"STOP!" America screamed. "STOP IT!"

Allen was grinning at him, a crazy smile across his face as he held a bloodied knife in one hand and a gun in the other. He tilted his head, as if America was a child and did not understand.

"What do you mean?" The self-proclaimed democracy of the world hitched his breath, his blue eyes widening further as Allen purred and tried to caress his hand. "Alfred, what's wrong?" His breathing was becoming uncontrollable, sweat gathering around his temples as the counterpart to himself began to laugh eerily. "What is the matter, hero?" He said the word mockingly, and America flinched. "Do you want to see your underlings again? See them –?"

America could hear himself screaming, but could not find the words that tore from his traumatized mouth. When, still foolish and full of bravado, America demanded to see his other nations and snarled that he would save them. The light brown-haired nation had not expected to see his counterpart smile, ever so slowly, before he could see his comrades – his friends – his family destroyed. He saw Canada sobbing as his hands and feet were cut from his limbs, China and his numerous siblings screaming as the memories of their dark history entered their minds. America heard the strict and unfeeling German, calling out to Italy in his language, tears pelting down his cheeks as the bubbly Italian lied still in his arms, covered in blood. Worst were Japan and England. The once proud Japanese nation America had come to know as a friend, became a shell of his former self and was convinced that everyone wanted him dead and screamed for someone to kill him because he had no right to live. Greece had come then, and the horror ended when an ancient sword embedded itself into Japan's chest cavity, covering the formerly clean Grecian nation with blood and thick tears that left pale skin visible as Japan's empty eyes sightlessly stared at nothing as Greece tangled his bloodied fingers into his hair. France – America couldn't even hear himself think from the raw grief and sorrow of the Frenchman as the dead Englishman lay across his feet. His name – the human name America had once cursed, came from France as thick tears poured down his face as the hole where the Englishman's heart had been echoed in the younger nation's eyes.

Then England began to scream. He began to tear himself away, his flesh falling and coming away with blood as he scratched and fought, blood streaming down his arms. France had let him go, his once-clear blue eyes glassy and staring as he called out to America's – America's older brother as the island nation continued to scream and tried to run away, his infamous bravery that America had heard so much about gone, until someone with eerily similar eyes came and spilt his head open.

America had gagged, vomit coming down his throat as the sight until he saw a tall and imposing figure was holding something above his face. It was a body. There was nothing but blood, and it streamed onto the floor, creating a puddle. It took only the scarf – the bloodied scarf that he never took off – that America realized that it was Russia. There was a red gaping hole where his lungs and heart used to be, and the blood continued to drip downward. The childlike face was no longer alive, no longer keeping its violet eyes open. The face –

Russia was dying.

He was dying.

"STOP!" America screamed again. He urged the memories out of his mind, but he could not. The images burned as if mocking him for his failure. "Stop…" he pleaded in such a small voice Allen had to lean in to listen. "Please…" A sob choked at his throat. "Please…stop. I'll do anything!" America pleaded, not caring of how his eyes hurt as tears ran from his eyes. "I'll do anything! Just…let us go!"

"How can I do that, hero?" Allen whispered. His darker blue eyes flashed dangerously, and his hand caressed the blade, smearing blood with his own hand. "How can I trust you?" He snarled, putting his face near America's and breathed, his foul breath almost choking the other nation. "Nation-killer…" the whisper brought a shudder to America's limbs. Anything but that, the light-brown haired nation whispered pleadingly as Allen's gleeful eyes found his. Anything but…

"You can have all your memories become mine!" America shouted. He could see the uncertainty clouding in Allen's face, and pushed on. "All the memories…everything I have unjustly imparted on you will be gone. You will be relieved, right?" There was still no response. "Germany didn't get tortured because we forced him to remember everything, correct?"

Allen managed a sneer. "And how do I know this is one of your fucking lies?"

"Because my comrades are wounded." America's blue eyes became serious as he recalled the numerous wars he had fought in, never forgetting the men left behind and left to rot on foreign soil. "Because…I cannot see them suffer this way. Let them go, let all of us go, and I will assure we will remember everything! You don't have to suffer anymore," he whispered.

Allen stilled. America half-expected him to lash out and remember him something else that he did not want to remember. Perhaps he would call the other parallel nation and tell them to kill England or Japan. America didn't know what he was going to do.

What he didn't expect, he thought, was seeing Allen's tears.

Somehow they made it back. Somehow the nations who had come to save England and Japan made it back. Somehow they found themselves on the plane.

Waiting.

America could see England unconscious in France's arms, the grip so tight that America thought the nation would never let him go. A haunted look was in his eyes, and he stared remorsefully at the blond-haired nation in his lap. The Frenchman was covered in blood, some of it drying and flaking, his hair tasseled and soaked it sweat, but the once flamboyant nation did not care. Greece was far away from Japan. Instead, he was looking out at the sky, his eyes unfocused. The small nation was cradled in China's lap, his fingers caressing the Japanese's skin softly, tenderly, as if they had not embraced like this for centuries.

The dull news – Scotland and the other British Isles, expect for the small redhead, demanded they listen to the news to not go insane, and hear America almost laughed – jolted everyone in the room when they heard massive earthquakes and tsunamis had damaged the lands of Japan – and then America heard that England's house had been effected too.

He paled, shaking as the nations saw the catastrophic damage, inwardly wanting to look in both of the nation's direction but couldn't, and swallowing thickly when he heard the television thrown out of the window by an enraged Scotland.

No one spoke.

How many people? America thought. How many…? He was suddenly transported to the tsunami and earthquake that caused Japan to collapse so long ago. It had caused so much damage and destruction that there were areas still not yet rebuilt. Oh, God… America thought as he remembered the deaths, the mass graves, and Japan bedridden as concerned allies lay beside his fallen form. I think I'm going to be sick.

Suddenly, there was a sound. A breathless sigh, a smile forming against America's eyes as he felt the memories return, the body disappearing, and the soft voice…

Whispering "thank you." Judging from the other's expressions, the nations had the same dream, the same vision, the same voice whispering in their own language as the parallel nations faded away.

But looking at England and Japan and their uniforms stained with old and new blood, their haunted expressions burning, unconscious with the memories forever there, America knew that it didn't matter.

It didn't matter.

I will write a sequel to this, answering many questions and showing characters that were meant to be shown. Alas, school starts the day after tomorrow. I have no idea when the next story will be written, so please be patient! Thank you all very much for your support!