"Samuel, do you have any idea what time it is? Get up!" Marion's voice cut through Sammy's dream, which was actually relatively pleasant for once, and he rolled over in annoyance. "I know exactly what time it is," he growled into the pillow, "and I don't need you to tell me when I should be up or not."

Marion wasn't about to take this for an answer, and she strode into the room, throwing the curtains wide open and letting the bright morning sunshine into the dark room. "You have plenty of things to do today, the least of which is greeting the new states. They'll be here at ten sharp, and it's already nearly nine." When Sammy didn't stir, she sighed, clearly annoyed, and threw the bed covers back. "What is wrong with you!" Sammy yelped as he tried to grasp at the covers and catch them, but missed, and ended up curling his fingers around nothing but the cold January air. "It's freezing!"

"Exactly, and the stove is already running low, so run and get some more wood before you get into your suit, if you don't mind."

"Yeah, whatever," Sammy grumbled. "Wait a minute," he added as Marion walked out of the room, "What's this about a suit?"

"Don't argue with me, Samuel, not today," Marion called back over her shoulder from halfway down the hallway, "I am not in the mood to deal with an attitude from you. Do as I say, ya hear?"

Sammy rolled his eyes and slid out of the bed, curling his toes underneath him once his feet hit the cold wood floor. He snatched a pair of woolen pants from the foot of his bed and pulled them on over his goosebump-covered legs, then threw on a thick shirt and a jacket, all while muttering and complaining about everything and anything he could think of. He slipped on a pair of boots as he clomped down the stairs, one socked footfall followed by a heavy booted one.

"You know I hate doing all of this," Sammy called out behind him as he walked out the back door.

Marion's call could be heard from the parlor. "I don't care!"

Sammy rolled his eyes and started out for the woodshed. Frosted grass crunched under his feet. His breaths were little puffs of white in the cold air.

Someone called his name. The voice was rich and deep, and rolled smoothly over the cold grass.

Eli, Sammy thought. He almost turned to face him, but decided against it. I have work to do, I can't be bothered to waste my time with petty talk.

Eli called his name again. The cold wood was rough against Sammy's hands. A splinter cut into his palm. Don't turn, don't turn. Don't even turn.

"Sammy, it's ben a long time since I saw ya last. Why ain't ya come down ta see us these past coupla days?"

Sammy still didn't respond.

"Sam? Ya alright son?"

Sammy grimaced before finally turning, a smile plastered to his face. "I'm fine. Why do you ask?"

Eli shrugged his huge shoulders. "I dunno, jus seems ta me that ya ain't yoself."

Sammy smiled sadly. "Lots of things have changed, Eli."

Eli laughed, a loud and roaring thing. "Yo ain't kiddin!" He gestured to Sammy, his massive hands sweeping up from his boots to his fading freckles and straw-colored hair. "Yo bin growin' like a weed, son! I ain't nevah seen nothin' like it."

Sammy chuckled. "Yeah, it's a bit to take in. I'm eighteen now, it's pretty crazy."

Eli's laugh slowed until it turned into a sigh. The two men had grown close, but something had changed. Something was different. Eli just couldn't quite put his finger on it just yet.

"Sam, yo kno yo my friend, now doncha?"

Sammy's stomach dropped, and he paused before he answered. "Of course I do."

Eli nodded his head and crossed his arms. He looked down at his feet for a second before meeting Sammy's eyes again.

"Yo chang'd. Wha happen'd to that lil boy tha I ran into that aftanoon?"

Sammy clenched his jaw. Why is he asking me this? He has no right… He cleared his throat. "That little boy died a long time ago." He then reached down and started stacking pieces of wood in his arms.

Eli nodded his head and pursed his lips. He didn't say anything for a moment.

Sammy had nearly filled his arms when he felt Eli take the wood from him. "Let me git thos' fer ya."

"No, Eli, I've got it-"

"I wo't hear it. Let me see em."

Sammy relinquished the wood reluctantly, then stuffed his now numb fingers into his pockets to try and regain some feeling. "Thanks Eli."

Eli smiled. "Wat are friends fo'?"

Sammy didn't know what to say back to him as Eli walked away back to the house, his arms laden with the cold, splintery wood.

Eli's bare feet crunched over the frozen grass.

In Sammy's ears, that crunch was deafening.

-x-x-x-

Alfred leaned back in the chair at his desk, exhausted. It was nearly three o'clock in the morning. He hadn't slept in two days. How could he? War was on the horizon, and he had no clue about what to do. This whole situation had spun completely out of control, and he had lost his grip on his people.

He couldn't do this on his own.

He needed help.

He needed a friend.

Four letters sat on his desk. Three were bound for across the Atlantic, while the last was heading north.

One to Canada.

One to Russia.

One to France.

One to England.

Alfred knew that Matthew would back him, no doubt about it. Ivan would help him in any way that he could. He wasn't so sure about Francis, but if he could just word it right, then he was sure he would have the French flag behind him.

Arthur was the wild card.

It was almost as if Alfred's letter to him was a Hail Mary, a last-ditch effort, a final gasp before the tide of war pulled him under.

There was a chance that Arthur would come to his aid, but then again, it hadn't been long since his own revolution…

There was no predicting the outcome of this letter at all. It could go either way.

Alfred rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands and sighed. He had no idea what to do. He was completely lost.

-x-x-x-

"Mr. Jones, sir?"

Alfred jerked awake. He had fallen asleep on a couch in President Lincoln's office. He found that since this whole secession had started and he had began to lose sleep, he could fall asleep almost anywhere at any time. "Yeah?" Alfred groaned as he sat up on the couch. He tried to pat his mussed hair down, but gave up quickly.

"You have a letter, sir."

Alfred jumped to his feet. "Now you've got my attention. From whom?"

"Your brother, Matthew."

Alfred grinned widely and strode over to the door, opened it for the messenger, and took the letter eagerly. He didn't even get the door closed completely again before he tore into the envelope and began to read the words with fervor.

Alfred,

I must admit that when I received your letter, I was unsure of how to respond. I have been able to stay current with the news as it concerns the conflict between you and your States, and I knew that it was only a matter of time before you came to me and asked for some kind of help.

I will say that I was hoping for this to not go as far as it has, and I would be lying if I didn't say that I still hope that bloodshed could be kept at a bare minimum, or better yet, if there could be none at all.

However, I know that this has quickly become an unrealistic prayer.

Alfred, hear me when I say this: I won't always be able to drop everything to help you get out of whatever messes you've managed to get yourself into. Some things you'll have to learn how to handle yourself, but I don't think that now is the proper time for you to learn that lesson alone.

Yes, I will grant your request for aid. How could I ever deny it?

Always your brother,

Matthew

Alfred read and reread the letter, then folded it and placed it into the breast pocket of his coat. He knew that Matthew would help him, but seeing this solidified and in writing made him feel more at ease.

He knew that he would never have been completely alone in this, but now that Canada's aid was official, he couldn't help breathing a sigh of relief.

-x-x-x-

When the replies to the other three letters that Alfred sent to Russia, France, and England came back, Alfred took them to his office to read.

He opened Ivan's first.

Alfred,

I understand that you are in need of support. Of course I will take your side! Now that you have Russia behind you, there's no need for worry.

When this is all over, you must come and see my sunflowers. They are going to be absolutely beautiful this spring.

Best of luck,

Ivan

Alfred smiled. Short, sweet, and to-the-point. That was Ivan.

He set Ivan's letter to one side before opening Francis' letter next.

Mon Ami,

Would love to help you and your cause to quell this rebellion, but I must say that my government cannot possibly be deprived of your South's precious commodities, namely cotton.

Please give your President and Congress my sincerest apologies.

Francis Bonnefoy

P.S.- A word of advice: Stay away from the guillotine. It never ends well.

Alfred cursed under his breath. An alliance with the French could have proven to be extremely valuable, but any hope of having their help was gone.

One more letter lay on his desk.

For the longest time, Alfred just stared at it. He tried walking around his office, scrutinizing his ever-growing bookshelf, staring out the window, but nothing could divert his thoughts from that cream envelope that sat on his desk, burning a hole into his mind.

Just get it over with, he eventually told himself.

With that thought, he sat down at his desk again, slit open the envelope, withdrew a piece of paper, and read the letter that was scrawled on it in thin script.

Alfred F. Jones,

I must decline your request for aid in the matter concerning the increasing conflict between your States. The southern states have many items that are valuable for trade, and we need these items often and at a reasonable price.

Sincerest apologies, but this is just good business.

Regards,

Arthur Kirkland, United Kingdom of Britain and Northern Ireland

Just as Alfred picked up the envelope to replace the letter, a small slip of paper fell out onto the floor by his feet. It was folded into a tiny square, and it piqued his interest. He bent down to pick it up, then unfolded it.

Alfred,

The letter that you just read was my official correspondence. I had no choice in what that letter said, I assure you, and I apologize for the coldness of it.

I want to take this time, now that I have your attention, to tell you some things that are crucial for you to know, now more than ever.

No matter how bad it gets, remember that this is not going to be the end of you. It may feel like this is the end, and I promise that it will at some point, but you can survive this and come out the other side stronger than you were before.

If it comes to war, you cannot dwell on the atrocities of it. The end goal is to keep your states together, to keep yourself intact. Achieve this at all costs. I have been torn apart into too many pieces to be able to count. I cannot bear to see the same happen to you.

I have been through this, and I have lived. I came out of it in one piece, metaphorically speaking. I know how much it hurts, believe me. I have survived the pain of being ripped in two. It killed me every minute of every day during your war for independence, knowing that you didn't want me anymore, but I still wanted you. Yes, I had been wrong to you, and I knew it, but it still hurt me beyond measure to see that unrequited fury in your eyes. It hurt me to do what I did to you in the years following your declaration.

To do what I'm doing now.

But I cannot change the mind of my superiors, believe me, I've tried, and they are immovable.

If nothing else, know that while you may not have the support of my country, you will always have help from me. I want to help you get through this in one piece. I don't want you to lose your people.

This is not your end.

This is not your grave.

This is your dawn.

This is your beginning.

Arthur

Alfred put the letter down on the top of his desk gently. His vision went blurry for a moment, then it cleared. A knot formed in his throat that he couldn't manage to swallow.

He could only think of two things.

The first: I am not alone in this.

The second: I can, no, I will, survive this.

AN: Alternate endings that happened while writing this chapter…

He could only think of two things.

The first: I am not alone in this.

The second: Arthur was in love with K-Pop.

Yes, that actually happened. Yay for the writing process, sleep deprivation, and excitement over the start of the Christmas break! Yay!

Title credits go to Christina Perri.

Hope you enjoyed this chapter, feel free to post a review! They are always greatly appreciated, and ALWAYS freaked out over.

Merry Christmas!