Wow, I only posted the first chapter yesterday, And I've already gotten a ton of people following it! Thank you for your support! And for those of you wondering what the doujinshi was the inspired me - I'm sorry, I just can't find it! I looked for over an hour. That's literally hunderds of comics (And so much porn!). I really do want to find it. If I ever do, I will definitly update. Well, without further ado, on to chapter 2!

Chapter 2. 1914

Time certainly flew by. The reign of Oliver Cromwell, the Stewarts and the mighty Queen Victoria had passed, and the past hundred years had been especially turbulent, with the industrial revolution giving birth to the railway, automated machinery, and vast social upheaval. What never changed, no matter how much time went by, was Russias devotion to his big brother England. England, a natural loner, hadn't noticed the other nations keeping their distance from the pair, nor had he seen his frozen glare in their direction, nor his cold words of warning. Inevitably, the Kaiser made his move for domination, launching the world into WW1. Britains king was bereft – how could he go to war against his own cousin? Britain himself, gently but firmly, reminded the king that most of Europes royals were related somehow, and that he couldn't ignore the will of the people just because of the long line German blood in his veins. He didn't particularly want to go to war, but his hand was being forced.

Russia found it somewhat amusing – he wondered aloud if the king would be so upset if it was his Tsar – another of the kings cousins – that was causing, or in this much trouble, would he be so upset? He lost his humour when talk of America came up.

"America could be a valuable ally against the Kaiser." The Generals reasoned "He's got vast resources at his disposal."

"He's been at war since the dissolution of French Empire!" Ivan was quick to remind them "His economy is very unstable…he doesn't even have a railroad!"

"Picked up bad habits." Brtian muttered under his breath, although he wasn't overly against the idea of finally meeting the boy nation "Doesn't America have an isolationist attitude?" he reasoned aloud "Why would he involve himself in Europes affairs?"

"The world is changing." The Prime Minister reasoned "Our steam ships can cross the ocean to America in just days. How long before they can do it in hours? The world is shrinking, and the Americas won't be able to avoid the rest of us for long. We need Americas help if we're going to win this war."

And it was settled, without much input from Arthur, that he would travel to America and meet with their representative, then travel by boat up to Canada. Truth be told, he was a little excited – everything that had stopped him going there before had disappeared, and for the first time he could explore the new world for himself. Sure, people had bought back interesting foods and animals and tales of adventure and heroism, but it wasn't the same as going yourself, was it? Completely expectantly, Ivan was fuming. He sat on Arthurs bed as he packed, arms crossed over his chest, watching his every move.

"Why doesn't Chamberlin go?" he asked.

"He's busy."

"Why doesn't the Minister of Foreign Affairs go?"

"He's busy dealing with the affairs going on in Europe."

"Why doesn't the King go?"

"Because he's the KING!"

Arthur grew exaperated, throwing his tweed suit into his case and looking Ivan dead in the eye. There was a steely resolution in them that Arthur had rarely seen.

"Why are you so against me going to America?" he asked outright "It's been this way for hundreds of years now – you aren't a child any more! I dare say you're twice my size! And aren't you going back for a little while anyway?"

"America will hurt you." He answered simply, absolutely resolute.

"How do you know?"

Ivan didn't answer. He bit his lip and continued to stare at Arthur.

"I know." Was all he said.

England set sail anyway. He saw Ivan off beforehand, so he didn't have to put up with him being so unreasonable. What exactly was he afraid of? Britain may not be an empire anymore, but he was going to talk with the Americas, not declare war on them! Ivan was too clingy – he was an adult now, master of his own affairs, but he still clung to Arthur like a shield against the world. Perhaps a little time apart would do them both good. Ivan would realise that he could get along without him, and Arthur wouldn't feel so cooped up, being in that little house with such a large man. Being on the ocean waves again bought back wonderful memories, and the feeling of adventure England thought he had lost. The boats may no longer be made of wood, but he swore he could smell the brine crashing against the hull like it had in days of old, the startling ocean air blasting away the cobwebs of life in the confines of Europe.

True to the Prime Ministers bragging, it took less than a week for the steamliner to reach New York. England had prepared himself for a long journey to Washington DC – Americas railroad was substandard at best – but to his relief, he was told America himself had come to New York to meet him. Walking through New York for the first time was an odd expereince. It seemed poor old America had been bombarded with all the most ridiculous parts of Frence culture, but without the hundreds of years of context that preceeded it, he had no idea how to interpret it. Style has clearly been put before substance in the buildings and parks that made up this city, looking stylish even while falling apart, but occasionally he saw thought in construction trying desperatly to break through – simple houses of brick and wood that looked dour against their fancy neighbours, but stable and warm.

Typical stupid France. Few roads were paved, and those that were paved were done in cobbles – fucking cobbles! The air was rich with the smell of French style cooking, but with the poor economy, the people looked half starved. No wonder France had such a sour relationship with America – perhaps if he had put more time into the young nations education, the people would be better off now. England arrived at his grand hotel – it looked absolutely splendid, with marble floors and deep patterned wallpaper adorning the lobby, but the staff were rude and woefully underskilled. Arthur picked up an underlying resentment towards him – was it because he was from Europe? Taking his own bags to his room (Not good service, thank you very much!), he was looking forward to getting away from this shambles until the time of his meeting with America.

Well, he was, but it seemed the time of the meeting had been changed. To right now.

America stood as Britain entered the room. The men surveyed each other carefully, taking in every detail. Americas hair…it was clearly dyed black, the blonde roots starting to escape from his scalp. From its length, he could see it was wavy the same way Frances was, and he had the same cerulean eyes, but he seemed to resent these features, hiding them behind glasses and a stetson. He had a feather and a line of beads in his hair – England hadn't seen something like that in a long time. His dress sense was half flashy, half practical – he was clearly trying to rebel against Frances influence over him, but was having difficulty in doing so. A large, jagged scar covered the left side of his face.

America pulled an odd face, clutching at his heart and turning away from England.

"Ah- I say, are you alright?"

Britain rushed forward, but with a swipe of his hand, America shook him off.

"Don't patronise me!" he shrieked, causing England to jump.

"What?"

America backed away from him, still holding his chest, and looked at the smaller nation with a mix of hurt and confusion. What did he have to feel so confused about? Swallowing, he seemed to regain his composure.

"I want you to leave." He said simply to England "You Europeans have messed this country up enough. I don't want you interferring any more!"

Perhaps he was mad. This behaviour was certainly…unusual.

"I'm not here to interfere." England promised "You're independent now, how you run your country is up to you. I'm here to talk about what's going on in Europe-"

"I don't care what's going on in Europe!" America practically screamed at him "I don't care about your war – its your problem, not mine, it has nothing to do with me! I won't let you use me like France did – I'm not your cannon fodder, I won't be fooled by your fancy words and your lies, and I am not your little brother!"

He screamed the last part particularly loudly. Despite the volume of his protestations, he only looked more and more confused by his own words. Distraught looking, almost to the point of tears, he stormed past England and out the room. Arthur was flabaghasted. What had just happened?

England had requested several times, but America had refused an official meeting with him after the episode in the hotel. What on earth was wrong with that boy? He was almost as big as Ivan (it was a vast land after all), but there was an instability in him that made England uncomfortable in his presence. That outburst…was he unhinged? It also made him wonder about France – how badly had he screwed up raising that boy that he had turned out like that?

The problem, however, didn't seem to be France afterall, at least if Canada was anything to go by. This young man – who looked more like France than America did – was affable and polite, and while he was understandably reluctant to join the war in Europe, he was at least willing to sit down and have a proper talk about it. His economy wasn't great either, but he seemed far more coherant than his brother. Canada, it seemed, shared his concern.

"Papa France really did his best." He insisted "America just seemed to attract bad luck and trouble no matter what. He tried his best to be good and learn… I just don't know what went wrong. There were famines, civil wars, outbreaks… Papa France wasn't strong enough to be strict with him, so things started going wrong…please don't think badly of him."

Unsuccessful, and more confused than anything else, Britain had no choice but to return home empty handed.

Russia arrived home before Arthur. He had his own keys, so it wasn't an issue. He loved England in the spring time – the mild weather gave birth to all manner of flowers, and the whole country was awash with colour and sweet scents. Arthurs home was a humble country cottage – a few hundred years old, but well maintained, clad in lyme and the stone from the local quarry, with a lush and verdent garden on all sides. Such a home suited him somehow, far more than the soulless flats he had in the major cities that he kept for work purposes. Ivan liked this little house, even as he felt more and more cramped as he grew taller. It felt cosy and warm, even when the weather was cold. His place in his homeland, while far more lavish, was cold and distant feeling. It wasn't welcoming. He never felt at home there.

Getting past the gate, Ivan inspected the sunflowers they had planted just before leaving – the shoots were growing nicely, but no sign of a bloom yet. No matter. They planted sunflowers every year, so he knew it would take a while for them to grow tall enough to flower. The thought made him smile. They planted sunflowers every year. He went inside, ducking under the low door – these british people were so short – and put his suitcase in his room. He put the kettle on – in his years here, he had learned to enjoy a hot, sweet cup of tea. He occassionally bought vodka back from home, but Arthur didn't approve of him drinking too much. He found he didn't mind. He knew his freedoms would be encroached when he came to live with England, but he found it far easier to deal with than he thought he would.

Dark thoughts crossed his mind, but he pushed them away. Arthur would be coming back from America soon. That ungrateful nation wouldn't steal Ivans place. Not now. The front door thudded open angrilly.

"Ivan, put the kettle on!" Arthur called, his voice strained and exasperated "I'm aching for a cuppa."

Russia just smiled as he poured the tea and took it to the living room, where an exhausted Arthur lay sprawled on the sofa. His trip to America had clearly gone badly.

"How was your trip?" he asked anyway, handing the tea to his big brother.

"A fucking waste of time! Cheers, love." He took the offered cup, taking a greedy sip "That America is unhinged, I tell you, and his country won't be of any use to us whatsoever! That Canada wasn't much help either, even if he wasn't as clearly a lunatic."

A warm satisfaction spread through Ivan, and he smiled broadly.

"I always liked Canada." He mused.

"Oh? Have you had much dealing with him?"

"Niet, but Matvey always seemed quiet and nice."

"Well…yes, I suppose he was."

Britain downed his cup and laid it on the table.

"What about you, Ivan, how was your trip?"

"It was good." He replied flatly "There is nothing to worry about – Russia will definitly be supporting England in the coming war."

"Well, no surprise there." England laughed "Did you see your sisters?"

"Yes, a little. I think our relationship is improving."

"Time and space will do that. It can be difficult when you're in each others pockets."

"You think so?" Ivan wondered "Isn't it best to stay close to those you love?"

"Well, sometimes. But siblings can drive each other mad. Back when I was living with France, all I wanted was my independence." Arthur laughed through his nose as he stood, stretching his tired back "I'm surprised you didn't ask to leave after a while."

"Niet." His the immediate response "I don't want to be alone."

There was a sharp knock at the door. England answered, finding a nervous looking young private.

"Yes?" he inquired.

"You're needed in London right away, Sir Kirkland." The fellow said quickly "Something strange has happened."

"Oh?" he tried not be sound alarmed "What is it?"

"America has showed up!" the private revealed "Out of nowhere! He didn't even call!"

Ivan was immediately alarmed, standing right behind Arthur. Britain simply sighed.

"Shown." He corrected "There is no such word as 'showed.' That lunatic probably didn't learn any manners from the Frog. Very well, I shall take the next train to London."

Britain moved past Russia to get his coat, but the larger nation grabbed his hands.

"Are you really going?" he insisted.

"I have to." England confirmed "He's come all this way, I have to greet him. Its protocol. Besides, he could be here to talk about the war."

"You said yourself he was a lunatic!"

"Be that as it may-"

"But-"

"IVAN!"

Britain yelled – he almost never yelled, and it caused the Russian to flinch unexpectedly. With a sigh, he calmed down.

"Stop acting like a child. You're like this whenever America comes up, and quite frankly I'm getting tired of it." He thought a moment "Why don't you come with me? You'll see there's nothing to worry about, and you can finally put this behind you!"

Ivan immediately grabbed his coat. There was no way he was letting Arthur see America alone.

America was noticably changed from when England had last seen him – he had tried his best to wash the dye from his hair, turning the bright yellow a dirty, sandy colour, although the beads and feather remained. He looked uncomfortable in a suit and tie, like he didn't know where to put his hands, but seemed far more composed than he had in New York. He stood as England and Russia entered the Embassy lounge, immediately casting a glare of healthy suspicion at Ivan.

"America," England greeted curtly "You won't see me when I'm in your country, but you follow me half way around the world to demand a meeting in mine? Are you completely without manners?"

"I'm sorry." He said immedialty.

That was somewhat off-putting. Arthur was all but ready to give the lad a piece of his mind, and he had apologised! Thrown off his stride, he could feel Ivans irritation on the air, composing himself for both their sakes.

"Well?" he continued "What do you want? You didn't come all this way just to say that."

"You're right." America continued awkwardly "And I am sorry. I didn't plan on saying all those mean things when I saw you. Something came over me and I started feeling really sick. France was always talking about you, so I was actually looking forward to finally meeting you." He looked him in the eye timidly, face flush with embarrasment "I don't know what went wrong."

"Perhaps you're just a lunatic, like everyone says." Russia said bluntly.

"Ivan, that's rude." Arthur chastised.

"Don't care. I don't like this face."

The two large nations openly glared at each other. Snesing the tension in the air grow, England spoke.

"I accept your apology." He announced, shocking the two others.

"Really?" America seemed surprised.

"Of course," England continued, somewhat smug that for once, he could be the bigger country "It can be difficult to meet new nations. And first impressions are difficult. Why don't we start over?" he extended his hand to America "I'm the United Kingdom."

America stared at him in disbelief a moment before, uncertainly, extending his own hand. Ivan immedialty snatched Arthurs hand away.

"DON'T TOUCH HIM!" he roared.

"Uh-"

"Iva-"

The Russian physically picked the Brit up, hauling him away from America, and pointing an accusing finger strait at him.

"You hear me, America!" he hissed angrilly "I won't let you come anywhere near Arthur! You had your chance and you fucked it up! Now he's mine, and I'm not handing him over to you! Not now, not ever!"

Ivan carried – literally carried! – Arthur away, leaving America stunned, rooted to the spot with his hand still raised. Hitting and kicking furiously, Arthur was madder than he had been in a very long time.

"What the hell is wrong with you?!" he demanded "What's gotten into you? Who talks to people like that? You don't even know him! Didn't I raise you better than this?!"

"Yes, you taught me better, but I know better!" Russia insisted.

He dropped England to the ground, immedialty throwing his arms around him and holding him tighter than he ever had before.

"You don't need America!" he went on "You have me! He is stupid and ungrateful! He threw your love away! I won't! I'll never push you away! You don't need him!"

"Ivan…"

Arthur, pressed firmly against the chest of the worlds largest nation, couldn't make head or tail of what he was going on about. Half in shock, the Russians words made less and less sense as he continued to ramble. What Arthur did know, however, was that something must be terribly wrong for his normally composed little brother to be so distraught. He hugged Ivan as best he could and rubbed his back soothingly.

"There, there, its alright." He cooed "I don't know what this is all about, but we'll take care of it. Just you calm down, okay?"

He stopped babbling, but he didn't let go, burying his face in his big brothers hair.

"Whatever the issue is, we'll talk it through." He promised "For now, why don't we just go home?"

With another little squeeze, Ivan realeased him and stood tall. His eyes were bloodshot – whatever that tantrum was about had clearly been close to his heart.

"The last train is gone." He pointed out "We will have to stay in the city tonight."

"Oh, bugger, you're right." Arthur realised "Well, while we're here, why don't he have dinner in China Town. You like Chinese food, don't you?"

"Da." Ivan confirmed "I like it."