[August 6th, 1945 | Hiroshima | 8:15 A.M.]

The strangest part was that it didn't make a sound.

Kiku remembered exchanging words with a nice school teacher. She had just worked hard to gather all of her young students in the classroom when something had broken the focus. One of the boys scrambled to the window and stared out of it, wide-eyed. His little lips had barely formed the words on everyone's mind—a fumbled "A-Are wa… nan desu ka"—before it happened.

A bright, shining light flashed—arguably the brightest light any of the children or the teacher had ever seen. For a split portion of half of that precious second, some of them were honestly star-struck.

But Kiku knew better than to be impressed. He knew before the silent blackness stained the sky.

He heard the school building being torn apart from the ground first, before the sounds of the screams. Kiku lifted his arms in front of his face and shut his eyes immediately, as if those actions alone would help him. The detonation above Ground Zero sounded like rumbling thunder, and he heard the sound of metal beams ripping in half and flying halfway across the city. More screams came next. Sizzling flames followed shortly.

That's as far as he could remember before and shortly after the blast.

Then again, a hit to the abdomen from radioactive powder and a steel pipe would do that to anyone.

Honestly, he wasn't sure which to be surprised by first—the fact that he had been completely blown to a different place entirely, or the fact that everyone in his immediate vicinity had vanished. Kiku's eyelids felt like they had been glued shut, but he finally managed to open them, revealing his dark eyes that must have reflected the destruction around him.

"A-Ah…" his voice barely managed to make out. He felt something warm on his cheek, but he couldn't tell what it was until it trickled towards his lips. The stuff was too salty to be blood, and a lot less chalky than he would have imagined. His shoulders trembled uncontrollably as well, but even then he had a hard time registering what had happened.

Kiku rolled over onto his side and lifted his body up with one, weak elbow. He heard soft moans and agonized groans from all over the city—there were some survivors after all. His eyes searched through seas of hazy tears for any traces of nearby people, but for the time being, he felt entirely alone. His crushed mumblings had descended into almost silent, depressed mutterings. In just one blink of an eye, the world around them had been ripped apart—destroyed, just like that.

Where was everyone? He was almost too afraid to move, so his eyes continued to search.

Shadows.

Kiku's gaze fell upon the dark impression of a woman, burned into the ground. She had been holding grocery bags, and by the gap between her feet, she had been walking at a considerably quick pace. Perhaps she was rushing home to begin her preparations for lunch, or she had forgotten a few things for breakfast. Whatever the case had been, his heart pounded gently, and his lip trembled as the facts that surrounded this woman came to light in his mind—it only made sense, as Kiku embodied the mind of Japan, and with it came the knowledge of his people.

Another shadow. This time it was a worker standing on a ladder. His arm was extended a bit too high for his reach, and another moment might have sent him toppling from the ladder. On the ground, close to the ladder walked a pair of children, most likely on their way to school. And another shadow, on a small stairwell, of a man sitting peacefully while twiddling his thumbs marked the final resting place of another of Kiku's citizens.

Another shadow.

Kiku extended his hand towards it, even though it was so far away from him, imprinted on the side of a demolished brick building. A small girl had stood there, as evidence from her shadow, and her chin was tilted up in curiosity. The testament was so far away, and yet Kiku felt the heaviness of her loss in his heart—everyone's losses weighed on his heart.

How much would it have taken to make him another one of these shadows—these strange last-minute testaments of the victims in Hiroshima? He was certain that the blast would have killed him if not for his existence as a nation. He was beginning to wonder if it was worth it to live—would he have been better off etched into the ground, he wondered. While he'd had thoughts as to what Alfred's "secret weapon" was, he never would have imagined something of this magnitude.

Alfred. Kiku could barely place a clear face to the name as he thought of it.

The eerie silence that clouded the air began to drag on his feet and shoulders, slowing his pace as he walked around the city in search of survivors. Kiku's eyes continued to search the vicinity, even after he pushed himself to stand. He blinked his eyes a few times and felt more of the salty warm liquid spill down his cheeks, but he couldn't bring himself to wipe them away. His eyes had become a lens—a camera, of sorts—as the horrors he saw became ingrained in his memory.

As he walked further into the city, he saw the bodies. Could he call them bodies? They were scorched—bleeding, screaming, melting, begging, crying—bodies. One of the women at his feet gently brushed her fingers against the bottom of his pant leg, and Kiku immediately knelt to see her. Her voice was a low croak, but she managed to get something out.

"F-Fire…"

Kiku's breath escaped his lips in a disappointed tremble—not because he didn't know what she meant, but exactly the opposite. She was burning, or she felt as if she were, from the inside. He blinked again and felt more tears, but he couldn't let his strength falter now. Tenderly, he reached out and grabbed the woman's scorched hand in his own.

"I am sorry," he breathed, his voice trembling. "I am so… sorry."

( I fought with myself for 30 minutes before I could take the first picture. After taking the first, I grew strangely calm and wanted to get closer. I took about ten steps forward and tried to snap another, but the scenes I saw were so gruesome my view finder clouded with tears. )

Tears.

Kiku could barely remember the last time he shed a tear over anything.

[August 9th, 1945 | Nagasaki | 11:01 A.M.]

"W…Water… Please give me… water…"

Kiku had already rolled up his sleeves in order to begin his work in assisting the other doctors. He had wounds of his own, but they weren't nearly as important as nursing whoever he could back to health. The blast from the bomb dropped over Nagasaki left him crippled, certainly, but nothing would stop him. He made a promise that he would fight until he was perfectly unable to continue on, and to Kiku, that included carrying on in the face of adversity. He had been working too hard to notice the pain in his battered leg and arm, or the fact that he couldn't see out of one eye.

"H…Help me…"

He wasn't sure how he understood them, but their pleas and cries for help could not have been any louder in Kiku's mind. He hastily wiped his good eye before kneeling next to a man heavily scorched by the impact of the bomb. The blood was vibrant and fresh on his body, and the thick shirt he'd been wearing had melted onto his torso and stuck there—Kiku could only tell by the lighter shade of brown against the blackened and warped flesh.

"Give… me…"

"I cannot give you water now," Kiku reasoned gently as he glanced over the man's wounds. "Please… Hold on for a little while longer." His abdomen quivered as he tried to even his breath. To tend to any immediate problems, Kiku wrapped medical bandages around the man's bleeding areas, but even he knew that it was only temporary. How many people could he save when he could only see so many people at one time? He had also been strictly instructed to reject the one thing that they had all been begging for.

Water. Please, give me water.

A family of three sat together—huddling around something in a lopsided circle. Kiku wiped his forehead with the back of his hand before hurrying to them, holding a roll of medical tape and gauze at his side. By the time he'd made it to where they were sitting, his right leg collapsed beneath him and he fell to the ground in a heap. Even from a small distance, he could see the scorched discoloration of their skin—it was worse than some he had seen.

"I… I am here," he began, his voice surprisingly quiet for a reason unknown to even himself. His worried eyes remained focused on the family, and his grip on the medical tape grew tighter. "Please allow me to help you."

The woman turned around to face him, though Kiku was only able to recognize her as such because of his nation-intuition. He heard a shocked 'tsk!' escape his lips when his eyes met whatever this woman had left of hers.

Her face was leathery and black, and her eyes were only distinguishable because of their whiteness against her skin. Her nose was gone, and where a pair of lips should have been, a gaping hole existed instead. Blood dripped from the holes in her face, and a low drone conveyed the one wish Kiku knew was on her mind.

Water… Please, give me water.

Kiku's eyes welled up with tears as his hands fumbled for the gauze he held. Without saying a word, and without taking his eyes off of the woman, he leaned forward and dabbed at her wounds with the gauze. His hands were as steady as they would have been wielding anything else, but then, more than ever, he was especially careful. Something in his heart told him that if his hand faltered, he might break this woman.

After the temporary treatment was taken care of, the other members of the woman's family dragged themselves closer to Kiku, their voices expressing deepest wishes in the form of a wheezing drone. The youngest of the family simply extended his hands out in a begging motion.

Water. Water…

A hand suddenly appeared on Kiku's shoulder, though he wasn't startled.

"Sensei," said one of the fellow doctors. His voice was nervous and sad, more than anything else. Without saying another word to Kiku, he lifted up a small canteen—filled with water, without a doubt. The nation's lips pressed into a firm line as he stared at the container in the doctor's hands.

He had been specifically told that he wasn't to give any of the severe burn victims water, as it hastened the blood flow in their bodies and made them bleed to death from their wounds. While it satisfied their need and want for a cool and refreshing drink, it would be their last drink. Kiku's breath was shorter now, as he wondered whether or not it would be a sound idea to let some of the victims have a dying wish.

Tragic, that a dying wish had to be something as simple as a drink of water.

Kiku's single nod was enough for the doctor. He got up and grasped one hand in the other as he watched the man give the victims the canteen. More tears clouded his vision as he saw the first woman from the family bow her head in ultimate gratitude.

It wasn't until then that the nation realized the victims were crowded around the last member of the family, dead and bleeding on the ground. His flesh had been so mangled that Kiku thought he was a pile of clothes, at first.

Finally, the rest of his body had taken enough of the exhausting work, and he collapsed to the ground before walking ten feet away. He winced in the excruciating pain running through his veins and limbs, but his brain only told him to continue on. What kind of nation was he if he could not assist his fellows in every possible way? What kind of nation would be so careless as to let all of this happen?

Kiku's eyes closed swiftly.

"A-Ah…" he choked. The sadness was seeping through his vocal chords now, and his mutter had turned into more of a sob. He couldn't express the sorrow that he felt, nor could he express the apologetic surge swimming around his mind. He was sorry—sorry for everything.

Alfred.

He saw his face, finally, behind his closed eyelids. Tears continued to stream down his face, the moans and screams of his people filled his ears—and yet that man was on his mind, for whatever reason. He wished so badly that he could think of something else—anything else—until he had time to sort out his feelings about the war. He was thinking of too many things. He was remembering too many things.

A sick combination of the stench in the air, the cries of his people, and the image of an explosive cloud on his mind made him want to vomit.

And yet—

Among the rubble—the completely leveled rubble of Nagasaki—stood a thick, concrete torii gate. Kiku almost felt something (he wasn't sure what) surge inside of him before he raised his eyes to meet the gate in the midst of his cloudy vision. His fingers moved closer to his palms in the dirt, caking some of the discolored dirt beneath his fingers and in the subtle cracks in his skin. He must have been bleeding again, as he felt a warm pool re-form on his chest and trickle down his abdomen.

The whole city had suddenly grown quiet, too quiet, almost like the sick quiet it was the half-second before the bomb detonated.

"I… I am sorry," Kiku finally breathed, his voice breaking the silence. "I… I am…"

Finished.

[August 15th, 1945 | Hiroshima | 5:30 P.M.]

Kiku's eyes opened slowly. He hadn't remembered how long he had been asleep, but part of him hoped that some of the pain would be gone by the time he woke up. Unfortunately, that was still wishful thinking, as his wounds exploded with pain as he tried to move. He winced quietly and decided to stay put in hopes that nothing worse happened.

His gaze wandered to the window—his bed sat adjacent to it—and he peered out with curious eyes. The city was obliterated, but luckily, they received aid from the capital and the other surrounding cities. After the wounded had been immediately tended to, Kiku felt big plans blossoming in his future. His people were ready to face anything.

Including their surrender in the war.

The Emperor himself had announced it over the radio that morning—the Second World War had ended with their surrender to the Allied Forces. Only days ago, Kiku's boss had wanted anything but a surrender, even after the bombing of Hiroshima. While Truman threatened the nation repeatedly with talk of "a rain of ruin from the air," Kiku's boss had only grown more proud.

More blind, really.

As for Kiku, well, he didn't know what to think. Of course he had no intention of speaking with Alfred, or even with Ludwig or Feliciano. He couldn't deny that his pride was his downfall, but he made a promise to himself to fight until he couldn't fight anymore—even if he was the last one standing from the Axis. But he also couldn't fight the feeling of betrayal.

Who did he have to blame for all of this? Was there anyone to blame?

His thoughts were interrupted when a familiar face entered the room: it was his boss, Suzuki. Kiku would have stood to greet him, but his wounds prevented him from doing so. His face must have expressed some level of pain, as Suzuki simply raised a hand that conveyed his concern.

"Good evening, Mr. Suzuki," Kiku stammered, bowing his head, at least, to show respect. He buried his arms and legs beneath his thin, white blankets in an attempt to hide the hideous purple welts that had begun to form all over his limbs a day ago.

"Please, sit, Japan," he said calmly. Kiku tensed at the sound of his own name—it was always serious when his boss addressed him as such. "I take it you have heard the announcement?"

"We have surrendered, yes. I heard it… on the radio."

Not to mention he'd also heard of the assassination attempts on the man, as well as the rumors that suggested the man's resignation plans. Kiku tried to mask his questions with a stern face, but he knew that his eyes could never lie.

Almost as if he had heard and understood all of the nation's questions, Suzuki simply bowed once and removed his hat.

"Please… Take care," Suzuki wished calmly. "And, please, work hard."

Then, he smiled a sad sort of smile—one that knew defeat.

"Goodbye."

And with that—with that quiet 'sayonara'—Kiku's boss was gone. His eyes drifted to the floor, and his eyebrows gently furrowed above them as he tried to reason what might become of him. He hadn't the least idea who would replace the man, but he was going to work hard, certainly. After all, he had to fulfill Suzuki's wishes.

His efforts under his new boss were phenomenal, with the help of his hard-working people. While it took less than a second to destroy what history and memories they had built of Hiroshima, it took only years to rebuild it. Constant efforts into Nagasaki and Hiroshima had both cities slowly climbing back to their previous status.

Kiku even felt well enough to walk again.

Also well enough to ignore Alfred's troops stationed on his land. While he was infuriated at first, he remembered the wise words of his previous boss to "take care", so he tried his best to remain on his best behavior. (Though, by "best behavior", he meant hiding away somewhere else.)

That was when he received unexpected correspondence.

A letter was delivered to his room that morning: there was no return address on the envelope, but instead, a word written in tiny, blocky script on the front. It was his name using the Western alphabet—"Kiku." The nation furrowed his eyebrows quizzically and took the envelope in two hands, carefully examining the handwriting. It was tightly written, as if the author of those letters had been pressed for time while expending neatness. The ink was a dark blue, and a clumsy blotch stained the top corner of the envelope—evidence of a dropped pen.

All of that pointed to only one person, but what did he have to say?

And did Kiku want to read the letter—obviously addressed from one, Ludwig?

His natural curiosity got the better of him and he gently ripped through the sealed envelope to gently pull out the letter to read. Only seconds after unfolding the paper to read through his sloppy English, Kiku had the entire thing read.

Ludwig seemed different. Of course, the letter specifically said that he was currently occupied, but for some reason Kiku didn't believe that to be the cause. (However, at the same time, the letter was very Ludwig. The clipped awkwardness of his tone shone through his vocabulary. And how he introduced the letter admitting that he wouldn't take up much of Kiku's time.) Still, something about his words were apologetic, but still very proud—he didn't know what to make of it.

Let's move on.

The words didn't sound right in Kiku's mind, and he would have preferred hearing them face-to-face from Ludwig. What did he want them to move on from? Kiku knew that they had respective things to move on from, but not something together. Especially not when Ludwig and his bosses gave up so easily years ago.

However, something caught Kiku's attention that he might have missed the first time. It was hard to get Ludwig to admit to anything, but there it was, in plain sight, an admittance to the deeds he had committed during all those years. Getting a little red in the face, Kiku wished that the man were standing in the same room. Of course everyone knew about what Ludwig had done, but it still took courage to send those words to an old ally.

To Kiku, of all people—a man who committed similar, atrocious acts during that time as well.

Compelled by an unknown force, Kiku took up a sheet of paper and began drafting out a response to the German. He sighed before putting his pen to the paper, seeing as he hadn't had to use English in a while. Of course, it was likelier that his old ally would be able to read through his attempt at English as opposed to finding a translator for his Japanese. His words flowed freely across the page, aside from that.

"Let's move… on?" Kiku thought, pursing his lips into a firm line. "For… what?"

For the sake of peacing the world back together.

Kiku stopped at the words—he wasn't too skilled in English just yet, and that was his only excuse for using the wrong form of the word "piece." Surely Ludwig would criticize him for that: how embarrassing. He sighed softly and was about to reach for another sheet when—

He stopped.

He rather liked the blunder, as a thought.

The world had been split over the past few decades as a result of the World Wars—alliances were made and enemies formed across the entire world. Perhaps the only way to "piece" the world together was through peace? To "peace" the world back together? He hadn't thought the concept for a few years, considering that his heart and mind had been filled with anger ever since the attacks.

Peace.

A very honorable idea to strive for.

After he finished the letter, Kiku didn't bother to seal it up just yet. Instead he walked to the window and gazed out at the people—his people. They worked so hard to rebuild what was lost to them in 1945. Months ago, Alfred sent in a troop of men to begin testing the surviving victims of the atomic blast, and while Kiku found them horrific and abominable, he knew that they wouldn't last long. Aside from that, he had to begin showing the world how he truly felt.

How he truly wanted forgiveness. Perhaps an attempt to understand his enemy would bring him closer to the idea of friendship. It was a distant dream, but Kiku was determined.

He laid a hand against the window and closed his eyes.

Years ago, he would have seen the horrific images that he took mental snapshots of—the incinerated flesh, the bleeding mouths begging for water, the group of burning school kids running towards the river only to die before they got there… And the shadows.

Now, Kiku saw shining chance.

A colorful, origami crane appeared in his mind.

"I'll make 1,000 of them. Wait and see."

One girl had the power in her heart to learn to leave the past behind…

Why couldn't a nation?

[June, 2010 | Hiroshima]

Those had been some of the longest years in Kiku's memory.

How could a period so short have felt so long and drawn out? So many ugly and dirty memories stained the timeline of the 20th century, but luckily things had changed before the turn of the millennium. Even before then, Kiku slowly came to understand Alfred—and he respected Alfred. While he had remained angry with Kiku for years after Pearl Harbor, and Kiku was scarred by the trauma of the atomic bombs, both nations seemed willing to leave the dirty past behind.

And aside from that, both of them had become increasingly big fans of the other.

For the first time in a very long time, Alfred had taken Kiku around his land on one of his "awesome tourist-y trips." Of course, Kiku was never one to complain about opportunities to take pictures of countless buildings and statues. (What a guy—Thomas Jefferson!)

Luckily, he knew exactly how to return the favor.

"Woah! This place is crazy big," Alfred muttered in pure awe. Thankfully he hadn't had the chance to perform another number like his ridiculous "Shinjuku dance" he had to do upon arriving. Kiku smiled weakly and walked a little faster to catch up with Alfred's outrageously long strides. "Hey, hey, Kiku! What do you have planned today? Something fun?"

Kiku furrowed his eyebrows in thought. At this rate, everything was going to be a guessing game: what's fun for Alfred F. Jones? He was almost certain he would lose this game.

He made a mental note to ask Arthur for advice on what the energetic nation liked to do.

"Well, Mr. Alfred—"

"Oh jeez," Alfred piped up in a bit of a chuckle, grinning lopsidedly. "Why so formal? Can't you just… call me Alfred? None of that 'mister' stuff?"

Kiku sighed gently. "M-Mr. Alfred, you have reminded me, yes… But I have also reminded you that this is my custom, and I…"

"But it sounds so… stuffy."

"I… I am sorry, Alfred-san. I do not understand… stuffy. Could you… give me some time, so that I can have a better name for you?"

At this, Alfred simply chuckled and clapped Kiku on the shoulder with a big hand. While his big smile was the same as it usually was, his eyes gave off an apologetic gleam. Maybe this tour around the city wouldn't be so bad after all, Kiku thought.

"Dude, don't stress it. 'Alfred-san' works for me. Now, come on, we have stuff to do, right?"

Kiku frowned softly—mostly due to the fact that "Alfred-san" really was no different than the translated "Mr. Alfred," but he was right in thinking that they need to quicken their pace. Kiku had a row of tourist attractions and museums that any tourist in his home might need to see. He reached into his pocket and retrieved two subway tickets.

"Do you like museums?" he asked cautiously, hardly knowing if they'd be something to retain his interest. From what Kiku had heard, Alfred had seen his fair share of them around the world, so perhaps this was a good place to start. "I know of a few galleries we could see, if you would rather."

Alfred grinned in response. "Museums are cool, yeah."

Kiku could tell in the tone of his voice that him "seeing his fair share of them" really just meant "he was dragged to each and every museum." But, knowing Alfred and his obsession with anything older than 200 years or so, Kiku had a bid that this might work out.

"How about a tour of the car factory?" he suggested casually, yet still in his most reserved tone of voice. A tiny smile tugged at the corners of his lips when he saw Alfred's face light up with glee. "We can take the bus after our tour here."

"Oh, cool, that sounds awesome! Where do we start? Show me the way!"

The smile from Kiku's face slowly faded away, as he could only think of one prominent that the two of them shared history with in Hiroshima.

The Atomic Bomb Peace Memorial Museum.

Was that the right place to begin? Or the wrong one, entirely?

He felt too shy (or ashamed) to ask.

"Mm," Kiku began. "… Follow me, then."

Upon arriving at their destination, Kiku couldn't bear to look up and see the reaction on Alfred's face when he realized where they were at. He kept asking questions all the way there—where they were going, what they were doing, did it cost any money to go there, was there food—until he fell silent standing in front of the large, white building. He didn't want to make the man angry, and he was almost certain that he must have been seething with the emotion.

Surprisingly, the only thing he did was whistle.

Though, it was one of those low whistles he gave after someone did something pretty stupid—it started out low before peaking in pitch and going back down.

"I have a feeling… That this is might be weird," Alfred said honestly, with a humorless smile on his face. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jean shorts, shuffling about in those dorky sandals he wore. He looked at the ground, almost directly at his toes, before continuing. "Don't think that I don't know what this is."

"O-Of course we don't have to go, Alfred-san," Kiku spoke up quickly and nervously. "It was only a suggestion. I wouldn't want you to see—"

"See what? The shit I did?"

Kiku wasn't sure if he was joking or not. "Th-That is not what I meant, Alfred-san. How about… the next museum instead? It has a wide collection of swords and things…"

He must have said something to trigger a memory in Alfred's brain—a memory that Kiku hoped that he would remember. On their tour around Alfred's place, they made a stop in Hawaii. And on that stop, Kiku wanted to see the museum that they had there, documenting the attack on Pearl Harbor and how it fit into the war.

It was uncomfortable, and it brought up bad memories, definitely. But it also brought Kiku a sense of closure.

"Can I just… take a quick look around?" Alfred asked, almost gravely. Kiku stole a quick glance at the taller nation, trying to judge his emotion by his face. Sometimes, when he wanted to be, Alfred was one of the toughest nations to read. But then he smiled, plainly. "You don't have to walk with me, if you don't wanna."

Kiku simply nodded his head once. "It's your history just as it is mine, Alfred-san."

"Except it's pretty ugly, huh?"

The smaller nation couldn't exactly say no to that.

Together, walking side-by-side, the two nations walked into the museum and through the main doors, and they were greeted by dimmed lights.

For the majority of the walk around the three-story museum, Alfred simply stared at everything the place had to offer. Kiku couldn't judge if it was a good stare or a bad stare from where he was standing, but judging by the fact that he had remained silent during the entire thing testified in favor of his understanding. Panel after panel, Alfred stayed deathly silent as he read every word placed next to every artifact. The two of them exchanged very few words during their stay at the museum—Kiku muttered a quick "sorry" after bumping into Alfred after he'd stopped suddenly, and Alfred stated only one thing to him moments later.

"I bet you never wanted to see my face again," he began. "Or Arthur's. Or Yao's. Or anyone's, I guess."

Kiku refused to keep eye contact with the blue-eyed man—he didn't know what he would feel if he did.

"I had my own… problems, with Yao," he said softly. He tried to raise his voice, but something about the solemn air inside the museum prevented him from speaking any louder. "Problems not related to this. And as for you and Arthur-san…"

He sighed.

"I was angry. But then I realized… I could not go anywhere with anger. We were so divided—the rest of the world. Broken pieces. Anger would only serve as a threat to another World War, right?" Kiku looked at the giant map of a demolished Hiroshima, and soon after, Alfred followed his gaze carefully. The smaller nation lifted a hand to the giant picture and touched his hand to the Dome he knew so well. "A lesson like this… only needs to be learned once."

Let's move on. For the sake of "peacing" the world back together.

"I am sure that you felt the same way, Alfred-san," Kiku continued, trying to make a point of something without directly addressing it. "The anger, I mean. But now… it is okay. There is no one to blame."

Alfred was still very quiet, and Kiku knew precisely why. He knew that the man was still conflicted—his people were conflicted—about what happened in Hiroshima and Nagasaki in 1945. He had every right to be, and Kiku wasn't about to tell him otherwise. When the other nation didn't reply, Kiku brushed an imaginary fleck of dust off of his sleeve in order to disturb the silence. For a while, he thought that they were the only two inside of the museum.

It was so quiet—almost like the calm before the storm.

"But we can't forget," Alfred finally said, tearing his gaze away from the exhibit standing in front of him, encased in a glass box. He reached up and adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose. "Or else… What lessons can we keep if we wipe them from the slate?"

Kiku looked over at him, calmly.

"We can only move upwards from here, yeah?" Alfred continued. "Only up."

Those words being said, the blonde nation turned and ventured up the stairs towards the next exhibit. Kiku stole one look at the exhibit they had been standing at—a watch that suffered little damage from the explosion, forever stuck on a time that would live forever:

8:15 A.M.

What lessons can we keep if we wipe them from the slate?

"A-Alfred-san, please wait for me!" Kiku breathed as he chased after the other nation.

When they had finished looking through everything, two hours had passed, and they had seen, read, and watched everything in the museum. The last stretch of hallway was filled with videos of testimonials and drawn pictures from doctors and survivors at the site of Hiroshima. Alfred didn't spare a one, and he took time to read and look through all of them. Kiku had already walked ahead of him towards a booklet at the end of the hallway, where visitors could jot down any thoughts they felt while experiencing the place.

Kiku breathed quietly through his nose and lifted the pen off of the notebook, scrawling the same word he scrawled upon every visit to the museum. As he finished the last stroke of his kanji, his hand hovered over the neatly lined paper of the notebook, holding onto the pen.

The sound of the man's rubbery flip-flop shoes gave him away—Alfred was behind him.

"Woah, what's this?" he asked gently, reading through all of the comments in countless different languages. "Do I get to write in it?"

"If you would like to, yes," Kiku said with a small smile on his face, handing the pen over to Alfred. His eagerness must have shown through in his eyes, because Alfred met his gaze and chuckled. To give him privacy, he turned his gaze away and he saw the small box of paper that had always sat there.

Origami paper.

"Whew," Alfred breathed out, finally. Part of his tension seemed to disappear, though his eyes still suggested the sadness he felt. He set the pen down on top of the paper and turned to look at Kiku again—he had lost a lot of energy since their arrival in Hiroshima.

Kiku felt terrible.

"So… Where are we going to next again?" Alfred questioned, doing a fine job at trying to mask his feelings. "I hope it's somewhere with food, because I'm pretty starving, right about now."

"I… I have an idea, Alfred-san," Kiku said cautiously. "One last stop before we have lunch?"

Alfred shrugged. "Shoot, why not?

"Could you grab two sheets from that box? We will need them for where we are going."

The blonde nation nodded his head and walked towards the box to retrieve two sheets of origami paper. He seemed to attract the attention of nearby school boys, whose eyes widened in awe as Alfred approached them. Kiku couldn't suppress his smile when they immediately started asking him where he was from and why he was so tall.

Well, that certainly brought a smile to Alfred's face.

While he was away playing the role of some kind of celebrity, Kiku couldn't resist stealing one glance at the words Alfred wrote in the journal. He didn't know what to expect, aside from something tragic, or highly apologetic. He hoped that he didn't make him feel as if he had to be apologetic for anything, which was why he couldn't resist seeing the words for himself.

'Never again.'

Kiku's eyes traveled across the journal to make sure his words and handwriting matched up with the name he used to sign it—Alfred F. Jones. Those were most certainly the words the nation had written in that notebook. He read them for a second time:

'Never again.'

What did it mean, Kiku wondered. Well, of course he knew what it was related to, but it wasn't until he recalled the conversation the two of them had in front of the watch that Kiku pieced the two together.

What lessons can we keep if we wipe them from the slate?

A lesson like this only needs to be learned once.

Kiku's eyes darted towards the other nation, who had knelt down to let a young schoolgirl play with his golden hair. His breath hitched in his mouth, and a certain feeling spread through his limbs and heart. He wasn't sure what it was yet, but the combination of those words and the sight of Alfred talking with all of the school kids spoke volumes.

"Sensei, sensei!" one of the boys piped up as Kiku walked closer. "This man says he's from America!"

Kiku sighed—if only they knew that he was America.

"So pretty…" said the little girl, still thumbing through Alfred's hair. While she did that, one of the boys reached out and poked Alfred right in the middle of his glasses, which caused him to cry out and blink a few times.

"Hey, I need those!" he replied with a laugh.

"Do you like baseball?"

"Are you a cowboy?"

"You're so huge!"

"Are you a superhero?"

The last question came from the little girl who had been playing with Alfred's hair. She shuffled on her feet—buckled into small, pink shoes—and she put her hands in front of her lips as if she hadn't meant to ask the question. She let het hard yellow hat fall down in front of her eyes, like she was too nervous to look a superhero in the eyes. Kiku looked towards her in wonder, and he could almost sense Alfred's shoulders tense at the inquisition.

They exchanged glances, and Kiku took that to mean that he didn't understand her.

"O-Oh, she asked—"

"I know what she said."

Alfred turned back to the little girl and gave her one of his characteristic, lopsided grins before lifting her hat up. "Would you believe me… if I said that I was?"

The young girl gazed up at Kiku, who translated softly in return. When she realized what Alfred had asked, she turned to him and nodded her head quickly. Alfred apparently had expected a different response, and the grin lead into a chuckle, which seemed to be infectious amongst the group. "I bet anyone could be a superhero, y'know." Kiku wasn't sure whether Alfred was addressing him, the children, or both—but whatever the case was, he still smiled in response. When his volume had dropped, the kids had moved in closer to hear him.

It took them awhile to realize how close they were until the boys started inquiring all sorts of questions about him.

"Can you shoot lasers out of your eyes?"

"That's stupid! He has to be able to fly first, dummy!"

"I want to see, I want to see!"

"That's enough, now," Kiku finally interrupted, a smile still touching his lips. He looked at all of the children like a father might look at his children when they were being too rowdy. "Say goodbye to Alfred-san."

"Goodbye, Alfred-san!" the kids chorused together, bowing their heads only slightly so that their yellow hats didn't fall from their heads. The littlest girl followed Alfred with her eyes as he stood to his full height, and she said quietly, "Goodbye, Mr. Superhero."

"Wow! Did you see those kids' faces? They really thought I was the real-deal, huh?"

"Yes, they were very taken by you."

"She kept playing with my hair, too—Man, I've never seen anything cuter than that. And I've seen some pretty damn cute things, Kiku."

"Natural blonde hair is not common for them," Kiku chuckled—glad to see that Alfred had cheered up in the past half hour. He walked quickly to catch up with the other nation's excited strides. "And blue eyes…"

"She called me a superhero," Alfred said with the last of his breath. The grin that was there before dwindled into a simple smile, but he was still smiling nonetheless. His pace had slowed dramatically, as well. He turned his head to look at Kiku. "After seeing all that… She called me a superhero."

The shock in his voice could only made Kiku smile—it had been a pleasant surprise, then.

"As nations… we forget, Alfred-san," he said as he slowed down to match the new pace they were walking at. "We have seen more. We have lived… longer. Those children were born in a time of cleansing, and forgiveness. Much like the children I have met in your land."

When Alfred hesitated, Kiku seized the opportunity to continue. "It is as you said," he explained. "We can only… go upwards."

After he finished, he nodded his head to affirm his own thoughts in his head. He looked up and exchanged a plain smile with Alfred, who was already looking far more cheerful than he had after they left the museum. He reached up and scratched the area behind his neck before adjusting his glasses.

"So, where are we going, anyway? You never told me, and the curiosity is killing me."

"We are close now. Alfred-san, take one of these."

He held out one of the origami sheets that they collected from the museum, and he placed it gently in the other nation's hands. With hopeful eyes, he looked up and met Alfred's gaze with his own. "Look, over there."

In the middle of a secluded park stood a giant statue—almost immediately, Alfred's eyes went to the top of the structure. When he realized what it might be for, an awed sigh escaped his lips, and he slowly turned his head to see all of the other crafts surrounding it.

Kiku followed his eyes—Alfred had been drawn to the blue ones first.

Strings and strings of cranes dangled from the structures surrounding the statue. Small, folded paper cranes had been made into chains and other artistic pieces—while one was beautiful to look at, to see them in such quantity was breathtaking. A touched smile appeared on Alfred's face, which was the tell-tale sign that something struck a chord in his heart.

"It's a memorial," Kiku began, answering the questions that Alfred was too awestruck to ask. He looked up at the sky and smiled, remembering the girl that pioneered the movement. "For all of the children…"

"And why the cranes?"

"They are for Sasaki-san—Er, excuse me, Sadako Sasaki. The girl who wanted to make… a thousand of them."

I'll make 1,000 of them. Wait and see.

Kiku could almost hear her voice like she was standing right next to him. Her story was fairly popular, and no doubt Alfred had already heard about it. And if he hadn't, Kiku had no intention of spilling the rest of the story unless he specifically asked. He seemed so fond of the children, and he hoped that this wouldn't crush his spirit.

"Did she make them?" Alfred inquired eagerly, his eyes wide. "Did she finish them?"

Kiku sighed silently.

"No, she did not…" he started quietly. When he saw Alfred nod his head slowly, he knew that something clicked in the nation's head. Though, Kiku wasn't about to give up. He shuffled on his feet and tried to come up with something good, in his head. He had a bad habit of saying things the wrong way. "B-But… Everyone in the city leaves cranes for Sasaki-san. They finished the cranes for her, in hopes for achieving peace."

Alfred looked up with bright, blue eyes.

"Peace?"

"Would you… like to make one, Alfred-san?"

Alfred stared at the paper that he'd been given earlier, finally making sense of the point of the visit. Kiku sensed no trace of hesitance in his actions, thought the decision was Alfred's to make.

He had given him the paper—but Alfred had to fold the crane.

"Show me how to do it," Alfred said, at last. A big grin burst onto his face, and he held up the paper with two fingers. "I'll make this the best crane I've folded in my life."

Smiling, Kiku stood closer to the blonde nation and began showing him the process of folding a delicate, paper crane. Alfred was frustrated at first—he had never done something like this before. However, his insistence to learn and his drive to do his best only helped him. After a few steps, Kiku only had to show him once before his pupil was able to replicate it on the first try.

They had finally finished. While Kiku only encouraged Alfred, saying that his crane was very unique, the other nation could only complain about it. ("Man, this thing totally has a fat head," he kept saying. "And its butt is as big as its body!") Gently, Kiku took the crane in his hands and held it next to his own, pink crane.

"Give me another chance and I'll make one that doesn't suck so bad!" Alfred whined. "And stop holding it right next to yours, jeez!"

"But you made it from your heart, Alfred-san," Kiku reasoned. "That is what matters the most."

He shuffled towards the nearest collection of crane chains, and Kiku attached it carefully to the end using a bit of string. The two cranes hung there, side by side, and they rustled against each other in the humid summer wind. Kiku was so pleased with how they turned out that he bowed his head in respect.

"Thank you," he whispered. "Thank you very much."

With nothing but a contented smile on his face, Kiku turned around and walked back to Alfred, who had resumed looking at the Children's Memorial.

"Are you hungry, Alfred-san?" Kiku asked. "There is a wonderful kaiten sushi bar only a few blocks away."

Alfred breathed a huge sigh of relief. "Whew, I was wondering when you were gonna ask. Dude, I'm so starved. And I could go for a soda. I could have sworn that we passed a vending machine on the way here…"

"I am sure we did," Kiku replied with a chuckle. "Here. Follow me."

As they were about to walk away from the memorial, Alfred suddenly stopped and looked at one of the collages of colored paper cranes off to the side. The background was comprised of a rainbow of different cranes, and a slew of white cranes came together to form a flying dove in the foreground of the picture. And in the corner, a familiar kanji was placed using yellow cranes.

"Wow," Alfred said, in awe. "That's awesome. Hey, Kiku, what's that symbol say?"

"Hm?"

"That one in the corner there... It kinda looks like the one you drew in the journal back at the museum. What's it say?"

Kiku felt touched that Alfred even remembered, or the fact that he read what he had to say in the journal. A blush tinged his cheeks and he bowed his head in order to avoid Alfred's direct gaze. How flattering, he thought. And now, more than ever, he felt an elated feeling bubble up inside of him.

His heart pounded inside of his chest, but something was strange—

Perhaps the strangest part was that it didn't make a sound.

For years of tension after the attack on Pearl Harbor and the bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, he had only longed for this conversation with Alfred F. Jones—the United States of America. For too long, the nations had been forced to face years of an awkward sort of relationship—could they have talked about the attacks… or maybe that 'could' was a 'should.' Even later, their friendship had been mended, but other parties were demanding apologies for whatever reason, while debates surrounding the bombs raged at Alfred's place.

"Is it a mystery?" Alfred joked, teasing Kiku for taking so long to respond. "What is it?"

And then Kiku realized where the two nations were now. They were world powers—allies, friends, nations that had stories to tell, among other things.

For years, Kiku wanted to say the word that had been dying to escape his lips instead of being drawn out on paper alone:

"Heiwa," Kiku said modestly. "Peace."

- End.

A few notes:

"View finder clouded with tears" - Quote courtesy of Yoshito Matsushige, a photo journalist on site after the Hiroshima bombings. He described his feelings as he took pictures, and it's such a compelling quote, I had to put it in the story.

Sadako Sasaki - The girl who wanted to fold 1,000 cranes before her death. She was diagnosed with Leukemia due to the effects of the bombing, and her doctors told her that she wouldn't survive, so she vowed to make 1,000 paper cranes during her stay in the hospital. The story goes that she only finished about 600 or so before she died, but the memorial does exists in her honor, and the honor of all of the children victims of the bombings. (Along with the tradition of making a crane for her. I've made one for her, as well!)

Why June 2010 for the last section? - That's when I took my trip to Japan. ^^ A stupid reason, I know, but I learned so much from that trip.

And finally, thank you for reading this. Any constructive criticism is great and HUGELY appreciated. However, please save any debates over the bombing for some place else: reviews are lovely, but debates are not. I tried to keep my story as open-ended as possible for this reason, as I only wanted to show the facts of history through this fanfiction. Thank you so much!