Weight of the World

by SkyleafAlchemist19

America and Canada awaken in a dangerous, monster-filled world. With strange new powers and suspicious blanks in their memories, they seek answers while keeping out of the spotlight. They can't afford to interfere. Not when they need to get home. So they don't. That is, until a city called Vale is breached by the Grimm and America's hero complex kicks in.

10. The Missing Days

Chapter Ten: The Missing Days

"Caannnnaaaadaaaa!"

America launched himself at his brother, trapping him in a one-armed hug as he passed. Canada choked, tipping sideways from his twin's weight, only to be held upright by the arm wrapped around him. It left the poor nation in an odd position, unable to fall down but unable to stand up either.

In his arms, Kumajirou sighed, not pleased with his caretaker's distress but doing nothing to stop it. The meeting had been too long and he was hungry, so the-one-who-fed-him deserved his punishment in the bear's humble opinion. America did not notice his brother's discomfort, beaming happily.

"Man, that meeting made me hungry! England took all my snacks away, can you believe that?" He did not wait for his brother to respond. "Soooo I was thinking, how about you and me go get some food for dinner? The hotel food sucks."

Canada's shoulders hunched. "I'd rather not. We're already back at the hotel and I need to feed Kumajango—"

"We can get him something at the restaurant. Everyone always thinks he's a stuffed animal so they won't be bothered by him." America interrupted. "Come on, please? We haven't hung out in such a long time and I missed you. I'll pay for it!" He grinned and wiggled his eyebrows. "And you can get pancakes."

The violet-eyed nation hesitated, his resolve crumbling, then sighed. "Fine, eh."

The two nations walked through London's streets together. It was late at night, the meeting having gone on much longer than it was supposed to due to an argument between England and France. Well, it started between England and France. Somehow China, Romano, Spain, and Belarus had gotten involved and everything had devolved into a mess from there.

Germany had been unable to get the attention of the nations in order to end the meeting, but had eventually thrown up his hands and walked out. That had signaled to the other nations that they could leave and everyone scrambled outside… to find it was half past ten at night.

No wonder I'm hungry. I haven't had a burger for hours, America mourned, stomach growling. Stupid England. Those snacks were perfectly good and he threw them out. Jerk.

"Um. So where do you want to go?" Canada asked quietly.

America thought about it. "Well, I heard there's a McDonalds—"

"No." his brother said flatly.

America winced at his tone but laughed it off. "Okay, bro. Jeez. I guess you can pick then."

Canada pondered their options, looking around. "Maybe…"

The bear in his arms stiffened, sniffing the air. His black eyes opened completely. "I'm hungry. I smell fish."

Canada smiled at him. "We'll get you fish in a moment, Kumaneko."

"I want it now." The bear said plaintively.

Canada sighed. "Well you can't—Eh?!"

Kumajirou wiggled out of his arms and lumbered down the street, following the scent of fish. America chuckled as he watched the bear wander off while Canada observed with a more aghast expression.

"Kuma, come back!" he yelped, chasing after the bear.

America shook his head and followed at a slower pace. Really, his brother should take better care of his pet. Canada was supposed to be the responsible one but he was always letting Kuma run off or get in trouble. America understood wanting to have a pet with you everywhere but did he bring Whale or Americat to meetings? No. If he did, England would get that stuffy British look and lecture him. No one lectured Canada or Prussia for bringing a pet. It was so not fair.

Kumajirou ran into a dark alleyway with Canada on his heels. America followed slowly, not in the mood to run. He was too hungry for exercise. God, he needed a hamburger. He heard Canada gasp and chuckled, rounding the corner.

"What's wrong, bro? Did you find a rat—?"

There was no Kumajirou.

There was no rat.

Instead, three unfamiliar men stood in the alleyway. One had his arm around Canada, keeping his arms pinned to his sides, and was holding a gun to the nation's head. America froze, slowly processing what he was seeing. Then his blue eyes narrowed.

"Let him go." He growled menacingly.

Of course. Of course he leaves his brother alone for two seconds and Canada almost gets mugged. Did England curse Canada or something? America bet the bushy-browed nation mistook his brother for him again and cast some weird magic mumbo jumbo on him.

Stupid England.

The muggers did not release Canada, keeping the gun firmly to his temple. America studied the pistol but could not figure out the model. That was weird and annoying. He was usually pretty good about identifying weapons on sight. The model, the firing rate, the weaknesses, the number of bullets— he knew it all. But this gun was unfamiliar, almost alien.

"Put your hands where I can see them or I'll shoot." One of the muggers demanded. "Now!"

His accent was not British. His stance suggested military training. His eyes had the ruthless glint of someone who had killed before.

America put his hands in the air. "Okay. My hands are up, see? Let's all calm down here."

His gaze flicked to the other men, noting the similar postures and looks in their eyes. He also noticed they were all wearing the same clothes— a uniform?

Almost like they're on a mission…

America dismissed the thought. No one knew about nations except a select few, and those in the know knew better than to harm the personifications of their countries. Doing so or planning on doing so was an instant death sentence, no ifs ands or buts. More likely these men were former military out of work and desperate. Desperation was dangerous, but if America played his cards right he should be able to convince them to release his brother and talk things out.

I have to keep their attention on me. I won't let them hurt Canada.

"You dudes are really making a mistake. Like, a huge one." America spoke softly but passionately. "You guys are heroes for your country. You're better than this. I know that times are rough right now but you don't need to mug people to get by."

"What?" The man holding Canada shook himself and scoffed, overcoming his surprise. "We're not after your money."

Well. That wasn't good. Words like that tended to lead to many things that were not good.

America had to ask though. "What are you after, then?"

The man grinned. "You."

Something hit America in the back, making him stagger forward. He fell to the ground, flinching slightly and groping for the thing he could feel sticking between his shoulder blades. His own pain was soon forgotten as he heard Canada scream, and he shook his head to clear it, rising to his knees. A gun hit him in the back of the head and he slumped, vision swimming.

"Careful! We need them alive." One attacker said angrily.

"I know!" the one that struck America said. "But you saw the files. This one can throw cars. I'm not letting him get up."

A gun fired and another dart embedded itself in America's back. He flinched, black spots dancing in front of his eyes. He didn't let himself fall unconscious. He couldn't. Not when he heard Canada struggling, screaming his name and shouting insults at their attackers. Who knew the nation could be so loud? Surely someone would hear, right?

There was the sound of metal hitting flesh and Canada went silent.

One of the men chuckled. "Well it looks like we found the weaker one. And here I thought we'd have to experiment a bit."

America forced his head to turn. He saw Canada on the ground, unmoving, with a dart in his chest. Fury ignited in the nation's heart but his limbs were too weak for him to enact vengeance.

"Bas…tards…"

Someone nudged him with a boot. "Huh. He's still conscious. Tranq him again."

Another dart. America flinched weakly, feeling its poison go into his veins. His limbs grew paralyzed but he still clung to consciousness.

"What about the bear?" one of the men questioned.

"Leave it." One man said dismissively. "I don't kill animals. Besides, it's not like it can tell the others what happened."

America's eyes fluttered. "You… won't get away…"

The man closest to him whistled. "Wow. He's still awake. Are all their nations so resistant even without Aura?"

"He won't last. Let's just go already before someone shows up." Another said.

America saw a blurry figure pick up his brother, hoisting him onto his shoulder. He looked at the man— the soldier— closest to him. "You…don't know… who you're… dealing with…"

"That's not true." The man crouched next to the nation and chuckled. "We know exactly who you are… America."

America lost his fight to remain conscious, and everything faded to black…

…He woke in chains.

America breathed rapidly, eyes darting left and right, and saw he was in a dark room. He got into a sitting position on the metal bed-like slab he had woken on and immediately pulled at the chains binding him to the wall. They did not budge and he eventually slumped in a sitting position.

I got captured. Canada did too.

England is going to be so mad at us.

The door to the room opened and a man walked in. His hair was black, his face stern, and he wore an unfamiliar uniform. America's heart sank just a little bit.

Oh, great. It finally happened. Some psychos created an organization to hunt nations. This is going to suck.

America did not show his unease, however, instead glaring at the man. "You've made a really bad decision, du— Hey!"

America yelped despite himself as the man placed his hand on his chest. Oh, shit. Was this dude that kind of captor? The kind who got all touchy-feely and creepy with his 'specimens'? America did not want to deal with that, no siree, and he let the man know it.

"What the Hell are you doing?" America hissed, trying to lean away.

The soldier ignored him. He adjusted his hand on the nation's chest, grabbing him firmly with his free hand so America could not wiggle away. In a clear, strong voice, he spoke.

"For it is in passing that we achieve immortality. Through this, we become a paragon of strength and power to shield others from the weight of the world. Infinite in potential and unbound by fate, I release your soul, and for my Kingdom, give this burden to thee."

Energy rushed through America's veins. He gasped, startled by the intensity of it, and watched wildly as he glowed blue. The light vanished but the strange feeling it created remained. America's skin crawled and his stomach twisted. The man stood up, face pale and drawn.

"That took more Aura than I thought." He murmured. He walked away, speaking to someone outside. "Tell me when the other one wakes up. I need time to recover my strength."

"W-Wait!" America shouted, hating how his voice cracked. "What did you do to me?"

The man did not look at him. "And keep that one drugged. We can't let him escape."

"Yes, General." One guard said.

They slammed the door shut, leaving America alone with his unconscious brother…

…America watched Canada tremble as the General approached him. He remained still, placid, and confused as the man put his hand on the quiet nation's chest, violet eyes flicking nervously to his brother.

America wanted to warn him but the gun against his head kept him silent. He still did not know what the General had done to him. For all he knew, the psycho had figured out a way to make nations mortal— what, with all that chanting about immortality and death what else could it be?— and America did not want to think about what might happen to his people if he was killed.

Instead he tried to comfort Canada silently as the General gave the strange chant, refusing to look away as his fellow nation flinched violently and red energy flared over his frame…

…Aura. That's what it was called. The General stood in the center of the room, having just informed them what he had done. It sounded crazy. 'Releasing the soul' and 'force fields' and 'Semblances'. It sounded like England and his 'magic'. But America could not deny how different he felt. He could not deny that it had saved his life. He could not deny that it was real.

And he hated it…

…America eyed Ironwood— that was the bastard's name— warily. He licked his dry, cracked lips nervously. "You want us to do what?"

The General remained stoic but answered his question readily enough. That was something weird America had noticed about his captor. Ironwood was not happy they were there and seemed to want to make them as comfortable as possible, but was apparently helpless to free them. He'd even apologized when America flat out asked him to let them go.

"You are going to fight a few Beowolves." Dark eyebrows rose. "Do you remember what those are?"

"They're wolf-like demonic creatures." Canada said nervously. "A type of Grimm."

Ironwood nodded. "That is correct."

"Why do we need to fight them?" America asked sharply.

The General grimaced. "To show that you can."

America slowly raised a chained arm, letting the manacles jingle. "We don't have a choice."

Ironwood could not look them in the eye. "No. You do not."

America looked at his brother, who stared back with tired, nervous eyes. He gritted his teeth. "Fine. We'll do it."…

… "Canada, MOVE!"

America shoved his brother aside, taking the Alpha's blow. He was thrown to the ground for his effort but immediately got up, grabbing the stupid gun their captors had given him and shooting the creature. It fell to the ground and turned to smoke, leaving the training room empty except for the nations and the Atlesian Knights that guarded them.

A voice came over the intercom. "Well done, Subject A. I'd give that a 90%. You lost points for shielding Subject C when it was unnecessary."

"Fuck off!" America shouted, glaring at the observation window far above. "I'll never stop protecting my brother. And it's Canada and America or Matthew and Alfred. Those are our names, you assholes!"

That was a little something the nations had started doing after a while. Using their human names as much as their country ones. That way, maybe these bastards would realize they were people, and what they were doing was sick and wrong. It hadn't worked yet but America wasn't about to give up. He went to keep ranting only to feel his brother pull at his white t-shirt. Canada stood up slowly, still gripping America's sleeve.

"Don't make them knock you out again." He whispered. "Please."

America watched the Atlesian Knights approach to retrieve the gun and escort them back to their rooms. There weren't enough shots to take them all out, and even if the nation managed to do so, they would fill the room with knockout gas and it would all be for nothing. Gritting his teeth, he dropped the useless gun and let himself be led away.

"We're going to get out of here, Mattie." He murmured.

It was obvious Canada didn't believe him…

…America eyed his favorite prison warden warily. He wasn't being sarcastic. Ironwood really was the nicest out of the people at the lab. Especially when compared to that bitch Ciel Soleil that showed up from time to time. She was young, looking about eighteen years old, and definitely shouldn't be allowed in such a secret facility yet, but she always showed up from time to time to look down her nose at the 'Subjects'.

Still, just because America hated Ironwood less than the others didn't mean he trusted the guy. And the General's offer had to have a billion strings attached.

"Why would you want to give us IDs and let us create weapons?" America asked slowly. "What, are you planning to erase our memories and dump us in the middle of the woods?"

"Of course not." Ironwood said calmly, now used to the blue-eyed nation's scathing remarks. "It would simply prove to be more effective if you had personalized weapons that transformed."

America had seen a few of Remnant's weapons before. He had to admit that a weapon that transformed from a sword to a gun and back sounded pretty sweet. But that didn't mean he was glad he could design and make ones for himself and Canada.

Unless… We can use them to escape.

America looked at Canada.

His brother's violet eyes were less tired and scared then before. He had grown used to their lives in the lab. But that did not mean he had grown compliant. Constantly fighting Grimm and going through other tests had ironically made his brother tougher instead of meeker, perhaps bringing out all the negativity and anger the quiet nation used to hide deep inside his heart.

Here, Canada was noticed. Here, he was just as important as America. Here, he was not something that could simply be ignored like he so constantly was back on Earth.

And America could tell he despised it.

Canada wanted to fight for his freedom as badly as his brother did.

Decision made, America turned to Ironwood and gave him a double thumbs up and a Hollywood grin. "We'd love weapons. It'll be awesome!"…

…They tore through the Beowolves and Ursas the scientists sent at them with ease. They did so, many, many times. Every time they handed the weapons back without a fight. Because they would bide their time. They would wait. They would plan.

Then— when their captors least expected it— they would escape…

…The guards took Mattie one day.

Not both twins.

Just Canada.

For the first time in a long time, America had to be restrained. He had to be chained to a wall and sedated, and knocked unconscious so he'd stop trying to get out. They gagged him so they'd stop having to hear him scream for his brother, and ignored him as he struggled uselessly in his bonds.

Finally, after hours of heart-pounding waiting and praying that they didn't hurt his brother, the door opened. America looked up, eyes widening as Canada's limp body was deposited on the other bed. The guards left without a word and the door slammed shut.

The nation heard the manacles around his wrists unlock with a mechanical click. He yanked his arms free, his Aura depleted and wrists rubbed raw from his struggles to get to his brother, and dashed to Canada's side.

"Mattie?"

An exhausted violet eye opened, filled with confusion and pain. "…Al?"

"I'm here, bro." the blue-eyed twin said softly as he gently brushed his brother's hair out of his face.

Canada shuddered, entire body quivering. "Hurts…"

America forced his grip not to tighten, continuing to stroke his brother's head. "What did they do?" he asked quietly.

Canada swallowed roughly, barely able to speak. "They had a nation here. One of theirs. He was… conscious but weak. Dying. He couldn't fight. They… put him in a machine. And me in another pod on the machine. And… they put his Aura i-inside me."

Canada began to shudder, skin clammy and pale. "I-I can't feel him anymore but I can feel his people, Al! His people are so scared. They're hungry and dying and desperate and it's so cold—!"

America held his brother tightly as he babbled and wept, twitching as the memories from the other soul hounded him even though the soul itself had faded away. Except it had not faded completely. It was still there. The process used to bind the Remnant nation's soul to Canada had devastated his Aura, bringing it down to a critical low even as the other Aura was pumped into his body.

"Mantle." Canada whispered, staring vacantly over America's shoulder. "His name was Mantle."

As America watched, flares of purplish-red Aura flashed over Canada's shaking frame…

…As soon as the guards came in, America knew it was his turn.

Canada wasn't the same after they forced Mantle's Aura into him. He was jumpier, more paranoid, and quieter than he'd ever been, even when compared to before all this. When the guards came for America, Matthew pressed himself into the corner and did not try to stop them from taking his brother. America could not resent him for it.

America silently stood and let the human and robotic soldiers surround him like a guard detail. Except they were not here to protect him. They were here to keep him from running. But he wouldn't run. Not without Mattie.

America was escorted to a room he had never been in before. It was large and spacious, almost coldly beautiful with its elegant white and metal structures, but its main component was horrifying to say the least.

In the center of the room was a pod-like structure. In the pod was a woman with scars on her face. She appeared to be sleeping. America knew better. His steps faltered and he felt a gun against his back.

"Move." A soldier said.

Ironwood grabbed his arm, pulling the gun away. "Enough of that. Let me explain to him."

"No." A clear female voice came from their left and Ciel Soleil approached with firm, authoritative steps. She halted before Ironwood, eyes sharp and cold. "There's no time."

Ironwood frowned at her. "Surely he deserves to know what is going to happen, ma'am."

What the Hell? How does this teenager outrank the General? America thought, startled. His eyes widened with realization. Unless…

"There's no time, General." She repeated firmly. "Let's get the transfer over with."

The two guards behind America tried to usher him along. He stayed in place, eyes never leaving Ciel.

"You're Atlas, aren't you?" he whispered.

She looked at him with disinterest. "Yes. I am."

America wanted to hate her. He wanted to scream at her and demand to know why she was letting them do this to fellow nations. However, he knew things were different here. It was not the same as Earth. On Earth, most nations would never do something like this. This was not Earth though. It was Remnant. Why would a nation care about another from a completely different world?

America finally looked away from Atlas, staring at the unconscious nation in the pod. "…Who is she?"

It was Ironwood who answered. "Vale."

America shut his eyes. He wanted to demand to know why they were doing this. He wanted to fight to break free. He wanted to wreak havoc upon them and destroy them for what they were doing. But he knew it wouldn't work. He wasn't strong enough to fight them all.

He was shoved onto his back in the machine, and the top clicked closed, sealing him in a metal coffin. America's gaze found Ironwood through the glass, who looked back at him sadly, an apology in his eyes.

There were a few beeps and the sound of the machine turning on.

And agony ripped through his veins.

America screamed as Vale's green Aura surrounded him, forcing its way into his flesh and seeming to rip him apart from the inside. It surrounded his head and heart and guts, pressing and pulling and tearing and straining as it sank into his very pores. Flickers of terror and grief that were not his own prodded at the edge of his mind, and he pleaded with the source of it to stop, please stop, please stop hurting him—!

The pain stopped.

America's eyes fluttered and he slowly grew aware of the sound of screaming sirens. There was a shudder, almost like a physical ripple in the air. Then ice caked onto the glass of his coffin, blocking the view. He watched, fascinated, as the glass cracked and shattered, revealing familiar yet alien violet eyes. They were glowing too brightly.

Despite the change, America's lips twitched into an exhausted smile. "Mattie…"

His brother's cold gaze grew icier than an arctic wind and there was the sound of abused metal. The lid to America's coffin went flying, striking a few soldiers. Canada gently picked up his twin, and America noticed his brother's skin was icy-cold. Just like the room. Snow and ice was everywhere, with cold winds blasting at soldiers and Atlas and keeping them away.

America let his head loll limply, too tired to lift it, and noticed that the pipes between him and Vale had been cut cleanly in two. There was also no frost on Vale's pod. Canada wasn't trying to hurt her.

Amber… Her name is Amber… he thought.

His vision blurred and suddenly he was flying. Not flying. Gliding. America had to giggle as he noticed the slide of ice his brother had created. Mattie was skating on it like a pro. His brother was Elsa! Did that make America 'Anna'? That wasn't as fun… Anna didn't have cool ice powers.

Canada noticed he was awake. "It's okay, Al. We're getting out. They won't hurt you anymore."

He swung something red— Maple Frost— and sent five robots flying. America watched blankly as more robots were frozen by a gust of wind.

"…Semblance?" he mumbled.

"Not mine." Canada said crisply. "Mantle's. I'm—" he twitched. "—not sure how much longer I can keep using it. Mantle isn't that strong anymore so it's tiring to keep going." Sweat beaded on his brow.

America smiled softly. "I know you'll get us out." He could feel his consciousness fading, along with the pain he had not noticed in his head. "…You're my hero, Mattie."

He heard his brother's sharp inhale, and everything slipped away…

…The rest remained a blur.

He vaguely remembered running through snow, and over frozen water, and into warmer lands. He remembered near-constant pain in his head, and how whenever he woke, Canada was still carrying him, still using Mantle's Semblance, still running.

He tried to run too, tried to tell Mattie things would be okay, that they would make it, but soon the migraine would become too much and he'd faint again…

…America did not remember much from Westwind. That was the town, wasn't it? He knew its name because it was one of his— Vale's. He was feverish, and confused, and in pain as his body refused to adjust to the invasive Aura inside it. He cried and vomited and moaned from the constant pain, feeling like his head wanted to split open. That's why they stopped in Westwind. America was too sick to continue. If he did not get some type of treatment he might die, 'immortality' or not.

The villagers believed his random claims about 'knowing his people' were merely incoherent babbling because of the fever. They helped him and Canada without demanding anything in return, perhaps sensing who America was deep down.

His brother turned the rain into snow because he was so distraught and tired but dared not stop using his power or they'd reach them they'd—

The Grimm attacked.

So did the Atlesian Knights.

Under whose orders, America did not know. He just remembered screaming as his people were slaughtered, and vaporizing the robots with bolts of lightning as vengeful, grief-stricken shrieks tore their way from his throat.

He remembered Canada running with him again, but his brother had been relying on Mantle's Aura and Semblance too much for too long.

He didn't know who collapsed first, himself or Canada.

The last thing he recalled was the snow turning into rain.

XXXXXXX

America was afraid to open his eyes. When he did, where would he be?

Ozpin's office?

His room?

The infirmary?

Or someplace worse?

Like a metal coffin or a cell.

He did not dare move any part of his body, instead feeling what he could from his current position. He was laying on his side on something slightly cold, seemingly unrestricted. There was something light covering his body but it was not nearly enough to keep him down, and he could not feel chains or manacles around his ankles or wrists.

That meant he was either not a captive, or his captors were confident enough in their abilities that they did not feel the need to tie him down. As he recalled what happened before his collapse, America guessed it was the latter. He pricked his ears for sounds of people nearby, but only heard a low hum and the occasional crackle of electricity. Then he heard the slosh of a drink and the shuffle of moving cloth.

They were there. Watching. They knew he was awake. There was no use in pretending to still be unconscious.

America opened his eyes. He was on a little bench of some kind with a red cape over him. But that was not grabbed his attention about his new surroundings.

Torches. Literal torches were on the wall above him. Torches with green light of all colors. They were not very practical. They barely lit up the dark room around him at all, leaving everything dim and shadowy.

Including the four figures towering over him.

That's not ominous at all.

America blinked to let his vision clear, taking in a solemn Ozpin, Ironwood, Goodwitch, and red-eyed man. The nation opened his mouth, unsure of what he wanted to say. Did he want to shout at them? Demand they let him go? Beg them to let him go? Such actions were unbecoming of a Hero but America was scared.

There. He admitted it. The Hero was terrified. Wouldn't Russia be happy? He could not stop himself from feeling fear, however. It was like a scene from a horror movie. He was alone in a strange room with people he thought he could trust and one person he knew he couldn't. He'd left his Scroll with Canada— such a stupid decision on his part— and although he had told his brother that Ozpin wanted to see him, Canada would probably never find this menacing place in time even if he got concerned and went looking.

America could not help but think of every horror film he'd seen. The situation really was like one. An idiot teen met a group of strange people and was invited to their school, only to find out they were in cahoots with some creepy dude who wanted to experiment on the kid. Or sacrifice him to a demon or something. Luckily, real demons didn't seem to exist in Remnant. Sacrifices on the other hand… No. He was being silly. It wasn't like Vale was here for him to be—

Glinting metal caught his eye and America stared at the familiar life support machine. It had been fixed. Or replaced. How didn't matter. It was there, in front of him. His eyes slowly broke away from Amber and went back to the four adults in front of him. They knew. About all of it. They were in on it. Ozpin and Goodwitch— teachers he thought he could trust— were in on it. Since Ironwood was still beside them, it was obvious whose side they took.

The feeling of betrayal wanted to break America. He kept the desperate screams that wished to burst free trapped inside his throat, refusing to lower himself by sobbing like a child. He couldn't help it. He liked them. He thought he could trust them. Now that trust had been shattered.

America knew what they were going to do, so he gave the only request he could.

"Please don't hurt my brother."

Something in Ozpin's brown eyes seemed to dull. "We're not going to hurt you, Alfred. Either of you."

America remained silent. Did the Headmaster think using his human name would make him feel better? Did he think it would make this feel like less of a betrayal?

"You…" He swallowed roughly, acutely aware of the dryness of his throat. "…You knew what we were. That's why you brought us to Beacon."

"I swear I didn't." Ozpin claimed. "I did not know about what Atlas had done to you, Alfred."

The softness of his voice made America want to believe him. But why was he speaking like Alfred was younger than him and not a nation that was hundreds of years old? Though Ozpin claimed he didn't know about Atlas' actions… Maybe Ironwood had not told him everything? Did the General keep Alfred's status as a nation from another world to himself?

America wanted to shout the truth that he was not a random child but a superpower from another planet that they kidnapped and experimented on. But what would that accomplish? Dividing Ozpin's group? Making them mistrust each other? If they were anything like the rest of the people who knew, they wouldn't give a damn about Earth. They just cared about the survival of their own world.

They might not be like that, the softer side of America murmured. Ozpin seems genuinely sorry.

The nation sat up slowly, noticing how they watched his every move. Did they think he would run? Where could he go?

I don't know where I am. Underground somewhere, maybe? Am I even in Beacon or Vale anymore? I don't know if I can escape.

He could try. But they'd stop him. Ozpin looked sorry, Goodwitch looked sad, Ironwood looked guilty, and the other man looked angry, but that would not stop them from preventing him from leaving. America did not understand the full story but he knew enough to guess that they needed him to save their nation— to become their nation. They wouldn't let him walk away. They couldn't.

He could not stand staring at their faces any longer so he looked at his hands. "What are you going to do to me?"

"We're going to explain." Ozpin said. The Headmaster sat beside America like a father or mentor telling a story to his child, posture calming and nonthreatening. He nodded at Amber's pod. "Do you know who that is, Alfred?"

"The personified representation of Vale. A nation." He whispered.

"That is correct." Ozpin said like America had gotten a difficult question right on a quiz. "She was attacked and injured last year. The circumstances of the attack are… troubling, to say the least. Somehow, part of Vale's Aura was stolen. If not for Qrow's intervention—" He nodded at the red-eyed man. Qrow. America had heard that name before… "—it would have been completely taken by her attacker. Normally when a nation receives a fatal injury, they are reincarnated into a new body. However, because of the nature of the attack on her, Vale has instead gone into a comatose state."

Like what happens when an Earth nation experiences a wound that would be fatal for a human, America's mind supplied. Except Remnant nations are supposed to die and reincarnate at that point. He knew that fact before Ozpin spoke of it… because Vale knew that. What other memories of hers do I have? Is that where some of my nightmares are from?

Seeing that he had no questions, the Headmaster continued. "The current Vale is going to die. It is not a question of if, but when. If she passes now, we fear that the rest of her Aura will go to her assailant, a very dangerous individual who should never have the powers of a nation. That is why Ironwood and Atlas needed you. You're special. They discovered that your body could accept Vale's Aura, which would prevent it from going to her attacker."

Ironwood really didn't tell them I was already a nation. Bastard.

"Just get to the point." America whispered.

Ozpin gripped his cane tightly. "I truly am sorry for what was done to you. You were taken from your home and put through inhumane experiments. But I'm afraid what was done cannot be undone. You have a part of Vale's Aura inside you. You are the only one who can safely and reliably take the rest. If you do not, a monster may get Vale's full powers and who knows what that will do to my Kingdom with them." The Headmaster looked him in the eyes. "I need to ask you to be a hero, Alfred. I need you to agree to become Vale."

America wanted to vomit.

Before he got the chance to respond, Qrow gave a loud, bitter laugh. "Tell him the rest, Oz."

The Headmaster's eyes closed tiredly. "Qrow…"

"Especially if Uncle Qrow is back from his last mission…"

Qrow.

He was Ruby and Yang's uncle.

America's stomach lurched. They couldn't have known too, right? They couldn't. They couldn't couldn't couldn'tcouldn'tcouldn't—

"What?" the Huntsman demanded, tone hostile. "Are you going to act like Jimmy and deceive him? I'm not hiding things from the kid, Oz. He deserves to know after what he went through."

Qrow flopped down on America's other side. Despite the scent of booze that came off of him, the nation was rather comforted by his presence. Qrow did not kidnap him or hold him captive. He did not pretend to be a benign mentor only to betray his trust. He was a stranger. He was also Ruby and Yang's uncle, so he couldn't be that bad.

Or maybe I'm just that desperate for allies right now.

Qrow took a swig of whatever was in his flask. "Here's the thing, kid. Shoving Aura into something else isn't exactly a practiced and perfected technique. Vale is like the forces of nature they wield. Strong, unpredictable, powerful, and unstoppable. The truth is, if we transfer Vale's Aura to you, you might not be the same anymore, even in the best case scenario. At worst, you'll be completely overwritten and 'Alfred' will cease to exist."

America went numb. "Loss of identity." he whispered faintly.

Glynda stepped forward, placing a hand on his arm. "That might not—"

"Maybe that'll happen." Qrow interrupted. "But maybe it won't. We have no way of knowing." He ignored the teacher's warning glare.

America took a calming breath and wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans. "Why aren't you sure? Why is Vale different? You did this with Mantle but Mattie is still himself."

Except, there were subtle differences. The paranoia. The fear of Atlas. The disgust with their system and robots. Was that Canada's anger because of what happened to the twins and the massacre in Westwind, or was it Mantle's because he had been abandoned in favor of Atlas and left to die?

Ironwood grimaced. "Mantle was already dying. Naturally dying. The city was collapsing and taking its representative with it. I'm honestly surprised he lasted that long." He hesitated. "Someone high up decided that Mantle was expendable and could be used to test whether the bonding process would even work."

Who wants to bet that 'someone' was Atlas? America thought. Then his brain went over what the General just said again. Rage snapped abruptly into place and he leapt to his feet. "My brother is not expendable!"

Ironwood placidly raised his hands to chest level. "I agree. My superiors—"

"Your superiors can go screw themselves!" America spat. "They saw so little value in my brother's life that they'd do that to him without knowing if he'd survive?!"

The General sighed. "I know. I know it was terrible and inhumane. I won't give excuses. I was not the only one to approve of such horrible actions but I let it happen. Just know that I'm sorry for my part in what happened to you."

America glared at him, blue eyes cold. "I don't forgive you."

Ironwood nodded. "I understand. But this isn't about us. This is about Vale and Remnant and all the people living here."

America wanted to slug him for daring to say that he should care about Remnant when the people of Remnant clearly showed they did not care about the people of Earth. They proved that when they experimented on two of Earth's nations. But it was only Atlas and her mindless minions that hurt him and Canada and were involved in their captivity. Should the rest of the world possibly suffer at the hands of a monster because he loathed a certain part of it?

No. He couldn't do that. He couldn't just abandon Remnant to chaos and destruction. Curse his hero complex.

The other nations are right. I am too soft.

But not that soft. What if he said no then and there? What would they do to him? Would they try to force him into the machine? If they did, he'd fight with everything he had. He'd let himself get wounded and then they'd have two comatose nations to deal with. He wouldn't risk his people on Earth by agreeing right away and possibly getting his identity erased.

"Whether or not you accept to have the remainder of Vale's Aura transferred to you is completely your choice." Ozpin said as if he could read America's mind. "We will not make you do anything."

America slowly walked up to the pod, looking at Vale's peaceful face. He reached up, touching the glass briefly. Vale— Amber did not magically awaken and make the decision go away. He swallowed hard.

"How long does she have?" How long do I have to decide?

"We think it would be best if you make your decision by the end of the Vytal Festival." Ozpin said. "Vale has been stable for a while. She will not deteriorate any time soon. You have time."

America studied her closely, eyes following every line of the scar that marred her once flawless skin. "Amber." He whispered. "Her name is Amber." He let his hand fall to his side and turned away from the pod. "I need time to think."

"Of course." Ozpin agreed. "This is a huge decision, and one I'm sorry you have to make."

He genuinely was regretful. That made it hard for America to hate him. In fact, there was no anger left at all. Only exhaustion and a deep-set conflict in his heart.

"Can I go, please? I need to get back to Mattie." He needed to see his brother.

"You may." Ozpin agreed again. "I suggest that you do not tell him or anyone else what is down here. There are enemies everywhere and keeping Vale's location— and your identity— a secret is imperative to our success."

America's thoughts flashed to cold amber eyes. "I won't tell anyone." He promised.

He knew there was no other choice.

XXXXXXX

A/N: So that's what happened in the past. I kept it purposely vague because I'm writing a prequel about the specifics of America and Canada's time in the lab. I considered writing it all here but it became such a long story we'd have more than ten chapters of flashback. So separate prequel it is. Probably. I can't post it yet because... reasons. ;)

So, yeah. Canada is Mantle. America has part of Vale/Amber's Aura.

…This is going to be fun. :D

Thanks to everyone who read, commented, favorited, etc!

Please review!