Oh, that's a shame :( I wish it could be canon, but at the same time I don't want it to be canon. Hetalia is good as it is without any canon ships. But thanks for telling me, Inky-Paws and Guest (In Internet you don't really know what's true and what's not)

Next time when America woke up, it seemed like it was an early morning. The sun shone through the curtains, creating a dim lighting in the room. Everything was silent, almost too silent for his liking. To America, silence felt unnatural. Voices had been around him since he was born.

"Silence is better. It lets you meet your demons."

The nation yawned, scretching his limbs. He stood up and tiptoed outside. Something told him that he should be silent. A refreshing, cool wind greeted him like its equal. The sun was just a scratch at the horizon. Some stars still twinkled at the sky, like not wanting to let the sun take over for a day.

The village was different than he imagined it would be. Of course he knew that it would not resemble the large cities of the present day, but it still surprised him. The wooden buildings were small but practical. Some even had chimneys of a some kind. Or maybe they weren't chimneys.

America admired the houses, before walked through the village. Everyone was sleeping. This was the first - and last - time he woke up so early, so he should enjoy from it. He inhaled, letting the air fill his lungs. The bullet was still in his chest, but he wasn't going to dig it up. First, he didn't have any medical things, and second, England was better at 'being a doctor'. And the villagers would probably wonder what he was doing.

The superpower arrived at the edge of the village. There was a hill, and he walked on the top and sat down. He sighed. Sunrises were always so beautiful.

It reminded him of his childhood, where he had had picknicks all by himself. The British Empire had been somewhere else, probably taking care of his nation. Sometimes Canada had joined him and they had talked. Or played.

The nation plucked the grass from the ground. Then, everything between the twins had changed, when America gained his independence. He had tried to get Canada fight for his independence too, but he refused. He remembered being bitter and angry to his brother; he didn't want Canada to suffer under the British control.

Then that rainy day had come. They had won. The high and mighty British Empire was on his knees in front of him, crying and cursing. The hate and bitterness he had felt towards the redcoats had drained from him to the ground with rain. The independent nation couldn't shoot him.

"Such a cruel person, are you?"

The rebels which fought beside him had tried to get him to shoot his big brother, but he refused. Instead he turned on his heels and left. The tears had threatened to spill, but he refused to show weakness. At least the two nations were equal now.

A smirk appeared to his face. He remembered the enemy soldiers he'd shot with his musket. In an instant, the smirk vanished. He shouldn't feel happy from killing.

He still felt guilt for all terrible things he'd done. The atomic bombs, Vietnam war... America could name many more battles of his life.

"Maybe you really are crazy? You feel guilt for killing people who aren't yours."

And sometimes... He felt like Atlas, a titan who had to carry the world on his shoulders. Being a superpower isn't just dancing on roses; he had learned it the hard way.

"I used to come here at mornings when the sun rose." America startled. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Francis. The Frenchman didn't look tired, instead looked lively and perky, like he'd had a bath and after it a massage. The nation grimaced; he himself felt like a zombie.

He desperately needed a cup of coffee.

He nodded hesitantly. Francis smiled shortly and sat down next to America. He turned his face to watch the sunrise.

The traveler nodded, doing the same.

"How come you are walking by now? You were in a...", Francis gestured vaguely with his hands, "bad shape."

America didn't know how to explain his abnormal healing abilities. Of course he knew he couldn't just drop the bomb and say he was an immortal from the future.

"Maybe I'm just lucky", the North American nation flashed his brightest fake smile. Francis didn't press the subject, just frowned.

The next few moments went by in silence. The nation felt like he should ask something, but he didn't remember exactly what he should ask. Then it hit him.

"What year is it?"

Francis hesitated for a second, like trying to recall something. Doubt and uncertainty shined in his eyes.

"It's 1356", he replied.

Nothing. That year said nothing to him. Maybe because he didn't exist then; or then he hadn't listened those boring stories before he had born.

The Frenchman must've seen his confused expression, because he looked just as confused as him.

"Tu.. Don't you know what year is it? Don't you know what is happening?"

America knew he was walking on thin ice. He couldn't tell Francis what he was and from where he was. It wasn't even an option. If he would tell, England or Germany would strangle him with their own hands.

The superpower swallowed, feeling nervous. The Frenchman still looked at him with an unreadable expression, like considering different options.

"I.." He looked down and realized that his armor from yesterday was still on. On the leather breastplate, there was a bullethole. He brushed it.

"There are some things I can't tell you, Francis. And I think you're right." America shrugged. "I didn't know the year and I don't what ishappening."

The Frenchman looked thoughtful. After a moment, he answered.

"A war is waging between my homeland and England."

"What a surprise", America rolled his eyes. It sometimes felt like the two European nations were fighting nonstop half of the time and half of the time doing something else.

Francis nodded gently as a sign of agreement. Then he stood up.

"Others should be awake by now", he said. The immortal grinned before standing up too. They started walking back to the village, chattering at the same time.

Suddenly, America realized that he should not befriend the Frenchman too strongly. It was an unwritten between nations that they shouldn't form strong friendships with humans. Their lifespans were usually short, hardly a fraction of a nation's lifetime.

"Did you forget Davie?"

Behind them, sun rose and continued its everlasting journey through the sky.

Soo... A new chapter. It seems that last time I updated this was 7.11. Where did the time go?

My motivation tends to vanish suddenly but it comes (always?) back. That happened. Again. It's annoying-

This chapter is quite uneventful, but don't worry! Soon should happen something... At least I think so.

(I had a math exam today and I'm not sure how it went)