February, 1945

Emily F. Jones, America

Alfred collapsed on the sofa, his face extremely pale. I eyed him warily and sighed. That damn World War really wore him out. I hated seeing my brother like this. It skewed my vision of him. Alfred was the hero, the confident man splashed with a touch of familiar arrogance. He wasn't serious. He wasn't tired. He was undefeatable.

There are instances where I've seen him broken, of course. But those were moments I tended to try and forget. Sadly, everyone else is there to remind us of it all.

Alfred closed his eyes, which were only partly visible due to the stream of light that reflected off of his glasses. I slowly approached him and propped myself at the edge of the couch. He didn't move a muscle.

There were bags present under his eyes and his usual vibrant persona was watered down to a faint and broken hum. The effects of war could be a real bitch.

I would know.

My brother and I both personify America. But he gets all of the glory for it. But I'm not jealous.

Because getting the glory means dealing with all of the awful shit that can really break anyone, human or nation. He's the one who attends the meetings, cooperates with foreign countries, goes to war with foreign countries, and finds himself in the middle of never ending conflict.

I stay within the homeland and act as a representation for the various cultures, promoting the ideals of American nationalism.

However, that doesn't mean that my brother and I don't intertwine.

I fought alongside my brother in the Revolutionary War against Arthur and his sister Alice. I cried just as much as he did when he lost his only fatherly figure, yet I also rejoiced with him when we got our independence. I fought in the War of 1812, though I wasn't very mature militarily compared to Alfred, for I had led the failed invasions into Canada. At least Matthew forgave me for that.

And there was that time where I actually turned against my brother. Something I will never do again.

I don't know why I decided to be so rash to secede from the union and create the confederacy in the nineteenth century. That whole damn century was just a bitter feud between me and Alfred. That was the ONE time where I truly took control of what I had and fought. And God, did I fight.

And it was the most painful thing in the world.

Mentally and physically.

I never knew that I could be wounded so much. I never knew that I could cause so much bloodshed.

I've experienced war. I always experience war.

But that was the only time where I was the one who catalyzed it and fully engaged myself in it.

And I never want to do it again.

Alfred's eyes fluttered open and they fell on me. He gave me a weak smile and I gave him one in return. The smile told me that this part of the chapter was over. Germany was as good as defeated. It's only a matter of time before they surrender.

Yet, I knew that it was far from over.

There will be reconstruction to undergo. Treaties to make. Conditions to set.

I remembered the reconstruction period after my brother defeated me back in the nineteenth century. It was a bitch.

"Hey sis," he greeted.

I gave a small laugh before sighing. "You look like shit, Al."

"I never look like shit. Heroes always look epic," he snapped feebly.

I just shook my head. "Don't even try, dude. You look like shit."

Alfred just breathed in and his eye fluttered shut again. His cheeks puffed as he breathed out dramatically and said, "It's almost over."

His voice was faint. I reached out a hand and removed a few strands of his hair from his face. I sniggered slightly at his oh-so-innocent face, but it died quickly. Alfred responded by repeating his words.

"It's almost over."

His use of emphasis frightened me a bit. It made me realize how ignorant I was about all that was going on.

I didn't know what was going on out there. I only know what's going on here.

The war isn't here. It's not fought on American soil.

Here I am, skipping around the nation promoting patriotism and funding the allied forces, waiting for the latest report on the war from the radio or from my brother. I'm safe here. Always worried and anxious, yes. But safe.

And here is my brother, coming home from time to time with a new wound, a new scar, tears of frustration, and exhaustion. Now, it's almost over.

It's only a matter of time before Ludwig will fall on his ass. Feliciano is already a hopeless wreck. Kiku is still revolting, but he will pay for what he did at Pearl Harbor.

"Is it really bad out there?" I asked softly, cringing at the sound of my fear-stricken voice.

The shadows under Alfred's eyes seemed to deepen as he opened them to stare up at me through his glasses. His mouth was set in a permanent frown and he looked so much older than he really was. He looked as though he had must come back from single-handedly taking on a country as large as Russia.

"Emmy," he began, using my pet name. I was shocked at his use of it. He had stopped calling me Emmy after I seceded from the union and became the confederacy. Even when I came back, he never called me Emmy.

"You mean so much to me, you know that?" he said with a soft smile. I was taken aback by his behavior. I have never seen Alfred act like this before…so soft, delicate, and affectionate. No, my twin brother is boisterous and loud and annoying as fucking hell.

Nevertheless, I gave a small smile back and responded, "I know. You mean a lot to me to, bro."

He was silent for a moment. Then, without warning, he sat up, his formerly calm face morphed with distress.

He let out a pained groan as he buried his face in his hands, his hair flopping lamely over his forehead.

"I can't do this," he moaned, his voice muffled.

I just stared at him, unsure of what to say.

"It's not supposed to be like this," he continued to vent. "I'm not supposed to back down. I'm supposed to be the hero and save the world. But I'm just so tired."

I hesitantly reached out a hand and placed it on his shoulder. He stiffened under my touch.

"I-I don't even know, Emmy. Maybe I bit off more than I can chew. I was just so pissed when Kiku bombed Pearl Harbor. It was all just happening so fast! Before I knew it, Ludwig declared war against me. I had no choice, did I? It was all just so fucking fast."

I didn't know what to say. It was one of those moments. Those rare moments where he doubted himself and beat himself up. And every single time, I failed at comforting him. I'm just not good with this shit.

I've got to try, don't I?

"But you're winning, aren't you? It's getting better," I clarified gently, cautiously rubbing his back.

He shook his head. "It doesn't matter. I just feel like I'm breaking. Everyone else seems to know what they're doing…even fucking Francis. They've all been around for a long time so they're used to this shit. They used to all fight each other all the time. I-I'm new to this. I don't deal well with foreign affairs. Especially a fucking world war."

His tone was laced with bitterness.

What the hell was I supposed to do?

"Maybe I'm not a hero," he said in a dead voice.

That's what snapped me. I glared at my brother and smacked him on the head. He grunted slightly and he looked at me with an incredulous look on his face.

"What the hell, Emily?" he snapped.

"Don't say that," I growled.

"What?"

"Stop acting like a fucking sissy. You are a hero, Al. Just because you feel like you're going to fall on your ass doesn't mean you're not worthy. We may be younger than the others and we may not be as experienced in this sort of shit, but the fact that you stepped up just proves that you are a hero," I ranted. I hated it when my brother beat himself up. I abhor it when the two of us are seen as inferior. Just because we're fucking younger than everyone else doesn't mean we can't be taken seriously.

Alfred stared at me for a few more seconds before his shoulders sunk and he gave a large sigh. He closed his eyes again and rested his forehead against his palm.

"I need to rest."

"Then rest."

"No. You don't get it. I need to just…stay here. Stay in my country and just catch up with what's going on here. Keep a low profile and…rejuvenate," he said in a breathy voice.

My eyes widened, but I didn't protest. Instead I said, "Well, hero or not, we all need to rest. The war's almost over, Alfred. Once Germany surrenders, you can just come home and relax."

"I can't just do that, Emmy. I-I'm America. I can't just bail like that." His voice was so defeated and raw that it tore my heart in two. I could see that right now, Alfred was more human than sovereign nation. I could see that he was about to snap in two and that what he really needed was rejuvenation. He needed…dare I say it? A vacation.

So I made up my mind.

Boy, am I batshit crazy for suggesting this.

I don't even think I have enough military experience for this. Sure, I was pretty badass during the civil war, but did I win? No.

"Bro, stop flattering yourself. You're America? Than who am I? I'm America as well and there is no rule against your counterpart taking over for a while," I stated.

Alfred looked up at me with a dumbfounded expression on his face.

"What the hell are you saying?"

I huffed a bit and responded, "We'll switch places. I'll act as the sole personification of our country and I'll carry out the rest of the war. You stay here and just relax for as long as you need. You deserve it. Plus, I think it's time that I learned how to do this sort of shit."

Alfred just continued to stare at me, a steely expression on his face. His shoulders were tensed and he looked like he was holding his breath. The air seemed to grow thick with tension and his glasses reflected the faint stream of sunlight dangerously.

Finally, he let out a breath and shook his head slowly. "I don't feel comfortable with that, Emmy. I don't like the idea of you dealing directly with the war and all the nations. Even the allies are a bit sketchy…especially that Ivan…"

I glared at my brother with all of the antipathy that I could muster. I spat at him through gritted teeth, "I am your damn counterpart. I am just as worthy as you are to run the country, even if I have to do it in a way that I'm not used to. I know enough to strategize and finish up the war. I can deal with reconstruction because I've been directly involved in that shit before. You remember how I almost beat your ass during the civil war, dude. The only reason you won was because you got lucky and managed to snag people like Grant and Sherman."

Alfred's face fell and he looked down at his hands. He hated talking about the Civil War even more than I did, which is ironic since he won. I think it's the prospect that I actually turned against him. I don't think he's ever fully healed from it.

I also don't think he can ever trust me fully again.

I sighed and ran my hand through my hair. "Alfred, just break it off. Just let me take things from here. I think it would be good for you to just stay in the country for a while. Please."

I pulled my best doe-eyed expression. Eventually, his resolve shrank and he nodded mutely.

"Fine. From this day on, you, Emily F. Jones, will be the sole personification of the United States…that is…until I'm ready to come back."

I smiled at him.

"There is so much I can advise you to do, but knowing you, you would just blow it off. But please take this advice, sis," he inquired.

Then his face became dark as he said, "Do not trust anyone. Not even the allies. Not even Arthur. Know that everyone is really there for self-gain. That's all it is. You're going to have to be a bit selfish, Emmy. Do what you think will benefit you. No half-assed compromises."

I bit my bottom lip and gave a quick nod.

Holy hell, I did not know what I had just gotten myself into.