University is the reason for the late post. Now though, I am done and chapters should be coming out more quickly.

I was supposed to be there for him.

With that final thought, I violently erupted from my dream. When my eyes widened to take in the shapes and obscured colours of my surroundings, I was confronted by familiar things. The walls, door, dresser, and blankets were my own, and so was the silence of the home. Without needing to check beside me, I touched then began petting Kumajiro.

Russia was long gone, and now Britain was too. Kumajiro blinked himself into semi-consciousness as I dragged myself closer to him then hugged him. My thoughts were racked with distress and lacked hope, and while Kumajiro remained calm and warm, I needed more. Eventually, I slipped away from him and restarted my music playlist.

I lay down on the other side of the bed to curl up around Kumajiro's back. By then, classical Russian music had already begun to gently caress our ears. It usually became much easier to cease having negative thoughts and emotions when I was reminded of times gone by. When I remembered how others had comforted me, I concentrated on the words and touches. Like this, I had been able to pass each night alone while waiting for Britain to visit me.

I slept, knowing that this day my loneliness would come to a pause. The morning was passed by tapping away at the keyboard, and at the knock in the afternoon, I rushed too quickly to the door. I threw it open and exposed Britain on the steps with his suitcase.

"I'm sorry for the dela-"

I grabbed him, pulling him into the house and to my chest. All formalities were abandoned as we let out small sighs in tandem. Britain rubbed and patted my back, murmuring, "Are you okay, Canada?"

"Mm…"

It wasn't so bad anymore. I relaxed and clung for just a bit longer, only until Britain's anxiety to see America's state became too great.

"I need to see what he looks like now," he said. "I know it will be bad, but…"

I knew I couldn't stop him. Leaving his suitcase by the front door, we walked to the basement. However, once there and unlocking the infamous door, Britain mumbled to me, "You... don't have to come if you don't want to, Canada."

I reached out and held his arm, staying close to him and receiving no protest. I had felt obligated to do this after hearing the pain in his demeanor; his voice had become weak and his face creased with lines of worry. Together, we proceeded down the stairs like the last time, nearly two months ago. Only on this occasion, there was no silence. Upon the second step, chains rattled sharply and loudly, a vociferous clang that startled Britain into leaping back into me.

It took a little nudging on my part to encourage him to continue, making me aware of how accustomed I had grown to the vicious snaps of the metal. The noise had ceased scaring me since the time that America had escaped his binds.

Because, I thought while carefully regarding Britain, as long as I hear that sound, I know he's still in those chains.

From the floor, the empty-eyed, black skeleton stretched out toward us. The metal pulled taut and held, then it was nearly quiet as America stayed locked in his position. When no movements were made, it truly looked like a frozen body. America's jaw shifted however, reminding us that the corpse would never be still.

I felt the slight trembling of Britain through the grip I had on him. I held him closer as gurgles began to emanate from the torn and molded throat, rumbling over the stained cloth jammed into the mouth. Turning away, Britain curled his hands over my chest and hid the creature from his sight.

"America…" he breathed. "Oh, America…"

I had seen America more than once every day, and now had to realize how difficult it was for Britain to face him for the first time. The image of America he had held in his mind all this time was how he had last seen him: whole albeit pale, and appearing almost exactly as he had in life.

It doesn't matter what Britain has seen before. It was long ago, and he has forgotten what it's like. Now… it's just hard to look. I can't blame him. I'll never be able to look long either.

The volume began to increase as we still stood near and out of America's reach. Britain's body cringed in agony at the sounds. He looked back to America, whispered his name vainly again, then backed away. Britain hurried up the stairs and I caught up to him on the upper level.

Britain did not want to talk about him. After locking the door, we returned to his luggage. I watched him remove a container filled with maroon liquid from it, then I followed him to America's kitchen.

There, he finally said something.

"I had to get special permission to take these here," Britain explained, although slightly absentmindedly. "But here we are. Not long now until I have everything."

"Not long?" I whispered.

He put the container on the counter then took out the larger, crimson-filled container from the fridge. Seeming not to have heard my question, he merely poured the maroon into the red, finding a wooden spoon to mix it all together.

"Britain," I said a little more loudly and clearly. "How much longer until you have everything?"

"Well, perhaps one more month. I hope. See, it's getting harder to get time off because I have been taking so many vacations already. Otherwise, there's hardly anything left now for the potion. Just some more things for the organs."

One month… After hearing that, I wasn't sure how to feel. Dread, relief- I had survived two months like this already, but I wondered if I could make it for one more month. It would just about be December by then.

"You said… America would get stronger," I murmured.

Britain had put the potion into the fridge and had rinsed out the small container. Now, he answered, "Yes… but that is why you're keeping an eye on him. His appearance though, should remain as it is now."

We wandered back to my side, collecting his bag and opening the door. Despite the tightening of my gut, I asked, "And if the chains break? What should I do?"

Britain shivered quickly, trying to keep himself still.

"Well…"

And it took him a while to respond. Not that he hadn't thought of an answer before, but it seemed that he had just never wanted to say it to me. He deposited his suitcase in my room, sat on the bed, then sighed.

"If nothing can hold him, then… you have to make sure he can't move."

I thought of a sort of box to put him in, then could only imagine America crammed into a freezer. Doubting that he meant that, I pressed, "Er, um- what do you mean?"

"Yes, um… You'll have to impair his movements. Sever his tendons perhaps, and leave him in the locked basement. That is the best option I can think of that does the least amount of harm."

Immediately, I choked and held my stomach. "You want me to do that? Oh no, I… I don't think I can do something like that…"

"It'll be okay," Britain murmured. "You've already stitched him, and touched-"

"I know but… I felt like I was helping him then."

"America won't feel anything, Canada."

I scrunched up, but could not argue against him. I shouldn't feel this way after everything I've seen but… I don't want to cut him. Taking a knife and sawing through tendons… It's like slicing meat…

It did not bode well for me to compare America's foul flesh to a meal. I pictured it on a cutting board and promptly shut my eyes. The mental flashes always came too fast for me to prevent.

He dropped it so that I could recover. I finally sat down beside him, gave up on that, and lay back over the bed. Britain exhaled, remaining fixated on something ahead. I closed my eyes as he stayed still, waiting for another repetitive phrase of assurance.

"It's almost over," Britain said in the end.

Yes.

The words went well with the comforting touch to my hair. Over time, he had become better with the touches, not so awkward and hesitant. He was sure now in our suffering that his actions now went without restraint. Britain kept my eyes closed with brushes that swept back my hair. Over and over, grazing gently and slowly.

I felt the depth of the rings around my eyes, then drifted into sleep. This however, I only realized after I had woken up from my nap. Britain was still seated beside me with his back against the pillows and computer on his lap. When he saw me raising my head and peering at him, he reached out and pet me again.

"Sleep more," he whispered. "I know how much you need it, Canada."

My lifting body collapsed easily back into the bed. After a taste of rest, my eyes blinked constantly in an effort to hold themselves open. After hearing his advice, all resistance was abandoned. The eyelids closed together, but I mumbled, "Can you do something, if I have nightmares…?"

"Of course."

"Touch me on the shoulder, and shake me a little. Not to wake me up, but to…"

"Alright."

Almost directly after, I lost all energy. I slept again, dreaming of nothing horrible when Britain's presence lingered in my consciousness. Once I woke up refreshed, I felt more capable of working. I laboured until I was given leave by Britain, who insisted upon a walk.

"Before it gets dark," he said, "let's get some exercise and air."

After sitting for hours, it felt nice to stretch my legs and restore proper blood flow. I let Kumajiro play in the yard while we went out on our own, trusting him to stay out of trouble. He had been much more obedient lately however, so I expected no problems.

When I watched Britain putting on a thin jacket, my eyes widened.

"You didn't bring anything warmer?" I gasped.

"Oh… I forgot about the weather here," he admitted. "I was too focused on…"

"It's no good, especially when you're not used to it."

I found him one of my spare autumn coats, passing it into his hands. He exchanged coats, although mine was a bit too large for him. It looked better when zipped up, but there was still an air of innocence about him in looking so small. We exited out the door, and the house was locked up behind me before we headed off on a route of a long distance.

"Just tell me if you get too cold," I told him. "We'll go inside somewhere and warm up for a bit…"

In my mind, I planned for that instance to take place in the nearest Tim Hortons. On the Canadian side, there was more for me to take pleasure in, and if not the food, then to have my contacts out and hair down. I appreciated every break away from being America.

Eventually, I became uncomfortable with the silence between me and Britain. A cluster of questions arose in my mind, and I ended up asking, "So, Britain... how long did it take you last time to find a cure? I mean, because of the lack of modern transportation…"

"Ah…" Britain murmured. "Well, things were also a little easier to find, before cities. Now though, there are fewer plants around…"

"But how long did it take? When I first called you… didn't you say it took a few months last time?"

"Wh-what are you implying?"

"Er… nothing, Britain…" I paused for a few seconds, then continued quietly. "Just that… It doesn't make sense really, because transportation took so long back then…"

Britain countered, "It was manageable. I just happened to have some things around…"

"But, er- wasn't it your first time making the cure? How could you know so fast what you needed-" I halted when I caught Britain fixing me with an acute stare. Nervous, I murmured, "Just because… you mentioned that you had to do tests…"

"Do you think I am lying to you?"

"N-no… I'm just trying to understand…"

Britain's lips drew out into a line and he went quiet. I frowned, disappointed that the mood had changed this way. It had not been my intention, and so I felt a weight of guilt inside.

"I'm sorry…"

Britain replied, his voice relaxing for my sake. "Canada… You ask so many questions that I do not want to answer…"

"I know…"

We walked on for another block. I did not want to look at Britain too much, but I flashed my eyes down to his blonde hair every few seconds. I knew that the next to speak would be him. I was merely waiting for Britain's next words.

"You are too smart, Canada," Britain sighed. "You know when you are close to that secret. The place, the identity, the time, the motives… I've made too many slips, and you have caught every one of them."

"So then…"

"Please, Canada, no more questions." Britain locked his gaze on me. "In a time like this, my wit is not as sharp as it should be. This stress is giving you too much opportunity, so please, don't make me reveal anything I do not want to. I would like you to respect my wish."

Thrown into shock, I bowed my head and looked away. I could not possibly argue with what he had just said. I did not want to take advantage of his pain, and to hear him admit his stress was too much to handle.

"Al-alright…"

We came to a stop at the hand signal of a crosswalk. There, Britain hesitantly brushed my arm. His gesture demonstrated relief and sorrow, but it was the mournful feeling that I focused on. Britain crossed his arms and tucked his hands into his armpits, moving slowly and pulling at the fibres of my heart.

"Britain…" I nudged him. "Let's go inside."

He was getting cold, but was forgetting to admit it. I led him into the closest Tim Hortons and bought him some hot chocolate. Sitting down across from each other felt too distant, and perhaps too similar to an interviewing position. I moved and sat beside Britain instead.

"You are so kind," he mumbled. "Ah… I should have paid more attention to you, honestly… Even though you are so quiet, you are truly something special. You aren't America, and I can see it now. And you are no lesser America either."

"Thank you…"

"An individual, even if you are a fine actor."

I wondered why Britain was saying such kind things to me now. The lines on his face once again revealed his distress, and so I hushed him. Britain refused, however.

"I always focused more on America because he was so loud and rebellious… You never seemed like a problem because you were always so quiet and peaceful. Sometimes, you caught my concern, but I was so distracted by France… I should have cared about you more, or showed it better."

"I knew you cared about me," I said, trying to ease him. Somehow, it did not change his mood.

Britain exhaled, "Now, you know that I don't like to cry in front of others, since I'd prefer to be a gentleman. And you saw me cry over America recently, but I promise that I have cried about you as well. I want you to know that, because I just realized that you might not know that."

"You did?" I perked up, but was more nervous than glad. "Wh-when?"

What had I done to make him sad like that?

"Well, I can't give you many specific details because it was long ago…"

But, I thought, but kept the question to myself, you can remember other things from even further ago than that. Did you not care enough to remember the occasion?

I gasped when he hugged me. The steam of Britain's hot chocolate floated upwards, abandoned on the table as he locked onto his own wrists. I embraced him back, uncaring of how the other customers would interpret this. Britain was off again, and I had to give me my comfort.

"Britain… It's okay."

I felt sure that it was, since he had told me this countless times before. It felt nice, but also horrible, when he held me tighter for a few moments. I was nonetheless thankful that I had chosen to sit beside him.

He let go and finished his hot chocolate quickly. After, we returned home and I took Kumajiro back inside. We stayed on my side and watched movies, deciding to stay there for the night. We had even ended up ordering Chinese food, instead of cooking anything proper.

When I came around to checking America's accounts, I was alerted of a sudden meeting tomorrow afternoon. It was close by, but a bother. I did not want to leave Britain alone with America. So when I told him about the meeting, it was agreed that he would follow me inside and wait by the entrance until I was done.

In the end, he commented, "A meeting of America's… I've just imagined how that would be like. Good luck with that."

Although we both understood that I was far too practiced to need any sort of luck at all.

It was rather bland once more, but I managed the meeting without any issues. I padded back to the front and met up with Britain, who had been playing Candy Crush on his phone upon my arrival.

"Did anyone bother you?" I asked.

"No," Britain shook his head. "None of the few people who came by recognized me."

We bought some lunch and ate it out, then I drove us back to America's side. Upon entrance, I sniffed the air and listened carefully. I could not detect the death smell anyone, and all was quiet. It was as though the horror from months ago had never transpired.

We walked straight on through to my side. There, I went to the bathroom and widened my eyes, reaching to remove the coloured contacts. It was exactly at this moment that a cheery knocking came upon my front door, and a faint cry was heard from the outside.

"Caaanaadaaaa."

And now my eyes widened for another reason. Footsteps thundered up the hall until Britain swung around the door frame of the bathroom.

"France," we both said.

"Who should I be?" I whispered urgently.

"Well, as Canada you will have to explain that haircut. As America, you have to explain where Canada is."

I was torn. In the end, I left my disguise on and hurried to the front door. The cooing calls of France continued until I answered it abruptly. The door was yanked open and I answered in America's voice.

"Oh, hey."

Complete surprise washed over France's face.

"Wh-what? America? What are you doing here?"

"Sorry but uh, Canada's not actually home right now. I heard you yelling and thought I'd answer."

"Not home?" he echoed. "Where is he?"

"Didn't you contact him before coming?"

I knew that he had not, so I could quickly formulate an excuse.

"No…" he replied. "I had wanted to surprise him."

"Well, Canada went on a little trip up north."

"R-really…" His composure weakened. "So I came all this way, but…"

"Hey, don't be so bummed out! You can hang with me. Britain's here!"

France looked up. "Britain?"

"Yeah, come on!"

France followed me with his luggage to America's side after I locked the front door. While walking there, I glanced back as Kumajiro yawned from the couch and fell back asleep, then as Britain peeked out from the hallway. After I had led France in and told him to go to the couch, Britain snuck in when his back was turned. He moved across the room as France sat and I closed the door.

"Oh, hello," Britain greeted him as though genuinely surprised of his arrival. "What has brought you here today?"

France sat up. "Well, I came to talk with Canada. You remember how he didn't show up to that meeting…"

"Oh yes. Rest assured, he is fine. I happened to call him just before he left on his trip."

"But are you sure? Maybe he seemed fine, but he wasn't-"

Britain countered, "You think I wouldn't be able to tell something like that? What happened was simply a joke between the two." He pointed at me. "So he's in trouble too."

"Ah," France sighed. "I really did want to see Canada though. I don't think anyone's visited him for a while…"

"Nope," I agreed with a false, but well formed, smile. "It's been a looong time."

I started to laugh as inconsiderately as America would. It hurt to do in knowledge of the truth of his statement, but it convinced him. He frowned as he sat down onto the couch. Britain sighed and paced over to the opposite end, and looked on the verge of adding another detail.

He never received the opportunity. Britain had only inhaled half a breath before an echoing clang and violent rattle snapped the house.

The blood drained from my face. With a shaky exhale, I looked to Britain and beheld a face as equally pale as mine.

He uttered, "Get the gun."

"What?" France jolted. "What was that?"

He gazed at me with fright as I quickly backed up to the door. I tripped and slapped at the door handle, with my eyes fixed upon Britain and France until the last possible second. Then, I tore down the hall into my room, ripping the drawer of the nightstand off accidentally and dropping it onto the floor. I snatched at the handgun sitting on top of everything, bold and sharp against the mundane mess of papers.

I readied the weapon as I jogged back. Kumajiro hopped out of my way by the door, alerted by the sight of the gun in my hand. Wisely, he would stay out of my way. I shoved myself back to America's side, where France and Britain stood tautly together, side-by-side and still unharmed.

"Okay," I gasped. "Got it."

I sent my adrenaline-filled body toward them, shaking and sweating. I stood between them as Britain murmured, "He hasn't figured out the stairs yet."

I glanced at France, who looked just as terrified as we did. I asked Britain, "What did you tell him?"

"Enough."

"S-so fast? But I was only gone for a few sec-"

"Not now!" Britain snapped. "Focus, or give me the gun!"

I flinched from the aggression. I did not know what had gotten into him, but I went quiet.

Britain crept to the side. We stepped after him as he went into the kitchen and gathered a knife for himself and France. The knife was taken hesitantly by France, who looked like he wanted to flee outside instead. I was mistaken, for he turned to Britain and expressed concern for him, crying out, "Are you planning on fighting?"

"No, just- just help me immobilize him after he's been shot!"

We scrambled to the basement door. Britain reached to open it, but France tossed him out of the way and protested, "Stay out of the way! What will we do if something happens to you?"

Britain fell to his side while France grabbed hold of the door. For a second we listened, and heard a faint shuffling somewhere below. France slowly turned the lock. I swallowed and held the gun steady at the doorway.

France threw it open. The black mouth of the basement widened for us, and cool air crept out from the depths. There was a scraping noise again and my muscles tightened. I reached for the light switch, bu then, a dark circle moved among the blackness, bobbing and unattached to any binds. I pointed toward it, but it stopped moving and I lost sight of the form.

"I saw him," I whispered. "But…"

"He stopped," Britain nodded. He and France had moved to my sides to peer down with me. Knives pointed out in both directions.

"Why?"

"I don't know."

He doesn't know? Sweat dripped down my temple. It was getting harder to keep my gun steady on the wall of black below. I extended my arm again to the light switch, but hesitated, wondering if I really wanted to see what I was meant to do.

I shot into the basement. The gunshot echoed throughout the house and made all of us jump, but the sound of splintering wood revealed the destiny of the bullet. I heard a sound and saw a shape again. Automatically I fired towards it, another shot into the dark.

A wavering screech hurdled over the resounding gunshot. I dropped the gun and covered my mouth. Turning to Britain, I cried, "H-he felt that! He sc-screeched because-"

A series of claps grew louder, footsteps pounding on the stairs. I dove back down to the ground to grab the gun again just as the skeleton as black as the room pelted upwards. I snatched the weapon and rolled away, just in time to see the creature's face break past the door frame.

Half of his jaw had been blown off, the cloth, teeth, part of his tongue, and his cheek ripped away from the bullet. A mess of yellowed bone and discoloured blood and flesh jutted out, and yet the jaw still moved up and down. Legs thin and brittle like pencils stretched out, bringing skeletal feet down onto the hardwood.

For the first time in months, they no longer touched stone.

America produced gasping sounds, still moving his damaged face. He set his orbits upon Britain and France, who were backing away, and then he turned his face to me. The body stood without action, looking back to them, then me, then back again to them.

"What are you doing?" Britain cried. "Shoot him!"

The gun was aimed on his dark and miscoloured shirt, ragged and loose on his emaciated frame. The corpse swayed and groaned, the head tilting and the jaw shifting left, right, left, right...

The third bullet blasted into his lower chest. Blood and bone exploded into the hall and America collapsed. Pieces of old and severely rotted organs flew into the air, and through the destroyed shirt, I saw the remains of bottom of his lungs. They quivered and an instant later, the skeleton flailed and screamed an inhumane, high-pitched cry.

I faltered with tears pouring down my face.

This felt wrong.

Britain dashed down and grabbed a forearm. He yanked America's arm out straight, then stabbed into the muscles of his elbow joint. They were quickly severed, but not without the writhing and wails of the skeleton. It lashed out at Britain with its other arm, but he hopped back before he could be touched.

"Br-Britain…" I whimpered.

America rose to his knees, beginning to stand now. The lungs expanded and collapsed as he gasped and growled.

The eyes of France and Britain flew open in surprise at America's quick recovery. They backed towards the wall.

Britain shouted, "One more time!"

"No, wait!" I cried. "I-"

America's jaw opened again and he began to sway again.

"Canada!" Britain screamed. "Shoot him, now!"

I eyed up the horrible mess that I had inflicted upon him. The agonized screeches still echoed in my mind. I shook and cried, racked with the guilt of the pain I had given him. Britain had not told me the truth, intentionally or not. America felt everything that we had done to him.

"But-"

France pointed his knife at America. "Canada!" he hollered at me. "Shoot him!"

F-France?

He had seemed so certain. To hear this self-assured command however, frightened me all the more. In a sudden realization, I questioned everything that Britain had told me. So many secrets he had been keeping, and so many things he had corrected himself on, pretended not to know, and had lied about.

From this, I hesitated. I was no longer sure what to trust. Then, however, America stopped switching his focus. He stared at France, and did not look away. Finally, America moved. The strike was so fast that my eyes had barely detected it, but then I heard Britain screaming out in horror.

France was silent in shock when America's exploded middle became impaled on his steak knife. In his face, America caterwauled and twitched spasmodically. I saw the point of the metal pointing out from America's back, through his threadbare shirt.

France stabbed America, France just stabbed-

Then, however, America was quiet and ignored the knife. He pushed himself deeper into the blade, grabbed hold of France's arms, then snapped his serrated mouth at his throat.

Britain had already moved. Shoving his arm out in front of France's neck, he slammed into America. Teeth and broken bone snapped into his forearm, and Britain screamed horribly as America stumbled for balance.

The teeth had only been there for a second. I fired once into his side, through the ribs, and America's mouth flew open as he fell back screaming. He hit the floor, but rolled and grabbed Britain by the ankle. I shot again. The grip lost its strength, and the hand dropped.

Britain gasped rapidly and cradled his arm. Dark blood began to seep out of the wound, but he pressed it against his shirt and held it there tightly. His knife fell from his hand while he stepped back, scrunching up his face and shaking. France hurried to grab the knife, then he yanked out his own from America's body. Swiftly, despite the weak moans, he sawed at each joint with the two knives. My eyes drifted from Britain to France, the tears raining as I helplessly stared and tried to comprehend the reality of what had happened.

How had France known what to do?

Then, America was splayed out and immobile. All joints had been disconnected, even his jaw muscles had been sliced. Now, his mouth hung open, appearing unhinged like a snake's. I mewled at the sight of the remnants of a decayed tongue hanging out, and the scarlet of Britain's blood that covered it and his teeth.

My stomach churned and my vision went black. I lost my balance and fell into the floor, face and side smacking against it painfully. The gun rolled from my hand, and suddenly I became unable to move. Freezing sweat beaded over my body while I tried to breathe and get up.

I heard dragging across the floor. France's footsteps went down the stairs of the basement as he took away America's body. I heard the door closing and being locked, then my eyes weakly opened. Standing, he looked at Britain, then rushed to me. He shook me and tried to comfort me with caresses, but at the touch of his rot-greased hands, I sobbed and slapped them away.

"Canada…"

I made it to my knees, but then fell again. I cried feebly and pushed France away every time he tried to touch me. He too, had known something that I had not. Furthermore, Britain had never once mentioned to me that France had any knowledge of this deathless condition.

I dragged myself away to my side. Kumajiro had been pressed against the door, but stumbled back when I entered. I tried to push the door close, but I was too weak to do it. It swung back open as I wobbled my way into the bathroom, where I locked the door and dropped all clothes.

I stepped into the shower and threw it on. I sat and tossed out my legs, crying as the water poured over me. America's tissue and blood ran off me after I endured a period of cold and then finally, warm water. I vigorously washed my hands and head, then I sobbed into my palms.

Somewhere far off, I heard Britain and France arguing loudly. They were heard very faintly from America's side, through the door that I had left open. I stopped crying, wanting to know what was being said. I washed the rest of me then dried off quickly. I dashed into my room and jammed on pants and a long-sleeved shirt, then slid back toward my living room.

"You're bleeding everywhere! Obviously, you're going to need stitches!"

Britain snapped, "Enough already! I don't want anyone becoming suspicious!"

"You will heal faster if you go!"

"I heal fast regardless! It will be healed up in no time!"

France exclaimed, "You are losing too much blood right now!"

I appeared in the doorway. Britain was curled against the wall with a puddle of blood under him. Still, he held his arm against his shirt, but now the cloth was utterly soaked and useless. I watched scarlet drops continuously falling into the puddle already on the floor.

France, who had been looming over him, snapped away and turned toward me. His eyes widened to see me there, but he came near me anyway. He took his phone forcefully from his bag and I backed away as he crossed onto my side. I saw him pound in the number for 911, then he paced away with the phone pressed against his head.

Britain was too weak to protest. He quaked by himself in the scene of carnage, where streaks of black and pieces of bone and meat still were splattered over the floor and walls. In comparison to America's darkness, his blood was as bright as a blooming flower.

Behind me, France was calling for an ambulance. He told them that his friend had been bitten by a large dog, and that he was bleeding awfully. France pointed at me when I looked at him, then to Britain. One more time, he pointed outside then swept out his arm.

Take Britain outside and to your yard.

I did not want to re-enter the scene, but I grabbed our shoes and went to Britain. He shuffled beside me and followed me out the door, then once we had walked shoeless to the front of my house, he sat on the steps. I put on his shoes for him and tried not to look at his blood falling over the stone.

By the time the ambulance had come, a considerable amount of blood was all around him. Britain looked so wobbly and pale, looking forward blindly until skilled hands arrived to him. France was nowhere to be seen, but I assumed that he did not want to appear with the unexplainable blood and stains that were upon him as well.

"Do not worry," Britain murmured before he would be taken away. "He… he will take care of you."

After his departure and all the information had been given to me by the paramedics, I returned to America's side. There, France was already scrubbing with a bucket of soapy water and regular towels. When he noticed me gazing at him with a haunted and tear-streaked face, he waved me away.

"Go home," he told me gently. "Do not look at this anymore."

"F-France…"

"Go home," he repeated, in French now. "You have done enough."

I walked back. I closed the door, but smeared my hand with the decay that I had placed on the door handle. All the handles, I realized now, had been contaminated. I crawled off to wash my hands and feet, avoiding all the stains for now.

I lay on my bed and pushed my face into a pillow. Kumajiro quickly jumped onto the bed, frantically prodding me with his nose for a reaction. I lifted my arm and let him come in, but he pushed hard and flipped me onto my back. The fluffy body fell over me, heavy but protective. Going limp, I hugged him tenderly and cried more.

A while later, I heard France getting into the shower. Later still, he came out and found me. His perfume was smelled before he lay his hand on my forehead.

"Canada," he murmured. "Oh… poor Canada…"

My eyes tightened.

"You knew about this," I stated.

"No, I just found out-"

"I mean about the condition," I muttered. "You were there, weren't you?"

France went unexpectedly quiet.

"And Britain does not want you to say anything," I continued. "Doesn't he?"

France sighed, "Not just him… We agreed not to say anything, Canada."

I wiped at my tears and finally looked to him. He was bent over me, his expression absolutely sorrowful.

"What do you mean?" I whispered. "Why? Who was there? Who was the one who burned…?"

"Oh…" France whispered. "So he told you even that. What do you know, Canada?"

I froze, not sure if giving him the information would make it harder to squeeze any extra information out of him. He stared at me, unbreaking, as he waited to hear my answer.

"A long time ago, a friend of Britain died in a fire."

I felt the dampness remaining in my gaze.

"He was going to be buried, but then he moved again. So, Britain looked for an undetermined amount of time for a cure, gathering plants to heal him."

France was nodding, but I was not sure if that confirmed my words, or showed appreciation for some clever lies.

"One night," I went on. "Britain was attacked, so he tied his friend up in ropes. He failed and tested different things, until he finally had a complete potion. The person was healed, but to protect him and other nations, they promised to never talk about it again."

"Oh…" he repeated. "Oh, Canada…"

"What?"

"Britain did not make that promise to him. He promised me that we would never talk about it…" France's eyebrows lifted in extensive mourning. "That friend… does not know what happened to him."

My mouth hung open. Never had I imagined the possibility of Britain's promise being made to some other person than the victim himself.

France said, "We… we did not want him to ever know, so that he would not try to remember it. It might be too painful for him if he did. We swore that no one, no other person, was to be told about it. I… I know that you are frustrated, because of how you are talking to me… But. No matter how much I trust you, the secret must stay between me and Britain. The truth must not spread."

I whispered, "So only you two know?"

"Only us. I… I was there, and I guess Britain did not want to tell you, because then you would ask me questions… Then he did not tell me about America in order to save me the grieve." He shook his head. "But I cannot tell you more. He promised me, and I promised him. Please, to protect this person from pain, leave us alone."

"But- why were you there?" I asked desperately. "When- where?"

"No, Canada…" he moaned. "No… I cannot tell you anything."

I clung to Kumajiro. "Did you stay with Britain, when it happened?"

France wavered. "I… I was there for the whole thing."

"How long did it last?"

"No…" His jaw and lips tightened. "No, Canada… Don't ask me."

There, was the same stress that had affected Britain whenever I pushed him too far. France had started to clench himself remarkably tight, and his voice was becoming more taut. I stopped. I rolled my head in defeat and closed my eyes. Immediately, France began stroking my forehead and petting back my hair.

He kept doing this for a while, although it was hard for me to relax. Again in my mind, I saw France slicing through America's joints. I understood now that sometime before, France had done the exact same thing. They had cut the joints of someone else, those two. There had been no simple ropes.

"France," I said. "That person… The ropes were never enough."

He hesitated, then murmured, "Yes…"

Tears welled up in my eyes again. "Britain lied to me… He said that chains would be enough for America. But it wasn't enough last time, wasn't it? Britain always knew that America would escape, because it happened last time!"

"Oh…"

"That's why he gave me the gun," I whimpered. "That's why I had to check on him every day, that's why…"

France quickly wiped away my tears.

"Canada," he whispered. "Britain has to lie to you. Please forgive him… How could he tell you these awful things, just after America died? He wanted you to have hope, and feel confident. He… needed you to feel safe."

"I was never safe!"

"You were," France replied softly. "He would never let anything happen to you. Every time you listened to him, you were safe."

I cried more, understanding but not wanting to. France tried to dry my face as I choked, "H-he… he lied the entire time. I-I don't know what is true a-about America…"

France shushed me, but I could not allow it.

"France." I tried to steady my voice, but failed. "Am-America screamed. He can feel p-pain. He h-hesitated, so he was thinking."

France looked worried, and could not think of anything to say. I could see that he was trying to come up with an answer, but he was unable to lie to me like this.

"America," I said. "He can think. Britain tried to tell me that he couldn't, but America knows it is us. He… he escaped one time, and he touched my arms. He felt them, and knew it was me. He didn't want to hurt me."

"He doesn't want to hurt us," France admitted. "Yes… but, he will. He can only think a little, Canada. And for the most part, he is thinking about how to heal himself. Nothing complicated… but completely dangerous."

I soaked in this information, grateful that France was at least unraveling some of Britain's lies. I dared not speak, lest I interrupt him.

"America…" he said. "He knows who he is attacking… The desperation always takes over, however… always, remember. We needed you to shoot him. Like I said, if you had just listened to Britain, everything would be alright… We knew he was going to attack us no matter what. He wants our organs and skin… our functioning parts."

I said now, "Britain said that it would not work. That… the last person vainly tried to put Britain's skin on himself."

France sighed, "Ah… but it does work. I saw it and… the skin attached itself. They can heal themselves that way…"

"B-but why didn't Britain just say it?" I wailed. "Why did he have to lie about that too?"

France swept away my tears as I cried anew. "Don't cry, Canada… Don't cry…"

"Why?" I sobbed. "He could have told us. He told America too, that…"

"For you both…" he whispered. "Oh, Britain did not want you to know what happened to him. More than his arm… That person hurt him so much. If he told you what America would try to do to you… You, and America too… both of you would have been scared."

"France," I sniffed. "What happened to Britain?"

"No…" he tried. "You don't need to know."

"I need to," I mewled. "I can't take all these secrets! Just tell me something, if you won't tell me the place, time, and person!"

"No-"

"Please…" I whined.

"Canada…"

"You don't understand… It hurts so much that you are hiding everything from me! It will always drive me insane, not knowing what happened!"

"Okay…" His voice was strained after seeing the ache of my heart through my eyes. "But it is awful. I had to shoot that person that night, and although I was a little late, it saved Britain's life. If you had not shot America today… he could have really hurt someone. He could have killed one of us."

"What happened then, last time?"

"He… he tore off the forearm skin while he was sleeping. It was how it started, and when I heard Britain screaming… I had been outside, but I came in, knowing what had happened. And then, I saw him pinning Britain to the bed, tearing off the skin of his chest. He was drinking his blood... then he suddenly ripped out one of his… his…"

When he couldn't say it, France pointed at his eye.

"And put it into his own. It worked… I tried to pull him off Britain, but he was so strong. He kept swallowing his blood, and started to… to pull at his ribs. He was going to tear everything out, to put into himself… I fought so hard to stop him. If he managed to open up his chest and pull everything out… he would have been killed. So, out friend... I… I broke his neck. Just… to make him stop. Britain just... could not die. Without him… we are lost."

France looked away, his lip trembling as he swiped at his eyes.

"Then… he started to move again. I came back, and he was moving toward Britain. I shot him, so many times… until… he moved no more, for now. Britain fixed himself up, then, in desperation, we cut all his joints."

France hugged me suddenly, joining Kumajiro and whispering, "Forgive him… Britain cared too much about you to tell you the full story…"

My insides twisted into knots and I felt sick. To imagine everything he had just said made me want to puke, but instead I only coughed my way into a sob. Today, Britain had gotten so hurt again, and I could have stopped it from happening. I could have listened. I could have been obedient and had stopped asking questions. Then, I would not have had to listen to the truth.

I regretted asking for this story. Now, I cried uncontrollably despite the shushes and caresses of France. Kumajiro lifted his warm weight off me and licked my face, but seizing the opportunity, France crawled onto the bed and scooped me up into a hug. He held me tightly, and my head fell against his heart, one ear able to listen to the fast beats protected inside.

"Everything will heal," France assure me. "Britain healed himself right after the attack, and he cured that person in the end. That is no lie. He really can fix America."

He pet my hair back until I became quieter. The human touch and words of caring had such a powerful effect on me, pushing away my negative thoughts. He placed a kiss on my forehead and kept pleading for me to stop crying. Softly, and more softly he spoke, with his heart pained by my suffering. Because of that, I had to put in an effort to relax for his sake and mine.

He leaned against the headboard as I sank into him. France's hands brushed away all the tension and shivering of my muscles, and made me feel such fatigue. I hugged him back and felt warmer, now that I had stopped thinking about his stories.

Once I had finally stopped crying, France smiled.

"We are going to take care of you," he said. "And we won't be fighting over you. You are going to love it, because it will be so different and nice."

He traced one of my eyebrows with a finger.

"I will cook for you," he decided.

I looked up at him with my reddened eyes.

He added, "And we'll spend all of our time with you."

It sounded so perfect, but, I could not ignore what it was covering up. No matter what, the secret of the basement remained, so I could not let myself get too happy and forget about the fate of my brother.

"Thank you," I whispered.

France smiled more.

"Canada… You are so special and dear. Now, how about you take out those contacts? It would be better if you looked like yourself, even if you can't do anything about the beautiful hair you cut off."

I had forgotten all about those coloured eye contacts. Even with my shower, I had left them in. I smiled back at him, and enjoyed the effect that it had. His shoulders dropped and his expression became brighter. There was hope there, that we would all survive this.

He let me go to take out my contacts. I came back to the bed, but he was no longer there. I found him instead in the kitchen, taking stock of all I had in my fridge.

"You know, it makes sense now," France commented. "Why America has suddenly been so nice to everyone… quiet, respectful. Total aggression from that country has lowered… You must have done some good convincing."

"Britain and America thought I was good at acting…"

He closed the fridge, concluding his investigation.

"You really fooled everyone," France said. "The way you changed your voice… and you were wild at that party. No one would have guessed…"

I felt a little embarrassed with these compliments. I fetched him a list for the groceries, which I knew that he would want, and an accompanying pen. France began writing and I watched what he added. Some expensive items appeared, but he laughed and assured me, "I will pay for them. Don't worry about it because I even came here with a bunch of Canadian cash."

He continued writing, then stood up and folded the paper.

"Come with me to the grocery store," he said. "We need to do something fun and forget a little, right?"

"But…"

"How can you protest? We need to make sure there is enough for a special meal for Britain, when we get him back."

France ruffled my hair, but I could not help but remember a time where I had wanted America to do the same for me. Long ago on that mountain, when he had shown some kindness to me. However, since thinking about that now caused distress, I smiled at France.

"Alright."

"And while we're out," he grinned. "You have to tell me about how it has been, living as America. First though, there is one story I want from you."

"Which one?"

"How did you manage to make Russia become friends with America?" he asked. "And what is that like?"

"Oh, well…" I began. "It all started when he sent America a picture of his cake…"