like death itself." Lee ventured farther inside the tent, obviously worried.

Confederacy laughed nervously. "Death? Ha ha, what dya mean? I'm fine! Really!" A harsh coughing fit wracked his visibly thinner frame, disproving his former statement.

Lee frowned disapprovingly.

"I can still fight!" the boy argued. "Really!"

"Sure about that?"

"Look, I'm fine." Confederacy pouted, his inner tsundere showing. "Anyway, I'd sooner die than let that Yankee bastard drag me back."

0

"You're taking his side?" America's face showed shock and betrayal.

"I'm not taking his side. I'm simply doing whatever it takes to stay out of this silly brotherly quarrel." England frowned, crossing his arms. "And if you ask me, it's just what you deserve."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

England scoffed. "It's obvious! You're finally having to learn what I felt like during the Revolution!"

"Not that again!" America sighed. "Look, it's different for South and me. We're twins! We've never been apart, not 'til now…"

"Like I care!" snapped England. "You're going to have to deal with this on your own!" He then strode away in frustration.

"Hey, Amerique," said a sympathetic voice.

"Huh? France?" America brightened upon seeing the Frenchman. France always seemed to disagree with England, and at the moment he seemed sincere. So maybe… "Did you come to help me get Jim back?" he asked hopefully.

France shook his head apologetically. "No… I have just come to tell you that…" His face turned into a bright, slightly mocking grin. "…I am siding with the Confederacy~!" He then skipped away with an annoying laugh. America was left alone.

"They are quite the jerks, da?" asked a voice behind him.

"Huh? Oh…" America sighed. "Lemme guess. You're siding with the Confederacy too."

Russia shook his head. "Nyet, on the contrary. I only wish to lend you my support in your time of need, comrade." He smiled.

"Oh. Thanks…" America had never before felt so alone, so abandoned. He broke down, and clung to larger man, the only one still there. "Damn it… I just… want my brother back…"

Russia was unused to such displays, but quickly adjusted. He wrapped an arm around the smaller nation and smiled. "Do not worry. He will come back soon, da?"

"That's what they all say," America sobbed. "But it's been so long…"

"He won't be able to stay away," said Russia, still smiling. "After all, when one fights himself, does he not eventually lose?"

0

It was raining, a fact that aggravated his illness even more. But he kept on pressing forward. Nothing would stop him. Nothing would ever stop him.

The men were falling like the drops from the sky. They were all outnumbered. They were going to lose. They were going to lose. They were going to…

No! He pushed the thought from his mind. He couldn't afford to think that way, not at such a touch-and-go moment.

He felt a slight pain and looked down, already knowing what he'd see. Blood. He was shot.

"Damn it…"

"JIM!"

Looking up, he saw the one person in the world he never wanted to see again.

"Jim, please, just come back home!" America pleaded.

"No way in hell!" Confederacy cried, pushing the edge of his rifle farther forward.

With horror, America's eyes caught a glimpse of his brother's side. "A-are…you hurt?"

"This is nothing," Confederacy muttered, glancing down self-consciously.

"Please come home," the North begged again. "I miss you…"

"That's a lie!" the South yelled. "You don't give a damn about me!"

"That's not true!" America argued, sadness showing in his eyes. "You're my brother. I love you…"

Confederacy scoffed. "Like I'm s'posed to believe that!"

"Look, Jim, if this is about the slaves-"

"IT'S NOT ABOUT THE DAMNED SLAVES!" Confederacy shouted in fury. "It never was! Don't you get it? I'm sick of being with you! I hate being near you! I'm trying to get away!"

America looked hurt. With a look of sheer devastation in his eyes, he asked, "Is... that really true? Do you really hate me that much?" He was heartbroken, and Confederacy instantly regretted his words.

"Al…"

America sadly placed the barrel of his brother's gun over his own heart. "If…you really want to escape me," he said quietly, voice shaking, "you can kill me."

Confederacy had no time to reply before he began to sway. His knees buckled, and he collapsed.

"JIM!"

0

Confederacy woke slowly, in an unknown room. His side ached terribly, and his mind and sight were both still fuzzy from the fever. He rolled over onto his other side and coughed, trying to take in his surroundings. To his surprise, he half-recognized his brother's room and felt a pang of despair.

So… Does this mean… I lost?

"You're awake," said a familiar voice. "That's good."

Confederacy looked up drowsily, then flinched when he saw the speaker's face.

"Are you okay?" America asked. "Do you need anything?"

Confederacy shook his head, burying his face in a pillow.

America looked around awkwardly, hesitating before speaking up again. "Are…you mad at me?"

No response.

"Right…I guess you are." He got up from the side of the bed. "I'll just… leave you alone now-"

Confederacy grabbed hold of his brother's shirt, gripping it with what little might he had left. "You better not go anywhere…" he mumbled fiercely, eyes averted. He was blushing, from either the fever or embarrassment. "Bastard…"

America blinked in surprise and smiled. "Oh. Okay."

0

The day the two had met seemed like a very recent memory to America, like something that happened a week or so ago despite the many years that had passed.

It was a bright spring day, when America was only a tiny colony and was playing out in a grassy field. The little boy giggled, finding a fluffy white rabbit. As he reached out to pet it, it started to run away.

"Ah! No!" he cried, reaching out. "Wait!" He then chased the little animal all around the field, trying to catch it.

At last, the rabbit stopped, letting its guard down to nibble on some grass. "Aha! Gotcha!" America pounced….

…only to knock heads with another child who was doing the exact same thing.

"OW!" the two cried out, rubbing their sore skulls. The rabbit hopped away as though it were never even there.

"Damn it!" yelled a voice, very similar to America's own. "I almost had it!"

America looked up to see the source of the voice, a small boy that was an exact copy of himself, save for his emerald green eyes. He gasped. "Woa… You look just like me!"

The other boy blinked. "Wow… You're right!"

The two began a very amusing game of 'mirror', flapping their arms and making faces just to see if the other would do the same. "Woooowww…"

America's face lit up. "My name's Alfred! What's yours?"

"Jim," replied the other.

"Hi!" beamed America. "Nice to meet you! Wanna play with me?"

The other gave an identical smile and replied with a "Sure!"

And so the reflections played until the sun started to go down and England called for America to go back home.

"Where are your parents?" asked America, confused.

"Don't got any."

"What? None at all?"
The boy shrugged. "Never had none."

America frowned. "Never ever?"

"Nope."

"Who takes care of you, then?"

"The Indians, sometimes," he replied, pronouncing 'indians' as 'inn-juns'. "But they left here awhile ago."

America felt sad for the boy. He could remember a time when he too was alone like that. He found it hard to imagine, now, what life would be like without England there, only that it would be even sadder and even lonelier than those periods of time when he went away. America, feeling so sad and lonely for his new friend, began to cry, and without warning hugged him close.

The other boy turned red and pushed him away. "W-what're you doing? Stop that!"

"I c-can't!" America blubbered.

"Okay, okay!" the boy shouted, waving his little arms in submission. "If you're gonna cry about it, I'll play with you again tomorrow!"

America sniffled. "Promise?"

"…Promise."

"South! SOUTH!" A preteen America ran up to South, flapping his arms like an idiot and overall just having a total freakout.

The longhaired boy raised an eyebrow. "What's the matter with you, boy? You get hit in the head or somethin'?"

"I found out something REALLY REALLY WEIRD! And it's SOOO MESSED UP!"

"Is it where babies come from? 'Cause I think I already-"

The north cut him off. "WE'RE BROTHERS!"

"…Oh."

"Oh?" America exclaimed. "OH? Is that all you have to say, 'OH'?"

"Uh… yeah?" The southerner gave a confused expression. "That's… A good thing. Right?"

"A good thing. A good thing! A GOOD THING?" America squashed the other in an extreme, bone-crushing embrace. "It's better than a good thing! Oh man, I KNEW we had to be related somehow, but NOW…! "

"Gah…Let me…go…!"

The war with Mexico had been going on for awhile, and America hadn't heard from his brother in a month or two. He started to worry several times, but he just brushed it off and told himself that there was nothing wrong. South would be fine. Mexico was tough, sure, but South could take her. He'd be okay.

Until America got news of the battle. The Americans had won, but there were several casualties ,and even more wounded. South was reported among them.

He took off for the battle field and once there immediately began his search.

"SOUTH! WHERE ARE YOU? ANSWER ME!" America had never felt so lost after winning a fight. He almost started crying right there.

"Shut up, you idiot. I'm right here."

America gasped. "South?"

And there South was, standing right behind him, with nothing more serious than a cut shoulder. America hugged him, knocking both off their feet. "Ow, damn it!" South hissed.

"Oh, South!" America cried happily, nuzzling his brother's cheek. "I was so… I mean, I thought you were really hurt or something! Not that I was WORRIED, or anything! Heroes don't worry, right? Hahaho~!"

"..Hey." South held out a cracked pair of glasses. "Got 'em for ya."

America blinked. "Texas… You sure, dude? I mean-"

South shook his head, smiling. "They're yours now."

When would be the next time he saw that same smile again?

Years passed, and South began… drifting away. His words to America became harsher, his temper grew more violent, and he never smiled at him anymore. When he actually DID smile, it was a sort of bitter, condescending smirk that only barely masked hatred. He punched America whenever he tried to even touch him. He started to do things just to make himself different from his brother, like when he dyed his hair.

"…Uh, what?" America blinked in confusion, staring at his now raven-haired twin who had been blond like himself only that morning.

South shot him a dark glare. "What?"

"Did you…?" he pointed at South's hair in shock, unable to form a full question.

"So what if I did." South clenched his fists. "It's not like you care."

America shook his head. "I'm not saying anything. It's not bad. Just… Why?"

South shrugged. "It's 'cause I hate you and I can't stand looking like you."

America blinked in shock, unable to even process what his brother had just said to him. "…South…"

South's green eyes turned almost black with fury, and barely a second later he backhanded America across the face with enough force to knock him over. "DON'T YOU EVER CALL ME THAT NAME AGAIN!" he screamed. "I'm not just a part of YOU, you stupid asshole! I have a new name now, and it's the Confederate States of America!"

"You can't just name YOURSELF," America argued, getting back up from the floor and wiping the blood from his mouth.

"Watch me, bitch!"

America rolled his eyes. "Okay, then. I'm still not gonna call you that."

"Oh, you'd BETTER!"

"Why?"

The south shrugged. "Okay, then. I guess you still don't get it." He pulled out a revolver, pointing it at his twin. "I ain't your brother anymore. I won't spend another day with you. I'm not paying another tax to your stupid government. And I will not take shit from you ANYMORE!"

"…Jim…"

"I'mnot your stupid underling!" The dark-haired twin growled. "I'M LEAVING YOU!" He pointed the gun centimeters away from his brother's forehead.

The blond twin gave his brother the single most broken, lost look in all of history. "… I'm sorry…" he whispered, almost inaudibly.

The south's gun hand trembled. He couldn't do it. He refused to kill his brother. So instead, he cursed under his breath and just shot him in the shoulder so that he wouldn't try to follow him.

The sight of the blood made him feel sick.

The Confederacy turned and ran before the guilt made him stay.

A/N: Part one over. Next shall be…. MODERN DAY!

Also… In my mind, the order of age goes, from oldest to youngest: England, America/South (still haven't decided who's older yet), then Canada. Canada, also, is a year younger, because Himaruya never SAID they were twins... For those of you who argue about the appearance thing… My sister is 22, I am 16. We look almost exactly the same, but she's a little bit shorter.