It had been a year since the battle with Ian and the 2ps. A year since many of his fellow countries had died. A year since Canada's funeral...

England rolled over to turn off his alarm clock. America had bought it for him while he was staying at his house after China's funeral.

"It is 6:15 AM, on Saturday, the 30th of September," the alarm clock said when England pressed the button. England pressed it again, "Alarm: off."

England rolled out of bed and opened his eyes. Even though there was really no point in opening them, England always felt a little more comfortable with them open. Plus, it made him look a little bit more normal.

He carefully guided himself to the door, keeping a hand on the wall at all times to be safe. He led himself down the hall, to the ground floor, and into the kitchen. And that's where it got really dangerous.

He pulled out a box of cereal (located on the very top shelf on the far left) and a bowl (the far right drawer on the left-hand corner). He poured the cereal into the bowl and it suddenly caught fire.

…

Just kidding, he added milk and ate it. While he was eating there was a knock at the door. England already knew who it was.

"Come in, frog," England called. He heard the door open as France let himself in.

"You're up early, Angleterre," France said, sitting down next to England.

"You're here early. We don't have to leave until eight," England said, continuing to eat his cereal.

"I just wanted to make sure you didn't need any 'elp getting ready, Angleterre. It would be terrible if we missed our flight because you wore your 5th Doctor outfit instead of a suit."

England felt his cheeks grow hot. He shot a glare towards France's chair.

"It was one time, bloody frog. Besides, America and I reorganized the entire house after that, so it won't be a problem."

"Alright, Angleterre. If you say so, zhen fine," France said, taking a sip from something. England sniffed the air.

"Are you drinking wine?"

"Oui," France answered.

"It'd better not be red wine. If I find out later that you got stains on my carpet, I'll bloody kill you."

"Onhonhon. Angleterre, you 'ave such fight in you for a disabled old man," France snickered.

"Shut it, frog. You know very well I could kick your ass if I wanted to!"

"Oui. But let's discuss it at a later time. You obviously still need to get ready."

England sighed and stood up to wash his bowl out (making absolute certain to push the chair back in all the way). He walked back upstairs- a little quicker than his usual cautious gait- just to piss off France.

He opened his closet and pulled out a black suit (Each type of clothing is separated by a divider. Suits are on the far right and his black suits are the first two in the section).

He set it down on his bed and went to grab a pair of black socks(Middle drawer, black socks in the upper-right hand corner) and a pair of black dress pants (Top drawer, on the left side. The pants on the right side are tan dress pants), and set them down next to his suit.

England turned to glare violently at the bedroom door. France could have opened the door and been standing in the doorway perversely waiting for England to change. England, of course, had no proof that France was actually there, but if he were, he hoped that his glare would be enough to scare the perverted nation away.

After glaring at the closed door for a satisfying amount of time, England turned back and began changing into his suit.

Now all that was left was to get his black dress shoes. He found his dress shoes in the closet on the right side. He reached for the ones that were probably black, but he stopped. He couldn't remember if the ones on the right were his black dress shoes or his tan ones...

He could take a guess and have a 50/50 chance of picking right, but he didn't want to give France the satisfaction of that. But his only other option was to ask France... He weighed his options, guessing which one would be more embarrassing. After a while he sighed and walked back downstairs.

"Angleterre, are you ready already?" France asked, standing in the front hallway- probably still holding his dangerous glass of wine over England's nice white carpet...

"Which one of these are black?" England asked, holding up the two pairs of shoes.

"Your right hand," France said, without laughing or making any kind of joke. England held up the pair to confirm. "Yes, Angleterre, those,"

England set the pair of shoes down, flush with the wall and slipped into them. He rushed the other pair of shoes back upstairs and put them on the right-hand side (matching with the pattern of the rest of his dress items- black on the left, tan on the right).

He went to the bathroom, brushed his teeth, ran a comb through his hair, and went back downstairs.

"Ready?" France asked. England nodded and walked towards the door. "Angleterre! You wound me!"

England stuck his tongue out briefly at France before taking the arm that France had- in fact- offered to him. And the two of them walked out the door and headed towards the airport.

England had more or less gotten used to navigating blind, and didn't typically need much- if any- assistance navigating the areas of London near his house. People normally moved out of the way when needed, and apart from crossing roads, England was pretty safe.

America had originally suggested that England got a seeing-eye-dog, but England had refused. He was much too stubborn to get a white cane, a seeing-eye-dog, or anything.

England didn't need it. Unless he was going somewhere far from his home... which he was. And so France, the makeshift seeing-eye-dog, led England to the airport.

France obviously got the window seat because what was England going to look at out a window?

They arrived in Chicago a few hours later where they met up with America while they waited for their next flight, which they would be sharing.

"Hey, England," America said, giving the blind nation a hug, "How ya' doing?"

"Fine," he answered simply, "How are you?"

"Uh... good. I think. Better at least," America said, "Thanks for coming."

"Of course,"

The three of them got on their next plane and soon arrived in Ottawa, Canada. They grabbed their bags, left the airport, and called a cab.

"Gee, I haven't been here since it happened..." America said suspiciously wiping something from his eyes.

"Oui... Prussia said you 'ad been living 'ere for a few days afterward," France said.

"More like a few weeks. I couldn't quite bring myself to leave..."

"Just remember, you always have him with you, non?" France said, holding up the small necklace with Canada's ashes.

"Yeah," America said. By this time the cab had arrived and America and the others had climbed in, "It still feels weird going back there though..."

"Would you rather have not gone?" France asked.

"No, of course not. I'm just saying it's weird, ya know?"

The rest of the car ride was quiet. England shifted uncomfortably at this, however he made no attempt to break the long silence.

They arrived at Canada's house and made their way into the back yard. England didn't know exactly how far they were from the grave when they stopped walking, so he made a guess and looked there.

"Hey, Canada," America whispered.

Visiting a grave with someone else is different than visiting one alone. When one is alone, they often speak much more, talking to the grave as if it were a living person. But when in the company of others, few words are spoken. Everyone simply grieves in the presence of their family...

It was quiet only for a few moments before America felt a tug on his suit.

"America," England said.

"Oh, right," America said, taking England's hand and leading him to the grave. It was a few feet away from them, and America knelt down slowly, guiding England to the ground. He brought England's hand forward to rest on the tombstone.

England brought his hand down the front of the tombstone, trailing his fingers quickly over the braille reading "Matthew Williams." He moved his fingers up to trace the individual letters. "M" England traced each letter's shape carefully, "A," feeling the rougher surface of the indented letters, "T."

The gravestone was simple, "T," with only the two words, "H." There was no date of birth, "E," nor date of death, "W," just the name, "W." The birth and death dates would have confused any humans, "I," so they weren't included, "L," the countries would know who it was anyway, "L." The nations could return to the grave whenever they liked, "I," be it a year from now, "A," or a century from now, "M." America could take his human friends of the future to Canada's grave, "S," and no one would suspect that Mathew Williams had died centuries ago...

((Somehow I anticipated that being more feelsy... Anyway, it wasn't too bad I guess. So, update time. I WILL in fact be writing a sequel, however I need to decide on a plotline... I have a few ideas, and I wanted to know how many of you would be AGAINST it being a Doctor Who crossover. If no one minds, then great, I'll pick that plot, but if a lot of you don't watch Doctor Who and therefore might not enjoy a Doctor Who crossover as a sequel, then I'll pick one of my other ideas. You have plenty of time to voice your opinions since it'll be a while before I write the sequel anyway- sorry, I just have a lot to write right now, and honestly, the sequel is one of my last priorities. Again, sorry about that...))