Here you go!

/

/

/

Chapter 7

/

All they had to do was not stare.

NOT STARE.

How hard was that?

Germany internally groaned.

Apparently too hard.

They stared. They stared right at Alfred, who was uneasy to begin with.

But then – of course! – then they had to get closer. And closer. And closer!

So close, poor Alfred was not able to fight them off or run away. He was completely surrounded.

A little vein in Germany's forehead twitched as he watched Hungary, Ukraine, and some other female nations surround Alfred with curiosity and concern, all the while some male nations sizing him up in his current state on the other side of the room. The meeting had not even started – not even time for anyone to be in the room, for that matter – when so many nations had gathered to see how America was doing. Well, the girls were. The men, however, more or less wanted to see if they could get a punch or two in before the country was back to his formal, strong-as-all-get-out self. There was a reason he had created so many superheroes, especially during the last World War; and many of the nations never could forget first-hand encounters with those star-spangled fists. However . . . Germany was afraid the men's punches this time would be real ones, and not just figurative speech. Especially when it came to Russia and some of the Middle Eastern countries. He could only hope Alfred would be safe –

"Oh!" a high-pitched squeal put the discerning nation on edge. It was Hungary again.

"You poor thing! Being hit by a truck that big, and then dealing with so much confusion! Aw!" She wrapped her arms around the man's neck, nearly choking him in the process. "It's okay America! I'll help you remember! I have some tapes I could show you!"

"Oh! And maybe I could make you one of my pies! You always said you liked them!" Ukraine chirped, messing with his hair.

"Maybe I can make some fish dishes, too! Papa said you loved the ones I made for the family at the last picnic we all had!" Seychelles, the sweet girl, was right there along with the others, smiling cheerily at him.

Vietnam, who was able to come to this meeting through sheer luck and her own determination, also joined in, "I can make some food for you as well! I know how much you like to eat!"

All of the girls cooed over him, making Alfred blush more than he'd ever seen America do. Germany had never witnessed these girls – well, maybe Seychelles – be so kind to America! The only time that came close was when his towers fell; and even then, it was more consoling than . . . well, than fussing over him like this! Were they all just in a high school!

The only two girls who were not joining the group, were near their brothers. Germany should have guessed Belarus would not want anything to do with anyone except for Russia. Liechtenstein, on the other hand, seemed as if she would love to check up on Alfred herself. If it was not for her brother hovering around her with his gun. Knowing him, he could feel the tension rising from the other men in the room.

Germany did not know how long this would go on until something exploded – whether it was Alfred, the girls, the men, or Switzerland's gun firing. He did not want to take that chance, though.

However, right before he could yell, the doors flew open, almost tearing off their hinges. In came an overly-grinning Denmark with the other Scandinavians right behind him. They didn't seem to notice – no, wait – didn't seem to care much about the tension that had just been in the room. Denmark just sauntered over to the group of girls surrounding Alfred. Germany could tell that Norway was already annoyed with the Dane just for doing that; the taller guy could make a fool of himself very easily – no trying involved.

"Hey boy!" Denmark smacked Alfred right across the shoulder blades with no warning at all, sending visible chills down the other's back. Another inward sigh coursed through Germany; he would have to have a talk with that idiot afterwards.

"Ah! H-hello . . ." Alfred looked up at this new person. He did not have the same menacing aura as the men in the corner, but he was pretty intimidating. Well . . . sort of . . . looking at him now, he seemed really familiar. Nice, kind, but still kind of an ass when he wanted to be . . . "Wait," Alfred noticed, "weren't you the guy from yesterday? The one who was with Gilbert?"

The man grinned wider than what should have been possible, "Why yes! Yes I am! I'm Denmark!" He jutted his hand forward, "But you usually call me Mathias when we're drinking together!"

Alfred looked at the hand cautiously. He looked up at the man again – at this Mathias – and grinned. Though his grin was not as big as the other's, something in him was able to trust this man a little more than those sitting in the corner. He grabbed the hand and shook it firmly, bringing the man to grin even wider than he had before – a more impossible smile one could make, much less impersonate.

"Nice to re-meet you, Mathias."

"Same to you, Alfred."

The bonding moment did not go unnoticed by the girls, who had squealed at the sight of the two smiling. In a split second, Hungary had Alfred back in her arms, rubbing her cheek on his head, while Ukraine uncharacteristically grabbed hold of Mathias's arm and shook him lightly, all the while squealing along with the younger girls. Apparently these nations were thirsty for some bro-mance action, along with seeing Alfred's condition improve.

This, though, was not the case for those in the corner. Russia was getting very annoyed by how much attention the "Freedom Fighter" was getting. He usually did anyways – but that was for doing something really ignorant or idiotic. Now he was getting all attention in the world! And for what? Nearly killing himself? Please!

But it was not like Russia was jealous of him.

He just thought it dumb that Alfred had all the girls swooning over him. Especially since this was the same country that nearly killed others just for the sake of democracy and flaunting his own power. Pathetic.

But what was he to do? Not like he could threaten him right here. Even if he did, what could he threaten him with? The man had no memory of what he did!

And that was probably the reason all of these nations here in the corner were annoyed and angered. America had forgotten everything. Everything he did. Everything that had hurt them. It was infuriating!

Russia stood, sighing deeply.

"Where are you going? The meeting is about to start," Turkey asked, not a caring tone in his voice.

Russia did not respond. No need to.

Why would he stay around here, when nothing would get done anyways.

Turkey just shrugged.

.

Germany watched as Russia exited the room. It was probably good that he was leaving. Less likely for a fight to break out . . . well, for Russia to fight . . . there was still a chance for someone to start one. He sighed again. There was too much testosterone in the world. Too many male nations. Why couldn't there be more females?

The thought dwindled away as he heard his cellphone ring. Hearing the first few tones of his national anthem, he made his way to the podium to start the day's meeting.

That was when Canada, Britain, and France entered, Canada smiling much more than he was yesterday. He hid something behind his back as he made his way to the crowd surrounding his brother.

He tried to be patient as he waited for Denmark and Alfred to finish their conversation. But anyone could see – well, those who could see him that is – that he was excited.

Alfred finally noticed him. "Oh. Hey, Matthew. How are you?"

Besides not calling him 'Mattie,' he was pretty much the same. Something he was wishing for desperately.

"You have something?"

"Oh. Uh. . ." He snapped out of his thoughts, "Only this."

Canada moved his hand slowly in front of him, revealing a beat up leather jacket. Alfred saw the patches sewn on the rusty brown material – a large golden star on one breast pocket and a white outline of an airplane on the side shoulder. They looked very familiar.

"Whose is it?"

"Yours," Matthew smiled, "here. Take it."

"Uh . . . oh . . ." He grabbed it gently, holding it as if it were a delicate vase.

"You don't have to wear it, but Francis and I thought it would be a good idea to show it to you. It was your favorite jacket to wear during the wa-" he cut himself off, "during the 1940s."

"Really? That sounds kind of cool." He felt a change of material on the back and flipped it over. A giant '50' was sewn on, "Fifty? Like the fifty states?"

Matthew smiled again, "Yes."

"Wait . . ." Alfred looked up at him, a hint of confusion in his eyes, "America didn't have fifty states in the 1940s. It wasn't until 1959 that Alaska and Hawaii were added."

"You always did have high ambitions," his supposed brother nodded, "in fact, you always liked the number fifty. You said it was the best number there was when we were younger. I guess you just knew what was going to happen."

"Huh. That's funny," then he smiled, sincerity taking over, "Well if I have high ambitions, then I guess I can pull through this easily, right?"

At this, Matthew's joy soared along with the squeals the girls around him made. It seemed as though his brother was finally making headway in his recovery!

Germany broke the moment, though, when he spoke into the microphone, "Let's get this meeting started, shall we?"

As everyone made their way to one chair or another, Alfred stood up, jacket in hand. "So," he asked, "where am I supposed to sit?"

Britain, who had been trading insults with France, spoke up, "We decided to sit in the back this time. Just in case you need to leave and don't want to attract attention."

Alfred grinned, "Like I was just a few minutes before, huh?"

"Y-yes," Britain turned, making his way to their new seats. He tried to hide a small smile that was forming on his lips. Alfred just now . . . well . . . he looked like he did before the accident. The goofball he raised into a nation.

"So you all can trade seats here anytime?"

"Not exactly," France chirped in, ignoring the opportunity to make fun of his arch rival, "we just asked Hungary, Austria, and Romania to trade places this time. Usually, Germany is so strict that we can't ever do what we want for meetings."

"Like serve disgusting frog legs and talk about who you did last night?"

"Excuse moi, Briton! I never talk about my private life with you or anyone at meetings. Even outside of them, I would never speak to you about love. And there is nothing wrong with my cooking! Better than yours to say the least!"

"My cooking is just as good as yours, if not better, you frog!"

"Oh, please. Don't make me laugh."

"Excuse me!"

"Fine. You are excused."

"That's not what I meant!"

The two kept trading insults back and forth. Alfred, just a little concerned about his so-called former caretakers, leaned down to Matthew and asked, "So, are they always like this."

"The only time they really aren't," he whispered back, "is when they are serious, too tired to talk, sleeping, or facing a common enemy."

"Wow."

"Yep. I even heard from some other European nations that they fought 100 years over pointless topics, and even had an island specifically for arguing with each other."

Alfred snorted, "Really?"

Matthew just shrugged, "Who knows."

As they reached the end of one of the tables, Matthew split off, waving. Apparently he was not able to switch. Or just wanted to be away from the bickering couple.

Alfred sat down, Arthur on one side of him and Francis across. Thankfully there was no one on his other side. Even though he was getting used to these people, he still felt a little uneasy when it came to some of them.

.

He was amazed at how many nations there were in attendance; how many personifications the world had. Was he really one of them?

Alfred watch attentively as a few of them walked up to the podium and offered their findings on whatever they were presenting – natural disaster relief, peaceful trade between countries, organization of the EU with the east of Europe, relations in the Pacific Islands and Asia, and so on, and so on. He was surprised at how many were being serious as they talked. From what he had heard, the meetings usually had much more yelling and messing around. But right then, most all nations were on their best behaviors.

He had to wonder if this difference was because of him in some small way . . . could it be that he, as America, might have been the cause of such dysfunction at the meetings?

However, every time that thought would slip into his mind, it was pushed out by one nation making a small scene in a part of the room. This time it was Arthur and Francis – er, Britain and France – arguing about some old calendar or marriage license. Earlier it was that sweet Hungary girl smacking Gilbert with what seemed to be a very large, very heavy frying pan. This group was crazy. Which, in turn, made him seem a little bit better about himself. Schadenfreude for sure.

Another moment passed before Alfred started to get a headache. It was weird how one would just develop out of nowhere. But, of course, it was not a huge surprise. Especially considering that he did wake up from a coma and got hit by a truck just the other day.

He shifted in his seat, catching Francis' eye.

"You alright, Alfred?"

Arthur stopped his badgering and turned towards the younger man in question.

"Yeah . . . my head just hurts. I think I'm going to take a break for a little bit."

"Alright. Just let us know if you need anything," Francis smiled.

He smiled back, before getting up and walking out of the room. He snuck out of the room, ignoring the two who were watching him vigilantly.

Out in the hallway it was a little easier to breathe. But his head still ached. He decided to visit the bathroom; maybe a splash of fresh water on his face would make it go away. He had absentmindedly brought the jacket with him. Maybe this thing was like a security blanket for him? But he paid no mind and kept walking.

After a wrong turn and a little confusion, he found the men's bathroom. He sighed as he let the water heat up, jacket lying beside his hand on the counter. This day was not turning out too badly, but he still did not know if he could keep up with everything he was learning – or, relearning as the case would be.

He let his hands fill with water, before splashing his face. The liquid felt good, almost rejuvenating. He breathed a sigh of relief, before reaching towards a nearby towel. When he was wiping off his face, though, he saw someone behind him, looking directly at him. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up in alert. He himself slowly stood upright, nodding to the other person.

"Hello," he turned around slowly, "are you one of the nations?"

"Da. I am," the other smiled sweetly; though for some reason Alfred still felt uneasy, "Can you guess which one, though?"

"Well . . . not really. There are so many names and I can't really remember my own," he laughed nervously.

"I guess that is to be expected of the Hero after an accident. Almost like the last time you fell."

Something in his mind twitched. What fall was this man talking about?

"Really."

"Da. But that is not so important right now, Alfred," the man stuck out his hand, "My name is Russia. My human name is Ivan Braginsky."

He took it cautiously, "Hello, Ivan. Nice to meet you. Again."

The man's smile grew, "And you. It's nice to meet you without having to pull out my gun."

"Uh. What?"

He laughed, more chills down Alfred's spine, "Oh nothing. We are usually fighting about something though. Like after World War Two, when you wanted to have all of Germany. Of course, I was entitled to a little bit of it as well. Considering that I had taken Berlin first and all."

"All of Germany?" An image of the blonde militia-like man popped into his head.

"Well don't you remember? Oh! That's right! You can't! Silly me."

"What do you mean by all of –"

"Well that's a silly question," the man kept shaking his hand, "You see, after we had defeated Germany during the war, you, I, France, and Britain decided to divide up his lands. That would mean Germany would have to stay under someone's care until we gave back his lands. I wanted to keep him, but it was you-" a squeeze on his fingers "-who fought me for it. But I was still able to get a Beilschmidt from the deal, anyways."

"What?"

"His brother of course! I was able to get that annoying loud mouth and teach him a lesson about messing with me!"

A laugh escaped the man's mouth, one that made his insides cringe in disgust. He tried to back away from the man, but was pulled forward with an amazing strength. He was inches away from the other's face.

In a quiet, but dark tone, the man spoke, "You are a lot less deserving of those stars and stripes than you think you are. And that jacket is just another indicator of your ignorance towards what you done, my comrade."

"What – what are you-"

The man let go, slightly pushing him back against the counter.

"You," he started, "if you really want to know about yourself, just think about what truly makes up 'America.' What legacy have you left for yourself in this world?"

Before the man exited, he lifted the jacket from the sink's side and sniffed it, smiling, "If you really want to know the answer, how about you smell this rag. Maybe then it will become clear."

He let the jacket slip from his hand, and gave it one good stomp before he left.

Alfred.

Alfred stood there for a moment, still shocked at what had happened.

Were all these nations crazy?

His mind came back to him a moment later, and he reached down for the garment. He tried to dust off the footprint that Ivan made right in the middle of the back of it.

"Crazy ass," he scoffed, "I don't care what his beef with me is. That's just rude."

Trying to shake off the rest of the previous encounter, he made his way back to the meeting. However, a thought still lingered. What did that guy mean by smelling the jacket?

Without any other way of finding out, Alfred lifted the front of the coat up. The wearer's right breast pocket seemed to have something ripped away from it. But, it was a cleanish place to put near his face.

He sniffed, but did not smell anything. He decided to take a deep inhale to make sure.

He stopped.

Was that . . .

Gunpowder?

Matthew did say this jacket was worn during the 1940s.

A realization hit.

Was Alfred really . . . did he really fight in World War Two?

And if his jacket smelled of gunpowder, even today . . .

Then . . .

Then he must have fought so many times . . .

.

The meeting was just breaking, when Canada stood up and stretched. Apparently he slept wrong; which was really confusing to him, seeing as how he was the only one who slept on an actual bed.

He walked towards his family, but was surprised to see his brother walking in his direction.

"Hey, Alfred?" Canada smiled, especially after seeing the jacket in his brother's hand, "Do you want to make plans for lunch, or?"

"Here," Alfred pushed the jacket in front of Matthew's face.

"Something wrong, Alfred?"

He avoided looking directly into the other's eyes, not wanting to face the innocent man in front of him.

"I . . . I just don't think I can be your brother. At least not right now. I don't think . . . I don't think I'm strong enough to do that."

"What . . ." Canada's voice failed him.

"I don't think I can carry around that jacket right now. . . That's all," Alfred shoved the coat into the other's arms, turning away and walking out the door again.

Canada saw Britain and France go after him. But he . . .

He just wanted nothing more than to disappear.

Just when he thought Alfred was becoming America . . .

Canada did not know if anyone could still see him as the first tears started to form at the edges of his eyes, but he did not care at all. He just let the tears fall as he covered his face with his brother's favorite jacket. He unconsciously traced the bare rectangular outline on the breast of the coat . . . the place his brother's first patch had been put on. The place the American flag once held, before it was torn off.

.

She did not see the oaf rush out of the meeting room before he ran into her, them both falling on the floor.

"Hey!" she shouted at the idiot.

"Oh. I'm so sorry," he stood up, offering his hand.

She ignored it, but was forced to grab it as he had taken a hold of hers. What a moron.

"I didn't mean to hit you. Your dress isn't dirty, is it?"

"That's none of your business."

"Oh. S-sorry, miss. I didn't mean to upset you."

She was prepared to make another insult, but stopped when she got caught in his eyes.

Even though he was smiling out of politeness, she could tell there was a deep sadness in his eyes. Something she had not seen in the man in a long time . . . It reminded her of when they first met.

"If you're okay, then, I guess I'll be going. Sorry again."

She watched as he hurried down the hall. A moment later, she saw France and England race towards him.

Belarus did not know what had happened in that split second, but something reminded her of when she gained her independence from the former USSR. It had been America who helped her gain stability and personal rational.

/

/

/

*hides from crazy Canada fangirls*

And the Belarus part might be explained later. . . might.