July 1776

London, England

England tucked the blood-stained handkerchief into his pocket. He felt terrible, but was at least up and walking. It was pure will that had gotten him out of his sick bed. He needed to be involved in the plan to suppress America's insurrection. He adjusted the cuff on his jacket, tugging at a stray thread. He would need to get it taken in, the thinness of his body was starting to show through his clothes.

A footman entered the room. "He is here, Lord Kirkland."

"Send him in and send word to the kitchens to send up luncheon for two."

"He has a boy with him, should I prepare for three?"

A boy? England frowned, curious about the added party when he had specifically mentioned he wanted this whole affair kept as quiet as possible. The footman disappeared through the door to be replaced by Hesse's tall body. Like the other German brothers he was light-haired which he wore pulled to the nape of his neck. The cut of his uniform pasted it to him, the very picture of a mercenary soldier. For just a moment England's eyes rested on Hesse's scar that marred the right side of his face. It was the topic of much speculation among the nations regarding who had put it there. Hesse wouldn't talk about it no matter how much beer he'd been plied with. England's speculation was short lived when a lanky teenager entered the room.

For a gut clenching moment England saw America. This boy was of similar height and width in the shoulder. However the expression was far too stoic for America and the eyes were the wrong shade of blue. It took England a moment to connect this boy to the small child that Hanover and Prussia had brought to his house so many years before.

Getting control of himself, England offered a hand for Hesse to shake. "Thank you for coming."

"If you've got the coin, I've got the soldiers." Hesse replied, shaking England's hand. "You recall my younger brother-"

"Germany, of course. I must say you have grown quite a bit since the last time I saw you." The boy took his hand.

"Thank you." Germany said, not quite meeting England's eye. England gestured them to the chairs and they all took a seat. England couldn't seem to take his eyes off Germany. How did they grow so quickly so fast?

Hesse cleared his throat and deliberately reached into England's eye line for a the waiting teapot, breaking whatever spell had come over him. "They grow fast don't they, the younger nations. Far faster than we did. I think it's because we did all the hard work." Germany narrowed his eyes at his elder brother and Hesse grinned at him.

"I would agree with you." England said, drinking deeply from his tea cup to quell the cough he could feel growing in his chest.

"Perhaps, it was a lack of discipline and modern thinking in the past that blocked the progress and growth." said Germany. Both older nations raised their eyebrows at him and the boy looked away back to his food. Hesse broke the silence with a laugh.

"A little rebellious aren't they?" Hesse said. England met the baiting look in Hesse's eye. He was not going to rise to the provocation.

"Indeed."

"Your little brother has declared independence and you don't want to give it to him?"

"He is a colony, not a nation. He needs to remember his place. I need additional forces so this can be over quickly. I expect it will take one campaign season based on his access to weapons and munitions."

Hesse leaned over to Germany, "Take this as a lesson, don't let your holdings get any ideas." Germany nodded and England felt his ire rise.

"While I appreciate your men and arms, I don't remember hiring you for unsolicited opinions on how I build my empire." Hesse seemed to find that amusing and leaned back in his seat. He sat for several minutes, not saying another word. England felt eyes on him and caught Germany staring at him now. The little boy that had been dragged around by several nations was just starting to show the lines he would have as a mature nation. He was ensconced by his brothers and finally gaining some stability. He reminded England so much of America that the wracking cough caught him by surprise. Damn. He hadn't wanted any of the others to know that America's rebellion was affecting him physically.

"Interesting." Hesse said, as England buried his mouth in his handkerchief, wiping away the trickle of blood. "So what role exactly do you want me to play in all this?"

"I will be arriving by the end of the year. I would like you to accompany your troops and if the opportunity arises, I would like you to locate America and capture him. He and I have a very unpleasant conversation to have."

"I expect. You haven't heard the gossip have you?"

"Gossip?"

"Come now. Everyone knows about America's rebellion on the Continent. You should hear France go on about it."

"I prefer not to listen to France if I can help it."

"Another thing for you to learn, Germany, don't get in bed with your neighbors. It makes things messy. Don't sleep with your colonies either."

England slammed his tea cup into his saucer with such force the entire table rattled. Two pairs of German blue eyes widened at him. "Of course the Frog's mind would consider that as the problem rather than America having delusions of grandeur and opinions above his station."

Hesse snorted. "Shame. It brought to mind such an image."

England sighed. "Doesn't the Continent have better things to do than speculate on whom I may or may not be in bed with?"

"Not much to do when there is no war on. And I know that you are dying to know who is in bed with who these days. Take your mind off your boy as he twists the knife in your back."

"If that will be the topic of conversation I would prefer to be excused." Germany interrupted, his face bright red.

"So innocent, kleiner Bruder. And here I would have thought that you would have gotten some education around… well, Hanover could tell you some stories…" Hesse gave England a sly look and England wondered why he was condemned to be constantly surrounded by idiotic, nosey allies.

"Germany, you have no need to excuse yourself. That will not be the subject of conversation."

"In that case, why don't' you tell me about America so that I can better plan how to fight him." The mirth that had been on Hesse's face when he teased England had disappeared, leaving only the hardened soldier that he'd become famous for. England swallowed and America's face flashed at the forefront of his mind. The young face was battered and bloody. Instead of joy and curiosity, this imagined America's eyes were full of fear. England hardened himself to the possibility of that future.

You brought this on yourself, my darling boy… He coughed and began to tell Hesse all that he would need to know in order to put America in his place.

August 1776

Long Island, New York

The Invasion of Long Island and Manhattan

America frowned over the letters. "I think you did the right thing, General Washington. If they don't have respect for us we shouldn't respect them either."

"Not that we were going to surrender, like General Howe was so hoping. We will prove ourselves to them." Washington turned back to his papers and America studied him in profile. General Washington was certain that England's troops were going to invade. The only question was where they would strike first. America turned back to the letters that General Howe had sent. The words made his frown deepen and his anger rise. Howe had no respect for him whatsoever and refused to acknowledge that Washington was his American equivalent as Commander in Chief. Howe would only refer to him as Mr. Washington in the correspondence. America's generals had decided it was better to send them back until General Howe at least conceded to treat them properly. He still hadn't, and now they were waiting for the invasion.

"America, I'd like you to go to Long Island see what help you can offer General Greene."

America nodded and picked up his hat placing it on his head, "I'll go at once, General Washington."

When he arrived at Long Island he learned that General Nathanael Greene had taken ill and General John Sullivan was now commanding the troops. They were waiting to see where the British would make their move. Washington thought it would be York Island, but General Sullivan wasn't so sure. America decided he wanted to see what was going on for himself.

He made his way towards the coast, finding high ground to observe the British that had been slowly amassing all summer. They had been coming even before he declared independence, but it seemed that action opened a flood gate. He counted the warships again, the smaller ships of the line too numerous to count.

Seventy-three. He'd heard they carried 32,000 British soldiers, not to mention the Hessian mercenaries. He wondered if Hesse was among them. Would he know him when he saw him? America wasn't even quite sure where Hesse's country was. Why had England still not come? Did he think America so insignificant an enemy that he would not come himself? That thought made him uneasy. Although he had never asked England directly about it, America knew his reputation in other wars. They all did.

He's been defeated before, even if it was a long time ago… I can stop him. I have to. America assured himself, trying to remember the last time the British conclusively lost a war. What had Dr. Franklin said? That America had broken the cardinal rule of warfare. Always let the British win… America smiled remembering the way the elderly man had said it to scoffs from some of the other members of the Continental Congress after Lexington and Concord. Back then there had still been a possibility of staying British. That was not an option now.

America returned to camp. Day after day passed with little action, and it put his teeth on edge. Patience was not his strong suit. He was half-tempted to go see if he could find Hesse, somewhere out on those ships and demand why England wouldn't come and face him. Why won't you do anything? America wondered one night, climbing into his cot and getting ready to face the next day.

It was early in the morning on August the twenty-fourth when America jolted out of his dreams. It was the one he'd had before with England stabbing him in the chest. May the sword of the parent not be stained with the blood of her child… the Loyalists liked to say. Maybe that was it, he thought, they were pulling him still with their feelings towards the war. He looked at the dark canvas, it was still several hours before dawn.

No, something else was wrong he could feel it in his stomach. He remembered the feeling from a long, long time ago. It was the sense of another nation stepping onto his lands. But, it wasn't England. It must be Hesse with the British troops, America decided. He was being invaded.

He jumped out of bed, pulling on the rest of his clothes and hurrying toward General Sullivan's tent. One of his men went to fetch him at the sight of America looking so harried.

"What is it?" Sullivan asked.

"I think they've made their move. Something feels off, there's another nation here."

"England?"

"No, I think it's Hesse with his mercenaries." Sullivan swore and sent men to wake up the regimental commanders and order them to get their men ready. America raised an eyebrow at the string of language that came out of the man's mouth. America wondered if he talked that way around Washington and whether or not he got away with it with the gentleman general.

"America, do you want to fight?"

America felt excitement curl in his stomach, making his heart race. "Yes, of course."

"Then go and get prepared." The tent flap opened and a courier walked in. He saluted and Sullivan told him to speak.

"Our scouts have an estimate of the size of their force, sir. This appears to be the main body of men, the guess is 20,000 under the command of General Cornwallis." America listened to the report with wide eyes. They were outnumbered nearly 4 to 1!

"We're going to have to move back to the fortification at Brooklyn Heights. We won't be able to hold here. Get them moving!"

The sun was rising on them when they were getting the battle lines prepared for a defended retreat. None of the 20,000 men had come against them yet and it made America's hair stand on end. Where were they? He strained his ears for the sounds of guns at any of the defended points along the routes. If they weren't coming from that direction…? Oh no.

America turned his horse and ordered a group of men to come with him to check one more route. Few of their troops were from Long Island, and they wouldn't have known about the route to the east. But the Loyalists on the island certainly did.

They made their way to a rise. America's stomach flipped. Thousands of red-coats and the multi-colored coats of the Hessian units were on the march below.

He barely heard the movement before someone was on him, the soldiers accompanying him speared by bayonets before they could surrender. America tried to get out of the grip of the man that grabbed him from behind.

"Quiet down, I'm not going to hurt you. England is paying me well enough for that. I wanted to get a look at you since I doubt this will be the last time we meet." His accent was German, America recognized it from his own people with that ancestry.

"You're Hesse?"

"So you've heard of me." He chuckled, "That's good."

"You're just a mercenary. You don't care about me, just England's money."

"You're right. That's why I just want to have a chat with you. If I let you go do you promise to stay and talk?" America could see the Hessian soldiers going through the pockets of the men they'd just killed.

"Tell them to stop and I'll speak with you." Hesse barked out an order that America only half understood. The soldiers faded into the trees, leaving them alone with each other and the dead men.

The arm around America's neck loosened and he twisted, pushing back against Hesse so he could put some distance between them. He looked nothing like America had expected, although he had to admit that he'd met so few other nations. His blond hair was tied back and America wondered where he had gotten the scar running over his right eye and down over his cheek. Hesse smiled, amusement crossing his face, "You don't look anything like him."

"I've heard that before." America crossed his arms, trying to stay out of arm's reach of Hesse. The other nation had managed to wrench his musket off his back, leaving America unarmed. Hesse gestured at two stones that were in the small clearing. He sat, waiting for America to join him.

"I'm not going to bite you, boy. Here." he swung his pack off his back and rummaged around, finally coming up with some food wrapped in wax paper. He held it out. America hadn't eaten that morning and his stomach grumbled at the presence of food. Hesse smiled. America frowned but took the offered food anyway. He sat down on the other rock and started in on it.

"I'll have to send word back to my brother, he was curious about you."

"Who is your brother?"

"I have many brothers. But the one who is curious about you is Prussia."

"I know his name."

"You should."

"What's that mean?"

"He's not easy to forget. In fact, everyone is really interested in the upstart colony that thinks it will take on a nation who fancies himself the future ruler of the world."

"Why are you helping him then?"

"Like you said, I don't care about you or him, just the money. Why? Can you pay me more, America?" America looked away. Many of the generals had been financing the armament and the uniforms of the troops themselves with vague promises from Congress about being paid back. Hesse laughed. "I didn't think so. Shame though, you have some resemblance to my own little brother."

"Really?" America asked, curious. He jumped when the cannons started to blast. Hesse looked at him and America could sense the calculations that were going through the other nation's mind.

"You better get back to your army before you get stuck out on the field." Hesse stood up and offered America a hand up. America didn't take it, which seemed to amuse Hesse even more. The German gathered up his equipment and turned to leave.

"Hesse, can I ask you a question?"

"What?"

"Is he going to come here? England?"

Hesse turned and faced him, America felt disconcerted at how cool the other nation's blue eyes had gotten. He pushed a strand of long blond hair that had fallen across his forehead back over his ear. "Yes. He will be here before the year is out."

A feeling washed through America, he couldn't tell what it was. He just felt funny.

"You don't know what you've done have you?" Hesse said, tossing America's musket back at him. America caught it and looked at him.

"What do you mean?"

"This is going to be a hard lesson, boy. Good luck. Now run along before I have to deal with you as a prisoner."

America hurried, managing to rejoin his bloodied and retreating troops as they got behind the barricades at Brooklyn Heights. The fight had been chaotic and America felt cold when he heard some of the men recount what Hesse's men had done.

You don't know what you've done…

America watched as the British began setting up their siege lines. Howe wasn't going to push the attack. "Providence is on our side." Washington said. "We will survive this, America."

They were going to evacuate. They had to. Despite being joined with the main American force they were too few in number to face over 30,000 British and Hessian soldiers. America was up on the ramparts, making a good show of people being near the fortification as Washington oversaw everyone evacuating over the river. Night had fallen and the darkness was speeding them along.

America glanced at the retreat every now and then from the bobbing lanterns of the British settling in for a siege. They hadn't been noticed, but there were still so many! Dawn was only a few hours away and if they were caught in the river when the sun rose… America didn't want to think of the chances of the barges against the cannons on the British vessels. America could feel the anxiety growing, building.

He didn't know when he had fallen asleep, but he awoke to someone shaking him. "You're with me, America." It was Washington's voice, America could barely see the tall man's outline thanks to the thick fog that had descended all around them. Daybreak was just upon them, but the British did not seem to think anything was amiss.

They were safe on the other side of the river.

Early October 1776

London, England

England was beginning to lose any semblance of patience he had left. He could barely abide any human contact. King George would not give him leave to go to America, to look his colony in the face and declare him foolish, drag him back to loyalty using whatever means necessary. England glanced at his monarch, wondering if the man could feel his nation's gaze on the back of his head. The royal family listened to the small orchestra play some piece from one of Austria's prodigal composers. He'd sent the sheet music to England weeks ago, no doubt to brag. This composer was from Salzburg and was only twenty years old, Mozart or something? It was certainly different, but England could barely focus on the music.

The violins began and England couldn't seem to tear his mind away from a cold winter's morning when he'd first handed America the instrument. What he'd lacked in talent for music he made up for with enthusiasm, although any time he laid hand on a sheet of music he'd added something of his own personality. Simple sounds, but charming none the less. Did America still play? Most likely not, not since he'd begun this traitorous rebellion. England thought. The small smile that England had worn at the start of the memory dashed to pieces, as much as any seafaring vessel shattered itself on unseen rocks. Damn it all. He couldn't tolerate standing here when he might lose him.

He was about to take a step forward to make excuses to the king when a servant appeared bearing a sealed letter on a silver plate. He recognized the seal immediately. It was from Hesse. He took the missive and stepped away from the group of courtiers. Out of the corner of his eye he could see one of France's men watching him, so England decided to step into the next room where the servants were setting out the meal for when the performance was over.

He tore open the seal and began to read.

England,

We have made a successful invasion of New York and now control the entirely of York City and Long Island. During the invasion I met with America…

England frowned. What on earth had Hesse done that for? He had been ordered to capture him, not talk to him!

...to give him the opportunity of surrender which he declined. Upon the initial invasion the American units moved back to their fortifications at Brooklyn Heights. We could not immediately attack due to orders from your man Howe who seemed concerned about a second Bunker Hill…

England could sense Hesse's disdain in the letter. However, he could understand why Howe would be cautious. America's soldiers had shown themselves unwilling to surrender on several occasions and became all the more vicious for it.

...When we prepared to lay siege we noticed something odd at first light. We could not see any movement behind the ramparts and when soldiers made the approach they met no challenge. Apparently, the entire American force managed to slip away in the night…

England had to read the words twice before the statement sunk in. America had slipped away in the night with thousands of men and no one had seen a bloody thing?!

...We were not able to pursue as they had taken or burned every boat capable of navigating the river. However, we were able to capture Kip's Bay uncontested as the militia fled as soon as they saw us. Between all of the retreats I thought it would be a good time to approach the kid again. However, before I got a chance one of your idiot companies managed to stumble right into the main American force and ran back dogged by American musket and cannon fire. I must say, the boy's spirit bounces back quickly…

England's frown deepened. Hesse was impressed, he didn't outright say it, but the sentiment was there. America in all his rash, unprepared bravado was impressing nations far older than himself. A small part of England felt a surge of pride, but he crushed it as soon as it rose. If only America had turned these admirable qualities on a proper enemy.

...Part of the city caught fire the other night. Each side is blaming the other. I am primarily annoyed with the loss of a most accommodating brothel. We hung a spy, although the man became a martyr within the day on the American side. My only regret is I have only one life to give for my country, they say he said. I wasn't there so I don't know if it's true, but it has a certain ring to it…

That it does, England thought. He ran a hand through his hair, clenching his fingers and tugging on the short strands until it hurt. There had been that one night in New York during the Seven Years War. America had been curled up next to him in the narrow farmhouse bed promising that he'd fight as hard as he could for his home. He was too good at keeping his word.

...The other boy, Canada, came down trying to help. I sent him back to his own lands. You can deal with him if you want when you arrive. You know what it's like to fight your own brothers. Boy looked like he was going to faint at any moment. Probably doesn't help that America has burned down some of his border towns…

England's fingers tightened on the paper. Canada. He'd completely forgotten about him. The letters Canada had been sending were in a pile on the corner of his writing desk. He'd been so absorbed with military and political correspondence that he just didn't have the time. Was America really burning his border towns? That seemed so odd because the boys seemed so close...

...Howe is planning an attack on the Continental supply lines come October. I doubt America will let it stand. I look forward to your arrival before winter fully sets in. I have some grievances I would like to put to you in person about the treatment of my troops.

On a more personal note, tell Hanover to send me some real soldiers next time, not just some men he pressganged and expects me to train. In fact, the same goes for you.

Sincerely,

Hesse

The time had come, England knew it. He couldn't wait any longer. He was going to tell His Majesty that he needed to handle this personally and would not rely on others to see it done. He sank into a chair, crumpling the letter in his hand.

A cough caught him by surprise and he slipped sideways onto the floor. The spasm gripped him and he tasted blood in his mouth. Spots swam in front of his eyes and blackness dragged him down.

The tips of the wheat stalks brushed his shoulders as he walked through the field. It was nearing the harvest, the first hints of the coming winter on the air.

They were playing hide and seek. America had promised he wouldn't go beyond the edge of the field, but England still hadn't been able to find him.

"America!" England called, hoping the child would call off the game. He called his name again, but America still didn't answer. England kept walking, pushing aside the heavy heads of nearly ripe grain. AT any rate, America would get hungry at some point and come wandering back to the house. He would be grumpy that England didn't find him, but, like always, he would forgive him. He would stretch out on the rug with his toy soldiers and ask England to tell him stories.

The ground squished under his boots as he went onward, deciding he would stop at the trees and then circle back. He brushed aside a few stalks and came to a break in the crops. Wheat had changed to corn. In the small space was America, curled up under a blanket with his arms forming a pillow. His face was unguarded and filled with confidence that he was safe sleeping there. A portrait of innocence that England was loathe to disturb. He tucked his hands into his pockets and just watched him for a few minutes. The weight of the world seemed to slide off his shoulders and he felt at peace. He knelt down and picked America up. The child didn't even stir, just a warm, sleepy weight in England's arms.

The scene faded, transforming into the farmhouse bed they had shared in 1756, America's spindly teenage body pressed unconsciously against England's back. He could feel America's warm breath through his night shirt, even in sleep. England shifted, turning so he could watch his face as he slept. His face still had that unguarded quality, although a cloud lingered on his face now due to the war. England touched the crease between America's eyebrows.

The blue eyes flew open and America's hands clasped around England's throat. He climbed on top of him and bore down with all of his strength.

England jolted upright in his bed startling a maidservant so badly that she ran from the room. He took deep gulps of air and then coughed again. A droplet of blood dripped from his lips and stained the linens of his bed.

"This has to end." he said, his voice cracking. He would leave. Soon.