Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia: Axis Powers or any of the books mentioned. If I did, this fanfiction would not exist.

"Um. Excuse me?" Alfred inquired. He was dumbfounded, utterly shocked.

"I believe that's the question I should be asking you," Arthur raised an eyebrow, "who are you exactly and why are you here?"

Alfred had to blink a few times before responding. Was all of this real? "I'm… you don't know me? At all?"

Arthur's scowl only deepened. "If I knew, I wouldn't be asking, you nitwit."

"Right. Of course. I'm… Alfred. Alfred F. Jones. The United States of America?"

England's bushy brows furrowed as he grew silent for a moment. "Nope," He reasoned, "I don't remember you in the least."

Alfred tried to mask the fact that he was genuinely hurt. He had to keep telling himself that it would only be for a little while, that it would all be over soon. That it was all because England was groggy. However, no matter how many attempts he made at trying to convince himself that England did remember who he was and that soon Arthur would be shouting at him to leave his room immediately, his brain would not accept. It would only accept the fact that England had lost his memory of almost all of the events that happened to him over the course of his history.

"You really don't remember? Not even…" Alfred paused, knowing that he could continue to have hope if England remembered this. "Not even the Revolutionary War?"

"What the bloody hell are you talking about? No, I don't remember any revolutions."

"But… but you have to!" America stood, his expression a blend of shock and hurt; France stepped forward to place his hands on Alfred's shoulders. "I rebelled against you, fought for freedom, and won. And you… you cried! You still do!"

The look Arthur returned to Alfred was one of pity and confusion. "I'm sorry, but I've never cried. Are you sure you have the right person?"

"If I were any more positive I'd be dead! How do you not remember?" Alfred's emotions and endless questions were beginning to make their way out of his mouth. "I was such a huge part of your history! You–– how could it be–"

"Amerique, Amerique," Francis soothed, leading him out of the room. "Don't overwhelm Angleterre, now. Just wait for me in the living room, d'accord?"

America bit his lower lip, deciding on whether to actually listen to France or to rush back into Arthur's room and try and convince him that yes, the Revolution actually happened. If the rest of his possible conversation with England was going to go how in the direction it was going before France led America away, Alfred did not want to further speak with England. "Fine." he muttered, walking to the kitchen. Maybe some coffee would clear his mind.

Upon arriving in the kitchen, Alfred threw open the cupboards to find the assortment of his favorite coffee blends stored especially for his visits. Looking at all of the bags of coffee suddenly made Alfred feel sick. How could he be sitting here in England's kitchen, looking at something he knew England wouldn't have unless he'd met Alfred before, and know that just upstairs was a man who'd acted as if Alfred was a total stranger? Unable to look at the coffee any longer, Alfred closed that cupboard and opened the one next to it; the one that had all of England's favorite teas. Plucking Earl Grey off of the shelf, Alfred grabbed England's favorite mug from the mug rack and prepared himself some tea. He then proceeded to sit on England's favorite armchair in the living room, sipping the tea and waiting for Francis. Three steaming mugs of Earl Grey later, Francis plopped down on the couch across from Alfred.

"You look sad, mon cher," Francis rested his head in his palm, his voice melodramatic. "Why is that so?"

Alfred scowled at Francis over the rim of the mug of Earl Grey. "You'd be sad too if you were in my situation," he mused, then added quietly, "It just seems so unfair."

Francis smirked and Alfred swore he saw his eyes glint. "Ah, yes, how unfortunate. You miss him, don't you?" He asked.

Alfred stared into the tea mug as if it was the most interesting thing in history. "No, not really."

"Good, because it does not seem like he remembers much at all."

America looked up from the mug to meet France's eyes. "Really? How far does his memory go?"

"Well, I do not know exactly, mon cher, but," Francis sat back on the couch so he could cross his legs, placing his hands behind his head. "since our dear Angleterre does not remember you, we can be sure that he does not remember anything from the Seven Years' War and forward."

"How are we going to find out how far his memory goes exactly?"

"That, mon cher, is what I wanted to talk to you about," Francis rested his head in his palm once more, leaning on his knee. "I was thinking I call up the nations that took part in the wars before the Seven Years' War and see which he remembers and which ones he does not. Sounds good, oui?"

"Yeah. Sounds like a plan," America stated flatly. "So who's first?"

"Ah, I was thinking we first call up Spain. Might as well start form the beginning, and Angleterre's birth is simultaneous to the War of the Spanish Succession. To see if he remembers back that far, we'll call him up." Francis moved toward the phone, punching in numbers that Alfred assumed made up Spain's phone number.

-

Antonio sprang up from his seat on the couch to bound over to his house phone. He tried not to hope it was anyone in particular (when did Lovino ever call him, anyway?) as he picked up the receiver.

"Hola, you've reached la casa de España." He greeted cheerily.

"Bonjour, Antonio," Spain tried not to sigh in disappointment when he heard Francis's voice on the other end. "Could you do me a favor, mon cher?"

"Yeah, what do you need?"

"For you to fly over to Angleterre's house immediately. He's lost his memory and our dear Amerique is spiraling into a depression; Angleterre has no idea of his existence!"

In the background, Spain swore he heard a loud 'I am not depressed!'

"Oh, that's not good. Alright, I'll be there as soon as possible, Francis. Adios, amigo!" Spain hung up and stared at the phone. England lost all of his memory of America. Shouldn't France be enjoying that?

-

America pulled his knees up to his chest, staring at the mug that was now half-full of cold tea in his hands. Spain still hadn't shown up, and Francis was spending all of his time with England. Alfred would be with them, but according to Francis, Arthur had specifically said to "keep that bloody stranger away from me." He didn't know what to do, honestly. There was nothing to do, except for wait for France's Spanish comrade to show up. After that, Alfred would be forced to suffer through listening to the three men prattle on about old times. In a vain attempt to amuse himself, Alfred gazed at the bookshelf sitting across from him. He spotted titles like Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, A Christmas Carol, A Tale of Two Cities, and The Catcher in the Rye lined along the walls. Alfred racked his memory banks, trying to remember the last time he had read one of those. Oh, he thought glumly, that was back when England used to read to me. Why did everything have to remind him of England? The books, the furniture, the tea, even the goddamn dust reminded America of his former mentor.

He heard the doorbell ring then, and decided to make himself useful by answering it.

"Hola, America!" Spain greeted, perpetually cheerful. Alfred put on a joyous smile.

"Hey, Spain! Come on inside. France and England are both in England's room." Alfred informed, motioning toward England's room.

"Gracias, amigo!" Spain called, as he was already halfway toward the Englishman's bedroom. Alfred followed, watching as Antonio reached Arthur's bedroom.

"Antonio, mon cher! Do come in," Francis greeted Antonio with a grope to his bottom, which Spain was completely oblivious to. Alfred stayed by the doorway, unseen by the three gentlemen in the bedroom.

"Angleterre! You remember Antonio, oui?" Francis asked in a tone of voice that one would use when addressing a six-year-old. Alfred watched as England squinted, and then nodded with recognition. The action made Alfred frustrated. England hardly ever talked to the Spaniard, at World Meetings or otherwise. Arthur had a higher chance of forgetting Antonio than forgetting Alfred, so why was it that England was talking casually with them as if they were old buddies and he was outside of the bedroom, a wallflower? And why did it seem like neither France nor Spain were doing anything to help England regain his memory of Alfred?

Alfred tuned in when he heard Arthur mention something about him.

"Why don't you bring the American fellow back in? He seemed awfully depressed before…"

"Non, that will not do. Amerique will only grow frustrated again, and he can get quite violent, you know." France explained. That comment almost threw Alfred over the edge. So he really could be talking to England right now? It was just that stupid Frenchman that was standing stubbornly in between them. Spain was probably there to be even more of a distraction to England, causing even less time for Alfred to possibly be convincing England that events from the Revolution and onward actually happened. America fled back to England's living room. He should have known that Spain and France would band together against Alfred. If that's the way you're going to have it, Francis, Alfred thought bitterly, then I'm going to have to come back with double the force.

-

"Hallo, you've reached the Haus von Preußen." Gilbert greeted, petting his tiny yellow chick with his index finger.

"Prussia? It's America."

"Oh, hey, Alfred. How can the Awesome Me spice up your life?"

"It's England. He's lost most of his memory. And France and Spain are going on about old times with him, and they're all completely disregarding my existence."

"And what, exactly, does the Awesome Me have to do with this?" Gilbert inquired, smirking. England lost his memory of Alfred? France must be having a field day, he thought in amusement.

"I was thinking that you could come over here and help distract Spain and France so I could talk to England–"

"Oh? You jealous?"

"N-no!" Came the nervous reply. "Why would I be jealous? I just want England's memory back, and the only way I can do that is with your help."

Gilbert pondered the request for a few moments, bandying his options back and forth in his mind. Face a depressed Francis, or a depressed Alfred? He never really spoke to Alfred, so why should he bother helping him out? Sparking an idea, Gilbert voiced his response.

"Alright, I'll help you out. I'll be over there as fast as I can, since you probably can't live without my awesome for much longer. Auf Wiedersehen!"

-

Alfred remained in his curled-up position on the couch, a fresh mug of hot tea in his hands. He didn't know exactly why, but he couldn't get enough of the bittersweet liquid. Prussia had better get here soon. I don't think I can take much more of their talking in the other room… Alfred thought miserably, trying (and failing) to tone out the sounds of conversation in England's bedroom.

"I can't believe you gits actually tried to off the balance of European powers." Alfred heard England say.

"Si, but that's all and done with, now," Spain replied; Alfred could just hear the smile on his face. "So many wars have come on gone since then, right, mi amigo?"

"Oui," Francis agreed. "I feel so old, talking about such distant times." America rolled his eyes.

"Hmm, must be painful, listening to all of them prattle on about old wars that are long gone, huh?" Prussia asked from right behind Alfred, causing him to practically jump out of his skin.

"Gilbert! When the hell did you get here?!" America hollered. "Did you even ring the doorbell?"

"Yeah, I did. France answered."

"Liar. The three of them have been in that room," America pointed to England's bedroom, "ever since Spain got here."

"Oh, keeping tabs on them, are you?" Gilbert sneered, grinning devilishly.

America's face reddened slightly. "What else am I supposed to do?"

"Well, you could always do the awesome thing and intrude. You said you wanted to distract them, right?" Gilbert began to walk toward England's bedroom, bursting the door open. America looked on from the hall as all three heads turned to Prussia.

"Oh, it's you," England spoke first, nodding in recognition. "I fought against you in the War of the Austrian Succession."

"Good to hear you haven't forgotten the awesome me, Arthur!" Gilbert walked in the room triumphantly. "And man, that war was intense. I can't believe you fought on Austria's side. How un-awesome,"

Alfred could only watch as the four dove into yet another war talk. He sighed in frustration, heading to the living room once more to finish off his now cold tea. America should have known that it was a bad idea to try and get help from Prussia of all people. He should have realized that Prussia, France, and Spain were all very close friends. Alfred placed the tea mug he'd been using in the sink, slowly heading back up the stairs in an attempt to get England's attention. About halfway up the stairs, he heard the four gentlemen conversing.

"Well, I've got two guest rooms, so that'll be alright with you, right?" America heard Arthur's voice ask.

"Si! That'll be excellent. Gracias, mi amigo!"

"Oui, I thank you as well, dear Angleterre," Francis purred, and Alfred swore he heard Francis drape his arm around England's shoulder.

"Well, the Awesome Me has awesome errands to get around to. I'll talk to you two later, and it's been nice catching up with you, Arthur. Try not to miss me!" Alfred scrambled back down the steps and tried to look casual in England's kitchen as Gilbert bounded down the stairs.

"He only remembers up to the War of the Austrian Succession," Gilbert informed. "So I wish you the best of luck trying to get the rest of his memory back. It's almost like he's in a trance. I wonder what can wake him up?" Prussia glanced at Alfred curiously. "Oh well, that's up to you to decide. See you, America."

"Yeah, see you." Alfred said distractedly. Now that Prussia had left and he now knew that France and Spain were spending the night in England's guest rooms, America had to worry about where he was sleeping. Dragging his feet on his way to the front door, Alfred grabbed his luggage as he made his way out of England's home, the cool night air nipping at his cheeks. The occasional breeze sliced through his bomber jacket and jabbed America's skin, causing him to shiver. Upon reaching his Mustang in the driveway, Alfred flung his bags into the backseat and sped off to the nearest hotel that he knew of. Stepping out in the parking lot of City Inn, Alfred trudged to the check-in desk, checking in and heading up to his room for the night. Upon entering, America looked around: it was a pretty average room. Double bed in the middle, TV across from that, a desk with a coffee brewer and a spot for a laptop adjacent to that. With a thud America's luggage landed next to the bed, and he fished out some pajamas to wear. He peeled off his bomber jacket and uniform and replaced them with the maroon flannel pajamas England had given him as a birthday gift two years ago. Crawling on top of the bed but refusing to climb under the covers, America leaned his back against the headboard and curled his knees up to his chest. I seem to be using this position a lot lately… he thought miserably, resting his forehead on his knees. He simply could not get England and his amnesia off of his mind. How could he make England remember the major events of his history? He was sure England had a photo album somewhere in his home. Maybe I can just explain everything to him, right from the beginning. If I can snag him in a moment when he's not talking to stupid France or Spain… but what if I started explaining everything and he didn't remember? America remained in his position, deep in thought. He looked up for a moment to glance at the clock; 2:12 AM. Alfred wasn't even tired.

It was going to be a long, sleepless night.

A/N: And so it continues.
My goodness. I'm so mean to Alfred. I just like being mean to characters. XD Reviews are welcome. I'd like to know if I'm still in character. Also, I'd like to know if the languages translate properly.

Translation notes:
la casa de España = House of Spain
Haus von Preußen = House of Prussia
Auf Wiedersehen = Goodbye