Chapter 3

A/N: As God as my witness, this is the last chapter of this story. It was really just supposed to be a fun thing to write in between episodes, then it was a fun thing to write between seasons, now it is a loathsome thing that I feel guilty about not writing.

Prussia: So… the awesome me will be getting more screentime, right? Also, will there be a sequel? Starring me? And maybe West. But mostly-

Author: SHUT. UP.

"Warden? Warden!"

With a disgruntled moan, the warden of New York's state prison roused himself, lifting his cheek from the break table, only to find himself staring into the strangely gray face of one of his prison guards. He was a timid and brown-haired new recruit, just out of training. What was his name again? Gerald? Geraldo? Geoffrey?

Seeing his bewilderment, the recruit sighed, snapping, "My name is Renald, Sir!"

"Of course," the warden replied. "What was it you wanted?"

The recruit gave a shifty glance towards his back, before saying in hushed tones, "It's about the man in holding, Sir."

Ah. The albino streaker. 'Well,' the warden thought, amused, 'this should be good.'

"And what of that man?" the warden asked, his eyebrows raised in polite interest.

"The prisoners say he's haunting their dreams."

The warden gave that a second to process. Apparently, the prisoners had been seeing a man with white hair and scarlet eyes in their dreams, wearing a 16th or 17th century period garb with an old fashioned Bonaparte-esque hat, and a giant sword that would cleave them in two, giving them just enough time to see their warm blood spray into the thick summer air, but only if they didn't answer the question:

Where's my one phone call?

The cool afternoon air chilled the nape of her neck, but she welcomed the chill as she splashed and struck in the river by Mattie's house. Honestly, this must be where she belonged. She didn't belong indoors, dealing with stillness and quiet and air conditioning. She needed motion and noise and nature.

Apparently, Mattie had brought fishing poles, so she really didn't have to step into the water, feel the slippery stones beneath her soles, touch the shimmery skin of salmon that just barely escaped the groping grasp of her nimble fingers, but she wanted this. Instinctively, she needed this- knew she could do this. The water told her so.

Canada watched in awe as Korra began to gracefully move through the water, lithe and nimble, and felt something thrum within him. Like someone had just plucked the right note in just the right way on a harp. Slowly, he felt the pull as the water at her base began to ripple, then, with a fierce smile, Korra directed it to defy nature, defy gravity, defy everything it knew, and fly. It began to spiral around her, coalescing into a large, floating puddle over her head… with a fish in it. With a flick of her finger, Korra sucked another fish into her reverse water slide, and another. The way she looked at those fish, teeth bared and eyes hungry, was just like a Grizzly bear, Canada thought. He applauded when he was sure that she was finished, feeling his stomach do a silly flop when she sent a warm smile in his direction.

It's true that nations shouldn't grow too attached to humans. Not even to their own citizens. Humans are born, grow, and die in what can amount to a lap around the track to an immortal. But Korra felt more like nature than any human Canada had ever felt before. She felt like a part of him. And, maybe, it was because of this that he found himself wanting his brother and England to show up less and less.

Flying planes was fun. Sitting in them while someone else drove the plane? Significantly less fun. England was still down for the count as the plane lifted from the runway, though America figured some water to the face would remedy that. And it would, but for a second, he did feel pretty guilty about it.

Sure, America had his own poor history with planes. A history that had some but not all to do with World War II, but England had the Blitz. He had hours and days of planes dropping bombs on his people and his heart, and, even in nations, it only took the right trigger for memories and emotions to come back like a razor-edged boomerang. Already, Alfred could feel the smoke begin to singe his nostrils, acrid and burning and-

Woah, enough. This was why he needed England awake. England could distract... But could he distract England?

America felt his knuckles whiten on his arm wrests, which were creaking dangerously under the pressure, he could feel the blood leave his face, the sweat begin to bead on his forehead. A flight attendant came with the promised cup of water, but Alfred just waved her off.

She frowned. "Sir, I must insist-"

Gesturing towards his sleeping companion, America said tightly, strain evident in his eyes, "My friend is only sleeping, Miss. The alcohol wore off a while ago." Since she didn't seem inclined to leave things be yet, he added, "He's Aerophobic. Only one of us has to be scared out of our mind for the next two hours, so please, just let him sleep."

For a second, the boy in front of her looked so earnest, so heartfelt, that the flight attendant felt herself soften, almost, but not quite, against her will and better judgment. She sighed, watching as the boy's eyes filled with a mixture of relief and trepidation, as the young man beside him – brother?- snored softly, muttering something about tea and fairies. She went into the back, placed the cup on the counter, and then went into the front, so she could inform the pilot that there was a passenger she wanted to keep an eye on. Then she strode back to the Jones boy, knelt at his aisle, and to the boy's befuddlement, began a conversation.

Sometime during the conversation the two were having, England did wake up, but he made sure that he didn't open his eyes or change his breathing pattern. It was rare that America could interact with one of his citizens without feeling a need to be obnoxious or protective, and when one was feeling vulnerable, sometimes it was good to just talk. He heard the flight attendant talk about her little brother, he heard Alfred share that he also had a little brother, a trouble maker, apparently. After a few minutes, the flight attendant would leave, check on the other passengers, and then come back to continue their conversation, just as England was beginning to grow worried. It would seem that Alfred reminded her of her little brother.

Inside, England felt himself smirk. After all, he knew better than anyone that the nation by his side tended to have that affect on… sentient beings.

Two hours later, they were safely on the ground and on their way to Canada's house. Forty-five minutes and half of "Beers on the Wall" later- America stopped singing when England threatened to crash the car- they were parked in Canada's driveway. America and England rushed inside, not even bothering to slam the car doors shut before they were slamming on the door, all the pent up panic and anxiety finally coming to a head, but Matthew opened the door before they could even get to yelling his name. He looked flushed, cheeks red from being out in the sun, his hair a little damp and windblown, but, as far as they could tell, perfectly fine.

"What happened to you?" America asked. "Why'd you hang up so quickly? I heard a scream…" He looked over his brother's shoulder to see Korra eating at the table in the kitchen, looking just as healthy as his brother, and completely unharmed. Seeing this, America cast a nervous glance at England, the guy he'd dragged out of a bar and onto a plane while he'd still had a hangover and whose head was probably still filled with a mariachi band.

Narrowed green eyes lasered in on his face, carrying enough irritation bordering on rage to suggest that America had every right to be fearing for his skin. Or rather, fearing for the rapidly decreasing probability of his skin staying attached to his body in the near future.

"What is the meaning of this?" England growled, eyebrows bristling like two angry cats on his forehead. "Canada looks peachy."

Feeling the tension, Canada gestured for the two to come inside so he could explain things while Alfred wrung his hands, all the while casting questioning glances at his brother and the girl, who, yeah, kind of looked like Korra. Her clothes looked like something she'd borrowed from his brother, but she had one of those faces that you just couldn't mistake for anyone else, eyes that seemed much older than they should be…

He shook his head, because this was not the time to be empathizing with a girl he needed to send back to TV land, something his brother, with his warm, doey eyes, had apparently forgotten.

"… And America says she might be from a TV show called The Last Airbender, but I was wondering if maybe… She could stay here?" America's ears perked up when he heard the last of Canada's explanation, he caught the identical looks of hope in his eyes and Korra's and he knew, he just knew what the answer was before England could even begin to formulate a response. And suddenly, he wished he'd never picked up his phone. Never brought England. Because it hurt when they bonded with humans, but the time they spent together, though short, was treasured, and Mattie, who had so few friends to begin with, didn't deserve to be parted from her so soon.

As he wrestled with himself, England finally said, "I'm sorry, Canada." Mattie's eyes widened, filled with disbelief and that kicked puppy look that Alfred just hated. "Shows are like parallel dimensions. Each story has its own world, and the longer she stays here, the less she will belong to that world."

Korra frowned. She didn't know who she was, but she still didn't like being talked about like she wasn't even in the room. "And if I don't go back? If I stay here with Mattie?"

Hope glimmered in Matthew's eyes again. Alfred fought the urge to leave the room so he could hit something inanimate and preferably non-sentient.

"If you stay, the show will continue as if you had never left, but the world, the dimension itself, will likely fall into ruin." England's mouth twitched, "Central characters tend to be rather important when it comes to saving the world in America's shows."

Three coughs that sounded suspiciously like "Sherlock" and "Merlin" and "Doctor Who," gave England enough of a pause for a sharp look in America's direction- "I don't know why he's looking at me" – then he continued, "Also, there's a chance that our world can't sustain your existence."

Canada drew in his breath sharply as Korra visibly paled, and, this time, America and England did leave the room. Whether Korra decided to stay or not was her decision, but either way, she and Mattie needed some time alone.

After they left, Korra rose from the table, food forgotten, and rushed into Canada's arms. The breath left him with a whoosh when her head collided with his chest, but he held on to her. Instinctively, they knew they could trust each other. They knew they could open their heart and not have the other mess around with their very important organ, so they did. Still, Korra fought back the tears. She didn't remember a home or a family or a world that apparently needed her to save it, but she knew Mattie, and his bear, and his home, and his food. She wanted to stay. Canada wanted her to stay. But they both knew she couldn't.

Neither could abandon a world, not even one they didn't know or couldn't remember, for their own happiness.

When it came time to send her back, England had her stand in front of TV with her eyes closed, and then a planted a firm foot on her butt and kicked her inside it.

The screen rippled as it swallowed her whole.

And Mattie promptly freaked out.

It'd been a long day for the personification of the German nation. He'd needed to talk to his superiors about the economy. A talk which he hated, no matter how many times he needed to have, because it seemed to consist of endless arguments and condescension with no clear solution in sight. So, yes, it was late, and he was exhausted.

It wasn't until he'd collapsed on his couch that his phone rang. Irritated, he let it go to voicemail.

"Hey, West- I mean, Ludwig… Dis is Gilbert, your favorite bruder and current resident at the New York State prison. And as much as dis place could use the awesome presence of my awesome self-"

Beep.

Ludwig stopped the recording, seriously contemplating rolling over and going back to sleep as he did so. Maybe spending a night in the brig would teach his bruder to watch his behavior and think a little more about the consequences of his actions…

And maybe birds would grow gills and fish would grow wings and he could get a full night's sleep, for once.

Verdammte scheiße!

With a groan that sounded like a very put-upon train coming into the station, Ludwig got and got ready to book a flight to America so he could bail his bruder out of jail… again.

"Cheer up, bro" America said, after Canada had stopped trying to decapitate them with a hockey puck and listened to England's explanation that that was how she was supposed to be sent back. "She's back with her boyfriend now."

Canada groaned, pounding his head on the table and thoroughly not cheered.

America changed tactics."Well, actually, I think Mako broke up with her." He was not ready for the vehemence that was present in the glare Canada focused on him, but did privately acknowledge that England had definitely had a bad influence on him. "I mean, it was mutual. A mutual break-up. Well, they should be broken up, since he kissed his ex-girlfriend while Korra was missing and all-"

"HE WHAT?!"

And that was how Canada became an avid fan of Korra: The Last Airbender who regularly shouts abuse at Mako.

A/N: So, that's the end of this story. Hope you all liked it. Drop a review if you feel like it.