"They're just trying to get stuff out of us," Lincoln assured, upon meeting with a concerned America. "I doubt they'll actually try anything, my boy. Put the worries from your mind."

America shook his head, Texas nearly flying off his face. "Sir, I really don't think that's the case. Things have changed since the last time…they have more reason now, and I—I…" He couldn't get past the lump rising in his throat.

"America," Lincoln said with a steady calmness, leaning in towards the young Nation to look him directly in the eye, as he placed a firm hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry. Nothing's going to happen. There's no need for you to get so worked up about all of this."

It should have been reassuring: the comforting trustworthiness of the palm, the relaxed assurance of his soon-to-be-president's tone. But all America felt was trapped, afraid, and angered by Lincoln's refusal to take him seriously.

"You don't understand," Feeling tears begin to prick at the back of his eyes, he jerked away violently, his voice coming out a frantic shout. "They're going to secede! I know it. I can feel it. You're my president…you're supposed to make it better!"

Lincoln watched in dumbstruck silence for awhile, as the corners of the blond's eyes filled. "I'm not president yet, America," he returned evenly, when he at last had organized a response. "I will be soon enough, and I will take appropriate action if sufficient threat arises. But for now, you've got to calm down. Have you talked to Mr. Buchanan?"

"He doesn't care," America grit out between his teeth, wiping away a few stray tears. "And neither do you, it seems!"

"I do care," Lincoln responded, in a suddenly steely voice, before softening again. "But I am not yet president. Until we meet again, rest your head. Matters should be clarified by then."

America left without bothering to say goodbye.

"There's nothing I can do," Buchanan repeated, sighing in frustration. "Yes, secession is illegal. Yes, they shouldn't be allowed to go through with it. But there is no legal way for the government to prevent it. And my term is nearly over…Lincoln's the one you should be discussing this with."

"I already spoke with him," America ground out, struggling to keep the rising hysteria inside of him out of his words. "He told me to talk to you. Is no one willing to do anything about this? Are all of you just going to sit back and—"

"America!" Buchanan raised his voice, narrowing his eyes. "There is nothing I can do about it. My time is short: I hardly have a say in what goes on once I leave. It would be foolishness to start something now, when—"

"It's foolishness to not do anything about it!" America screamed, not caring that his nails were drawing blood as they dug into his palms. "Jackson understood that! He may have been hot-headed and stubborn, and reckless at times…but he wasn't a fool!"

Resolutely, America glared at his president, meeting his eyes with as much ferocity as he could muster.

Buchanan's glower collapsed then, an expression of helplessness spreading over his features that the young Nation had never seen before on the man. "You don't understand, America," his tone was soft, exasperated. Desperate. "I know what a danger this is…to you, to all of us. But I can't do anything. I've racked my brain for solutions, but I've had to reconcile with the fact that it's not in my hands anymore. I admit it…I'm no Jackson. But I refuse to let you call me a fool."

"Sir…I just," America's throat felt full, clogged, as it had so often lately. His legs felt weak, tingling all over as if he'd been sitting on them all day instead of running around. "I…" he sniffed, desperately trying to keep control of the last reigns on his emotion.

"I'm afraid," he managed at last, the two words, so simple, causing all the strength to fall out of him, as his resolve finally gave out and the tears came. He didn't want to cry, not here, not in front of Buchanan. Not after all these years: he'd grown out of it.

"America…" his president let the name hang on the air, awkward, hesitant. America had never before thought of the man as frail. It unnerved him.

"I'm sorry," America whispered through the stupid tears, before turning and running out of the room.

"Let the consequences be what they may. Whether the Potomac is crimsoned in human gore, and Pennsylvania Avenue is paved ten fathoms in depth with mangled bodies…the South will never submit." ~Atlanta Newspaper

"I see only that a fearful calamity is upon us. There is no sacrifice I am not ready to make for the preservation of the Union save that of honour. If a disruption takes place, I shall go back in sorrow to my people and share the misery of my native state." ~Robert E. Lee

He wished he could be angry again. Violent, furious—absolutely mad with rage, even. At least anger was strong, solid and passionate. Not like this terrible fear filling his gut, eating away at the linings of his organs. Fear of the unknown, of the uncertain.

What was he supposed to do? Just sit there and watch as his country—he himself?—was torn apart. Torn in two, and shredded at the ragged edges, factions of grey fraying the scraps. It would not be a clean cut. America knew that, if he was certain of nothing else.

There was no one left to go to. Ever since breaking away from England, and even before than, America had prided himself on his strength, his bravery. His ability to persevere through difficulties, and his daring. What if England had been right, all those years ago? What if he really couldn't stand on his own? What if all the Europeans who had mocked him were right?

Shaking, he drew his legs up to his chest, hugging them tighter and tighter, as if he could keep the South from seceding if he held them close enough.

What would it feel like when they finally left? Would it hurt? Would it feel like nothing? All the uncertainties kept him guessing, constantly pestering his mind as he sat in his room, the lights not helping to dispel the shadows one bit. He supposed he would find out soon enough. It was really only a matter of time.

A matter of time until everything fell apart…

Was this how England had felt, when he'd left him? Just the thought of it made his stomach churn, made the tears stream down all the faster.

If that were the case…

If England had felt this way, felt this horrid sensation that he could not even begin to describe…

If that were the case, America would never forgive himself. To intentionally bring this on another Nation.

But maybe that wasn't the case? America had only been a colony, after all, still his own person. When he had left England, it had been one Nation leaving another. Not a single Nation being torn apart…torn in two.

It would hurt, America decided. How could being ripped apart not hurt, even if it was figurative? At least America hoped it was figurative.

What if it were literal? He could almost see his legs being torn from his torso: blood spilling out, ligaments and muscles shredding like old rope under too much stress. Would that be enough to kill him, to kill a Nation? Would he even want to remain alive after such a thing?

It was in the midst of these queries that a sudden wash of panic submerged the young Nation, clearing his mind to a blank, stricken white.

It was happening. And he had been right.

Historical Notes: Shortly after Lincoln's election, South Carolina held a convention to decide its fate. On December 20th, secession was decided upon unanimously. By February 1, 1861, the six other states of the lower South followed (Texas, Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama, Georgia, and Florida) establishing the Confederate States of America. Virginia, Tennessee, North Carolina, and Arkansas did not leave the Union, but announced that they would secede as well if the federal government tried to use force against the Confederacy.

Some southerners thought seceding would allow them to create a balanced economy like that of the North. All manufactured goods were made in the North, and it was continuing to expand economically, overshadowing the South. Many were also threatened by the mere possibility of emancipation, despite retaining Democrat (generally pro-slavery) majorities in the Congress. Over the years of sectional conflict, they had grown to think of all Northerners as "meddling abolitionists" fearing they would make a move to abolish slavery with a Republican president.

States rights were their justification for leaving the Union, believing the United States was something they had agreed to join, and so they could leave just as easily. Either way, the South decided to go with secession, despite the possible consequences. But not every slave owner was entirely for it. Many believed the risks of war and slave uprisings were too great, some remaining deeply loyal to the Union. Others, like Robert E. Lee (italics are him) went along reluctantly with secession, not believing in it with their hearts, but loyal to their home states.

Northerners refused to believe the South would secede. Lincoln dismissed secession as a bluff, a ploy of the South to win concessions he was determined not to make. Southerners, likewise, would not believe that the North would use force to stop them. They thought of them as "timid materialists", reluctant to risk both the cost and possible loss of life. It was believed "a lady's thimble will hold all the blood" that would be shed. Buchanan recognized the threat, but with little time in office remaining, he was powerless. He did not have the resolve of Jackson, and although he urged concessions to the South, he lacked the forcefulness to handle the situation. A more forceful president would have denounced secession in uncompromising terms, despite the lack of time left in his term. Instead, Buchanan faltered, stuck between compromise and "aimless drift".

Sorry this took so long ^^' But another long-ish chapter, yes? I'm still figuring out where I'm going with this. I have a basic game plan, but the details are a bit up in the air, as of yet. Spring break starts this weekend, though, so I should have more time. It's going to be less…conventional than previous wars. You'll see.