I'm the worst at updating on time. I apologize deeply.

So I re-read, cringed at the mistakes, and then realized how mean I was being to England. And I love him! So I will focus on pre-revolution, a bit more of England being an asshole (only a bit I swear), some Cold War (that's more just America and England talking), and a tiny start to some Civil War.

Enjoy, and again, I'm sorry for the delay. I am terrible with doing things on time. In my defense, my computer was taken away and I had finals.

Oh and I just learned that there's an entire blog dedicated to Civil War facial hair. What?

...oooOOOooo...

The Best Big Brother Ever

The sun was hidden behind gray, rain-filled clouds. There was a sudden crash of thunder, and both of the house's inhabitants, one small, one much taller, jumped.

"England, we should probably get away from the windows." England looked down at the small child looking worriedly up at him as rain began to pour from the gray clouds above.

England raised his eyebrows, amused. "I think I know a bit about rain."

"Oh. Well, you know everything!" America nodded enthusiastically.

England grinned.

"You know that's not true America."

America's mouth twisted as she thought. "It sure seems like it anyway!"

"Aren't you nice?"

"Yup!"

England laughed and the two went up to bed, separating so they could get into bedclothes.

"Are you decent?" England called into America's bedchamber.

"Yeah! Are you?"

England stepped into the room instead of answering.

All that could be seen of America was a small tuft of wheat-colored hair peeking out from the top of the deep blue blankets and a stuffed bunny.

America wriggled out form under the blankets clutching a stuffed bunny. England smiled at her, brotherly love evident in his eyes. America smiled right back, kicking her feet under the covers and watching the mysterious light that came from her pajamas when she did (1).

"What story tonight?" England asked, settling down next to America in the bed.

"Tell me another one about you beating up France!"

England laughed and tried to think of one that he hadn't already told America.

...

"Right lad, I'm going to hand you some things, and I want you to put it up on the windowsill. Can you do that for me?"

America grinned and nodded.

England began passing her things to put on the sill behind her. After a few minutes, England came to something particularly heavy, and he huffed as he lifted it. America huffed as well as she took the oddly heavy paperweight. England didn't think anything of it, and the next package was light. He passed it up, and America placed it on the window without a sound. A few things went by before there was something a bit heavy than it looked, and England let out an audible puff of air as he passed it up. America huffed too. England paused. Was America... copying him?

Time for a test.

England let out a fake huff and passed America a very light flowerpot. America huffed too.

England stared at her for a second before he let out a quick laugh and surprised America by grabbing her and swinging her around.

"Aiiii!" America yelled in shock before bursting into hysterical laughter.

England cracked up as well. America was the cutest thing.

"England?" America asked after they'd tired themselves out messing around instead of actually putting things away.

"Yes?"

"Do you really have to leave?"

England hated the answer. "You know that I have to."

America pouted. "I love you anyway," she said and hugged him around the middle.

England gasped for breath at the hug, but he still had a smile on his face. "I love you too lad."

...oooOOOooo...

Freedonia, Nightmares of the Past, Present, and Future

There was a teacup filled with blood on the table. Freedonia sat and watched it with fearful, wide eyes, afraid to move. The red liquid within was swirling as though it was being stirred and was emitting metallic clacking noises. The kind you get when a spoon hits ceramic. But there was no spoon.

Then there was silence. Nothing was moving. Freedonia herself sat perfectly still, eyes not even blinking. The blood in the cup was now perfectly tranquill, clanking noises gone.

"Fredonia." The voice came from behind. Freedonia knew that voice.

"England," she said calmly, but her eyes shot from the cup to land on his face with speed that spoke volumes. He looked the same as he always had. She wondered if she did.

"Freedonia," England repeated. He towered above her. "Freedonia, did you really think you could get away with it? You should have known you wouldn't succeed."

Freedonia looked at him questioningly. "What?"

"Foolish child," England shook his head. "And don't think making me tea will fix anything." He picked up the teacup, sending ripples through the smooth surface.

"That's not tea," Freedonia said, jumping to her feet. But suddenly it was hard to breathe. She swayed slightly and material swished around her legs. The Freedonian looked down. She was wearing a beautiful red dress with gold buttons down the sides and elaborate embroidery. Freedonia felt sick. It was like someone had taken the uniform of the British army and made it into a dress. And it was very tight around the middle, making her sway slightly and feel dizzy.

"Don't be ridiculous," England scoffed. "Of course it's tea."

"It's blood England."

"Liar." England took a sip. "See, it's tea."

There was a sinking, pulling, twisting feeling in her stomach and she shook her head. "It's blood. Look at the color."

England ignored her. "Wash up Freedonia, your dress is filthy."

Freedonia looked down and didn't see anything wrong. She was about to say something when a bright, harsh, light filled the room. And then she saw it. There were blotchy discolorations all over the dress. Blood.

Why was there so much blood? It was all over her hands. The warm liquid was dripping down her arms, leaving a swirly, misshapen trail down her arms to her elbows.

Her clothes then changed and she was in her own uniform. The familiar material was both comforting and terrifying. The blood was still there, and it was coloring the blue of her uniform into a solid gray. Brass buttons were appearing. The length changed, grew shorter. She shivered and there was a horrible pain in her torso. It was cutting her in half. Freedonia gasped.

She was suddenly pinned against the wall by England. She had forgotten he was there. The teacup smashed against the wall, leaving a bright, horrifyingly red stain that dripped down the walls to form a wild pattern on the floor.

"You lost Freedonia. Stop living in the past."

Freedonia swallowed. "I lost?"

England narrowed his eyes, his rather large eyebrows following. "Yes, foolish child."

"No."

"What did you say?"

"I said no." Freedonia could feel her courage returning. Her knees stopped shaking. Her stomach stopped churning. "I won. Not you."

England smirked. "Lies," he whispered. "You're lying to yourself. Your victory was only a dream."

Dream. She was dreaming. It was just a nightmare. She may have fought England, but he was nothing at all like that. And he would totally notice if his teacup was filled with blood.

America sat up and pushed the curtains of her bed aside. She got a drink of water and looked out across the back garden of John Adams' house. It was peaceful and the leaves of plants blew slightly in the wind. America leaned a feverish cheek against the window and took a deep breath.
Mr. Adams had really freaked her out with all this talk of changing her name to Freedonia (2).

...oooOOOooo...

1960

The sun shone brightly down on the city of Paris, unusual for the end of November, and two blond nations made their way down the street in comfortable silence. America and England were very early to a meeting (for once in America's case), and had stepped out for a bite to eat before going back to the meeting. They were still early, and America's thoughts were turning away from what her new President, John F. Kennedy, might be like when he was sworn in come January. In fact, her thoughts were now more towards...
That was a cute dress.
So was that.
I'd probably look good in that one.
If only Italy was a girl, because a girl Italy would rock that one. Maybe one day I could convince him to crossdress. Ooh, and that dress would be the single most perfect thing ever if Hungary wore it. I'll have to talk to her later.
England's voice brought her back to the real world and she tore her eyes away from the bright window display.
"Are you alright lad?"
"Yeah," America said, resisting the girly urge to check out those shoes on last time because damn they were cute shoes. "I'm fine."

England looked at her suspiciously. "If you're sure."

"Trust me dude, I'm fine."

"Alright," England turned away.
"I'm fine." America repeated.
"Yes, I get it."

"Yeah," America said half-softly, fully distractedly. Focus dude.

England was speaking.
"Sorry, what was that?"
"Oh ha ha," He said sarcastically. "Very funny. That isn't a joke I've heard before."
"No dude, what did you say?"
"I told you to listen to what I'm saying!" England shook his head, exhasperated. "Honestly Alfred, pay attention."

You just brought a girl onto a Parisian street filled with beautiful clothes. What the hell did you expect?... Nothing, because you have no idea what you did.

"Sure. Whatcha wanna talk about? Nukes?" America said, barely even looking at England.

"No Alfred, I don't want to talk about "nukes". I want to know if you're alright. You've been very distracted and not nearly as loud as usual."

America shrugged. "I'm fine Arthur. Just feeling a bit tired." This wasn't a lie. With all the movement for equality, which she personally felt should have already been had, she had been feeling rather drained with mixed feelings on the topic. Gosh, if only my people could just agree! Then I wouldn't have this headache and I know those clothing displays wouldn't be as distracting. I don't even LIKE clothes for Lincoln's sake! I don't give a crap what I look like! Unless it's for something important. Not to mention Russia. If he'd just stop being such a damn commie this wouldn't be a problem. Douche.

England looked a bit suspicious, but he didn't press the issue.

"Come on then," England said. "Shall we head to the meeting?"

America shrugged. "I don't have a problem with it."

The two nations walked down the street, America discreetly glancing at the window displays from the corners of her blue eyes. STOP!

"So, how do you think your new president will be as a leader?"

America thought for a moment, then her face stretched into a huge grin.

"It's gonna be awesome!" she exclaimed. "Plus it'll be the first of my inaugurations in color. COLOR! The people who can't come'll really feel like they're there, ya know? And Marian Anderson(3) is gonna sing my national anthem. Gosh, I love her, she's great, ain't she? All these people who wanna keep people apart are wrong. She's just as deserving of fame as every famous white person. It ain't right that she's not as popular as she should be."

England looked at her for a moment. "Do you ever speak with correct grammar?"

America shrugged. "Sure, but where's the fun in that? Plus it confuses Francis. But can we keep talking about fun things?"

England smiled. "Of course. Now, who did you say was singing your anthem?"

"Marian Anderson." America sighed. Marian had a wonderful voice.

England's eyes popped. "As you serious? Marian Anderson? She's such a good singer!"

And by the time the two were back at the conference room, they were excitedly making plans for England to come for the inauguration (though he technically had plans to come before. However, these were more personal plans and involved actual interaction between the two beyond a "Congratulations" and a "Thanks dude.") and trying to imitate the quality of Anderson's voice (and failing tremendously).

France shook his head, completely confused. Especially at America's grammar. His English might be good, but it wasn't good enough to decipher what America called language. 'What kind of word is "ain't?"' France wondered. Even after spending a lot of time around America he still couldn't understand a great deal of the young country's daily conversations.

...oooOOOooo...

So it Begins

Her stomach hurt.

That was the first thing she processed upon waking up. Her head hurt a bit from the alcohol she'd been drinking, but it was her stomach that hurt the most. She'd been celebrating Lincoln's election the night before, but something was definitely wrong.

She hissed as a particular spot on her stomach gave a painful throb.

That's where South Carolina is.

They're seceding. Holy Massachusetts that hurts!

She doubled over in pain.

America spent the next month curled up on her bed, trying not to scream in pain. White hot liquid steel flowed through her veins and her whole body was on fire. The pain would change intensity and ease off a bit once in a while and she was glad it did, because America was positive that she would have gone insane otherwise.

Then February came. America opened her eyes blearily one morning, somehow having managed to fall asleep. There was a brief second of relief where she didn't feel anything and she used that to put on her glasses, but then the pain came back with a vengeance in a tidal wave of red and black.

I'm going to die.

Holy shit, I'm going to die.

The pain was worse than anything she'd ever felt, even the past few weeks couldn't compare.

It hurts so much.

And suddenly, it faded to a dull aching across her lower torso. She laid back fully in the bed, unaware of her surroundings for a moment.

"Hello?" The voice was that of a slightly younger girl. America sat up more quickly than she had ever done in her whole life. She noted in the back of her mind that she was still bound on top, and therefore still looked like a guy.

America looked wildly around the room. "Hello?" America tentatively called back.

There was someone in her room. A thirteen-year-old girl was standing by the door. She had brown eyes and dark hair tied back into two long braids held back by red ribbons. The two eyed each other warily. Who the Lexington and Concord is that?

"What's your name?" America asked, irrationally afraid of the answer.

The pain in her stomach spiked for a second as the younger girl answered in a very southern-sounding accent. "I'm the Confederate States of America, who're you?"

America's face hardened. "That's not a real country, you can't be."

"I am!" Confederacy insisted.

America shook her head. "There's only one country that's "States of America", and that's the United States of America."

"Who do you think you are?!" Confederacy asked in an affronted tone. "You can't speak to a country like that!"

"I'm the United States of America. And I am the North, the South, the East, and the West. You aren't a country, and you never will be. Even if you were I would still speak to you how I damn well please." America didn't care that the other girl looked like she might cry upon hearing the harsh words. She was in too much pain. The bottom half of her body felt tingly and she knew that the second she let herself accept the Confederacy, she'd loose everything that she was. That was unacceptable. America knew that this was her land. Confederacy wasn't part of it.

"I will be my own country," Confederacy swore. "I will be." She swiped Texas off of America's face and stormed out of the room, her blue dress swinging behind her.

America sat back. Her legs were regaining feeling, but they still felt odd. Not painful per say, but numb. She was still connected to the south though...

How will this work if there are two personifications controlling the same land?

One of us is going to have to die.

It's not going to be me.

And then she looked down. America almost passed out at the sight. There was a large, twisted, slash through her abdomen. She vaguely recognized the path it took as being the edges of the seceded states.

Oh look, it's Louisiana. Are those my guts?

And then she passed out.

...oooOOOooo...

(1) I could totally see America as a kid looking at static electricity and being really curious.

(2) This is actually true. John Adams wanted to rename the United States to Freedonia. I'm definitely glad he didn't succeed. Then I'd be a "Freedonian." Awkward, amiright?

(3) Marian Anderson. Famous African-American singer around this time. Very popular in most of Europe (unless Wikipedia failed me) and really a beautiful classical singer.

Civil War: How this will work in future chapters

The Union thought of America as still one country. This would therefore be America. The Confederacy thought of itself as two countries. So, the Confederacy would have it's own personification, and have all the injuries dealt to the South. But America, who was against the seceding, would get injuries that were dealt to both sides. I didn't want America to just go crazy trying to rip herself apart, but I also didn't want her to only be the Union, because I can't see that as making much sense since the whole point was to NOT let the South leave. Accepting herself as just the Union would just make the Confederacy win. Sorry if this isn't your headcanon, but that's how it'll be written.

Any requests on what to see next? The Space Race, America being a total douche to England at the end of WWII, and more Civil War (with some Russia) are coming up soon.