America's Superweapon

by Kaiser Wilhelm

It's the end of WWII, and now the world recovers. But things are not all as they seem. When England sees America leave with Russia from the U.N. meeting, he knows something is desperately wrong. Just how is America coping with the guilt of unleashing the most powerful, devastating weapon on a country he once called friend?

2. Part II

*And now, part II! I decided that I'm going make this a threesome…did I say threesome? I meant threeshot! Anyway, I got a little stuck, and I figured I'd give you guys what I have so far, and see where it goes from there, k? So, there was a lot of Ameriangst in that last chapter…and there will probably be more in this one, but it's okay because England's there! Right?...Right?...Yeah, I'll go in the corner and think about what I've done. No, Mom, you're right; I need a time-out. So…funny story, it turns out that I didn't get all the facts straight (surprise, surprise). America, Russia, France, China, Canada, Britain, and a couple other countries that I mentioned in passing were all founding members of the U.N., but as it turns out, Italy, Germany, Austria, Hungary, and Japan were not. Germany didn't actually join until 1977! While the rest joined in 1955. So, even with all my research, I still ended up being inaccurate (sigh). If anyone actually cares, I'm happy to go back and make it more accurate; if not, I'll just go ahead and leave it. On another note, I'd like to thank my lovely reviewers Anna Whitlinger, AnimeGirl 144, America96, and Mofalle. You guys are the neon pink, glow-in-the-dark icing on the American cake! Yeah! High fives all around!

Mofalle, you reviewed as a guest, so I'm going to reply to your review here. Anyone who's not Mofalle does not need to read this. :) Anyway, thanks so much for the review first of all! Not gonna lie, when you referred to Russia as having a "silver tongue," I literally shouted "YAAAAAAAAAY!" Yes, exactly like France in episode 10. I'm very glad that you wanted to become one with Russia, because everyone should want to become one with Russia XD Ah yes, the use of smell…that was…yeah I'm just a weirdo. Also, I spent way too much time figuring out what Russia/England would smell like. It was like, "Uhh, England would smell like tea…fuck. That's all I've got." All right! That's about it. I'm happy you're enjoying the history aspect of it, because literally that's all I've got going for me at this point. Thanks again for the review, my friend!

Okay, now that that's over with, onto part II!

America's Super-Weapon Part II:

England walked out from the hotel bathroom, exhausted and his eye still aching terribly, but now at least he was freshly showered. He sighed, rolling his stiff shoulders. He had to borrow a pair of that French bastard's pajamas, but now wasn't the time to complain. Leaning against the doorframe, he gazed at the bed. Alfred was just where he left him, on the king-sized bed staring blankly up at the ceiling.

Arthur massaged his temples. As soon as he had calmed America down back in Russia's room, the latter just stopped. Stopped crying, stopped talking, stopped feeling. He was on autopilot now.

England sighed again, walking over to his companion. He sat on the edge of the bed, but the dip in the mattress from his weight didn't even seem to faze Alfred. He just continued to stare up at the ceiling. Arthur turned towards his charge, lightly shaking his shoulder. "Alfred, if you don't drink some water, you'll have a terrible hangover, love." As expected, there was no response. Honestly, there was no talking to Alfred when he was like this. It was rare, but Alfred tended to shut down after a major shock. Hopefully, this wouldn't last as long as the last time he was like this.

England absentmindedly stroked Alfred's hair as he recalled what Americans called Reconstruction. That year, 1865, Alfred had been forced to kill his own brother "Sam," better known as the Confederacy. (1) Then England himself had sided with the Confederacy (only for the cotton though), which made Alfred feel isolated. And as if that wasn't shock enough, one of America's favorite presidents and dear, dear friend, Abraham Lincoln, was assassinated. It was too much for him, and he just stopped. Alfred was like this, blank, unmoving, stagnant, for twelve years. And they wonder why Reconstruction went so poorly.

Come to think about it, the situation was quite similar. Alfred had just come out of a long, horrible war, which cost millions upon millions of lives. He had lost another president, another dear, dear friend, and now, he had done something unthinkable in his own mind.

The situations were similar…far too similar. Arthur's eyes widened. He shook Alfred hard. "No," he shouted at the limp, unblinking form. "No! You are not leaving for another twelve bloody years! No! We need you too much! Come on, Alfred. Come on, pet. It's me. I know I wasn't there for you when this happened last time, but I'm here now. Talk to me." Alfred didn't respond, not even when Arthur slapped him. Now, England was scared. "Damn it," he hissed, hauling America out of bed by the shirt collar. He half-dragged, half-carried the younger country to the bathroom, where he yanked him into the bathtub and turned the shower on its coldest setting.

Alfred gasped as he was doused in frigid water. He looked around frantically, unsure of where he was. He turned to England, but before he could even ask, Arthur was hugging him so tightly, as if he was positive the American would return to his coma-like state if he let go.

America blinked his bright blue eyes a few times. "E-England, what—?"

"Never do that to me again," the aforementioned interrupted sternly. When Alfred still looked confused, Arthur sighed and continued, "April. 1865." Alfred mulled the month and year over for a few more seconds, when finally England's true meaning came to him.

"Uh-oh. I blacked out again, didn't I?" America tried to smile. "Sorry, Iggy. Well, at least, Truman would've taken care of things better than Johnson and Grant, right?" (2) England growled.

"Don't joke like that. This is serious. You can't black out on us again. As much as I hate to admit it, I don't have the resources anymore to fight off Russia if something happened to you. Neither does Frog-face and neither does China, Japan, or Germany. You're the only thing keeping the world free from Ivan's tyranny." At this, America looked up at England, eyes wide. Frankly, he looked terrified. Arthur could have hit himself.

"Way to go, England," he thought, "put even more pressure on the lad." With another sigh, England turned off the shower. "Come on, let's get out of these wet clothes."

Later, when both nations were dry, the two sat silently on France's rather large bed. Alfred was staring out into the distance, but he was blinking this time, so Arthur was certain that he was awake. They were both stiff, neither quite sure what to say.

"How's your eye?" America asked finally. England smiled gently.

"Sting's a bit, but it's nothing a great empire like me can't handle, so don't you fret." He winked, gently tousling America's messy hair. This seemed to brighten Alfred's spirits a bit. England kept his hand on America's back, as the latter took in their surroundings.

"So…where are we anyway?"

"France's room," England explained, trying to sound nonchalant. "It was closer than mine or yours." Alfred nodded absentmindedly.

"Then where'll he stay?"

The older nation shrugged. "He said something about staying with your brother…" At this, America sighed.

"Canada's not going to like that." England's smile grew.

"Oh, and since when do you care about anything he has to say?" Alfred looked shocked that anyone would even ask him that.

"I care about Mattie!" he assured emphatically. "I just…also really like to tease him. He's really fun to tease…but don't you get any ideas! I'm the only one who gets to do that." America nodded firmly, as if his word was law. Arthur had always loved this side of Alfred the most.

But soon enough, their moment together passed, and they returned to stillness.

After a few more minutes of uncomfortable silence, Arthur noticed that America had yet to put his glasses back on. God, he looked just like that day all those years ago when he had first declared independence. England turned away. It was hard to look at Alfred like this without thinking of those horrible years when they were at war with each other. Plus, he was certain that America was nearly blind without his glasses. He sighed before beginning awkwardly, "You can't possibly see anything like this. Do you want Texas back?" Alfred mutely shook his head. Arthur just nodded, leaning back against the headboard. This was getting them nowhere.

Or so he thought. Then, without warning, Alfred laid his head on Arthur's lap, something the younger nation hadn't done in a century and a half. England couldn't contain his shock at the gesture. America was showing so much trust in him. He really did care, didn't he? With the way they went at each other lately, it was hard to remember how much he truly cared for America. He had realized soon after 1812 that he would always love Alfred, even if they had their rough patches, and it would seem that his little brother shared the sentiment. Arthur gave a dry chuckle and lovingly smoothed down a lock of stray hair. He couldn't help but smile when it sprung right back. He then contented himself with stroking Alfred's hair a bit.

America was being far too complacent for Britain's tastes. He frowned. It was time to get to the bottom of this. "Talk to me, love. What's troubling you?" Alfred just shook his head again. Arthur's hand never left his brother's hair as he decided to try a different tactic. "Was it something that damned Russia said to you?" This time, much to England's displeasure, Alfred sniffled, holding back tears again. Damn, the last thing he had wanted to do was make Alfred cry again.

"I hate him," the younger man whimpered. "I hate him so much…"

Arthur frowned. "Looks like the socialists and Russian immigrants in America are in for it again tonight," he mused. After all, a country's relationship with its people and land is a two-way street, and as much as Alfred's people affected him, he affected his people. With Alfred so angry at Russia…the people were bound to reflect that, perhaps even to the point of rioting or, God forbid, lynching.

"Try not to think about it, pet," he consoled. "Forget I said anything." America said nothing in return. England wished he could see the look on the other's face, but Alfred was turned away from him. He was tense, that much the Brit was sure of.

"…He comforted me," America began suddenly. Arthur was not expecting his companion to speak, but he wasn't about to turn away an opportunity to find out what happened between America and Russia. "He was so…nice." Alfred shifted so that he was looking up at England. "He offered me a drink…and another…before I knew it I was totally drunk…"

"You still are, love," England reminded him. America nodded, snuggling into England's lap.

"Then, he started massaging my shoulders and asked me to tell him everything…" America swallowed dryly, starting to feel ill again. "And I did. I told him about the war and…Japan…and Germany and Italy…and he listened and hugged me and comforted me…but he lied. It was a trick the whole time…" America sniffled again, his breath hitching. England brushed his hand over the younger nation's forehead, gazing down at him empathetically.

"Oh, Alfred…" A few stray tears rolled down Alfred's cheeks. Arthur lovingly brushed them away but to no end; only more tears replaced them. Then, America gave a cold chuckle, almost like the way he laughed back in Russia's room. The mere thought of this made Arthur shiver. He kissed Alfred's forehead for the first time in many years, hoping to calm the other, to show him that there was still love in the world, still warmth. Alfred didn't seem to care.

"You know," he continued in that icy tone, "he almost got me to join him too." At this, England's eyes widened.

"What?" he asked, voice flat, dangerous. For that, Russia just made his kill list. America paid this no mind.

"He…He told me if I joined him, he'd take care of everything." The cold humor then became despair, and Alfred began to sob. Somehow, he seemed like a child again. A small, innocent child. Britain's beloved colony. "He said I wouldn't have to make anymore hard decisions, and…and I could sleep. I could finally sleep. I-I-I haven't been able to relax, really relax, since the Twenties, Iggy." That was it for England. America was too sad, too desperate, too childlike, to leave alone. He pulled America into his arms and held him tightly, rocking him. The latter began crying quietly into his shoulder. England rested his head on America's, gently nuzzling his soft blond hair.

"Shhhh. Oh, my poor America. My poor, sweet America." England let out a deep sigh. "I can't take care of everything, love. You know I can't make everything go away, but I'm here. I'm right here, and I'll do anything in my power to help." America shivered, curling up in England's lap like he used to as a child. It was a little awkward since America was now larger than his British counterpart, but neither party seemed to mind. England began to hum an old song he used to use as a lullaby for the younger country.This seemed to do the trick as the tension in America's body began to just melt away. "There we are," Arthur murmured as he pressed another kiss to Alfred's head. He was reminded of the old days when America was just a lad, scarcely large enough to really be a colony. He had held the country like this then too. Alfred's eyes were closed and his breathing deep and even. "Oh?" he began fondly, "are you asleep?"

Bright blue eyes slid open, but just barely. America shook his head before resting his head on England's chest again. The latter smiled. "Don't push yourself now; you need some rest."

They just sat there like that for a long time. Every time America would mumble something, England would shush him, telling him to forget about it for now. "Shhh, you'll feel better in the morning, sweet," he assured. "You're drunk and sad now, but in the morning, things will be clearer. We'll talk then. All right, love?" America nodded dazedly, before finally resting his head on England's shoulder. Alfred called his name softly, closing his eyes. He nodded off. Britain couldn't help but give a doting smile. He stroked the sleeping America's cheek gently. "That's the ticket. Sleep it off, love. Everything will be better in the morning…"

Arthur wasn't entirely sure of when he fell asleep, but when he awoke, it was still dark out. He was lying down on the bed rather uncomfortably. He tried to sit up, but found that something was gripping onto his waist quite stubbornly. However, once he got a good look at his "restraints," he couldn't help but smile. Alfred had his arms wrapped around Arthur's waist, clutching onto him like a lifeline. Asleep and mumbling nonsense, the American dragged Arthur closer and nuzzled into his chest. The so-called captive just shook his head. "Really, Alfred, it was cute when you were little, but now it's just painful. I'm going to have the worst kink in my back tomorrow." He tried to pull away again, but America would have none of it. He tightened his grip on the older country, curling closer.

"Mn…England…" The addressed blinked, looking down at his charge. Alfred's sky blue eyes were half-open and dazed. He gazed up at England sleepily, eyes pleading. It was clear that America didn't know where they were or even what year it was. All he knew was that he wanted England to stay.

Arthur sighed. Though he would never admit it to anyone, he simply couldn't say no to that face. Damn Finland. If he had never colonized America, then the young country never would have inherited Finland's innocent visage, and England wouldn't be in this position right now.

America's eyelids began to droop, but he clearly refused to let himself sleep until he was sure England would stay. "Fine." The Brit resigned himself to America's will. He shifted so that he was lying against the headboard, propped up by their pillows, and tugged America upwards. Alfred now lay on Arthur's shoulder with the latter's arm supporting his frame. He clutched at Arthur's shirt like he used to as a toddler. "Great," the older nation muttered sarcastically, as he absentmindedly stroked his hand through America's soft golden locks, "now all you have to do is drool on me, and it'll be just like the good old days." America didn't seem to have the energy to speak, but he let out a contented sigh as he drifted off.

Yet another thing that England would admit to no one. Ever. America's soft, sweet smile made everything worth it.

However, not an hour later when America shot out of bed, barely making it to the toilet to empty the contents of his stomach, England knew it was going to be a long day. Wincing at the sound of harsh retching noises, the older country grabbed a pillow, a blanket, and a glass to fill with water before heading into the bathroom after his ex-colony.

He knelt down beside the larger man, gently rubbing his back. "I warned you about that hangover," he chided. Alfred vomited and dry heaved a few more times before finally flushing the waste and collapsing against the sink. England set up the pillow and blanket, creating a somewhat inviting, makeshift bed by the toilet. America didn't so much as glance at it, choosing instead to rest his weary head on England's shoulder. The latter stared at him exasperatedly. "Fine. Be that way." Arthur decided just to leave Alfred to his clinginess and wrapped the blanket around the both of them. "At least drink some water, all right?" He held the glass up to America's lips. The young country managed a few sips before he began to get dizzy and slumped back onto England's shoulder. America was so limp that England had to secure an arm around the other's waist just to keep him upright.

"Oh, you are one lucky sod, do you know that?" England commented as he dropped a kiss to Alfred's hair. "You better damn well take good care of me next time something like this happens." America made a few noises in the back of his throat, which England chose to take as an agreement to his demands. "I'll hold you to that," he teased. A few minutes passed in silence before Arthur realized that America was still awake. "What are you doing, pet? Go back to sleep." America just looked at him with those huge, innocent, blue eyes of his. Eyes that made England just melt because they were too damned cute. But right now, those eyes were wide, scared, and tearful, and England could have sworn it was two hundred years ago and he was staring right into the face of his sweet little colony, British America.

England's prairie green eyes softened. He only knew of a few things that could make America act like this. He lightly brushed the hair out of America's face. "What is it, poppet?" he asked calmly, gently. And though he didn't realize it, England's eyes showed nothing but love and affection, something Alfred had not seen in a long time.

It was this and nothing else that finally prompted the younger country to whisper, "I'm scared…"

Britain frowned. For his charge to admit that…it was almost unthinkable. He lightly tousled America's hair as he murmured, "Of what, love?" Alfred said nothing but gripped tightly onto Arthur's shirt. "America…if you don't talk about it, then—" This time the aforementioned nation shook his head. Arthur sighed, crestfallen. He couldn't make America talk…but if he didn't…

He was startled out of his thoughts as America gave a jolt, eyes wide, and crawled back over to the toilet where he promptly vomited. England watched on feeling helpless as America wretched violently. If England didn't know any better, he would say that America was getting worse. It had to be psychological.

After throwing up what seemed to be everything he had ever eaten, Alfred collapsed, resting his head on the toilet seat. He seemed to be too weak to move as he panted for breath, pale and sweaty and shaking. Arthur knew it was time to step in. He made his way over to toilet, flushing it while grimacing at the contents. He then turned to Alfred who was gazing at him blearily. The poor thing seemed to be in a stupor. It was hard to say if he even recognized England anymore. And as soon as he got close enough to touch Alfred, the latter crumpled, falling into Arthur's lap as limp as a ragdoll.

Arthur stiffened. He hadn't expected this. "…Al?" he called nervously. He let out a huge sigh of relief when Alfred moaned softly in return. Arthur managed a shaky smile, "Don't scare me like that." Cradling Alfred in his arms, he gazed down at his younger brother, who was looking quite worse for wear. England gave a small grin, "You look like shit, love." America returned the smile exhaustedly.

"I feel like shit…" he rasped, throat raw from the vomiting. England kissed his forehead, hoping to offer even a little more comfort.

"What can I do for you then?" Alfred snuggled closer, beginning to fall back asleep.

"Can we just…stay like this…just for a little longer?"

"As long as you need." England held America close, recalling all those years ago when he first cuddled that little bundle of warmth to his chest. How he had loved his little colony. How he still did. He gazed at the nation in his arms. He had always loved coddling America like this. He loved making the younger nation feel safe, but still, now was a time of turmoil. America needed to be strong. Needed to be a leader. The same way England himself had been needed when Napoleon threatened the balance of power in Europe over a century ago. But England wasn't the empire he once was. He couldn't protect America anymore, no matter how much he wished he could. His job as America's guardian was over, had been over since the Revolution. Now his job was to get America back on his feet so that he could be the superpower the world needed him to be.

But how was he supposed to do that? Alfred wouldn't talk to him. He was getting worse and worse, holding it all inside. He was scared and worrying himself sick and just couldn't cope on his own anymore. What was England supposed to do for him?

"Artie…?"

England started, not expecting America to talk at all, let alone call him by that nickname of his. He frowned incredulously. "What is it, Alfred?"

He met America's eyes. Those blue orbs were simply distraught as he asked, barely audible, "Do you…do you think Kiku hates me?" Whatever England expected, it wasn't that.

"I-is that what you're scared of? You're worried that Japan hates you?" America nodded, eyes tearful. He buried his face in the other's shoulder.

"Well?" he mumbled, "Do you?"

Arthur grimaced. How was he supposed to answer a question like that? It was impossible to tell what Japan was thinking, and even if he could, he wasn't entirely sure Alfred should know the answer. But he couldn't just say he didn't know. Alfred needed something concrete right now. Something he could hold onto.

England thought about it. What if it had been him? What if it had been Manchester and Leeds that had gotten wiped off the map? It was impossible to know, and frankly, England never wanted to find out.

"I'm not going to lie to you, Alfred," he began rather grimly. "What happened between you two…isn't something easily mended." He gave a dry chuckle. "I mean just look at me and France. We've been at odds since the Norman invasion." Alfred gave a soft whimper, which wrenched England's heart out. He pulled America closer. "Oh, poppet…"

"I don't want it to be like that between us," America sniffled. "I want to be Japan's friend again. Like we were at the turn of the century." England blinked. He never realized that Alfred saw Kiku as a friend before. The Pacific front of the war must have been terribly hard on him.

"Well, maybe you should tell him that," England suggested. Alfred looked up, clearly confused. He began rubbing the younger country's back again. "Kiku is…probably very hurt right now, and I'm sure he's very angry. But, he also knew he was at war with you. He knew the stakes. I suppose you could have warned him a bit more adamantly, but, Alfred, it's been incredibly clear to all of us that not even you knew the true power behind the bomb." America nodded frantically, eyes desperate. "I think Kiku is angry, sad, and maybe even a little frightened, but I don't think he hates you. At least, not yet."

"But what should I do, Iggy?"

England suspired, leaning back against the wall. Again, it was a hard question. He idly stroked America's hair as he searched himself for an answer. "I think you should go visit him," he said finally. America looked into England's eyes inquisitively. England couldn't help but smile. "Talk to him. Let him know how sorry you are and promise you'll never do such a thing ever again. Tell him everything you've told me, that you didn't know what the bomb was capable of, that if you had, you never would've used it, especially on a civilian population. Promise to help him rebuild like you have with me and France and the rest of Europe. And most of all, tell him you hated having to fight him, that you're sorry this war happened, and you just want to be his friend again. Does that make sense, America?" (3)

Alfred nodded against Arthur's shoulder, wiping his eyes. "Yeah," he murmured, "Yeah, it does." America sagged against Britain. If it weren't for the occasional sniffle, England would have been certain his companion had fallen back asleep.

Then, America whispered something that made his heart stop.

"You should have the bomb. You'd know what to do with it."

"A…Alfred…what are you saying…?" England was breathless. His mouth went dry. Did America really just say that? Present England with such power? Was he serious? Was America really offering him the bomb? This was it. A chance to revive the crumbling British Empire! He could really do it. Rebuild his country and then some.

But then, Arthur looked into Alfred's miserable eyes and felt mortified. He couldn't be more ashamed of himself. To even consider such a thing after what he'd seen here today? He cupped his little brother's cheek.

"Alfred," he began seriously, "I know you'd give anything to be rid of this…responsibility, but it's too late for this. You're scientists created it, and if anyone should have it, it should be you." Alfred looked ready to argue, but Arthur cut him off. "I can't think of anyone in the world I'd rather trust the bomb with." As England thought about it, he realized just how true this statement was. If anyone else had created this "weapon of mass destruction," England would be a lot more worried than he was now. In fact, he couldn't be less concerned about what America would do with the bomb. He knew America. He raised America. For one, he knew that Alfred would do everything he could to keep the weapon out of Russia's hands. And more than that, he knew that the younger country would exhaust every option before ever even considering using the bomb again.

He trusted America with this. With the fate of the world, and this is what truly surprised Arthur.

Some of the tension in Alfred's body seemed to melt away. After all, if England trusted him to be resilient and resist the corrupting power of the atomic bomb, couldn't he trust himself just a little bit? He let out a sigh, closing his eyes and nuzzling Arthur's collar.

"It's times like this I wonder why I ever left you…"

At this, England had to laugh. "You must still have some liquor in you." He sighed, "Besides, I may not like it, but rebelling against me was probably the best thing you ever did for yourself." It may have crushed me, he thought, but it was a new beginning for you. Alfred looked up at Arthur sadly. In the back of his mind, he knew Arthur was right, but now, in this moment, all he could think was that he would gladly rejoin the British Empire if it meant Arthur would take care of him like this more often.

"Don't give me that look," England chided. "The only reason you're thinking like this is because of what awful things Russia said to you." Arthur managed a melancholy smile. "Don't you remember what dreadful gits we both were in the 1770s? You were so unhappy, and we said some terrible things to each other."

England grimaced as he remembered the worst thing he had ever said to Alfred in all the years he had known the lad.

"You little shit. Do you think your so high and mighty just because you've grown a bit? Do you think you have what it takes to be on your own? You're mistaken, Alfred. You have no rights. You're no 'adult.' I've given you everything and all you do now is complain! You don't deserve me! You're nothingwithout me! And you have the gallto talk back to me? You're worthless! Never talk back to me again! Never leave this house again! I ought to sew your mouth shut and break your legs—and oh yes I can, Alfred. I can do anything I want to you. I OWN YOU!" (4)

England shuddered at the memory. Dreadful git indeed. He remembered the look on Alfred's face as soon as he had finished his tirade. England shook his head. He never wanted to see that expression on his little one's face ever again. In that moment, Arthur had come back to himself, realizing what a terrible thing he had just shouted, and tried to apologize, but it had been too late. America ran out of their house, furious, horrified, and desperate, headed for the Sons of Liberty, and never came back.

Britain still blamed America for the Revolution, but deep down, he knew, he was just as much at fault.

Arthur snapped himself out of his depressing thoughts. "Sorry, Alfred, I was lost for a moment there." The only response was soft, almost inaudible snores. America was sleeping peacefully. Finally.

He older nation sighed, shaking his head fondly. He wrapped the blanket tightly around his companion and settled down. It would seem he was stuck as Alfred's pillow for a while yet.

*That's all I have for now. If you have ideas for things you think should happen, I can' t guarantee I'll use them, but I'll definitely listen. Thanks guys!

Have some footnotes:

1) My personally interpretation of the Hetalia America Civil War is that Alfred split into two: himself and his younger brother, The Confederacy. The name is Samuel Liberty Jones, who is inspired by The Confederacy in Tsuyosa-10's fics. Check her out on deviantart. She's got some great fics!

2) Reconstruction was a complete debacle. The Reconstruction presidents, Andrew Johnson and Ulysses S. Grant, are considered to be two of the worst presidents in U.S. history. In fact, Andrew Johnson is one of the only two presidents to get impeached. The other being Bill Clinton. Johnson and Grant literally got nothing done and allowed Congress to gain WAY too much power.

3) I don't mean to make light of the American occupation of Japan in ANY way, but the American perspective of the time was that we were "helping" Japan. Just how true that statement is, is very much up for debate to say the least.

4) This speech is based on a fic on deviantart by 4thefunofit called "The Boston Massacre."

Hope everyone enjoyed and see you next time!