"Of all the things," Theodore Roosevelt chuckled, "a bar fight was your ultimate downfall."

The blond's gaze eventually moved away from the grimy, marked wall of his cell, blue eyes narrowing behind dirty glasses as he regarded the president with obvious suspicion. "What do you want from me?"

Roosevelt spread his hands. "Only for you to allow me to help you."

A derisive snort was the only response to his bold claim. The president willed himself to be patient, and tried for a genial smile. "People are beginning to worry. I've recently received a letter all the way from France formally inquiring as to the circumstances of your disappearance and condition."

When Alfred didn't deign to answer, Roosevelt continued, "It's time for you to rejoin the land of the living, America."

Silence reigned within the dark cell. Roosevelt sighed internally, resorting to the tactic that would get even his most insolent subordinates to listen in times of great distraction. "What say you to that?" he demanded sharply. "Answer me, boy!"

America flinched-the most animated reaction shown thus far. His voice was oddly restrained and angry. "It's not like I have a choice in the matter."

Roosevelt frowned, but maintained his clipped tone. It was getting results while asking nicely hadn't. "Explain."

An alarming twitch. "I can't disobey a direct order from the president," America snapped.

Another piece of the puzzle fell into place, and Theodore Roosevelt suddenly understood. "McKinley didn't listen to you," he recalled. "But that didn't stop him from ordering you around…"

Only then did the president realize exactly what he was doing. "Oh, dear," he muttered, taking half a step back.

'What were the founders thinking when they robbed this boy of his free will?'

"The Restraint Clause-It was never meant to be anything bad," the blond admitted with a sigh, as though he read Roosevelt's thoughts. "Go get this, tell someone that, sign this…stop talking…"

Roosevelt winced at the Nation's tone. McKinley probably hadn't realized what he was doing-heavens knew whether any of his predecessors ever stopped to consider the implications, either. "So you left," the president guessed, "rather than be forced to serve a man who wouldn't even consider your advice."

Alfred crossed his arms and looked away, apparently done with any sort of voluntary speech.

Theodore Roosevelt found himself reconsidering his plan. 'It wouldn't be right to force him back to the White House. It would only make the problem worse.'

So he would have to appeal to America's better sensibilities, and pray. "If that is the case," he paused. Choosing his words carefully, "then I will simply offer you this."

Alfred looked up sharply. He was listening.

"It wouldn't be very American of me to make you come with me." Roosevelt stopped and took a deep breath. 'This is a living representation of everything I govern. Act as though I'm talking to the people.' "But I can't, in good conscience, leave you without at least trying to fix this mess. So if you should choose to come back with me, and work with me…" 'Carefully, carefully.' "I will find that elusive piece of legislation that bound you so unfairly, and amend it. With your input, of course." He clasped his hands behind his back, and waited.

One could see America analyze his offer, dissecting every word. "This could almost be considered blackmail, you know, holding my freedom over my head."

Roosevelt couldn't help chuckling at his wry tone. "I'd more call it a hard bargain."

Another, longer moment of silence. "…Alright. I'll play along, for now." Ancient blue eyes seemed to pierce Theodore Roosevelt's very soul. "Don't make me regret it."

Canada read the letter, and then reread it just to make sure it was real.

Matthew Williams,

If you would please send an inquiry to Washington D.C. as to the condition of their representative? Have the response forwarded to my office. Purely for political purposes, of course. Not my idea.

-Arthur Kirkland

'Still won't use his name,' Canada observed with some chagrin. Then he frowned. Why would England-or anyone in his government for that matter, want word on America's condition after so many years?

He set the strange request aside, and looked to Kumajirou, who was dozing on the empty chair on the other side of his desk. "Does this situation strike you as odd, or is it just me?"

The polar bear's black eyes blinked open. He blearily regarded his owner for a long moment, before huffing and wordlessly going back to his nap.

Canada sighed. "Right." He dug into one of his desk drawers, bringing out a fresh sheet of parchment. Odd or not, it wouldn't do to disobey. Even if he viewed it as a pointless exercise. He'd tried to reach his brother before, both through his government and his known personal address. He'd never gotten a reply.

Which is why he'd stopped trying almost twenty years ago. The northern Nation figured the gap between him and his brother was too great-their relationship damaged beyond repair.

Matthew exhaled a slow breath, staring blankly at the starch-colored parchment he'd prepared.

America likely wouldn't read it, much less bother to answer. He'd bet money on that. Which meant he would have to address this inquiry to the only other person that might know of his brother's whereabouts, and hope that he wasn't as stark an isolationist as his predecessors.

He took up his pen, and began to write.

Mister President Roosevelt…

'This,' Roosevelt decided, 'is the most uncomfortable train ride that I've ever taken.'

Him, America, and two burly Secret Service agents crowded into one compartment, and none of them terribly inclined to speak. The tension was positively stifling.

"Have you ever been to Africa, la-er, Alfred?"

"No. I've only been away from my borders once."

"Oh, really? Where did you go?"

"France."

"Ah, France. I hear it's quite a beautiful country."

"Sure."

"Did you enjoy yourself?"

"No."

And that was where it ended. America hadn't even looked away from the window. The conversation was over almost as soon as it began. Roosevelt scowled inwardly. If this were any other insolent teenage boy, he'd be on the case with a soldierly reprimand and smack upside the head. But this wasn't any other insolent teenage boy, so he had to be careful so that his advisor might someday accept his role. A curse on special circumstance and diplomacy!

It was getting to be too hot, in here. "I need air," the president declared, standing up. When his security detail moved to get up as well, he waved them down. "Alone."

"But sir, we-" One agent cut himself off dubiously, duty and prudence warring for control.

America's head snapped up, suddenly alert. "What's happening?"

"I'll be back in a short moment," Roosevelt assured, wondering at the faint light of apprehension in the Nation's gaze.

"Oh…alright, then." America slowly settled back into an inattentive state. The three humans present felt compelled to stare before returning to the matter at hand.

"Keep an eye on him," the president ordered. "I won't be far."

"Change the connection."

The attendant shivered at the cool metal pressed against his neck. He swallowed dryly. "But-"

Three clicks, each one each one spelling his potential doom. "Now."

"A-alright!" The man's knees were like jelly as he went over to the lever that would redirect the coming train, drawing out the key that would release the safety. Despite everything, he hesitated. "That…a lot of people will die, you know."

A chilling laugh. "That's all collateral damage. I am truly only after one. Do you wish to join them?"

The attendant let out a very unmanly whimper. He fumbled with the key and safety lock before quickly jerking the lever back.

Almost immediately after he did that, the California Limited careened past the little train station and onto its altered course.

"There's a good man," the faceless criminal praised. There was no time for guilt or self-loathing. The attendant heard a bang, felt pain, and then nothing.

Alfred snapped awake again, surprising the Secret Service agents sitting across from him. "Something's wrong."

The two humans exchanged an uneasy glance. "What makes you say that?" one of them asked dubiously.

'They're not going to listen to me,' the Nation chastised himself. 'No one ever does.' He jumped to his feet and tried the compartment door. It was locked. America settled a tired glare on the agents. "Really, now?"

"We were ordered to watch you until the president returns," one explained. "So we locked the door."

"But something. Is. Wrong," America insisted, aware his voice was steadily approaching a menacing growl but not caring in the slightest. The last time he felt this way-

The other agent shrugged. "I'm sure it's fine."

America felt a sudden and inexplicably intense anger. "Useless!" He turned and punched straight through the wood paneling, destroying the key lock in the process.

"H-Hey!"

The blond paid no heed as he careened down the car's narrow passage with a speed only he was capable of. 'Something's wrong, something's wrong, I don't know what, I don't know what to do-'

A furiously hushed conversation just ahead between two porters. They looked afraid. Alfred screeched to a stop, listening intently.

"Have the brakemen stop the train, then! Quickly-inform everybody!"

"I was just talking to the conductor. The brakes have been cut…"

America pushed past them. 'I have to stop this train.'

Bursting through the door and leaping across to the next car, an infinitely more terrifying thought occurred to him.

'Or my president will die.'

"Sir!"

Roosevelt turned away from one of the lounge car windows to see one of his security detail, looking flushed and out of breath. "Yes, lad, what is it?"

"Mister Jones is gone!"

"Gone?" the president echoed, immediately fearing the worst. Had America tired of their compromise so quickly? "How? Why? And where did he go?"

"W-Well…"

"Answer me!" Roosevelt snapped, knowing that time could be of the essence, here.

"He said that something was wrong and just…escaped."

Roosevelt felt himself scowl. "I never said he was a captive, agent. Which way did he go?"

"Towards the engine."

Theodore Roosevelt was already moving, leaving the agent to trail along helplessly behind him.

"Passengers aren't allowed here," the mountain of an engineer informed, his shaking voice betraying his neutral façade.

Alfred bodily shouldered the man out of the way-perhaps a little too roughly, as the huge employee actually staggered back.

The Nation knew that this wasn't the human's fault, so he really had no right to be so rough. Protocol was easy to fall back on when there was nothing you could do. But now was not the time for patience or diplomacy.

Taking a deep breath, he crumpled the steel maintenance hatch in his hands as he tore it from its hinges. The engineer let out a soft eep, a metallic thump indicating that he'd fainted.

America ducked through the opening, coming out at the very front of the engine, just above the cattle guard. There he saw the problem.

The track didn't end. It was broken, and being repaired. He could see the small cluster of laborers' white canvas tents a ways from the laid track, and the stack of long rails that would replace old cracked ones.

'Stop the train, stop the train, how do I stop this train?'

The tents were getting closer. He didn't have much time, or many options.

'Time to see if a several ton moving locomotive falls within my parameters.'

Roosevelt charged into the main engine and grabbed a harried engineer by the collar. "Where is he?"

The large man, clutching his head for some reason, indicated a ripped-open metal hatch. The president stood, ordering the agent (agents, now, as the second one had finally joined them) sharply, "See to him!"

Roosevelt fixed his spectacles as he stepped out into rushing wind and smoke. "America!"

The blond Nation was there on the small platform, peering over the edge. Roosevelt couldn't help but notice the missing cattle guard.

"What are you doing?!" the president demanded over howling wind.

"Brakes gone; stopping train!" America answered shortly. He crouched, blue eyes determined.

"You can't-"

Powerful legs propelled the Nation far ahead of the train, and turned to face it head-on. Roosevelt looked on in confused horror. How was committing suicide going to stop the-

America loosed a determined yell that resonated with Roosevelt's very soul, slamming his hands into the train's steel front. Metal crunched in his grip, and the entire train shuddered with a terrible screeching sound. His heels dug deep into the ground, breaking rail ties as he was pushed backwards.

Roosevelt felt the speeding locomotive begin to slow down.

'This is impossible. I'm witnessing a miracle.'

The train crawled to a stop, mere feet away from an obviously split old rail that would've derailed the entire machine.

America slumped, utterly exhausted. "Knew…something…wrong."

"You saved my life," Roosevelt breathed, "and the lives of everyone else on the train. By stopping it with your bare hands."

America crawled painfully back onto the train engine. Then he just laid there on his stomach, allowing his cheek to rest on the heated black steel with a wheezing sigh. Then Roosevelt saw the price he'd paid for his actions. From the back of his knees to his heels was a bloody mess of bruises, gashes, and exposed bone.

"I'll send for medical supplies," the president decided, making to stand up. "You've lost so much blood, not to mention the probability of infection-"

"…No need," America managed. "This happens a lot…I'll be fine in a bit."

"Nonsense," Roosevelt retorted. "Cortelyou never mentioned anything like that." 'But he didn't mention how strongthe lad was, either…'

"Jefferson wrote about it," the Nation said faintly, dozing off. "Still in the library…somewhere." Then he fell unconscious. Roosevelt had to fight the urge to gag at the set of rapid snaps, followed by disgusting squishing sounds as bone and muscle tissue began to mend as though by magic.

"I'll have to look into that," Roosevelt decided aloud, knowing full well that America would not hear. "So that you don't surprise me like this, anymore."

'And so that I can know what you're truly capable of.'

Because no early twentieth century story is complete without a near train wreck. Not a whole lot of history in this chapter, but eh. Nothin' much I could do about that. There'll be more unsolicited history lessons coming soon, though, so don't you worry about that. Hope you guys enjoyed it anyways!

THANK YOU for all the favs, follows, and reviews everyone! They're greatly appreciated, and I would love to hear what you guys thought of this chapter, or are thinking of this story so far!

Later dudes. ^J^