All notes, both historical (brief) and author's are at the end of this chapter.

When he awoke it felt as though a lifetime had passed. Sleep had gathered in the corners of his eyes and left his mouth dry, tongue akin to cotton grown in the plantations of the south. America opened one eye and then the other, squinting up at the slanting fabric above that reminded him where he was and who he was with. He cants his head to the side and takes in the disheveled appearance of a nation few likely got to see in such a compromised position.

France was asleep on his back with the blankets pulled up to his chin. His blonde hair was a mess with curls and tangles spread across the pillow, and there was no disguising the dark circles beneath his eyes. Had they always been there and America hadn't noticed? Had they darkened over the last months of fighting alongside him? Guilt pools in his stomach, heavy with the knowledge that yes he was responsible for dragging nations into another war when he knew how they had already fought for centuries prior. He stops inspecting France when he realizes something – it's quiet.

He sits up quickly, and only then does he notice that there are slim legs wrapped around his own. There's some mumbled French from the still mostly asleep man beside him but it doesn't deter him from sliding the blankets off and hurriedly untangling their legs.

"France, France!" Even his voice sounded rough from the heavy night of sleep. The other nation was clearly not a morning person in the same way America was and further grumbling confirmed it. America pulled his boots on and shuffled about the tent to find his jacket. He shrugged it on and was pleased to note that his injury barely hurt from the rushed motions. One last glance over his shoulder showed France to have dragged the blanket the rest of the way over his face, and it was nearly impossible to tell where France began and the pillows ended. America snorted, committing the image to memory before he pushed aside the tent flap. A brisk morning air greeted him as he stepped outside the tent. Anticipation tingled in his chest and he took off, jogging in the direction of General Alexander's tent. The General was seated outside on a stool, looking terribly ill.

America's pace slowed and with a concerned expression on his face and in his voice as he asked, "General? Are you feeling unwell? Did we lose the battle? Would you like some coffee?" The questions tumbled out one after another.

"Thank you lad. The battle was won. The Redcoats were forced back and with that I can take my remaining men north to New York." As he spoke, America readied the coffee at the fire crackling nearby.

Wait, but if he were to go north then what of Washington? Of those fighting in the South? Once the coffee was ready he turned back to the General. Waiting for him was General Alexander's extended hand, trembling with a letter held between his fingers.

"Take it. It's for you. I received my own copy."

Another letter? From Washington? He traded a clay cup of coffee for the letter and rushed to break the wax seal. As soon as he had unfolded it he knew exactly who wrote this. It was from Alexander Hamilton. He poured over each word, heart racing faster and faster as it dawned on him the importance of what Hamilton had written. After he finished reading the entire message he read it again, and then a third time just to be sure he wasn't imagining it.

"Are we ready?" His voice shook.

"You most certainly are." General Alexander's voice held no waver. It was strong despite the sunken cheeks and pale skin that had him looking as though he were on death's doorstep.

"They call for you to be there and so you shall be. If this is to be the fight they claim it to be then you, the Prussians and the French we have will meet them. I've already outlined the strategy with Mr. Beilschmidt and mister – ah you know their names, damnable German…" General Alexander trailed off for a moment then came back to himself with a start, picking right up where he left off. "They will accompany you due South. Any pockets of British resistance will be easy enough to thwart considering the information we've been given and should all go according to plan you will be reunited with our Commander in Chief."

America's smile stretched wider and wider, his eyes misting over at the potential victory on the horizon.

"I'm sorry you won't be there with us." America offered the letter back but the General waved it away, "You keep it and don't be lad. I've a city to guard and so I shall."

They lapsed into a comfortable silence. America's mind raced with the possibilities of what was to come while his General watched him, a grim look on his face.

"A final word of advice from a man who has made more than his fair share of mistakes in a lifetime?" America's head swiveled back towards the General and he nodded, eager to hear anything from a man he respected. "Don't trust the other nations. Look inwards to what you believe."

America blanched. "W – what? France and Prussia have made this possible. Why would you say something like that?"

Now his mind was racing for an entirely different reason. He thought about the shared exchange of culture between himself and France, about how Prussia had wasted no time in teaching him to fight and stand his own ground. Even Spain had stepped forward to encourage the revolution despite their rocky history.

"Merely a gut feeling." General Alexander laughed after this, some inside joke making the remark humorous to only him. America stared at him, mouth agape. "Sir?"

General Alexander's chuckling died down just in time for Prussia to arrive with the lieutenant colonel, Mr. Weissenfels. America folded Hamilton's letter and tucked it along the inner pocket of his jacket. He turned to greet Prussia, a smile on his face. It must have been convincing since the other nation clapped him on the shoulder.

"Feeling better?" A nod from America. "Good. Because we're about to chase that rat bastard South." He must have meant England. "Go get whatever's important to you and keep it light. We're going to make record time."

America felt like 'or die trying' was lingering in the air between them but thankfully Prussia didn't say it aloud. With General Alexander's warning hanging over his head he steps backwards once, twice and then turns to run back in the direction he'd come from. He would get his things from his tent. Rifle, ammunition, gunpowder, a spare clean uniform and his satchel. That should be everything, right? Between the letter, his General's ominous last words and his excitement of the coming battle, America couldn't figure out what to feel. He decided on the latter. He should be giddy and so he would be.

"United States of America." He whispered it to himself under his breath as he ran and the wind carried it behind him. They could do this. They would do this. He ran faster, sprinting past France's tent just as his head poked out to watch the young nation fly past.

France smiled and shook his head. "Ah to be young again." He stepped outside, already dressed and with his own bag of supplies prepared for the journey ahead of them. Though he wore a small smile, a hint of mischief at the corners, France was worried. Seeing and speaking with Canada had left a bitter taste to his mouth that even the sweet sincerity of America had been unable to wash out. How dare Angleterre drag him into the southern colonies like this? He couldn't shake the feeling that it was to spite him. So France had taken America from him, he too would remind France of what he had lost. After speaking to Canada on the battlefield it was clear the other North American twin was content living beneath British rule and had no desire for war or bloodshed.

A pity.

The stirrings of a revolution in his own country pulled at his heart and France knew exactly whom to blame for such sentiments. He looks over his shoulder just as the nation himself came running back towards him, a bag slung around his shoulder and rifle across his back.

"Amerique you left without so much as a morning kiss." France spoke first, allowing the American time to catch his breath as he slowed to walk beside him. Not that the nicety was necessary. America wasn't winded in the least, although his cheeks were bright red from exertion or excitement, France couldn't be certain.

A nervous but endearing laugh was America's reply and France reached over to stop him from ruffling his own hair in embarrassment. "Je suis désolé." He apologized in French, no doubt hoping to appease France by doing so. France knew this and yet it still worked. That American charm was as effective as ever. His smile became genuine for a brief moment. "All is forgiven mon ami." They walked side by side in silence. America's bright eyes were fixed ahead, and France watched him from the corner of his eye all the while. He looked different. He stood taller, determined to face whatever lay ahead for his country and the people he stood to lose should he fail.

France was content to observe him, one arm folded across his chest while the other was bent with a curled hand pressed to his chin and lips, affecting a thoughtful pose. He had seen many sides of America in the months they had been together. How they all would come together after the war would be a very interesting thing to witness.

"Uh, you're staring."

America's voice startled France out of his contemplation, and indeed he had taken to staring. "How could I not? You have grown up so quickly Amerique. It hardly seems fair." Which was true enough. In the time it had taken America to grow from infant to child to teenager so many nations had remained young. Even Angleterre had been his to dote on for a much longer span of time than either of the North Americans. Was this to be how the New World would progress? France was surprised to find himself worried at the notion, but intrigued as well.

America was blushing already; taking his words as a compliment and missing the underlying worry altogether. "I'm ready to be my own country France. I'm ready. I promise I won't let you down." His fingers curled around the strap of his bag, knuckles whitening from the pressure. "I'll make you proud to have supported me, all of us." He grinned over at the other man. "I wouldn't be here without your philosophers so it's kind of fitting, right?"

While America overlooked the concerned tone in France's own remark, the older country didn't miss the way America's voice hitched on the final word, spoken as a question. Seeking approval still.

"But of course." France reassured him, linking their arms together as he had done a lifetime ago back on his home soil. Back when America was seeking aid and hoping to find salvation across the sea. Back when he had been able to teach the colony how to properly waltz amongst the orange trees. Ah, already nostalgic over such a trifling matter. France chuckled beneath his breath, and when America glanced over at him curiously he waved his other hand. "Non, it is nothing. Merely reminiscing."

America's eyes narrowed suspiciously but he had no time to ask about it. Prussia was waiting for them and so it was time to set out for Yorktown.

As they rode out of Philadelphia, America was none the wiser to the congressional men that had been waiting to meet with him. One in particular had been rushing to the edge of the city to stop him before he had a chance to go south. James Madison slowed to a walk, breathing shallow and rushed. In one hand was clutched a rolled piece of parchment. There was no trace of the personification America to be seen.

"I was too late."

They were delayed by skirmish after skirmish with the British forces. America was impatient but France tempered him with a gentle hand, guiding him to take careful shots. Meanwhile Prussia reignited the flame France just doused with a manic cry to push forward and kill every remaining redcoat. They had no time for prisoners as he had declared, but America couldn't bring himself to shoot the retreating British forces. He watched with a sad gaze as Prussia drove his bayonet through a man that had been crawling away, leaving a trail of blood in the grass as he did. Blue eyes began to lose their focus, the soldiers blurring as he swayed.

"Amerique, breathe." And with the soft reminder, so he did. Figures snapped back into focus and he hadn't realized it but he was leaning rather heavily into France's side. He chuckled, the sound mirthless. "Thanks. I don't know what happened there."

But he did know. While neither the British nor the Canadian soldiers belonged to him, it still affected him to kill them at such close range. Additionally, the men would have been taken as prisoners under other circumstances were it not for their haste. The loss of life felt pointless. All this bloodshed was because they were in a rush. He half expected France to lecture him on hardening his heart to what was a necessary fact of war, but he merely rubbed circles into his back as they both watched Prussia kill the stragglers.

America pulled away from France, unable to look him in the face as he climbed back into the saddle on his horse and waited for Prussia to take the lead. The albino guided his own mare towards America, slowing as he approached to give him a calculating look.

"You're a good shot, but if you hesitate against the British Empire he will pull the trigger first." Prussia's warning was met with a turn of the head. He lashed out, gloved fingers grasping America's chin and forcing him to look back. His eyes were blazing red and his mare shimmied closer to America's own causing their legs to bump against one another. "Don't you dare mess this up because of some loyalist sympathy we didn't weed out. This is on you kid. If you want it bad enough? You'll do anything."

From a short distance away, France watched the exchange with a lidded gaze. His heart sank at knowing what lay in store for the colony, soon to be turned nation should all go well. Would it be a worse fate than surrendering to British rule? Hardly, but there would be no easy path forward for America.

They set off once more with their battalion of soldiers – after looting the corpses that is. Only a handful of their own men had been killed but there was no time to bury them. Prussia and his lieutenant colonel had been adamant about maintaining their pace and pushing forward at an even faster speed to make up for lost time. Their expected arrival had already been pushed back on account of the British resistance they'd met along the way. There was no getting around the fights and so they finished them as quickly as they could with brutal tactics and 'Prussian efficiency', as France liked to refer to it.

Cruelty was the word America thought of, but he never said so aloud. He knew they couldn't risk letting any survivors escape to warn England or Canada of their journey south. To bring injured soldiers along with would only slow their progress. It made sense, but that didn't mean he had to like it.

The storm they'd left behind up North was catching up with flurries from an early snowfall. France quirked a brow up at the sky as they cantered along. "I was hoping for a temperate winter ma petite colonie." He urged his horse closer towards America's and rode along beside him to make conversation easier.

"Ha, keep dreaming. I mean it usually is pretty nice but there can be some real nasty ice storms in the southern states. Snow this early isn't unheard of but it will definitely affect crops." America too looks up towards the gray skies with a small furrow etched between his brows. France chuckled under his breath at where America's concerns lie. Not in the battle to come or how the cold weather could make a brutal war all the more difficult, but rather for how his people's livelihood which would be impacted. Either he was superbly confident of the approaching battle, or he didn't consider the weather an important aspect for strategy. France's attention turns towards Prussia who led the group on his equally white mare. No doubt he had prepared for such a possibility. When he shifted to face America once more the young nation's tongue was stuck out, head tilted back and eyes closed.

France looked aghast at him. "What in the world are you doing? You'll bite your tongue off if you aren't careful." A spooked horse had caused more damage than a lost tongue to many men. France had personally seen many gruesome injuries from a horse's panic.

America was quick to respond, tongue disappearing and teeth snapping shut. His lips stretched into a wide grin. "Catching snowflakes! It's tradition for the first snowfall. At least it should be a tradition. C'mon try it!" His enthusiasm was as contagious as ever but France scoffed and shook his head.

"I think not mon chéri." He sounded affronted at the very suggestion. "I should very much like to keep my tongue in case this beast," his horse gave a shake of the head and whinnied, "this lovely beast decide it wishes me in the mud." France gave the sturdy neck of the horse a pat to try and appease it should the 'beast' remark offend the creature. Not that it understood him, but best not to test lady luck.

From beside him America laughed, loud enough to get Prussia's attention from the front of the group. He didn't look at the pair for very long, rolling his eyes and deeming their conversation unimportant.

"What if I said it's a good luck tradition?" For extra effect America lifted his eyebrows. France's own eyebrows lowered in a skeptical expression. "Oui?" America nodded his head, still grinning, eyes crinkling at the corners. "Oui."

With a long suffering sigh – mostly for show – France tilted his head back, closed his eyes and opened his mouth. Almost as soon as he stuck his tongue out he felt a brief sensation. A cold tingle that was gone as soon as it arrived. He pressed his lips together and looked over to see America watching him with wide eyes. "Like so?" France asked, knowing he had done it correctly but wanting to tease America a moment more. Why did he look so surprised though?

America's head tilted away, gaze lowered towards his horse's mane. "England never tried it." His voice is so quiet that France barely hears what he says. Before he can come up with a clever remark America urges his horse forward and rides up to the middle of the battalion, remaining on the outskirts and away from the other two nations.

"Angleterre, you should have humored him." France murmured sadly.

Howdy everyone!

First off historical notes:

General Alexander returned to New York to hold the city while the remaining fighting of the war took place in the south. Similar circumstances take place during this fic. His gout and other health problems would see him dead before the war was over unfortunately. Heavy drinking finally caught up with him.

Taking prisoners was common practice but well, when time was of the essence and in the latter years of the war lack of space for prisoners was definitely an issue. America had been in a constant state of war, infighting and battles since its initial colonization essentially.

Alexander Hamilton was a very important founding father and a key component to the revolution. He served George Washington and is finally making his appearance as his aide in the story, and as a field commander for the coming battles! Listen I love this dude. I'm going to try and not make it a Hamilton centered fic. I swear.

Noooooow for the non-historical notes time, but personal notes which you are free to ignore! I said I wouldn't come back to this fic four years ago. And six years ago I began writing this when I was only sixteen. I'm in my twenties now and it's crazy to think I'm going to revive a very dead fic just to finish it. I've lost all my old notes, all my old writings and as I warned in my author's note (which I have deleted) – my writing has changed a lot. Not necessarily for the better. I'm going to try and integrate my old style as best I can while staying true to my change in preferred tense and flare for the internal monologue.

I don't expect there to be people reading this still. I don't expect those lovely folks from six years ago to be around, active in the fandom or on this website. Archive of our own seems to be the preferred location for fics now, but I want to finish this where I started it.

Past me wanted to turn this into a series of alternate history fics. Springboard into other major historical occurrences that would be changed by the shift in history. I don't think I could do that now but I do want to see the revolution wrapped up, and the following decades covered. So for those who made it this far, thank you.

Thank you to everyone from years ago who drew such beautiful art for my stories. Who wrote ficlets inspired by it, who asked me for input on their own work and told me I'd interested them in a subject they hadn't previously considered. It's humbling and even if they never come here or read this note, I only wish the best for you all and hope you're doing well.

OKAY THEN I'm going to try and publish updates at least once a week. Let's do this.