Hi guys! I come bearing the gift of a new chapter update! My CRPS has made writing near impossible as of late, so we finally were able to churn this chapter out. Hopefully you enjoy it. We are still having a blast writing it!

Now get to it, nerds.

"You know you're going to be pretty much restricted to the grounds, but it's really for your own good. I would hate for someone to recognize you and snatch you up and drag you home," Alfred said to the man who sat with his back to him on the floor. The blond in front of him leaned forward, his long arms draped over his knees, his shirt on the floor.

"Yeah, I know," came his reply. He sounded overtired and worn thin.

"Besides," Alfred added off-the-cuff as he knelt down behind Samuel. He laid a pile of clean bandages and a bottle of alcohol on the floor next to him, "I don't think anyone around here really trusts you as far as they can throw you. Considering what happened last time you were here…"

Samuel screwed up his face in mock thought, pretending to pull the old memory out of the back of his mind. "I'm trying to remember what all I did that was so horrible…"

Alfred leaned forward so that his head came around Samuel's shoulder. "Sammy. You broke one of my guard's noses, flounced around my party, and then you split right after that. You had security completely lose their minds. I swear, I couldn't so much as take a whiz without an audience for two months." Alfred paused to think for a moment, then added, "And then you blew smoke all up in my face. That was rude." Alfred added a sarcastic huff and gumble for good measure.

Samuel tried to stifle a slight laugh and completely failed, but yelped when Alfred touched on an especially sore spot on his back.

"Sorry about that," Alfred mumbled, "but you kind of had that one coming. That poor guy's nose is still insanely lopsided."

"Well tell him I'm sorry, I wasn't exactly… You know… All there." Samuel waved his finger around the side of his head in the universal sign for 'crazy'.

"Yeah, I know what you're talking about. Don't worry about it. And I'm sure Crooked would understand."

Samuel turned around, his face twisted in confusion.

"You know. The guy whose nose you broke. Everyone calls him Crooked now. Because… You know." Alfred used one finger to push the end of his nose nearly flush with his cheek.

"You're not right, you know that?" Samuel sighed as he shook his head and faced forward once again.

"You're one to talk," Alfred shot back. Admittedly, he meant it in a playful way, but it came out with just a touch of accusation tied on the end of it.

Samuel gently frowned down at the floor. He shrugged his shoulders ever so slightly. His response drifted over his lips on a nearly silent breath. "I guess you're right."

Neither one of them said anything for a long time after that. The subject was dropped, but still lingered heavily in the room, demanding to be addressed. It was ignored by both parties.

As the two men sat in silence, dark shadows tugged at the corners of Samuel's mind. Smoky tendrils wrapped themselves around his thoughts, cold disembodied fingers slid up and down his spine, sinister whispers breathed across his ear. Try as he might, he couldn't quite shove them all completely away. In his heart of hearts, he doubted that he ever would.

-x-x-x-

Alfred's hands tried to be gentle as he cleaned Samuel's wounds, and Samuel tried to stay as still as he could, but he still grimaced and flinched at every swipe of the cloth in Alfred's hand. Various "I'm sorry"s were muttered from both parties, by Alfred for hurting Samuel and by Samuel for jumping or swearing. Eventually Alfred was satisfied that Samuel's wounds were cleaned out enough to start healing right.

"Alright, you're done." Alfred smiled as he stood up and stretched his back. They had been on the floor for quite a while and he was cramping up.

"Thanks," Samuel said as Alfred stuck out his hand to help him up. Samuel took it, and Alfred hauled him up to his feet.

"So now what?" Samuel asked once they had both left the bathroom and thrown out Samuel's old bandages and bloody clothes. Alfred had just tossed Samuel some fresh clothes to put on before going to sleep for the night.

Alfred thought about Samuel's question for a moment. "Well, to be completely honest, I hadn't quite thought it through this far. A part of me didn't believe that you'd actually show up."

Samuel sighed. He looked over the clothes in his hands, ran his fingers over the seams thoughtfully. "My states and people are losing their minds, Alfred. If I can help start to bring this to a clean end with as little bloodshed as possible and move us in the right direction, then I'd consider this trip a success."

Alfred nodded. "I'd be inclined to agree with you." He checked the time on the pocketwatch that lay on his bedside table. "Well if I'm going to be able to wake up anytime before noon then I've got to get to sleep."

"Sure," Samuel said as he threw on the new shirt and pants. He snatched his dirty jacket from where it hung on the back of a chair and made to lay down in the corner, but Alfred put out a hand and stopped him. He paused, then grabbed a blanket and pillow from the bed.

"At least take the couch." He jerked his head in the direction of the windows, where the couch was positioned between them. "And these. I won't have you sleeping on the cold floor, that's ridiculous."

Samuel watched Alfred's face for a minute, then took the pillow and blanket with a shy smile.

-x-x-x-

"Hey, have you got a spare razor around here?"

Samuel's strangely chipper voice burrowed under the mound of blankets over Alfred's head to wake him up. With a groan, Alfred peeked out from under the covers and glanced at the windows. The sun's light was just breaking over the horizon and was just starting to filter in through the curtains. His hand smacked around the bedside table for his pocketwatch, and once he finally wrapped his fingers around it, he drew it close to his face to see what time it was.

There was a short pause before Alfred could muster any sort of words. Eventually, he got a sentence pulled together.

"Have you lost your mind?" he growled from under the covers.

"I fail to see how the specific whereabouts of my thoughts have any bearing over the location of a spare razor blade," Samuel joked. He poked his head out of the bathroom, a stupid grin spread over his face. "Come on, get up sleepy head! We're wasting daylight!"

"There isn't any daylight available yet for us to waste, you idiot," Alfred snapped.

"Oh come on, there's no need to be sour!" Samuel walked over to the side of the bed and put his hands on his hips, waiting for Alfred to get up.

When Alfred made no moves toward climbing out of his cocoon of warm blankets, only burying himself into the mattress more, Samuel knew that he would have to resort to desperate measures.

The second the covers flew off the bed, Alfred curled into a tight ball in the middle of the mattress. "Go away," came a groan from somewhere inside the tangle of limbs. "And give me back the blankets! It's freaking cold in here!"

"Can't do that," Samuel chided as he strode to the other side of the room, the covers held in his fist. He really was trying his best to keep a straight face, but his smile still managed to break through. "We've got too much to do while I'm here, and I can't afford to let a moment go to waste."

Alfred glared at Samuel for a tense moment, then sighed. "Yeah, I guess you're right." He begrudgingly pushed himself upright into a sitting position on the mattress and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. He ran his fingers through his hair, stretched his arms for a moment, then his back. After dragging his feet for as long as physically possible, Alfred slid out of bed and stalked to the bathroom to get Samuel the spare razor that he had asked for. Samuel watched all of this from where he stood in the corner, shaking his head.

After digging through the cabinets, Alfred emerged with his query. As he smacked the flat blade into Samuel's waiting palm, he eyed the ragged and smirking blond before him. "You're one of those…" he paused to look Samuel up and down one more time before he finished his thought, "morning people, aren't you?"

Samuel's eyebrow shot up. "Like that's a bad thing?"

Alfred narrowed his eyes and held Samuel's gaze. "I actually thought that we couldn't get any more different. Boy was I ever wrong. And wipe that stupid smirk off your face, it makes you look creepy."

Alfred threw a shirt on and left the room to hunt down a pot of coffee. He was chased out by Samuel's rumbling and bemused chuckle, which was hot on his heels.

Alone in the room and with only a razor for company, Samuel returned to the bathroom. He set the razor on the vanity and then looked up at the mirror that hung over the washbasin. For a long time, Samuel stared at the reflection in the mirror, and the scraggly man stared back at him. He searched his eyes, the lines in his face, the weariness that overwhelmed his features.

"When did I become this way?" he asked the man in the mirror, but the reflection just stared back, speechless and without answers.

Suddenly, Samuel's face became hard. He poured a pitcher of water into the basin. He didn't care that water sloshed out of the basin and splashed on the floor. He hastily dunked his face into it, grabbed the shaving cream, lathered his face with the cream using a brush, and snatched the razor up into his hand. There was no hesitation. He raised the blade and dragged it down from his cheekbone to his jaw. One swipe was followed immediately by another and another, until every hair was cleanly shaven from his face. He poured some clean water and washed off his face once more, then straightened up to get a view of himself again.

Something shifted inside his heart as he gazed into the mirror. Something new and alive. Something that he hadn't felt inside of himself for a very long time.

In the mirror staring back at him was no longer the weary and sorrowful Samuel that would roll over for his states. In the mirror was the Sammy that he used to be, back when he was a brand-new nation. On his face played his joy. In his heart his fire for humanity was starting to be rekindled. His happy-go-lucky spirit that had to be squelched in the name of rebellion began to make an appearance one more.

The kid that he once was could now finally lift his head once more without fear.

Sammy tried on a smile. It wasn't a cocky smile, nor was it a condescending grin like he had grown used to tacking on. No, it was a true smile. It was the smile of a kid with his whole life ahead of him, knowing that nothing bad could ever happen to him as long as that smile graced his features and the sun still shone in the heavens.

I'm back, a voice in his mind sang. At long last, I'm finally back.

-x-x-x-

Alfred and Sammy waited in a sitting room of sorts in a different wing of the White House. Well, what was actually happening was that Alfred sat cross-legged in one of the stuffed chairs and Sammy paced from one wall to the other, sat in a chair for a moment, then jumped back to his feet to resume pacing. This had been going on for about ten minutes now.

"What are you so nervous about?" Alfred asked the blur that was Sammy. "I'm sure that we can figure something out, no need for you to wear a hole in the carpet over it."

"I don't know," Sammy murmured. "I'm just…" He paused before completing his thought. "I'm just afraid, I guess."

Hearing the word 'afraid' come out of Sammy's mouth was certainly new, and Alfred almost didn't want to ask what exactly he was afraid of, but he did anyway.

Samuel absentmindedly slowed to a halt and thought for a moment before he voiced his answer. "I think that I'm afraid that he'll only see my past, not me as I really am now, you know? I don't want that to be the only thing people see when they look at me, and that's not how I want to be remembered by."

Alfred nodded, but waved the idea away. "You really shouldn't worry, because I'll vouch for you. I'll explain everything so that he'll understand."

"But everything that y'all know is the bad stuff, the real me got lost so long ago and I hardly even know who I am myself and I–"

He stopped when Alfred stood up and grasped him firmly by the shoulders. Sammy winced but met Alfred's eyes despite it. They were a steady blue, a nice contrast to his jumpy sea-green ones. When Alfred was sure he had Sammy's attention, he spoke evenly to him. "Just let me handle it. Do you trust that I can do that?"

Sammy held his breath for a few seconds. His brain went blank. The thought of someone taking up for him was strange indeed, so strange that his mind nearly shorted out.

"Sammy," Alfred said, "can you trust me?"

A few seconds passed before he ran his hand over his hair and ponytail absentmindedly, then rubbed his freshly shaven jaw. His eyes bounced around all of the corners of the room and off of every piece of furniture before he responded in a shaky voice.

"Alright. I'll trust you."

As a fellow nation who had once been in his shoes, Alfred knew exactly how difficult it was for Sammy to utter those words. Having Sammy's trust was no small matter, and he did not intend to betray it.

Alfred felt like he needed to set Sammy's mind at ease, so he added one last phrase.

"Don't forget, even if there's no one else, I'll always have your back."

Sammy could have sworn that his heart swelled to three times its size in that very moment. No one had ever said something that to him before. No one had ever voiced that they would support him like this. It made him feel safe, which was something he had honestly never truly felt before. A smile started to pull on the corners of his mouth but was wiped away by the sudden sound of a door opening across the room.

Sammy nearly jumped out of his skin at the noise. His eyes flew open as wide as saucers and his body instinctively leapt in front of Alfred, pushing him back, and his hand went immediately to his right hip. In the scuffle, Alfred knew exactly what was happening, as he had been experiencing symptoms after the Revolution was over. It only took a fraction of a second to see telltale signs and put them all together. Sammy's rigid body but shaking hands, his pallor, the look of terror on his face, him grabbing for a gun that wasn't there, and the nightmares that Alfred overheard coming from the couch last night. Some doctor had finally given this entity a name: Soldier's Heart, and Alfred knew that Sammy had it too, and he had it bad. Alfred's heart broke for him. When he looked past Sammy to see who had opened the door, his voice nearly jumped down the kid's throat.

"Tad, what did I tell you about sneaking up on people?"

The young dark-headed boy, who would very soon turn ten years old, shrunk back into the shadows behind the door. His face made it obvious that he was hurt by Alfred's tone and his words.

"Not to do it," he mumbled into the carpet as he dug his toe into the corner of a rug.

Alfred sighed and pushed past Sammy to kneel in front of the boy. The two exchanged hushed words, and there was a lot of nodding on either side. Sammy had slowly started to recover from his scare, and now he started to really feel the awkwardness in the room. He chewed on his lip and looked around at all the furnishings in the room, then down at his shoes to intently study his shoddy shine job. For some reason, watching the two talk seemed like it was an intrusion on something extremely personal, so he settled for looking just about anywhere else.

Eventually Alfred stood up again and led the boy by the hand to stand in front of Sammy. Still unsure of what was going on, Sammy cast his gaze to the side as the two came close. At the sound of Alfred's voice, he looked up at Alfred.

Face drawn and suddenly exhausted, Alfred knelt down so he was on the boy's level and said, "Tad, I have someone very special to introduce to you. This is Mr. Samuel Jones. He's special like me. You know what I do, right?"

Tad looked over at Alfred and answered him. "Yeah, you represent us. The Union."

"Exactly," Alfred responded. He then nodded in Sammy's direction. "Mr. Jones here is the personification of the Confederacy, and he's come all the way here to have a very special talk with your dad and I. I wanted to introduce you two to each other."

At that, Sammy looked down at the kid that stood in front of him. Tad eyed him cautiously with a healthy dose of fear in his glare, and he scrutinized every inch of the tall blond stranger in front of him. Sammy couldn't blame him, so he decided to try something that he figured may or may not help to put the boy at ease, at least a little bit.

Sammy knelt down so he was nearly level with Tad's face. His stripes angrily tugged at his raw skin, but he ignored them. He locked eyes with Tad and said with utmost sincerity, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Tad." He extended his hand for Tad to shake. Tad only looked him square in the eye, his expression like granite. From the corner of his eye, Sammy saw that Tad was holding onto Alfred's hand tight enough to make his tiny knuckles white as a sheet. Sammy offered the boy a soft smile, one that made his eyes soften in a way that Alfred had never seen before. Alfred became convinced in that moment that the Samuel he had known before- the Samuel that was ruthless on the battlefield, cunning and cold- and the Sammy that now knelt before the President's youngest son were entirely separate entities.

As the uncomfortable moments passed, Sammy started to notice Tad's eyes begin to glisten. The boy tried to keep his face stoic, but his bottom lip soon began to quiver despite all of his efforts to shove his feelings back down inside of himself. He opened his mouth to say something, but it took a couple of tries before anything but tiny gasps could come out. Finally Tad spoke, his soft and wavering voice reaching forward to fill the space between himself and Sammy.

"I… I didn't want… to believe him… But I think he was right all along…"

Samuel's brow furrowed slightly in his confusion, but he kept his eyes locked onto Tad's. He saw Alfred stand slowly and clamp a palm to his mouth. The boy continued after drawing a shaky breath.

"William believed that despite everything that was happening… He believed that you were still good deep inside…" Tad let go of Alfred's hand and tentatively reached forward to grasp Sammy's tanned and calloused hand with both of his own. Sammy's heart started to tumble down to his gut. He had heard about the death of William Lincoln back in February. The poor kid had died of typhoid fever. The whole Union mourned the death of the child.

Tears started to well in Tad's eyes and cascade over his long, dark eyelashes. The words were nearly impossible for him to get out now, but somehow he found the strength to push them out from where they were caught in his throat.

"Willie would have… I think he would have liked you."

Immediately a sob broke free from somewhere deep inside Tad, and the boy fell limp against Sammy's chest. Sammy wrapped Tad's small frame tightly in his arms and let him cry on his shoulder. No one said anything for a long time. Sammy eventually glanced up at Alfred, half at a loss at the boy weeping in his arms and half wondering what he could do to mend this irreparable wound. Alfred only watched the proceedings from a few steps away, arms crossed and with silent tears streaming down his cheeks.

It was a strange scene to witness, the youngest child of the President of the Union holding onto the personification of the enemy with everything he had in him. The boy's small head rested wearily on the chest of the older man, and he listened to the heart of the Southerner pound steadily against his ear. It was the only thing that marked the time that passed in those moments. For a while, the lines between the blue North and gray South were blurred, and a picture of what could be was painted in a small room in a corner of the White House.

This all came crashing down at the sound of a voice brimming with rage that boomed from the entrance of the room.

"Get your hands off of my son."

-x-x-x-

Alfred could have sworn that the blood in his veins froze to ice at the sound of Lincoln's voice. He slowly looked away from the two wide-eyed faces of Sammy and Tad to face the irate one that belonged to his President. With one hand tentatively raised, he started toward Lincoln.

"Sir, please, I can explain-"

"Shut up Alfred!"

Alfred instantly obeyed and stopped dead in his tracks. Only once before had he heard Lincoln use a tone as harsh as this, and nothing good had come out of the situation. Thinking back now, this plan of getting Sammy up to Washington seemed incredibly stupid. Too late now, he thought. You made your bed, time to lay in it.

"You," Lincoln spat at Sammy as he strode across the room and yanked Tad away by the arm. "You nasty little Greyback!"

Sammy slowly got to his feet, but his fright was already apparent from the blood that rushed out of his face. Much to everyone's shock, Lincoln didn't stop his advance once he had cleared Tad out of the way. The President kept coming, and despite Alfred's useless protests, he closed the gap between himself and Sammy. Lincoln's right hand flew out and wrapped itself around Sammy's throat, slamming the nation painfully against the wall with crushing force.

Somewhere in the background, Tad screamed. Alfred crossed the room in two strides to pull the two apart, but stopped when he saw a familiar calloused hand throw itself out in his path. It shook ever so slightly, but its message was clear as day.

Alfred's eyes flickered up to the two faces of Lincoln and Sammy, only inches apart. Veins started to pop out on Sammy's forehead, but he held Lincoln's glare with no contest. Alfred looked down and saw Sammy's left hand rested by his side. The blond's breaths came in short, random, raspy spurts from parted lips as oxygen tried to fight its way past the fingers wrapped around his windpipe.

He wasn't fighting it, not in the least. He was simply taking it, patiently waiting for his assailant to let go.

The air in the room seemed to be sucked out. The seconds that passed felt more like hours to everyone. Just as Alfred thought Sammy must be close to passing out, the President released him. Sammy nearly crumpled to the floor, but somehow managed to remain on his feet.

"Tad go to your room."

The boy followed his father's orders as soon as they hit his ears. Once Tad had left the room and the door was shut, Lincoln spoke to Alfred. He kept his eyes glued on Sammy to make sure he didn't move a muscle.

"Alfred. Explain. Now."

Alfred's eyes bounced between Lincoln and Sammy, but rested on Lincoln after a small nod from Sammy. The nod was the go-ahead that Alfred needed.

Tell him, the nod said. Tell him everything.

"Sir, Samuel is here to talk about the end of this war."

Lincoln paused and turned to face him, but his face was as hard and impossible to read as ever. Alfred took this as an opportunity to push further.

"He… He's ready to talk about-"

"I'm here to talk about surrender."

Lincoln slowly turned around to face Sammy. As he looked across the miles between him and the newly-composed nation, a peculiar expression twisted his features. It was something like a mix between disbelief, disgust, and relief. He whipped back to Alfred. "Is this true?"

Alfred nodded. "Yes sir."

Lincoln took a step back, then looked at Sammy again.

"My states aren't on board with this. They don't even know I'm here." Sammy ran a hand over his mussed ponytail and glanced down at the floor. "If they knew where I was…" He laughed, but it was hollow and sounded wrong coming out of his mouth now. However, the longer he laughed, the harder he laughed, until he was in near hysterics. Tears leaked out from his tightly shut eyes. He doubled over and held his sides as he tried to gasp for breath. Everything about the scene turned the stomachs of the two men who watched.

Finally Sammy was able to rein himself back in. He sighed deeply and looked past Lincoln and Alfred for a minute before focusing back on them once more. His response sent sharp pangs through Alfred's chest.

"Let's just say that you'd probably be hard pressed to ever hear from me again if my states knew I was talking to y'all."

Heavy silence blanketed the room. It fell so thick on Alfred's ears, he didn't hear Lincoln's response. He shook his head to clear the cobwebs.

"S-Sir?"

Lincoln didn't face Alfred. He only stared at Sammy.

"I said that I'll hear him out." Now he glanced back to Alfred. "But that's all I'm promising to do." He paused before directing his next statement to Sammy.

"This had better be good, boy."

Hurrrrrrrr off the handle Lincoln is my aesthetic. But so are warm bagels. I'm pretty sure popcorn and chicken nuggets are Amanda's aesthetic. Sammy's aesthetic is probably an entire liquor store all poured in a swimming pool.

Thanks for reading! If you wouldn't mind, shoot us some feedback and check out the poll in the profile. We still need a lot of help deciding which Hetalia story should come next! We're thinking about a Free! story too that we are very VERY excited about.

Again, thanks for sticking with us through these tricky months. We truly appreciate every one of you. We write because we must, but you, dear readers, make it fun.

Love and spoons,

Harley and Amanda