Author's Note: Please enjoy the chapter and thank you for your continuous support. ;) We've just got the epilogue left after this.

"America—! Get a hold of yourself, will you?"

Sucking in a large breath to cool his temper, America managed to cease his angry rampage momentarily, eyes burning holes into England's forehead as he did so. "How can you be so passive? Doesn't it bother you that the person who is the closest thing you'll ever have to family has been stripped of his memories for potentially the rest of his existence?"

Not daring to step closer to the other lest he decide to storm off again, England stood his ground a few meters away. Over the many centuries he had known America, he had managed to hone his skills in dealing with the other's flashes of fury. He understood exactly how stubborn the man could be, but he also understood how to knock him down a few pegs, and while his old mentor didn't seek to unnecessarily open past wounds or criticize the other, sometimes America's inner fire could only be quenched with a little more fuel. Then, he would burn himself out.

Keeping this in mind, England made his opinion known. "Of course it bothers me, but I'm not going to be rash about it. They'll be time for a full investigation and those responsible for the damage done to him will be held accountable."

"And you accuse me of being naïve," America snapped, lashing out an arm to make his point clear. "England, he will never know where he came from… All the years we spent together with him—they're just going to be forgotten? How can you not seek some justice?"

The elder nation clicked his tongue impatiently, shooting his former colony a look of deep disapproval. "And what is your idea of justice? Harming those people? Killing them? For someone who constantly has to satiate his hero complex, you sure are bloodthirsty, aren't you? Is that how you want to handle all of your problems—through pointless violence? I won't lower myself to something so primitive."

They had attracted quite a bit of attention in the hospital's otherwise peaceful hallway, but no one had intervened just yet. England couldn't decide whether the staff was simply empathetic to their misfortunes or feared their power too much to interrupt. He was willing to bet on the latter.

"Don't give me that lecture. You don't care what happens to Mattie."

"Oh, yes, because years of tending to you both left no lasting sentiment on me whatsoever."

"You always do this—"

"Perhaps I wouldn't have to repeat myself if you would finally learn to control your emotions and stop acting like a child. Honestly, how you ended up ruling the rest of the world still eludes me," England noted, crossing his arms like a discontented parent. "You've picked enough fights for the time being."

Cheeks flushing in a mix of irritation and humiliation, America twiddled his fingers petulantly for a minute before giving into the growing feeling of shame in his chest. "I think I have a right to be angry."

It was time for another lesson, it seemed. "Yes, but being angry doesn't mean you must immediately seek a scapegoat. I hope you understand my reasoning, but know that I can't stop you from making your decisions. In fact, I've never stopped you from making a choice. If you can live with the repercussions of your choices, then I won't object. Now, what do you think would've happened if you walked out of this hospital tonight?"

Rubbing his temple, America had quickly snuffed out his will to fight. "I would've found a person responsible for Mattie's memory loss and probably would've injured them."

"And then what would've happened?"

"I would've been arrested," America muttered with a cocky smirk. "Then, I would've bailed myself out."

England sighed wearily in response. "No, I would've ended up being the one to retrieve your sorry self. Not to mention, Canada would be utterly distraught. That young man is going through enough stress as is without you being held in prison."

"Sitting around here has made me antsy, and knowing that Mattie's hurt hasn't helped matters," America admitted in a rare display of vulnerability. "I don't want him or myself to be seen as these weird scientific anomalies or anything for the rest of our lives. Sometimes I just wish the rest of the world would leave us alone and let us at least feel like we're somewhat human, y'know? I feel pain too, but unlike with most people, my pain drags on. You know how it feels like—this ache of all the turmoil going through your nation on a daily basis is strapped to your back, and there's no way to escape it besides hoping for your government to do something or for the nature of your people to change."

England stepped forward, dropping his hands to his sides. "That's the way things are, and I'm afraid we can't do anything about it at the moment. However, you can visit your brother and lessen some of his anxiety over this whole issue. I'm sure he'd appreciate the company."

Shaking his head mournfully, America walked past the other with a scoff. "He doesn't even remember how close we used to be. It'll never be the same. I'm practically a stranger to him."

"I don't think so," England quipped, trailing slightly behind. "This whole survival experience that you've shared together has brought you both closer."

"I'm sure he wants nothing to do with me after this entire mess."

"Give it a try."

He never really considered how difficult it could be to hold a casual conversation with his brother, seeing as he'd always been talkative and open with his twin in the past. There was never a dull or awkward moment when he was in the presence of his sibling, but now that their connection had been severed, he wasn't sure if he could find the strength and conviction to face him. Did he hold any resentment against him for not saving him sooner?

He undertook the march of trepidation toward Matthew's room, hands clenched into fists and stuffed in his pockets. Upon arriving, he found that the room was silent, and for a moment, he wondered if his twin had fallen asleep. However, after risking further steps into the room, he discovered his sibling sitting ramrod upright in bed, staring at a spot on the wall across from him.

"Mattie?"

There was a prolonged beat of quiet—like an iron curtain had separated them from one another, rendering each of them noiseless as they spoke.

"Yeah?"

"How are you feeling?"

It was a generic question, but one that America regretted asking, nonetheless.

"Like my brain is a gooey blob of mush."

He could feel England's eyes on his back from where the man was stationed outside the room, but he did his best to ignore the scrutiny.

"Well, that doesn't necessarily have to be a bad thing, right?"

Canada forced a lifeless chuckle, gaze plastered continuously on the wall. "I feel like breaking something."

Pursing his lips, America slowly removed his glasses off of his face, blinking at the sudden fuzziness in his vision before tossing the frames into Canada's lap. "Snap them."

Bewildered, his brother finally broke his gaze away from the wall to examine the spectacles. "What? I can't. You won't be able to see without them."

"It's all right, I can get another pair. I break 'em all the time," America assured with a gentle smile, taking a seat on the edge of Canada's bed. "Go on. Demolish those puppies."

His twin seemed to struggle with the temptation for a moment, arms shaking with built-up tension until he finally took the glasses into his hands and cracked them straight through the middle.

"Toss 'em against the wall."

Clutching the two pieces, Canada crushed them in his palms, barely keeping the lenses intact before chucking them against the opposite wall with a satisfying smack.

"Want to throw some pillows?"

He needn't have asked because his brother was already throwing anything within an arm's length of distance toward the wall, settling into a rhythmic pattern of lifting, wrenching his arm back, and launching the offending objects away. By the time he had nothing left to throw, he was panting and red-faced, hands pressed against his eyes.

"Better?"

"A little bit."

Outstretching his arms to embrace the other, America sighed as he squeezed his brother encouragingly, pulling away after Matthew found the energy to speak again.

"What am I going to do now? I don't have an identity. I'm a guy in a stranger's body."

"No, you're not," America reassured, patting his twin's shoulder. "Time will pass, and you'll make new memories. Who wants to live in the past anyway? You can start fresh again."

It was easier said than done, he imagined, but it was the best pep talk he could initiate at the time. He presumed that it didn't really matter which words were said, as long as something had been spoken in the first place.

"America?"

"Hmm?"

"Does this mean we'll never be able to consider ourselves brothers again?"

"I think your brain might be frozen," America gibed, lightly knocking the back of Canada's head with his hand. "Whether you get back your memories or not, I'll never stop callin' you my bro. Who else am I going to bother whenever I'm bored? Plus, you make some sweet snacks whenever I stay over, but I'll pass on the poutine—it doesn't float my boat. I guess it's still better than England's scones though!" he affirmed, being sure to emphasize his last point clearly, so the Englishman could hear him from the hallway.

And sure enough…

"Oi, don't give me that rubbish! You always ate them in the past!"

Sighing with the twist of a smile, America rose from the edge of the bed, stretching out his legs. "Yeah, but I'll eat anything that's put in front of me, so don't flatter yourself."

England had seemingly already come up with a response to his snarky comment, but never received the opportunity to voice his grievances. In the following moment, another visitor had entered the room—one that was sure to invite even more drama.

Crossing the threshold, France made his presence known, briefly meeting England and America's gazes before sweeping toward the occupant of the bed. "Mathieu, you poor boy! I've been worried sick!"

Curling his lip up into a disgusted sneer, England watched as his long-time rival caught Canada in a strong hug, thoroughly startling the North American nation. "Ah, France. I see you've finally graced us with your being. Your arrival is just a tad overdue, I'd say."

Releasing Canada, France instantly confronted England's taunts, lurching toward the man. "Don't tell me that you think I'm the one responsible for this."

"Well, you were the one who said that these experiments were for the greater good, were you not?"

"No one could have predicted this!" France retorted, trying to keep his tone calm for Canada's sake.

"And when the boy was stranded in the middle of complete isolation, where were you?"

Gritting his teeth, France seemed to have to muster all of his willpower to stop himself from causing England physical harm. "I was doing everything I could as a member on the committee to negotiate a—"

"You were nowhere to be found," England enunciated slowly, forcing France to listen to every word. "You don't even know, do you? Canada can barely remember who America and I are, let alone you."

Reeling slightly backward from the news, France focused his eyes on the occupant of the bed. "Mathieu would never forget—"

"Stop speaking as if I'm not in the room," Canada reminded, visibly frustrated by the entire scene. "Please, discuss this elsewhere. I can't listen to it any longer."

Both of the European nations softened their features apologetically, and America quickly stepped in to guide them outside.

"What happened to being nonviolent, England?" America mocked, leading the pair as far away from Canada's room as possible. "If you guys want to lash out at each other, handle it in private."

When they were a sufficient distance away, America swiveled on his heel and made the trek back to his brother's room, leaving the arguing men to witness his retreat with displeasure.

The last thing they needed was to turn against each other at such a difficult time.

"Elizabeta?"

He spoke the name delicately, as though using it in a sharper lilt would've caused her harm. However, the feeble call was just loud enough to be heard, stunning the room into tranquility. He was aware of the feeling of having interrupted a very personal exchange, especially upon spotting a familiar face by the window.

"Gilbert, what are you doing here?"

He let his eyes fall on the saturnine man slumped against the wall, one foot propped behind him to keep his balance as he lounged. With his stooped stance, the man seemed to be rather tired, giving off the impression that he had been out and about for much longer than he pleased.

Austria.

Involuntarily, a bubble of jealousy rose in Prussia's gut—a hidden, old wound that seemed to reopen underneath his skin. "Oh, the aristocrat is here now. I'll be on my way then."

"Don't pick on him," Hungary insisted, straining to sit up. There were a number of bandages wrapped around her abdomen, and a sullenness in her eyes that made Prussia want to smash whatever was causing her such gloom. "He's been helpful."

Prussia managed a bitter laugh, his chest aching at the mere sight of the other nation. "Ja… I'm sure he's been supportive. Look, he even chose to visit you instead of staying in the house to play piano."

Biting her lip in irritation, Hungary did her best to ignore the antagonizing, choosing to be civil instead. "I never got the chance to thank you. You contacted help and—I don't know how to repay you."

Heart torn between becoming stone cold and melting, Prussia tried to suppress the feelings of nostalgia and sentimentality gnawing on his senses. "You don't have to thank me. I did what anyone would've done with the chance."

He couldn't recall the last time he'd been so humble and modest in front of another individual, but the experiences he'd gone through in Svalbard seemed to have weakened his pride. He supposed that had he not abandoned his pride, he never would've been able to offer the assistance that he had during his entire journey.

"Nonetheless, I am indebted to you."

The words made him both giddy and crestfallen all at once—giddy because he was happy to see that he had done well by Hungary, but crestfallen due to the fact that this beautiful woman could never be his. He would never be able to interlock his arms with her—never would feel a mutual burn of passion and commitment from her.

And from the way she looked at Austria, it was clear that he was the only one whom she felt such lovely emotions for. It would be impossible for her to look at him in the same way—with that same unconditional affection.

Not to mention that they were nations, and it was improper and almost unheard of for them to fall in love, especially with another one of their kind.

"I'm glad to see that you're all right," was all he finally managed, pulling the words out of his throat with a painful wince. "I guess you're in good hands."

Austria turned to face him then, dark eyes piercing into his. "It's good to see you again, Prussia."

He made a noncommittal sound of neutral agreement, feeling oddly uncomfortable. "There's going to be a meeting tomorrow afternoon. World leaders from around the globe will be attending the auditorium just a few streets away to discuss possible legislation that would protect us from future experiments. You should attend if you feel well enough—both of you. All of us are invited."

Nodding her head thoughtfully, Hungary offered him a tiny smile. "Maybe we will."

"Yes, it sounds like it would be in our best interest to attend," Austria seconded, adjusting his glasses as he replied.

Feeling his cheeks begin to warm, Prussia briskly tried to find a way to save himself from embarrassment. "W-Well, I hope you feel better… I'll see you both around."

There was a chorus of goodbyes from behind him, but he was already making his way for the door, hands shaking violently.

It didn't matter, he supposed. Whether Hungary felt the same emotions for him or not, he would still cherish the love that he had for her, such feelings of attraction couldn't be abandoned at will.

But a certain weight seemed to be lifted off of his shoulders—a freeing sensation that he hadn't known he'd been craving all this time. He could live without love for a while longer, and some things were worth waiting for.

Even if it took centuries.

"Don't accuse me of not caring."

"I'm not accusing you of anything—I'm simply stating facts."

"No, they're opinions, and you should keep them to yourself!"

It was exhausting merely listening to the two bicker, and when America could no longer avoid the pair and pretend that all was swell, he had returned to the site of the conflict, eyes squinted in disapproval.

"Jeez, don't you guys have something better to do right about now? Call it even and stop disturbing the peace," he muttered, tugging on England's shoulder. "Let it go already."

"I'll let it go when I receive a proper apology. From the very beginning of this entire mess, I expressed concerns over a potential misuse of power by the Investigation Board, and I was correct," England went on, still glaring daggers at the Frenchman.

Hovering about the two men, America tried to appeal to what little rational thoughts the men still might have retained. "Prussia stopped by a little while ago and said that there's going to be a meeting tomorrow about the ethics of testing against personifications. We've been offered the chance to speak, so there's plenty of preparation to do before then. Don't you guys think we should get moving? We should nominate a few people to speak on everyone's behalf so that we can convince leaders to make an international law protecting us."

Finally catching the significance of America's statements, England tore his eyes away from France, furrowing at the younger nation. "Well, why didn't you say something sooner? It's getting quite late and we don't have much time to convene."

"That's why I was trying to explain to you—"

"You'll have to speak, as much as I hate to admit it. It would be in bad taste if you didn't say at least a few words," England continued, pulling America aside and leaving France to linger by the nurses' station. "Prepare a brief speech, and I'll proofread it to make sure it's satisfactory."

America tried not to be too offended by the comment, considering England's goal was to irk him. "Who said you could be my proofreader? I can articulate my thoughts just fine without your help."

"Oh, if your briefings at our numerous World Conferences are anything to go by, we're going to have a lot of work ahead of us. Perhaps Prussia would be willing to share his experiences as well."

"Just send Sealand up to the podium—he'll talk up a storm."

England scoffed but allowed himself a smirk, picturing the young nation chattering exuberantly into a microphone in front of a huge cluster of important politicians. "God forbid."

They went on a scavenger hunt for some paper and writing utensils, settling down in one of the empty hospital rooms to start coming up with an address that would persuade others to reshape their policy agenda and ensure that such arbitrary and harmful research projects would not be funded and tolerated in the future.

Words could be unbelievably powerful, as America well knew. He had witnessed the greatest presidents of his nation appeal to the hearts and minds of large scales of people over a single television appearance. In recent decades, however, he had noticed that he had lost much of the trust and optimism of his people for reasons that were understandably complicated and controversial.

Thus, he had taken to hiding in the shadows from his people during most occasions. He didn't seem to share the same connection with his society as he once did, but during his existence, he had met many eras of boom and bust that had left him both energized and deflated. In fact, such cycles were to be expected, but that didn't mean that they were any easier to deal with over time. Losing the faith of his people always left him a little hollow inside, but times would change and life would evolve with patience. He himself would change over the centuries, but he didn't fear such changes. No, life was a constant journey of learning experiences coated in ups and downs, and change could be an excellent remedy to seemingly hopeless circumstances.

The words he had written on that procured sheet were lifeless at best, and he knew it. His sentences were laced with euphemisms and sugarcoated formalities, and it was shameful. In his earlier youth he had spoken with such vigor along with the tenets of confidence. Now, his words had lost the power and credibility that they'd once flaunted.

And if there was anything that he had learned during the past few weeks, it was that if something was worth saying, it was worth saying right and truthfully. He wasn't sure how many words he would have left to say for the remainder of his existence, and if he didn't choose them wisely, then he would never be able to gain the respect and trust that he sought to gain from those around him.

But he was pressed for time and it would be foolhardy to not say what everyone wanted to hear. It would be a disappointment if he didn't express his supposed gratitude for the international community coming together for such a good cause. In reality, he didn't feel the need to thank anyone, especially since no progress had been made to prevent future violations against their rights just yet.

"That should do, I suppose," England had said conclusively, not too thrilled with the outcome either. "It's best if we don't say too much, yes? We don't want to lose any potential proponents of the legislation by being too detailed.

America frowned, perusing the speech once more. "They deserve more, England."

"Who? The politicians?"

"No, everyone who had been injured at the facility. They deserve to have their voices heard somehow. People should know what happened to them."

"Yes, they do, but we don't always get what we should be entitled to."

There was applause, which seemed almost offensive considering the circumstances, but they tried not to pay it any mind. No, their job was to be as respectful as possible and to demonstrate their appreciation for being invited to such a milestone.

"Our investigators are doing their very best to fully uncover all of the workings of the IBPN, and there will be consequences for those involved," Norway had informed during his briefing in front of what seemed like the world's stage. He expressed his deep condolences and sympathies before taking a seat once more, slightly jittery with nerves.

There was a rather arduous introduction, and then it was finally America's turn to speak on behalf of the other personifications. He stood in front of the custom crafted podium and felt beads of sweat litter his back under the suit that he'd been advised to wear. After a moment of taking in the scene, he retrieved his speech and placed it before him, feeling like a guinea pig as he stood in front of the other nations, who looked at him with a mix of neutral expressions. It felt awful, knowing that he hadn't earned the right to speak for them, and to know that he owed them more than what they would receive.

First, he exchanged a glance with Canada for some mental support, feeling just a bit more encouraged as his brother gave him a timid smile.

And that was when he had made his decision, one that he should've made a long time ago. He let his eyes drift toward England, who seemed to catch the devious look in his eyes. The man scowled in a cautionary manner, but America paid him no mind.

Then, he crumpled up the speech and tossed it on the ground, flattening the paper with his leather shoe.

"Glad that's out of the way," he said lightheartedly, earning a few laughs from the more daring individuals of the bunch. "Now, I can talk freely. You see, this isn't a matter of whether or not something should be done about the rights protecting personifications because—eventually—we intend to get legislation passed, so it's merely a matter of when it's going to happen."

"I've given a lot of speeches in my life—more than I care to count. Over two hundred years of addressing important people and authority have taught me a thing or two about the elements of good speeches, but I'm not really worried about that today. I don't need flowery language on a sheet to tell me how to discuss the fact that these 'things' that you see as personifications are my friends—family even. In fact, my brother, Canada, has a front row seat. What he doesn't have, however, are the memories from his childhood. Then, there's Germany, who was always a tough cookie to crack. This guy's tough, let me tell ya. Recently though, he had problems with some of his organs because someone thought it'd be 'interesting' to test out some gene splicing on him."

"Then, we've got Hungary, one of the strongest women I know. France, who makes a mean cheesecake and will always be there to talk things out. Russia, one of the most insane yet genius men around. Don't try playing any strategy games with him. They're all individuals—Japan, England, Norway, Sealand, China, you name them. We're not some abstract creatures. As a matter of fact, we're you. We're composed of each of you, and when you hurt us, the only thing you're really hurting is yourself. We embody you."

"And what does it say about the character of all of these nations if you can't respect what belongs to you and you alone?"

There was a tide of hushed silence, and America gave off a little sigh. "How do you want your nation to see you? Who do you want to represent? Who do you want us to represent, and how are you going to protect what we stand for?"

"That's all I have to say."

The response was astonishing. Not a single sound was made in the entire auditorium, and the long stretch of silence had continued until a number of UN ambassadors took the stage.

It had been worthwhile though, and he must've chosen his words wisely.

Because within the following week, he received a package containing a large stack of documents in the mail titled,

'Accords of Ethical Guidelines for Personified Nations'.