"Remember that all through history there have been tyrants and murderers, and for a time they seemed invincible, but in the end they always fall. Always." -Mahatma Ghandi

August 1940 to December 1941

England had been keeping a close and uneasy eye on Germany and his army for the past week. They were currently on the Channel Islands, too close to his own shores for comfort. It was only a matter of time before the sleeping monster just off his shore attacked.

And attack it did, an all-night air raid on London by the bloody Luftwaffe, killing civilians who had done no more than be British, and leaving England, for his part, curled into himself under three blankets with a whole pot of tea. He wanted to go out there and bloody murder Germany for what he was doing to the British people, but England was in too much pain to even try.

And then the attacks didn't stop and didn't stop and eventually England grew accustomed, as all nations did, to the constant flashes of pain from bombings and the screams of his dying people. It could never be ignored entirely, but he could work around it. It had been, after all, nearly two months, and he didn't have the option to stay in bed for the duration. There was a war on, and he was a personification. He couldn't afford to spend all that time out of commission-his country couldn't afford for for him to spend time out of commission.

He was an older country, besides. He could handle a bit of pain.

Germany looked at the other two nations. Both were being their typical selves, Japan doing his "sensing the mood and refraining from speaking" thing and Italy sitting there with his tie half-undone, top button unbuttoned, a hole in the elbow of his jacket, and a big bowl of pasta in front of him.

The pasta Germany confiscated, ignoring Italy's whining. "You are a commander, Italy," he snapped. "Act like one. That means you have to focus, you have to stop being such a baby, and no more pasta!"

Italy burst into tears.

Fed up, Germany roared at him. "Italy! Do you want me to kick you out of the Axis? Do you want me to leave you to the mercy of the Allies?"

Italy's eyes went wide and he immediately stopped crying. "N-no! I'll behave! I'll do what you want!"

Satisfied, Germany turned back to the task at hand. "Our bosses drew up this alliance pact. It just needs our signatures." He scrawled his name on the pact, and Italy and Japan followed suit.

"There we go. We are officially the Axis."

Italy had decided to try and conquer a nation all on his own, to try and make Germany proud of him. So he had chosen a potentially easy country to invade-Greece.

Getting into the country itself was easy. He wasn't sure if Greece the person was even aware that he was there, if he had woken up or gotten away from his cats long enough to realize that the Italian army, if it could be called such, was in his country.

The Allies, on the other hand, did notice, a situation that Italy had not counted on. Only a day after he had invaded Greece, England landed there as well with his own army. Italy, being who he was, freaked out because he was terrified of England, and so he fled.

Germany had lost track of Italy for three months when he received a phone call out of the blue.

"Germany, Germany, I'm in North Africa right now and I can't tie my shoelaces!"

Germany just stared at the phone in his hand. Italy was calling, clearly in a panic, for something as tiny as that?

"Germany, help!" Italy cried.

He sighed. He would be no sort of ally if he didn't go help Italy, although Germany had to admit that he helped Italy far more than Italy helped him (he supposed he should have guessed that. After all, Italy's exact words in proposing their friendship were "You can order me around and I'll disappoint you!"). But Italy trusted him, and so he would go to North Africa.

Germany picked up the phone again. "Germany?" Italy asked, voice small.

"I'm on my way," Germany promised.

Germany squinted against the bright sun, looking around him. He needed to find Italy, preferably before Italy found him.

Someone behind him threw their arms around him and Germany swore, automatically elbowing the person behind him. That person let go rapidly and burst into tears. Germany sighed. This was why he had wanted to find the spastic Italian before the other found him.

"Germany…" Italy wailed. "That hurt!"

Germany would have growled at the other to shut up, that his tears did not become a soldier, a commander, a nation personification, but he knew from experience that if he didn't calm Italy down that the other (and, surprisingly, older) nation would cry for hours.

He finally managed to calm the Italian down, with promises that may or may not have been lies. Then he remembered something. Germany looked down at Italy's boots. They actually were untied, and Germany groaned.

"How do you not know how to tie your shoes?" he asked, exasperated.

"Oh!" Italy replied, smiling and cheery again. "Well, I used to be able to tie them, but then all the other countries started hitting me on the head and now I don't remember."

At this Germany nodded. It made perfect sense for Italy to have brain damage (a lot pointed to it, after all), and now at least Italy had a semi-sensible reason for being unable to perform simple tasks.

Now that Germany was in North Africa, he figured that he might as well do something useful. What that was going to be he didn't know yet, but he would figure it out. He was good at that.

America was reading the news from Europe when the telegraph came. PRESIDENT ROOSEVELT TO ALFRED F JONES STOP LEND LEASE ACT OFFICIALLY SIGNED STOP COME TO WASHINGTON AS SOON AS YOU CAN STOP

America leapt out of his chair, excited. With the Lend-Lease Act officially signed, he could properly help England and Canada out.

He was very happy about the whole thing. If he couldn't be the hero because he was neutral, he could be some sort of assistant hero. It was good enough.

Italy had failed in invading Greece, naturally, so Germany decided that it was his turn to try. Of course, he was German, not Italian, and so not only managed the task successfully, but also had troops invading Yugoslavia at the same time. Italy was not entirely happy with the turn of events, but didn't dare say anything against them-he didn't want to be the next country Germany invaded.

"Thank you for agreeing to meet," Japan said calmly, sitting across the table from Russia. The Asian country showed no sign of having anything to do with the war. In fact, Russia would have thought he was completely uninvolved in it were it not for three factors: the military uniform Japan wore, the knowledge that Japan had signed the Axis Pact with Germany and Italy, and the fact that they were sitting down together to sign a neutrality pact similar to the one Russia shared with Germany.

"Of course," Russia replied. "I have no wish to fight you if I do not need to." Not, yet, anyway.

Under increased pressure from German troops, the Allies were evacuating Greece. England looked on in despondency as his troops left, scrambling onto ships and into aircraft. There was to be no hope of winning this war if they were forced to leave wherever it was they were every bloody time the Germans showed up.

Well, he supposed, there was a slight sliver of hope. America's boss had just signed an act permitting the lend of American weapons and other supplies to the Allies.

England could only pray that those weapons were followed by America himself, and his troops. As much as he hated to admit it, the turning point of the Great War had been America's entrance. If fate was with them, it would be the same for this war.

Russia was comfortable and warm in Moscow when the news was brought. "Officer Braginski, sir, the Germans are invading the Soviet Union."

Russia swore colorfully in his own language. "We had a fucking non-aggression pact," he growled.

The messenger cowered, clearly scared for his life, as Russia was exuding his terrifying aura. "I just carry the news, sir. I don't create it."

Russia looked at him, fire in his eyes. "Go," he ordered, and the messenger fled. Once he was gone Russia stood and slammed a fist into the wall of his office.

Germany pulled his coat closer around him. He had known Russia would be cold, but not that it would be this cold. Hitler had decided that the non-aggression pact be damned, they were invading Russia. Operation Barbarossa was in effect.

A messenger offered Germany a telegraph. He took it, expecting it to have come from Berlin. Instead, it was from Moscow, from a furious Russia. Germany was hardly surprised. After all, he had broken that pact they had signed and had renewed earlier that year. But Hitler had demanded an invasion, so an invasion he would get-Germany was completely loyal to his Führer.

Infuriated with Germany's betrayal of their pact, Russia contacted England.

"I don't know what you want me to do," was England's reply. "I am at war with Germany myself, yes, but I would much prefer to stay out of the Soviet Union, if possible. Nothing against you, but I have read the history books, a step that Kraut seems to have neglected. Bad things happen when foreign armies invade Russia. And, even more to the point, I have to be here, in my own country. They're calling it the Battle of Britain, you know."

"I don't need you to come fight Germany," Russia said. "At least not here. Just sign a treaty with me? We'll both work on keeping Germany distracted, that sort of thing."

Russia sounded desperate, so England agreed.

England, in his uniform, fell into his chair, dead tired. He needed nothing more than to rest, and had thought he was going to get a chance to do just that when he had been recalled to London. Instead, he found out that he and Churchill were going to meet with America and Roosevelt over some document or another on international relationships. He was not very happy-he both wanted and needed his rest. But it had been denied him, and now here he was.

America sat across from him, dressed neatly in a suit and tie. England couldn't stop watching him. The island nation had been at war nearly two years, and so seeing a nation not in uniform was odd. And to see America not in uniform, to know the potential superpower was neutral, well, he wasn't quite sure what to make of that.

"This is the Atlantic Charter," Roosevelt began, and England tried hard to focus on his face, his words, anything but his lower body. After watching so many world leaders pace and storm about, he couldn't get over the fact that Roosevelt was in a wheelchair.

Roosevelt continued, unaware of England's preoccupation with his handicap. "This document is our safeguard against event such as the Nazi takeover in our Western civilization."

He went on the contents of the Charter. England would have dozed off had it not been for America kicking him under the table.

Once they were finally done America dragged England off to dinner, promising Churchill to return him by the morning.

"Couldn't even stay awake?" America teased. "You really are getting old."

England glared at him. "I'm at war, you git. I've been working on the front lines since it started almost two years ago. I have been sleeping in tents and trenches for weeks on end, and the few nights I get to spend in a proper bed the screams of dying troops and the weight of the deaths of my people keep me awake,"

America looked properly chastened. "I'm sorry, man. Hey, tell you what. You can spend the night at my place tonight. We're already at dinner, and we can go to a bar once we're done here, if you want. Then, instead of going back to your hotel and your prime minister and your worries, you can take the night off and stay with me. I'll even make you breakfast." He grinned so charmingly that England found himself helpless, found himself agreeing immediately. America really had a gorgeous smile.

Several hours later a tipsy England and an almost, though not entirely, sober America stumbled into America's house, laughing. America had followed through on his promise to take England's mind off the war, sharing amusing anecdotes until England was properly cheery.

Both nations' eyes were heavy, and so America directed England into a guest room, then disappeared into his own room next door.

America was woken up in the middle of the night by heavy, gasping, tearing sobs coming through the wall. He was at first unsure what to do, then remembered England comforting him when he had been a child.

Tentatively he crept next door and knocked softly, There was no response, so he cautiously opened the door and slipped inside.

"England?" he asked, and the other's head snapped up.

"America…" he whispered, reaching out for him.

"Shh, shh," America murmured, wrapping his arms around England and cradling his head close to his chest. "It'll be okay. You'll be okay. I promise."

England woke surprisingly well-rested, for possibly the first time since the war had started. Then he realized that his pillow was oddly firm and warm, and it moved. As soon as his brain registered this, he also registered the presence of an arm around his waist.

The events of the past night came back to him. Being woken in the night by the war, as usual. The tears and sobs that came with bearing the death of his people. America creeping into his room and holding him until he fell back asleep-and until America fell asleep, too, if the arm around him and the chest he was resting on were anything to go by.

England sat up to look at America, and blushed-the American slept shirtless, apparently. But he was also so adorable asleep, hair falling every which way and face peaceful. England was reminded of when America had been little, a tiny fledgling nation, his colony. But the man in his bed was anything but little now.

"America," England whispered, his voice barely audible. "Oh, when did you grow up?" America definitely was no longer a child (if nothing else, his lack of a shirt made that apparent), and the way he made England feel was perhaps the mark of a man.

America shifted, sleepily blinking blue eyes.

"Good morning, love," England cooed at him.

"Good morning, England," America replied sleepily, his old English accent, the one he had had as a child under England's control, in his voice. "Sleep well?"

England's heard twisted, both painfully and in a good way-a good pain?-at America's accent. "Yes, of course," he said, and, taking a risk, but one he could not resist, leaned over and kissed America.

The Axis Powers were having a meeting, and Japan wore something resembling a smirk, a look uncharacteristic for him. Italy cowered behind Germany, scared of Japan's look. Something about it promised pain.

"What is the smirk for?" Germany asked.

"You'll see," Japan replied.

It had been almost four months since that night they had shared, and America and England had arranged more as often as they were able. They had monthly meetings because of the Lend-Lease Act and America sending supplies to help England's war effort, monthly meetings they took full advantage of.

America was pacing as he talked, energetic as always. It was making England's head hurt, watching him move while listening to him talk, but he knew better than to try and tell America to sit down. He had too much energy. It would hardly end well.

And so England was surprised when America sat suddenly on the floor with a thump. "Are you okay?" he asked in concern, noting the glazed look in America's eyes.

America didn't even seem to hear England's question.

England knelt beside him. "America. America. Alfred, love," he said, trying desperately to get the other's attention.

America's head snapped up, but not in response to England's calls. "I'm fucking neutral, you bastard!" he roared, then broke down in tears, a pained expression contorting his face.

Now it was England's turn to comfort America, and he did so in an action so very similar to how America had comforted him that night four months ago. "What is it, love?" he asked cautiously.

America buried his face in the crook of England's neck, shaking with sobs and unable to speak, and so England didn't press him, only comforted him.

When a messenger brought a telegraph for America fifteen minutes later England took it, letting America be for the moment. He was still largely incapacitated. Not thinking the other would mind he opened the telegraph, scanning the two sentences there rapidly. What he read made his heart skip a beat.

JAPANESE ATTACKED PEARL HARBOR STOP MORE INFORMATION TO FOLLOW STOP

Japan's smirk turned into a look of pleasure in a task well done as he hung up the phone.

Germany arched an eyebrow, an act and question that did not go unnoticed by the Asian nation.

"My troops held successful attacks on several places," Japan explained, still with that self-satisfied look.

"Where?" Italy asked, curiosity in his voice.

"Malaysia, the Philippines, Guam, Hong Kong, Indonesia, Wake Island, and," he paused for what might have been dramatic effect, odd for Japan, "the United States."

Germany nodded, impressed, but Italy seemed less sure. "Won't America be mad? And he's so strong. What if he comes and kills us?"

Japan's eyes went wide. Germany, on the other hand, remained calm. "We will be ready for him."

"Telephone for you, sir," one of the Americans said to England. He took it distractedly, watching America on another phone with his president, a far cry from the nation who had been sobbing on the floor just an hour earlier.

"Good news, Arthur!" Churchill's voice boomed down the line, causing England to wince. "Those declarations of war went through. The ones on Finland, Hungary, and Rumania."

"Add Japan," England ordered, voice clear.

"What?"

"Add Japan. They just attacked America. Add Japan." It wasn't a request.

England got his declaration of war almost immediately, and so the next day both he and America declared war on Japan. The retaliation came a few days later when Germany and Italy both declared war on America, but the nation was hardly concerned. He could handle a war on two fronts, one in Europe and one in the South Pacific, with no problem. He was now truly the hero, after all.

Story proper starts next chapter.

Notes

The bombings in England, mainly the London Blitz, were terrible. There are pictures of London post-bombings, and it's just huge piles of rubble. Entire blocks were completely destroyed. This happened across Europe, not just in England, but the London Blitz is one of the most infamous, along with the Dresden bombing (of Slaughterhouse-Five fame, if nothing else) in 1945.

A World War Two book I was reading actually had the line, "By 1941 Italy was completely dependent on Nazi Germany." Hence Germany's thinking about how he helped Italy much more than Italy helped him.

General Rommel was the German officer who led the combined German-Italian offensive in North Africa. Interestingly, while many other Nazi groups were performing horrific acts, Rommel's Afrika Korps were never accused of any war crimes. They treated prisoners humanely and ignored orders to kill Jews. Rommel was linked to the plot later in the war to assassinate Hitler, but because he was a national hero Hitler felt he couldn't execute him. Rather, Rommel was quietly ordered to commit suicide, which he did in exchange for amnesty towards his family. The "official" reason for his death was given as injuries from an attack on his car in Normandy, and he received a state funeral.

The Lend-Lease Act allowed the United States to lend or lease (surprise!) war supplies ("any weapon, munition, aircraft, vessel, or boat; any machinery, facility, tool, material, or supply necessary for the manufacture, production, processing, repair, servicing, or operation of any article described in this subsection; any component material or part of or equipment for any article described in this subsection; any agricultural, industrial or other commodity or article for defense") to any nation deemed "vital to the defense of the United States." Basically, it was the US being a part of the Allies while still being neutral. Loopholes…

The USSR signed treaties with several nations during WWII. I'm not sure of the entire list, but I know it includes Germany, Finland, Japan, and England.

I did not completely invent Russia's reaction to the news of the German invasion for drama. Stalin allegedly executed the messengers who brought him the news of the invasion, and it didn't get much better from there. Reports say he stormed out of a military briefing upon hearing about the imminent capture of the Belarusian capital, furious, shouting, "Lenin founded our state and now we've fucked it up!" Then he vanished off to his home outside of Moscow and didn't return to his office the next day. When people went to look for him, he was completely unlike he had been before, seemingly frightened of the people who had come to see him (it is thought that he feared being arrested and deposed).

The preamble to the Atlantic Charter reads, "The President of the United States of America and the Prime Minister, Mr. Churchill, representing His Majesty's Government in the United Kingdom, being met together, deem it right to make known certain common principles in the national policies of their respective countries on which they base their hopes for a better future for the world." Following that is a list of eight points that outline wishes for after the war and the defeat of "Nazi tyranny."

Hawaii was a US territory, not a state, at the time of the Pearl Harbor attack, so how it would have actually affected Alfred is questionable, as it was not an official part of his country. But the thing with Pearl Harbor is that the United States government had every forewarning of an attack on the US except an actual declaration of war. They were just damned idiots and ignored the whole thing. The officials in Pearl Harbor were kept out of the loop of information, and they had made mistakes as well that added to the severity of the attacks. The movie "Tora Tora Tora" is an excellent reference for the days leading up to the attacks on both the American and Japanese fronts. Even Roosevelt himself was kept out of the information loop for a while (and I have a headcanon that America himself is told next to nothing about state secrets). The foreknowledge of Pearl Harbor may come back in later chapters. I haven't quite decided yet.