Guns, bombs, death. That's all America could see now. They block his senses, choking him, blinding him, and yet he refuses to kneel. Refuses to succumb to the wishes of the enemy. He can't, not now.

'It was a few years ago, now,' He remembers, slumping against a dusty, decrepit wall, too tired to move, 'Russia had gotten trigger-happy and decided to invade china after getting his army up to some insane amount. He won, of course he won!' America sighs, 'Poor china, I hope he's okay. And Lithuania...and Estonia, Latvia, Ukraine, Belarus... They don't want any part in this, why does he have to force them? Why is he doing this?!' A few tears almost escape his eyes, but the blue-eyed nation blinks them away almost immediately. There are others on the battle-field he happens to be on at the moment. They're fighting Russian and Estonian troops on the Mongolian border. Why Russia hadn't just invaded Mongolia to get to china in the first place is for some unknown reasons. Maybe he's afraid of her? America is not here alone, American soldiers are living and dying next to Mongolian and English troops.

England...

England!

'I shouldn't be just sitting here, I need to find England!' America jumps to his feet, quite literally, ignoring the annoying ache in his legs, and rushes off. He wants, no, needs, to find England. His mentor, his teacher, his friend, his everything. They had gotten separated by an ambush a few hours ago, and America hasn't seen him since. The nation peeked his head around half-blown-up walls and tall buildings. The modernized streets now look like a ghost town with the only noise being guns a few blocks away. America walks slowly through destroyed homes and burned possessions, almost tripping a few times over the rubble that's littering the streets. He makes sure to look through every dusty alleyway, check every window, just to make sure England's not there and injured, or worse, dead.

America had joined the war a few months after China was invaded, England was not far behind and neither was France, Germany, Italy, Canada, Sweden, Finland, Norway, Japan, Mongolia, India and Indonesia. Though Sweden, Finland and Norway only joined to try and make sure Russia didn't invade northern Europe. All of the other countries knew of the war's importance, but didn't want to put themselves in danger.

America stumbles and almost falls over a medium-sized piece of rubble-is that burned wood?- in the middle of the road. The guns get father and father away from America, and for that he's almost glad. But England never strays far from his men and allies and is probably right in the line of fire. America sighs. 'That's England. He'll bitch and whine everyday about absolutely everything. But then he'll torture himself to the brink of death if it meant others would be safe, including me...' His heart aches, he could feel it, like it was being squeezed. He shook himself out of the trance, turns around and begins to walk at a brisk pace toward the gunfire. He's scared. Of course he's scared. Not only for his own life, but for his soldiers, Mongolia, England.

He rounds a corner, the loud scraping of bullets being ripped from a gun is burning in his ears. The bright-eyes nation enters a clearing, he can see his, England's and Mongolia's troop's backs as they're all piled up behind half-tumbled walls, cars and large pieces of rubble. He knows Russian and Estonian troops are doing the same on the other end of the street, which also means he can't see them, but he can hear them. A few troops peak their heads and guns over the top, fire for a short while, and get back under cover. The enemy does the same, though the strategy does absolutely nothing and is only fueling the stalemate the two enemies have accidentally caused.

America scans the area for a fraction of a fraction of a second. He happens to spot someone behind a car with long, brown hair, tied in two braids, under a helmet, and catches the person yelling silent commands enthusiastically at the troops around them. Mongolia! he inwardly grins at the sight of the female nation. He runs up to her as fast as he can, ignoring the bullets obviously aimed at him, and hides behind the car with her. She's too focused on her commands to notice, so America sits down behind her and waits until it looks like she needs some sort of rest too before bothering her. After firing a few rounds, she sighs and rolls over so she can lean her back on the car and takes a few breaths. America taps her shoulder, She looks confused for a second as her large, blue eyes land on the blonde nation, until relief and happiness fill them. She tackles the larger country, wrapping her arms around his neck. "I was so worried about you!" She exclaims

"I'm okay, Mongy, (England always giggled at that nickname) I'm alright, see?" America answered in a calming voice, letting Mongolia go and holding her shoulders. She sighed, "We thought you were dead, or captured, you disappeared!" She hit America, rather hard, on the arm.

"No," He rubbed him arm, "I was looking for yo- wait, we?" He asked in a hopeful voice.

"Yes, we were worried about you, and by we, I meant me and England you idiot,"

"England!? Where is he!?"

"He's over there," Mongolia nods her head toward a large pile of rubble a few meters away from the car, still slightly in front of it.

And there he is, England, his England. With his unruly blonde hair, emerald-green eyes, caterpillar brows and the most determined, angry, passionate look on the Brit's face as America had ever seen. He has his green uniform on, though it doesn't looks very smart, it's covered in dust, dirt, rubble and-is that blood? "He's pretty angry at the moment. Not surprising, after we lost you I thought he'd tear the place down and go kill Russia himself," She said quietly. America glaces at her as she says this, 'He'd do that...for me?' America smiles to himself. "Hey," He says calmly, "Could you cover for me?"

Mongolia smiles and winks, "Yeah," She peeks her head from around the car, motioning for him to run, now! America quickly gets up, wasting no time, and sprinting to the wall England was behind, hearing deafening gunshots ring in his ears. He slumps down the wall, panting, he spots England having a double-take. He gave America a glance, before slowly turning around to him, showing the younger nation his bushy eyebrows and lime-green eyes. Those eyes. No matter what England denies, or what he forces his face to display, his eyes always give it away. His eyes right now, are showing relief, hope, and the most happiness America has ever seen England display. The older blonde's face look like he's just about to crack a smile before America feels a stinging in his face. "Ooow! What the hell Eng-?" England cuts Americas high-pitched whine with a death-gripping hug, burying his face in the larger country's chest.

"We thought you were dead, you idiot!" England yells, his voice, thick with accent, soothes America, and the blue-eyed nation gently wraps his arms around England. They sit there for a while, just enjoying each-other. The horrible crack of firing guns is drowned out by the relaxed and happy atmosphere of the two English-speaking countries.

That is, until silence drops down on the clearing like a tonne of bricks.