From deep inside his own body, America could hear the Confederacy and England talking. He listened, feeling confused and slightly angry. England never talked to him like that. How was it that his older brother was more open with this freak he hadn't known for a day than with his own flesh and blood?
Shut up, the Confederacy snapped. I'm no freak, and you get enough attention. Maybe he just likes me better. Lord knows I'm more mature.
That stung. It was true. His brother was more polite, more sophisticated, smarter: just the kind of perfect child England would have wanted. He might be better at running a country, too. The Confederacy would probably know exactly what to do in situations that left America practically in tears. His own people might like his brother better.
Now you're getting it, the Confederacy thought smugly at him.
Meanwhile, Canada peered around the corner at his twin's alternate self, who appeared to be having an intense conversation with himself. Judging by his facial expressions, he was making fun of America. Something bold in Canada tingled with anger at this.
The shy nation walked up to the Confederacy and slowly reached out to tap him on the shoulder.
He turned around, and Canada's hand connected with his face.
Two sets of eyes widened in shock. The Canadian started to apologize, but it was too late. The Confederacy's green eyes glittered in rage. "What the hell do you think you're doing? Hitting me isn't going to bring your filthy brother back."
Canada backed away, green eyes boring into him. "I-I'm so sorry! I d-didn't m-mean to -" He flew across the room and crashed into the opposite wall with the force of the Confederacy's punch. The Canadian gasped, blood trickling down his face. The Confederacy strode across the room and picked him up by the front of his shirt. "Now you'll learn not to mess with me," he growled. Canada raised his hands to shield himself, terror written across his pale face.
Suddenly the Confederacy convulsed. He doubled over, dropping Canada. "Shut up!" he snarled to himself. "I don't care! Be quiet and stop struggling!" He yelled in pain. "Oh, you will regret that, Union."
America's head snapped up, and his eyes flickered blue. "Run, Mattie," he gasped. "I can't hold him off much longer."
Canada scrambled to his feet and ran, his feet pounding almost as fast as his heart. Not looking where he was going, he crashed headlong into Russia. The tall country blinked down at him. "Matvey? What's wrong?" Canada gasped. Russia's allied with him. He tried to get around the wintry nation, but a big hand reached out and caught him. "Matvey, is there something wrong? I can help, da?" Panicked, the smaller nation struggled in Russia's grasp.
Just then, the Confederacy rounded the corner, fury written on every feature. "I'll kill you!" he screamed, insanity in his green eyes. Canada shrieked in fear and kicked his legs futilely as Russia looked back and forth between the two. Slowly realization dawned on his face. His fists clenched, nearly crushing the Canadian's windpipe. "You don't hurt Matvey," the Russian growled angrily. His purple aura flared, and he dropped Canada...
...to reach for his pipe.
The Confederacy saw this and...
pulled out America's gun.
The two insane nations faced off, each with a weapon in his hand. Their eyes met and burned. The temperature dropped ten degrees. Down the street, England shivered on his way home. Deep inside his body, America struggled to no avail. This wasn't how he wanted it to end. This wasn't how he ever wanted it to end.
