Prussia tossed his chopped potato into the water and stirred. He was sitting on a stool by a fire right outside his tent, a pot of warming soup hung over the flames. The soup wasn't anything fancy, but it was a hot meal. Its creator and amateur chef was just adding the final ingredients.

The Prussian had calmed down by now. His previous ranting and plotting had turned out to be quite therapeutic. It had been surprisingly calming to imagine all the torturous things he could do to America after lunch. Some of his evil fantasies couldn't actually be carried out in reality, but a nation could dream, couldn't he? Seriously, imagination really was a great outlet for frustration at times. It wasn't always as satisfying as the real deal, but it sure helped. For instance, Prussia had found it particularly pleasing to imagine America as he had slowly peeled and chopped the potato for his soup. Onlookers had chosen to back away slowly, no questions asked, when they had seen the albino grinning wickedly at the helpless vegetable and "Keseseseses"- ing away whilst he prepared it for the boiling pot of water.

Oh the simple joys of home cooking. Prussia was just reaching for another small potato when he heard the sounds of someone approaching. His red eyes looked to the oncoming sounds and met with one sorry sight. It seemed the dog had slunk back. Azor was whimpering and approaching the fire apprehensively, his head was down, and his tail was between his skinny legs. He looked like he was taking caution, lest his master's country should still be angry.

Prussia groaned with disgust at the return of the useless pooch. He didn't know what his Baron saw in such an un-awesome pile of skin and bones. The nation was of the opinion that the dog's breed had been very fitly named. Italian Greyhound. The animal did often remind Prussia of Austria's young Italian lackey. Just thinking of that little maid caused Prussia to shake his head with more disgust. It really never ceased to amaze him that the weak, divided, little country of Italy had somehow caught the eye of his brother, the great and proud Holy Roman Empire . Well…alright, even Prussia had to admit that Italy was pretty cute for a weakling. Still, he would think that Holy Rome would have looked for a lot more than just beauty in a girl. But then again, Holy Rome was still young. Maybe it was just puppy love.

"Mmm, mmm."

Speaking of puppies…. The albino was brought out of his thoughts by Azor's whimpering. Prussia took another look at the pathetic creature, gave a powerful huff, and went back to his peeling. Dumb dog. Italy might have been cute, but it was too bad that that much couldn't be said of the Italian Greyhound currently shivering before the campfire. Prussia's Baron thought the dog was beautiful. Most likely the dog believed it, too. Personally, Prussia thought it was one of the ugliest dogs he had ever seen!

But the dog's appearance wasn't important. It was really the creature's attitude and actions that reminded Prussia so much of Italy (and also annoyed the very awesome out of him). The scrawny thing pranced around like a happy-go-lucky puppy most of the time. It took naps like no body's business, and it shook like a leaf whenever it was cold or scared. Azor's whimpers even sounded like a frightened little Italian girl. The only good attribute the dog had to its name was its speed, but even so, the dog only ever used that awesome gift to escape from danger. It was for all these reasons that Prussia just couldn't stand the beast!

In front of him, the dog gave another pathetic whine. Prussia shot a glare at it. He also couldn't figure out why the dog always chose to hang around him!

"Buzz off," Prussia growled, unkindly.

Azor flinched at the words, yet still, carefully inched forward. His eyes were very large and pleading, hoping for some grace from his master's beloved nation. Prussia rolled his own eyes. He might have been annoyed with the animal, but thanks to his current, more mellowed-out mood, he didn't really feel like chasing a dog off. Plus, he was loathed to admit it, but when the kingdom looked into those big, puppy-pouting eyes, he did feel a small smiting of guilt for taking out his anger on the dumb animal, earlier.

With one last hateful scowl, Prussia relented. Putting his potato on hold for the moment, he reached into his coat. He decided it would be easier to give the dog what it wanted then it would be to run it off. Maybe if he obliged Azor, he would leave him alone for a while. It was either that, or listen to it's stupid whining all through lunch. That was a sure way to ruin an appetite.

Before long, Prussia had pulled a little dried meat out of his coat. The dog perked up immediately, but didn't dare come any closer, just in case it was a trick, but still he shook with anticipation. He watched intensely as personification bit into the hard meat. After using his teeth to yank off a small piece, Prussia spit out the tiny morsel and tossed it to the hopeful mutt.

"There," he grunted.

The dog jumped, snatching the meat in mid air and proceeding to wolf it down, gratefully. Prussia snagged a quick bite of the jerky for himself, before returning it to his coat. Well, at least the dog wasn't as picky with food as the real Italy was.

After swallowing his treat, Azor seemed in much brighter spirits. He stood at his full height and wagged his tail happily. He looked back at Prussia with a perky expression. Prussia ignored the dog and concentrated on swallowing his own share of meat. Azor pranced a little in place for a moment, then, he submissively lowered his head, and walked towards the sitting Prussian. He was next to Prussia, rubbing his face on other's leg, before Prussia even realized that the dog had stalked its way over to him. The land frowned down at the animal when he realized what it was doing.

"Ja, ja," he muttered coolly, while simultaneously nudging Azor away with his knee and reaching back for the discarded potato. "Now get lost."

Undeterred by Prussia's words, the dog only snuggled it's head into the man's lap. Prussia pulled his upper body away from the cuddling, but found himself bitterly giving into the close contact when Azor quickly settled. The dog had sat down with a sigh and rested it's head comfortably on Prussia's lap. Prussia only responded by letting out a groan. He chose to let the dog be and returned to his potato pealing. At least the Azor wasn't pestering him for more treats or to play with him. Prussia figured he could put up with the mutt, as long as it didn't move.

Prussia liked dogs okay, but this one was just too pampered for his taste. Azor was no Gilbird. Now that bird was an awesome pet! If someone was going to have a pet, it should be awesome and loyal and fully dedicated to its master, like Gilbird was. The chick might have been lacking in size and power, but he had been with Prussia ever since the personified land was a child. Gilbird almost never left Prussia's side and always found ways to serve his master, from delivering messages, to pecking and pooping on enemies, to hiding outside of Austria's window and chirping out of key just to annoy the musician , the little birdie definitely tried his best to make up for all his shortcomings. He might have looked like a baby chick, but Gilbird had the spirit of the mightiest eagle, and his eager efforts always pleased Prussia.

Yes, Prussia's bird was very unlike the lazy, good-for-nothing, Azor. Prussia would be much more accepting of the strange-looking breed of dog if it would just put forth some awesome effort into making itself useful, like Gilbird did. Prussia could overlook any alleged handicap (inside, or outside) as long as the individual didn't let it hold them back from being the most awesome that they could be. After all, while growing up he had often had to deal with hateful scorns of superstitious and ignorant people because of his albinism. The ancient world had not been kind to those with birth defects, or any form of extreme physical uniqueness. But Prussia had never let being an albino stop him from proving himself to the world. He just really wished the sloth of a dog would go bother someone else for once.

…Maybe that could be another thing to add to his list of stuff for America to do. Prussia was suddenly inspired! He could order America to take care of the dog! Why hadn't he thought of that before? America could feed it, clean up after it, and even give it a bath! Most importantly, America could keep Azor away from him! The grinning albino looked down at the relaxed greyhound on his lap. Prussia was starting to like the fact that the dog was around, now. There might be a good use for it after all.

Prussia made quick work of his potato and tossed its pieces into the pot. After which, he took another swig of beer. He had taken the bottle with him out of the tent and currently had it sitting at his side. He wasn't overindulging in the drink. He had only had a few gulps for his nerves. Even though he deserved crates of beer for dealing with the likes of America! But he didn't have much in his private stash, so he needed to ration the valuable liquid, at least until things started looking up for the continental army…if they were ever going to. Besides, even if he wanted to let his hair down, it would take a lot more than one bottle to get his German-blooded self decently drunk.

After one last drink, the Prussian set his beer aside to finish preparing his soup. He decided he would save the rest of the bottle for later that evening. The cold weather would keep it fresh enough. As he stirred his concoction, Prussia pulled another item from his coat; a small piece of paper. He studied it in-between tending to the mostly-potato gruel. Since the first meeting with America, when Prussia had discovered that there was a slight language barrier when it came to certain expressions, the albino had been compiling a list of English curses for his own, personal homework. He still couldn't believe that he had blanked like that during his protégé's first training session. Worst of all, it had been a failure to recall a good insult that had crippled Prussia's first drill sergeant speech. It was shameful! He was a powerful military nation! That he would botch an impressive, and awesomely threatening, speech to the troops was more than unacceptable! He could just hear Austria: "Hm, Funny. I'd have thought that profanities would have been the first thing you would have picked up from another language."

Prussia growled just thinking about it. "Shut it, four eyes!" he mumbled automatically, and stirred his soup harder. It was really too easy to imagine that prissy aristocrat, sitting self-righteously in one of his elegant chairs, sipping a dainty cup of tea, while making snide remarks about Prussia's every little short-coming, in that almost polite, and oh-so-snobbish, tone of his.

Prussia had actually learned English long, long ago. At first, it had been just for simple communications. And over the years, the more he had had to deal with England— like during the recent Austrian War of Succession for example, when England had been both his enemy and ally— the more fluently Prussia had developed his English. Of course, he had learned a few choice English curses in the midst of all of his studying. And…admittedly, those swears had been some of the first English expressions he had learned…. But that wasn't anything to be ashamed of! Come on, how else was he supposed to send awesome communications with the right kind of emphasis on his demands? But anyway, that just made the fact that he had forgotten the words so soon all the more embarrassing!

He really needed to work on keeping up his foreign vocabulary when it wasn't regularly in use. The minds' of national personifications were certainly created to learn and retain new languages more easily than that of a natural human. A nation would have to be well versed in foreign tongues, since they would constantly be dealing with other nations. Still, for Prussia, his foreign language skills had always been on a kind of an "out of practice, out of mind" function. It was sometimes easy for him to forget aspects of a language, especially when he didn't use it often.

T here were so many other things that were so much more important than practicing a language he didn't immediately need. There was his military and important matters of state, there was also beer (lots of it), and then there was spending time with Fritz, and assisting the old man in making his country awesome. Of course, let's not forget feeding Gilbird, annoying Austria, and hiding from—er, taking evasive action and fortifying his defenses to withstand an attack from Hungary (that usually came directly after the preceding activity). Now those were awesome activities worth his attention. Like he was going to spend his downtime studying something as boring as a language he already knew well enough to get by. No language was as awesome as German, anyway.

So far, Prussia had had to use Hamilton and other translators to translate French curses, but those just weren't natural, a nd they were not nearly effective enough. Normally, Prussia wouldn't care so much if he messed up with another language. He had always been the type to speak first and think about it later. Or just speak and never think about it. But this time, he was studying the words on his crumpled paper intently. He hadto make sure he said them correctly. The nation had a bad feeling that his man didn't always get the words quite right. It seemed like the men he commanded were always giggling, or trying to hide giggles. Prussia didn't want to be a laughing stock for America in the same way that the Prussian Inspector General was for the American Troops. He wanted to curse at him in such a way that the boy wouldn't dare laugh, or even breathe!

"If only you put as much effort into your people skills," Austria's imaginary voice suddenly cut in again. "Or perhaps into studying something worthwhile, such as the fine arts."

"I said shut up!" Prussia shouted without even thinking. Gott, Austria made him so angry! It was bad enough that King Fritz was forcing him to take flute lessons! That was all the "culture" Prussia felt he needed!

At the sound of the new outburst, Azor lifted his head and hurried away from Prussia. The dog was afraid that the country might be yelling at him again, and he was in no hurry for another round of kicks. Prussia didn't even notice the dog's departure. He was too busy thinking about Austria. It was hard to believe that even that pansy of a nation could fight better than America. How sad was that? If only America knew what a sorry state he was in! That whelp would be begging Prussia for his wisdom!

Getting suddenly fed up with sitting around, Prussia checked on his dish's progress. He was no gourmet, but he guesstimated that the soup wouldn't be ready for a few more minutes. He slammed the lid on the pot and gazed out at the camp. He wondered how America was doing. The kingdom studied his source of heat. The fire was diminishing at a good rate. If he were to leave for a short while, the soup would be ready and probably still warm when he returned.

Prussia had worked himself up into a mood to get something done, so he returned his list to its place and gathered his things. He stood and walked back to his tent. Along with putting his things away, he also wanted to grab a few extra items before taking his leave. The camp lunch was not officially over, but Prussia had decided to pay a surprise inspection visit to America anyway.

As Prussia walked through the camp a few minutes later, he was not happy with what he saw. The camp was still in the exact same state it had been in before he had ordered America to change it. Honestly, he had not been expecting much, but he had been anticipating some change. The nation's face twisted into a more furious expression with every step he took. When he found America, that kid was dead!

Soldiers loitering around cleared a path for Prussia. He was appearing extra fierce, and it wasn't just his angry strides or his "out-for-blood" expression that made the bold statement. The Prussian had dressed himself as if he were going into a battle. He had obviously wanted to make sure that America knew, the moment he saw him approaching, that he meant business. The proud coat and uniform had been straightened and smoothed in order to make the wearer look as important as possible. Not one shiny button was out of place.

But that wasn't all. Prussia's own musket was polished, prepped, loaded, and securely strapped on his back. (Bayonet attached, of course) Two loaded pistols and a large knife were also proudly displayed on the albino's person, along with an impressive sword. Last, but not least, a black crop, which he liked to use every now and then for drills, was hanging from his belt, swinging back and forth with the kingdom's ever quickening strides. The leather instrument was small, but Prussia found that when wielded correctly, it made a perfect statement of who was in charge. Just the sight of a crop in the hands of a capable soldier would clue any outsider as to who was the drill instructor and who were the unfortunate instructees.

Put it all together, and Prussia most certainly looked "awesome." Awesome and fearsome. The man was obviously on the prowl. He was an angered master searching for his apprentice who had been "a bit of a disappointment," to put it lightly.

When the red-eyed warrior couldn't find America right off, he began questioning anyone who was unlucky enough to come in contact with him. However, as nervous as the men were, none of them seemed willing to cooperate. They acted innocent enough of America's whereabouts, but Prussia figured out pretty quickly that his suspects knew more than they claimed. The men were just reluctant to turn in their own country. Cute, but Prussia was not interested in their stupid loyalty. He had a bone to pick with his un-awesome trainee, and he was going to get the information he wanted out of the soldiers one way or another!

At last, Prussia found a weaker victim, who had been willing to play the snitch, with the aid of some helpful "encouragement." Encouragement that involved a knife pointed at the man's gut, but one had to admit, the method made for a very convincing argument. Once pointed in the right direction, Prussia made his way to the low end of the camp. The man had confessed that he thought he had seen America there, earlier. Prussia walked at a determined pace. America had better have a good excuse for his laziness! Not that a good excuse would help him, though.

When Prussia reached a point of the terrain where the lower parts of the camp could be seen in full view, he was a little pleased to see that the latrines had been tended to. They weren't spaced out evenly or lined up in single file, but they would work. He was not pleased, however, to find America lying down on the job. The Prussian became even more displeased with the situation the closer he got to the lounging teen. At first Prussia got angrier because he thought America was ignoring his calls to pick his lazy carcass up and stand at attention, but as he closed in on the still form, he realized that his apprentice was sleeping.

SLEEPING? How dare that kid disobey his orders so deliberately? The fact the America was snoozing infuriated the pale nation even more than the idea of being ignored. Not only was the colonial twerp not even trying to complete his given jobs, but he actually had the gall to sleep right out in the open where he was sure to be caught! It was as if he was openly mocking Prussia! Oh, America was really in for it, now.

America was dreaming. A perfect dream. He was dreaming of the furthest thing from army life. He was dreaming of a warm, soft bed, a bed in which he was comfortably sleeping. To a teen who hadn't slept in a real bed in months, the cushiony feeling of his dream-bed was like heaven. He might as well have been cuddling with a cloud.

Very quickly, it all morphed into a dream about everything he had been pining for before he had fallen asleep. He began dreaming of food. Food-a-plenty! All of it hot, all of it fresh, and all of it mouth-watering. He even had his tall glass of hot chocolate, abundant with fluffy marshmallows.

But all too soon, it came to an end. America's dreaming of the good life was interrupted by a trespasser. An evil shape appeared out of the dark corners of America's subconscious and grabbed the dark blonde by the back of his collar. America choked as he was yanked away from his glorious feast before he even had a chance to taste it. He was instantly dragged off to the darkness. Struggles were useless against the powerful specter. America gave a call of despair as his dream-meal swiftly faded into the distance. He had been so close! He had touched it! He had smelled it! Now, the things he had had his heart set on were becoming nothing more than a hazy memory.

Of course, the bad guy in America's dream was none other than Prussia. The nation's eyes were glowing an evil red, and his teeth were almost fang-like when he grinned. The vision of terror laughed maniacally as he made sure America was denied any sort happiness. Frankly, the scenario was all a little exaggerated, but in a dream, there just didn't seem to be anything illogical to America about an evil Prussia showing up out of nowhere to ruin his fun.

Then, all of a sudden, everything changed again. The dream shifted back to the first moment America had met Prussia. Because it was all a dream, the sleeping teen thought nothing of the switch in reality. Now, his men were introducing him to the Prussian man who was to be his new Inspector General. Prussia, the human form of the nation, had come along with the man, for some reason. America took a deep breath and tried to be as polite as he could. His knew it was important for him to make a good impression, and his leaders were expecting him treat his new commander with respect, but inside he was still weary. He had met very few European nations besides England, and he didn't exactly trust any of them. He had also heard warnings about the people of Prussia's area. As he beheld Prussia now, America couldn't tell what the Germanic country was thinking.

"My name is…America," the colonial spoke in forced courtesy, offering his hand to the paler nation. He felt a little strange addressing Prussia and his man this way. He wasn't dressed nearly as nice as they were, but he kept his head high as if he had nothing to be ashamed of. "It's an honor to meet you."

America waited as Prussia looked him up and down. Again, America wasn't sure how to interpret the expression on the kingdom's face, but then, Prussia suddenly smiled. America was taken off guard as his hand was clasped warmly by the other.

"I'm Prussia!"the man introduced himself with ease. America stood stiff as Prussia continued to shake his hand. During the handshake, America was also kindly warned by the European that he should take care and watch his strength since the training regiments were usually very harsh were he came from.

"Um…okay."America finally responded, uncertainly. He was thinking to himself how unexpectedly friendly that gesture had been. Was it possible that Prussia wasn't so bad after all? The feeling of the meeting reminded America of another first encounter of his: the first time he had met with Hesse.

See, England had hired Hessians, or German mercenaries, to fight against America. America had been told that the Hessians and their personified representative were ruthless. Hesse was said to be fearsome-looking soldier, with a large scar across his face. America was supposed to be more alert with the Hessians than he was with the English army, but that intelligence didn't seem to be the reality when the teen had had his own first battle with them.

Just a few months before this scene, America's General had launched a sneak attack on a group of the Hessians. But when America and his men had busted in on the unit, instead of the blonde's mental image of a cut-throat army, ready for anything, the German men he saw were all drunk from the Christmas celebrations of the night before. Even the infamous personification of Hesse, with his head still dopey from the alcohol, had only invited the invading American troops to join in on the fun. The whole incident had been very confusing for America. He had thought Hesse was supposed to be scary, but it had turned out that the guy was a real party animal.

Maybe Prussia would be the same. Maybe he would be nicer than the rumors said. America thought in his dream, just as he had thought in real life, that Prussia might actually turn out to be friendly. Suddenly, the dream turned into a nightmare again. The scene violently changed to one of the many training sessions that had followed not too long after that introduction. America found himself standing at attention while Prussia yelled in his face. The former colony was being aggressively informed that he was about to do another round of punishment push-ups.

"Drop and give me a hundred!"the dream-Prussia ordered.

"B-But the inspector general only makes us do twenty!"America desperately pled.

The commander took hold of America's shirt and yanked the teenager down a few inches so that they were both level. "I'm not the inspector general and you're not a normal soldier!" he hissed in America's face. "You should be able to do one hundred push-ups with both hands behind your back!"

"But, wouldn't I need my hands to—"

"Schweig !" Prussia commanded; pushing America away. "No excuses! No complaints! Now drop and give me two hundred!"

"But you just said—"

"The upgrade was for the back-talk! Want to make it three hundred?"

America shut his mouth and dropped to the ground. Prussia stood close to him as he positioned himself for the push-ups. America was just in a hurry to get this over with.

SMACK!

The sudden noise echoed in America's dream-world. The young country squeaked as he felt a swift sting on his lower body. His stomach churned as he looked behind him and saw that Prussia had his crop out.

"Straighten your form!"the military nation commanded with a point of the crop.

America realized that in his haste, he hadn't set himself up quite right. His bottom was sticking up a little too high. The poor boy was still new to conducting push-ups according to strict army rules regulations. Apparently, there was a proper form involved in the simple exercise. After America adjusted himself; making sure his body was in a straight line from his head to his feet, he started. But Prussia's sharp voice instantly interrupted the progress and caused America's body jolt with surprise. The hardened nation told America to count as he went. At this point in time, and in the dream, America was still in his "This nut is terrifying, so just keep him happy and do whatever he says" stage. America was totally willing to go as far as counting his push-ups, in order oblige the savage Prussian. And so the torture began.

The push-ups weren't too hard at first. America breezed through the opening few with his reserve of super-strength. Prussia circled America as he worked. America could feel himself beginning to sweat, not from the work, but from being under his trainer's critical watch.

And nervous , he should have been. Prussia quickly noticed that the going was too easy for the blonde country. America was ordered to speed things up with another smack to his rear from the crop. The youngster picked up the pace. As the count slowly increased, so did the difficulty. Two-hundred push-ups should not have been impossible for someone like him, but again, the war had weakened his body. He pushed on hard, while Prussia continued to circle deliver more swat whenever he slowed down.

In his dream, America was not sure what he had done to deserve this. Maybe he had botched the marching steps again. Maybe he had forgotten to attach his bayonet to his gun, or had been caught doing something stupid with it again, like playing darts, or something. Maybe he hadn't been wearing his uniform. Or maybe he had just looked at Prussia the wrong way.

SMACK!

"Faster!"

The fierce order made America wince. Whatever he had done, he was in big trouble for it. America sped up and tried to get his mind off of the pain by focusing on his counting. Unfortunately, that didn't work out well. He could hear himself counting in his dream, but the numbers weren't adding up. In classic dream-style, they were all coming out in a mixed-up, topsy-turvy order that made zero sense. The American wasn't sure how far he had gone or how much loner he had to go. He felt like he was stuck in an eternal loop. The exercise would never end!

America could feel his arms starting to shake. He shut his eyes in an attempt concentrate. He tried to pretend that his muscle aches didn't exist. He was eventually forced to focus primarily on his breathing. Despite the winter weather, the young country's body was heating up, and that was causing his chest to tighten. He wanted to hack his guts out so bad, but he couldn't risk halting his sets. Prussia would kill him if he stopped! Not to mention he would look like a total weakling. So instead, America tried breathing the way Prussia had taught him: long breaths in through the nose and out through the mouth. It subdued his coughs for the moment, but his chest still hurt. It was also uncomfortable because the cool air was harsh to his nose. America felt like the insides of his nose and his throat were going to freeze.

The breathing had another bad effect. Even though America was doing his best to keep going at the right speed, he began unconsciously slowing down to match his long breaths. His back was starting to bend with fatigue, as well. Without warning, a smack was felt on his slowly descending stomach. Prussia had gotten him with an underhanded whack from the crop. America gasped when it happened. He wanted to grab the forming welt on his belly out of instinct, but almost fell when he tried. Luckily, he caught himself just in time.

"Line up your form!" he heard Prussia command. "Stomach in! Back straight! And no slacking! Pick up the pace!"The last part was punctured with another slap.

America grit his teeth as he tightened his muscles and brought his body back in a straight line. After a breath, he continued on at his former pace. This dream was different from America's past dreams of the pale menace. In other dreams, all of America's training had melted together. He would switch constantly from one training session to another; most of them, imagined events. But this one stayed in one place and America was sure that he had gone through it before. Maybe he was reliving this certain event because it was one of the first times he really started to resent Prussia and his "Awesome" training. Awesome. If America never heard that word again, it would be too soon.

As his muscles groaned in agony, America couldn't help asking himself why he was listening to Prussia, again? Wasn't he in the process of trying to get away from outside control? Hadn't he vowed that he was not going to submit to the rule of England or his unjust king anymore? Hadn't he declared independence and told England that there was no way he'd ever go back to being his colony? And yet, here he was, doing push-ups on demand and cowering before a different personification. Had America sold himself out to another European power? America tried to convince himself that he hadn't. He couldn't have, because Prussia hadn't officially thrown his hat into the ring of America's revolution, and the Kingdom of Prussia had never made any advances on trying to conquer him.

But even if Prussia wasn't interested in ruling over America, it was the principle of the thing! From the outside looking in, it would seem that the newly independent nation was submitting himself to another power, one that America thought wasn't always fair, or even sane for that matter! On top of that, Prussia's training was tough. America had never been in a real army, so he didn't know what real training was like, but he still often felt like Prussia's methods were more difficult than they should be. And his training methods weren't helping, as far as the young colonial could tell. Sometimes America felt like a fool when he obeyed Prussia. He was sure England would laugh at him if he could see him now. That jerk would probably roast America for sacrificing his ideals in this way. America could just hear England's laughter. …A little too clearly, actually.

While being careful not to break his rhythm, America glanced around the foggy area of his imagination. After a moment, he noticed something happening close by. The source of the laughter was taking shape right in front of him. What America saw, made him stop short. He momentarily paled in horror, as if the dream hadn't been humiliating enough, it seemed England had suddenly materialized and appeared on the scene to mock him.

"What did I tell you?" his old guardian gloated, after his echoing laughs subsided. "You can't face me on your own. You can't accomplish anything on your own. Just look at you! The moment you leave me, you run crying to someone else for help."

America's look of shock turned into a glare. His cheeks heated with anger at the words of this unwelcome intruder. The young rebel hadn't seen his former "brother " in months. Their most recent interactions before the breakout of the war had been nothing but heated, and sometimes violent, arguments. Although England had taken care of America as a child, the events leading up to the colonial revolt had convinced America that the pompous nation had never really cared about him. It hurt more than America would admit to believe that, at the moment, when he saw England, all he saw was an enemy. The lad was going to say something to England, but a cry of pain escaped his open mouth before he could utter a word. Prussia had swatted him again with the crop.

The vision of England seemed to find more humor in that. "Enjoying my replacement, are you?" the representative of the British Empire asked with a mocking smile. "And you call me a tyrant? I don't remember ever treating you like this."

America had gone back to his push-ups and was trying to ignore England. That didn't stop the illusion of the older blonde from goading his strained colony. He sounded like he was enjoying every minute of America's problems. But England would do more than ridicule America. After some time, an offer was made.

"Why not end your suffering and come back to me?"

The rising and falling teen almost came to another halt at the question. England's voice had suddenly changed to sickeningly fake tone of kindness. America wanted to break the Brit's jaw.

"You'll find I can be graciously forgiving, if only you'll admit you were the one in the wrong," the kingdom soothed in that patronizing voice. America hated the sounds of England trying to be tempting. To the rebellious colony, his perceived foe seemed almost like Satan himself. "I can also assure you that your punishment for running off will be less severe, if you surrender willingly."

America turned his head towards England. Once again, he was going give an "appropriate" reply to his red-clad oppressor, but another swift smack brought his attention back to his other oppressor.

"Faster! Keep your head on your work!"

England smirked on the sidelines. "It would be better than the alternative, wouldn't you agree?"

America shot England a dirty look.

England smirked back all the more. "You need me," he stated simply. "You always will. You can't deny it. You will have to come to terms with that, eventually. You will always need outside help to survive."

America grunted at the image of England. He had no energy to tell the vision off, and couldn't afford to try with Prussia watching his every move, so he turned his head and tried to will his enemy not to be there. He focused on his exercises and irrational counting until England faded away; taking his scoffing and "I told you so's" with him. However, England's ideas didn't fade out as easily. It was those concerns that America had been wrestling with in real life. He had tried to tell himself that what he was doing didn't count as submitting himself to another kingdom because he hadn't really asked the personification of Prussia for help. It's not like he had gone crawling to Prussia to be rescued from big, bad England. Prussia had offered to help. Well, not really "offered." It was more like a "You're-getting-my-help-and-you're-going-to-like-it!" kind of thing, but America was calling it offering, for now. He had to save as much pride as possible.

Still, America had been seeking out foreign generals. His scouts had sent Prussia's Baron to him. And he was asking for the aid of other nations, as well. France, most notably . The young land hated that he had to kiss up to France, or anyone for help, really. It was slightly comforting to know that if France ever did join his side, it would be a big blow to England. Surely it would drive the British man crazy to hear that his former pet colony had allied himself with his most hated rival.

But no matter what rational he used, America still couldn't get England's laughter over his training with Prussia out of his mind. That wasn't really the case, was it? America knew that he could survive on his own, h-he was just getting a few pointers, right? He wasn't really embarrassing himself and going against everything he had been taking a stand for by training with Prussia, was he? That couldn't be right…could it?

SMACK! "For the last time, don't bend your back like that!"

Right or not, America could confidently say that it wasn't fun.It took almost everything he had to straighten his back again. He hated doing push-ups with Prussia nit-picking his speed and form every few seconds!

SMACK!

And that crop was not helping!

"You call yourself a soldier? You couldn't even defeat a mouse with this kind of performance!"

America frowned at that. Well, at least he could now say that he had safely established the fact that Prussia was NOT a friendly person. The American felt that Prussia's insults were going a little too far. That last one really burned him up.

"Bet I could squash a scrawny little white mouse with beady red eyes just fine."He quickly mumbled to himself in-between his nonsensical numbers.

"What was that?"

"Nothing."

SMACK!

"OW!"

In his dream, America paused his push-ups to look back at Prussia. "What was that for?"

"You stopped counting."

"You asked me a question!"

SMACK!

"OW!"

The dream was so realistic. America could feel his body wavering. Every part of him was trembling as his arms struggled to hold up his own weight. America had been pushed so hard that it was a real fight to hold his shaky form together and keep it from crumbling under the stings of the crop.

"Start over!"the dream-Prussia demanded.

"But—"

"Now!"America heard Prussia flick the crop through the air to smack it against his own palm as a warning.

Unhappily, America resumed his self-torture; starting his count from the beginning. He was very sure that he was going to be doing this for the rest of time. But to his surprise, he wasn't able to go very far this time around. He couldn't have gone more than three push-ups before he felt a kick to his gut.

"Ugh! W-what the—"

"Get up!"Prussia suddenly changed his command. This time, the angry albino sounded different, for some reason.

"But I thought you wanted me to do push-ups?"

"Hey!" the Prussian exclaimed. "Get up!"The order was repeated as Prussia continued to nudge America with his boot.

"All right, all right !"America yielded. He was annoyed with the strange behavior, but he couldn't say that he wasn't grateful to get off the ground and rest his arms. And maybe he would be ordered to do something that might better help him to get his mind off of England. The boy carefully rose and stood at attention; assumed that Prussia wanted him to.

But the weirdness didn't stop when America returned to his upright position. Prussia kept nudging and poking him. "I said get up!"he would say.

America, thoroughly confused, could only back away and try to guard himself, but the prodding only became harder "I am up!"America told the insane trainer. "Cut that out!"

"Wach auf, you lazy runt!"

"Huh?"

"Hey!" Prussia yelled, while he nudged America with his boot. "You hear me, kid? I said wake up!"

Author's Note:

2 fics in one day, WOOT! XD Sorry again that this took so long, but it might make it up a little to know that I'll be putting up the next chapter soon after this one! Originally, both chapters were going to be one, but I ended up rambling again, and had to split them. ^^; The next part is almost done, and then my fabulous beta reader is going to look it over, and it will be up for your viewing pleasure. Not much happens in this chapter, I'm sorry to say, but the next one gets a little more interesting, I hope.

Ok, notes on this chapter. First of all, I have no idea if Von Steuben's dog really acted like that, I just got the impression that he was very pampered from what little I've read on him, so I went with that.

And the part about America remembering meeting the Hessians is based on the official comics about the same story. (wish I could put up links)

Those comics are based on that famous time when George Washington crossed the Delaware and executed a sneak attack on a Hessian camp. IMPORTANT: Just so everyone knows, the thing about the Hessians being drunk from their Christmas celebrations is a MYTH! At the time of the attack, a few American soldiers believed that their enemies would be drunk or hung-over, because they had heard tell that Germans drank a lot over the Christmas holidays. But after the attack, no evidence of alcohol was found on them. They were dazed from the sudden attack, but that was it.

Still, the popular legend and the comic was pretty funny, so I decided to keep it. Just remember it's not historically accurate.

And the dream is based on the comic Hima made about Prussia training America during the last Christmas event.

I loved that it looked like Prussia was smacking America in the comic with a crop, so I had a little fun with that. And just in case you don't know, Prussia's love affair with the crop was thought up by arkham-insanity long before Hima put it in his comic. I'd check out her "Chibi Prussia Diaries" on Deviantart for more about the crop. XD

AND I changed the first chapter of my fic just a little to better go along with that comic about their first meeting, so there's continuity. Yay! So now you have an excuse to read the first chapter over again.

One last thing, a BIG thanks to Emerald-Leaves for beta reading this for me and giving me advise! You rock! ^^