The more I thought about Britain's words, the more desensitized I became about my job. Despite the blood and the cooling organs I had to handle, as long as I did not believe he was dead, the easier it was.

I could deal with my grief by thinking of myself as a sort of doctor that was putting him back together. But nothing quite fit in right. I crammed and patted in his guts, but it was all misplaced and twisted, and then some things were missing. From what I could tell, his stomach and pancreas were gone, a kidney lost to the canopy, and the other one impaled on the dry branch sticking out of his abdomen. I really had no idea what to do with the severed and broken organs, but I fit them in to the best of my ability.

It doesn't matter so much since the potion will fix it all, I thought. Britain said just put him together the best I can. I think this is the right place… Anyway the better I do, the better it will probably be for him…

Once I had found all that I could, I folded his skin over. Already he looked a lot better, but had still not reacted to me. I knelt down on the blood-smeared ground and pulled out the needles and branches, brushing away dirt and bark scraps to clean him up.

"Much better," I whispered. "You'll be okay…"

I brushed away the flies again before sliding down to his legs. One of them in particular was broken in a few places, but I pushed it straight to match the other. The ankle flopped right over, but other than that he was looking a lot less horrible.

"So then… I guess I better take you back to the car," I murmured to myself. "Get you home…"

I dug my hands under his armpits and began to drag him back toward the path. Lifting up his back, I could see more spikes to remove and a section of exposed spine. There was also a concerning amount of blood crushed into his hair, but I tried not to think of it as I plucked out the honey locust needles.

America was surprisingly light after losing so much blood. As I took him along, I wondered, Would trying to heal him slow down the rotting process? Should I donate some of my blood to him? When I stitch him back up, should I try to connect all his intestines? Would that help if his stomach's missing?

I didn't even know if Britain had these answers, since he had talked about a burn victim. Although I really was quite relieved that this had happened before and Britain had so much information, it disturbed me to imagine what he had seen.

We see these things all the time on TV and in videogames, but what is it really like? Britain did not seem so scared talking about it although he said he had kept a corpse in his house. I imagined briefly, a black skeleton sitting in a living room's armchair. I gave a twitch but reminded myself, It was Britain's friend. And this is my brother. I can't be scared of him or else it might make it hard for me to help him.

I was nervous dragging a body out into the open plain. This mountain was not popular during this season and especially on a boiling day like today, so I was counting on the heat that no one would be around to see me. I did not want to go through the drama of someone thinking that a stranger like me had murdered someone. So the best I could do was stick close to bushes and trees in order to traverse the stretch of dry ground unseen.

Sweat cascaded off me and I panted constantly. I wished I had one of our packs so I could drink some water and cure my parched throat, but I could only be left with a sour taste of curd in my mouth. I smacked my lips and was relieved when I returned to the large forest of shade and mosquitoes. Here though, I slowed my pace in order to listen to any footsteps or voices that might come my way.

America never made the slightest movement or sound, but I trusted Britain's words and took caution around him. I would never look away for too long. The sounds of birds and squirrels startled my taut nerves, but fortunately no problems came up on the way back to my car.

I put him down to dig into my tight pocket, find the keys, and drag them out. Such a relief it was then that I had driven here, since America had not wanted any mud or branches to dirty his new vehicles in the forest. I imagined that any keys America would have taken would have been lost to the mountain otherwise.

My car was unlocked and the truck was thrown open. In the back, there was only a towel, umbrella, and folding chair. I left the towel and tossed the rest into the backseat, then fixed America with weary eyes. After a deep breath, I lifted him up and set him into the trunk on his back so that he wouldn't fall apart again.

But now that made him a body in the trunk. This fact struck me and I moaned softly, "This is so wrong…"

I dried my hands a little on the towel before pulling down the door. My hands shook so terribly that I was just barely strong enough to click it shut. I then yanked open my door and dropped down into the driver's seat, where my hands stuck uncomfortably to everything. Just once, I glanced to the unoccupied backseat while I brought the car roaring to life.

The mirror was faced with forced concentration before I reversed out. Driving, I took the curves so slowly, thinking of how jostling America could make him re-spill his insides. Once back into a more populated area however, honks cried out when I did not go over the speed limit. This threw a weight of stress upon me. I sped up to get away from them, and secondly to speed past pedestrians who might glimpse my red hands although they were hiding on the bottom of the steering wheel. By this point, I worried less about America in my desperation to get home without getting caught.

Because of the condition of our homes, I was not required to drive the kilometres out to go through border control. I simply went straight to the building and swerved around to reach my garage. Unlike his, there was room for me to slide in the car and close it up from sight. Only then could I go back to the trunk and open it unseen.

My breath shortened as I lifted up the door, but when revealed, America was the same as before. He did not lunge at me; he did not even twitch. I scooped under him then swung back, cradling him in my arms. America only flopped lifelessly into me so I marched onward with him, although at every door I had to briefly set him down.

I deposited him on the tile floor of the kitchen to spare my carpets. Well, some spots had fallen here and there, but that could be shampooed out without much hassle. I ran away to give my hands a good wash, grab my sewing kit, then return to him. Already something squishy peeked out from his stomach, sneaking out from the slit. Upon sight of it, my stomach churned as I dropped down to my knees.

To concentrate, I told myself, "For America… to help him…"

I peeled back the skin to rearrange everything. I thought again about sewing organs together, but was then not sure about having irretrievable string inside him. Very carefully I curved his guts back into place and stuffed the rest where it should go.

Britain said everything would be fixed. The string better stay out then, I thought. And he said "sew up". Probably means just close everything in and make him look more normal...

I swallowed and raised my fidgeting hands, one holding a needle and the other thread. I struggled and missed, sniffing and growing more anxious the longer it took.

"Come on!" I hissed.

I bit my lip. Eventually I tossed this needle away and took a larger one with a bigger hole. I managed to feed the thread through this time, but regretted that such a big needle would create larger pricks in America.

Forcing myself to stare, I pulled the cut together bit by bit. Halfway up I felt good about what I was doing and how much better he looked. When I finished up, I turned him and worked with his back. I then searched for the smaller slits and holes, reconnecting his skin again until he was as whole as he could be.

I was more comfortable holding and carrying him now. Still immobile and feeling colder, the body was set into the bathtub. With a sharp pair of scissors I snipped off his clothes slowly and carefully, as to not harm him further. They were discarded into the trash before I ran the shower.

For a while, I let lukewarm water carry dirt and blood away on its own, then when I could better see where all his injuries were, I proceeded with shampoo. Far more gingerly than how I handled my own hair, I pulled and rubbed in the foam, locks at a time. I even took care to keep the shampoo away from his open eyes that stared directly forward at nothing.

I rinsed then examined his head. It was not as bad now as it had looked before and nothing was leaking out, but if he had been truly alive, I would have gotten him staples. I left his head to go clean the more serious wounds, very gently with soap and warm water. His skin lighted to a healthier colour once the dirt, bark, and blood was chased away. Better and better he looked, bringing me more peace and hope.

Through the building, I entered his home and brought back some of his clothes. He had been left dripping in the tub and when I came back, I dropped everything onto the floor. A fluffy towel was whisked into my hands then I approached him, though only to immediately scream.

The eyes that had first been directed forward were now turned, one blue eye focused on me. I launched back and was pinned against the drawers, towel in front and gasping heavily. My heartbeat pounded in my ears but he made not a movement toward me. Without blinking once however, the dull eye stayed locked upon me.

I swore softly and shifted to the side. The eye followed me. My shivering worsened and my breaths came fast, expecting him to drag himself out and crawl towards me, moaning and stretching like any film zombie. Yet I stayed for a minute and still nothing happened.

"Am-america…"

He was absolutely silent.

"I'm… going to help you now…"

This was more like motivation to move me forward. I raised the towel to his face, muscles tensed to fly back at the slightest snap. I felt the solid form of his temple under the towel and when I swiped to the side, nothing happened. I took away the towel to take a peek but found that he was still staring at me.

I ran the towel over his hair then down his neck. I quickly patted over his face, and still without reaction, I dried his arms, back, and chest. The eyes creaked degree-by-degree, focused precisely on me wherever I went. It was unnerving and I wanted so desperately to know what he was thinking, only to assure myself that it was probably nothing that he was thinking.

The towel fell to the side as I very cautiously lifted him from the tub to set him onto the mat. In my arms, I could see his eyes in my peripheral vision upon me. Decimetres away. Perhaps it would not have bothered me so much if he blinked, and if his eyes were the normal colour. But this dull layer that hid away the eyes I had known, frightened me. Seeing them made it feel less and less like this was my brother.

I began to dry his lower body, keeping an eye on him as I whispered, "But it is… I cannot forget… This is America and will always be America…" Then looking directly back into his eyes, I murmured, "You are America. Okay? That is who you are."

Silence. I raised his limp body up into a sitting position then fumbled with his arms until I could get him into a T-shirt. Pulling away and only regarding the upper body, it suddenly looked as though he had no injuries. Ignoring the eyes and a small hole in his throat, it could appear that nothing was wrong with him. I slipped on some underwear and shorts, then reconsidered his flimsy leg.

I need a way to straighten that…

I raced to my garage and found three smooth lengths of wood. In the closet I dug out sports tape, then straightened out his leg on the floor. I set one stick under the leg then two at the sides, but at first wrapping the tape around was frustrating. The wood kept slipping down, yet eventually I secured them and wrapped all the way up his leg, using the entire roll.

The leg pointed out stiffly straight, unbendable and unable to turn. Even his ankle was barred from flopping. Now, ignoring his eyes and pale skin, it just looked like he had broken his leg. More comfortable I became as I thought about how else to clean him up. I ended up bending him over the counter and sink, and with the towel, I pried at his jaw. It opened too easily, startling me for a moment before I reached for a toothbrush.

What on earth am I doing? I questioned myself. Britain never said this was necessary…

And yet I brushed his teeth, his head sideways and toothpaste dripping right into the sink instead of down his throat. America did not even seem to know what was happening to him, although he gazed right at me. He did not care, but for some reason I did so powerfully. I wanted the remnants of his last meal gone, his mouth clean before I would lock him away.

Mindlessly, I rinsed his mouth, trickled mouthwash over his teeth, then rinsed again. Blood stopped flowing down the drain eventually and that was when I backed him away from the sink. Only to sit him down again, to fetch and apply deodorant.

After all was done, I stood him up. From here, face-to-face, he looked great. The clothes were clean, tidy, and without rips. Furthermore, his skin was pure, hair downy and untangled, and he even smelled like himself. I could not come up with any other way to improve him.

I tried again, full of even more false hope due to his appearance.

"America…"

Nothing. Not a breath, blink, or heartbeat. He just stood there with my support, looking at me. With a sigh, I tossed him back into my arms and headed to my living room. When I glimpsed my companion however, the small and soft polar bear curled up and deep asleep in a basket, I reconsidered putting him too close. I instead crept away to America's house.

America was set down upon his own couch. I balanced him upright then slipped back a few experimental steps. He did not fall over or turn toward me even when left alone. The only movement came from his eyes, which followed me of course.

I slunk back to the TV and turned it on, increasing the volume a tad and watching his reaction. America's eyes shifted from me to the noise and flashes of light. I backed away but he did not look over to me, so distracted he was by what played directly before him.

"You like the TV…" I whispered. "Don't you, America?"

I watched his face for a moment as he sat there with his back curved over the cushion. Very slowly, his jaw creaked open a crack. No attention was given to me, but chills ran down my back and I whipped away from the scene.

As fast as possible, I will find chains before he becomes too strong.

I locked the door from my side then rushed to find my wallet. Before I took off again though, I cleaned my phone, the door to the trunk, and steering wheel. My hands were as well washed once more before I jogged back to my car. And soon after shoving myself into it, I sped off to the nearest store where I was sure to find chains.

It was far more expensive than I had hoped, but I bought what seemed more than required for the job. The car flew back home, straight back into the garage, before I beelined to America. Bravery was required to unlock and throw open the door to America's side, but there I was surprised by no jumpscares. He was still sitting as I had left him, weak and with only his jaw ajar.

Because of the ruckus I had just made however, his attention was pulled back to me. I went petrified when not his eyes, but his head slowly turned to me. So rapidly he was regaining control over his body. There was no choice but for me to race over and claim him, taking him down into his basement where he would be far from me.

I carefully placed America's back was set against a thick wooden beam that stretched to the ceiling. Then, I wound the chain all around him so that America was bound securely to the wood, arms tight against his sides and legs splayed out in front. The seriously broken one stood out stiffly while his head creaked to the side to pursue my movements.

Using a heavy lock, I snapped the ends of the chain together then let it sit on America's chest. Now his entire torso was encased in silver, though he did not seem aware in the slightest of what had been done to him. After completing everything, I felt the need to murmur, "I'm sorry, America… This is the best for everyone…"

My footsteps stamped heavily on each stone step on the way up. One of my hooked, pale fingers flicked down the light, before the door was closed behind me. The lock was turned but even once left alone in safety, a sickening weight hung in my heart. I thought about how he had been left in the dark, staring at nothing. In the cold, in the silence, in possible agony with no one there for him.

Nevertheless, I performed as commanded and called Britain back. The phone quivered against my ear because of my affected hand. When the rings ended and he had picked up, I stated, "It's… done."

"He is chained up?"

"I did everything you said…"

"Good. Well done, Canada. You will be safe now."

Before he could continue, I interrupted, "Wait."

Britain sounded surprised. "Yes, what is it?"

"Is there any way I can help him more?" I asked. "Some way to… slow down the r-rot… I mean, to help him heal."

"I do not believe so."

"But what about, maybe… giving him some of my blood?"

Britain replied steadily, "There is no point to that. Extra blood would just sink, since his heart is not beating to circulate it. He would receive no oxygen in having it."

"And if I… do a better job at putting him together?"

"With the damage he has taken, I do not think it would make a difference. If anything is missing, broken, and just downright unmendable, then nothing will function."

I clutched the phone harder. "But what about his brain? Won't it try running whatever is attached? Won't that help in some way?"

It was hard to not become more stressed at Britain's hesitation.

"I am not sure…" he admitted. "But even if what you tried worked, it would not make much improvement. What will happen is inevitable."

My feeling of helplessness heightened, until tears sprang to my eyes and I cried, "But how does it work? I don't understand! Is his brain functionning or not? How can he heal himself without a heartbeat, without a brain? Tell me! Can't he think? Most of his wounds are in the lower body, so... so! Doesn't he see what is happening? I know he can see! That means then that his brain is working, doesn't it? "

I could hear his voice waver slightly as he tried to control it again.

"Canada... You must calm down. None of this matters. In fact, I forbid you to worry about it! Look here, nothing you do… nothing- will fix him! Please keep such ideas out of your mind. I will fix him. And it will happen. Now just remember your job."

"B-but!" I interjected. "What if he can think? He can see, hear, and move- something has to be going on! I left the TV on and he started to-"

"Canada!"

I cowered at his snap. I was not used to such desperate aggression from Britain. Silence hung in the line until Britain murmured, "He is not himself anymore. Forget these ideas as well. Don't… do anything stupid, Canada. You must keep him locked up and away no matter what." His voice grew more grave. "Don't let him out. Promise me, that you will never let him out."

Trembling more now from his dark tone, I whispered, "I promise…"

"He might try to kill you," Britain sighed. "And I couldn't possibly bear to have this all happen to you too…"

"Um..."

"This condition of constant death…" Britain repeated, his sighed breath sounding so close, as though he was beside me. "It would be too hard if you were hurt too."

Not realizing the depth of his sorrow at first, I mumbled, "Because the ingredients are hard to find…"

"No, Canada. Because with America… then you… No. I don't want this to happen to you. I wouldn't even wish for this on an enemy."

I fell quiet in my astoundment. Because of how calm Britain had been on our earlier phone call, I had mistaken it for a lack of emotion. But now the fight heard in his voice to stay relaxed for my sake was clear. Even if he knew exactly how to proceed, that all was curable, he was suffering as dearly as I was.

"I'm sorry…" I whispered. There was nothing else I could think of to say.

Britain exhaled, "You cannot be sorry, Canada. None of this was your fault. It was America's idiocy again, I know it. There is absolutely no blame for you to take. Unfortunately, it is us who will have to pay for America's actions."

My heart cracked slightly and I bowed my head. I remembered the feeling of America's grip on my forearm suddenly, the desperate twisting and pulling on my skin. His screams for me to not let go rang in my mind, leaving me haunted and quaking.

But I couldn't hold on to him, Britain.

"So…" Britain continued. "We need to get started on your appearance. Of course, you will need get a prescription for coloured contacts as soon as you can. And while your hair is a good colour, it will have to be cut. Let's get started on this. Could you skype with me for this step?"

"Alright…"

I hung up then hurried over to start up my laptop. I collected a pair of thin, silver scissors then carried everything up to the bathroom. In order to see better for the job I was about to do, I put on my glasses as well. Only then did I call Britain on the computer, who soon answered it.

The camera was turned and I could see in the corner how my face nearly filled his screen. Before I could even think of what to say, Britain told me, "Take up a picture of him and look at him while you do this."

I leaned forward and closed down Skype, searching on the internet for a good picture that America had posted of himself. As I found one, Britain asked if the camera could be turned toward the mirror. I followed his instructions for positioning until Britain was able to see what I would be doing.

Looking at my reflection at first, especially with the glasses, I looked as Canada as I possibly could. Everything that distinguished me was there, except for the peaceful smile. Now though, I compared myself to America and thought about everything that would have to go. The smallest differences that would have to be mended in order to erase my image.

I noticed now things I had never really thought about. Like how my hair was looser and a bit longer than America's. Very carefully, I went on and clipped piece by piece while Britain watched silently. I paused sometimes but he never disrupted me. Then finally, once I had fixed the sides, I targeted a long hair curl. It was snipped off quickly, but I watched the long strand fall into the sink before trimming my bangs.

Regarding myself in the mirror became even more strange now that the mark some people had used to recognize me was gone. My face felt as well, so much more exposed than before. I became more uncomfortable with my success, which Britain noticed and had to encourage me on.

"You're doing great, Canada. Keep going."

I slid open a drawer and found a scarcely used container of hair gel. I used it to press my hair to the side against its natural way, in order to match America's crease. I squeezed one lock of hair up and curled it back, to make sure I had that one unruly curl that he always had.

Britain exhaled. I instantly became worried that I had not done a good job, but then he said, "Put on some of his clothes and his glasses."

"But then I have to… go to his side."

"Did you not say he was locked in the basement in chains?" A worried and accusative tone infected his voice.

I admitted, "I am just worried about getting so close… After what you said and because he has already started to move. But I guess it'll be alright. I'll be right back…"

I rushed away but skidded to a stop by the door. With a sigh, I unlocked it then slipped inside the star-spangled living room. All was tranquil and on the surface; there seemed to be nothing amiss with this house. I was not disturbed while I selected an outfit from his room, though chills shook me as I imagined what really lay below this serenity. Before skittering away, I grabbed the case for his glasses which he had left in safety by his bed.

I changed and exchanged glasses before I came back to the bathroom. Britain must have heard me coming because he began to speak again, "You're going to have to take over America's duties, you know. You have to go into his home to answer calls, sign papers, and whatever else. You can't hide away in your house forever."

I swallowed before placing myself in front of the mirror for both of us to judge. Promptly my eyebrows flew up my face and I heard Britain inhale sharply. What regarded us in the mirror was a perfect copy of America, but one with purple eyes and a stressed expression.

"Can you see my gel?" I asked worriedly.

"No, no…" Britain trailed off in shocked awe, before affirming, "This is wonderful."

I looked at the remaining picture of America in the corner and compared it to my face. The similarity shocked me and my heart skipped, as for almost a moment I thought it was him there. My eyes then flashed back and forth between me and the image, until tears welled up and my lower lip quivered.

"Canada, look at me."

My hand fidgeted but managed to get Britain's face back on screen. I knew I was meant to turn the computer and talk to him, but I was stuck facing the mirror. We both were forced to watch my reflection as rapidly, I crumbled. When the first tears broke free, I gently placed both my hands over my face so that I would no longer have to see myself.

With my wet face hidden, I felt safe enough to continue. Now the tears poured out without end and slipped past my fingers. I started to twitch and sniff although Britain's words of comfort were recognized in the background. My feet ended up falling back, until they touched the solidity of the bathtub and I sat down heavily onto its wet edge.

I interrupted Britain's soothing voice, coughing out, "I can't do this, I can't! I-I could never b-be him… I don't want to be him! I w-want him to be him… I just want him back, I just- I want…"

"Canada," he murmured, and once I had trailed off I started to really hear him. "I'm booking my plane ticket right now. I will be coming over to see you, alright now? I will help you."

But then I fell apart again, my body falling forward as I disagreed, "You c-can't help me… I can't do this. I can't bear this!"

"I believe in you," he continued in a whisper. "I really do, Canada. There is power and energy within you that will give you all you need to do this. For his sake you will try your best, and with practice it will become easier. This job will suit you since so many believed you to be America even before you modified your appearance. Your voices are similar, so you only need to be loud and incorporate more slang. I'd say you would only have to worry if you were me, trying to pull this off!"

I dropped my hands and let my puffy eyes gaze down at the floor.

"I'm coming over to see you. Everything will be alright. I'll help you practice, but this you can get started on yourself. Try talking to yourself using the words he would use, and work on raising your voice."

"I'll have to sound cocky about everything," I sniffed.

"That's the spirit, Canada."

I reached over to the toilet paper and blew my nose as quietly as I could. I dried my cheeks and turned the laptop so that Britain would not see my pink face as I washed my hands. He was forced to watch over the toilet as I looked back at myself in the mirror.

"How long will you stay?" I asked quietly.

"As long as you need," Britain answered me gently. "And whenever you need me, I will come back."

"You cannot stay until it is over?"

"No… I have to keep up appearances, do my work, and look for ingredients here. There are some locations I will check out, which I marked out on a map long ago."

I exhaled some of the weight out of my chest. "You keep saying ingredients, but what do you need? Is there anything… that I could find?"

"I need special kinds of plants," Britain murmured. "Some you cannot see, and some that are hard to get near because they affect your mind. They make you want to wander another way or they can make you see them as normal species. They exist in your country, but you cannot find them because you lack experience."

"Oh…"

"And once I find them, they cannot be transplanted. They're awfully frightened of people, coming up through the earth then burrowing down into it. I record where they are, but often they have moved away a few decades later. It can be a pain finding them and especially when trying to collect different species."

I asked, "Why don't you keep extra then… of the potion I mean?"

"Because after they are picked, the effects they have do not last long after. Like with regular flowers in a vase, they will wilt and die eventually."

"But I thought you said you would have normally had extra?"

Britain replied, "No. I said I wish I could have had extra. If it were possible. Otherwise, there would always have been a few stocked in my cabinet ever since the first accident."

"I see…"

I sighed. I wished it could have been simpler, since I had heard of other creations Britain had created. This must be a much more complicated project then. But I know he is doing his best, so I have to be patient and do my best too. His task sounds harder than mine anyways…

"Do you have any more questions?" he asked. "If not, we'll part ways and get started."

I looked down into the sink where there were still traces of my cut hair.

"Nothing else right now," I breathed. "I can just message you though, right?"

"Yes, yes… Of course," Britain said. "I might be out for long periods of time, but I will get back to you as soon as I can. Now then, if you don't have any questions… go and rest yourself a while. Yes, better that you clean yourself up, sit down, and have a proper meal for your well-being. I'll go out though and start looking."

Eat?

I had forgotten what food even was. It did not appeal to me at all right now, although what he had said was logical. I was not sure if I could bring myself to stomach something after all I had seen, but lying down clean and among blankets was an attractive idea.

"Thank you," I whispered.

"I will see you soon, Canada. Goodbye now."

"Goodbye…"

I felt utterly disconnected once the call ended. I turned the computer back to me and folded it shut, all my movements slowing as I felt so alone. I knew though, that I would feel better once Britain was here to comfort me. Until then, I needed to find my own coping methods.

I tried to relish the warmth of the shower's water over me, which did help me with my shaking. Feeling scrubbed from head-to-toe also made the memories of the mountain seem ever the more distant. When I went to brush my teeth, I remembered though that I had mindlessly used my toothbrush on America.

A corpse.

I twitched and tossed it into the trash with two fingers. In a drawer I took out an unopened package and popped out a new toothbrush. When I was done in here, I dumped America's clothes into my dirty laundry, set his glasses to the side, and slipped into pyjamas. It was not nighttime yet, but it just felt appropriate when all I wanted to do was lie amongst the pillows and pretend that the only world for me was the comfort of the bed.

The laptop sat alone on the nightstand as I hid myself under blankets and grabbed at all the pillows. I squeezed whatever I could while the light was blocked out, blankets consuming me until they were all I could see. All alone here too however, I struggled to not think about what was in the neighboring basement. It therefore became impossible to give in to the warmth.

Eventually I thought about everything that had happened, from the fall to Britain's chilling words, and all such things that I did not understand. Undoubtedly, I was more frightened than sad. Suddenly, I began trying to understand what was happening and just how America was not dead. It was just as difficult to accept that special flowers could fix him, flowers with abilities beyond the natural world. My mind whirled and when it grew too tired, all I could think about were the facts.

America would rot. He would get stronger and more aggressive. I would be wearing a mask and lying to the world while a monster resided in my basement, trying to get to me. He would no longer be my brother then. Even now, I had to accept that he was gone.

"Poor America," I mewled into a pillow. Tears escaping freely again, I clenched it tighter and crammed it against my chest. Very soon I lost my words and cried into the pillow, burying my face into it and sobbing louder and louder. The blankets rocked with my heaves until a weight sunk in beside me.

I was startled at first, but then a paw prodded my back. I could feel the hesitation of it, its worry. I spun around and saw Kumajiro crouching there, black eyes gleaming as he wondered what was wrong with me. Without giving an explanation, I lunged and hugged him, drawing him in and crying into his fur.

I felt his chin touch down upon my shoulder after a moment, and there we stayed until I regained control of my breathing. But even still I cried, holding and nuzzling into him for a long while still. Knowing that I needed to remain here, he lay down sideways over me. Now, I wrapped my arms around him while he relaxed and nosed my jaw.

So finally, here in the comfort and warmth, I made a consoling realization. I looked into white fur, squeezed tighter, and thought, I guess I'm not as alone as I thought…

Thanks to his presence and comforting whimpers, I was finally able to lie still. My nose was stuffed but through my parted mouth, I breathed deep and slow breaths. My body relaxed even more, as I continued to pet Kumajiro to sleep on me. And then, when I saw his soft, slumbering expression, I was filled with such tenderness.

It was in the moment I forgot about America, when I collapsed from sheer exhaustion and fell asleep.