Author: This story takes me forever orz;;

There are so many things about the Civil War Era that I don't know. So basically I'm reviewing my history while writing this. Bear with me please.

And thanks for the comments. You guys really motivate me ;)

And If You Don't Love Me

Chap 3: Choice

Matthew took a few hesitant steps back, eventually hitting the back of an arm chair. Alfred, or whom he believed to be Alfred, casually strolled along the walls, maneuvering skillfully despite the dark as he sparked the wall candles with a lighter, illuminating the room in a dull amber glow. Matthew noticed again the dismal condition of the interior of the house—the turned over furniture, scratched wallpaper, and broken glass—but said nothing. He carefully followed his host with his eyes, unsure of how to communicate with this new America.

"You should be well aware," America finally said, eyes never leaving the wall ornaments, "That you are not welcomed here, Canada."

Matthew swallowed nervously. He knew Alfred would not greet him with open arms—after all, the last time they met, they had muskets pointed at each other—but he hoped that Alfred would soon realize that his intentions were sincere. Alfred was a former brother, a childhood friend, and despite all of Matthew's efforts in trying to forget for past few decades, he still worried, especially now when Alfred was falling apart.

"Alfred, please listen to me," Matthew began, "I know you're hurt and sick because of the war. I just want to—"

"Why do you insist on calling me Alfred?" America said boredly.

"Because that's your name." Matthew blinked, slowly and carefully maneuvering closer to the nation. "I've always called you Alfred, but do you prefer America now?"

America swung around with a pistol in his hand aimed at Matthew's forehead, and Matthew froze in mid-step, quickly comprehending that his former brother might be more unstable than he had anticipated.

"Yes, I do, actually," America replied, his expression unreadable, "You seem to forget how I had come to obtain that name."

"From Arthur." Matthew nervously stared into the barrel of the gun. Alfred—or America—wouldn't actually pull the trigger, right?

"England. Yes. And I have no intention in keeping that pet name," America scoffed.

"Ar—England never intended it to be a pet name—" Matthew was interrupted by the clicking of Alfred's pistol, and he swallowed again, wondering if reasoning with this dangerous gun-wielding America was a smart idea.

"I despise England," America scowled, "And I despise his mindless subordinates."

"I'm not here on behalf of England," Matthew persisted, "I'm here because I wanted to come. I know you're independent now, and I know you don't want anything to do with us. But we were brothers. For a long time…I don't want to see you hurt."

America gave a low chuckle. "Well aren't you just a little fool?"

"Excuse me?"

"If you came today with the purest intention to mend our relationship," America grinned, lowering the gun while extending his free hand, "There is only one way. I've asked you once, and I'll ask you again. Join me."

Matthew tensed, recalling their last meeting, the last war where he was forced to choose one brother over another. "…I didn't come today for this."

America's grin faltered as he stepped closer to Matthew, forcing the Canadian to retreat back to his original position by the armchair. "How long do you plan to hang onto them like a helpless toddler? Europe will never treat you as one of them."

"Please. Don't make me choose again—"

America grabbed a fistful of Matthew's collar, and Matthew instinctively clutched at his assaulter's wrist. "You should have chosen me," America said darkly, his grip shockingly tight.

"H-How can I possibly choose between you a-and Arthur?" Matthew gasped.

"Because I am you brother!" America shouted spitefully, throwing Matthew to the floor. "Real brother! By blood! Not established by some ridiculous pact!

Matthew grunted as his back hit the hard wooden floor, and America's foot quickly came down onto his sternum, trapping him there. "Arthur loved you," Matthew panted as he struggled against the weight, his panic level steadily rising.

"England is a tyrant. He did not love, he used. I was nothing but a tool. You are nothing but a tool."

"That's a lie! He loved you more than anything! And you made him cry! I hated you for that!"

America smirked as he dug his heel further into the other's chest. "Is that supposed to make me feel guilty?"

"You're really an ungrateful bastard!" Matthew spat out, his hopes in rekindling long gone. "This is your fault. This is what you get. You are unfit to be a nation. Arthur loved you. He did all he could to protect you, to keep the rest of the world in check, for you. But you're so incredibly dense. You just can't comprehend that in order for you to be safe, Arthur needed to leave, to fight in wars, to impose laws. No, you ignorant, spoiled child. This is what you get."

"Why you little—" America gritted his teeth, anger mounting. The foot on Matthew's chest was replaced with a knee, and long fingers quickly encircled Matthew's throat.

"Are you surprised, Alfred?" Matthew whispered with effort, his oxygen in limited supply. "You never thought I could say something like this to you face…You know what changed? You did. You've gone insane. I think you'll really kill me. And this is something I have to tell you before I die. Because no one else will tell you this. No one else knows."

America scowled, tightening his grip.

"I won't become your territory," Matthew managed to say with his last breaths before losing consciousness. "I can't do what you did to Arthur. I'm not that cruel."

Matthew woke up to the frantic pounding on his already sore chest and a wail that sounded far too familiar. "Matt! Matty! Oh God, wake up! Please, please wake up!"

"Alfred?" Matthew peeked one eye open and was immediately pulled into a tight embrace.

"Thank God you're awake!" Alfred half-sobbed. "I-I thought you died. You weren't breathing or anything."

"I'm fine now," Matthew said as soothingly as possible, his voice strained and raspy and his head dazed and confused. He gently stroked Alfred's back out of instinct, and Alfred immediately broke away.

Matthew finally got a good glance at Alfred. He looked even more insane than before, a total mess—pale, thin, startled—but Matthew felt safer, more familiar now. This was the Alfred that was once his brother.

"I-I'm sorry, Matt," Alfred said sullenly, his fingers gently grazing the darkening marks on Matthew's neck. "I had no idea he could do this."

"Who's he?" Matthew asked quietly, more perplexed than ever.

"He's me. Or at least he looks like me. I thought he was just a hallucination. No one else can see him, but he's so real. I don't know what to do, Matt. I would never hurt you like this, but he made me do it somehow. Oh God, he could have killed you!" Alfred continued to ramble on, voice trembling from trepidation.

"Alfred." Matthew placed a hand on his shoulder, quieting him. "You need to get help."

"No one's going to help me." Alfred rose to his feet abruptly and backed away. "No one can help me! This is because of the war, Matt. And it's not going to go away for a long time. But you. This doesn't involve you, and you need to leave."

"I'm not leaving you like this." Matthew slowly stood up. "You're sick."

"I know I'm sick, God damn it!" Alfred flipped over a chair, desperate and angry. "He's going to come back, and he's going to want to kill you again! You have to get out of here!"

"But Al—"

"Don't be an idiot!" Alfred shouted again, close to tears this time. "You can't do anything for me. A-And if you die…I don't want you to die, Matt…I'm going to lock myself somewhere. It won't stop him, but it'll slow him down…. If I never see you again, it'll only mean that you're safe. So please just leave."

Matthew stood silently as he watched Alfred dash through the corridor and out of sight. What was he to do now? He could have very well died during the last encounter with that other America, the ring of bruises around his throat a grim reminder. But he immediately dismissed the thought of leaving Alfred alone, especially after witnessing first-hand his unstable state of mind. As much as Alfred was a danger to others, he was also a danger to himself. Would Matthew's presence help keep Alfred sane, or would his death just serve as another blotch on Alfred's conscience?

Alfred bolted blindly through rooms, halls, and corridors, pushing through doors and fallen furniture, until he finally stumbled into the room furthest away from where Matthew stood. He slammed the door shut and locked it before tossing chairs and dressers and desks between him and the exit. Alfred took out his pistol and turned to face the apparently empty room.

"I know you're in here, you asshole!" He shouted into empty space. "Show yourself, God damn it!"

The figure of the other America gradually appeared in the corner of the room, leaning leisurely against the wall, and before he could even say a greeting, Alfred pulled the trigger. The bullet went right through the hallucination, but Alfred continued to fire until all the shots were spent. At least they won't be used on Matthew or anyone else.

"This really pains me on the inside, Jones." The other America said dryly.

Alfred hurled the empty gun too. "How dare you do that to Matthew!"

"What are you talking about? It was you."

"Shut the fuck up! I would never do anything like that!"

The other America tilted his head and grinned. "It was your hands."

"It wasn't my head!" Alfred shouted back, fists clenched and anger flaring, wanting so badly to hurt the man before him but couldn't. "What did you do to me, you bastard!"

"Calm down, Jones." The other America separated himself from the wall casually. "I had no intention in killing him."

"So what the fuck was that all about?"

"There is no need to yell. I'm right here." The hallucination winced a little before strolling towards the window. "I just wanted to scare him a little. Teach him not to meddle. But apparently, the boy didn't learn his lesson."

"What are you talking about?" Alfred shoved his way to the window to find Matthew making his way into a small shed two floors below.

"I wonder what he would be looking for in the pigeonry, Jones." The other America said bitingly.

"N-No," Alfred shook his head, "He wouldn't get other countries involved. That's insane."

Alfred backed away from the window, feeling nauseous again as the room spun around, an experience far too familiar. He knew he was going to hit the floor soon as he searched the swirls of colors for the other America. "Stay away from him," he managed to say, but even he knew that his command would not be obeyed.

Author: Review please. I love it when people give me stuff to read~

And Arthur will probably show up in the next chapter. I'll be focusing on him more from now on.