After leaving his brother, Canada ran to the basement. His conscience told him that he had to say farewell to Norway before leaving.
He unlocked the basement door and ran down the steps.
"Norway?" he called.
"I am here," came the reply as Norway stepped out of the shadows. His voice was dark, sinister; his eyes glowed red. Canada would be dealing with Sigmund today. (He would have preferred Erik, or you know, the original, Lukas.)
"Why have you come back?" Sigmund continued. His eyes flashed brighter with some unidentifiable emotion.
"I am leaving. I just came to tell you first…"
While Canada had been talking, Sigmund stalked closer until they were nose-to-nose. "You will not be leaving as soon as you think."
"What do you m-?"
He was rudely interrupted when he was shoved up against a nearby wall. Sigmund's finger's dug into the soft flesh on either side of his windpipe.
"In fact, it is highly unlikely that you will be leaving at all. Unless you can give me a good reason why I should let you live?"
Canada's windpipe was sufficiently cut off that he could not voice a reply.
"You see, Vinland, where I come from, we do not believe in letting our enemies live. A useful practice, as they are not around to stab you in the back. Have you heard the tale of Eric Bloodaxe? Perhaps my favorite of my kings, as well as the bloodiest. He killed his seven half-brothers to secure his position as my king."
Canada's vision began growing dim around the edges. He tried (unsuccessfully) to squirm out of Sigmund's grip.
"Calm down. It will be easier if you relax." He sighed. "Of course, I can't kill you this way. But there are ways to ensure that a nation stays dead. For instance," he purred, his free hand moving to rest over Canada's heart, "I could tear your heart out. Or I could do as the Egyptians did." He hooked his index finger and mimed something that involved twisting and pulling. (It looked incredibly painful.) He sighed again. "I would rather not kill you. After all, you can see my companion, can you not?"
A fairy of indeterminate gender (well, Canada couldn't tell; it looked like a guy, but it was wearing a tutu. A pink tutu.) appeared for a second, looked around, then promptly disappeared. Canada vigorously nodded.
"Yes, I thought you might be able to see things that normal people cannot. It's a shame that that fact will not save you, as there are too few like us."
"Stand down." A new voice joined the conversation. It had a very identifiable Southern twang.
Sigmund was startled enough that his grip on Canada's throat loosened; not much, but enough to allow Canada to breathe.
"Who the Hell are you?" Sigmund hissed.
Canada got a good look at the strange. He looked a good deal like America. The main differences were that, instead of glasses, the newcomer wore cowboy boots and a bolo tie. He was vaguely familiar.
"I am William Lee Lloyd, embodiment of the Confederacy."
"And what do you want, Mister Lloyd?" Sigmund asked, mimicking the other man's accent slightly.
"Why, I want to know what is going on in my basement."
"This is your basement?"
"Evah since 1865. I dare say that my northern counterpart has forgotten about me."
"Yes…I remember mention of one such as you. You should not be alive."
"Yet here I am. Now, why don't you let the Canadian go? Then perhaps I can show you some good ol' Southern hospitality."
"Why should I let him live?"
"Because I think it's awful rude to string up guests."
With a glare, Sigmund let Canada fall to the ground.
William Lee Lloyd offered a hand to help him up. Dazed, Canada took it and stood.
"Mistah Williams, I think it best if you leave this basement, lock the door, and don't come back," Mister Lloyd whispered.
Canada nodded. "Thank you for saving my life."
"We are brothers. And blood is thicker than water."
Canada nodded and left the basement. He was so done with all of this. Maybe, since he was now neutral, he could visit other neutral nations. England maybe. Or France.
He turned, after locking the door a final time, and left.
He did not look back.
After the door closed, Sigmund turned to study Mr. Lloyd. "Why did you stop me?"
"The smell of decomposing flesh was not one I wanted in my living space."
"Fair enough." He paused, licked his dry lips. "I have been down here for…I do not know how long, but I have not seen or heard you before…"
"Near eight months. And, ya see-"
"Eight months!"
"You were not in your right mind. I …pardon me, but it gets quiet down here, as you know, so I play my banjo from time to time. You may have heard me play, but thought you were hallucinating."
"But why haven't I seen you?"
"It is a large basement. And I wanted to keep my continued existence secret. As you said, I should not be alive.
"Then why show yourself now?"
"These times are a-changing. It is time for me to be part of the world again."
Sigmund shrugged. "It is not my place to say."
"How 'bout I play you a song?" Mr. Lloyd asked after brief, awkward silence.
Sigmund nodded. "That would be… nice. It has been far too long since I heard music." Lukas's insane warbling (and Erik's inane humming) did not count.
Mr. Lloyd reached for the banjo slung across his back. Settling it in his lap, his picked one string, then another, adjusting the knobs at the top of the instrument as he went. Finally, he began singing and playing:
"Once I rose above the noise and confusion
Just to get a glimpse beyond this illusion
I was soaring ever higher, but I flew too high
Though my eyes could see I still was a blind man
Though my mind could think I still was a mad man
I hear the voices when I'm dreaming,
I can hear them say
Carry on my wayward son,
There'll be peace when you are done
Lay your weary head to rest
Don't you cry no more."
Sigmund hummed along unconsciously. Amazing that one song could contain the heartache that he had felt within. He hoped Lukas was listening.
Normally, he would not have fallen asleep in a stranger's presence, especially a stranger who had threatened him earlier.
But, drained of the emotions that had too long contained within him, he had little choice.
William Lee Lloyd had not finished the song before Sigmund was in a deep, dreamless sleep.
A/N: I do not own "Carry On, My Wayward Son." It did seem to fit, though.
And yes, William Lee Lloyd is another of my crazy OC's. He represents the CSA, and is also a true Southern gentleman. And he plays the banjo.