==Chapter 4=

Both Korean houses had been heavily damaged during the initial fight between North and South Korea. For now, both houses were under the complete control of South Korea and his allies. But alas, China vowed to return the following day, both England and America knew this to be an inevitable challenge of extraordinary proportion. For now, though, the three allies could rest—something England needed desperately, having been awoken so early in the morning by America's phone call.

Unfortunately, South Korea was the only one to receive bed rest. England was busy developing war plans, under the presumption that they manage to send China retreating in their first fight. America had taken it upon himself to try and fix the plane, which England ultimately established as being impossible. Regardless, out of desperation, England supported America's will to at least try and fix the plane. A plane would offer a good method of withdrawal for the three in the event of a blowout defeat. Considering the things America had come up with in the past centuries, England wasn't completely doubting that he would come up with a complex way of fixing the plane.

Even though North Korea's house was less damaged, England had decided to situate himself in South Korea's house. As the Korean slept, England sat slouched over a wooden desk with nothing more than a candle to light up his work.

A map of Manchuria had been drawn on a sheet of paper, England had already drawn out what they would need to do secure victory over both China and North Korea. If their attack on China's home went as England had planned out, they could very well bring back the country of Manchukuo as an ally.

Manchukuo was a Manchu country who had fought for the Axis under Japan's wing. After World War II, Russia had conquered Manchukuo, but later offered the prisoner to China as a sign of newly founded friendship. Like South Korea, it was unlikely that Manchukuo and Japan would get along, regardless of being allies.

England's eyes were very tired looking, but with what strength he had left over his consciousness, he drew the American flag near southern Manchuria, representing where America would go to fight. He had already drawn the British Jack near the west, but something about drawing in the small stars of the American flag was bothering him.

His right temple pulsated while drawing in so many stars. The stars, obviously, did not need to be perfect; but England was a perfectionist and felt that it was necessary to properly replicate the American flag. The stars was what had the biggest impact on the Englishman, and after drawing the 45th star, he groaned and grasped his forehead.

"Ugh, so many stars..." he closed his eyes and lowered his eyebrows in frustration, "There used to be merely thirteen..."

With slightly opened eyes, he continued to draw in the small stars. He finished the flag within a few seconds, but alas, found himself lost staring at the American flag. His eyes had opened more, though not completely. A sigh was the next sound to come out of him.

"I'm fighting a war, alone, with America..." The Englishman stared at the flag very contently, then, almost against his will, a small smile formed on him, "That really takes me back, to a better time..." His tired eyes closed again as the smile remained, then he exhaled, "Back to the exploration days of the New World..."

:: Mid 18th-Century, North America ::

Several rows of soldiers in red coats marched across a battlefield with muskets and bayonets. Their feet hit the ground in unison as they walked, the sound of drums and flutes playing brought life to the battlefield with the large flag of Great Britain above each army. Accompanying the royal armies were many Native American warriors, led by Iroquois, Catawba, and Cherokee. On the opposing side, many blue clothed soldiers wavering the French flag. France himself—much taller than his men—marched straight for England and his armies. Alongside France was Canada—otherwise, at the time, known as 'New France.' And behind Canada's army, the Wabanaki tribe, led by Wabanaki.

Once the soldiers had met, their muskets popped like bottle caps, and the arrows of native warriors showered France and his men. As the battle raged, France and England had come face to face with their swords drawn. England drew his sabre, while France unsheathed his claymore.

With his typical humored chuckle, France gloated, "You're a fool to come at me, the Americas belong to me."

England grit his teeth and charged into France, then struck down upon his claymore. The two longtime rivals clashed swords in a test of strength. While pushing his blade down, England growled with a heavy glare.

"You're an illegitimate power lacking the capability of colonial expansion! The crown is truly the only one worthy enough to hold the New World!"

France returned a smirk, then proceeded into a duel of swings.

As the natives fought each other, Canada had pulled out his own claymore as he faced his own opponent. With a very nervous expression, Canada raised his sword up with a cute smile—likely only around the age of 13. His rival was of the exact same age and beared similar facial features. But the fired up look in his eyes made up for his young age. This was pre-independent America.

America grasped his sword with two hands and growled at the Canadian, who bowed honorably. Canada slowly began to approach America, "...um, pleased to meet you, sir. I'm Canada. I do hope that after this, we can be friends and never speak of this again..!"

With a loud war cry, America struck Canada. The sword was blocked, but Canada had already demonstrated great fright as all he did was defend himself.

"Oh, um, c- can we be a little more gentle..?" Another strong lunge sent Canada's sword up into the air, "Maple leaf!"

France ran at England with the intention of stabbing him, but was quickly blocked by the thin blade. The Frenchman continued to chuckle at England throughout the fight, "Oh, ho, ho, not such a Big Ben anymore, now are we?"

England continued to block France's attacks without too much of a struggle, but there were absolutely no openings for an attack of his own. As France continued to slash at England's sword constantly, it seemed as though the war had suddenly turned in France's favor. In a matter of seconds, England knew that he could find himself pinned to the ground forced to surrender all of his North American holdings. And with this thought in mind, the reality had come to life, as France had successfully destroyed England's noble blade.

The Englishman gasped in horror as he watched several shards of his sword fly past his face, ultimately leaving him with nothing but the golden hilt of his sword. France, still standing tall with a sword, wiped the sweat off his face and flourished his sword.

"It's time to throw the white flag..."

England grunted while taking careful steps back, but just before he could reach for the white fabric of defeat, the young America had jumped in between the two.

"Let me fight him!"

America had immediately flourished his sword and gotten into a combat stance, his height compared to France's was almost embarrassing. England widened his eyes and dropped his jaw.

"America, no!"

But regardless, the two crossed blades. France chuckled at America whilst shaking negatively, "Wonderful, I as might as well take the Thirteen Colonies while I'm at it!"

And so the two proceeded to duel, but to an immediate surprise, France found himself being fought by someone of incredible speed and strength. Unlike England, America's swings were fast and hard to block due to the immense force. The smug look on France's face had quickly dissolved, already understanding that he would need to put on a much bigger fight then what he was currently presenting.

"E- England taught you well, boy."

America nodded at the compliment, but was unsure if this was truly a compliment, or a sarcastic comment. Either way, France was unable to keep control over his own blade. Had England not lost his sword, an easy defeat would have been enabled. Only about twenty seconds into the fight, France was forced to leap away from America and shout in agony. He had not been stabbed, but the constant sword clashing had finally strained France's muscles, thus causing him to drop his blade in exhaustion. Next he dropped onto his knees while still holding his arm. The tip of America's sword came straight up between France's eyes—but refused to touch him.

The Frenchman grunted and looked up at the young colony. "Y- you- how? How did-"

"You leave my big brother alone! He's my favorite person in the whole world and I won't have you hurting him!" Both France and England gasped at this. America's eyes narrowed, "If you want a rematch, fine, but leave my big brother out of it if he doesn't want to fight!"

France grit his teeth in amazement, then, despite the very humiliating defeat, found himself smiling somewhat pathetically, "My, what a prestigious boy you came to be..." he closed his eyes with a smirk, "It's a shame, that you side with him..."

Accepting defeat, France pushed his sword up to America's feet. The young colony bent over and grasped the French sword with pride, then put it away.

Meanwhile, from the shores of North America, a third party stood watching France's defeat with a telescope. Prussia let out a high pitched chuckle, then rubbed his chin while looking upon a defeated France, of whom he much despised.

"My, my, what an extraordinary child!" Prussia closed his eyes with puckered lips, "It is a shame that I couldn't have claimed him for my own. The Awesome Colonies! It would have been great!"

Later that day, a heavy fog had built up on the battlefield. France and his men had surrendered and handed Canada over to England. Canada was now ready to take part as a member of Great Britain. Standing alone with England, America presented France's sword with both hands and glimmering eyes.

"Here is France's sword. It was a good victory!" America presented excitedly.

England grasped the elegant French blade. The sword wasn't much in style, likely the same kind of claymore any soldier would bear. But it belonged to England's rival, and America knew that this was a possession that he had always hoped to acquire. It wasn't the first time that England beat France, but never at this magnitude.

Looking down at America, who was smiling immensely, England pat his head and closed his eyes. Then, after exhaling, placed the sword back into America's hands.

"I want you to keep it."

America gasped and widened his eyes, "What!?"

"You won the battle, you keep the sword. France's humility should belong to you, not me." America continued to grunt softly, half crushed, and half pleased by the sword rejection. "You saved me today. Had you not come a second later, I would have lost that war and been sent back to Europe for good..."

"But, you've always wanted-"

England placed his finger over his mouth and shushed the young America, "I order you to keep it. And America, now that Canada is becoming your sibling, I expect you to treat him with respect. Don't brag about your victory over him. Bragging is immature, and neither you nor I are immature."

Obediently, America nodded, "Of course..."

:: Korea, Cold War ::

England had now fallen asleep over the desk. The plans were set for China, but England wouldn't be sleeping in a comfortable position. He didn't admit it, nor did he look back on these days very often, but the younger days of America was quite possibly the greatest of days for England. During a time where Great Britain remained truly great, England had someone who cared so much for him, and France couldn't win a single fight.

The Englishman's eyebrows twitched slightly in his sleep, and his happy look had now disappeared, as he fast forwarded to the bad times. Against his will, his dreams had betrayed him and brought him back to arguably the worst time of his life.

:: Late 18th-Century, London ::

England, Scotland, Wales, and Ireland all sat amongst each other at a round table. Their chairs were very qualitative and aristocratic, given that they were the main components of the crown. In regular chairs were Canada, India, Australia, New Zealand, and many other minor British colonies. Canada was now grown up and had become one of England's favorite younger brothers. But unfortunately, it was Canada who was to be the bearer of bad news on this day.

After having heard the news, England remained seated with both his hands covering his eyes. Scotland constantly glanced at England, then back at Wales, trying like everyone else to understand what he may have been feeling.

After a few moments of silence, England sighed very unclearly and waved his hand in the air without removing his other hand.

"...and what does the letter say..?"

Canada lowered his eyelids and raised the letter up, then cleared his throat, "It reads..."

I've had it, man. I'm tired of living under your rule. I want the freedom to make my own friends now, maybe even find a lover. I definitely won't find any of that with you holding me down. And I'm tired of these taxes! A Call of Duty map pack already costs $15, why should I have to pay a whopping extra $10 in taxes!? I'm sick of drinking tea, eating scones, and having you decide my life for me. From this day on, I am independent! If you have any objections to this, you'll just have to come at me. I'm done, and I desire freedom. I am no longer your little brother, I am your friend, or not a friend at all. Sweet, democracy!

Signed, your friend, America.

England turned his head away and swallowed after hearing this. Canada lowered the letter and frowned, "We- we're not going to fight him, are we?"

The very thought of fighting the one he loved was unbearable for England, and with a mighty crash of his fist, he glared at Canada with watery eyes, "How dare he betray me like this! After all I've done for him!"

Many eyes were widened at the sudden uproar. England grit his teeth in full fury, his hair already becoming messed up, as though he were insane.

"I bring him into my home, give him a big brother in a world full of crazy people like Russia and Prussia, and even made routine trips from Europe to America, and this is how he repays me!?"

Scotland's hand raised, "It's just teenage rebellion. A phase. He would never be able to make it in the real world..."

"I know that! Blimey, an independent America would be a terrible thing! There's Mexico, Spain, France, Prussia, Bavaria, Sweden, Denmark-" he growled immensely and stood tall, "I won't allow it! America cannot be independent! I deny it!" he said after striking his fist down once more.

"You're going to fight him?" Ireland asked.

England sat back down and sighed, "I will rely on Scotland, Ireland, and Canada to attend to this matter. Once you have him down to his knees, lock him up in his room until I arrive."

Canada rubbed the back of his head and sighed, "Um, but..." England turned a hostile stare Canada's way, who then gulped and looked England in the eyes, "Sir, France and Spain have pledged their support to America..."

Another period of silence had occurred, this revelation almost made England want to cry. The very irony of the situation. At one point, to have been saved from France by America; just for it all to end with America fighting alongside France.

The Englishman closed his eyes, and after sighing, folded his hands together.

"This isn't common betrayal. This is an ungodly example of treason..."

And so England later awoke, slumped over the desk and confused. The candle sitting beside him had burnt out, but the room was illuminated by morning sunshine. Happy memories had been eaten by a bad dream, but alas, it was over now. The new day had come, though it wasn't to be peaceful.

Very abruptly, England sat up with widened eyes and gasped.

"Bloody Hell! It's already morning!" he panicked.

The Englishman rushed out of the house and took one step onto the ground, next to large contraption was America—who slept soundly against the body of the plane.

"America! Wake up!"

Upon request, America's eyes slowly opened. He picked up his glasses and situated them over his face before looking up at England with a slight smile.

"Sup?"

England continued to run towards him, but came to a stop after gazing upon what America had accomplished with the plane. It was completely redesigned, but, not as England had hoped. A loud surprised grunt sounded out of him. The Korean War had for a time completely slipped his mind, as he gazed upon such a strange piece of work.

"What, in the world, is this?"

America rubbed his tired eyes, then put on his usual look of excitement. Right up to his face, America let out an obnoxious laugh filled to the brim with pride.

"It's a replica of the Millenium Falcon!"

England widened his eyes and scratched the back of his head, "Of..?"

"From Star Wars, dude!"

"Star Wars?" England shook his head and let out another gasp of awe, "Can this thing actually fly?"

"N-nope! But it's still pretty wicked badass!"

Hopelessly, England dropped his arms and sighed, "I feel like I should be disappointed in you. But..." his eyes widened once more, "That, welding, skill..."

"We could call Japan and have him turn it into a working spaceship."

"Now hold on a minute, I thought you were the one who covered sci fi..."

America's eyes slowly lowered while retaining his grin, then after digging his hands into his pockets, the sound of two hands clapping together came from atop the mountains. Both England and America gasped, turned, then grunted. In front of the sun stood the silhouette of China and North Korea—China being the one standing tall.

"America, England! Prepare yourself!"

South Korea had momentarily approached the two, but with a fairly frightened expression.

"C- come on, we can win! We outnumber them!" South Korea cheered on.

America cracked his knuckles and chuckled, "He's right! With me on your side, we outnumber them five to two!"

England rolled his eyes, "I suppose..?"

North Korea let out his high pitched chuckle and snapped his fingers excitedly. China narrowed his eyes and nodded.

America laughed mockingly at China and cupped a hand over his mouth, "Yo, China! I kicked your ass in World War II, I'll do it again!"

England slid up to him with puckered lips, "...that was Japan..." he whispered.

"Well, regardless! I'm gonna make smoked sausage out of you!"

South Korea lowered his eyebrows, "That's a little much..."

"Don't worry, bra. You seem to be forgetting, we currently control both sides of Korea. We have the advantage!"

England nodded, "This is true..."

About two minutes later, the three were taking cover behind America's metal replica. All three appeared overly petrified as hundreds of bullets pelted the body of the replica. China had already reclaimed North Korea's house through the usage of an AK-47 assault rifle.

England let out a shiver, "He's shooting us with an assault rifle! He's bloody serious about this!"

America nodded quickly, "I thought he'd just wanna box me or something! That could kill someone!"

South Korea gulped, "I don't think we're winning this war..."

"No, not at all," answered England.

"What do we do, America!?"

America narrowed his eyebrows and grit his teeth, "He'll run out of ammo eventually! That's when I'll make my heroic move and-"

A bullet slid right over America's head, chipping away a piece of metal and forcing America down into a tremble.

"Holy crap, did you just see that!? He nearly took off my head with that bullet! This is crap! What is this, I don't even!"

England ducked his head as well in fear of getting hit, "Blimey, if I knew China were this crazy, I would have tried harder to keep him on our side after World War II..."

South Korea sat against the ship with a finger over his lip, "I hope they're not messing up my garden..."

England briefly glared at him, then closed his eyes, "Alright, we'll wait until he runs out of ammunition, retreat, then prepare for a comeback."

South Korea peered his head around the corner of the ship. China alone was unleashing Hell with an assault rifle, North Korea was lying back on a lawn chair snoozing with a smirk.

"I don't think North Korea's even partaking in the Korean War at this point..."

England nodded, "Of course, why risk your own skin when you can rely on a bigger ally to do the work for you?"

These words had struck America, causing his eyes to flash open widely. The simple comment had immediately taken America away from the current situation and back to a past situation. Back to the moment where he had intervened against France to keep England from losing so long ago.

This was a particularly random flashback for America to have, though ironic, as England had just been thinking about the same memory before sleeping. With a look of determination, America nodded.

"Then that's something we have over them. Teamwork..."

Meanwhile, at the train station of Moscow, Russia stood alongside Belarus and Ukraine. Both ladies appeared overly nervous having the head of the Soviet household leave for a time. Ukraine's eyes were watery as she held his hand.

"Please don't fight America alone, Russia!" she pleaded.

Russia gave her a cute smile, "I simply want to see what is going on between the Koreas. I have not decided if I want to fight or not..." he hummed with the same smile, then closed his eyes, "I do love playing roughly, though, so-o..."

Ukraine grasped his hand more tightly, "War with America is premature! I have no doubt that you can beat him, but let us fight NATO in the safety of our home, not in Asia!"

The train had arrived, proudly displaying the hammer and sickle of the Soviet Union. Russia rubbed his fingers along Ukraine's, then nodded, "I will do my best to stay safe, thank you for your concern."

Russia took one step onto the train, then grunted. Belarus had fallen to her knees, still holding onto his waist. She had been dragged as he took the one step, but her face beared little emotion—she appeared as strict as ever while looking up at him.

"I am going with you, big brother..."

"I do love my family, b- but, you go everywhere with me..."

Belarus' eyes remained perfectly solid, "You and I are one. If you die, I must die as well..."

Russia gasped and held his hands up, "Um..." he gazed into her little sister's intimidating stare, then finally, broke down and sighed, "Okay, I will not fight. I just want to see what is happening."

There was much hesitation in doing so, but after several more moments, Belarus let go of him and stood up. She wiped the dirt off of her red dress and narrowed her eyes.

"You better come back in one magnificent piece, big brother..."

Russia entered the train for Asia, then waved farewell. The doors closed, and the train began to move. Ukraine stood standing, still waving farewell. And at the last moment, Belarus had a change of mind. She quickly leapt onto the end of the train and held on, but Ukraine immediately pulled her off.

To be continued...