No number of closed doors could make me feel safer from the monster next door. Monster, I had truly thought before I could stop myself, since this was not my brother anymore. It was the same unidentifiable creature that Britain's friend had also once become, an unexplainable being that was sure to become more violent over the days.

With the fear governing my thoughts, it was in hardly any time before I had gathered us all in my bedroom, locking us in to protect and guard each other. Britain lay down on the other side of the bed and slipped under the covers, and when I was assured that he was settled there with me, I tucked myself in. Kumajiro crawled across the bed to lay between us, a large centerpiece to the bed, curled up with his warmth touching both me and Britain. No longer did he cover his ears and tremble either, since he could not hear America when he was so far away.

My mind became filled with the sounds of a nightmare we perhaps could not hear; shrieks and growls and the rattle of chains as he pulled to try to escape. Of course, this was ahead of myself, for perhaps America was not so strong and vicious at this stage. Regardless, the new events had come so swiftly that I was dizzy with panic in trying to adapt. Sorrow for someone then gaining an intense fear of them was a stressful transition to make. I began petting then snuggling Kumajiro in a feeble attempt to let the fresh memories fade.

Britain must have sensed my restless mind. "Don't be afraid of him, Canada," he murmured, his voice low. "I know it's frightening right now when he's making all those awful sounds, but I'm sure that he'll quiet down soon. Last time… Eventually he just went completely silent. Damage to the throat, you see..."

My voice fluctuated. "W-why is he m-making those... noises? Why?"

"Just desperation…" Britain whispered back to me in the dark. I could not see him past Kumajiro, but I imagined him on his back and staring wistfully up at the ceiling. "And I don't even know if he wants to attack us just yet. Perhaps, it is just panic- a bestial panic. That our presences trigger a powerful desire to heal, since we are whole and he is not."

"You just made it sound like he does want to attack us," I muttered with a bitter edge, allowing him to be aware of my earnest doubt. "He wants what we have."

"I don't know… the last one was awful, started off worse than America, yet he did not attack until later."

"Why? What kept him from attacking if he was always bad off?"

Britain's sigh drifted off into the dark. "I know I am here to provide my experience, but you ask so many questions… I regret to have to say again that I simply do not know why he withheld attacking until later. I just know that it was our parts he wanted…"

I gulped and felt my stomach churn as Britain continued with his breath passing from his lips like a breeze, "He just tried so hard to put the flesh onto himself… just holding it and not even looking at me anymore. I felt… awful. In pain of course, but... I was sad because he was just so desperate to heal. I still think that he could not think at all but, it just felt like there was a sort of emotion there. Perhaps just one emotion. As if… he wanted to be healthy again even if it meant harming me."

I blinked rapidly then sat up. "Why didn't you say any of this before? Are you saying that America can still think?"

"No… Yes perhaps, but I mean not in the way that the America you know thinks. It is illogical though, and I don't understand so it is hard to explain the facts. You can only receive my guesses, really, on these matters."

My hands twisted in the blankets. "But I want your thoughts! I think you were right because there is logic here. Maybe he did not attack because he knew who you were, to some sort of degree, and did not want to hurt you. I mean, just think about how he tried to do something that requires thought. He was thinking about a cure to his condition, and when he became too desperate, he hurt you. He didn't try to kill you like a regular zombie."

"I am aware of the logic and that there was method… But you didn't need to hear this. I wanted you to be cautious, not hopeful. Canada… keep him in chains. He will not spare you in the future."

My heart sank as though it had been anchored at sea. I noticed the accelerated beating of my heart and knew that I had become too excited over this.

"The point is," Britain said, "that you have to be more careful than I was. I let him stay in the living room because he did not attack me at first and it never seemed like he would."

"I know…" My voice lowered itself as I remembered the moans shifting in volume due to our presence. The memory spooked me and a chill raced down my spine, making it difficult to trust America. "But," I persisted, "I don't like that you are keeping such important information from me just because you fear for my safety. Is there anything else that you think of now? Please, Britain, tell me all of your ideas…"

"There is no more to say about thoughts or knowledge, I promise. But, of course, I have to keep some information from you. I will still not tell you the identity of the person or when it happened."

Kumajiro rubbed his nose into me. I lifted my arm to pet him, whereupon he slid his broad head onto my chest. I expected his high-pitched voice to inquire something, but he was so uncomfortably quiet when scared by something. He nuzzled me, seeming to have a concern for me because of all Britain had said. Instantly I felt guilt because of my continued ignorance, forgetting how I was worrying everyone around me.

I whispered gently, "I will never let him free until he is cured, I promise, Britain. I mean it."

After a pause where my body could only grow cold in the serious atmosphere, Britain breathed, "Canada… I'm sorry that I will leave soon. And that I will leave you with him."

"It's okay, Britain," I assured him quietly as to help him relax. "I won't be alone when I have Kuma with me."

Britain went quiet but this time, it felt as though that was alright. We had been talking for so long, discussing problems and the things we could not answer. Silence, in large amounts, was promising since it could mean that there would be no more difficulties to consider. I felt myself able to sink just a bit into the mattress and I remembered the weight of my eyelids, heavy after all the crying I had done.

We, not I. I glanced in the direction of Britain, knowing that the other side of the bed was occupied by an exhausted body.

"We need to rest," I murmured, trying to follow in his footsteps and focus on the necessary, practical things. "Let's get some sleep…"

"Yes," he mumbled in agreement. "For as long as we can… let us rest."

I let my eyelids close together and was immediately surprised by how the darkness pulled me into it. Flashes of thoughts of America found me, but so quickly I was unintentionally dragged away from reality. My body had suffered through so much stress today and could no longer remain awake. Not when for the time being, I was safe.

There could be however, no stretch of peaceful darkness. Behind my eyelids, I witnessed flashes of movie scenes, where zombies reached their peeled and discoloured hands towards the screen. The Walking Dead came on screen but slowly, the TV drew closer. The screen grew larger and larger until all that be seen seen were grotesque faces and clacking jaws. The moans grew louder still and drummed in my ears, circling around and around me until I felt that I was the one spinning. I eventually became cognizant of branches underfoot and the dampness of topsoil, realizing then that I had arrived.

The forest of mixed wood resounded with the screeches of the dead. The faces returned, emerging through heather with yellow nails outstretched toward not characters, but me. A twirl made me aware that I was utterly alone and unarmed as a ring grew tighter.

I shot between four arms and sped through the forest, throwing branch after branch behind me. Unseen growls arose all around me and my desperation heightened. I yanked and tore to get myself forward, until I stumbled into a laden field of corn. Here too, rasps and growls rose from places concealed behind the wall of green. My eyes locked on ahead and I clawed and pushed forward as fast as I could, seeing no other option.

A misty thought hovered in my mind and made me aware that this was a dream. I ran in slow motion while the sounds pelted towards me, until bony fingers poked through the stalks on either side and grazed me. I felt streaks of black grease scrape my arms, before I tripped out into open space, grasping at only the air.

A small, wooden house sat nestled on the green grass, welcoming, inviting me with an open door. I skittered for it without looking back, only hearing the dragging of broken ankles pursuing me and feeling obligated. Upon diving through and locking the door behind me however, the thickest of silences descended. Although the sounds had only been metres beyond the house, all traces of the undead had vanished.

I looked around the elegantly furnished room I had landed in. Almost everything was carved from wood and clean, visibly pleasing and homely. A table across the room held a vase upon it, flowers with such a burst of colour that I was attracted to them. Only upon coming closer, I realized they were thornless roses, which I carefully began stroking.

"I have to do something."

I jumped and turned. "Britain?"

"No one else can help…"

I hurried back toward the couch, but there was no one here.

"No, no…" The fright pulled Britain's voice tighter. "We can't tell anyone…"

I tore toward a staircase and snatched onto the railing. "Britain? B-Britain!"

I ascended the stairs, but every step I climbed brought the world into a deeper haze. The wood smeared and my vision tunneled to darkness. Where were the stairs? Was I even climbing any higher? Why? -

With a lung-shattering gasp, everything disappeared and my dark ceiling greeted me. The silence was filled by the dreaming grunts of Kumajiro beside me, but the rest of the house seemed to be in quiet peace. I sat up and glanced around. I stretched up to check on Britain, but before even glimpsing him, I heard his voice.

"I don't know what to do… I don't know…"

My eyes widened. He's been talking in his sleep the whole time. What I heard in my dream was him! Britain… he's dreaming about the last time.

I reached over Kumajiro and touched Britain's head. He did not feel it right away, but moaned softly, "What if I can't do it?"

"You can," I answered gently, petting his hair and trying to penetrate his dream. "You've already done it."

Britain finally fell quiet. I watched him rest peacefully for a bit before I settled down myself. When I fell asleep this time, there were no more horrifying dreams. The act of comforting him had reflected back upon me. In that way, the rest of the night passed easily and woke naturally, although we both immediately had America on our minds.

I sat up when Britain did, looking over the blinking ball of fur to him. With a throat dry from slumber, I whispered, "I want to see him right now. I-I think seeing him will help me… Let me know that it isn't so bad…"

"It will be bad," Britain contradicted me. "If not now, then later. But seeing him in chains will make you feel safer at least, in that you are correct."

We pulled ourselves out of bed and although still clad in our pyjamas, Britain opened the door to America's side a few minutes later. On this morning, Kumajiro did not bar us, but lingered back and watched us stride through into the soft moans. He seemed stiff as I passed him, but the lowered volume of the moans and the lack of harm done to us yesterday must have calmed his nerves.

"Goodness," Britain commented as we proceeded towards the ever-quieting calls. "I don't believe that he has stopped once during the entire night."

Britain unlocked this door as well and took the lead down the stairs. The moans cut off abruptly and I swallowed, holding onto Britain and following him. I unintentionally eyed up the shovel against the wall, confirming its position, before I regarded America.

His emaciated face was stiffly pointed in our direction, eyes unblinking and mouth hanging. I trembled at the gauntness of his body, the greyness of his skin, and the black colouring of his legs. Ink dots were scattered over him, hairy legs zipping over flesh and diving under clothes. I slapped a hand over my mouth and quaked as some dots gathered by his eyes.

I felt my stomach clenching as I inhaled the concentrated stench, sure that I was on the verge of vomiting. Britain quickly turned me away and gripped me tight. Before he could even say his usual words, I choked, "I know there's nothing we can do, b-but... I can't bear to look. He's falling apart."

In spite of this, a chill jolted me and I looked back. America was continuing to stare right at us, not moving in the slightest. His ribs were still and eyelids were held in place. I happened to make eye contact and it felt entirely as though he was looking right back at me, despite his blindness. It also seemed all so very much that he was thinking something awful, like another brain was sitting in his skull that did not belong to America.

Yes… he doesn't look mindless but… focused on one thing only. Like a predator wanting only to kill.

Britain walked toward him on an angle, causing America to turn his head and follow his movement. I stepped after Britain as he came closer to America. The alertness of my brother unnerved me to no end, where he straightened himself up and leaned forward when approached. The chains pulled tight but he did not struggle to break them, only leaning as far as he could to be closer to us.

I had not focused on the details to spare myself from stress, but Britain observed, "Some parts of him do look better. You patched up his leg, didn't you? Well, I think the broken bone just might be healed."

I focused my gaze upon his dark leg wrapped with sports tape to the wood. Britain squat down and felt it, before he pried at the tape and began unraveling it. We both twitched when skin peeled off with it, but I gawked when Britain continued to remove it.

"S-stop!" I yelped.

America stared at us without acknowledgement as to what was happening.

"The skin's already dead," Britain replied. "It doesn't matter so much."

"But the bugs!"

"There's nothing we can do about them. No matter how hard we try."

Britain yanked it all off then threw the tape away. He shifted America's leg by the foot, turning and lifting it to confirm that it was stiff and connected.

"Why did you take it off?" I moaned, regarding the raw, revolting red patch ringing his leg. They resembled rope burns that had softened and become discoloured by infection.

"They have to come off sometime," he replied. "He might be able to heal this part."

The chains clicked. I snapped my head to the side as America extended his neck, bringing his face towards me.

"Hgeeehh…"

I leapt back as his yellow teeth clacked. America reopened his mouth and released another groan.

"Hyeeah…"

"H-he isn't saying anything this time," I murmured. "I know it..."

The urge to cover my ears like Kumajiro had was strong, for it put me into such unease to have to hear the sounds. Even when they were so quiet, like whispers.

"Look, his leg is healed," Britain carried on regardless. "The bone is connected."

I moved away from America, but breathed, "I can't believe it… He is healing but at the same time he is getting so much worse…"

"At a point, he'll get no better or worse."

I remembered Britain saying this before, but I still did not want to know what the worst stage would be.

"C-can we… go now, Britain? I've seen enough."

"Yes, yes… We see that there is no problem. Let's head back."

Britain took hold of the shovel and brought it upstairs with him. I bit my lip but did not argue. I was however, startled when Britain held the door open to the basement.

"What we ought to do," Britain stated, "is air out this place whenever we can. You simply cannot have guests when it stinks like this."

Britain kept the door open with a remote pressed into the crack. I aided him in opening all the windows, but worry nagged at me to have the door wide open like it was.

"I think that I shall clean up this place," Britain decided. "A good scrub of everything and plenty of air fresheners should put us on the right track."

"So you won't look for more plants today?"

"I will- tonight precisely, but first things first, I'll prepare and boil up the ingredients we have into something more useful. Just keep it all in the fridge for me after that and don't touch it."

"Okay… And how long will that take, Britain?"

"Hours. Best that we have a good breakfast and you do your work."

Britain and I crept away from this side, at least closing the connecting door as some sort of barrier to the stench. Ravenous, we ate first then dressed for the day. Since there was no need to make an American appearance, I kept my hair loose and ungelled, although had taken the scissors to my hair to fix up a few flaws.

Just as I was about to settle on the couch, America's cellphone rang and I scooped it up. Kumajiro sat beside me and I combed the fur of his head while I threw on an accent for America's boss. It was calming as I acted carefree and arrogant, but soon I grew confident in my voice and the pressure slid away. Nothing was suspected as I spoke as I would have written to him.

Britain paused in the doorway of the kitchen. I had caught sight of him in my peripheral vision, his lean figure touching the wood and standing still as he observed me. I did not move however, keeping him in my sights to get me accustomed to others watching. For a few minutes even, he remained there like a statue, as I managed to delay a meeting with the president.

After I hung up, I gave myself a shake and shifted my attention onto Britain. His green eyes were opened in shock, although an admirable kind. His arm dropped to his side and he murmured, "Simply… incredible."

I bowed my head, unsure of what to feel about his words. Without lingering on the subject however, he wandered off toward the door. Britain glanced past his shoulder and held the door open halfway when he called back, "I'll see you later."

I nodded and repeated, "See you…"

After that door closed again, I listened for a moment. I could hear nothing however, except for a soft clatter in the distant kitchen that came after a minute. In separation, I stayed in Kumajiro's company and accomplished much on the computer and through phone calls. When lunchtime came around, I rose to check in on Britain. Immediately upon entering America's home, I was struck by the evermore powerful odour of decay that had traveled up the stairs. I strode through it into the kitchen, where it was tamed slightly by the peculiar scent of cooked plants.

Britain stood stirring a simmering pot, his appearance likening a wizard in my mind. Just for a second, I imagined him in a dark stone room, stirring a coloured liquid a cauldron. That image was whisked away when a throaty moan rose over the steady sounds of boiling. Although still quieter than yesterday, I shivered at the noise of the monster.

Britain glanced at me when I came near him, then he turned back to his work. He told me, "He started right up again soon after I came back."

"Are you bothered?"

"I'm just trying to ignore it."

I might have offered him ear plugs or music, but I wanted him to be alert.

"Are you almost done here?" I asked him instead.

"Yes, then I'll get cleaning."

I hung by the counter, watching the pulpy, red mixture within the pot. With a peek into the sink, I realized that none of the plants remained. Everything had been reduced into the concoction as scarlet as the thistley leaves when first picked.

"You could take a break," I proposed. "I want to take Kumajiro outside so…"

"Alright."

After this agreement, I stayed by him and became unsettled by the moans within minutes, wondering how Britain had been able to cope with them. I watched him when he poured the mixture into a plastic container then cleaned up the area. Then, I led him out of this home at a fast pace.

Kumajiro bounded on ahead into the yard, leaving the two of us to observe him while standing near the door. The bear's attitude had changed so much, now that he was out in the fresh air and separated from the confines of the condemned building. As he lumbered around and sniffed at the corners, I couldn't help but sigh to Britain, "Things don't usually bother him, you know… He doesn't think about the same thing for so long. He often forgets what is going on, my name… This whole thing must be awful for him if he thinks about this all the time."

"At least he understands what has happened," Britain murmured. "It would be worse if he couldn't understand our words."

A tad absent-minded in viewing the joyous relief of Kumajiro, my thoughts immediately slipped out my mouth.

"Should I keep him here?" I asked. "I don't want him to be so stressed."

"It's better that he stays with you to protect you," Britain replied.

I went silent, understanding and fearing the thought of being alone. I imagined myself asleep and ignorant as America shuffled into my room, black mouth gaping and arms stretched out like those zombies in my dream. I twitched then breathed, "Alright, but if we go anywhere far… Kumajiro can stay with my boss. He enjoys that. It is better than leaving him alone with America…"

A pause went by before he said, "I don't believe America has any interest in him though. If we are gone, I doubt that he would even make a sound."

With my eyes on the white leaping across the yard, I inquired, "Where else do we have to go? You only have a few more days left."

"Yes… Gatineau and Quebec City."

"In Quebec?" I looked to him. "You know of plants there?"

He nodded.

I continued, "And you mean Gatineau Park? And… Do you mean in Quebec City or in the national park near it?"

"Yes to both. The name of the other park escapes me at the moment, but it is marked down."

"Jacques-Cartier National Park… We should take the train. Those places are far away."

"Well, there isn't much more for me to find here. We could take our time you know, to give your companion more time away from here."

I sensed that there was an unsaid and you that Britain had decided against adding. I thought however, of how we would leave America alone.

"What if America escapes?" I inhaled with a jolt of worry.

"He won't," Britain answered. "I'm fairly certain because he could not regain so much strength in that time… But even if he did, he would only try to find us. So, losing him is not a problem and fighting him off shouldn't be too difficult."

"It wasn't difficult to fight off the last one when he attacked you, was it?"

Britain shifted his gaze away from me, breaking eye contact. "It was a task, if I will be honest, but consider again that a lot of time had passed by so he had become stronger. Additionally, I didn't have the heart to harm him so it wasn't so simple. He was wrestled into some ropes then that was the end of it."

I knew Britain could not provide me with the answer, but I thought, With America though, are chains even strong enough? What could we use that is stronger than chains?

"Anyway," Britain said. "Come with me whenever I leave. And when I am really gone, take a lot of breaks like these. America, meaning you, cannot be stressed. That would be suspicious and a weakness. Now, America was quieter today, but if he continues we'll stuff a… a cloth down his throat. A quiet house and one that smells decent, will pair well with your eye contacts."

I nodded. It wasn't like America needed to breathe or felt pain regardless.

When we came inside, we ended up proceeding with this idea. Kumajiro was left in safety and after swiping a dish towel from the closet, Britain and I padded down the stairs toward the softening moans. I stayed back as Britain approached America with the dish towel, reaching out to the face already stretched out to him.

I wavered, whispering, "Did… the last one ever bite?"

"Yes," Britain muttered.

I hurried up to him, standing close enough to yank him back if America snapped. America went silent for a moment, looking in our direction with a stiff neck. Britain bit his lip with his canine and held onto America's cheek carefully, despite muscles tensed to spring back. He did not react. Britain stayed bent over, waiting until America dropped open his mouth to moan again. I could tell that he wasn't eager to stick in his fingers to pry open the jaws himself.

Without minding the hand upon him, America twitched toward Britain's face. His jaw fell down like a stone and the moan that followed was a rough bellow. Instantly Britain jumped back with a gasp, fright painted on his face as he struggled to comprehend that he was safe. He too, for a moment, had forgotten that America was in chains. As I held my hand over my thundering heart, I realized that Britain was also regarding America like he was something else entirely.

While America continued to stretch and moan after us, Britain crept back trembling. He grabbed America quickly by the throat and jammed the cloth into his mouth, pushing and not touching his lips or teeth. The sounds promptly were garbled and nearly muted, although America, who felt nothing at all, continued working his mouth around the towel. Britain pushed it deeper still, wedging it firmly in place. When he felt that it would not fall out easily, he stepped back.

He had not paid attention to where he had put his hand, and I had watched it press into the patch of black softness on his neck that resembled the bruise of a fruit. It was where a cut had been, but had healed over and then decayed, leaving dark colours and dried blood. Britain now regarded his hand with disturbed disgust, as it was covered in grease like that of a rotted banana. America leaned softly, noticing nothing different with himself as he tried to come near us. Britain turned away from him and headed toward the stairs, holding his hand out at a distance.

I followed him, cradling my stomach and trying to forget the opaque eyes and grey skin of America's face. It was his appearance and actions that frightened and bothered me the most, the images flickering through my mind. I could hardly think that we had just shoved a cloth down America's throat. America, my brother. In life, he would have choked and struggled to remove it. It would have hurt, tears would have come to his eyes- and yet it had been easy to do today. I knew I should have felt guilt, but it just did not feel like it had really been done.

America seemed to exist somewhere else. Not in another place, but I was certain that he was waiting for us in a future time. What was left behind with me was a creature in my basement to be feared. Mindless, and more frightening than an animal because of its focus. More and more, my mind was separating America into two entities because just nothing of him was present. The cocky smiles, the confident glint in his eyes, the radiance of strength, his relaxed speech…

My sadness was fading away as I climbed away from the corpse. America was alive, I felt it and believed it, but only time would allow us to meet him again.

We traveled through the woods at midnight, collecting these small, white flowers that glowed in the moonlight. For bones, Britain had explained to me. On the next occasion, when we traveled to Gatineau, there were purple roses that hid themselves- for the heart. The curly fern of Jacques-Cartier National Park did not look special, but had been invisible until picked. For vision, apparently.

In just a short amount of time, I was overwhelmed to find out that Britain needed a lot of material. The body was a complex thing, and now I understood fully why he needed all this time. Consequently, I felt relieved that Britain had been clever enough to mark down the locations. In my country, everything had been found in its expected area and all retrievals were efficient.

I took Kumajiro back home after we had spent some time away. Since the silence of America, he was in a much better mood and was able to forget about him as he went about his day. The house had remained safe additionally, for America was still in his spot, albeit thinner and darker than usual. His blood had sunk yet the paleness of his face had dimmed regardless. The rot had not ended and the features of his body had changed so much that it was becoming difficult to identify him. This cadaver that weakly extended itself toward us, with a towel half-dangling from out its mouth, could have been anybody else.

Which did not ease my nightmares of zombies in the slightest. During the nights, I ran forever. Sometimes I found that relaxing shelter, while other times, I never found it. One time, I dreamt about Britain in the stone basement like I had previously imagined, stirring a black cauldron hanging over a fire. He was wearing a black robe with the hood pulled over his head, his eyes flashing bright whenever he looked up and the fire was reflected in them. Although, my unconsciousness could not give him a cool confidence. His gaze that I espied was frightened still.

Britain talked in his sleep occasionally in those nights beside me. His words changed slightly after I got my contacts and after he had seen me wearing them. He forgot a little about the situation, whenever the time for sleep came. His mind tried to bring him whatever happiness that it could in the times where America grew weaker and more decayed. Sometimes, in his fatigue when accidentally roused in the night, he mistook me for America. My dismay always heightened then, and guilt washed over me as I felt that I was to take some blame, in relaying to Britain that I was not him.

He did not need further explanations. Always when he saw my eyes, his face would drop as he remembered everything. To avoid more of these occasions, I tried not to wear the contacts in his presence. I could not help speaking on the phone however, with Germany, Japan, and China when they called. Britain heard me and I knew it all plagued him, for whenever he was out of the room, he could not help but drift in. As logical as he presented himself, there was always illogicalness in hope.

It was so that after many days, I wished that he would go home. It was hard for him to believe for those frequent instances that America was alive, then to be reminded that he was sitting in the basement with dark specks burrowing into his flesh. It was perhaps easier to think that he was not constantly dead like Britain had said before. Grimly, I found myself fortunate that I never forgot that America was not with us.

The stench began to fade the thinner America grew. With the cleaning that I helped Britain do, the odour of the house likened more and more like garbage that needed to be taken out. The new silence of America made it at least possible that I could hold unexpected guests, granted that I closed the door to the basement first. No one had yet come however, guaranteed since now I left my house in silence so that I could hear the doorbell go off on the other side. Therefore, the door and windows remained open, with more of the smell drifting away through the screens.

I was able to check on America more often once I felt that he was truly weaker than I had imagined. He never did much but lean toward us and try to produce noise. I didn't think that he was even able to stand. Of course, my worries found me at night, but never when I looked at him. He had grown so small that I believed that just one of my kicks looked like it could snap him in two. America's skin was soft and he looked brittle, with the skin pushing away from his nails and hair and making him look like a dusty mummy.

Britain had insisted upon tightening his chains before he left, because of how thin he had grown. I brought out the key and opened the lock, whereupon Britain pulled back the chains and I relocked them together. America swayed from one of us to the other, gurgling and pulling his lips back to reveal his teeth. Yet he could do nothing, and he sat back in his tighter restraints, have more difficulty moving than before.

"Take good care of the potion for me," Britain instructed me when he was up and gathering his luggage. "Keep it cold and don't spill it. We have the perfect amount and I would prefer not having to spend another week to find everything all again."

I nodded. I had no intention of even laying a hand on it.

Instead of taking a taxi, I drove him to the airport. I trailed him as far as I was allowed to go, then Britain hugged me and clapped me on the back. Of course, there were more warnings and comforting words. He couldn't help it; he worried for me. My throat tightened as he drifted away to go through security, but I stayed and we watched each other as he followed the line. He looked away once addressed by an employee, then he walked on through and disappeared from sight.

I walked hurriedly away as the tears welled up in my eyes. I strained to keep myself from crying, to practice containing my stress. I dodged the people, breathing with difficulty as I stalked back to where I had parked. Once inside the car, a few tears escaped me but I swallowed and pulled my face to distract myself. Roughly, I jammed in my seatbelt and started the car. The music was cranked up to a higher volume and I fled the scene.

It was at home where I felt the drive to practice. These tears wouldn't do when I had to be a proper America. Stationed in front of the mirror later that night, I fixed my hair into America's style, gelling and pushing everything into place. I put on his clothes, the contacts, and his glasses, then stared at myself for a minute. I could see absolutely no difference between what America had been and this. I moved my face and raised my hand to confirm again, that this was indeed me.

I leaned back, trying to look nonchalant as I addressed the mirror in America's dialect.

"Wassup?" I asked, although choked partially. I cleared my throat and tried to collect myself. "What'cha looking at? Yo, do you want to hit a Dunkin' Donuts?"

I threw some more random sentences at the mirror, trying to see how I looked while saying them. Part of me felt ridiculous, that I was trying too hard, but then when I saw myself it seemed utterly authentic.

"So, Russia, how do you make that cake? Okay so there's honey-

The chime of America's doorbell bled into my house and I went rigid. Then, I scrambled to the door, throwing it open then closed, and dashing into America's side. I hopped into the kitchen to shut and lock the basement door, yelling out to whomever was waiting on me, "Coming!"

I breathed deeply to control my breathing before I opened up the front door, the one that had not been touched in a while. My eyes looked to the air before I had to drop them down onto Latvia's small form.

"What?" I chipped. "Lil' dude, I thought I told you not to come over!"

I wondered if he could detect the odour wafting out the door, because it was difficult for me to tell anymore how bad it was. Latvia's face did not scrunch up however as he responded, "S-sorry but… Mr. R-Russia told me you weren't busy anymore so…"

"Why didn't you call me? Or message me?"

"I-I tried to message but you didn't answer… and I tried to call too but..."

I searched my mind. I could not recall seeing anything from Latvia, but I might have been distracted by the more pressing messages of the larger nations. I had not been around to answer the home phone either, the one I constantly forgot about, if that was what he had chosen to call. With a shake of my head, I sighed, "Whatever. So you wanted to talk to me?"

Latvia held onto himself and looked back at the bleeding sky. "Just for a bit… I don't want to bother you, really…"

I looked to the fat suitcase to his side that was nearly taller than he was. It was definitely for more than a few days. "So you still wanted to go on vacation somewhere?"

"Oh, yes please… If it isn't inconvenience to you. I-I know that you're going to Mr. R-Russia's but…"

"It's fine, you're not a problem." I shrugged. "Others though, sure. But not you, little buddy."

The term referring to his size obviously made him uncomfortable, and the guilt made me not want to say it again. I don't have to be as rude as him. This is a time to change.

"Latvia," I said. The clearness of my voice snapped him to obedient attention and I was surprised by this. He would never have done this for me. "You can go where you'd like, but I hope you've got a hotel booked because you've come at a bad time."

"N-not yet… I wasn't sure where I could be going. A-and I'm sorry… I really thought you weren't busy because-

"We can talk, but I'm warning you that the house just reeks. Like, nasty ass, bro. Better that you don't stay."

He cocked his head so I quickly lifted my shoulders. "There was a dead raccoon in the wall. Totally crazy, had to get it removed!"

"It's okay." Latvia nodded and grabbed onto the suitcase, tugging it in. I stepped back and closed the door, watching him as he glanced around and silently sniffed. Then, he looked back at me and shrugged. "I-it isn't so bad, Mr. America… and besides, sometimes it was smelling like this at Mr. Russia's house back when…"

He covered his mouth and corrected himself. "Ah, I shouldn't be saying these things..."

I wrinkled my eyebrows and squinted at him. "Riiiight…"

Latvia twitched then dropped down to remove his shoes. I exhaled and once he stood up, waved him over to follow me to the dining table. I was glad that America had been gagged, because now Latvia could sit here with me in innocent silence. Otherwise, I would have never let him in. Now though, he presented me with his papers and I put myself into a serious American mind, one I had practiced enough to achieve now.

I spoke with him for an hour, before getting up and closing the windows once it got too chilly. Latvia followed me around, timid and expectant like a servant. I wondered how America treated him whenever he came over, but I felt that surely his behaviour was caused by Russia's actions and then America's neglect.

"Yo, jog my memory," I told him. "Have I ever let you stay the night here before?"

"Sleeping?" He looked surprised at the suggestion.

"Yes, what else?"

"Oh… no."

"Alright," I decided. "Save your money. I'll let you stay."

Latvia's wide eyes lit up. "R-really?"

I pursed my lips and nodded. As I tried to look casual about it, my mind imagined how nicely I could treat him. I doubted that hardly anyone ever gave him much attention, but now I could give him good food, time to rest on the couch, and a warm place to sleep. So long as he could truly put up with the smell of death.

"I'll drown the place with Febreze," I replied. "Then it'll be okay, right?"

"Y-yes." He gave me a small smile. "Thank you…"

I took his suitcase for him and led him to the spare bedroom of America's house. I snagged a Febreze bottle as promised, and went to work in the room. For the time being, I left this window open and put down some carpet freshener for good measure.

"This oughta do it." I swung the nozzle of the Febreze around my finger after I had picked it up again. "Now get yourself outta that suit and relax. We can Netflix and chill, but the right kind of chill, if you know what I mean."

Latvia looked lost but nodded neatly. He thanked me again, then ducked into the privacy of his own room. I trotted away and checked on the basement door again. Locked. Pressing my ear to the door, I confirmed that all was silent.

He's weak. Nothing will happen now.

I hopped around and sprayed the furniture, floors, and curtains with the Febreze. While Latvia took his time, I gathered up snacks from the junk-filled cabinets of America's home. There were chips, chocolate, and pop a plenty, to spread over the coffee table before the wide screen TV. Latvia padded out in simple clothes to the loading screen of Netflix, slow and cautious as though testing if he was allowed to come near. I had to wave him over again, a little disappointed that he moved out of obedience instead of excitement.

Latvia was nervous, regarding me with moon eyes. I knew I was not acting as America should and that was stressing him out, but this was no longer my concern.

"Relax, dude," I insisted. "I was thinking that we could be friends, you know."

"Friends?" And still the word seemed to unease him.

"Yep, why not? I don't see why we shouldn't be when we're not fighting each other."

"O-oh…"

But he was still stuck standing. I released an American laugh and cried, "Come on! Next time, we'll bring your Baltic buds and have a party. But for now, sit your ass down and help me eat these Doritos."

Latvia's lips quivered into a soft smile as he tentatively reached out to take a Dorito from the bag I had offered. I directed him to the couch and I plopped beside him. We engaged in small talk and settled in for a movie, and others would have assumed that my joy and enthusiasm were real, not the concocted fake persona of hair gel, contacts, and the heavy weight of the truth of the basement below our feet.

I lounged back and crossed my legs as I thought, I hope America doesn't manage to dislodge his gag tonight. Hard to blame those sounds on the raccoons.

I hoped the morning would arrive soon.