Hola mis amigos. As of now I'm on the edge of stopping this story. For a variety of reasons, one of the top being my strong dislike of my writing. We'll see.

France didn't seem to be willing to move from his spot, and Canada was just standing there. A shout from Prussia made America realize he was gawking at his brother in the middle of a rather gruesome skirmish. He dropped to the ground and rolled as a bayonet jabbed at the air where his back had just been. The jerking motion pulled on the wound that he couldn't remember getting.

At least he wasn't frozen with shock anymore. He grabbed a rifle from a lifeless soldier and made his way towards Canada. Prussia had taken charge and was keeping them from being completely wiped out, by some miracle.

Though it was obvious they were trying to make a hasty retreat and get out of the trap that they'd walked right into.

France didn't get more than a step in before a blur of red slammed into him. In fact everything looked sort of blurry to America at the moment. Canada had seemingly snapped out of his distant gaze when France had been shoved aside. He seemed detached from the world as he went right back to fighting the American soldiers.

Alfred was no more than a few feet away from him, rifle held limply at his side.

"Mattie." He had been planning on shouting out his name; instead it came out in a hiss under his breath. To be honest he wouldn't be surprised if the northern twin hadn't heard him.

Proving him wrong Canada turned around after having sent a man to the ground with a swift hit from the stock end of his musket.

Neither said anything. Canada had the decency to look ashamed, or maybe embarrassed-Or just awkward about being there.

"Al-America." The nausea hit him in the stomach again. It probably would've been worse if he had to hear Canada say his name in that tone of voice rather than just his title. Regardless of how he felt and how much he wanted to wring England by the neck for dragging Canada into this…He had a war to win.

His eyes narrowed. "The hell are you doing Mattie?" Alfred could see the reaction on Canada's face when he used his nickname. The slight twitch was a give away, and his brother had always been terrible at card games.

Canada hesitated and then he was actually glaring at America. "W-What am I doing? You're the one that's left, twice now." There was a tremor in his voice, but he didn't stop, not even when Alfred stepped closer to him. "Do you even know what you're doing to him? How much he's-You're being spoiled." His last statement was whispered, or at least softer than his already soft voice was.

What he was doing to the almighty British Empire? Alfred almost laughed but only rolled his eyes.

"I'm being my own person, more than I can say for you." Okay maybe that was a little harsh, but he wasn't going to take his words back now. America stubbornly looked off to the side, waiting for the moment when Canada would back down and apologize.

Matthew sighed, "We're not people."

Alfred stiffened, not having expected that to be his response. That didn't sound like an apology at all.

"Of course we are." What was he trying to play at? Had England put him up to this? Alfred nervously looked off to the side, where he'd last seen France wrestling with someone in the bloody field.

A look of frustration, if you could call it that, passed over Canada's features. This time he was the one to step closer to America. "We're nations." His soft voice penetrated right through Alfred's hazy mind. There was hardly any distance between them, both with weapons pointed at the ground, mirroring one other.

"We're more than that though." Alfred thought about all the feelings and emotions that ran through him. Those couldn't be fake, or or-Not human. They were too close to the things his people described. His eyebrows drew downward as he tried to recall exact emotions and when they happened.

A gentle pressure on his shoulder tore him from his thoughts. He looked up and glared at the person across from him, having completely forgotten where he was. Who was he even talking to-Oh right, Canada, who now had a hand resting just above his bleeding shoulder.

Matthew chewed on his bottom lip. "Come home Alfred, please?"

They stared at each other, the contact broken only when Alfred smacked his brother's hand off of his shoulder. "No. I'm not going back. I can't."

Matthew didn't move, not even when Alfred shakily pointed his weapon at him. Canada's gaze flicked over Alfred's shoulder and then down to the ground. "I-I'm sorry Al."

Alfred arched one brow as he squared his shoulders. It wasn't that surprising, that his brother would finally cave. Even if he wasn't the one using a weapon, and pointing it at his brother. The bleak look on Canada's face did make him feel a little guilty. Which was stupid because he wasn't the one who had started fighting Mattie. This was all England's fault.

"It's okay." America couldn't help it. Seeing his brother all torn up like that brought out the words that probably weren't as reassuring as he was trying to make them be.

Actually they seemed to have the opposite effect he'd intended on. Canada looked even worse and closed his eyes tightly. Alfred dropped the gun and moved towards his twin. He placed his hands on his shoulders as if to shake him, but never got that far.

There was a burst of pain at the back of his head and then he collapsed forward, right into Matthew's waiting arms.

England stood, bloodied and bruised with a musket raised. He dropped the weapon to the ground and stepped forward, patting the unconscious America on the top of his head before turning and taking long strides back into the fray.

Mattie stood there, eyes glued to England who hadn't said a single word to him or commended him on keeping Alfred distracted. He slung one of Alfred's arms around his shoulders and slipped his own arm around his brother's waist. Walking out of the battle was slow going.

He stopped only when his gaze caught on two distinct individuals. An extremely pale man was fighting alongside Francis, and they seemed to actually be driving back Arthur's-His and Arthur's forces. England had done a number on Francis, but he didn't seem to be hindered by the wounds.

Then those blue, bloodshot eyes found him, and they widened at the sight. Canada's fingers dug in tighter to America's side, protectively.

The albino noticed where France's attention was being drawn to and when Francis made to move their way, he jerked him back by his sleeve. Canada didn't wait a moment longer and hurried away, uncertain if he could face his papa, or his intimidating friend. Who had to be Prussia, the nation England had warned him about.

Despite knowing he shouldn't Matthew glanced over his shoulder, gaze connecting with that of Prussia's. Whose look promised all sorts of unpleasant things to come. Mattie shouldered more of his brother's dead weight and stumbled the rest of the way to the waiting wagon.

This update is intentionally this short. The next one should be out soon, but I didn't want to stuff all of it into a chapter that would be excessively long. So consider this an interlude if you will. Next chapter will be filled with drama for whenever/if ever I get to it. Thanks for sticking with me so far. No historical notes since this was just a short tidbit.

I guess most historical you can get is the fact that prisoners of war were taken very often during the Revolutionary War. Many of them were stored on boats just off the coast that were floating death sentences. Disease was rampant, the prisoners didn't get fed and almost none survived.