A/N: Let me know if I should move this to the crossovers and I will. I don't normally write crossovers so I'm still learning. ^^;

Prologue

It's cold. I shot him. It's so cold. I actually shot him. He was standing right there and I could've...I could've...but I...and now...

He didn't even know any more. Independence. British control. Independence. British control. He didn't know. How could he know? He shot him. He shot Arthur. He shot his brother.

...so cold...

"Oi! Son, the soldiers are lining up."

...so cold...shot him...

"Son!"

...why...

"Soldier!"

...why won't he just leave me alone... England...

"Soldier!" Strong arms hauled him up abruptly and shook him until his eyes regained their focus. Glazed blue eyes wearily up at the newcomer in confusion. "Go join the lines. There's an inspection today."

Blue eyes blinked stupidly. Inspection? For what? There was no hope. They were all going to freeze to death. Or starve to death. Or the illness would take them. His jumbled thoughts caught catches of speech muttered under the newcomer's breath, but nothing registered until-

"-bloody, stupid Americans."

The newcomer barely had time to gasp in surprise when he suddenly found himself slammed against a tree trunk back first and staring wide eyed into the bluest eyes he'd ever seen. And though he would never admit it until many years later, Gilbert Beilschmidt was more than a little intimidated.

"Don't you dare insult my people. Don't you dare. I know not who you are nor do I care. But you will not insult my people as you have. These men and women are giving their lives for something they believe in. That alone should be worthy of praise. By insulting them, you insult me and I do not take insults easily, foreigner."

And suddenly, it became clear. Eyes as blue as the clear sky, hair like grains of wheat, and strength like a buffalo; he had heard stories from Francis, but he had honestly been expecting a child, not a full grown man. But the longer he looked, the more he came to realize that this truly was a child. A terrified child, forced to attack his brother and torn apart by a war he was still much too young to fight.

"America." The young soldier stiffened. That was confirmation enough. "My apologies, son. I meant no offense. Do you know who I am?"

Blue eyes narrowed in concentration, but it was obvious the poor boy's head was muddled. "It's alright if you don't," he continued, this time in the Nation Tongue. "I am Gilbert Beilschmidt, the German Kingdom of Prussia."

"Prussia?"

"Yes. I am here with General Steuben. A mutual friend suggested our talents were needed to help your men defeat England."

Gilbert watched as clouds covered the clear blue and the young Colony seemed to wilt before him. "Defeat England?" A tired smile tugged the boy's lips. "No. Never defeat. We'll never win, don't you see? It is useless. We cannot win. He will never let me go."

"It's not up to him."

"I shot him."

Prussia blinked. "Say again?"

America drew a shaky breath. "I shot him, England. In Lexington. I started this. If I hadn't fired that shot, so many of my people would still be alive. England would still be here. We could still talk things through. There would still be a chance at peace."

"And there still is!" Prussia squeezed the young Nation-to-be's shoulders forcing the youth to meet his older, wiser eyes. "There is always hope so long as there are still people alive to believe. As long as there are people who call themselves American, there is hope yet."

America stared into his elder's crimson eyes and smiled sadly. "Did you not hear Mr. Adams theory of the ratio between Patriots and Loyalists? He said one third were Patriots, one third were Loyalists, and one third of the people, my people, don't care either way. Don't care. They don't care. I don't care.

"I can hear them in my head. One minute I'll be screaming for Independence, the next I'll be fighting the urge to crawl back to Arthur on my hands and knees begging for forgiveness, and the rest of the time I feel...I feel like I'm aloof. There but not there. It's like I'm watching everything from a distance, or reading about it in a history book.

"But then I feel the death of each one of my citizens and my heart stops. I hear their screams and my heart bleeds. I feel England walking on my land, my soil, and my entire body rejects it. He can't get near it. He can't have it. I can't let him. I won't. I promised. I have to be free. I have to. My people...I...I..." The boy leaned his head wearily against Prussia's chest. "I am going insane. I will not win this war. I cannot."

He broke off abruptly when his whole body began shaking and his breathing became quick and shallow. Prussia caught the boy just as his legs gave way beneath him and held him close until the fit passed.

Prussia sighed. The poor boy. For his first real experience with war on his own soil to be a revolution, and for the opinions of his people to be affecting him so, then things must be much more serious then he had originally thought. They had only arrived the day before and even he could see the horrible situation.

"Does Washington know?"

"Know?"

"Who you are?"

"He know I'm Alfred Jones, a former minuteman turned soldier in the Continental Army."

"But does he know what you are?"

America's shoulders sagged as he sighed deeply, sadly. "No. No he doesn't. And you shan't tell him either. The others need his attention more then I do. And besides, the last thing I need to do is add another thing to the already enormous pile of things for him to worry about."

"Does anyone know?"

"Mr. Franklin does. So does Mr. Adams and Mr. Hamilton and possibly Mr. Jefferson. There could be more, but..." He sighed heavily. "I don't see how that matters right now."

Prussia bowed his head. "Then all I can say is you must have faith that things will be better."

America met Prussia's eyes with his own, and that was the last time he ever saw those eyes clear and coherent. The next time he saw them, they were glazed and dull from a particularly strong bout of typhoid fever that had been making the rounds in the camp. Then Hamilton appeared and spent several nights by the poor Colony's side. When Gilbert went to visit the young America again, the boy was gone. Washington remained tightlipped about the situation. Even when Prussia attempted to use his Nation standing against the general, the man said nothing. Washington knew, but he would not speak of it.

No matter how hard he searched, whom he asked, or what strings he pulled, Prussia never heard hide nor tail of the struggling Nation-to-be again. Not even when France joined the search. Not even when the England surrendered ending the war. Never.

Years passed. The United States of America continued to grow in both size and power at an astonishing rate, but still no word from the Nation himself. Canada never recovered from the loss and hesitantly took over America's duties in the World Conferences. Even England grew worried at his brother's unusual silence and reached out, but with no reply. In fact, there was no word from the young Nation ever again.

Until four idiots who believed in something so strongly they went against the world found something that no one thought they'd ever see again.

A/N: So, this idea has literally been bothering me since I first saw Hetalia. I've always been a huge fan of National Treasure (the FIRST movie, not the second) and thought it'd be cool if Alfie was part of the treasure, or knew about it. But I never bothered to write it because...well...I was afraid I'd be the only one with that idea. Which can be good...or it can be catastrophically bad. Hopefully, I erred toward to the good.
And before you ask, yes Prussia was involved in the American Revolutionary War. General Friedrich Steuben taught to American soldiers how to organize camp, to put the latrines on the opposite side of camp from the kitchens, to not leave rotting animal corpses around, and how to use a bayonet properly. True story. Look it up.