The American Civil War started on April twelfth of 1861 with the Battle of Fort Sumter. The war ended April ninth of 1865. Through out the entire war the bloodiest and most famous battle was the Battle of Gettysburg that lasted from July first to July third of 1863 with the estimated number of dead reaching above forty-six thousand.

Alfred coughed violently as the young nation fisted his clothes at his waist. The war waged between his own children was tearing him apart. Icy, unforgiving hands dug into his wrist and ankles, slowly pulling him apart in opposite directions. Every day the war continued the more the wound encircling his waist would dig deeper as his children fought. They were cutting Alfred into two halves.

Clumsily, the nation tried to wrap the wound as salty tears raced down his sun-kissed cheeks. It bled continuously and would continue to until his children killed each other off completely and cut him in half entirely or they put down their weapons and became one again. Alfred hissed sharply as the cut burned; somewhere the Union and Confederacy were fighting. Just by judging the intensity of the stinging, burning sensation Alfred knew the battle would last for a few day and many would die.

The war had been going on for two years so far and part of the personified America hoped this year they would stop. But no. Even so close to the birthday of their freedom from England they were shedding each other's blood as if their freedom didn't matter.

He couldn't even help his dieing children because they were following two different bosses; President Abraham Lincoln and Jefferson Davis. Picking one of those two would mean abandoning half of his children, something he couldn't do. Some hero he was. His children dieing daily at the hands of each other, neither willing stop, and he couldn't stop them.

White fire shot down the young nation's spine as the poorly healed gash opened again, cutting deeper. Alfred gasped in shock as he tried vainly to tighten the bandage to somehow lessen the pain. The more the blond tried the more his vision blurred with pain and tears. The battle must be horrible if it was causing him so much agony. Pink bandages rapidly turned crimson as the battle continued.

Alfred let out a shaky, unstable breath as his trembling hand removed his glasses. Just as he was going to place them on the wooden nightstand more pain wracked his body. The frames slipped from his fingers, its lens shattering as they came in contact with the unforgiving floor. Silence filled the room as America held his breath, trying to will the pain away, trying to will his children to stop fighting and killing each other.

He coughed violently and continually, causing the wound to bleed even more. The last thing Alfred hoped for before the pain consumed him into darkness was that his children would stop. That's what he wanted, more than for his agony to end, for his people, his children to stop killing each other.

Alfred woke to the sun peeking through the curtains. The star in the day sky was trying to greet the personified nation of America. He groaned as he willed his body to move, only to receive a firm hand on his shoulder, softly pushing him back to his bed. Alfred F. Jones stared at the blurry blob before him.

Peach, green, and golden blond mixed together in a fuzzy humanoid shape. The American nation then noticed the lack of weight on his nose, and then he remembered the glasses that aided his poor eyesight had shattered on the floor when agony consumed him. Alfred looked to the nightstand, vainly willing them to be resting there. He let out a longing sigh before turning back to the blob, forcing himself to focus on its face.

The blob's facial structure, or the vague shape it, told Alfred the blob was male. Bright, shockingly green eyes, golden hair, and very…unique eyebrows gave away who the blob was. England, his former caretaker, Arthur Kirkland, the nation he still viewed as a brother.

"You're awake." The older blond's voice was coated with his accent. Alfred couldn't remember at that moment which part of theUKit was from. Suddenly he wondered why Arthur was here. The people of England as well as his boss make it clear they were going to remain neutral in the war.

"Why?" The Englishman understood the question, even if it came out horse. Arthur had listened through the night as Alfred screamed in pain. A civil war can drive any nation into endless nightmares. He had been able to patch up the former colony; his heart clenched remembering that war so many years ago, during the brief period Alfred slept peacefully.

"We may be neutral but…" Alfred's trademark smile brightened his face. Just because his country wasn't picking sides Arthur was on his side, Alfred's side. Arthur wasn't being England right now, just Arthur.

"What day is it?" Silence. The sounds outside the wall of the American's house even held their breath. Alfred peered closer at Arthur's face, seeing the same look in his green eyes that he saw on…

The younger nation jumped out of bed, only to have Arthur's arms catch him as his legs gave out under him. Alfred blinked as he stared at the fuzzy brown floor. It couldn't be July Fourth; the battle couldn't have lasted three days. He held on tightly to the older nation as he lowered him back onto the bed.

Arthur watched as his former colony, again his heart clenched painfully tight, let out a sigh, suddenly looking a lot older than he should. Hesitantly, the nation of England sat down next to Alfred. He was startled when the other blond wrapped his arms around him, openly weeping into his chest.

Broken sentences escaped Alfred as he clung tightly to his old caretaker. Arthur frowned at what he could understand before running a hand through the wheat blond hair as the other held him. It always comforted Alfred when he was his colony, another clench of his heart, when the boy was scared or upset, and it seemed to still have the same effect.

It was April tenth, 1865 when Alfred had the strength to walk, even if it was with the help of a cane and he had to stop every few steps to collect his breath. His wound was still sore and healing, but even that couldn't stop the American from leaving his house. Not even Arthur could stop him.

Said Briton was walking beside Alfred, having arrived a few weeks earlier on a ship to check on the torn nation. To the younger blond it was refreshing to be out and seeing his children. It gave him strength to keep moving forward, to heal his children and land from this war. Alfred grinned as he looked over the spring fields as the wind played with his hair, very refreshing indeed.

The wheat blond blinked, pushing up his new glasses up, thinking that was the reason he saw a glimpse of white in the green fields. Again, Alfred saw the small flash of white in the rolling hills. Without thinking about his wound the personified nation ran after the white, abandoning his cane and Arthur.

"You git! Your wound!" The older blond yelled as he caught up to Alfred. The wound around his waist had opened due to his sudden movements and it quickly soaked the bandages, even managing to stain his shirt. Arthur would have continued to yell, or even smacked the younger nation, then forced him to return home so he could tend to him, but he followed Alfred's stare.

A small child in a white dress stared back up them with cougar blue eyes. Her cheeks were dusted with a faint pink. She innocently titled her head to the side, her curly sand blond hair moving with it. Her dark lips parted as she spoke,

"Ya bleeding mista."

Arthur watched as the tan little girl sat beside Alfred, who was freshly patched up, with crossed legs. The two were back to their staring contest, trouble blue versus innocent blue. She was clearly a newly formed nation, but there was no land or islands nearby for her to be.

"Ya hurt'n in the same place?" A strong southern accent was in her voice as she asked Alfred. Both males gave her questioning looks. Very un-lady like, the child stood and blatantly lifted her dress to her chest. Encircling her waist was a very pink, raw line, matching Alfred's wound.

The American nation's blue eyes widen as it hit him. This child was the personification of the Confederacy. But how was she still around when it disbanded? The United States of America were reunited, no longer in danger of splitting in two. Maybe it took to long for the states to reform.

Alfred smiled and placed a hand on the girl's head as she dropped her dress. "I'm America, your older bother." There was a moment's pause before the blond grinned at him.

"I'm Confederacy! But y'all can call me Rebel!" The child's smile grew larger at the second name. Arthur couldn't stop the upward twitch of his lips as he watched the scene before him. He was pulled out of his musings as the girl addressed him. "And you mista?"

"Arthur Kirkland, England." Rebel blinked as her smile disappeared for just a moment before turning her beaming face back to Alfred.

"Ya got's a real name too?"

"Alfred F. Jones." Rebel's blue eyes lit up and she started to jump and down, using Alfred's knee as leverage.

"Can I have a have real name too?" Alfred and Arthur stared at the excited little girl as she waited to be bestowed a name by her two brothers.

"Trixi." Arthur said causing Rebel's smile to grow. Alfred found himself smiling with his new sister. She soon pouted and stopped jumping. She tapped her chin with one hand while keeping another on the American's knee.

"Trixi Jones…it's miss'n some'mn." There was an elongated pause then she jumped down from the bed and paced the floor. The two male blonds watched as Rebel's face morphed from thoughtful to excitement. "Trixi C. Jones! That way I got's a cool letter in my name too!" Alfred and Arthur smiled at the name; Trixi C. Jones, their sister.