Mount Vernon

The battered farmhouse stood amidst fields that had remained, surprisingly, untouched by fire. Perhaps England had been going easy on America's people- there had been many farms put to the torch in Europe in a conflict such as this, but no matter- what few crops that the people had been able to grow and harvest would be scant against the onslaught of winter.

Perhaps England had been right, and America would fail before...

But Matthew couldn't think like that right now. Not with his closest neighbor and brother wounded, and yet the hearts of his people beating so strongly...

"Come, young Matthew." Adams had pulled the horses to a stop, as more of Alfred's people came to aid them, and hasten their entrance. "No time to lose."

Matthew hopped down onto the dirt, one step behind Adams.

A natural shyness hitched his step momentarily as he entered to find the man he had seen few times, and mostly on the other side of the battlefield waiting in the vestibule. Washington. This was his home, after all- and if he and Alfred were as close as he'd heard, it would only make sense for his brother to be brought here.

"Canada," The general gave him a tight-lipped smile, "I am grateful that you accepted the invitation-"

"Sir, may I see him?" Matthew interrupted, "Mr. Adams explained a lot on the way, and while we may have been enemies before, the war is over- it was over the moment England dropped his weapon. I will trust that you will do the honorable thing, and not use me as a prisoner."

"You are our guest, Canada." Washington told him gently, "Your brother didn't want to fight you before, and we will not fight you now- and I know that you are not here to continue the hostilities."

A hand clasped Matthew's shoulder, and Canada could feel the kindness and warmth that nearly radiated out of this man, to counterbalance the spine of steel that had carried him through the long war. He nearly burst into tears again. Someone like this deserved the independence that Alfred had just bought. They all did- Even though he wasn't the Nation who could claim this man- these men- he could feel their resolve, their fortitude. It wasn't just through Alfred that he could feel them, they were nearly Matthew's, by proximity, by the wavering heartbeat of the Nation that lay in some bedroom in this vast home-

"This way, young man." Washington led the way, down dim corridors and past doors that remained closed. The door at the end of the hallway opened into a half darkened room that smelled of blood and sickness.

Matthew almost reeled away, but steeled himself to walk across the room, and past a man who was obviously the physician in charge. There was a protest from the man, but it was quickly silenced by the general.

The figure in the bed looked too small to be his brother- too small to be Alfred, who towered over England, who filled a room with his presence. But wheat blond hair stuck out from all angles on the pillow, the prominent cowlick nearly invisible with the tangled mess. The chin was still squared and stubborn, though the flush of fever and the glistening of sweat on his cheek and neck had weakened that stubbornness–

But the bandage over his brother's eyes were what drew pricks of tears in his eyes once again. Even though Adams had told him, it still- his brother's wounds had become inflamed, despite the care of his people. He was restless, feverish- and the results were worse than he'd imagined.

"Al..." Matthew said softly, uncertain of whether his twin was awake or asleep- he was afraid to touch their connection, afraid of what hallucinations and dreams he would find. "Al, I'm here."

"M-Mattie..." A shiver wracked the frail body (When had Alfred ever been frail? How could he be frail, he was Alfred, he was America-) and the mouth worked for a moment, "I won..."

"Yes, Al," Matthew sighed, one hand reaching out to touch the burning cheek. What could he do to help now? He'd run all this way, abandoned England, and been brought here in hopes- of what? What could he do?

"Why... are you here?" The question lay in the air between them like a lump of mud on the clean floor, messy, unnecessary and something that needed to be cleared away immediately before it became too hard to do so.

"You're my brother," Matthew answered, stroking that cheek gently, "And I love you. Why else would I be here?"

"E-england-"

"Won't even notice I'm gone." That produced a soft wheeze of laughter, "He has other things on his mind, and my people are going home, so on the very unlikely off chance that he notices, he'll just assume that I've joined them."

"M-mattie..." The voice was a breathy sigh, most unlike the tones that he was used to hearing- "I w-would have noticed."

"You wouldn't, idiot." Matthew smiled faintly. "You'd be too busy celebrating. As soon as you're done healing, we'll have to have a small party. I'll even make pancakes, and bring the syrup-"

"Always..noticed-" Alfred's protest trailed off, "Mattie..."

"You should sleep, Al." Matthew left his hand against America's cheek for another moment before pulling away, "I'll be here when you wake up."

The barest fraction of a nod, and Matthew tucked the blanket around his brother, watching as breaths became even, shallow. Without even a sleepy murmur, Alfred drifted to sleep, the tension in his face draining away.

Matthew didn't know how long he'd been sitting there, just watching America, studying the way his hair was damp with sweat, how the angry red and bruised skin peeked over the edge of the bandages over his face. It seemed to be the worst of his wounds, which was good- but still bad. And infection- if he were human, Canada knew that the fever would be a death sentence.

"Rest will go a long way towards helping him heal." The physician, stark blackening bruise on one cheek had come close, and was now smiling at him, "Thank you. This is the first time in days that he's been able to stay asleep for this long."

"Your face-?" Matthew wondered.

"A few days ago, he was having a nightmare. I tried to calm him, but- I don't think he'll wake for a while."

"If he does, I'm here," Canada followed the line of cloth with his eyes, wondering if he truly wanted to know what was behind the bandages, or if the darkness on the edge of his vision was merely because he was tired. "I can match his strength- he won't be able to hurt me."

"We are grateful for your presence." Matthew had forgotten that General Washington was nearby- and was somewhat surprised that he had been merely waiting quietly. "I do not pretend to know much about your kind, however, I have a feeling that you being here has given him strength- as much as independence matters to him- and to us- there does come a moment when admitting the need for aid becomes... more of an act of courage than standing up to the entire British Empire."

"I don't..." Matthew swallowed hard, trying not to think of all the implications. "I don't know as much about Nations. I'm only a Colony, but Al- I don't know why he isn't healing as fast as he should."

"So long as he does," Washington's eyes were sad, "I would despair to see my Nation fall so swiftly, and fulfill England's predictions of failure. And I would grieve the loss of Alfred, my son."

"Son..." Matthew could see nothing but kindness in the man's face, even as he gestured towards Matthew to follow him. Alfred's people had given him ideas and desires that went against what England had tried to instill in him. They had also given him the one thing that England could never have given, that a Nation who barely remembered the pain of isolation could not give to a colony this far distant without stretching himself too thin.

Family. Connection. Home.

The love of a parent, at least for a human lifetime.

Washington led him to the room next door- another bedroom, Matthew noted, and paused in the doorway.

"You should rest yourself, Canada. None of the men who are here will allow England to know of your presence. Not unless you so desire. This room is yours for as long as you wish. If there is anything you need- let us know." A faint tight-lipped smile again, "We owe you a debt of gratitude for coming-"

"Call me Matthew," Canada sighed, "I love my brother, sir. And I know he loves me- even if he is a bit dim at times. I had to come. I should have supported him to begin with, and perhaps this wouldn't have happened- so if anything, I am grateful that you've allowed me to be here."

"Canada- Matthew," The man shook his head, "I cannot say what would have happened, however- I can say that we may need your help in the future. I cannot ask for an answer now, but I must bring this forward for your consideration: Will you be willing to become the strength that we need to help America survive and grow?"

"He-"

"Adams told you only what I told him. The last shot took his left eye, and shattered against bone, sending a fragment through his right. My physician is the best on the continent, and with what little we know about Colonies and Nations, he can tell me only that the wound should not have become infected. Canada, unless there is something that we can do, that we don't know about- when he recovers from this, he will be blind."

The dread that had been building in Matthew's stomach returned full force, sending chills through his body. This is what he had suspected, from the little hints given by their connection, by the position of those bandages- the darkness that had been creeping up on him hadn't been entirely his own- and if he did not aid his brother, left him to flounder on his own- how much worse could it be for both of them?

"Let me sleep on it," Matthew said, with the voice of a twin whose heart was broken with his brother's pain. "I have to think."

And with the thoughts of a Colony on the verge of Nationhood, Canada was left alone to sleep, and to think upon all the problems that had just been laid at his feet.

But he knew his answer long before the echo of the door closing left the room silent.