I

Visitor

A steady light rain fell, turning the once dry Virginia soil into a thick layer of mud. A lone figure stood outside one of the tents near the center of the American camp, his woolen blue coat turning dark once the raindrops hit until he backed up until he was underneath the tent overhang. America blinked as though to clear the water from his eyelids, but otherwise did not move after that. He silently wondered why the skies chose to open up now, so close to a potentially key battle in his fight for independence.

He just knew that this battle was going to be important. He couldn't explain why, but he just knew.

That was probably because Yorktown could potentially be the deathblow to the flailing British Empire.

To the actual empire in American lands that is, America knew that it would take more than a measly little war to bring down Arthur Kirkland, the personification of the British Empire, permanently. If France's stories weren't enough, then the bedtime stories that England told were.

America just had to win this war. Then this nonsense could end, England would retreat from this part of the continent, and America could be his own independent country.

"It may be raining now, but don't let your guard down. I wouldn't put it past England to try something in this weather, he probably senses that Yorktown is the deciding factor as well and might try to stall the battle off as long as possible," Prussia said, appearing suddenly at America's side and startling the American. The Prussian frowned as America regained his footing, and said, "Do I need to re-teach how to listen for sneak attacks?"

America immediately remembered the pain involved with those particular training sessions. "No thank you, I remember now," he mumbled, flushing slightly at Prussia's snort of disbelief.

"Well, pay attention to your surroundings at least. We'll work on the rest before Yorktown," he said. He fell silent for a moment, staring off in the direction of the ocean, and America wondered if the Prussian was thinking of someone or something he might have left behind in Europe. A lover, or perhaps a brother or a friend was still there. America instinctively knew not to ask and pry into the other nation's business.

"Well," America said finally, carefully breaking the silence between the two of them, "Now that you're here, what is that you wanted? Or was the whole point to scare me?"

"Nah, I came here because Bonnefoy was looking for you. Something about a simple strategy to nudge the odds into our favor in the upcoming days," Prussia said, snapping back to the present. "Especially since the British still have a strong foothold here in the South."

America nodded. While the Americans were still close to the invisible border between the northern and southern colonies, and had an escape route if necessary, constant paranoia kept America up late at night and left him exhausted in the morning. There was always the possibility that the British, aided by Loyalists, could sneak up on the American camp during the night and arrest or kill the whole lot.

In America's case though, he knew he'd be dragged back to London by the heels. England wouldn't let him go that easily.

This whole damn war was proving that.

What was slightly worse, in America's mind though, was that not even the comforting presence of General Washington could soothe those fears for very long. The only person who was a master at keeping the fears at bay was the one causing them this time.

"What are you going to do while I'm seeing France?" America finally asked.

Prussia shrugged. "I was thinking of recruiting a few soldiers to go on patrol. Even though it's just after noon, it wouldn't hurt to take a look around before nightfall," he said, glancing up at the dark clouds above. He ran a hand through his white hair to shake the water out before he mock-saluted and left America standing there.

Ignoring the growing downpour, America finally stepped out from underneath the tent overhang and started walking toward the Frenchman's tent; it wasn't hard to spot. He tried to avoid the worst patches of mud; France somehow managed to keep his personal appearance mostly immaculate during campaigns and didn't mind a little dirt or grit, but America still saw the grimace from the French personification whenever a freshly muddied Prussia cheerfully swung a casual arm around his shoulders.

"France?" he called softly once he was back in the safety of the overhang. He'd learned early on in the war not to walk in unannounced, even if France insisted that he didn't have to announce himself.

America learned that day that not everything England ever said about France was false.

"Ah, America! Do come in."

America stepped inside, careful not to walk over the place and drip water everywhere. "Prussia said you wanted to talk to me?" he said, pulling off his blue coat and tried to wrap it into a bundle to prevent the water from splashing. He surrendered the coat a minute later in exchange for a wool blanket from France, who fussed over him for a few moments until America fended him off. The Frenchman was in his usual blue coat with gold trim, the one he wore when leading the charge with America and Prussia behind General Washington. His blond hair was already tied back, and he looked, well, as excited as he did when he knew he was about to deal a nasty blow to England. America was well used to that expression now.

"Down to business already?" France looked a little put out until America nodded. "Oui. The plan. Tell me America, what is it that Angleterre relies on for his supplies and reinforcements?" France said, gesturing for America to take a seat on one side of the small map-covered table.

"His navy?" America could still recount the numerous pirate stories he'd heard while growing up under England's watchful eye. "How is knowing that going to help us?"

France clucked his tongue before gesturing to the map. "Where is Yorktown?" he asked patiently.

"Here, near the bay," America responded immediately. "Which means that England will utilize the bay for bringing reinforcements and supplies in for Yorktown," he added slowly as he wondered where France was going with this.

"Unless the French navy were to blockade the bay entrance, preventing him from entering. His weakness is his strength. Out in open waters, we would be doomed almost right away once the British navy decided that we were a worthy target…" France said, his voice trailing off as though recalling a distant memory. He shook his head and said, "His navy is also his weakness because if it were to be blocked from him, he is on his own until either the navy broke through or his supplies arrived over land, which we can easily defend. Even then, it would take valuable time."

"So we cut him off from his reinforcements…and he'll lose Yorktown and possibly the war!" America said, standing up slowly in his excitement.

"And you will be a free country, Amérique," France finished softly, a sad smile playing around his mouth.

America did not press; he knew that France still remembered the cold December night in the beginning when America's brother, Canada, refused to join the two of them in the fight for independence, choosing instead to remain a British-controlled territory. America didn't know the exact story of the separation between France and Canada, just that it had been a bitter one and Canada was still hurting over it, even if he didn't say so aloud.

America also knew better than to voice those thoughts aloud. Instead, he somberly sat back down and looked over the map at the different markers that stood for the American, French, and British troops. If he won, he would have to watch his northern borders extremely carefully, just in case England was feeling angry enough to attempt a second strike for the continent.

"Oi Bonnefoy! Junior!"

America scowled at the Prussian's nickname for him, but France spoke first, cutting off whatever America wanted to say to the German. "What is it, Prussia?" France said, smoothly standing to his feet.

Prussia grinned as he pushed the tent flap opened; the rain shower had stopped behind him but gray clouds still hung in the sky. "We," he said smugly, "Just caught two redcoats snooping around the camp. Idiots claimed that they didn't know they were in the American camp because they were too busy chasing a little thief."

"Wait, where's the thief?" America said, standing to his feet as well. He managed to catch the blanket before it fell on the ground.

"Junior, it's just an excuse so that we don't know that they were really spying for England," Prussia said, rolling his eyes. He sighed, and said, "I should have brought my bird over with me, he's so awesome with interrogations."

America blinked. The Prussian never talked about his life back in Europe, but he did think about it often when he didn't think America was watching. "You have a pet bird? What's his name?" America asked, curious despite his nervousness about broaching a previously un-touched upon subject.

"He doesn't have a name yet, but he's a black eagle. You know, the inspiration for my flag," Prussia said, his tone taking on a slightly dream-like quality. He frowned and said, "But I couldn't bring him from Europe, my little brother needed him more than I did. Of course, I forgot that a black eagle tends to intimidate prisoners into talking better than me sometimes."

"Did the soldiers get into the camp proper?" France asked as he tossed America his now-dry blue coat.

"Nah, made it into the outer ring of tents until our scouts caught up with them. We jumped them, and they claimed that they weren't trying to gather information from us, and that some thief stole something from Kirkland. Unfortunately, I believed them up until they said that someone stole from Kirkland; the guy's got the eyes of a hawk and wouldn't let even a kid get away with stealing something from him." Prussia paused, and then said thoughtfully, "Then again, if the soldiers are telling the truth, I'll have to remind Kirkland about it next time I see him in Vienna."

"If he doesn't hurt you first for your assistance here," France remarked as the three of them began walking, Prussia slightly ahead of the other two.

Prussia snorted. "He'd better not, he knows it's all business. He and Specs get along well right now, and, regardless of how he feels about my involvement, he'll just have to deal with me hanging around Vienna because I am allowed to see my little brother there, no matter how much he hates me."

America easily kept up with the other two nations in pace but not in conversation. It was the most he had heard about Prussia since the Prussian arrived in the colonies, and he hadn't realized that Prussia had his own family back in Europe. He started to ask why Prussia had decided to help him if he missed Europe so much, but suspected that it was more of the opportunity to take a swipe at England than any ideals.

England had a lot of enemies, and America had managed to find at least two powerful ones.

He found his gaze drifting in the direction of the coastline, where he suspected the British camp was. Nations could sense each other after all, but the host nation had the strongest perception compared to other personifications on the host's land. America could sense not only the once-reassuring presence of England, but also that of his brother, Canada. That had always puzzled America for the last couple of weeks; the Canadians seemed, for the most part, to be staying out of the conflict. Or at least they were trying to; both sides, the Americans more often, kept getting them caught in the middle.

Perhaps it was a last ditch attempt on England's part to end the war now before they met for another battle, and was hoping that having Canada around would convince or guilt America into calling a cease-fire.

America snorted. England would have to try harder than that. If anything, it angered America more that England would use Canada like that.

"Here we go," Prussia sang in an overly sweet tone, causing the two bound and blindfolded redcoats to tremble. The two soldiers were sitting back-to-back with their hands tied and then a thicker rope wrapping around their torsos. White blindfolds and gags kept the soldiers mute and blind, and America suspected that it was Prussia who did this seeing as the American soldiers looked just as nervous to see the albino approaching them. Prussia dismissed them with a wave of the hand and a 'get back to patrolling' before looking down at the two soldiers.

"Pull the blindfolds and gags off of both of them," America instructed as France moved to stand in front of one and Prussia stood in front of the other. "I'll do the questioning…they can't see me," he added, and Prussia nodded, still looking too gleeful for America's comfort.

The two men looked to be America's physical age. Both were clearly frightened, and America wondered if they'd been conscripted into service or they were still new to the British military. The one that Prussia was towering over let out a squeak when he was greeted with red eyes and water-spiked silver hair.

America wasn't in a mood to play around. "What are your names and ranks?" he demanded.

Both redcoats jumped. "L…lieutenant Moran," Prussia's charge squeaked.

"Johnson," the other replied, still shaking slightly. "Private Johnson!" he added quickly when France stepped forward with a suggestive leer.

"That's better. Now, I really should have you both arrested and held as prisoners, I can't afford for you to go back and report your findings to Lord Kirkland," America said, careful to use England's human name instead of his country one; if there was one thing that France, Prussia, and England all agreed on when teaching America, it was that the existence of nation personifications must remain a secret to all except the boss, or the country's leader. England had assured America that he wouldn't have had to worry about a human knowing his identity because he was England's colony, and therefore didn't have his own government.

America was looking forward to the day he could have his own government, and be able to tell his own boss about his identity.

Johnson swallowed nervously, inadvertently reclaiming America's attention. "Actually sir, um, Lord Kirkland didn't, uh, send us out to scout… he said that a thief had broken into his tent and stole some little toy wooden soldier that Lord Kirkland had in his tent. Kirkland wanted it back, sentimental reasons I think…"

America briefly tuned Johnson out. England still had that toy? The same one that America had thrown to the floor in anger before storming out of the empire's house?

Why would he hold onto such a thing?

"Can you describe the thief?" he asked, interrupting Johnson's panicked stream of commentary.

Johnson paused as though trying to recall something. "Well, Lord Kirkland said that he had been writing letters when he heard scratching in the corner of his tent. Thinking it was a small animal, he got up to nudge it out of the tent, but it was apparently not an animal…nor was it a human," he said slowly. "He said that it looked at him, swore at him, grabbed the toy, and then used a small knife to slash a hole in the tent to leave."

"The description of the thief didn't make any sense either," Moran said while avoiding Prussia's steady gaze. "He said the thief was small, came up his waist, and was gray all over with large red eyes."

This caught Prussia's attention. "What color was its hair?"

"Lord Kirkland said it didn't have hair anywhere on its body. Gave him quite a fright at first," Moran said.

Prussia snorted in laughter. "France, please remind me to bring that up next time I see England. In Europe and after at least twenty years, give him a chance to calm down from this," he said, to which the Frenchman sniffed in disdain.

"And the gray creature came here?" America demanded.

"Apparently, if we followed it here…"

America abruptly turned on his heel and started heading back into the camp, ignoring Prussia's call that the whole story could be a fake. One mess up, one error, one thing going wrong could affect the outcome of the battle tomorrow. The rain had lightened up to a drizzle while the two prisoners had been telling their story, and America almost didn't pay attention to the muddy puddles that were scattered throughout the camp. Around him, his men went about their business, some mentally preparing for the upcoming battle, others training.

But somewhere in the panic-filled haze in his mind, America remembered what it was that was taken. The wooden toy soldier that he'd slammed down on the table before he had gathered his few belongings and left his childhood home in Virginia. He'd stolen England's horse just to spite the older man. He left home without a backwards glance or thought for either England or Canada for that matter. He had been angry enough to focus only on striking at England's weakness: America himself. America took up residence in Philadelphia after that, sticking close to his Founding Fathers, men who had cared more for the young nation than England apparently ever did.

"Amérique!"

America came back to the present right as France caught up to him. "Amérique, you must remember that this could be exactly as what Prussia says it is; a trap to convince us that something was truly stolen when in fact they are here to spy," he said as America slowed down enough to keep pace with the Frenchman. "Trust me, I have tried to steal from Angleterre many times in the past, and he does not lose things quite that easily." France pulled back on America's shoulder so that the American was facing him. Blue met blue as France leaned in and whispered, "That is why you are fighting your damndest to leave the British Empire. Because, colony or toy or trinket, England does not lose his possessions easily. And," he added, placing extra emphasis on the word, "Colonies are naught but possessions to the mother country. Whether you like or not, you are still a colony right now."

"I know. But what if this thief takes from my tent? Or worse, it's an elaborate plot on England's part?" America knew he was starting to sound like Prussia now, and that was definitely not a good thing.

"Just exercise caution, that is all that I am saying."

America nodded, and then resumed his trek to one of the smaller tents in the middle of the camp. France stayed at his side.

His worries were unreasonable, America decided as the two nations approached his tent. His tent was white and easily blended in with the multitude of other soldiers' tents in this part of the camp. If a thief was truly looking for his, America reasoned as he approached his own tent, the thief would most likely waste time searching everyone else's tent. Simple.

America hesitated at the entrance, but, with an encouraging nod from France, leaned forward and yanked the flap back.

He wasn't sure what he was expecting to find. Everything was still neatly put away from that morning, nothing seemed to be missing, and overall all of his possessions seemed as untouched as they had been that morning. In fact, the only thing that was out of place was just a spare wool blanket, which was all bunched up on the floor.

"Okay, false alarm," he said, glancing at France.

France nodded. "We should tell Prussia that it was indeed a false story, or he will-"

America never found out what it was that Prussia would have done to those two British spies. Mostly because France immediately fell quiet when the wool blanket on the floor suddenly moved.

America swallowed, and sensed rather than felt France tense behind him. "Hello?" America finally called out softly, resisting the urge to kneel to get to the blanket's 'level'. Was it a lost child perhaps, seeking shelter from the rain outside?

The blanket suddenly pulled itself off.

"Mon dieu," France breathed, taking a step back. America found himself straightening and slowly stepping back as well.

It was a short, gray, hairless creature, just liked the two soldiers described. It was standing up on legs, like a human, but was clearly anything but. In its 'hand', it was clutching a familiar wooden toy soldier, its once vibrant paint faded from exposure to the elements.

And its great red eyes were staring straight at America and France.

A/N: Welcome to Time Twist! I hope you enjoy the story! This is the sequel to One Weekend, but can also be a stand-alone as well. Hetalia Axis Powers and all related media belong to Hidekaz Himaruya.