"Then I guess you wouldn't mind if I happened to move this then?" England sneered his hand wrapping tightly around the old rolling black board that shielded the two nations from the eyes of the rest of the United Nations.

"Please don't," Canada whispered his face paling as he withdrew the gun from his older brother's chest. He couldn't let the other nations see him; he wasn't ready to explain what had happened. He didn't know how he would even begin to fathom telling them about the voice in his head or the fact that one of the current world leaders wasn't currently attending the meeting, nor would he ever attend another.

"Fine, then you put that bloody gun down."

Matthew obeyed, smoothly placing the black and gold gun back into the inside pocket of the bomber. Why did my brother even need this? He thought but he didn't ask, he had a feeling it went back the Alfred's cold war days filled with paranoia and accusations. Matthew didn't particularly enjoy talking to his brother during the later part of the twentieth century, all he had ever discussed was ridding the world of Communism and a new way he was going to attack Ivan. Maybe that was when all the anger that the young nation felt towards his brother had began, but Matthew had a feeling that his grudge had begun centuries earlier.

"I knew you wouldn't shoot him." Alfred smiled, he seemed almost mockingly happy, as though to suggest that his bother didn't have the guts to kill another person. Matthew had to disagree; England would in fact probably be dead if his better conscience, or Alfred, wasn't whispering persistently in the back of his sleep deprived head. "He's your brother as much as he is mine. It just wouldn't be right."

"It's not like kinship has stopped a bullet before," Matthew hissed while pulling his hand out of America's bomber placing his arms neatly to his sides, quickly silencing himself, remembering that he was the only one in the world that could hear his brothers voice, to each and every other person Canada just looked like a loon murmuring nothings. Luckily his brother didn't seem to notice. The young nation, after all, had just given up the upper hand; now that they were negotiating England would always get his way. That was the way his brother had always worked, though back hand deals and manipulation.

England poorly hid a concerned look, so he had heard the younger nation whispering nonsense to himself. "Now, before I move this out of the way you sure as hell better tell me what is wrong with you, and were the heck your bastard of a brother is," Arthur spat, his mouth becoming progressingly more like a sailor's as he threatened and negotiated.

Matthew shifted uncomfortably, it wasn't that he minded making up a spur of the moment lie to convince his older brother that he wasn't crazy, it was the second question. The second question seemed to define his life now, where is your brother? Didn't anyone care where he was? Or was he just Canada, just a quiet little nation to the north. Just a nobody.

"It's because of my charming disposition," Alfred beamed sarcastically, Matthew still wasn't sure of how, even though they were probably going to get killed by England, his brother was still annoyingly hyper. Annoyingly American.

Canada's hands clenched into fists as he carefully opened his mouth to explain, England's harsh green eyes piercing his soul, he diverted his eyes away. It would be too painful to stare his older brother in the face, he did his best to give out an aura of cool and calm while he could barely hold back frustrated tears. "I…I…" He whispered softly, almost as soft as his voice had been only a few days previously.

The Nations soft voice was over ruled by loud cries of shock and horror. From behind the old chalk board that two nations could hear the exchange unfold. A door slammed against the wall and hurried footsteps echoed around the silent room, one of the only times the room had ever been silent. The footsteps grew louder, it sounded like running. Canada carefully picked put his bear from the junk and forgotten eighties computers.

"Is this a terrorist attack?" Alfred murmured, obviously trying to mask distress, ever since 911 Canada swore that was all that the nation thought about, as though something within himself had broken on the day that a plane crashed into New York City. Matthew didn't respond to his brother, partly because he didn't want to admit that the exact same thoughts were racing through his head. England looked strangely pale, Matthew couldn't even imagine what this situation was forcing the older nation to remember. The room remained quiet until on horse voice broke the silence.

"America is dead."

England pushed the black board back and then froze as though he were working out a confusing math equation; the rest of the conference room began to buzz. All eyes turned to the two now standing at the head of the table, at the opposite end was the man who had revealed Canada's deepest fear. He looked normal, almost too normal; he was obviously part of the secret service. Blood covered his suit jacket, Canada's throat felt like a vacuum void of all air. The world knew, it wouldn't be long now before they put two and two together to make four. The young nation quickly began to move, he needed to get out of here.

"Stay here, you bloody murderer." England glowered, the quiet words seeming to echo around the silent room, his arm shot forward, wrapping a ghostly white hand around his younger nation's pale neck. "You…" Arthur's green eyes filled with icy tears looked up to meet his younger brother's soft purple-blue, his body gone ridged and cold but his arms shook with uncontrollable fear and rage as his scream echoed around the United Nations meeting room "you bastard. You murdered Alfred F. Jones."

***

The bitter wind bit at Canada's dress shirt. It was dead cold outside, nearly freezing, and the sky looked as though it were going drop a bomb, dark brooding, unknown. But still the nations were persistent; the funeral would be today, even if the world were to end.

They all were assembled, covered in black with solemn masks to match the equally dreary weather, at Arlington Cemetery. Canada could see the uniform white graves of fallen soldiers in the distance, he shivered and hugged his bear even tighter, they had died protecting their country and now it was all to waist. Their country was dead, to be buried today along with his fallen men. Canada knew that he should have been crying, but it seemed as though all of his tears were dried and gone.

Even his brother was silent, he would be privileged enough to attended his own funeral, if it truly was the murdered nation and not a simple delusion cause by Canada's obvious stress and lack of sleep and if seeing yourself, dead and to be buried in the tomb to the unknown soldier, was really any sort of privilege at all or simply a curse.

The Nations huddled around the casket; it lay before the white tomb that would be its final resting place. The top of the casket was swung open for anyone who wished to pay last respects to their fallen friend to do so. An unorderly line of nations waited for a turn in front, each slowly moved forward to look at Alfred's body, many of their eyes filled in unexplainable disbelief or uncontrollable tears that fell silently down freezing skin.

England stayed the longest, staring down at the young nation that he had practically raised. Murmuring nothings into the open casket, the only words that Canada caught in the fringed wind were "I hope you forgave me." Arthur turned away from the wooden coffin, his eyes purposely skipping over his younger brother. They made eye contact briefly resulting in England quickly flinching away, his hands clenching into pale white fists. Canada reached for his own neck, feeling the deep red marks that had been created only a few hours previously, they seemed to burn at his touch as the thought of them flowed back, the pain that had only occurred not long previously seemed to be released.

England's hands had wrapped tightly around his neck, as though he also wished to join Canada with bearing the mark of Cain. The older nation's heart seemed to have died as he slowly stole his brother's breath from his very throat.

"Please don't kill him Iggy. He doesn't..." America grew silent, as though Canada's own lack of air stifled the brother's voice, if he even existed.

"Maybe in death I will finally be sane. Be free." The idea seemed to bring relief to the young nation. If he had died, then at this second, Canada believed, it would have been much preferred to his future in store. His brother's hands tightening around his throat, as though his older brother had saved every bit of power he had ever possessed for this moment. To use it in case someone dare try and hurt his favorite little brother, Alfred. Alfred had always been the favorite, when ever England boasted about his young colonies America was always at the top of his list. Even though the colony complained constantly and often rebelled Canada could never match him. The favoritism was obvious, that may have been when the grudge began to dwell in the young nation's heart, the one thing that pushed him over the edge and caused him to commit the greatest act of evil.

"Don't count on it." America's gasping breath barely whispered in the corner of Matthew's air deprived mind. Just a few more minutes and this hell of a life would end. It would be better for the world if the villain with a hero masquerade was gone.

"Англия let the boy go." A sweetly maniacal voice joined the only other noise in the room, which was the young nation's desperate gasps for precious air which were now grown less and less frequent. Neither Canada or America recognized the sickly sweet voice, it was as though someone had decided to make the mistake of dipping poison in powdered sugar, it wasn't right, it wasn't sane, the voice did not belong in this world nor should it.

"Why Russia," England sneered, Canada's vision turned from clear to a world seen though a stream of water, fuzzy and unreal. He felt the hands tight still around his neck and even felt his feet leave the wooden floor by several inches. "Why shouldn't I murder this bloody traitor?" England was serious, Canada could hear it in his voice. His older brother wouldn't even hesitate to kill his adopted child. And eye for an eye, a death for a death, Matthew knew the logic, it made sense which meant that he would be dead. England always got his way when it came to negotiations.

"Because, Comrade, America wouldn't have wanted things to unfold in such a way," The Russian monochromatically pointed out, as though he filtered each word that left his lips so that it would seem as an endearment.

The hand loosened around the young nation's throat, "What the bloody hell do you mean by that?" England spat at the taller nation, not letting the Russian's superior size daunt him.

"Innocent until proven guilty, comrade."

Canada fell to the ground, land on his back, sending his polar bear flying off somewhere in the junk pile that manifested in the back of the room, his throat letting out loud obnoxious gasps searching for air. It flooded into his lungs like a wave of sudden relief, the world came back into focus and each inch of his neck burned as though a lighter had burned it.

"So, that communist did learn a thing or two," Alfred commented, Canada had to restrain himself not to remark, not that he could have anyway since his lungs were still devoid of air, America had a tendency to forget that he wasn't in any sort of war with Russia, cold or warm, and that their north western neighbor was no longer communist.

"Fine," England growled smugly as the world came in to icy clear view, the green eyed nation towered over Canada's crumpled figure, "I, Arthur Kirkland, demand that arrest of Matthew Williams, also known as Canada. He shall go to trial three days from now at ten in the morning under the laws and orders of the Nation known as the United States of America. His crime being murder," the nation spat the last word, "may the lord have mercy on your soul."

Another gust of icy air blasted into the Nation's side, forcing him out of the past and into the present. He remembered where he was, at his brother's funeral, waited apprehensively for his turn to look at his brother's dead body, what a privilege. His hand slowly moved down from his red marked neck back down around his bear, who whispered something that the nation could barely hear. That was happening more frequently in the past few hours, little things that used to make up his life, the defining characteristics that once made in Canada were fading into the background like how he once did before America's assassination.

A crying Sealand was quickly ushered away from the casket, the young micro nation holding England's stiff white hand. Both America and himself had held that hand many times. Be careful, Matthew wanted to say to the young micro nation, he may be your brother right now, but he won't always be with you. He may become an enemy some day. The little boy avoided Matthew's piercing stare, and followed his older brother's lead. Tears flowed freely from the older nation's eyes, coated his cheeks and turned his face a bright pinkish tinge, he looked weak. Almost as weak as the moment that the older nation realized that he no longer controlled a large portion of the earth, that he no longer could justly be called The British Empire, Canada knew that such occasion and here today were the only two times England cried. Canada found his own tears slowly trickle down his face. Not in sadness for a lost brother but in pity for the ones that his brother had left behind. For all the pain that he was now causing the world, the young nation had never imagined such severe consequences for his actions when his actions usually went largely unnoticed.

Spain stood in front of the young nation; he slowly walked up to the casket, his hands barely touching the dull wood, shaking but most likely not from the cold but from fear of the unknown. No one knew what happened to a nation after death. No priest or any type of religious minister was at the funeral, it would have been what America wanted, or at least it was what the one in Matthew's head wished for one of his founding ideals was freedom of religion for all.

The Spaniard leaned over Alfred's body, placing a clean pair of Texas on the nations face. "Lo siento, mi hermano." His voice shook as the soft Spanish words floated out of his mouth as he left the fallen nations side, trying to hold back tears. Trying to look unfrazzled by the ordeal, the new set of bifocals seemed to gleam even though the sun was hidden his rays failing to break though the impenetrable gray ceiling.

The northern nation moved toward the coffin without a sound. He was aware of the sets of eyes following each step; they all knew that he had murdered the nation. They were all against him. His only ally from this day on was himself. No one is with me, my will is only mine. He thought sullenly as this free hand touched the side of the coffin. Not a tear fell from his purple-blue eyes, they have all frozen along with my heart.

This brother's body lay, almost as though he were sleeping, upon a bed of roses. Canada had to admit that the nation looked more at peace in death than he ever did in life. The bloody scrapes and burses were covered by a thick foundation, Matthew glanced at his own hand, the scars from their fight were beginning to heal but his body was still filled with an unimaginable pain. America was free of that pain now. The only sign that America had even been injured as a deep red-brown burn that stretch across his ghostly white neck onto the left side of his face, it didn't belong and something stirred in Matthew, something told him that he should know the blame for who and what had cause the two nations to become to bloody and bruised. What had caused his brother's burns?

Kumajirou uttered another silent phrase, the soft and gentle word deaf to Canada's ears. He stared down at his brother, silent and resting in a bed of red and white roses, the colors of blood and innocence. Matthew would have to leave soon, other nations needed to see the fallen hero. The northern nation pulled a pale blue flower out of his dress shirt pocket and placed it beside one of the nation's hands. "I hope you forgave me," Matthew murmured echoing his elder brother's words.

"You fool," Alfred murmured, "I already have," his voice was laden to solemn sadness as they walked away from the casket never looking back as the eyes of the world watched each move the pair made.

***Author's Notes***

"Is this a terrorist attack?" - Referring to September 11th 2001, where terrorists flew two planes into the Twin Towers, a plane also hit the Pentagon and a small field.

"dreary weather, at Arlington Cemetery"- the national cemetery of the United States, located in Virginia (I think), it was created after the Civil War and has since been used to burry soldiers.

"buried in the tomb to the unknown soldier"- Tomb in Arlington Cemetery for all the soldiers who died in battle but were never identified.

'"Англия let the boy go."'- Supposedly meaning "England" in Russian, please correct me if I'm wrong.

"any sort of war with Russia, cold or warm,"- Referring to the Cold War between Russia and the United States in the twentieth Century.

"clean pair of Texas on the nations face"- Americas glasses represent the state of Texas. Spain at one point owned Texas, which was then transferred to Mexico when it got its independence and then to the United States. Since there is no Mexico character I felt that Spain would be the most fitting for this role.

'"Lo siento, mi hermano."'- Meaning "I'm sorry, my brother" in Spanish.

Oh also, by the way, I like reviews.