America grinned, waving to his brother Canada as he left his car. He watched as his younger brother opened the door to his home and went inside. Only then did he allow the smile to fade.
America pulled out of the Canadian's driveway, sighing.
"Sometimes," he thought as he drove down the busy streets, "I can't help but wonder…"
He wasn't a complete idiot like the others believed.
As America finally reached his own house, he parked the car and stepped out, loosening his tie. Pulling out his key, he unlocked the front door and made his way inside.
The old house was clean. He let out a soft snort. It was most likely the forgotten influence of someone that had been dear to him.
He put his jacket onto the hook and stretched.
By the time he had gotten home, the sun was still high in the sky. It made him smile as he looked out the window. America loved the sun.
He shook his head, turning away. He made his way to his bedroom, climbing up the stairs and humming to himself. He turned down the hallway to the first door on the left.
When he opened the door however, America was assaulted with how messy his room was compared to the rest of the house. He frowned.
He wasn't sure why, but as he walked into his room, America felt an unexpected urge.
He began to pick up the dirty clothes from the floor, not entirely conscious on what he was doing, and put them into the laundry bin. Soon, books were placed back onto their shelves in a surprisingly neat and orderly fashion. He made his bed and then took out the vacuum from the closet. When he was done, he stood back and looked at his work.
"Well," he said out loud, "that was really weird."
America shook his head, sighing. As he went to his dresser, the American couldn't help but think to himself. He wasn't an idiot like the others wanted to believe, he did indeed have a brain. He thought about how the others were around him.
Once he grabbed his clothes, America made his way to the bathroom.
"They're always exasperated," he thought as he stripped, "Then, when I say something, they get angry. And then they start spending so much time trying to tell me what to do!" America felt a wave of anger come over him but he shrugged it down.
He turned the water on, relishing in the heat of the liquid as it slid down his sides.
"England and I are probably the ones who argue the most though," he continued, "It's weird. We never used to do that. Though, I guess things change, huh?"
As he kept pondering this, America was stabbed with a realization.
"I never really thought about it, but… Canada has always been ignored, hasn't he? I mean like, more so than usual."
Canada is America's brother, and despite everything, he really cares for him. America tries his hardest to spend time with Canada as much as he can, since many of the other nations just forget about him. His brother is so easy to forget.
Sometimes, America would forget that he's in the room. Yet, he would never forget that his little brother existed. Not like the others.
The anger returned, making the world power tense. America turned the water off, stepping out of the shower and grabbing a towel from the nearby rack. He quickly dried his hair as well as the rest of his body and grabbed his razor after he wrapped the towel around his waist.
America then took the facial cream, and after lathering and smoothing it all over his jaw, he began to shave.
"I'm not usually this angry, am I? Weird," he thought.
Lately, the world had gotten more demanding. America had many debts to pay off, some more then centuries years old. Then there were also the problems that occur within his country on a daily basis. These problems seemed to have gotten worse, and he wasn't sure why.
As he thought about it, the nation found that whenever he mentioned his problems during a meeting, the others would just respond back that he was whining.
They go through the same problems themselves and they whine about it as well. Why couldn't he?
When someone asks for help and America responds that he could, they call him arrogant. Yet they accept help from other countries without too much of a fuss.
During World War 2, England and France had been pressing for him to help them fight against the Axis Powers. Yet when he refused they had gotten all personal about it. The only reason he joined the Allies was because of the bombing of Pearl Harbour by Japan. Much like how in the previous war, America only joined in the fighting because of something someone else had done.
"Why do they do that kind of thing?" America gave a wince, putting the razor back onto the counter. He looked into the mirror, turning his face so he could see the gash better.
Red dribbled down his cheek and hit the counter before him. He simply stared at it before taking a cloth. After he had wetted it with faucet water, America dabbed at his cheek.
The red was immediately absorbed by the cloth, yet the blood just kept on flowing. The nation could feel a slight tug appear at the corner of his lips and he gave his reflection a smile. Once he realized what he was doing, gently poking the sides of the wound so the blood would flow quicker, America's smile disappeared and he began to clean the cut.
"This is starting to get really weird," America thought to himself. When the blood finally came to a stop, he cleaned up the dried red liquid as best he could before leaving the bathroom, troubled.
As he walked down the hall, he found himself taking a glance at the clock. His eyes widened.
"Crap," he exclaimed, tearing to his room and grabbing a jacket from the closet, "I totally forgot!"
In a rush, the nation quickly locked the house before he hopped into his car and headed to the airport. He had a meeting to attend.
And as he drove, he slowly began to forget about all the troubles that he had mulled over, hoping that it wasn't true. But it was probably best that he shouldn't have thought about it in the first place. Seeds of doubt were planted in his mind and America couldn't ignore the feelings of rage that had been brought to the surface.
And there's another chapter done…. One more to go before the plot really kicks off.