Crystal's Notes: See? xD I told you this thing was far easier to update than the others...darn it. Maybe this means something...maybe I should make all my stories have a little more suspense to them...

...darn it.

In other news. xD Thank you dearly to our seven reviewers of last chapter! You guys are awesome. No, like really. You think this story is "epic"? You guys are epic. x3 No contest.

And LoveGaara06! I did browse your story! 8D And yeah, I did find some similarities! But there are vast, vast differences as well. xD For instance...I doubt the asylum will let Alfred get his hands on any drugs or guns. xDD;; But! You have some clever ideas there and definitely know how to keep an audience's attention hooked. 83 Hats off to you, fellow author. Keep writing.

Without much further-a-do, enjoy this chapter after a word from our returned co-author, AnarchySoul! x3

AnarchySoul's Notes: Ehem, FFF- hallo. I'm back. I know you missed the non-existant me. Crystal wrote this lightning fast and she's totally epic. So love her, dote on her, and review. Because what's more exciting than receiving a review? Honestly... wew.

It was far in the sameness of the wood;
I was running with joy on the Demon's trail,
Though I knew what I hunted was no true god.
It was just as the light was beginning to fail
That I suddenly heard—all I needed to hear:
It has lasted me many and many a year.

Oddly enough, the United Kingdom had been in the shower when the idea had suddenly occurred to him, and without much more preamble, he found himself scrambling to hurry up the wash and get out to dry himself off in order to call a fellow nation to see if it would work.

He was haphazardly dressed in khaki shorts and a white t-shirt with his unruly damp sandy blonde hair messier than usual when he finally walked out onto the veranda of his hotel room, cell phone ringing in his hand as he waited for the other to pick it up.

It only took a moment.

"Hello?"

The island nation leaned against the railing of the balcony as he responded, "Gutentag, Ludwig. This is Arthur."

"Ah, Arthur." The other blonde sounded vaguely surprised; although he had reason to, for the two hardly talked. "This is…unexpected. Is something wrong?"

Pausing just a moment to think of how to answer that particular question, Great Britain ran a hand through his hair as he hesitated. "You could…say that, but you already know of the difficulty the United States is proving…" There was a breath of understanding – and agreement – following that statement, and encouraged, the sandy blonde continued. "…which, is actually part of the reason as to why I called."

Germany gave a soft hum on the other end. "All right…go on."

Okay. You've got his ear now, chap. Don't lose it. The Englishman found himself gripping the railing just a little bit tighter as he took the plunge. "I think I've finally thought of a way we could still help the Americans."

Now, Arthur knew that he would be met with reluctance and, more importantly, exasperation (because everyone was getting tired of the vain efforts they were taking to try and help the U.S.), but he still wasn't prepared for the way he found himself wincing when he heard the strong man's sigh on the other end of the line. "Arthur…"

The United Kingdom hurried on. "Now, now, listen to me. Give me a chance. After all, surely you still remember the Berlin Airlift, don't you?"

Oh, he had the German nation there, and he knew it. The Berlin Airlift, from June 24, 1948 to May 12, 1949. It had been nearly the same thing as the American government was doing to themselves today, except that then it had been the Soviet Union's blockade upon the Germans. But all the same, what was it that the States, Britain, and other allies done in response?

"…you want us to fly in supplies."

"Yes."

A careful silence, gauged only by the length of which it ran. The United Kingdom knew without a shadow of a doubt that he had about a fifty-fifty chance on this one; either Germany would find compassion in his heart to help out someone who had aided him years past, or the nation would think it didn't concern him to help out a country that was being annoyingly stubborn this time around. But all the same, the sandy-blonde kept his calm, biding his time in wait; centuries of living often stretched a person's patience to innumerable degrees.

Except, of course, when it came to a certain self-proclaimed country of love, but those were petty details the island nation assured himself.

At last, he finally got an answer. "All right," was the reluctant sigh of a response. Great Britain felt certainly great indeed – the relief that washed over him made the corner of his mouth quirk upward in a tiny grin. "You have my agreement. I will speak to my boss about this – and you, yours, I should hope."

"Yes, yes, of course." The Englishman nodded, excitement lining his figure as he turned around and walked inside his hotel room, his mind buzzing full of numbers to call, appointments to make, planes to reserve and finances to figure out. This would be quite a mission he knew, but it would certainly be a successful one was the assurance. And it would be much easier to perform than the Berlin Airlift, seeing as how they wouldn't have the danger of their planes being shot down…

…would they?

No, the government isn't that idiotic. They're just irrefutably stubborn. Yes, that was it. That was completely it.

And hopefully, the United Kingdom thought as he finished his conversation with Germany and ended the call, thumb poised to begin dialing another one straight to London, this would also weaken Other Alfred, appeasing the Americans and warding off another civil war. Three birds with one stone – or perhaps several stones, depending on how many trips it would take to continue feeding the starving population.

But it would be worth it, the island told himself. It would all most assuredly be worth it.

The sound was behind me instead of before,
A sleepy sound, but a mocking half,
As of one who utterly couldn't care.
The Demon arose from his wallow to laugh,
Brushing the dirt from his eye as he went;
And well I knew what the Demon meant.

It was without hesitation that Canada walked briskly down the metallic hallway, his shoes creating an echoing clap, clap, clap that shattered the silence, something unusual for someone so quiet as he. Yet he didn't let it bother him; no, the thing that really saddened him was the fact they took away his bear, Kumakichi (or was it Kumajiro?). He could bring nothing with him into the room, they told him. Although after much persistent (timid) argument, they allowed him to keep his glasses, but still. They provided little solace in place of his ever-present stuffed companion.

Nonetheless, before the northern nation found he was ready, the door to the padded room was opened, and he was gently ushered inside by the same kind doctor who had told him he met his stepfather/brother/whatever he was the other day.

"Alfred," the doctor began as soon as the door was shut. "You have a visitor."

Matthew Williams clutched the bottom of his red sweatshirt, wishing Kumajimi were there instead so he could squeeze the animal tight and wish everything better, but alas. The bear wasn't there. All he could do was stand and stare as his twin glanced up, unfocused blue eyes landing on him, and then slowly squinting in confusion. It was a moment before he spoke.

"...who are you?"

To any other person, it might have been insulting. Any normal visitor would have been worried at such a response. But not Canada. Instead, an overwhelming relief stole over him - something normal! Oh, how odd it was to be thankful about being so forgettable - and he couldn't help but find himself relaxing, an amused smile creeping across his face.

He chuckled a little, hands releasing the sweatshirt and coming up to wring themselves as he responded, "I'm Canada. Your twin. Matthew Williams...remember?"

Recognition lit up the other's face, and instantly the young man shot to his feet, joy and relief lining his body as he spread his arms. "Mattie!" he exclaimed, thrilled. The ever-buoyant smile nearly split his face. "Mattie, you came! You got my message!"

The blonde nodded, smiling back, excited as well. The memory was still fresh in his mind, the phone call he had received after the United Kingdom's. It had been short and courteous; a nurse had told him everything he needed to know: that his brother, the United States, was asking for him, requesting to see him. And of course, he couldn't refuse. "I did! I...I can't believe you asked for me, but you did, and..." he shrugged, at a loss for other words, hands falling to his sides limply. He wasn't quite sure what to do with them at a time like this. "...and here I am, I guess."

Oh, how relieved Alfred looked – how thrilled! His fingers danced with anticipation, and suddenly caught with self-awareness, he glanced to the doctor standing by, blue eyes clouded with caution. "Can I...can I hug him...?"

There was a careful silence, one in which the blue eyes of the doctor roamed over his patient in calculation, before he then glanced to the visitor. "Are you okay with that, sir?"

Canada nodded hurriedly. "O-oh yes, I...I think he's okay for now."

A brief, perhaps slightly hesitant, nod. The doctor also scribbled something onto his clipboard he held close to his chest, a guarded look in his eye. "All right. You have that permission, Alfred. But that permission alone. Do you understand?"

Alfred hurriedly nodded, comically an identical gesture of confirmation as the younger twin had given him earlier. But then, without much further-a-do, he darted forward, slim arms (Matthew couldn't remember them always being that alarmingly thin; once upon a time, wasn't his brother so much stronger?) wrapping around the other blonde and holding him tight.

Almost like a lifeline, Matthew thought sadly. He hugged his brother back, burrowing his face in his twin's shoulder. Oh, Alfred...what's happening to you...?

But no one saw the slow smile that spread on the States' face as he raised his head just the slightest off of his younger twin's shoulder; it was a smile that most assuredly, most certainly, did not belong to Alfred, the Alfred they knew.

No one noticed until it was far.

Far.

Too.

Late.

I shall not forget how his laugh rang out.
I felt as a fool to have been so caught...

- "The Demiurge's Laugh" by Robert Frost