Based around my Being Human fic, this has to do with America some more because he always comes into mind whenever I think about this.

–

"I can feel you forgetting me." Russia's voice isn't accusing but it certainly isn't kind. "Every single day, you feel different than normal." America taps the hardwood table with the tip of his finger, tongue licking over dry lips. There are heavy bags under his eyes, the once bright blue that reminds Russia of the sea on a sunny day, is now dulled and they're all so tired and worn down.

America swallows, and he winces. There's the taste of copper, and his lungs constrict momentarily. He was never told it would hurt, he was told that it would be a gradual thing. "I can't do this anymore, Russia." His government is on the verge of collapsing, his states are vocally unhappy and what had made the American so prideful was now this pit of shame and self-hate. "I hurt too much. I'm too tired."

"Bullshit."

America coughs, and blood comes up again. "A-anyways dude, I won't forget you. Why the hell would I forget you?" He runs hand through his matted, oily hair. "'sides, 's not like I'm gonna die. Just gonna pass on my status to someone else. She's very nice, and pretty neat. I think her name is Amelia."

"Damn you." America doesn't move, but he stops tapping at the table now. "Fuck you, America. You're a coward."

"Am I really?" Toneless, the stare bores right into Russia's violet eyes and there's no longer an expression. "Is it really cowardly to know when to give up?"

There's a long pause, a lingering of anger and it's Russia who makes the first move, by grabbing America by the front of his shirt and slams him against the wall. Of course, he hits it hard and causes it to crack from the force. He glares down at Russia, fingers curling into a fist and slams it against his face. In retaliation, Russia punches him right in the stomach and American lurches forward.

"It's insulting." Russia finally snarls. "Some of us have survived through war and bosses who try to kill their own civilians, and you can't even handle a little war and recession."

America kicks him in the shin, and elbows him, effectively getting Russia to release him. While Russia is still recovering from that attack, America decides to add salt to the wound and slam his head into the wall, and there's a sickening crunch. Of course, despite the blood running down the side of his face now, Russia returns the assault with a kick in the leg. It delves into biting, more punches and kicks until they're on the floor, hands around each others necks.

"Hey! Hey, hey!" England's voice is sharp, alert and neither know what's happening until they're forcibly being pulled away from each other, still kicking and throwing punches.

"Fuckin' enough!" A more raspy, heavily accented voice snaps and America is thrown into a near by chair, and he lets out a silent oomph as Russia is pushed into another one just a few feet away. It had taken four nations just to rip them away from each other. Prussia looks pissed as he stands off to the side, next to his brother. Canada is near the wall the two had been earlier, with England next to him.

"We're here for peace talks," Germany says. "To put an end to all of this." He sounds just as tired as America feels. "Let's not fight please."

Nothing more is said as Nations start to pile in.

–

America awakens in the middle of the night, an ache in his lower stomach. He rolls over onto his left side, facing the wall and his cat hops off, in irritation of being woken up. The pain quickly moves up to underneath his ribs, and the next thing he knows, he can barely feel anything and he's sure his organs are failing.

He curls up now, opening his mouth to call out for someone, anyone but nothing comes out. Canada sleeps in the next room and there's a ringing in his ears. Somewhere in the back of his mind is a noise, between explosions, yelling and gunshots to the calming, soothing music of a violin. Everything around him spins, so he lays there until it all stops.

From beneath the curtains of the dark room, dawn peeks in and casts shadows. Time passes slower now, as the sun slowly rises and the seconds drag on until there's a soft beeping from his alarm clock. At first, he isn't sure why it's going off right now and he isn't sure why he hears the floor creaking outside of his door or quiet, tired voices.

Once everything subsides, he climbs out of bed and stumbles a little, body pushed to the point of exhaustion and his stomach growls loudly. A sweet smell wafts from downstairs, and he hears the clinking of silverware. He doesn't remember having guests over. A little curiously, but more cautiously, Alfred heads down the steps and follows it into the kitchen.

One man sits at the table, with straw blond hair and thick eye brows, hunched over and a newspaper in his hands and another stands at his oven with a frying pan and a spatula.

"Honestly, America, your president shaking hand with Russia's boss isn't that big of a criminal activity." The man at the table says. "At least we call came to an agreement, I'm actually surprised both of your bosses agreed to stop the meaningless war. Now, your states just have to agree with to get along, though it looks like Texas still wants to secede as well as California."

Alfred stands there, dumbfounded and unsure of what to say. Bosses? What?

"You should sit down. Breakfast will be ready soon." The other says, as he peeks over at America.

"Uh, that's great and all but who the hell are you guys and what are you doing in my home?"

The man at the stove drops the spatula onto the floor, as the guy at the table lowers the newspaper, a frown on his face. "America, don't joke like that." He chides.

"No seriously, who the fuck are you?"

The other two share a look, and the man at the oven is very visibly upset. "You forgot already?" The hurt is too genuine for him to be an intruder and Alfred tenses, visibly. "I'm your brother, Canada."

Alfred doesn't know what to say to that. He doesn't have a brother, does he? Especially one named after a goddamn country. "And who are you?"

"I-I'm," The man at the table sputters, as if trying to comprehend the situation unfolding before him. "I'm your big brother, England." he says, coughing a little. "You shouldn't have forgotten us so soon."

Alfred stands there for a moment, a heavy frown on his face. There's a dull ache in his stomach again, and he feels oddly sore. Yesterday's and last night's events feel like some fucked up movie to him, like it wasn't real. Finally it clicks, he knows these people, of course he does!

"O-of course," America says, now forcing a laugh and rubbing the back of his head. "I was just jokin'! God Canada, don't look like you're about to cry!" He quickly walks across the threshold of the kitchen and takes out a coffee mug and fills it up with coffee, avoiding looking at both of them and taking a long drink from it, the bitterness and heat burning his tongue and throat.

Not again. Nausea settles in now, and he tries to ignore it as he refills the cup and sits down across from England.

"Please don't joke like that," Canada says, his voice high pitched and strained. Nations becoming humans is too uncommon, that most don't know how to handle it. Death is common in their lives, but yet, choosing this is something that doesn't happen often. Nikoniko only recently passed away due to old age, and Japan had taken it pretty hard. "Please." Some Nations are forcible stripped of their status, Prussia being a good example for them all but even Prussia is still around.

"You guys should go meet the new America," America says. "She's pretty neat."

England slams the newspaper down on the table, stands up, the legs of the chair scraping harshly against the floor and he storms out. The front door slams, and Canada quickly busies himself with finishing up the pancakes.

They eat in silence, and England doesn't return for the rest of the day. For America, it passes slowly and he doesn't know what to do with himself. According to Canada, time is different for Nations, and he suggested this just may be normal for him now. They try to stay away from the topic, but they both know it's causing a huge rift between them but America doesn't know what to say. He doesn't want to apologize for the choice he's making.

After breakfast, and when Canada has left, America runs to the bathroom and pukes. It's violent, and there's a little bit of blood. His stomach empties itself of it's contents, body screaming at him and when all that's left is acid and tears leaking out of the corner of his eyes. His chest heaves, lungs desperate for air and they burn, and he sits on the cool tile floor. Is he being punished?

"Russia said it's insulting." America says, later that night, as they sit outside of the town and on his car. The city lights contrast against the dark sky, with the stars glittering above them. "Do you think it is?"

"You've never been one to care about what other people think," Canada says. "If you think this is a good idea, then, it's a good idea I guess." He goes quiet.

"There's a but in there."

"But," Canada relents. "but I hate it. You're annoying, but I grew up with you. She won't have your memories."

"You two can make new ones."

It had been an argument against the Mother, a struggle for her to agree with his choices. She said he had been born because he was capable, that it's very rare for her to allow this. She didn't even let Rome, who had been dying very painfully, recant his Nation status. As time went on, America suffered. He bled internally, he was bedridden. His country is-was-will be-falling apart, and he can't handle it anymore. He's not the Roman Empire, he will never be Rome.

He will never compare. And finally, the Mother had cupped his face into her soft hands, and beautiful dark eyes stared into his own. "You are serious." She finally says. And she finally agreed, so long as he found someone else to take his place, because it wasn't time for the country to be done yet. It had taken him over fifty years before he finally found someone so much like him, it was almost scary. Her name was Amelia, a biochemistry major at UCLA.

"But it won't be the same," Canada mumbles. "But if you must."

If I must.

–

"Yeah, we can go there." America says, as he finishes packing up his stuff and grinning at Canada. "I won't forget this time, I promise."

"You said that last time, too." Canada says, trying his hardest not to pout or sound too upset. This had become too common now. America is displaying symptoms similar to Alzheimer's, and he knows, somewhere deep down, America's time as America is almost up. "So, what name did you decide on?"

"Alfred," He says. "I'll be Alfred."

"That's cool." The brothers go quiet as they exit the meeting room, everyone else had already dispersed. "You look sick, are you okay?"

"Yeah, bro, I'm just tired 's all."

"Do you just wanna do lunch at another time? You can go home and sleep,"

"Don't think I'd be getting much of that," America mutters, knowing Canada can't hear him, even with their odd super hearing Nations have. Their strength, their regenerative abilities, everything about them is so much more superior to a human. What would last a human a life time, such as deafness, can only last about a month or two for them before they recover. They were made that way, the earth helps them recover.

They are children of the Earth after all. Not many have met her, but from the rumors, she is a beautiful woman whose dark skin glows with an otherworldly look, and her eyes are such a deep amber and she is enticing and calming, with a melodic voice. Canada isn't sure who all has met her, but she has appeared to some in their dreams. She is a vision they all wish to have, but never will.

"Huh?"

So America slaps him on the back, too hard and laughs. "And give up the offer of free food? No way dude!" The laugh is too loud and obnoxious, Canada knows it's fake.

Something inside of America lurches, a pain that shoots through him again and his lungs angrily constrict and body goes on overdrive. He can't make out his surroundings, and a face in front of him is weirdly familiar and strange.

He misses a step, he hears only static and everything is blurry.

Alfred misses a step on the marble stairs.

–

Canada taps his pen against the wooden table, as he reads the words in front of him. He can't focus on it, Quebec is still demanding independence from him. His boss is considering it, and down south, nearly two years ago, Texas and California had seceded from the United States and they let the two former states go without a fight.

"So, dinner later? France had said he'd pay." England says, looking at his former colony.

"I did not!" England pointedly ignored him.

"Hmm, I'm not too hungry," Canada replies, looking up. "I have a lot of paperwork to do." He yawns and rubs his eyes. "Maybe tomorrow."

"Right, right."

Canada gives him a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, England. You, France and I will go out for dinner tomorrow and France can pay."

"No, I won't!"

"Or he can cook."

"I will do that," France says, with a little nod. "But I don't want Eyebrows there."

The meeting room becomes chaotic after that, with England raising his voice and France doing the same and everything just goes downhill and the meeting hasn't even started yet. Spain cheers France on while Prussia chants for them to fight, while Germany struggles to get them to stop. Canada is sure this is a new record for them.

Yet everything goes quiet when a presence is sensed from the doorway and Canada stares at the newcomer. Her hair is as yellow as straw, curled at the tips and clipped back with a star shaped hair clip, her eyes as blue as the sea and she's a little on shorter side.

"Uh, 'sup?" It's distinctly Southern, and Canada quickly stands up. This must be the new America. "Don't ya know it's rude to stare at a lady?"

"A-are you lost, miss?" England asks, breaking the silence and gives an awkward cough.

"No idea," She shrugs, leaning against the door frame. "Also, I could hear y'all from down the hallway."

"England, that's the United States." Canada finally says, eyes still wide.

Oh.