The sun rose up over the Manhattan skyline, shining through my curtains. A small beam of light had hit my face of course finally waking me up.

Our house in Brooklyn was a modest one at that. It overlooked the Brooklyn Bridge with Manhattan in all its glory on the other side. The house itself was small; wedged between two large apartment complexes. It was more narrow than wide. It was three stories including the attic. The bottom floor connected with the garage, kitchen and my father's bedroom and bathroom. The second floor was the den, office, and my bathroom. I had the attic to myself since it was only me here.

My room was painted a dark maroon on the walls with a sloped ceiling. My window was small though it had a small ledge where I could put a couple blankets out so I could sit outside when I felt like it. All over my walls were medals and trophies I had previously one in sports. Also posters of new and older bands were tacked in various places.

Now I wasn't the neatest person. I had clothes strewn all over the hardwood floors and my closet was overflowing with random articles of clothing. My bed was the same, I never had it made I simply threw my black and white striped blanket on top and called it clean.

"Good Morning America, I'm Ashley Stewarts coming to you live from Times Square..." thanks to advancements in television new holographic screens soon replaced them. At certain times of the day you could set alarms for the holograms to appear like a TV. I had mine set for the seven o'clock news every morning.

"Alexa are you coming down? Breakfast is almost ready!" I heard Dad shout from downstairs.

"I'm not hungry!" I shouted back, flopping onto my bed. I made sure to be careful with my stitches. The jacket I received from Tyson was draped over my computer desk chair. I was truly fond of that jacket, but now it only sparked the flow of memories from yesterday. From almost being hit by a large bus, having a crazy delusion, being sent to the hospital and meeting a strange man that seemed to have started the whole situation in the first place.

He had looked at me with eyes that held, not the malice from that hallucination, but of general worry and maybe the slightest bit of hope

My head pounded at the recollection of what had happened yesterday. The man seemed so familiar though I know I had never met him before, with his accent I could tell he was from another country. So, it would be pretty much impossible for us to have met before yesterday.

Man and those eyebrows! The only time I have seen that much hair on someone's face was when Dad didn't shave six months.

"I like to think it makes Artie unique,"

The sudden return of the voice made me jump in surprise. Of course I was sitting on the edge of the bed so I tumbled off onto the floor.

"Alexa are you alright!" Dad's alarmed voice called out. I heard him drop a pan from downstairs.

"Yeah, I'm fine Dad don't worry I'm coming!" I quickly stood up grabbing a pair of shorts and a random shirt and dashed to my bathroom, slipping and sliding in my socks.

"As you can see Ashley I am in front of the newly renovated United Nations building here in New York. Where all of the world's delegates will meet with American representatives for the first time in 30 years," a middle aged man spoke into the camera microphone in hand.

Crowds of people flocked around him with several other camera men and women. Some groups were waving their nations flag proudly shouting to family members in numerous languages.

"Let's see what this man has to say," the reporter tapped a man shoulder. He was around 25 with shoulder length blond hair and bright blue eyes with light stubble on his chin. His clothes though seemed loose and casual, actually made him appear very sharp.

"Excuse me sir but why did you come here today?" The reporter asked.

"Well why wouldn't I?" The man asked back, his accent was French. "Ever since the news went out that America was reopening I couldn't help but let my curiosity come into play," his eyes wandered to a passing woman and his eyes traveled south as she sauntered away. "Of course there may be other reasons," he chuckled without shame.

"Many people had told us that they have traveled here to see family; can the same be said for you?"

The Frenchman's bright smile faded for a moment, his eyes gaining a faraway look. "Oui I guess that's what you could call it," he remained silent for a moment before his eyes caught sight of something on the other side of the camera. "Excuse me but I have to cut this short,"

The man walked off leaving the reporter to start talking back to the camera.

"I'm Carlos de Montoya for Good Morning America here at the United Nations building. Back to you Ashley,"

Francis waded his way through the masses seeing a familiar bushel of blond hair towards the edge of the crowd.

"Arthur there you are," Francis called out as he fell in step with his British associate. The pair walked the edge of the crowd heading towards the back of the building.

"I found it odd that the black sheep of Europe was late," Francis quipped snidely with a grin. Silence was the only thing he got in return. Which was odd indeed for the British man always hated the nickname and would retort quickly.

Francis glanced worriedly at his comrade as they finally got to a side door where armed personnel stood, checks both of their IDs and allowed them inside. The halls had bright red carpeting and the walls were painted in vibrant colors varying from corridor to corridor.

"What's got you so down? Another one of your treasured time travelers pass away?" Arthur merely continued to look downward as they walked. Francis cast a leisurely glance behind them as they continued walking then looked forward. He gave a soft sigh, then abruptly grabbed Arthur's shirt collar.

"Bloody hell you frog! What are you doing?!" Arthur finally shouted flailing as the Frenchman dragged him into an unused conference room. The room was dim only lit by the sunlight filtering in through the curtains. Francis all but threw Arthur into the room. The Brit stumbled though luckily caught himself before he fell.

"Have you gone barmy?"

Smack!

Arthur's head did a 45 degree turn with the force behind the slap. His eyes wide in surprise his cheek slightly pink with Francis's hand print.

"W-what the bloody hell was that for?!" Arthur stuttered though he didn't shout. Francis merely looked at him shoving both of his hands back in his pockets.

"What's the matter England?" France said softly using their real names. England started ever so slightly. France was hardly ever the worrying type so when that side did come out he knew something was serious. "Ever since we learned the next meeting would be in America you slipped back into your habits from the few months after the 'incident'," France himself winced at the memory; he shook his head eyes glazing over in internal pain.

"..." Arthur stayed silent looking at the ground again. France stayed silent for a while longer, the two comfortable in the silence.

France sighed heavily shaking his head in defeat. He turned back to the door. "The meetings starting soon so we bett-"

"I saw him," France halted abruptly swinging back around his blue eyes wide in disbelief. Arthur was still looking downward as he continued. "Well not really him. She looked an awful lot like him though."

France opened his mouth to speak though Arthur silenced him as he continued. "It wasn't just how she looked, she acted like him too. She even had his jacket," his voice broke a little as he continued. "I didn't think much of it, though she felt so much like A-Alfred," his voice cracked at the name. "So when she left I naturally followed her."

France waited for England to continue though when he didn't, he asked. "What happened?"

"It happened so fast" Arthur muttered horrified. "One moment I'm reaching for her, the next I'm pushed from behind and tumbled into her," he choked as if his throat was blocked. "She fell into the road and cracked her head. If I hadn't pulled her out at the right moment I would have watched as he- she," he corrected himself, "died all over again."

Tears were falling freely now from Arthur's eyes, Francis too seemed on the verge of tears.

"Angleterre, are you sure she is like us?" France's voice was barely above a whisper.

"She cracked her skull France!" Arthur snapped quickly. "I saw her wound, bone was showing! The doctors at the hospital only had to give her a few stitches, not even in the area where it was cracked! They stitched a small laceration above her temple," silence flew between them as France took in this new information.

"Did she recognize you?" France spoke again. England flinched hard looking back down at the ground.

"I'm afraid so," France held a confused look. "She seemed to though she screamed," he started choking up again. "Oh France she screamed like I was a murderer," he gripped his hair in frustration.

France watched as England paced in worry before finally he gripped England's shoulder stopping him in his place.

"There's only one thing we can do," it was Arthur's turn to look confused. "We have to tell everyone. We can't do this alone we need everyone's help with this before we decide how to go about this," Arthur seemed to take this into consideration before sighing and allowing his shoulders to slump in defeat.

"Alright."