Disclaimer: "Hetalia" and all related characters and situations do not belong to me, but are used for entertainment purposes without intent to profit or the permission of their original owners.
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"February Fourth"
'2016'
By J.T. Magnus, 'Turbo'
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It happened every four years, John Revelin Sutherland found himself pacing relentlessly, wishing for a cigar that he could chew the hell out of - it made him miss D.H. Hill; Major General Hill had enjoyed a good stogie and could always be relied on to supply his Nation with one when John started worrying about anything, and if anything could start him worrying it was an election, especially a Presidential one. That was how it had all started, after all, over a century and a half before, with a Presidential election and the reactions to its outcome. He might not have officially come into being as a Nation until 1861, when they had called a Constitutional Convention and joined together to form the Confederate States of America, but the individual States had begun to suceed the year before after the election of 1860.
No matter what had happened during The War Between The States, no matter what John did to him each February, Alfred F. Jones was still his brother, John still cared for him, which was part of the reason he worried - Alfred, or 'Billy' as John still called him years after the War, could be naive to the point almost of stupidity. It wasn't always fair to say it that way, but Alfred's high ideals and 'heroic' outlook had a habit of blinding him to the more unsavory sides of others, including the politicians that were campaigning when election times came around. Alfred thought of himself as 'The Hero' and acted like it, so he just couldn't see at times that others might act one way when their real selves were something else entirely, and so John worried. He worried about candidates that would play up to 'The Hero' to get elected only to turn on him once they were in office. He worried about the times when the United States' 'two votes' system of Popular Vote and Electoral Vote were at odds, the citizens of the United States voting for one candidate but the Electoral College voting differently. Perhaps most of all, though, he sometimes found himself worrying about an election turning into another like that of 1860; worried because even so long after, the effects were still being felt and if it happened again, John wasn't sure if the States - whether United or Confederate - would survive the experience.
It worried him, and he didn't have a cigar to chew on, which left John only one way in mind to help distract him from the worry...
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"Oh, the stations up here, they don't sign off with 'Dixie', the way they did in sweet home Alabam'..."
Alfred F. Jones rolled out of bed with a groan and didn't even bother looking around for his glasses - he could never seem to find them this time of year anyway - and groggily made his way over towards his bedroom window, pausing on the way to pick up the 'selfie-stick' with attached camera that he had prepared for just this occasion. Without even bothering to look out the window, Alfred stuck the camera outside and took a quick picture of his house, the house that he'd had to repaint after the previous year's 'stunt' by the Confederacy and that sailor kid. Pulling the camera back in, Alfred looked at it and sighed.
"Well, at least he didn't paint the house this year," the Nation of the United States muttered as he tossed the camera and selfie-stick into a chair in the corner of the room and trudged back to his bed.
Dropping facefirst onto the bed, Alfred didn't even bother pulling the covers back over him, instead he merely grabbed one of the extra pillows and put it over his head to muffle the sound of the music outside.