Chapter Four

America turned his head, taking in the room. "Whoa, Mattie... When did you do this?" His room was decorated, to his taste. There were posters of American bands, an American flag area rug with matching bedspread, and there was even a Playstation 3 complete with a 32" flat screen and a stack of the best military games.

Canada clasped his hands in front of him and smiled, taking everything in like Alfred. "Do you like it? Being your brother and all, I made sure all of your favourite things were here!" He looked up at America with fondness.

"Yeah, Mattie, it's great, but..."

"Oh, is something wrong?" Canada panicked. "If there's anything that's missing that you would enjoy, I could definitely-"

"Whoa, whoa, broseph. Calm down," America held out his hand to stop Matthew. "Everything is fine. I was just gonna say that it's a lot cleaner than my place. And a lot smaller."

"..." Mattie paused to breathe. "Oh, so everything is to your liking?" He began to wring his hands. America looked at his face and saw something there that usually is, but hasn't been since he first seen him today: anxiety. Alfred began to wonder why he didn't really think of his strange, optimistic behaviour until now.

"Mattie, is something wrong? You've been acting... Crazy." America stopped, and then burst out laughing. "I don't mean crazy crazy, you know, like mental hospital crazy, and we are in one..." He looked up through tears and stopped again, seeing the look of confusion on Canada's face. America straightened. "Heh hem.. Nevermind."

Canada searched Alfred's face carefully. "Yes... Well, I've got to... go. Take care of things. Like I said earlier." He moved toward the open door and fiddled with the knob. "I just want you to get acquainted for now and relax." Mattie smiled sweetly at America. "Everything's going to be fine, Alfie. Just fine..." The door shut behind him.

America stood there for a few seconds, counting to ten. When he reached ten, he walked to the door and jiggled the knob. Locked. America put his hands out and looked at them. What am I supposed to do with myself now? He stepped away from the door and tried to remember what Canada had said. "...get acquainted for now and relax."

Well, he thought, guess that's what I'm gonna do. Looking at his bed with longing, he took two quick strides and fell face-down onto it with his arms stretched out. "God, I'm so tired..." he said into the Patriotic pillow. "But everything is so strange..."

The entire time America was there, even after Mattie showed up, something's been off. Of course, the whole him being in a mental institution thing makes it pretty obvious. He found himself wondering why he was in a crazy house, anyway. He didn't think he was crazy. No, I know I'm not crazy... And then there was that clipboard. It had said something about making him think he was crazy, but if he was in the hospital, wouldn't that mean...

Alfred shook his head. He wasn't used to this much thinking, and he was getting a headache. He sat up and looked at his leg, which happened to be twitching. Huh, America thought, I guess I'm really not tired, after all... What was that stuff he gave me? Ginger blow? Whatever it was, he said it would give me energy...

He jumped out of bed and started pacing the room, becoming bored out of his mind. There was the Playstation, but he had beat all those games at least a thousand times. It didn't seem like much fun, now. America started to wish he could remember more before today.

America stopped in the middle of the room, clapping a hand over his mouth in surprise. The dove from the garden earlier sat perched on the TV, it's head cocked to the side as it stared at America.

America dropped his hand. "Okay, how in the Hell did you get in this room?" he asked, pointing at the bird. It definitely wasn't in here earlier.

The bird opened it's beak. "I was under your bed the entire time, you stupid American!"

Alfred's jaw dropped to the floor. "Okay, that did not just happen!"

The bird raised one of its wings and began to clean it, completely ignoring America. Alfred stood there for a moment, just staring at the bird. Did- did that dove just talk?! He shook his head and laughed. No, it didn't, stupid. You're just a little stir crazy...

The bird glanced up from his wing and looked at America lazily. "What are you laughing at? This can't be new to you."

America frantically moved his arms in front of him at an angle. He began to breathe heavily. "Wh-what are you, dude?!"

"Uh, obviously, I'm a dove. You know, a bird? You must have really busted your head, man."

"I know that!" America yelled with frustration. "I mean, what are you really? Are you, like, my imagination fucking with me?" His eyes widened. "Oh shit! I am crazy!" America raked his fingers over his face shook his head. "I'm crazy?"

The bird looked at him with sympathy. He flapped his wings and flew over to America, hovering in front of him. "No, man, I don't think you're crazy... I'm sorry I was a douche back there." The bird landed on America's shoulder and held out a wing. "'Sup, man. My name is..." The bird paused, dropping its wing. "Shit! I don't have a name!"

"You don't have a name? Ah ha!" America laughed. "That's the saddest thing I've ever heard!"

The bird fumed. "Shut up, man!" It crossed its wings. "I don't know why, but I think you're supposed to name me."

America looked at him in confusion. "Uh, why?"

The bird threw up its wings. "I don't know, man! All I know is that I was suddenly in some weird garden, and I saw you staring at me." The bird facewinged. "I don't remember anything before that. I also know that we're supposed to be together for some reason. And don't ask me why, 'cause I don't know that, either!" The bird added in exasperation when America opened his mouth to speak.

America shut his mouth for a moment, and thought for a second. So, this bird is supposed to be here? Is this a sick joke? He rubbed his chin. Well, as weird as it is, I guess this bird is here to stay. So, maybe I should name it.

"Are you a dude or chick?" America asked the bird.

The birds mouth slacked open in offence. "I'm a boy! What the hell, man?"

America held out his hands in defense. "Sorry, bro. Jeez! It's just your voice is a little... High."

"Uh, yeah, I am a freakin' bird, you dumb bastard."

"Okay, okay! Don't, like, poop on my shoulder or anything." A dude bird. Okay. So, what should I name him? America looked at the bird. Pure white feathers, small black eyes... A beautiful bird, really. I don't want it to be obvious. I'll give it a cool, kickass name to make him sound completely kickass.

"Alright, dude bird. Your name is Blaise."

"Blaise?" asked the bird. "Doesn't make sense but... Hell's yeah! I like it. Makes me sound... Like I'm the shit!"

America laughed, and he was becoming very fond of his new bird friend. "Okay, Blaise." He held out a hand to Blaise. "Welcome to my allegiance."

Blaise shook America's hand with his wing. "And welcome to my flock, man."