March 2022

Matthew added a few logs to the fire then made his way back to his chair. A mug of maple-flavored hot chocolate, his favorite book, and Mr. Bear waited for him. The room itself was nice and toasty, thanks to the fire going, but his insides were chilled, much like the weather outside. He paused for a moment, observing the storm as it battered his houses and everything else in the surrounding area.

Snowstorms had become more infrequent as of late, and it was one of the things he often enjoyed about his lands. However, the jaunt to Australia and his visit with Jack had left him reeling and muddled.

America had been there. That much he and Jack both knew because their brother exuded quite the energy wherever he went. However, neither of them had been able to actually see him, despite their efforts, along with Arthur's magic. The exuberant nation remained elusive.

'But yet Denmark and Norway were there, too,' he recalled, moving the bear over slightly and draping the nearest blanket over them. 'And no one really knows why. They've never said anything before about talking to America or even having anything to do with him. Yet they were there. And they defended him against Arthur when he found out they were there. America . . . Alfred . . . what are you doing?'

He wanted to cross the border. He truly did. The borders, for the longest time, had always been open between the two of them, and such a thing had always been a blessing and a curse. It depended on what was going on at the time, naturally, but the truth was they'd always shared as close of a bond as anyone could, closer than most others.

'Except I never told him about Cuba . . . not really . . . not directly.' He curled into a bit of a ball at where his thoughts were going. 'And I even admitted to him that it didn't sound like something he'd want to hear, not when I know he hates it when people hide things from him. He was right to be angry. It means I didn't trust him, not the way that we used to trust each other. The look on Arthur's face, though, when he lit into America that last time . . . there isn't any doubts about that. He enjoyed every word he said.' He shivered as he recalled the malicious delight he'd seen in Arthur's eyes with each jab at America . . . and the ache with each word as it sent hot knives into America's heart. Whether his twin wanted to admit it or not, Arthur's opinion of him meant the world to America, and it wasn't the first time the elder nation had let him down.

"It hurts. It hurts so much, Mattie. I just can't take it anymore. I don't know what else to do anymore. There isn't anything I can say or do that will make him proud of me. There isn't anything I can say or do to get them to change their minds. They've already decided who I am. They won't let me be anything else . . . I thought it would be different with you. I thought . . . I thought we were brothers, that you could trust me with everything . . ." He stood. "Guess I was wrong, and it was my own fault for that, too."

"Alfred . . ."

"I'm sorry, Mattie. Sorry for all the hate and shit you've had to endure because of me. I'm sorry for being such a shitty brother, too. I'm sorry for all of the times we played baseball, and I used you to vent out my frustrations by throwing the ball too damned hard. I just . . . I just wish we could go back to the way things used to be, but we all know that can't happen, can it? There's just too much blood on our hands, too much pain and too much grief. Maybe . . . maybe it's just time, you know?"

"Time for what?" Fear stabbed at Canada because, as America spoke, whatever ever his twin was feeling was no longer accessible to him. It was truly like reaching out and touching a cold, stone wall.

"I'll be in touch."

'But he wasn't,' Matthew mused, wiping away some of his tears. 'At least, not directly. His government recommended Quebec City as the new home for the United Nations. He never told me about it directly. Not once, and I don't know how I feel about that. It . . . it feels like I've truly lost my brother this time.'

A sniffle escaped him at that thought, along with a few tears. Loss was usually an every day thing for him, usually in the forms of his citizens dying. His country wasn't perfect – he still faced car wrecks, natural causes, murders, sports accidents, and drug overdoses – so he'd come to expect the constant amount of death that came with humans.

But the loss of an actual family member? Matthew hadn't experienced that for a few decades, not after his Native American mother passed away, leaving him in the care of Francis. Having Arthur win the battle and take custody of him, well, it had hurt, but then Francis was still alive. Knowing that had made the transition somewhat bearable for him.

'Then there was America.' He rested his cheek on his arms. 'Arthur left us alone for so long, and we only had each other for company until my government came to get me . . . in looking back, I see why America wanted his independence. It was only the next logical step because he'd been free the entire time, but he'd always been there for me . . . until then. Until I sided with Arthur . . . is that when things truly fell apart for us?' Matthew exhaled a shaky breath. 'What I wouldn't give to have my brother back. I miss him so much. These last few years without talking to him have hurt the worst. I never thought I'd miss him like this . . .'

The thought of never playing baseball with America again entered his mind. The field was there. It wasn't an actual baseball field, but it was the field where they always met to play. However, the only one standing there was him. There was no America. There were no quips and friendly banter to alleviate the tension of their days. Just him, a glove on one hand and an abandoned baseball at his feet. He wanted to scream at the injustice of it all. He wanted to scream loud and long, to let the world know just how angry and hurt he was that his brother had not only walked away from him but somehow managed to feel like he'd already died, leaving him without a proper way to say goodbye, just a pile of ashes to be buried.

And the holidays over the last few years? They'd been downright horrible. Naturally, Arthur and Francis had shown up – they always did – but America hadn't come, and neither of the elder nations seemed to notice his absence.

"Sometimes . . . when I'm around you guys for special occasions . . . sometimes, I feel like I'm an outsider looking in . . . like I don't belong. I don't like it, Mattie. You guys are supposed to be my family. And I don't know which is worse. Being alone for major holidays or being surrounded by people and feeling lonely."

"Why haven't you said anything?"

"Everyone's suffering, Mattie." A soft exhale. "They don't need to hear about my problems. And after that last world meeting . . . I don't think they even really care, either."

"That isn't true, America. You know that. If you just . . ."

"Just what? Keep trying? Keep pushing forward? Keep getting kicked down and spit upon because I happen to be America?" A shake of his head. "No. I can't. I'm tired, Mattie. I'm so very tired right now. I just . . . wish the pain would go away."

"And how would you make it go away?" he asked, dread filling the pit of his stomach. This wasn't Alfred. Alfred didn't talk about being tired and lonely. Alfred . . . was Alfred, always smiling and trying his best to have a good word for everyone he came across. He didn't always succeed – how could he? Not all nations took to his friendliness and found fault with it. Other nations, they didn't have the same history that he and America did. They didn't know what it was like to have citizens come to you and have language barriers with their neighbors. He knew what other nations like England and France said about America and his constant smiling. It wasn't natural for them, or at least it hadn't been for the longest time.

'I can't . . .' Matthew sat up a little straighter and shook his head. 'I can't let him do this. I can't let him go through with whatever he's planning, but how do I reach him? My emails to him go unnoticed, his phones are all disconnected now, and I can't get into the country, no matter how hard I try to. His military is stationed along almost every inch of the border . . . how . . .'

His phone started ringing in that moment. Wiping his eyes, Matthew picked it up to see who was calling him.

'If it's either Francis or Arthur . . .' he thought darkly then paused upon seeing the name and the country code. 'It's . . .' He swiped his phone to answer, his heart picking up its pace in nervousness and, dare he admit it, hope? "H-hello . . . Norway?"

"Hei, Canada," came the greeting from Norway in English. "How are you?"

"I've had better days," he replied. "I feel like I've buried my brother but without a body to go with it, just a pile of ashes."

"He isn't dead, not yet," Norway replied. "With any luck, we can . . . talk him out of it."

"How?" Canada wailed. "He . . . every way to communicate with him is gone! My emails go ignored –"

"He reads them," Norway interjected. "We all do."

"His phone is disconnected," he continued . . . until Norway's words cut through his despair. "Wait, what? He . . . reads them?"

"Ja. He does."

"So . . . he's going to actually kill himself . . . isn't he? And you're helping him?" Canada fought back a bitter laugh. "You've seen him the entire time he's been absent from everything else, haven't you?"

"Ja. I have."

"So why are you calling me?" he demanded, anger filling him and enabling him to speak a little louder than usual and more freely as well. "To brag? To add to my misery? To remind me that I'm no longer one of the people he can trust with anything?"

"Nei."

"Then why . . ." Frustration mingled with the anger. He didn't want his brother's ashes. Not now. Not ever. It had taken some smooth talking on his part during the last World War to keep anyone from burning Alfred's body when he'd taken one too many hits and was thought to be dead. Nations could survive burnings, but the healing process after the fact was always miserable. Then there was the time when Germany and Prussia had them both as prisoners . . . Canada shuddered in revulsion. "Why are you contacting me?"

There was a long pause on the other end.

"Because we don't want him to die, either. It would help him to know that he's . . . not an outsider looking in . . . we have one chance at this, Canada. One chance. If we fail . . . he will be gone. Forever."

"What is it you need me to do?" Matthew asked.

"For starters . . . keep standing up to Storbrittania where he is concerned," Norway answered. "It might seem hopeless, but we know that your younger brother, Australia, did so during our visit. The more the world becomes kinder and compassionate, the better chances we all have."

"I don't understand . . ."

"I know. But you are smart. Like he is. You can figure it out." A pause. "I must go before Sverige and Danmark kill each other, and it's just me in the house with them. Take care, Canada. We shall talk again soon."

The line went dead, and Matthew stared at his phone, bewildered.

'America . . . he's been in contact with Norway this entire time . . . with all of the Nordic Five, and they've said nothing . . . that's . . . messed up. Dedicated but messed up.'

Still, he couldn't deny the small burst of hope rising up in his heart from the conversation.

'We still have a chance. I can get my brother back. This time will be different. I promise.'

It was highly intoxicating.

His phone rang again. With a bit more excitement than before, he checked his caller I.D. – he still didn't want to talk to either Arthur or Francis – only to deflate a little upon seeing the name there. It was his boss.

"Hello," he said.

"Good day, Matthew," came the casual greeting. "I hope this day is finding you as well as can be, all things considered."

"Kind of," he murmured. "What's going on?"

"I've received a phone call from our American ambassador . . ."

"They're getting ready to shut it down . . . aren't they?"

"In all likeliness . . . yes. That's been the pattern with them, hasn't it?"

"Yeah," he confirmed in a near whisper, his heart aching and breaking all over again. "It has."

"I'm sorry, Matthew," his boss said after a moment. "I know this can't be easy for you, not after the close bond you shared with Alfred was severed. If there's anything I can do . . ."

There isn't.

That's what he wanted to say. It's what he wanted to say because it was true. There wasn't anything his boss could do for him, not when it involved the loss of a family member who'd been there for him for the longest of times.

But he didn't. He couldn't, not when he knew the man's intentions were genuine. If anything, his boss related to him better than what many of his fellow nations seemed to be able to do. The man had lost a brother as well.

"I'll keep that in mind, sir," Matthew murmured. He fought the urge to sigh. "When do they want to meet and where?"

"In the next twenty-four hours," came the solemn reply. "In the new United Nations building around 10 a.m. Should I send someone to check on our embassies and consulates? Just in case?"

"No." He shook his head, though his boss couldn't see it. "Chances are, the meeting's a distraction so they can clear everything out . . . if they haven't done so already."

"That's a good point. I'll see you tomorrow then. Again, if there's anything I can do to help you in anyway . . ."

"I'll let you know. I'll see you tomorrow."

The line went dead.

Author's Notes: I meant to post this last month after I'd finished it, but working retail got in the way. This month has been on the insane as well, again, because retail as well as another emotional upset over my dad's passing. I'm not going to bore people with the details on here, not after I'd done my posting about it to Facebook.

Re: American and Canadian history
There was just way too much for me to choose from, so much so, it was overwhelming. I just couldn't pick any one particular thing for Canada to focus on, which is the exact opposite issue I originally had with China. (Yeah, I could have looked up some of the stuff that the Brits did and the U.S. sided with, but I chose American debt to China overall.)
Rather, I chose to take some of my emotional pain over my dog and my dad passing away this year, and I put it into Canada/Matthew. If I made you cry, it's because I cried while mixing the pain.
If you've lost anyone this year, I want you to know that I see you. I love you. And you can always reach out to me via PM about anything you're feeling. It might take me a day or two to respond (I literally have to log into the site to see I have PMs waiting for me - the site no longer sends out email notifications about PMs) or you can find me on Facebook under Victorea Ryan Meadow, or on Instagram and Twitter under Enchanted Realms Fiction.

Happy belated Thanksgiving to all of my fellow Americans. Please stay safe, and I'll try to have the next chapter up in December.