My Brother's Pain

A/N: I was reading a fiction the other day about the Italy's convulsing because they had been hit by an earthquake. I remember reading stories like that about America and his 9/11 tragedy. I thought…what about Canada (my favourite character, of course)! Then it hit me! OH YEAH! The Halifax Explosion! So I started writing it at 3 am this morning. Low and behold as I'm researching the incident I find out that today (the day I started writing it – December 6th) is the 94th anniversary of the event. Co-incidence? But anyway, it's a terribly sad tragedy and is considered Canada's version "Hiroshima/Nagasaki", the "Titanic", "Chicago Fire", "Fire of London", etc.

A/N2: Yes, the "Canada Loves New York Weekend Rally" really did happen. Approximately 5,000 Canadians showed up to give support to the City of New York and help raise funds for the Fire Department.

A/N3: I'm hoping to have the second half of this story up by midnight. No promises though. Definitely by the end of the week.

December 1st, 2001 – New York City, USA (2:25 pm)

America stared in awe of the massive lineup outside the Roseland Ballroom in New York City. The crowd extended itself down the street to the point where he could not even see where it ended. After the attacks on his World Trade Centre, Canada, his neighbour and best friend, had insisted on doing something to cheer him up. America had already been content with Canada's willingness to help all of the two hundred plus American aircraft that could not land after his airspace was closed, but Canada was Canada and the Great White North lived to give.

Today was "Canada loves New York City Day" in the United States, particularly in New York City. America had to admit that he had been anticipating it. All of Canada's plans sounded so exciting. His neighbours own Prime Minister was expected to show up too. So many people had travelled across the border to attend the event. There was no way they would all fit inside the banquet hall. America put on a tough face knowing people would be let down. To his, and his police force's, surprise no one seemed upset at all. They were just happy to be there.

"America!" Canada called out to him, sporting a blue shirt with the event's name on it.

"Oh hey," America smiled. He looked back to the never ending crowd, "I can't believe all these people showed up."

Canada placed a hand on his neighbour's shoulder, "Of course they did. We really want to help. What happened to you was awful. It shouldn't be allowed to happen to anyone."

America gave his look-alike a heart-warming curl of the lips. He and Canada were the ultimate "vitriol best buds". They often scorned each other for the dumbest things and took swipes at each other whenever possible. Canada would nag at America for being too capitalistic and failing to provide his countrymen with adequate healthcare while America berated Canada for replacing his once strong army with flimsy peacekeepers and being a snobby. They'd rub their victories (especially in sports) in each other's faces and take advantage of each other when they were being criticized by others. Despite being utter opposites and their seemingly rocky relationship the two actually had strong feelings for each other. When they worked together, which they often did, they were a formidable force. They had also gained each other's great respect over the last sixty years. They had grown to see each other not just as friends but as "brothers".

"The doors are opening soon." Matthew handed Alfred a folded program.

"It's too bad most of these people are going to miss out."

Matthew winked, "I wouldn't worry."

America paused waiting for a response.

Canada continued, "We contacted the people who control those huge TVs in Times Square. They said they'd put the concert on the screen."

Alfred laughed, slapping his forehead, "Of course you'd do that. That's just like you…putting a giant, creative foot forward."

"Today's a great day," Canada quickly glanced at his watch, then to the crowd, "I want everyone to enjoy it; both my Canadians, and your Americans."

America watched his friend for a second before checking his own watch. Canada interrupted his blank mind.

"Besides, sometimes we need a reminder that there are people who care about us."

Alfred looked up. Canada was staring at the ground sympathetically. He was using his shoe to play with a small stone on the sidewalk.

"I mean," Canada continued, "I know how it feels. You know…to feel alone and in need…"

An event organizer rushed over to Canada causing him to lose his train of thought. The staff member informed the two nations that they were going to open the doors to let people in now. The two countries nodded and made their way inside making sure to wave and thank those who were lined up near the front for their patience.

As the hordes of people made their way inside America found himself staring at Canada. The Canadians words were still in his head. I know how it feels…to feel lonely and in need… Just what was Canada talking about? As he reflected on his own situation it dawned on him.

"Oh…" America whispered to himself, "He means…that day."

December 6th, 1917 – Boston, Massachusetts, USA (8:35 am)

America stretched rolling out of bed. Releasing a giant yawn, he scratched his back and made his way to the kitchen. He opened the fridge door and pulled out two pieces of bread. Carefully fitting them into the electric toaster he turned the machine on and twisted the time nob so the toast wouldn't get burnt. While waiting for breakfast to finish heating up the American made his way to the front door to collect his milk bottle and morning newspaper.

Re-entering the kitchen he placed his warm toast on a plate, carrying it over to the table. He sat down, but grumbled when he noticed water leaking from the ice box his refrigerator was sitting on to keep his food cool.

"Man," He wiped up the spillage with a thick, white hand towel, "I need one of those new self-contained fridges, with the compressor on the bottom."

The thought did make him smile however. How technologically advanced he'd become in such a short time. He was now the world's leading maker of house appliances. He even made great automobiles!

Wandering to the backroom, he threw the damp towel in the hamper and returned to the kitchen for a third time. Now he could finally eat. America dressed his toast with butter and chewed rather quickly while reading the paper.

"Let's see," America flipped through the pages, "What's happening on the Western Front today."

A war was raging on in Europe and the American, reluctantly, had finally gotten caught up in all the ruckus. Not only had Germany attacked one of his cruise liners but there was also a potential threat looming from Mexico. It was all too much to ignore, prompting the American to finally declare war in April on Germany and his allies.

America was not the only one fighting. Britain, France, and their dominions and colonies were involved too. The one America was most interested in was Canada, his neighbour. He followed nearly everything the Canuck was doing and experiencing. Everything from the gas attacks on his people in the Second Battle of Ypres in 1914 to the Second Battle of Passchendaele, ending only a month earlier. He found himself becoming rather impression, almost infatuated, with his long-time adversary's strength. He had known Canada was tough – he had to be to have pushed the greatest nation that ever existed back across the border nearly a hundred years ago – but the kid was practically decimating Germany and Prussia on his own.

A knock on the door gave cause for America to put down his paper. It was probably the mailman. The mail services were urging people to put wall-mounted letterboxes or slots in the door to make the process of delivering mail quicker, but as far as America was concerned, if they really wanted it, they could pay for it. Until then he'd continue to answer the door. He liked a good conversation in the morning – helped him wake up.

"Ah," The burly man with a thick brown mustache handed Alfred his bundle of letters and postcards, "Mornin' Mr. Jones."

America nodded, "Mornin' to you too. How's it going?"

"Same as always. I hear you're shippin' out to Europe soon. That right?"

Alfred sighed, "Yeah, unfortunately. I'm not overly enthusiastic about it, though I can't complain too much. I mean, who wouldn't want to run in and be the hero or a horrifying war?"

"I just hope this doesn't have any nasty repercussions for us."

"I'm sure it'll be fine." America shrugged the man's worries off. "I mean, we're strongest country there is!"

The mailman raised an eyebrow. It had been over fifty years since America's last war…and that one was against himself.

America laughed, "Alright, alright. But I will prove it to you and everyone else! There's no better way than the American way!"

The man tipped his hand and made his way down the steps at the front of the house, "I've never doubted you before kid, I don't plan on starting now."

The American grinned watching the mail carrier make his way to the next house. After taking a moment to enjoy the sun's warm rays he closed the door behind him. Looking down he noticed he still wasn't dressed. And he had spoken to the mailman like this! How embarrassing!

Heading back to his room America clothed himself, brushed his teeth, and quickly ran his hands through his smooth, dirty-blond hair.

He made his way back to the front door and exited his home. He had noticed this morning that he was out of eggs so he decided to head to the local farmer's market. Ooh, but he was heading to war soon…would he need a dozen eggs? Shrugging it off, he concluded that he'd go anyway. He could pick up some poultry for dinner and have a nice meal for once. Maybe the cutie next door would come over and join him if he asked her nicely. If he played his cards right, he'd get a little more than that.

Upon reaching the market he checked his pocket watch. It was 9:25 am. He strolled down the aisles looking at all the delicious products on display. He had come for some poultry and eggs (he decided to get them after all) but had left with much more than that. His bag were filled with apples, tomatoes, carrots, and a few "meals in a can" – something that was all the rage with Italian and French soldiers overseas. He had promised Canada in a past letter to send him some as England was hardly able to feed his soldiers anymore. The Canadian was practically living off of cigarettes, chocolate and whatever his country's Victory Bonds could afford – and some preservatives from his homeland's Victory Gardens. What made America feel worst of all was thinking that Dominions like Canada, Australia and New Zealand were being forced to eat England's cooking. Alfred shuddered at the thought.

Making his way home again he noticed a group of men chatting away looking awfully concerned and frightened. America made his way over to them wondering what all the commotion was. There were policeman, fireman, and even a few politicians amongst regular citizens who all seemed eager to make action.

"Hey," America approached the Mayor, "What's going on? Why is everyone so upset?"

"You haven't heard then?" The Mayor of Boston gave a grimace look to his national representative.

"No," Alfred blinked, "Should I have?"

"It's Canada. The Halifax Harbour…the whole city. Gone. It blew up."

America gawked, awestricken. He couldn't think of a word or even sound to express his shock.

December 6th, 1917 – Halifax, Nova Scotia, Canada (8:55 am)

Canada carried a large steel tin outside, hoping to attend to his personal Victory Garden. After his success at Passchendaele he had been granted some time off and had decided to head home for a short visit.

As a stream of water pour out of the watering can a voice called out to him.

"Mr. Canada!"

Matthew looked up to see one of the privates who had returned with him running towards him. He was wearing his army uniform and waving frantically, sweat running down his face.

At first Canada was concerned, but he had fought with this particular soldier in the trenches and knew this young boy, no more than seventeen, tended to be a bit of a worrier.

"Jackson," The Canadian spoke to the Halifax native in a comforting voice, "You don't have to call me that. We're friends. You can call me Matthew."

Jackson didn't have time for pleasantries as he stopped to catch his breath momentarily. "Mr. William's, sir," he started, ignoring Canada's friendly request. The young man had chosen not to be formal with the nation since humans often got chastised for doing so. There was great concern amongst soldiers and Generals, not to mention political leaders, that favouritism might arise out of sharing a bond with one of the personified countries. "I received a wired telegram! There's been an accident at the Harbour!"

Canada blinked for a moment, taking all of the information in. He had a pretty solid system for ships coming in and out. How could this have happened? "What happened?"

"The Norwegian Imo was leaving," Canada nodded listening. He recalled they had scheduled to leave the dock that morning, "but there was a tugboat coming in so they had to exit on the right side."

Uh-oh. Canada's system called for incoming boats to enter on the right side of The Narrow, and ships leaving were supposed to travel up the left side. This already had disaster written on it. "And?"

"And the Imo was travelling too fast sir! Seven knots!" That was way too fast to be travelling in The Narrow.

"Did they hit the tugboat?"

"No sir, but," The young man shuffled his feet looking incredibly nervous; "it hit a bigger ship."

"A bigger one!"

"Yes, the Mont Blanc."

Matthew tilted his head in confusion. He'd heard of the Mont Blanc, it was one of France's cargo ships. He figured the Navy Harbour Commander, Frederick Wyatt, had cleared the vessel to enter. Last Canada had checked it was on route from New York where it had picked up wartime ammunitions.

The young man continued, "The Mont Blanc signalled that it had the right-of-way, but the Imo wouldn't get out of the way. They hit each other around 8:40 this morning."

Canada looked at his watch. That was fifteen minutes ago. Why was he only hearing about this now?

"They caught fire about ten minutes later."

Ah, Canada thought to himself. That's probably when this solider had started running up the hill where Canada's house stood surrounded by nothing but grass and a few trees. He had decided to live farther away from the ocean because every time he looked out there all he could think of was Louisburg and the Seven Years War. It gave him chills to think of what America and England had done to the Acadians, and how France had abandoned him when he was needed the most. The only good memory he had east of his Maritime home was the signing of his Confederation Papers in Charlottetown, Prince Edward Island.

"Sir," Canada's attention was caught by the frantic, young Haligonian, "There are explosives on the Mont Blanc! They're trying to get people to evacuate the city."

The northern nation dropped his water can and ran towards where the hill slopped down to the city. When he got there, followed by Jackson, he watched in horror as snow billowed up from the ships as they drifted eerily close to Richmond, near the north end of the city. How had Canada missed the smoke before? He frowned knowing all too well that his distraction was caused by his desire for a normal, peaceful day. He was angry at himself for not having paid attention, especially since he had spent the past three years heightening his instincts and senses.

Turning back to his house Canada took off at lightning speed. He called back to Jackson to inform him that he was going to change and head down to the harbour. The Halifax soldier took off down the hill and back towards where he had come from.

Canada quickly pulled his black, knee-high boots and threw on his grey Service Dress jacket. His Battle Dress blouse hung loosely, as he was in too much of a rush to tuck it in. He also neglected to do up any of the seven, medium sized buttons on his dark, sandy-brown Service jacket. Looking quickly at his watch, 9:04 am, he raced out the door.

As his foot hit the giant stone block acting as a welcome mat at his front door a large tremor made him lose balance. The landscape shook violently as Matthew fell to the ground. As his hit the dirt below him a blinding flash of light crossed the sky.

"What the-" Canada barely had time to conclude what had just occurred as a powerful gust of wind knocked him back. He had to grab onto the corner of the stone mat just to hold himself down. The windows of his house rattled, one breaking into pieces. The Canadian got up rather dazed. He was a good forty minute walk away from the harbour but had felt the enormous eruption for where he stood. He shuddered. If he and his home were affected from this far out…what condition would the harbour and the city be in?