It had been awhile since America had gotten out of the White House. It had been awhile since he'd felt the urge to.
It wasn't even a particularly nice day he decided to venture out. Grey skies, a slight edge to the wind promising a frost that night. Leaves lay underfoot, not brightly colored, but brown and lifeless, dull shattered remnants of their former glory.
When had it become fall again? When had the seasons changed? It felt as if he'd been in an alternate universe the past few years and was just now returning to Earth. Except it didn't seem quite as he had left it. Fake somehow. Different. He couldn't place his finger on the change.
His crutches dragged grooves into the organic debris, indented here and there by twin jabs as he eased his weight forward. Absently, he thought back to before the war started. Running, what had it been like to run? Only a few years had passed, and he found his memory of the action disturbingly vague. Like an old page of writing, blurred and besmirched with age.
Perhaps a few years would be some length of time to a Human, but to a Nation it was nothing. It would become such a great nothing as time passed on and he grew older. As would this war? Would it become a thing of the past, a ghost locked away only to be looked back on with trepidation and remorse? No. America couldn't see that happening. Not with something this big.
He continued on in his ungainly shuffle, savoring the feel of the chill biting into his skin. It was refreshing, such a change from the stale air of the White House.
Lincoln…
His president had given him specific instructions when he expressed the desire to journey out.
"Stay away from the fighting," Lincoln issued, his voice lacking the sternness a command should possess. Instead it was worried. The concern was clear in his expression too, embedded in the creases of his brow.
"I've been in fights before," America responded, voice soft. It wasn't a show of defiance, merely a statement.
Lincoln acknowledged it with a curt nod. "But not like this. Not in your state. Please, America. I know you're not Human, I know injuries are different for you…but I don't want to see you hurt anymore than you already are. Promise me."
"I promise," America returned without missing a beat. He tried his best to put on his usual casual smile, the one that had been so reassuring to his presidents in the past.
But it didn't work. He could feel the corners of his mouth: stiff, faltering. Though Lincoln's sigh was enough of an answer in and of itself.
America didn't break promises. He was the hero, and a hero would never do such a base thing. So he decided to make his way elsewhere, instead, to a building he had not frequented in quite some time.
The town was much different than he remembered, no longer the sleepy New England village from before the Revolution. Of course it wouldn't be. That would be ridiculous, for it to have remained unchanged all these years. But it made it harder to find the small house he had once called home.
Agitation sprang up inside him, a fear that perhaps he had forgotten. Or perhaps the house had been burned down, destroyed at some point. It was so old after all. Over a century…
People gaped at him as he limped through the streets, an expression of desperate determination on his face as he continued to plod forward. But no one came to speak with him, or interrupt his quest. Did they even know who he was? What he was? Once upon a time, he might not have doubted it.
Blue, blood shot eyes scanned building after building, trying to pick out the age old lines of streets from their modern counterparts. He didn't notice that his breath was becoming quicker, that his heart was pounding with renewed fervor behind his ribs.
And there it was. It looked so much smaller than he remembered. So different, but more familiar than anything he had set eyes on in ages.
Excitedly, he hopped forward, mind awash with memories and thoughts. England's cooking, the evidence of witchcraft he had found in the closet. Did someone else live here now? Or would it be uninhabited, undisturbed since that night…
"I'm an adult now, I can take care of myself. I don't need you anymore!"
"America…you can't. You're my little brother…you're my…you can't leave."
"No…I can."
The flashbacks were a relief from the usual voices plaguing the halls of his mind, even though they sent a painful twinge through his chest. He was at the door now, shifting his weight so that he could reach a hand out to open the door.
In retrospect, he should've knocked first. But he didn't, pushing his way into the house with a sudden franticness.
He had been out too late. England would be upset with him if he didn't hurry, didn't rush. He didn't want England to be upset with him, he never wanted to disappoint him…
The house was empty. Eerily so. America's everyday belongings lay scattered about: old toys he'd been insisting on getting rid of, school books England had brought over…
Everything was the same, only garbed under a thin layer of dust. It didn't seem possible for it to have stayed like this. In fact, it wasn't. Not without at least minor check-ups.
America froze when he heard footsteps coming from upstairs. Heavy ones, heavier than he thought the house could support.
"Hello?" he called out, as he clattered over to the stairs. Just as he was debating how to best get up them in his current state, the other presence emerged.
Russia. What on earth…?
"America-kun~!" he smiled his childish expression, purple eyes sliding shut momentarily, before opening again to take in the other Nation. "I haven't seen you in awhile, but I've heard. You are holding up well, da?"
"I…suppose," the blond returned, uneasy and perplexed. "What are you doing here?"
"Visiting~" the taller Nation moved down the last few steps, the wood creaking loudly under his feet. "England-kun comes here a lot…So I was curious."
"England?" America's mind quickly filled in the blank, but nonetheless he stood with baited breath, waiting for the other's reply.
"Da!" Russia nodded, seemingly pleased about something. "He likes cleaning up this old house, for some reason. Other Nations are so interesting…"
"Ah," America hummed in response, his guess confirmed. Iggy's come here a lot since that day. I wonder why I never did…
"But he hasn't helped you much," Russia voiced in his odd manner, trailing a gloved hand down the dusty rail from where he stood. "That's like England, isn't it?"
"What do you mean?" once again the blue-eyed one was left nonplussed, watching with hesitance as the taller Nation's hand paused.
Russia looked up then, looking at America as if for the first time. "No glasses," he commented with (feigned?) surprise, tilting his head ever so slightly to the side, completely avoiding the other's question. He continued on with only a moment's pause, on a seemingly unrelated topic. "It's going to hurt if you keep this up."
"What do you mean?" the younger Nation repeated, feeling like a broken record.
"Rip!" Russia exclaimed, making America jump, as he jerked his hands apart from where they had drifted together. "It must be nice. It's nearing winter and it's still not too bad…"
Rather unnerved, America shifted, backing away a little. He was suddenly reminded of how small the house was. Too small…
England had been coming here all these years…decades…
A single tear dripped down his cheek, brushed away before Russia could see it. But the older Nation heard the slight sniffles, and cocked his head curiously.
"This is the part of you England misses," Russia whispered, so softly America almost didn't catch it. But he did, and he heard the implications in the silence.
This is the part of you England cares about. This side of you: The Union. It's who he really wants to win. You know he doesn't say or do what he means.
"I would miss you, too, America-kun~" the blond's head jerked up, as if to check that Russia had actually spoken. His voice was very distinctive…it had to be…
The taller Nation grinned, before turning to leave with a wave. "You're a very interesting person~"
America couldn't recall the last time he had been so confused. Or so hopeful.
Historical Notes: The only European country to show a definite friendship towards the Union was Czarist Russia. In the fall of 1863 two Russian fleets entered American waters, one in the Atlantic and one in the Pacific. They put into New York and San Francisco harbors and spent the winter there. The average Northerner was pleased by this, taking it to mean that the Russian Czar had placed the ships there as a warning to England and France. If they fought to support the South, he would help the North. However, this wasn't exactly the case. Russia was, at the time, in danger of getting into a war with England and France, for reasons totally unconnected with the Civil War in America. So to avoid the risk of having his fleets icebound in Russian ports, the Czar simply moved them to American harbors for the winter. If war should come, they would be in position to raid British and French trade ships.
Rapid inflation caused drastic price increases, with insufficient wage increases in the South. The railroad was wearing out. Imports became more and more scare with the increasingly efficient blockade, and industrialization was limited by lack of knowledge, labor, and capital. Southern dislike of centralized authority prevented the confederacy from making efficient use of its scare supplies.
In the North, after an initial brief depression, the economy flourished. War stimulated manufacturing, railroads were efficient, and farming improved because of decreased labor and bad harvests in Europe increasing export demand. Yet, there was mild inflation similar to the South. Congress passed economic measures previously blocked by Southern Democrats, from land measures like the Homestead Act to the National Banking Act, which created a uniform currency. Unions of skilled workers formed, and began striking. A new selfish, materialistic attitude came about. Churches played an active role in recruiting and fundraising, in both the North and South, though some were split over the question of emancipation. Over all, the war incited industry, and improved governmental organization by exposing problems.
Southern women had to tend to plantations in the absence of men, losing the concept of "ladyhood". After initial resistance, women participated in the medical corps, as well as clerks, textile workers and other "feminine" jobs. Northern women worked the fields and industries, their low wages halting the wage increase of their male counterparts. Elizabeth Blackwell created the Sanitary Commission, dedicated to improving sanitary conditions of the soldiers. There were also many army nurses.
This is the first mostly filler chapter I've written in awhile, methinks. And I'd forgotten how difficult Russia is to write ._.' I hope he didn't come out too badly. And I feel like my notes are spotty. It's late, and I wanted to get something up. I might expand later if it's bad enough. I really don't have an explanation. This just sort of came out. I think I like it.
On another note, I unexpectedly reached 400 reviews with last chapter. As most of you might know, I give out giftfics to every 100th reviewer. My wonderful 400th reviewer was extremely generous and declined the giftfic offer so that I might "make someone else's day" ^^ So it shall go to the 401st reviewer. And remember, no repeats.
just another fma fan: Yeah I read up on it a bit, thinking of Gaara and stuff back when I had insomnia. It has since cleared up, for whatever, so needless to say, it wasn't anything serious…but wow does your body need sleep.
I will definitely have to look into those. They sound very neat ^^
I could split it up…but I think I'd rather keep it as this epic long thing. But that's good point. I'll try and see what I can do in future chapters. The part with him trying to read and not being able to was inspired by myself the night before SATs…trying to take a practice test ._.' This is why people study in advance, I suppose…
Thanks for the luck ^^ Actually more worried about the History one than I was about the SATs…standardized testing isn't all that bad, really. Just time consuming.
Thank you for the review :]