Scotland knew it was going to be a rough day. It always was when the first thing on the to do list was go talk to the dead. He could remember the days after a battle, walking through to find survivors and being bombarded with voices of fallen soldiers with families left behind. It was painful to ignore all the voices; he couldn't fulfill every request and thusly didn't.

That particular forest was a place Scotland hadn't explored for centuries. This was England's favorite forest, though Scotland never heard the reason why. The air within its borders felt ancient. The fae milled around on their own business. All was quiet.

And then, it all turned silent as Scotland got to the lake. The place was even painful to look at. Scotland could remember when this place was bright and full of growing things. Now, everything was dead. The whole place reeked of America's aura… 'What the fuck did you do?' Scotland thought bitterly, as he walked on the edge of the lake.

"You…" a quiet voice said. Scotland turned and saw a ghost of a fairy dressed in black rags sitting on a rock nearby. "How is it that you outlive me?"

Scotland recognized this fairy to have been a water nymph in life. This creature looked as though they had been through a tough battle, with bruises and scars all over their skin. They had barely any hair, and the flowers that they had on their person had wilted.

"That's just how it goes with us nations. We live, and see everyone else fall around us."

The nymph looked thoughtful. "That would explain a lot… Scotland."

The nation nodded. "What happened here? When did this become…" Scotland was at a loss for words.

"A long time ago. It's been a few centuries… I just… I can't get myself to move on from this place…"

"It's hard to move on when the place you called home needs help."

"There was a boy in a white dress and a red bow tie around his neck. He had bright blue eyes like the sky and straight blonde hair, though one tuff was curled up. He wanted to try a spell… it backfired… he looked so scared."

From the description alone, Scotland already knew who this was. "What was his name?" he asked, just to get confirmation.

"I think his brother called him… America…"

Scotland gritted his teeth. "So he did do this."

"Don't blame him!" the nymph said hurriedly, "He didn't mean for this to happen, and he certainly doesn't remember. His brother helped him forget this. Though, I think the spell effected them both."

"It was that traumatic, then?"

"It would be for an adult, let alone a child, nation or not. The torture of all us magical folk isn't something one ever forgets, unless by magical means."

Scotland looked out at the lake. What could be done? What was America even trying to do in the first place, and did it even matter anymore? All Scotland knew was that there were only two people who could heal this place properly: England (since this was in his nation) or America (since this was his fault). Northern Ireland could probably heal it as well, since he had a gift for that sort of magic. "This place will be restored. I promise that much to you, nymph."

The nymph smiled and for a moment, lit up. "Thank you… grace be with you, Scotland." The nymph faded and Scotland was alone once again.

'So, this is why America and Canada suddenly stopped seeing the fairies,' Scotland thought, 'I knew there had to be a good reason.' Sure, the reason wasn't good, but it was a better explanation than they got older.

Australia was sitting the wrong side up on the couch. His feet were pointing to the sky and his head was touching the ground. Currently, he was texting his government about official things, since his new boss was coming in soon. That reminded him, he had to go explain the whole nation thing to this dude. It was not going to be a fun conversation. There was one time in which one of his newly positioned bosses tried to kill him because of fraud.

"You know what would a great idea," Australia said out loud as he sent the newest text message away.

"What?" Wales asked. He was on the other side of the room, reading the day's newspaper. He held a yellow highlighter, twirling it around as he read.

"If we got the new bosses together and then explained the whole nation situation to them all in one room."

"It won't work like that. We all get new bosses at too many different times. You and Canada just happened to get yours on luck coincidence…" Wales trailed off his sentence as he found something interesting in the paper. "… and Switzerland now too," he said slowly as he highlighted a particular section.

"I know," Australia said disappointedly, "But what if? It would be so much less intimidating than going alone."

"It's just one of the many things we have to deal with."

"Aren't you cold?"

Wales put down the paper and would have objected to the comment, but America came into the room at that moment. He looked pissed coming in, holding Taliesin by the tail. "This," America pointed at the dragon, "was trying to smoke me again."

"That's odd," Wales said, folding the paper up, "Usually after a few days he starts being friendlier to people he's rough with."

Everyone in the room watched the dragon as he wriggled about, not happy at all about being held in midair by a guy five times his size. America did not look amused by Wales' statement.

"Just let him go, America. I'll sort him out."

"That's why you said yesterday." All the same, America let Taliesin go. The dragon immediately flew up to the ceiling fan and sat on one of the propellers. He started intently at America with the dragon version of evil eyes.

Wales looked up at Taliesin and shook his head. "I don't know what it is about you, but Taliesin is definitely mad at you for some reason."

"That is great," America said sarcastically, "Fucking brilliant, in British." He left the room.

"What's gotten under his skin?" Australia asked.

"I don't know… and it doesn't bode well." Wales extended his arm and the dragon hopped down to perch there. "What is your problem with America?" Wales asked Taliesin, "You used to like him."

Taliesin snorted out some smoke, not at all impressed.

Australia turned off the screen of his phone and followed America outside the room. America wasn't heading to any particular destination. He mainly just wanted to walk.

"Why can't that damn dragon leave me alone?" America asked bitterly.

"Clingy little thing, isn't he?"

"More like a fire ball if you ask me. He tries to burn my face off every time he sees me."

"Maybe he just doesn't like your sense of humor."

"This has been going on since day one, dude."

Australia just shrugged. America stopped in front of the kitchen door. Australia peered over his shoulder to see what stopped him; Canada was in there looking at his phone that was on a stand. "Oui, Papa," Canada said in fluent French, "Mais je ne peux pas viens à votre maison. Je suis désolé."

America held up one finger to his lips. Australia already knew what he was going to do and grinned. America held up three fingers. Two. One. In a flash, America invaded the kitchen and scooped up Canada's phone. "Aussie, catch!" America tossed the phone over to Australia, who caught it easily.

"Attendre!" Canada shouted. He then realized what he said and changed languages. "Wait!" But by that time, Australia and America were already making a beeline to the courtyard.

"G'day, France!" Australia said to the phone where France's face was shown looking both confused and amused, "Sorry about this, but your call has been hijacked for the present moment."

"Australia? Is that you?" France asked, confused about what was going on.

"Yep."

"Along with me, the hero!" America said, leaning in so that France could see his face too.

"And why have you two stolen Matthew's phone?" France said, in a slightly scolding tone, though he was smiling all the same.

"Who?" Australia asked, looking at America.

"He means Canada," America explained, "Matthew is his human alias."

"Huh," Australia said. He may have heard Canada being called "Matthew" before but it had been a long time and thusly forgot. He thought the name suited the Canadian well. "Well, the phone has been hijacked for fun," Australia explained, "We've been too serious for too long in this old house."

"Aren't you two little rascals?" France said, smiling and shaking his head.

"Come on, hurry up," America said, looking behind and speeding up his pace, "Canada is faster than you think."

Australia glanced behind. Canada was behind the two of them by about ten paces and catching up fast. "Ok, gotta go, France."

"Don't hang up the phone!" France pleaded, "I would like to see what happens."

"Sure," Australia shrugged. He and America ended up in the courtyard before Canada completely caught up to them. Australia lept up into the tree in the middle and quickly got himself up into the higher branches. 'I never expected him to be that fast,' he thought as he climbed.

"Give me back my phone!" Canada shouted annoyed.

Australia just stuck out his tongue and climbed higher.

"Australia!" Canada whined, then he turned to America with a death glare in his violet eyes, "This is all your fault." His voice took a menacing tone.

"Come on, Matt. It's just a bit of fun." America raised his hands in playful defense.

"Not when I'm talking to my dad!" Canada started chasing America around the courtyard. They took turns shouting insults to each other and Australia was reminded of when the three of them lived in the house together. It wasn't a long time, since America went and became independent and soon after Canada went off to fight America in a war.

"While we are up here," France said, "I want to say congratulations on your new boss. Do you know how you are going to explain things to him?"

"Nope. I never really do." Australia thought for a moment before saying, "I do have this idea, but I doubt I could actually make it a thing."

"And what may that be?" France asked interested. "I might be able to help if it is a good idea."

"A party, for us nations and the new bosses. A welcoming party for them and then during the party we break the news about us nations to them."

"Oh, that sounds like a great idea. We haven't had a party together in ages. Let's do it then. It would be a good excuse to gather on unofficial business for once."

"And what are you boys up to?" England's voice asked from down below. Australia peeked through the leaves and branches. England had his hands in fists on his waist, his head cocked to the side, and his right foot tapping impatiently.

"Shit," Australia said.

"And what are you doing up there, Australia?" England looked surprised through his annoyance. "Get down from there before you hurt yourself again, young man."

"And he thinks I'm a kid," Australia said under his breath, though it was loud enough for France to hear. The keep-away game had changed. Who cares whether or not Canada had the phone; England could not under any circumstances get the phone. Especially since France was on the line.

"Is that England?" France asked.

Australia jumped out of the tree, over England's head, rolled on the ground upon impact, and ran into the house, Canada and America right behind him. "Yeah, but he's in no condition to talk right now," Australia said quickly.

"Hey, get back here!" England shouted after them.

"He sounds fine to me," France commented, shrugging.

"He's not, Papa," Canada said, finally grabbing the phone out of Australia's hand, "He's having memory problems. Right now, he thinks that we're still his kids. Well, that we're still living in his house as kids."

"Oh, now that is a problem indeed," France sounded concerned, "How did this happen?"

"I'll explain once I'm not being chased," Canada promised. He went ahead of Australia and America.

America slowed down. "Might as well give him some time," he said, stopping.

"What do you suggest we do then?" Australia asked.

"Talk?"

"Now where's the fun in that?" Australia said, rolling his eyes. It did feel good being able to conduct shenanigans with America again. "I have a better idea. Follow my lead."

Australia waited for England to turn the corner, but by that time, England had significantly slowed his pace and was wheezing a bit. "Never mind," Australia said, "I forgot the old guy tires easily now a days." He walked over to England, "You alright, mate?"

"You kids run way too fast for your own good," England panted. America steered him over to the side, and sat him down on the window sill to catch his breath. "Where's Canada?"

"Not sure," Australia shrugged, "He outran me and America."

"What were you even doing?"

"We were just having some fun with Canada, that's all," America said.

"It looked like you were terrorizing him," England said, not at all convinced at America's answer, "Again."

"You're just exaggerating, as usual," America said, "He was fine with it."

England still didn't look convinced. "I'm going to look for Canada, to make sure he is alright. You two stay out of trouble." England started walking away.

"Do you think that was enough time for Canada to finish his call?" Australia asked.

"He should be fine…" America said, "But… maybe we should stick with England. Just in case."

"Maybe terrorize him a bit?"

The two nations grinned at each other, then caught up with England to help make his search for Canada difficult as ever.

88888

When Ireland walked into the kitchen, Northern Ireland was looking through a picture book with a longing look in his eyes. The book was something that Northern Ireland created not too long ago, maybe about 50 years or so, full of pictures of the northern coast of his land. Northern Ireland's light blue eye was glowing softly.

Ireland sat down next to his brother. "Missing home again?" Ireland asked.

Northern Ireland nodded. "I had a vision of home, and… well…" He looked at one particular photo of a cliff by the seashore. Just like Ireland, Northern Ireland would have visions of the past, though not as frequently and not as bad. "I just… I got homesick."

"Be glad it's only that and not something worse."

Northern Ireland nodded. "I'm not complaining. It's easier now that I'm with you."

"Is it?"

Northern Ireland nodded and pointed to the spot between Ireland's eyes. "It's your eyes. They always remind me of home. The blue one for the sea; the green one for the forests. I can see them in your eyes clearly."

Ireland shook his head, "Only because you have nation eyes. Human eyes don't pick up that sort of thing."

"Wrong." Northern Ireland booped Ireland playfully in the nose. "I noticed that the first time I met you."

Ireland blinked out of surprise, "You must be remembering wrong."

Northern Ireland shook his head. "No, I remember that day clearly. I asked you if you were one of the fae, for you had mismatching eyes that looked as though they were taken from the land itself."

"And I told you no."

"Except that was a lie, because they are." Northern Ireland was on the brink of laughing.

Ireland could not help but smile. Then his surroundings changed and he was standing at the northern boarder of his land, the one before he and Northern Ireland split. In front of him was Northern Ireland, though much younger, looking out into the sea. He wore a tattered cloak and on his head was a crown of shamrocks Ireland made for him earlier.

"Do you ever think that we'll explore other lands?" Northern Ireland asked, turning to look at Ireland. His eyes were both light blue, like the sky, and that current moment filled with a sense of adventure.

"Who knows? But I'm content staying on this island with you."

Northern Ireland closed his eyes and smiled. When he opened them again, his eyes looked to someone behind Ireland. "And who are you?"

Ireland turned and saw Britannia. She introduced herself to the two of them. "I know you who you are, Ireland," she said, looking down at the young nation, "But I don't know who you are," she looked at Northern Ireland, "What is your name, child?" She seemed curious.

"It's Spéir… but Ire calls me North."

"And where did that name come from?"

Ire… Earth to Ire…

Ireland blinked and his vision returned to the kitchen. Northern Ireland's hand was in front of his face, waving furiously. "Something wrong?" Northern Ireland asked, concerned, as he put his hand down.

"No, just remembering."

"Nothing bad, right? No wars?"

"No, nothing bad."

"Good. It's bad enough you keep having nightmares about the wars." Northern Ireland shuttered slightly.

"…not like you have them."

"Aye, I do, actually," Northern Ireland said, "And even if I didn't, I would still be concerned for you. War is horrible to experience the first time around."

This was news to Ireland. His brother never seemed to have nightmares, at least not ones bad enough to wake up screaming from. "You never said anything about it before."

"Because I don't want to worry you. I can handle my own too, you know. I've survived this long, right?"

"…aye. You can be as strong headed as Mum sometimes."

Northern Ireland smiled a bit and calmed down. "I should hope so. I am her child too."

Ireland was back at the cliff. Britannia had knelt down and put a hand on Northern Ireland's head. "My blessing be upon you, North. May you be protected by the graces of the land. May they one day bless you with their power."

Northern Ireland's eyes shown white for a moment. "What are you doing?" Ireland asked in a panic. When he looked at Northern Ireland's eyes again, they had changed; one was still the light blue it always was, but the other was a light green. They reflected the sky and grass of the land around them. Ireland would have been entranced by them and how they reflected in the light if it weren't for Britannia being right there.

"I have blessed your brother, to protect him from all that is to come. Let me bless you too, Ireland."

Britannia placed her hand on Ireland. "My blessing be upon you, Ireland. May you be protected by the graces of your land and the love of your people. As their energy flows through you, so does your energy flow through them." Ireland did not feel any different, except he felt more in tune with the land around him. He could feel the trees of the forest, the crashing of the waves against the rocks, even the people of the land going about their daily business.

You're doing it again.

Northern Ireland was looking at his brother, half amused, with his head in his hand.

"It's not like I can control it," Ireland said, shaking his head to clear away the vision. He almost got himself completely absorbed in the memory, something that happened to him quite often.

"You are obligated to tell me now, since this is the second time it's happened in one sitting. In the past five minutes."

"…it's when Mum found us."

"And she had no idea what I was?" Northern Ireland said with a small smile.

"Don't make it sound like a joke."

"But it's true. Might as well make it a joke. Better to laugh than cry. Scotland did tell her that I am a nation, so she knows now."

"Like that helps any."

"It'll make things less awkward when we go to heaven."

"Don't talk about such things. It's a bad omen." Ireland never liked talking about death and dying, especially around a table. It always ended up on the topic of war, which Ireland had to deal enough with as it were.

"I'll leave it then. Only for you, Ire."

88888

Canada found his old hiding spot that he had always retreated to when America was being annoying. It was in this wardrobe that was blocked by a table in a storage room. This wardrobe had a bottom door, that opened regardless of the table blocking it. It was smaller than Canada had remembered it, but he was still able to fit all the same.

"So, what is wrong with Angleterre?" France asked.

"He overdosed on something and now his memory's all mixed up. We aren't sure what happened."

"Do you know what on? It can't be his pathetic excuse for alcohol."

"No, it's some substance called ambrosia." Canada recalled what Wales told him before. It still was weird to him that a substance from mythology was having such a hold in the present.

"Oh, I have seen this before. Some human thought it was a good idea to sell it a long time ago, and it caused a lot of death. It took some time for me and several other nations to find him and take care of this substance. I thought we got rid of it for good. I guess not."

"No," Canada agreed.

"Now it is clear why you won't be visiting me. You are needed over there a little more than here."

"Oui, Papa. Maybe I can come over when this is all sorted out."

"I would like that very much."

Canada heard footsteps outside the storage room. "I've got to go, Papa."

"Go now, but call me when Angleterre is better. We may not get on the same foot most of the time, but I do care about his welfare. Who else would I get to bicker with if he is gone?"

Canada hung up the phone and crawled out of the hiding place. Scotland was right there, in the door way. He looked shocked as Canada stood up. "You continually surprise me," Scotland said, "What were you doing under there?"

"Hiding."

"From?"

"England."

Scotland laughed. "He's not that menacing."

"Easy for you to say," Canada muttered, "He can be quite scary with those eyebrows of his."

"If you knew the things I did to him, you wouldn't find him scary at all. He's only just a wee lad trying to fill shoes that are too big for him. Or he did once."

"And right now he still does," Canada stated warily. "What are you doing here anyway?"

"I'm looking for a spell book I lost a while back. I think it's in here…"

"But why? It hasn't changed in years." Everything looked just as Canada remembered it when he lived in the house, minus the extra layers of dust.

Scotland shrugged, "England throws useless but important things in this room. I'm hoping he found my spell book and just tossed it in here."

Canada looked around the room. There was a bookshelf with a glass door, and a basket filled with books. There were several chests around the room, and then, of course, there was the top part of the wardrobe blocked by the table. "What does it look like?" Canada asked.

"It's old," Scotland said, looking through the basket, "And falling apart. Leather bound. And has a bunch of letters sticking out."

"Letters?"

Scotland smirked. "Curse letters. I used to send them to England during Queen Victoria's reign. Ireland and Wales did too, but I did it the most. It was all in good fun really, but I think he had forgotten at that point we were brothers and kept thinking it was some political scheme."

Canada looked around the room again, but it looked different. It was like someone had changed a lens in his own eyes. Everything was shaded grey, until Canada looked at the wardrobe where he saw a violet light in the shape of a book. "I think it's here."

Scotland turned around and noticed Canada's eyes. "Alright, let's get the table out of the way." After doing so, and opening the wardrobe, there was Scotland's spell book. It was still in one piece. "Thanks, Canada."

Canada blinked and the world returned back to normal. He was shocked over what just happened. He had done that before, in various times in his life, but never was it done on command… at least not since he was a child.

"Alright, there?"

"I think so. I just… I haven't done that in a while."

"You must be good with finding things no one else can. I remember you doing that when you were a kid."

"…why do you need that spell book?" Canada asked wearily.

"Wales asked. He's making that spell book for you and asked to look at what I've got. Not that it will help any, but it would be nice to play around with these curse letters again." Scotland had an evil look in his eyes. "Most of the stuff in here is curses, and I don't think you are the type to be into that sort of thing."

"Only when it's absolutely necessary."

Translation Note: Mais je ne peux pas viens à votre maison. Je suis désolé. - I can't come over to your house. I am sorry. (Roughly.)

That is it for updates this week. Maybe next week I'll actually be on time. Until then, please comment.