C H A P T E R S E V E N

• AMERICA }} alfred •

I was making myself a sandwich when I blacked out.

"More! Please, Daddy?" It was a child.

Somebody laughed. "Now, now, Alfred, you've had enough!"
"I didn't even get any!" Came a squeak nearby.

"Sorry, Matthew!" The child giggled, picking up a corner of a grilled sandwich and passing it to a blond-haired child. He smiled back and took it from him.

A tall man with broad shoulders and sandy colored hair sat down beside the children, holding a sandwich of his own.

"Here's to real food, kids!" He said, thrusting half of it in the air in a salute. The two children raised theirs, too, giggling uncontrollably. They then took a few bites and proclaimed it the best sandwiches ever.

"Way better than your mom's idea of food, huh? Haha!" The man chuckled. Then he grew serious and hushed the kids as they mumbled their agreement. "Now, don't tell Amelia I said that."

"Don't tell me what?" A curly-haired woman peered around the corner, hand on her hip.

"Daddy told us not to tell you that his food was better than yours." Matthew informed her, eyes wide and serious.

The man shook his head in dismay and the woman rolled her eyes.

"Oh, really now?" She said, waving it away. She whispered, "Well, make sure you don't tell him that I love him anyways, okay?"

"Okay!" The two children chorused, before turning to their father with the promise on their lips.

Note to self: Sandwiches may cause a full belly, sleepiness, and blacking out with images of children with the same name as you.

That's how I woke up with an onion on my shirt and a tomato covering one of my eyes. I quickly wiped it off onto the floor and staggered up, grasping the counter and staring at the bread I had laid out.

What.

Was.

That?

I knew my history. I was America. I've been around for hundreds of years; I never had a father. I never had a mother. England raised me, not parents. I barely ever saw Canada. So why were the two of us living under the same roof with two strangers we called our parents?

A sigh came from nearby as I moved back and almost slipped on the tomato I had dropped; it was Matthew, and he had just walked into the kitchen.

"Alfred, try to be more careful the next time you make a sandwich, please." He said, watching me with a critical eye.

"Hey!" I said. "I fainted!"

He rolled his eyes. "Uh-huh, okay. Just make sure you clean up, okay?"

I pouted, a silent protest as he turned to leave, before the flashback came to mind.

"Hey, Matthew! Before you go, can I ask you something?" I asked hopefully, smiling brilliantly at him. He stopped and looked at me. I felt nervous.

"Um, so… yeah. Do you remember anything about a woman named Amelia?"

His face was dubious. "Earhart? Yeah, Alfred, everyone remember-"

"No, no no no. Not Earhart. A… a mother? To... um. To us?"

I felt so stupid. Matthew looked at me like I was stupid.

"Maybe you really did faint, Alfred. You should… get some sleep." He said, before turning to leave.

"Wait, answer my question!" I called after him, scrambling out the kitchen.

"Of course not, Al. We've never had a mother. Stop with your crazy fantasies."

His voice sounded slightly bitter. He searched my face and then left me standing alone in the hallway.

So maybe I was going crazy. It wasn't a sufficient answer to put me at ease, but it helped that he hadn't snapped at me, which was the usual response I had been getting from him. I think it has something to do with Prussia, but I'm not sure. He always gets a little angry at his friend every once in a while, but this is the worst I've seen him.

Oh well. I guess it's not really my problem. I finished making my sandwich and sat down at the cramped table, munching away.

•••

• FINLAND }} tino •

I'm shivering when I wake up.

I have no idea where I am. It smells like a dumpster. It's really dark. I'm not sure why I'm shivering, because it feels like an oven, wherever I am. I pull my naked knees against my chest and wrap my arms around them. It feels safer, but I'm still shaking.

There are many things that I want to think about, but I mostly just want to stay human. I want to stay me. Whatever… that was, I don't want it to happen again. But it feels like it will. My stomach does somersaults and I clutch my skin, wishing to tear it off and expose the human skeleton beneath, proof that I'm me. It is physically impossible to change skeletons and live.

It's too hot in here.

After a while – I'm not sure how much time goes by, maybe only a few minutes, maybe an hour – the heat starts to wear off, and I feel sturdier. My eyes have adjusted to the dim light, and it looks like I'm behind a warehouse. There's a dead mouse lying by me, so that would probably explain the garbage smell. After I noticed it I scooted away.
I almost feel normal in a few more minutes. I get to my feet, leaning against the building for support if I need it, but I find that I'm okay without it. I walk bare-footed to the end of the building and look around the corner: I realize the sun is setting. I have to get home quick. I recognize the street, amazingly enough. It's a good half-hour's walk away from our apartment building.

I would start running now. I wanted to get to the apartment as soon as possible, before I could change again, if I was going to. I didn't know if this was permanent or not. I didn't know how often it happened. I knew nothing.

The only problem was that I was naked. I didn't wake up with my clothes and I'm on the other side of town, so there's no way I'd be able to find them. That really sucks, too. I liked that jacket; that jacket was a gift from Berwald.

Well. What a dilemma…

A flicker of light caught my eye, and my gaze drifted to it. It took a moment to focus on it, but as soon as I saw it I knew what I had to do. My mind knew it was the logical and, honestly, the only thing I could do, but my heart saw it as terribly immoral and wrong.

You can't do that! I cried.

But you have to. It's your only chance.

Somehow I guess I knew I couldn't stay mad at myself for long, so I then found myself sauntering towards the light, poised to steal a hobo's clothes.

A thought popped into my head; what if he doesn't have any?

This almost made me laugh, but I had to keep quiet.

The hobo doesn't seem to notice me as I come closer, or maybe he's just ignoring me. He's an older man, almost bald, with a large nose. I kind of wonder whether or not it would make me feel better that he's older, or if it would've been easier with a young person. I can't dwell on that.

"Ah-... Hello." I said, approaching the fire. The light plays on his cheek. I realized that he's hunched over the fire, almost as if he's in pain. When he didn't respond, I reached out and grabbed his arm softly, all thoughts of thievery stolen from my mind. I hope he doesn't mind that I'm naked.

"You…! Ah! Sta…stay away from me!" He pushed me away and I stumbled back a little, regaining my balance easily. He, however, staggered backwards, clinging to one of his arms. As he fell backwards I saw that his hands and arm were stained with blood.

"Sir, are you okay?" I bent over him and reached for his arm, but he flailed out and kicked weakly at me. It was obvious he didn't want help, but how could I just leave him like that? I kneeled beside him, gritted my teeth, and pulled his hand away from his arm, him feebly thrashing about underneath me.

My stomach flipped in my abdomen at seeing the wound. His arm was covered in red rivets, and – dear God – part of his arm is missing. Like… torn off. Bitten, maybe.

Oh. What… No way!

I backed off, dread and horror and guilt and anguish growing in the pit of my stomach and I wonder if I had done this to him. My teeth felt too heavy in my mouth. Nothing tasted like blood… but what did that mean? Nothing.
I tried to pull of his jacket so I could staunch the blood, but he was already pale and his movements were growing weaker. I left it and kneeled there for My eyes had adjusted to the firelight by now, and I saw that there was blood all over his coat arms and dripping onto his shirt.

He nudged away from me, frightened gaze pinned on me. It didn't move off of me, even after his pulse stopped. I tried not to think about the fact that I was undressing a dead hobo that I may or may not have killed when I turned into a wolf – I mean, why would that cross my mind? – while I shrugged off his pants and pulled them onto myself, before warming my hands at the fire for a moment and taking off in the direction of the house.

•••

Taking a shower not only pulled the dirt from my skin, but also the feelings from the night. No longer was the guilt of what I had, may have, and may not have done. I felt less and less disgusted with myself as I drew clean clothes around me and discarded the old, brushing my teeth about three times before I felt comfortable enough to call myself human.

But I guess I had shells; different layers. Once the remorse and shame were washed away, I was left with a feeling of pure fright and confusion. I felt lost. Which way was I to go from here?

I felt dirty; impure. I might have killed someone. I stole their clothes. I turn into a wolf. Which was the biggest sin? And was there any way to stop it?

I had been shocked when I was told I was a country. It seemed so odd, so hard to believe! I was young, but it still took me a while to believe what the elder nations had told me. Now, what was I to expect?

What was I supposed to do? How do I stop this? Was this going to happen often? Where would it happen? Is there a reason for it? Is there a reason it's me, and no one else?
This is my body, the one I'm in now. I rub my arms and feel goosebumps on them. I am Tino, not a wolf. I can't let it happen again, I decide, and get to my feet, trying to leave behind my fright and disappointment with myself.

I traipsed down the stairs from my rented room, into the empty kitchen. I was only glad for a few things, one of them being that nobody was home when I returned. I was able to slip in unnoticed by anyone, and I was astounded with my luck. However, them not being here also meant that Berwald had not returned yet. I think they would have stayed had he.

Maybe I didn't really eat a chunk out of that old man's arm, because I was pretty hungry. I rifled through the fridge in hope of something filling to eat, but as I do not have a taste for beer or Hákarl, I turn tippy-toed to the cabinets. I could see the box of salmiakki I kept on the top shelf, and I reached for it. Some people might call me short for this, – not that I am! – but I usually do have Berwald get it down for me.

My fingers are just grasping it when I hear a key click in the door and someone walks into the room.

Panic shot through me and I lost my balance, knocking the salmiakki off the shelf and sending me and it both sprawling to the floor. The licorice exploded out of the box, strewn across the floor in a manner that I know will take me forever to clean up. Like a frightened rabbit I look up for my hunter, only to find out that my predator is just another familiar face.

Perkele…

"Ahhaa, Berwald!" I said, getting to my feet and flashing him a sheepish smile, hoping it will hide my absolute horror at him coming home. I guess that sounds pretty bad. It wasn't horrible that he was here, it was horrible he was here now.

He stared at me in confusion, electric blue gaze fixed on me. A feeling in my stomach sent a shudder down my spine and I almost yelped out loud, so afraid I was going to turn into a wolf from it. I tried to convince myself that I wasn't going to as I hurriedly swept up the salmiakki into a pile with my hands.

He stared at me for a good minute, saying naught a word, and left the room, leaving me staring at the spot where he had been. I tried sorting my thoughts, but then he returned with a broom and dustpan in hand.

"M've, Tino." He grunted, making a little motion with his hand for me to do so. I almost resisted him and tried to insist on me cleaning up, but I knew I wouldn't win so I just got to my feet and stepped away. He started sweeping it up, focused on the task. He wore his usual serious face, and it was moments like this that made me want to giggle at him. Such a severe look for a silly task like sweeping!

But I couldn't, at a time like this. I took the dustpan from his hand and squatted down, holding it against the floor to help him.

Don't shift, I told myself. You are not a wolf. You are Tino. So you're not going to be a wolf. Not in front of Berwald, especially. He'll think you're a freak. You think you're a freak.

Not true, I shot back.

Yes true. I brushed off my jeans while he threw away the remnants of food, my dinner gone.

"So.. Um, where were you?"

Berwald turned to look at me and I regretted my question immediately. Maybe he wasn't looking extra-fierce like I thought he was; maybe, after all these years, I still couldn't read his feelings. He shrugged, and I didn't ask him again, though I knew the question would eat at me later. I'd wonder why he hadn't answered and then wonder if it was my fault and the thought that maybe he saw me as a wolf will cross my mind and I'll be terrified like I am right now.

"Ya h'ngry?" He asked.

"Nope!" I squeaked, scooting around him to avoid his gaze. I felt like an ass, doing so. He was my closest friend, whether he'd deny it or not, but I couldn't find the heart to spend another second so close to him. I wanted to tell him that I missed him, that I was glad he was back, and I wanted to know where he'd been and why so long. I couldn't.

"Um. I'm… busy. Bye." I said, casting a look over my shoulder at his confused look before jumping up the stairs two-at-a-time.

I collapsed in my room after shutting and locking the door quietly.

What was I going to do?

•••