Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or the song "The Devil went down to Georgia." They belong to Hidekaz Himaruya and the Charlie Daniels band.

Georgia, United States of America, Autumn of indeterminate year

The brightly colored leaves were splendid this time of year. The beautiful shades of red and yellow and orange practically danced together. The trees seemed almost to throw them, like confetti.

Indeed, it provided the perfect backdrop for his fiddle practice. Alfred F. Jones had come out to play said fiddle to get away from Arthur. All he heard was, "Alfred, you're playing that violin wrong!" or "Alfred, don't kill that poor bloody instrument!" He had it. If the Englishman was displeased with the way he played, then fine. He would go somewhere else.

Looking for a nice place to sit, Alfred found a couple of stumps in a clearing. Perfect for makeshift chairs. Approaching them, he looked around in case he had been followed. Seeing no one, he sat down and began to play.

Alfred lost himself in his fiddle playing. He could forget about his country's problems for a short time. Arthur wasn't nagging or yelling at him. All there was in the air was the sound of his fiddle.

He was pretty damn good at it, too. Sometimes he would secretly play it in his house with company over. Other times he played out in the open, just to piss off his former big brother if he wanted to.

Out here, there was no one. Just him and his favorite fiddle. Practice makes perfect, and he had been practicing for quite a bit now. Of course, he was supposed to play it like a proper violin, but he certainly didn't care.

The American played his favorite songs on his fiddle, or at least the ones he could play. He was so focused on practicing, he didn't hear the leaves crunching behind him.

"Well, now, you're quite the master of that instrument, aren't you?" Alfred jumped, almost playing a sour note. He honestly didn't realize someone else was out here. He turned around, expecting to see Arthur or one of his soldiers.

Neither was the case. This person was dressed almost entirely in black. He wore what seemed like a fancy longcoat, topped off with a wide-brimmed hat. His hair, which peeked out from under his hat, was deep red, almost the color of flame.

All in all, the man didn't look half bad. Alfred was still sort of left hanging from his question, though.

"Uh...Thanks?" He tried to smile, rather disturbed, yet a bit flattered. The stranger walked over, jumping up onto the stump nearest Alfred.

"No, I mean it. You're quite amazing, unlike most imbeciles I live with." His voice seemed almost to echo. He bent down and looked Alfred right in the eyes, flipping his hat's brim up. His eyes were a dark yellow color, almost like a cat's.

"I will tell you what, young man. See, I'm in a bit of a bind. I require something that should not be disclosed to those like you." Those like Alfred? What was he talking about? "See, I myself am quite proficent in the art of fiddle playing."

Alfred watched as he produced a case from his back, as if from nowhere. "What if we make a deal? We have a contest, to see who is better. If you win," the man pulled out something Alfred never expected to see.

"Whoa..." What he was before him was a fiddle made of pure gold. It shone beautifully in the autumn sun. The stranger put it away, pulling out his own fiddle.

"And if you lose...well, let us wager should we get to that." The American was unaware of what the man really wanted.

"Well, okay, but I gotta warn you, dude! I'm pretty much the best fiddle player there is!" Al wasn't sure where that sudden burst of cockiness came from, but he didn't want to look intimidated in front of this strange visitor.

"First things first. What's your name, son?" Alfred didn't want to use his real name, so he thought up of one on the spot.

"You can call me Johnny. You?" The man in black smirked.

"My own name is not of importance, 'Johnny'." He didn't seem to buy it, but he seemed to be going with it. "Very well, then. I'll start this little battle of musical wits."

Alfred could've sworn he saw fire coming from his fingertips as he moved to begin. As soon as the bow touched the strings, a loud hissing noise seemed to echo in his mind.

It wasn't because the instrument was out of tune, though. It wasn't anything like that. Al just couldn't put his finger on it, but something seemed off.

One thing was for sure, though. The man was right when it came to playing well. His speed, his complexity, the way he played so accurately. All these things indicated how good he was. The buildup was excellent, as well.

The former colony watched as he played. His fingers were almost too fast to see. All he saw was a blur. He also heard sounds that didn't seem to come from the man's fiddle. It was strange.

After about five minutes (or ten, Alfred wasn't really counting), the man ended his playing. He then motioned to Alfred that it was his turn.

"Hey, you're pretty good, man." The American stood up, offering his stump to the man in black. "But let me show you how to do it."

The man sat, cross-legged, waiting for Alfred to start playing. Al steadied himself, raising his bow. He let all distracting thoughts leave his mind, focusing only on his fiddle.

Then he began. Alfred let all his practice be put to the test. He didn't dare slack off in the beginning. He started off simple, then slowly got more complicated.

He let his fingers do their thing with the strings. It was as if they had a mind of their own. His arm holding the bow moved practically of its own free will. The fiddle almost seemed to become a part of Alfred's body.

Alfred closed his eyes. He lost himself in the fiddle playing. Yet he didn't slip up once. He danced in place, getting caught up in the moment. He played for what seemed like an eternity, when it was really only about ten minutes.

He knew he was showing off at this point, but he was sure his rival wouldn't mind. He played so fast, so complex, and yet so accurately.

Finally, Alfred stopped. He turned to his guest, and smirked. He wanted to say something snarky like, "well, how'd you like that?" but settled for a "Heh."

The man in black bowed his head. He knew when he had been defeated. Gently, he pulled out the golden fiddle, and laid it at the American's feet.

"Well, Johnny, it's obvious who is the greatest at fiddle playing." Alfred gave a big smile.

"You know, if you ever want a rematch, just come on back here! I'll repeat what I said earlier, though. I'm the best fiddle player there is!" The man said nothing, merely nodding. He turned to go.

As he was leaving, Alfred turned his back to him and resumed practicing. The American didn't see the man descending into the ground, via fiery portal. He simply played his beloved instrument.

Later, he would show his golden prize to Arthur. Maybe he would even rub it in his face a bit. But for now, he would play.

For today, his fiddle playing had made him victorious.

You know what to do, right? R&R if you liked it.

-Emerald-Shadow-Knight