This chapter isn't as short as chapter 3, but not as long as the other chapters. However, I like to divide my chapters up by events, and not really word count. I hope you all like this.

And thanks for the favs, follows, visits, views, reviews, and so much more! It motivates me so much to know that so many like my story!

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Chapter 5

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Canada thought he had left the luncheon room without anyone noticing. It was just part of his innate ability as a nation that no one really paid attention to. However . . .

As he sat down on the rooftop of the convention center, with the garden's trees hiding him from sight, a man walked up behind him.

"Not hungry?"

He shrugged. Did not really have enough energy for anything else.

The man sat beside him, leaning up against the closest tree, "You know there's a bench right over there."

He did not want to say anything. Just wanted to be alone. But, he did not want to brush off such a good friend.

"I know. . . I just want to sit here too."

"Hmm," Netherlands took out his beloved pipe and lit it, "I just thought you'd like to save your nice suit from becoming dirty. Didn't France buy it for you?"

"What about you? Didn't Belgium buy you that suit?"

"Ja. But I know how to clean stains out easily."

He laughed quietly, "That's true."

And they just sat there, taking in the muffled sounds of the city below them. The cool breeze wafted their way, messing with Netherland's tobacco smoke, and sending it towards Canada. The sweet smells infiltrated his nostrils, soothing his mind. Canada was by no means a smoker, though his papa and others around him partook in the activity. However, he would never call them out for it, unless they were in a no smoking zone that is.

.

As the night air cooled and the moon rose in the sky, Canada could hear Netherlands finish his pipe, tap out the remaining tobacco, clean it with his cherished handkerchief – the one Belgium embossed an AM with on one side and a KN on the other – and place both items back in his secret pocket. (He always had a secret pocket in all his jackets.)

He inwardly tensed. He knew what was coming next.

"You're not too happy with your brother right now. Are you?"

Yeah. He knew it.

Netherlands had a knack for knowing exactly what was wrong, and knowing exactly when to bring it up. And, for that matter, knowing exactly what to say to make Canada tell him everything. He did not know if it was because Netherlands was older than him, or that he was always in a ranting mood whenever the other asked what was wrong. One way or another, though, Netherlands would know about the problem and try to help fix it.

"Well?" said nation prompted, when he received no response.

"Well, what? I'm glad my brother's okay. He survived a crash for goodness sake."

"Which is fine and all. And nation can do that. Especially a bull like him. But you still don't seem happy about his current condition right now."

He sighed, "Can we just not talk about this right now?"

"We can talk about it later. But I promised sis that I would help her find a present for little Liechtenstein, even though her birthday is still a month away," he shifted, rustling the tree as he did so, "How about we talk now."

Canada sighed, irritation radiating off of him. There was no way he was going to get Netherlands to back down; he could tell the man was already dead set on getting him to speak, "What is there to say?" he sighed once more, letting some annoyance slip away, "he's my brother. And he's recovering from a terrible accident. He's scared right now, but there's nothing I can do. So I decided to come up here and enjoy a relaxing breeze."

"If it's so relaxing, then why are you tense?"

He fidgeted, "Maybe because someone is butting into something that is none of their business."

"Really?"

"Yes," he gritted between his teeth.

"Who could that be?"

"You know who it is."

"Really? How could I, when you are not telling me anything."

"Well maybe if you listened to a damn word I've said before you might already know!" He snapped back, turning to face Netherlands; only to find him with arms crossed, leaning back as if he were asleep.

"I never heard any –"

"Oh just give it up Abel! It's not funny and it's not a game!" He shot up to his feet, facing him, "My brother! The only one in my family who remembers me most all the time! The one who defends me whenever anyone tries to hurt or insult me! The one who know not only my favorite kind of maple syrup, but also how to calm Kumajiro from a rage! The one who tells me, with a great, giant, grand smile on his stupid, goofy face that no matter what, everything will be just fine! That brother of mine!" his hands started to flail around, adding to his story, "The only brother I really even have! He-he-he just ends up completely, totally, and utterly forgetting who I am! Not my name, nor my age, nor my birthday! Not even my gender! MY GENDER! What do I just look like a girl right off the bat! Do I send off female sense to everyone! Is it how I walk or talk or what! AGGHHH!" He huffed and puffed, but could not keep up the anger, "He remembers nothing at all! None of the goods times we spent fishing or playing sports! None of the times we had growing up in Britain's mansion, or how France first introduced us! He doesn't even remember our secret hide out! He doesn't remember our home, or our mother!" tears fell from blue-tinted amethyst eyes.

It was at this time that Netherlands was standing, a grimace lined on his face.

"I mean . . ." His voice was nothing but a whisper, "what if he has forgotten it all . . ." a gasp of air, "what if he forgets me completely . . ."

Netherlands messed with Canada's hair, "Oi. Don't start thinking that way. Your brother maybe dense, especially with amnesia working against him; but he's still your brother. There's still a connection between you two."

"What if the connection isn't there anymore?" He cried, "What if he's not America – not Alfred anymore?"

"I don't know. Because that's not going to happen, Matthew."

Canada looked over at Netherlands – no. He looked over at his friend, Abel-Morgens. Their human names were so sacred to them. Especially their first names; and especially when spoken between each other. And Abel was a true friend, even if he did not know how to say so from day to day.

Matthew wiped off his wet cheeks and cleared away the eyes underneath his glasses. He nodded, "O-oui."

"He will remember."

"Oui," He smiled a small, but hopeful smile, "oui."

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Alfred, which was apparently his name, shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He was hungry, and wanted to eat so badly, but did not have the courage to walk over to the buffet line. It felt like every single eye was watching his every single move. What were these people waiting for? Did they really expected him to start acting like the person he was . . . whatever that entailed.

He just sat there, concentrating on his food and not on feeling more awkward than what he was.

.

Britain just stared at the boy's plate.

"W-what? Is something wrong?" Ameri– no – Alfred asked.

He shook his head, "No."

"Then why are you staring at my plate like a rabid dog?" There was that sarcasm again, along with a partially snarled face.

"Well," he pushed the thought aside, "it's just that you usually – or would usually – get a bit more on your plate."

"And?"

"And, well," How could he say this . . . "Wouldn't you like a bit more on your plate than just that?"

Alfred looked down at his plate. There did not seem to be anything wrong with the beef soup or finger sandwiches he had picked out. "Uh . . . I don't think I'm that hungry, Arthur. . . Besides," the playful sarcasm again, "I don't want to get fat."

Britain looked at the small grin forming on Alfred's face. It was so . . . so him. But not at the same time. Was it going to be like this until he remembered who he was?

The small nation did not have time to consider the question any more than a minute, as a shadow bolted towards Alfred across the room and tackled him.

"AAHH!" His soup flew across the table to hit Britain right in the chest, as his sandwiches hit the table and floor.

His body was in total flight or fight mode, choosing to freak out and tense up rather than punching whatever it was latching onto him.

A high squeal confirmed to Britain who it was. He looked up to find Italy snuggling his cheek in Alfred's hair, "Ve~!"

"Italy! Get off!" Britain and Germany, who was thundering towards their table, shouted.

"Eeee!" The short nation cried, as Germany tore him off of the scared man.

Britain looked back at Alfred and tensed. The boy was shaking, his eyes wide, hands clawing the table, breath staggering. Even some sweat dripping down his face.

"Alfred . . ." He leaned forward, trying to place his hand on the boy's, but the other just pulled back.

Alfred wrapped his arms around himself.

Britain did not know what to do.

He was not use to it.

Well, he never was.

Not really.

Not since America grew up into his own nation.

What could he do now?

For his sake and Alfred's, though, he did not have to come up with an answer. France came up and held America in a tight embrace.

"It's okay, mon petit. It was nothing," Alfred started to calm, his breathing finally settling down, "You are in no harm here. Votre onkle is here."

Alfred rested in France's arms like a child would in his parent's. Britain calmed himself.

Knowing everything was under control, he turned his attention towards Italy, who was being scolded by Germany for his actions. Though, from seeing the boy tear up, he could not keep his anger.

"I-I didn't mean to hurt Mr. America. I-I was just happy that he was back."

He sighed right when Germany did so. How could anyone stay made at Italy . . . well, besides his brother.

"Italy," Britain walked around the table, "we have to be careful with Amer– Alfred. He's still having trouble adjusting to his environment, and he doesn't have a sense like he used to. We need to take everything slow. Do you understand?"

He pouted, nodding, "I understand."

Germany sighed once again, "Gut. Now don't do it again. And apologize to Alfred."

Italy walked to Alfred's side, "I'm sorry America. I didn't mean to scare you. I was just really excited to know you were okay."

Said boy looked at Italy, taking in his smile, "I-it's okay. You didn't know," He did not know why, but something in him made him want to be kind to this person.

Britain took in the sight, reveling in Alfred's intrigue with Italy.

"Oh! I know how I can make it up to you and help you too! How about we have a sleepover and talk about who you are and stuff!" Italy cheered in his idea.

"A sleepover? Do nations even have sleepovers?"

"Of course we do! I used to sleep over at Germany's all the time during the last war. But of course it was not all fun, especially when he made Japan and I run laps around his house to prepare for battle. And when he tried to take my cat friend away to experiment on. And when he fell into my pizza that one time when he was yelling at me for making a mess. And–"

The man blabbered on and on, surprising Alfred and annoying Germany and Britain.

"That's enough!" Germany smacked Italy on the head.

"Ow!"

"I do not think Alfred will be up for that tonight! He's had a long day!"

"Well," Alfred looked up at them, departing from France's grasp, "actually I wouldn't mind that. I mean, isn't it important for me to know who I was, er, am?"

"Hai. It would be a great idea, Ludwig-san," Japan, who had snuck his way between Germany and Britain when he saw the commotion starting, spoke up.

His now known presence spooked everyone, making them jump. Well, besides Germany, that is, who was already used to the other appearing out of nowhere.

"You sure, Kiku?" Germany asked.

"Hai. No time better than the present to help Alfred regain his memories."

"Yeah," Alfred reconfirmed, "I'm up for it. And if I do get tired, I'll just go to bed."

"It would be good for him to spend time with us," France chirped in.

Germany nodded, "fine then," and pointed towards Italy, "but no crazy games or surprises! Verstehen Sie?!"

"Sir, yes sir!" Italy saluted out of habit, though for everyone else it seemed like he was making fun of Germany.

The latter just sighed again, rubbing his temples.

Britain looked over at Alfred, who was watching the other two, and hoped this would help him.

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Netherlands doesn't have an official human name, but Himaruya liked the fan's choices of Abel and Mogens among others. I went with both, Mogens being a middle name of sorts, since I liked them both.

Also, France calls America his little one, and refers to himself as America's uncle.