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Chapter Text

Amelia's long hair swayed as the sea scented air ran its fingers through it. But the small girl didn't notice as her sky-blue eyes stuck to the port in impatience.

She sat with her brown cloth dress draped over her knees. Her white apron was over it, giving her a bit of extra warmth from the chill of the sea air. The colony plucked at the dried grass at her feet and stared out into sea until finally a speck appeared out in the ocean.

She stood up flakes of dead grass flying in the wind, and ran down the hill she sat on. Amelia raced to the port, flying past her people. The smell of fish was rooted there along with the shouting and whistles of humans.

Finally she came to the post where a certain ship had always landed. She fell against the post, panting and laughing. That certain ship came closer and closer until finally it was so close that Amelia could see the markings along the mask. She shouted and jumped up and down in bliss.

The little girl's bonnet came undone and swept through the wind's current, and disappeared onto the ship's deck. Amelia didn't even take notice of the occurrence.

Several men came from the ship, dressed in uniform, and pulled out some kind of platform with steps and tilted to the port's floor. More men came forth and stood along the edge of the large wooden platform. They saluted a single man as he gracefully came down. A tricorne hat sat on his blonde head and his white hands held a cane with a power grip. His long waistcoat caressed his thighs with his every movement. A lace cravat fell over his chest elegantly. The color of his breeches was a deep dark shade of blue, much like the sea. It was sure to have costed a fortune in fabric and dye. suit held small pin shapes on his breast pocket. In his hands was some kind of white cloth. The whole sea port quieted at his arrive.

"Arthur!" Amelia screamed out and pounced at the green-eyed man. She threw her lanky arms around him as the nation of England stepped down from the platform.

England laughed as he twirled her around. "Amelia! My dear girl!" He flicked one of his wrist behind her back and the men disbanded and the port's workers went back to work with slight hesitance.

England put her down and bent down to her level. "America! You've grown so much since the last time I was here!" His eyes sparkled as he took her image in. "Here luv, I believe you dropped this? You must take care of yourself more."

America let him tie the bonnet under her chin with a pout. "But England I was too happy to notice!" She let out a giggle and twirled when he motived her too. "I've miss you England! I thought you weren't gonna come back!"

He frowned at her words. "Were not going to, America, not 'weren't gonna.'" His fingers went through her long hair loving. "I will always come back to you, my dear America." The little girl smiled and began to tug at his hand.

"Come on! I wanna go home with you England!" She demanded and pulled on him. He laughed and stood. Arthur looked back at a man coming off his ship.

"Have the things brought to the house." The man saluted with a nodded. "Dismissed." The man marched back to the ship.

Amelia kept pulling at Arthur, talking excitedly until England interrupted her with a weighting thought on his mind. "America you shouldn't be running around by yourself. Where's your governess?" He looked down at her as they walked the trail leading to America's home.

America shrugged, "She said I could go out and wait for you England."

Her eyes went wide realizing her mistake. "Hey England! Did you see I called you Arthur in front of everyone just like you told me too! See! I remembered!" She changed the subject, hoping to distract him from her first sentence.

England stopped them there and he bent down to look at her. "She simply let you wonder down to the port? Alone?" He eyes held a frosty coldness. "Does she let you do that a lot? Tell me the truth America."

The child bit her lip and nodded. England's face held nothing to reveal, then- "I suppose I'll have to talk with Ms. Smith." He smiled and held her hand as they continued to walk. America beamed with relief and pulled away from England as she spotted her house.

It was a rather large house England had built when he had first found her. Over 50 people worked and served the home, but only about half live there. The household was perfect for his little Amelia.

America ran to the house while fighting giggles. Arthur gave a shout for her not to run. America climbed the steps and paused for him to come up. Once he reached the top, Arthur chuckled. "I'm getting too old aren't I America?"

She shook her head. "Nope! Maybe you're just tired!" She tugged on his suit sleeve. "Hurry up England! I want us to play in my room!" At that moment a tall young women came to the door's threshold.

"Miss Amelia have you- oh!" She stopped seeing Arthur there. "Lord Kirkland!" She grabbed the side of her dark gown and curtsied. Blushing heavily, she kept her gaze to the floor.

"Ms. Smith may I have a word with you tonight?" His face held a smile but his words had bite. The women, with head still bowed, nodded. She stepped aside and they both went in with Amelia in the lead.

Several maids came to the door and took Arthur's cane and hat. One of the maids bent down to untie Amelia's white bonnet. Amelia squirmed as the maid did so. "Amelia do stand still while she does that." Arthur said and replied with a raised bushy brow and slight frown. Amelia went still as stone and when the maid finished, the colony fell to the rugged floor and began to undo the straps of her shoes. The servant girls paled at the sight. Even though they let the girl do everything herself, it wasn't wise to let her do this in front of the lord… They feared what the Brit would say.

"Amelia what are you doing?"

A shiver went up the women's spines at the sound. The words were agonizing like sharpened nails being dragged across skin.

Amelia looked up and said, "Taking off my shoes." The words were said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. She already had a strap off on one shoe.

"Ladies do not sit on the floor and undress themselves in the middle of the entryway." England spoke this to America, but intense green eyes silently stared at each of the women. "You," he threw a hand at the closest women and she flinched, "take her to her room and change her into something less resembling a peasant girl's outwear."

"'S alright Eng- I mean Arthur! I can-"

"Now." Arthur spoke to the unmoving maid.

The women jerked her head, hoping to make it look something like a nod, and pulled the small girl to her feet. She silently raced them up the main stairway. America looked back with large eyes. But England had already turned his back to her.

Once they disappeared, Arthur let out a heavy sigh. "All of you disappoint me terribly." The maids were statues in a garden. England walked slowly through the line of 6 women. "Mrs. Kingly, if my memory serves me right, I left you in charge of only running the house smoothly. For what I have seen, this has not happened. See me tonight along with Ms. Smith." The middle-age women gave a shaky nod.

"Leave me." England said and they all scattered like leaves in the wind.

England walked towards the parlor where two butlers let him in. His eyes roamed the room for a moment. A large window was the room's best feature. From there he could easily see the sea and port-life. It truly was a beautiful view. Tall, almost wheat-like grass danced in sync as the wind moved them, the sun beyond the sea was tinted pink, orange, and every color in between. The country walked around the couches and ran a hand over a large cherry wood cabinet.

He stopped in front of the fireplace, looking at a self-portrait of himself and America. She was even smaller than she was now, barely discovered. The babe still wore that white smock and red ribbon. They were smiling... Rare in a portrait.

"I want brandy." He announced to the room, and in less than a second, a butler came in holding a silver platter in hand. He held a short glass and a bottle of brandy on the tray. The glass was already less than half filled. Arthur took it and the servant bowed before moved away

Upstairs Amelia was frowning as her maid dressed her into a horribly tight and uncomfortable gown. "April, I don't understand why I have to wear this. Plus I can dress myself!" April clicked her tongue and motioned her to sit at her dresser seat.

"I know dear, but Lord Kirkland demanded it n' so it must be done. 'Sides being the master of the house, e's a titled man who must be paid mind too." She pulled out a brush from the drawer and tried to do something with her long honey colored hair. "Mayb' if er' lucky enough Miss, er'll marry er'self a gent with money and not 'ave to worry 'bout takin' orders from a rich Brit!"

But Amelia's mind was on another topic. Her thoughts had stayed on how England had ordered them around. "In England, do a lot of people treat others... unfairly?" The child chose that last word carefully. She looked up at her maid silently.

April pondered slowly. She went to the girl's feet and began to put on a new pair of slippers on her.

"'Ell I suppose 'o... Just another reason why America is just amazin'! Here, many people can escape the things tha' they feared. Here, there's a chance of bein' fair! And that chance is what a lot of people need."

Amelia stared into her lap. The maid's words stuck in her head. "Done! Let's get you to Lord Kirkland now shall we?" Amelia stood up and her hand went to tug at the scratchy fabric around her neck. April opened her mouth to object to this, but Amelia started out towards the door.

The little girl raced down the stairs and stopped short of the closed parlor doors. Amelia smiled to herself for remembering the manners that had been nailed into her brain. A lady does not rush into a room. She pushed her bangs from her face and felt that April had done a simple braid. It was very similar to the ones she would wear when she would go out and play. A secret meaning from Arthur. Amelia wasn't sure she liked that.

Before the butlers opened the doors, Amelia took a breath. She held her head high and tried desperately to look graceful walking into the room.

England turned and watched the colony walk in with a stiffened back. He smiled and put down the glass. "Amelia, child, you look beautiful." He watched as her blue eyes light up. She wore a blue, half silk, half cloth gown, with white lace on the bottom and the ends of the sleeves. He could see white slippers peering out every time she took a step.

"Relax some poppet, it's just big brother." He jested at her stiffness.

He took her hand and guided her to the couch. "Now poppet I brought back some things for you."

America gasped at this. "England did you really?"

"Would I lie to you poppet?" He called out something and two men came in, each holding a handle of a large trunk. After they left, England allowed her to look at the new things.

Inside, a number of new dolls and wooden animals were laid carefully. A large wooden doll house was there also, completing the small unit.

"There's also a tea set, beautifully hand painted, and tea I was given to by China. And in another trunk I brought more dresses, slippers, and all the things a girl your age would want. Oh, and of course, English, math, and history books for you to study. Must not get behind on your studies poppet." Arthur said, looking down at the opened trunk.

Amelia traced a gentle finger over a doll's porcelain face. Its glass eyes were a pretty shade of green. "Like your eyes..." She whispered. Amelia suddenly looked up at England. "Who's China?"

England took a step back and frowned at her unexpected question. "A country in eastern Asia, Amelia." He said watching her.

"Will I get to meet China one day?" Arthur's frown deepened. He forced a tight smile and took his glass of brandy to the couch. There he finished it, throwing it back into his mouth.

"Who would want to meet that man? He believes he knows everything and will forever know everything. I myself wished I hadn't met him."

He glanced at Amelia. "He's mean then?" His smile began genuine.

"Very much so. Why would you want to meet someone like that? Come here poppet," he patted his lap, "sit with me."

Amelia stood, clutching her doll in hand, and climbed onto his lap. He wrapped his arms around her slim waist. "Just stay with brother alright?" He closed his eyes and rested his head on her shoulder.

Amelia smiled and slightly turned her head to him. "England I love you." His eyes fluttered opened. His lips tenderly touched her neck, giving her a chaste kiss.

"I love you America. Never leave me." The seriousness dripped off the words.

Amelia giggled at the tickling feeling on her neck. "I won't! I promise!" They stayed like that for a moment until Amelia said, "England... Are you gonna leave?"

Arthur, who decided not to correct her, said, "Not for while this time... Maybe I'll stay a year or even two poppet."

The little girl gasped loudly. "Last time you were here, you were only here for six month!" Arthur smiled. He moved his head to rest his chin on her shoulder.

"I know poppet... I know...and I want to spend as much time I can with you."

She giggled again and leaned against him. "I really love you England." She whispered.

"I love you America."

Only two months later, Amelia sobbed heavily against Arthur's uniformed chest. "Y-you li-lied!" She weakly threw her small fists at him. "You're a-a li-liar!" She cried out at him. Her people at the port passed by, giving pity looks at the crying child.

Arthur hugged her tightly. "I'm know poppet, I know. I give my deepest apologizes about that- this. My king needs me and I cannot-" America pulled away.

"I thought you said you love me! Why are you leaving me?!" She demanded.

England placed a hand on her tear stained cheek. "I do love you America. I will come back. Each and every single time I will. I will come back to you." He whispered intensely. America stared, and more tears came down as she took a deep breath through her sobs. In an instant she tightly wrapped her arms around him.

"Take me with you..." It came out filled with desperation.

"Oh poppet... I wish I could but I can't. You're too young..." This only made her sob harder. "I will write to you every chance I get, just until we see each other again. It will help you too with your writing. It'll be perfect." He forced a laugh.

"I don't want letters, I want you!" She screamed on his shoulder.

"Milord," the captain came up to them, "We're ready to set sail-"

England looked up sharply, "I'll bloody tell you when we set sail!" He hissed at the old man. The captain nodded, bowed, and hurried back.

They held each other bit longer until England stood up. "No!" Amelia screamed but at Arthur's nod, her new governess, took ahold of the colony with an iron grip that was strong enough to even hold back America for a moment.

Arthur boarded the ship and forced himself not to look back, for fear of looking in her eyes... and staying.

"No! Let me go! Arthur!" She screamed. The ship set sail and in a few short minutes, they were beyond her reach. America turned to her governess and bit down on her hand. With a loud scream, Amelia was released.

The small girl ran to the end of the dock. Tears trailed down her face as she panted heavily. "Arthur, I'll wait for you to come back!" She cried out into sea.

America closed her eyes and saw England's face. For some sick, sad reason she knew she wouldn't see him for a long, long time.

And she was right.

Chapter Text

May, 1774

All Amelia could smell was cow shit.

"Hurry up! Keep running John!" She yelled behind her shoulder with a crazed laugh. Amelia held tight to the pouch of gold coins.

Curses, shouts, whistles, cheers, and laughter was the symphony of the market place. It was cramped and crowed, loud and strong. It was home.

John, a boy almost seventeen years of age, ran as fast as the wind. Behind him were several British soldiers dress in their signature red. "Stop! Thief!" Amelia heard and let out a pig-like snort. The sound of her boots stomping on the ground was one of the prime sounds ringing in her ears. The others were the soldiers' cries, John's screams, and her own heavy pants.

"Stop, thief!" Amelia yelled out with laughter as she tried to copy their accent with horrible success.

She jumped over a cart filled with apples. John, behind her, was smart, and tipped the cart over. Red apples spilled onto the floor and one of the soldiers tripped over them. Unfortunately for the others, they fell over their fallen comrade, allowing Amelia and John to escape.

The teens turned a corner and Amelia pulled him into a street alley. She laughed loudly and pushed the pouch into his chest. "For your family John." She smiled as his fingers took the leather bag.

John, panting with sweat dripping down his face, frowned. "Who are you boy? I appreciate the money and all but here I was mindin' my own business and bam!" Amelia snickered at that and reached up a hand to scratch her covered head. "A random boy just grabs me and tells me to run!" She growled at the itch under her cap. She had taken a bath only a couple of weeks ago! Why was her head so itchy? "I look around and I see them Redcoats comin' after me! What the hell do you-" He suddenly stopped, Amelia had pulled off her cap. She had stuffed her short locks into it, and with it off, they tumbled down. She had cut her hair a long time ago, so all it fell to was only about an inch or two above her shoulders.

She scratched at her head like a dog with fleas. The colony let out a small content moan.

"Girl. You're a g-girl." He stepped back to check out her outfit. She wore brown trousers that seemed to have dirt stains and a worn white shirt with a smudged brown vest. "You're flat as the floorboards." Her hand shot out and took ahold of his head of hair.

"That's not the way to talk to a girl, John." She tossed his head away with an eye roll.

"Oui, I agree to that!" A chuckle followed and Amelia wiped her head around to see a man coming out from the shadows. His long blonde hair was tied back in a flashy blue bow. The moonlight made strong shadows dance across his face.

"Geez Francis, couldn't help the dramatics?" Amelia mumbled.

He laughed. "You know me too well mon ami!" He walked to the boy and gave a small flick of his hand to him. "Off with you now. She's older than your grandmother." Amelia protested in the background.

America watched while John's face turned into a look of confusion as he turned, leaving with the money. America eyed the Frenchman as he watched the boy leave with a smile. Finally he turned to her with grin.

"Playing Robin Hood now sweet?" America shrugged and turned away. Out the corner of her eye, she could see France's eyes watching her movements carefully. "...And cross dressing too? I wonder how mother England would react to see his little girl dressed like a street urchin. But I must say I have always liked the short hair."

America sighed, her back to him. "What do you want France?" She fingered at the wall of a building. Her short nails failed to protect the flesh of her finger, and she scarped the skin there. She felt the sting but kept a neutral expression.

"Can't I visit my little America?"

"Never done much of that before..." She muttered.

France strolled slowly to her, his heels clicking as he did so. It was a loud noise echoing in her ears. Then before her eyes, a rose blossomed in the background, she distantly saw France's snake smile. America blinked and took ahold of the sudden flower. "Can't help the dramatics can you?" She repeated.

"No!" He laughed, "I cannot." France walked into front of her, watching with a keen eye. "I've heard about the problems you've been having with the English tart." America frowned. "When I came, I had hoped to see your people in... Higher spirits." He chuckled softly. "I mean... Those poor men in Boston of course. It must still sting, after all, it was only, what, four years ago?" At her deepening frown, America knew she answered his question.

She clutched her hands, teeth biting down on her bottom lip. How dare he even mention that massacre to her. She growled deep in her throat.

"The little stunt you pulled was hilarious too you know, but how unfortunate that England had to force those appalling acts on you… The Intolerable Acts wasn't it? It is clearly punishment."

Memories of letters came to her mind and it was not difficult to let out a flow of curse words from her mouth.

France gave her an amused look. She felt that gaze throw oil to the growing fire in her blood. "You have grown so very much Amelia. I only just saw you last year, and you appear to have aged much since." The man took a step closer, and the colony could smell the sweet wine on his breath. "Let me guess..." He muttered with a laugh and a hand stoking the thick stumble on his chin. "You were about 15 last year, and now, ah, 17." America stiffened at his discovery, taking a step away. She forced her eyes from him, to a pile of rotten vegetables, which was now home to several alley rats.

"Tell me ma ami," His voice dropped to a low whispered. "How does it feel to be so neatly under his thumb?"

She snapped around to face the bearded man. Her face was dead set in an intense gaze. The thorns of the rose in her gasp cut into her palms as she tightened her fist. "That lying ass," she spoke with disgust, "Whatever that bastard has said is a damn lie! He has no right over me anymore yet he orders me around like he's my like my owner! Where the hell does he get that right? Tell me! How? He's taxes me to death and expects me to fall at his feet like a whore?! His Redcoats have shamed, humiliated, and slaughtered my people! All under his orders no doubt! Him and that fat king of his!" She slammed her fist on the brick wall, her blues eyes illumined in the nightlight. The warm blood pooled in her hand. "I'd rather die than let him have this land and its people!"

America forced herself to ignore England's image in her mind. That man from her childhood was a killer. She had to forget about the England who was so dear to her. The England who she loved.

And for some estranged reason, that thought stung her.

The French nation let out a cackle, then he started to laugh so hard he bent over, clutching his middle. Gasping, he looked up at her. She fixed him a livid glare. He resisted the urge to continue laughing. "Hey! Stop laughing at me France!" America snapped with animosity in her voice.

France raised his hands in defeat, but his shoulders still trembled with giggles. "Alright ma ami! It is just that I was reminded of your sister. She was so sure you would have forgiven England." He smiled at her.

America's narrowed followed by her head cocking to the side at the mention of Madeline. "You saw Canada?" France nodded as he pushed unseen dirt from under a nail. "I had to leave earlier than excepted since she knew England was coming." He smiled forcefully. "Ma petit didn't want us to start a fight." His eyes drafted away.

America felt her stomach drop and she hated it. "He- he went to her first?"

"Oui."

She looked away, not knowing why such an ache had stabbed her heart. America swallowed and the ache begun to turn into a penetrating throbbing. It had been almost a decade and he went to her sister first. It doesn't make any sense, the pain in her heart. After all the difficulties he's put her through, it didn't makes any sense at all.

The country in front of her smirked and leaned in to pluck the rose from her palm. America blinked and merely watched him do it.

The blood colored his hand as he placed the tainted flower in her other hand. "The only reason why I am here today is because that he hates it when I come over to see you." America looked at him with large blue eyes.

This man was the only family she'd seen in the past 11 years. He had always tried to come and talk to her and make her smile and- "What do you want?" She said as evenly as she could. She concentrated on his face and nothing else. America felt him pull away with that snake like smile.

"Why do you think I want something ma ami?" He spoke with confidence yet his eyes narrowed. America unconsciously placed a silk petal between her fingers. She practically felt it wilt under them.

"They always do."

Her fingers torn at the stained red rose and finally pulled her eyes away from him. She kept her head bowed to the rose as she repeated the process.

France tsked at her. "Such a shame…" He murmured loud enough for her to hear. His own blue eyes watched another petal fall victim to her fingers.

"What?" America asked, annoyed.

The Frenchman plucked the rose out of her hands with surprising ease. He looked at it as he twirled it around by the bottom stem. "It was from England's garden." He twirled it faster, and America watched, suddenly incredibly anxious for it to be in her hands again. She blinked and reached for it.

Suddenly she felt wet droplets on her face. She touched her face and pulled her hand to her eyes; smears of blood. "Oops." France snickered.

America felt herself fume from the outside and stomped on his polished shoe. Yet, he made no move that it had hurt him. The girl lunged for the stained rose in his hand. She held it tight to her chest, air escaped her lungs in her desperation to have the rose returned. Amelia glowered at him, suddenly realizing what had happened, what he had been trying to find out.

"You're still in love with him aren't you America?"

Red blotches blossomed on her face. She felt it grow from her neck to her ears, and in a second, her whole being was painted crimson. America tumbled back like he had slapped her. In a way he had.

"H-how can you even think that?! After everything he's put me through-" Her voice shook and lost its strength.

"You hold grudges girl. Everything that man has done to you is nothing compared what he has done to others," he tilted his head, the country's mane hit his shoulder, "He's only treating you like what you are: a colony."

America's hand leaned on the building. His words were the truths no was telling her and they burned.

"You still love him. Perhaps half of your hatred towards him to due to the fact that he is abusing your people...but what about the other half?" France stepped closer to her and all she could do was stand frozen. Something inside of her demanded that she stay and hear his words, his truths.

He whispered closely in her ear, "Maybe you hate that he keeping playing big brother when you crave something more… intimate."

In a flash, her arms reached out and shoved him away. The rose now hung limp in her shaking hands. "Enough of your words France! Enough!"

The colony wiped her distressed expression with her hands, but the second it rubbed away some nerves, she realized she smeared more blood on her face. "Damn it!" She closed her eyes and threw the rose at him in loathing. Blood from the rose hit him and dirtied his clothing.

"Watch it!" He cried, "Do you realize how much this garment cost me?" He pulled out a handkerchief and began to gently pat it.

"I don't need him! I don't need him at all!" She turned away and began to tread out the alleyway.

"I don't need to hear any of the shit that comes out of your mouth!" She spat. America wanted to walk away from him forever, however, before she could, the colony heard words that forced her to stare at reality.

"You have grown stronger, but against him, will it count in the end?"

Those weren't only his truths, they were her's as well.

When America arrived at her house, it was in a mix of panic and steaming in frustration. She ran up the stairs and slammed open her bedroom door. With equal strong, she slammed it shut, distantly she hear the wood crack.

Amelia screamed, turned to her bed, and slammed her foot on the wooden bedpost. The beam broke with a brash noise. She threw her face to her hands in dread.

"Why do I…?"

A soft knock came at the door and whoever it was let themselves in. "Miss Jones?" A tiny voice said. Without looking up, Amelia could imagine Mary, the small servant girl, timidly stepping into her room. "Miss?"

Amelia's head snapped up, her enormous blue eyes glowed in the moon's light from her opened window.

"A-a letter came for you Miss Jones..." The brunette said startled.

Amelia held out her hand silently. The blood had dried and it was simply rubbed on her arms and hands, a grim reminder of the night. The maid jumped, she quickly left the closed letter in Amelia's opened palm and rushed out.

She glared at the letter, wondering what the new comeback from their previous argument would be.

No. No she doesn't want to be America the Colony. She didn't want to be Amelia F. Jones, Lord Kirkland's adopted little sister. She did not want to be in his shadow. She refused to feel for him. America was tired of him taxing and forcing his hordes of soldiers on her people. Amelia was tired of being tried like a simpleton. She was tired of him not seeing who she really was.

She sat up, watching her shadow move on the far wall. Enough. She had to leave. Even if wasn't for long, she had to get away. England wouldn't come. "He's a liar." Amelia reminded herself once again.

The girl grabbed a cowhide bag that hung from her bedpost and walked to her closet. She pulled out her 'peasant wear' as Arthur would have called it. Men's trousers and shirts. That was all she would need for this trip. She pulled out a small box from her dresser and shoved it roughly into her bag along with the newest letter.

Amelia closed the bedroom door behind her and took one slow step at a time. Once Amelia was outside, she began to walk towards the empty fields that seemed to run forever.

Chapter Text

She had actually forgotten how many days she was out here. America was never one to keep tab on days and time. It was one of many things England chastised her for.

Amelia dropped the long stick she had been using for a cane and rub at the blisters on her palms. She winced as she lightly touched a sore. The young women kicked the stick over to a large rock. She made herself comfortable on it and sulked in the quietness.

The place she decided to rest at was where a grassy field met the beginnings of a green forest. The start of a creek was just a few feet from where she sat. Amelia stared at the shallow water with apprehension about the events leading up to her little getaway.

"Stupid France." She picked up a pebble near her feet and tossed it in the waterbed. It fell in with a loud thud and small splash.

She didn't love him. She, Amelia F. Jones, certainly did not love that- that tyrant! That oppressor and resenter (it wasn't a word, but it sounded right to her ears) of freedom and rights of men and women! Amelia's stare turned into a glared. She started to gently rub at her aching hand as she gave the subject more thought. She hated England. America loathed him and everything he represented.

On that fateful day in March 1770, America was reminded that she was indeed, nothing more than a feeble colony. Five Americans died in the streets of Boston, shot down like damned dogs by Redcoats.

Everything she had done was to get back at him for the hell he had put her people through. The Quartering Act and the Stamps Act as well, she needed to give hope to those without it within her land. Then it started to feel like a game. A thing to shove in England's face about. Amelia had laughed with the rest of the men, and even helped smear on paint and stick feathers in people's hair. She jeered and felt power race in her veins when she dumped the boxes of tea into the harbor. The colony wasn't so helpless after all, and England was furious when it was clear that Amelia wasn't going to play the part of weak obedient sister.

She kept a news clipping in a book under her bed. The Boston Massacre, Amelia sneered at the name. The name was perfect to increase anti-British feelings in the 13 colonies, Samuel was smart like. "Cunning old man."

A lot of people like him had started to show up and come to her. They knew who she was and usually wanted to discuss with her about the ongoing frustrations England was putting them all through. Amelia had scuffed with both Samuel and Abby about him. One things these people had in common was a ridiculously…incredible idea… One that no simple colony should think.

She sighed and loosened the button on her shirt.

They never met at her house though. America would sneak out, usually in the dead of night, to meet in some secret room of a tavern. She knew that England his men stationed around her place. So bringing people like the Adams wasn't much of a good idea. Arthur had always been possessive over his colonies, but her even more so.

America ran her hands through her short hair, then touched her lips at a distant memory. It came back to her so clearly, that she could think it had been only yesterday, not 14 years ago that it had happened. This taunting memory was one that she always tried to shove at the back of her mind. Now wasn't any different. She pulled it back into her head.

"Darn it." She muttered, swallowing thickly, and looked up at the sky. It was about an hour or two until the sun would set.

Amelia stretched her arms and again glanced up at the sky. "It must be dark where Madeline lives…" The words left her without much thought.

Canada is the perfect image of how a colony should be.

England had the nerve to write that in one of his letters. She grinned as she remembered what she had replied back to the man.

Why dontcha go 'n bother her ass then. England had ceased his writings for a long time, almost two months, and it gave her a deep pleasure knowing she could easily get under his skin. She wanted to crawl under it and make him bleed from the inside. But along with the boost to her ego, it had also stung. She had actually missed-

Amelia raised from her spot on the rock and peeled off her shirt and trousers. She stood in her undergarments (a recently loosened corset, and damn if she cared if it wasn't tight enough, it was a miracle she actually had forgotten to remove the torture device) and leaned on the rock to pull off her mud covered boots.

As soon as her feet touched the dirt ground, Amelia smiled fondly. The feeling reminded her of the time before England and all the other countries. She was still undiscovered and alone. No one lived on her land expect the Native Americans and the wildlife. That was a quiet and far away time…

American stomped to the creek and stepped in with an exhale. The water was refreshing on her sore feet. One day, she will make all the other countries just leave her alone in her bliss. If only it would be for a little while. Yet, she often wondered why many countries just loved to go somewhere to look just for the heck of it. Taking things most often.

But no one ever saw her going up to people and start groping around for things. She shuttered as she remember the one time she met Spain. France had declared that she would met him and brought him to her within the day. The country didn't grope her per say, but he was awfully hands-y when he hugged her. Amelia smacked him, but all he had to say was that she reminded him of one of his own colonies. Italy or Roma or something.

She scooped up some water to splash in her face, silently thanking God that she wasn't around many countries. What a nightmare that would be. Amelia sat down into the water and bowed her head to watch the water mover over her lap. It was a nice clear color, she could easily see the stones under her legs. She started to lay in it in an effort to feel more relaxed.

It worked.

Almost immediately, the calming sensation came over her and she stared up at the blue sky. She could feel a strand of hair hitting her cheek but she let it stay there.

America even almost forgot about England for the moment. Almost.

America vaguely wondered how he would look like. It had been decades since the last time she saw him. The painting over the fire place did not count, nor did the last time he came unannounced. Amelia lifted up a hand and watched the water slip off in round beads. The man had been here for only three days before departing almost immediately. But not before leaving a a memory that made Amelia question things… Not only about their relationship as America and England, but as Amelia and Arthur as well.

The man had also put in that first infuriating act, and with the Stamp Act came the first signs of revolt in her homeland.

Closing her fist and bringing it down on the surface of the water, Amelia sat up, all traces of relaxation having evaporated.

"For a man I hate, I do think about him a lot." She remarked to herself with a thin lipped smile. She pushed back her hair and stood. The droplets rolled off the surface of her skin as she lingered in the slowly fading sunlight to dry off.

America stopped when she saw the bundles of tepees in the large clearing. The sun was quickly setting behind her and she felt a small joy at knowing she made it to this place on time. When someone spotted her in the distance, she gripped the stick in the hand and lifted the other in peaceful greeting. Soon enough, two men on horseback came to meet her half way, and with relief, America thanked one of the Natives when he offered her the horse.

America draped her bag over her shoulders as she lifted herself onto the animal. She trotted the horse to the direction of the tepees. Several women and children peered out of their homes curiosity as she arrived and got off the horse. She didn't recognize many faces.

It had been a while since America had visited this tribe. Maybe the year had been… 1680? America smiled mildly at a group of staring men. Either way, she hoped to spot someone who might know who she was.

She paused in front of cluster of older humans around a large bonfire. Amelia looked at them as they looked at her; with interest. No… she didn't recognize anyone… Maybe she should have gone to a different tribe.

However, at that moment, one of them spoke. Everything had gone quiet as the rest of the place had gone mute to hear her reply. America drew her brows together in confusion. What did she say? It's been a while since I've spoken most Native languages.

Of course no one offered an explanation, so America motioned the elder to repeat what she had said (America hoped the gesture ask that kindly of her.)

And so when the words were repeated, Amelia leaned in and took in each syllable with great care.

"I know how you are, One With The Land." Those extra words were added in to the end. Those verses made people look in her direction in mild surprise. America opened her mouth… Oh! That was the name they gave me last time!

"It has been many years since I last saw you here, I was but a young child when you came here last." She went on to say.

America listened and nodded her head at the old women's words. She cleared her throat and said, "I apologize for not coming to see my old friends."

A man standing behind the old women leaned down to her ear and whispered something. The women laughed, and the man leaned back, grim faced. The shadow the fire casted intensified the glare he was pinning on her, but America made sure to keep on her mild face. "What brings you here?"

"I wish to stay here with the tribe for some days. Many things have happened in the last several years and now I must think on how I resolve it…" America hesitated for the next part, "Life has changed for all of us I suppose, and I'm afraid it will continue to shift in that direction with the coming future."

The elder watched her with a critical eye and when the last word left her mouth, the women nodded. "Stay as long as you like. I am Dream Listener, come to me if you need anything."

America gave her a deep nod and looked around, where slowly, the tribe started to pull away from the gathering at the fire.

So that was it. It sure wasn't the worst chat she had with someone. America was pretty sure that she has had worse conversations with Canada.

She turned away as she pulled back the hair from her eyes. Amelia gazed up at the night sky for the longest time with a deep longing. It had been on a night such as this that England first showed her the stars. Even though it had been a centuries since, she wondered, England, do you remember? She felt the blood leave from her face at the thought,then the anger arrived.

England doesn't deserve anything from me.

She noticed a girl motioning her over to a tepee. America followed her inside without a word. When will she stop dreaming like a girl? She need to become someone that would fight for the rights that should have been given to her from the start. She would play both peacemaker and warrior in the upcoming events.

To this she swore.

"Please make yourself at home One With The Land, I am Weeping Winds, and I am here to help you while you are here." Amelia blinked at the girl's grand welcome in a bit of surprise. Weeping Winds had snatched her from her serious thoughts and pushed her into the world of reality.

"Gee thanks, um, Weeping Winds was it? Sounds kinda mature for a little thing like you doncha think?" Amelia blurted dimly. Her blue orbs were taking in her new surrounding when she realized how the sentence sounded. Amelia snapped her gaze to the girl. "I'm sure you're plenty mature in that category it's just…" She went on blabbing with no end in sight.

Weeping Winds laughed and sat down on the carpet material that made up the floor of the tepee. Amelia shyly sat down, still feeling the embarrassment of her previous statement.

As she placed her hands upon the carpet, the colony smiled a bit at the sensation. It was fur. Amelia's meek smile turned into a toothy grin.

She laid down on it, stretching her arms over her head and rubbing her body against it like a cat against one's leg. "So soft…" She muttered to herself, eyes closed to the new world she entered.

It almost felt like a dream. Before England had restarted fighting against France, they all had stayed together for a bit. Canada and she were tiny things, only several years since their discovery, and it had been such a blissful, ignorant time.

England and France had a house built up in what was to become Connecticut, and within those walls held one of America's most dear memories. England had an enormous study inside where elegant furs had been thrown stylishly over the floors. An expense gift from one of England's allies at the time for sure, and America would spend hours laying on those furs, waiting for when England would finish tedious letters and papers to come and pick her up in his arms and just spin her around, wrapped in his love…

Then came the French and Indiana War where he ordered the house to be destroyed. "We don't need anything of the frog here with you luv." England explained to her shortly through a letter before moving on to the way he wanted her hair to be fashioned.

It only took a moment for Amelia to awake from that dream-like state. She sat up in a huff and stared at her legs. Get a grip America, remember, warrior and peacemaker. America pushed back her hair, feeling a suddenly irritation with it.

"One With The Land..." At the sound of the soft voice, Amelia remembered her situation. She turned her head at the Native, who held some kind of brush and ribbon in hand. "If I may help you with your…" Weeping Winds motioned to the rat's nest that was currently her hair.

"Oh, yeah sure." Amelia said and sat up straight for the other to get started on her work. There was a moment of a quick silence until Weeping Winds asked her what she had been thinking of. Amelia felt her face flush with heat and stammered out a quick summary of her memory.

The other girl was again quiet when America was done with her story. "This man, he is close to your heart is he not?" She asked, continuing to brush out the thick knots in her hair.

"Once." She wasn't quite yet ready to bare her heart and soul, especially since Amelia herself didn't know what was there.

"One mustn't trust the word once." Weeping Winds said softly and replaced the brush in hand for the green ribbon in Amelia's lap. Amelia stared as the ribbon pasted her and disappeared from view.

When Weeping Winds announced her task done, Amelia's hand went to her hair. It was just her short hair pulled back with the ribbon, a style not unlike Francis' and most of the men of the age. Her hostess must have seen the look on her face for she explained that Amelia's hair was too short to braid, and so she had to turn to an easier method.

Amelia grinned brightly and made quick to thank her. Her fingers fingered the soft silkiness of the ribbon in her hair when she suddenly thought of something.

"Did you trade for this ribbon?" Amelia felt guilt dripped into her being at the idea she was taking up more than just a place to live.

Weeping Winds reassured her that her people had only traded some furs and meat for many things from a pair of white men a couple of days ago. "We were hesitant to trade with this pair, for one of them had eyes the color of blood with hair and skin the shade of the moon. Many of the elders thought she was a demon, but others thought she was a shape shifter from the forest come to test us." She shrugged. "In the end, they had more things in their favor and we traded."

A shiver ran up her spine, goose bumps landed on her arms, and Amelia's eyes grew with the spooky tale her companion spoke of. She rubbed the chill bumps on her arms and tried to shake the thoughts of demons and shape shifters from her mind. "I- I think I'll go to sl-sleep n-now Weeping Winds." She swallowed and moved to an empty spot in the corner. Her friend only smiled, wishing Amelia a good night.

Chapter Text

The following morning, the loud tweeting of birds and the stomping of people woke Amelia from her sound slumber. Her eyelids fluttered from the soft light the fabric of the tepee managed to allow in. With a heavy unlady-like grunt, she propped herself up onto her elbows before looking around wearily.

The small space was warm and cozy to boot, and yet, even with all the melodrama happening at her house, that place felt like her true home.

Amelia reached up a hand to rake through her tussled locks. "Weird." She whispered out in a husky morning tone. Suddenly there was a shadow at the opening of the tepee.

"One With The Land, can I come in?" At the sound of the familiar polite voice, Amelia sat up, choking out a reply of come in.

Weeping Winds peered inside with her signature smile. "Have a good sleep my friend?" She asked brightly and walked in to pick up some things from a woven bin Amelia had not known was there.

"Yes, thank you."

"I'm glad to hear. When you get ready, please come and find me."

She found herself nodding, and just as the other was about to depart, Amelia stopped her. "Yes?" Weeping Winds gave her a tilt of her head, and Amelia opened her mouth but she couldn't make words appear. Amelia stared at the girl and was surprised that she was actually just now getting a good look at her.

She was a pretty thing, maybe a bit taller than herself, with a thick black braid falling almost to the waist. There was a necklace of several feathers, stones, and… Amelia squinted slightly, animal bone…? Nonetheless, it only drew attention to the beautiful dress that was probably made from animal skins.

"One With The Land?"

Amelia blinked rather sheepishly, she shook her head with more motion that was necessary, "Um," say something that doesn't sound daft  you prat, "do ya mind if I call you Windy? It's just that Weeping Winds is kinda of a mouthful and I-" Amelia hastily swallowed the lump in her throat and followed by ignoring the blood filling her cheeks.

But to her surprise, Weeping Winds only let out a rush of laughter with a glint of- amusement? -in her deep brown eyes. She held the object she had picked up to her chest and finished up her laughter.

"I wouldn't mind." She replied with that same glint focused so clearly in her gaze. With that, the girl turned away and slipped out of the tepee murmuring "A mouthful" with a giggle.

After she was gone, Amelia sat on the ground with a look resembling a new born chick, confused and lost.

She clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth, unsure what to do, or rather, what to start with first. Amelia supposed she could just wear the same clothes from yesterday, but then would that seem rude?

So with that though in mind, Amelia crawled over to her cowhide bag to pull out a new set of trousers and shirt. As the colony located her bag, there she paused, thinking over something. Did she have to change? Maybe the Natives wouldn't notice. She unknowing pulled at the collar of the shirt she wore and pulled it to her nose to test, and with the musk of it came a wrinkle to her nose.

Definitely going to change that.

Her hands dove into the bag, starting their journey to discover a new pair of clothes for the day. She'll most likely have to find a way to wash the dirtier ones somehow. Despite how many people didn't find the value in being clean, England had branded that into her mind at a tender age, and so, she was one of few who took a bath every other week, no matter how much of a pain it was, and have her usual clothes (the trousers and shirt, not to mention her underthings) washed clean often.

"Ah ha!" She cheered at pulling out an outfit… along with everything else that she throw in. It appeared that her things had formed into a ball of mass inside her bag.

At once, with a growling grumble, she went to work shoving back everything until she came to the small wooden box and the newly wrinkled letter. What was she thinking in bring that here? She stared at the things with a weak glare.

Yes, well, it was now quite obvious that she hadn't been in clear thoughts at the moment.

Amelia sighed, placing a hand to the fur beneath her. For a moment, she considered opening the letter, mostly to have a reason to complain to herself about England. The last thing she had sent to the man had been about his constant unwillingness to allow her to do anything.

Thinking back on it, it did sound childish, but she had enough of his own whining. Don't do this. Listen to me. How many times to I have to tell you girl? Do not provoke me. Without me, you would be nothing but a savage.

Amelia stuffed the wrinkled letter back into the depths of her bag. That last one had stung some, especially since it had some after his last short visit… She bit on the soft inside of her cheek before stripping and quickly changing. Her hand removed the ribbon from its place. She tried to retie it to give her scuffled hair some improvement.

She buttoned up the shirt before quickly moving to opening on the tepee to search for her black leather boots. A gift from Francis after the war a couple years back. She made quick to lace them up and emerged from her new found home to see the tribe up and at work.

A child ran past her legs with a basket of seeds, and when she looked up, she spotted several other tepees across from her view. She wouldn't say they were lined up, they were certainly in some sort of pattern, but what exactly it was, she didn't know.

Amelia wondered if this is what it was normally like for the tribe in the mornings. She stood there awkwardly for moment, pondering where she should go to find Windy. With a shrug of a shoulder, she made up her mind and started off in a random direction. Everything looked completely different from last night…

Maybe because it had been night Amelia. She rolled her blues eyes at herself.

The colony kept glancing this way and that for her friend or a familiar face, but again, it had been dark last night. She paused, hesitated, at a pair of women skinning an animal. Its hind legs were tied up and blood rolled off in crimson beads to a pool on the grass.

Her lips pressed together then she forced her head away from the sight. Again, her legs started moving in a direction, but she just wanted the smell of blood out of her nose.

"Hey!" A voiced called out to from somewhere behind and she keep walking, then the voice repeated, much louder, "Hey!" She stopped and looked around, her face surely dripping with confusion. Amelia blushed at the young man calling her. He was only a meter or two away as he walked towards her. The young Native ran up to her when the distance came to a few short feet.

He was maybe a couple years older than her and wore a tan animal skin pants and had a feather laced into his long ebony black hair. The hair was tied loosely into a low braid and thrown over his broad shoulder. There were some drawings finger painted onto his chest depicting the long glasses that where common to the grasslands when the autumn came. But the thing that caught her gaze was the sharp gray of his almond shaped eyes.

Her eyes fell from his eyes to his naked chest again. Amelia would bet a week's meal that she was blushing from her toes, hidden in her boots, to the blonde roots on her head.

This wouldn't be the first time she's seen a shirtless man, but the surprise was apparent as her eyes stayed parallel to his chest. There was muscle there and on his arms from all the work he must do. She knew from all the lessons slapped into her mind by her governesses that she should look away, or else her reputation would be forever tarnished.

Pfft. Yeah right.

The thought flew over her head with startlingly ease. His skin color was a beautiful shade of caramel…. Then Amelia noticed his lips, full and just as sweet to her eyes. Her own lips twitched with a tingly feeling and she repressed the urge to cover them with a hand. But they started to twitch into a frown as she noticed the young man's lips were moving.

She looked up at his eyes sharply, mumbling out a gargled, "Urgh?"

He gave a small amused smile at that. "You are looking for Weeping Winds, right?" His voice had a smooth touch to it and Amelia barely remembered to nod. His tiny smile transformed to a sunny grin. "This way then." He turned his back to her and started off in between two tepees.

"Wait!" She yelled over the sudden loudness that erupted to her ears. It seemed that this was the point in the early morning that many of the tribe were at their task. As she tried keeping up with the man who came to get her, Amelia saw people doing all sorts of chores. They all burned together.

The small hint of breeze that she noticed earlier seemed stronger due to her running. It made her eyes water and squint to prevent further discomfort.

Her eyes blinked out the annoying tears, when she noticed that many of the people out and about were looking at her. She hoped this wasn't going to be a regular thing.

But she didn't much time to think on it, because when her head turn to her front, she saw that the man who was leading her, stopping in front of a group of women.

"Ah! Nikita must you have her rush?" At the usually sweet voice turned sour, Amelia turned her head and spotted Windy getting up from her position from the group of women, who were in fact, weaving some sort of…. Thing. Amelia tried to be polite and try not to stare blankly at the large blanket… thing.

Her young escort only shouldered with a wicked grin that made her heart flutter. He was so handsome…

"Thank you for coming to see me One With The Land," Windy said in that humble voice that Amelia was just starting to get the hang of. Polite speech was not common to her if she could help. Polite speech meant rich folk, and that sort were the ones who manage to piss her off with every little thing.

"Yes yes, enough with the greeting child. Let the women talk now. Away Nikita." It was the elderly chief women from last night. She sat in the center of the women, back straight laced, and a shiny gleam of history embedded with her black eyes.

America would know. She's seen in it the faces of England, France, even Canada, and in the mirror. But what was this old women's name…? Ah yes, Dream Listener. The name sounded appropriate to the women. Her black eyes it seemed that she could see into your very soul.

To Amelia's left, Nikita dipped his head, a respectful gesture that contrasted with the smile blooming on his full lips. There, again, Amelia felt her lips tinged, and a blush formed on the apples of her cheeks. Embarrassed by her body's display, Amelia turned away without another glance back at where this good-looking youth disappeared off to.

When Amelia finally focused her eyesight to the group, she found everyone staring at her. Did she have something on her face? Frowning, she lifted a hand to smear over the landscape of her face. "Old One," Dream Listener on said, but at the different name, America blinked, "I am pleased that you have stayed the night with us. Have you had a good night's rest?" She nodded with an uneasy smile. It was odd having to be around such nice humans.

"Yes, thank you very much for giving me shelter." Amelia bowed at the waist towards the elder.

"Tell me Old One, have you fasted yet?"

Amelia swallowed dryly, suddenly aware of the grumble her stomach had decided on making. "Er- no, I mean to say that I haven't had the chance. I kinda just woke up and…" The words trailed off, leaving the sentence sounding awkward.

"Then you will eat. Nikita?!" She called out to the passing tribesmen. "Where has that boy gone?" Her voice had a touch of annoyance. "My grandson is lazy and unfocused Old One. Please do not let his poor personality and actions reflect on us." Dream Listener said gravely.

Amelia heard a faint giggle to her right and only had a second to spot Windy's lips pressed together to keep the bell-like noise hidden away. Nikita strolled back into the area with a chunk of what looked like bread in hand and a decent proportion of it in his mouth. Now it was her turn to try not to laugh at the way his right cheek puffed out like a chipmunk's.

"Boy," Dream Listener called out to her grandson, "Take Old One to eat and behave yourself." That last bit held a warning tone attached to it. It sounded not unlike the one mothers would give naughty children. Yet Nikita smiled through it, looking like a fat faced scarecrow. Amelia really tried not to choke on the laugh hiding in her throat.

Nikita suddenly looked at her, causing the threat of laughter to be caught off abruptly. She felt her face flush under his gaze and she felt embarrassed cause of it, which only added to the red gathering in her cheeks. "This way One With The Land,"

Feeling completely clumsy with herself, Amelia followed the young man until they were out the council's sight. The only noise around the two was the background sounds of the tribesmen working.

Amelia felt even more awkward with the silence between them so… what the hell? "Uh… Nikita, that's your name right?" Smooth, "I- I um…." The words were just as clumsy as she was.

He looked back at her and grinned, a sharp K9 showing through, "Don't worry, it'll be my pleasure to show you around." She didn't know what was more embarrassing; her horrible stutter that followed or the trickle of drool at the corner of her mouth.

Chapter Text

Amelia stiffly wiped the saliva on the corner of her mouth with as much composure as she could. But alas, she failed at everything involving handsome, gorgeous men, so all she managed to do was look like a simpleton in front of Nikita. The man in question only gave her that addicting grin that she was starting to love.

“Hungry Old One? We can go over to where Weeping Wind’s sister was cooking something. I think today’s meal was rabbits and deer.” He said, turning away to have her follow him yet again. She wasn’t sure whether to feel relief that he hadn’t noticed her lust.

Either way, she felt like a perfect fool. Love… lust… neither spelt out anything good for her kind. Both are complications that everyone would rather live without.

Love or lust involving a mortal of all things- that was just picking at your heart with a dagger. If she knew anything, it was that.

All of these things went through her head as she walked stiffly behind him. Trying to convince herself for a better word. “Ah- erm- Nikita?” She tried to pick the word from her head before forming them on her tongue, “Do you have any more of that bread?” On cue, her stomach let out a furious growl and she looked down at it with a surprised face.

“I’m just really hungry and you said cooking, as in the food’s not done yet, as in I can’t put it in my mouth when we get there, and I’m really hungry.” She explained, her eyes flickering this way and that, “I haven’t eaten for two days and I must sound like a rude chump right now but-”

A hand shoved a piece of brown bread into her line of vision and she stood, gaping at the golden chunk of treasure.

Her gaze inched up to his face when she heard a chuckle. “Has anyone ever told you you babble a lot?” Amelia adorable the way his gray eyes twinkled with mischief.

She smiled back at him, feeling the blush already starting to touch her face. “Not as much as they should.” Amelia took the bread from him and strongly enjoyed the way his eyes lingered on her.

After a moment, Nikita jerked his head in a direction. “This way, I’m sure Sun Bringer’s cooking will be worth the wait. We all envy the way she can work with herbs.”

This time, when she tried to keep up with him, she managed to walk next to him. Occasionally, a question would fall from her lips and he would answer back with a witty sort of humor that felt like a beautiful fresh breeze. She had never talked to someone like this. Sure there where the letters from her fellow personifications (not including that ass England) but this? This felt- really great. A part of her girlish heart leaped at his jokes and at the way he looked at her and at the way he actually listened to her dorky self.

And best of all, he was nothing like England.

Amelia found herself grinning widely when they reached Sun Bringer. Nikita brought her to a grouping of tepees where a number of women where cooking. They sat in a semicircle, around a pot and several rabbits cooking over a blazing fire. A women with extremely long her (past her hips! Maybe. She was sitting down. Looked like it though) had numerous dried herbs and vegetables on a wooden tablet in front of her. The other women sported similar things next to them as well, making Amelia think that each one was doing their part in cooking lunch. All had small knifes to cut up the veggies into bitable pieces, which also made Amelia’s mouth water at the thought.

At Nitkita’s loud laughter and wave, most of the older women groaned outwardly at him. Yet two of the younger girls there, around 14 and 15, stared up at him like he was made of sugared bread or perhaps finely cooked meat. Oblivion

Wow was she hungry.

Yet these reactions did confirm something, and Amelia started to strongly rethink his position in the tribe. Troublemaker. God. Why did that make him more alluring? She thought trying to appear calm and cool.

Nikita boldly bent over some of the women to take a carrot. One of the women, the one with the long hair (black as coal too), had her blue eyes staring unblinkingly because of a bundle of something wrapped up to the women’s bosom. Her stare turned into a gawk as she realized it was a baby. Amelia had seen babies before but… the tiny creature give the impression of looking straight back at her and she grimaced. Probably quite rudely at that. But, oh, babies. She couldn’t handle them and it seemed that the feeling was mutual between the opposite party as well.  

The women with the baby slapped a rag at Nikita as soon as the carrot was off the wooden tablet.  “Boy, how many times must I tell you to stop your eating? The stupidity of it is tiring.” She huffed, tossing back her hair behind her shoulder. Nikita smiled crookedly and gave the women a playful look.

“Come on Sun Bringer, have pity on this foolish starving man.” The other women rolled their eyes at this exaggeration while the two youngsters sighed with stars in their midnight eyes.

Amelia, on the other hand, shot a look of surprise to Nikita before returning her eyes to Sun Bringer. Windy’s sister was definitely older then the girl, probably in her late 20s to early 30s. She didn’t share Windy’s beauty either, appearing plainer in the curves of her checks and the shape of her lips. But her eyes, though the same color, were fiercer and riled with strength. While Windy had a dainty, almost delicate look to her, Sun Bringer looked like she could work all day in the field and not complain once about her endeavor.

The baby to her breast gurgled and at once Nikita crouched to its level. “How is baby Deer Dancer fairing on this day?” Nikita reached forward, his finger leading the way, most likely for the child to grab, but his mother once again slapped the rag at him, this time to his face.

“Don’t touch my baby without checking where your hands have been boy.” Sun Bringer all but hissed.

Amelia’s brows grew together and covered the grim frown her mouth was forming with her hand. Once, at one of his fancy house, England had been reading a childish fairytale to her on the balcony, when suddenly France came back from an all-nighter, reeking like cheap women and looking like he had been in quite a few fights. Giving in to some parental emotion that was building in him at the sight of her tiny self, France started stumbling towards her on bruised legs for a cuddle, fortunately for her (his beard stumble hurt) and unfortunately for him, England kicked him off the baloney with a “BLOODY FROG!” thus saving her from what would most likely have been a future trauma. 

Eh… to the point, she could see why Sun Bringer didn’t want a deviant (?) to touch her child.

At that moment, Sun Bringer snapped her fiery eyes in her direction. She pressed her lips together at the sight of her. “So you’re the one who everyone is fussing about.” The tone she used was making her feel… uncomfortable. Her eyes searched for something on Amelia’s body, starting from her boots to her hair. “Nothing special I see.” That… wasn’t the worst opinion someone has had of her. Amelia cracked a smile, her mouth opening to respond with something when it was cut off.

 An older women next to her, maybe close to Dream Listener’s age, gasped loudly.

“Sun Bringer, do not disrespect your elders, though this girl may look to be the age of Weeping Winds, she is older than the Elder herself. She has seen many things and will outlive you, that infant in your arms,” she pointed to Deer Dancer, and Amelia shifted her feet in nervousness about her immortality, “and his children-” Nikita whistled under his breath, a false look of amazement on his face.

“You don’t say?” No one there could not hear the sarcasm woven into his tone. He cocked his head to side, obviously faking innocence. The two girls giggled quietly through their own hands. Amelia stared at him, shocked over this outburst, ‘cause that was clearly what it was. Amelia could see a corner of his brow twitch with something she could make out as…annoyance. She spotted a hint of it in his grey eyes and it left her gaping.

He gave the impression that he was never serious at all.

All the older women practically bristled at the lack of disregard. “Nikita….” Sun Bringer’s voice sounded like it was on the verge of an explosion.

No no no! This meeting was not supposed to turn out like this! Especially since she hadn’t figured out when the food was going to be done.

Amelia rushed in front of the group, strongly reminded of the past two days when she had done the same. She announced breathlessly, “Ma’am I am very sorry for looking like a burden to you. I’m sure it can’t be easy to place your trust in someone that has just shown up the day before. You have your baby to think about, and I can see that kinda thinking makes you a great mother. You care, that’s what count in the end. And a little suspicion is good- it keeps people alive and I can tell right away that you’re good at staying alive. My, I can bet you my favorite pair of leather boots that you caught what’s cooking in this pot. It smells super good by the way. Anyways, I know what I am, and I can tell you right now, sure I’ve lived for a long time, and hopefully I’ll keep at it, but I’m not no strong leader person. I’m not no hero, as much as I want to be, I can’t even help my settlers from oppression-” Ah that last part hurt like a suckerpunch. Amelia bowed her head, feeling much more depressed about the whole thing then when she had opened her mouth.

Nikita put his hands on her shoulders, making her jump at the contact. She snapped her head up to him, surprised he had touched her, causing a deep warmth to spread through stomach. She gulped at the sensation, fighting back a cough out of her discomfort. Men weren’t supposed to touch, or at least that was her upbringing.

He shook his head slightly and Amelia turned back to Sun Bringer to see the women had started to boil in the deep ebony of her eyes.

“Listen here, One With The Land,” The name sounded like an insult coming off her tongue, “I will tolerate you solely because of my people. Nothing more and nothing less, so please, spare your tale of woe to ears that care.”

Amelia sat back, feeling like she had just been shoved away. Sun Bringer’s eyes held her own until Amelia looked away, confused at her animosity.

“And you, boy,” She flicked her wrist at Nikita, rag in hand to again slap him in the face, however, all he did now was brush it away like one would do with an excited pet, “do not befriend her. Her kind do not have time for us. She has given up on us, the original children of the land, and has set her eyes on the ways of the Whiteman. She doesn’t care about us. This girl, spirit, god, whatever you wish to call her, is nothing more than a corrupt mother picking favorites among her children.”

 She sneered at her, appearing to be consumed by abhorrence, and all Amelia could do was sit there, feeling as if with each word coming from this person, someone born on her soil, was stabbing into her heart, “Disgusting. It would be better if they stopped coming around us. They love and take from us then forget and move on without a second look. Her kind is made for the future while we, we are chained to the past. Nor do I think it wise for you to prance around so freely when you-”

It was only at the baby’s prickling cry did Amelia flinch, pulled from the spitting of irate words, and realize that the infant had been restless for the past few minutes.

At Sun Bringer’s distraction, her guide touched her shoulder again, grabbing her attention, making her stand and move as far away as possible from the scene.

She didn’t even take notice of Nikita falling behind.

She walked with all the grace of a stampeding elephant, as Madeline had been only too kind to once describe in a letter. Well this elephant didn’t stop her stampeding until she was on the edge of the tribe’s campsite. She glowered out into the wilderness, undaunted and hurting at the refection.

She always runs away. It was staring to look like that was all she was good at.

Amelia sat down with such force, that she had to bite down on the flesh of her lip to keep from yelping due to the pain in her ass and tailbone.

Was England right? The notion passed through her mind, only causing her to gag. How can I do anything if I still have a child’s mind? How can I help with my words when they burn me? How can I do anything? “Fuck.” She whispered bitterly, her bottom lip quivering.

Her hands combed through the grass, her fingers tangling themselves into the long green strands. Nails bit deep into the soil, pulling back her hand to see how much it dirtied. Her hand was smeared with the soil, and the longer she stared at it the angrier she began. Grunting, she shoved both of her hands into the dirt.

“This is me. This is all I am. Dirt, grass- fuck!” Amelia screamed, fist pounding into the ground with all her strength. Why? Why didn’t any of you try you help? You were supposed to help me. You stupid assholes didn’t explain anything to me. You lied and lied and lied. But you only helped yourself. Everything was your sake. I just want them to see- see me like a p-person. Someone who can “Fucking help…” America slammed her fists into the ground once more before frustration overtook her mind, and her body reacted by having her soiled hands bang on her forehead over and over again. But on the fifth hit, she missed and instead punch herself in the eyes.

For a moment she saw nothing but black spots paint her sight, leaving her blinking and whimpering at the combination of physical pain and emotional turmoil. Then, finally giving up on soothing the throbbing in her eyes, Amelia started to cry.

She bent over herself in disgust at her feelings, the apprehensions, and the agony of it all.

Somehow (she has no idea how) she made it back to her teepee, belly empty and heart wretched with pain. She stayed there the rest of the day, drowning in her pity and worry over the ripple she’s caused within the tribe.

Amelia heard the calls and voices coming to her teepee but never making a move to crawl to the entrance. By then she felt too embarrassment to face anyone. It was when the daylight disappeared from the thinner parts of the teepee’s fabric did she peer out into the darkness.

Heartache inside her ribcage only filled when she looked down and noticed a wooden tray (like the ones she saw with the women earlier) by the entry way. When she brought it back into her space, she took a bite of what tasted like finely seasoned dry meat. She attacked the remaining pieces and breathed in the handful of berries that came with it.

By the time she finished, Amelia was staring at the wooden plate in her hands, barely making out the shape of it.

She was so tired. There was a heavy soreness in her eyes that made her want to scratched but decided against because it would probably only make them red.

But at the end of it, she laid the tray by her feet and stripped from all the clothes she had on to then wrap herself up in the warmth of the animal hides. After she settled in her small nest, Amelia stared out into the blackness surrounding her room. For a moment she wanted someone to come in a and hug-

“Stop.” She whispered hoarsely to herself, bottom lip trembling. She couldn’t understand what she wanted. Amelia didn’t understand what was going on with her mind. She wanted the Natives to be happy, she wanted her settlers to be happy too. Amelia just didn’t know how to make that happen. How could everyone come out smiling in the end?

What did she do wrong with Sun Bringer? There had to be a reason for all the hate she saw glaring at her. What did she do? That always seemed to be the case: so many questions but so little answers.

With those lovely thoughts swaying through her head, Amelia closed her eyes, begging sleep to take her.

She could hear the gentle crackle of the fireplace a couple of feet in front of her through the first drowsy levels of sleep. Amelia borrowed herself deeper in the bundle of blankets and immediately found herself freezing at the sound of heavy boots coming up the stairs.

Who was that? The question made her blood flare at the thought of a mystery. At once she sat up in her bed, staring at the door in amazement. She should be scared- or worried at the least- but didn’t England just say that she was the bravest little girl he ever knew?

Amelia blushed through the darkness at the memory of his letter. She brought her knee up to place her chin on it as she watched the door and frowned. Arthur always called her a little girl or his little sister or his poppet or- to the point, it seemed he never let the image of her 4 foot 6 self out of his mind. Nope, couldn’t let the tiny girl crying for him out of his head.

But now she was 13 years old! France had said (with a very odd expression) that she was growing, like- a lot. So Amelia had done some thinking and came up with the notion that when she was tall, busty and beautiful, that maybe he could finally see her and-

CRRRRK

America snapped out of her mind and gawked as her door opened. She almost groaned. If this was France again, hoping to convince her that England was a whateverthatweirdFrenchwordwas and get her to leave with him, she would just have to throw her vanity at him like last time.

And just like she thought, she saw the shadow of a man standing at the door. The candle light hall behind him shone against his blonde hair. She was already on her feet, hands on her hips when the France’s shape stopped where he stood. “France! I told you if you want to talk to me, come when the sun’s up dumm…” She squinted at his shape.  

He had turned his head slightly to the light, causing just enough brightness to reveal his tired bright green eyes. “England?”

 Oh heavens, he had finally came back for her. America gasped so harshly it felt like all the air in her lungs was sucked out completely. “England!” On instinct, her legs ran to him while her arms wrapped around his slim waist.

“England… England…” She whispered over and over again. Pants fell from her mouth as she rubbed tears on his waistcoat. She didn’t even care that she was getting him dirty! He came back! After all these years! He came back! Who knew 120 years could feel so long?

“Luv… America…” She felt him breath into her hair as he kissed the top of her head. But it was only then did America smell the odor of rum on him. It made her nose wrinkle. “Let’s sit on the bed luv. Big brother is so very tired tonight.” He closed the heavy door behind them.

Amelia was breaking at the seams with happiness as she did was she was told, then she hurried to her nightstand where she had the matches to light her candle. Only after all these things where done did she hurry over to the bed to met him.

They sat facing each other on the bed. America blankly goggled at his face, it was exactly the same from the painting hanging in the parlor. No… not quite the same. It looked like he may have aged a year or two. She thought this strange that in the last 120 years, he only gained 2 years while she got 6.

“Arthur why are you here? You never said-” the words stuck in her throat as England placed his hand (without a glove!) on her neck. She shivered at the feeling. Don’t let ever let a man touch you America. She could practically hear his voice in her head, But what if that man is you?

America watched his neutral expression with aching lips. She swallowed thickly from the feeling. How odd... Just then, his thumb brushed her bare collarbone, earning him a strange look from her, yet the touch caused an even stranger stirring low inside her belly.

She started to pull back in shame when his other hand gripped her arm, propelling her to him until they were chest to chest-

Amelia’s eyes snapped opened from the dream, or nightmare, whichever one it was, she could never decide when she had it.

She sat up, bones groaning, and body responding to the morning chill now that the animal skins had fallen away.

Het hands came to her face to rub the sleep from her face but froze at the ache in the hollow between her legs. Stop, don’t think about that. So she did so, clamping her legs together as she lay on her side.

This time when she forced herself back into sleep, she didn’t re-live that memory.

Chapter Text

Amelia laid on her side, staring at the wall of her makeshift home. The animal skins and thick woven blankets kept her warm against the cool early chill of late May air. Was it June yet? When did she leave the port town? The twenty-what? Fifth? How long has she been here?

She quickly counted the days since she’s left the town, and came up with the grand total of five days. But it might as well been a thousand. Amelia glowered at the wall.

She rolled over to her back and brought the blankets up to her chin, the distant memory of last night’s dream haunting her mind. Why now? Amelia hadn’t had that dream in almost three months. It must be all this pressure, she decided, from the English bastard and the Natives.

Her body moved on its own record back to her original position. The wall looked no different. She curled up, moving her arms to hug herself, and bending her legs to her naked chest.

Amelia stayed rooted there for the next couple of hours, hearing the community awake and seeing the sun’s light start to seep through the wall’s fabric. This followed by the shadows made by the people who passed her tent. She stared, intrigued, by the amount of humans who would hesitate, some movement only slight, but still there nonetheless.

What would she do now? Should she pack and leave right then? Now that might’ve been an option when everyone was asleep, but now, with so many people up and around, it only made her shame increase tenfold.

But from the way things were piling up, that seemed to be the only way.

Maybe someone will come to tell her to leave. Yeah. Maybe that’s what’s going to happen and she’ll depart in depressed exile and they’ll point their arrows (maybe dip them in poison, that sounded interesting) and shoot her.

By the end of her train of thoughts, Amelia had her upper lip pulled back in horror and her eye felt like it started to twitch. She really had to stop with the suicidal thinking. However, could anyone blame her for going in that direction? This was obviously the end of her visit here.

It may be one thing to barge in unannounced, but it was another matter where you figure out they actually find you burdensome. Amelia closed her eyes.

Her body coiled deeper into itself. She gripped at the blankets roughly and cocooned herself inside until she was inside a humid cave of her own making.

Amelia wasn’t welcomed here. She should leave. She had to leave. She knew this, oh how she knew this, but her arms and legs refused to acknowledge the notion, so there she stayed, a whimpering mess under the sheets like a frightened child. Teeth sunk in deeply into her bottom lip, the thick taste of the blood teasing her tongue with its metallic flavor.

She couldn’t remember the last time her body felt lagging. Living with people was exhausting, at least in her large empty house it was just that- empty. Perhaps that was the true way personifications should live, away from the humans who boiled over with emotions.

Another day passed with this heavy sleep on her shoulders, just another day repeating the same actions as one before. Including that nightmare.

This time Amelia woke up after the sun had risen and the Natives had been set to work. She was still tired after all the sleep she had invested herself into, and God in heaven above, that- that-monstrosity of a nightmare had refused to disappear from her closed lids even after she awoke and shifted multiple times in bed.  

In the nightmare, Amelia hadn’t woken up before things got complicated. Things escalated greatly and quickly, much more than before. Some primal and wanton inside of her core yearn for this and there was no way for her to stop.

The echoing of too well-known cries, pants, and moans were still ringing out in her ears as she stupidly gawped at nothing in particular. How could she forget the slick wet noise of his hands rubbing on-?

Her hand slapped her cheek at the thought coming across her brain, basically screaming STOP.

Her lips parted, letting a desperate, but weak, groan fall through. The colony timidity felt fingertips trace over her lips, adding to the delicate sensation they were in. The place between her legs craved for something she refused to give in to. But her breasts felt so tender and heavy. Was it so wrong to want him to just touch her? She could hear Arthur’s husky voice whispering sweet nothings in her ear as he gently, ever so gently...

Luv… Luv… My luv…

Then the logical portion of her brain grasped the absurdity of it. She brought one hand down from her lips and the other away from its ascent to her breast. Wide eyed, and personally freaked out, Amelia clutched balls of hair on her head tightly and brutally.

“Too much stress,” The girl whispered roughly to herself, eyes and heart feeling sore. All she wanted now was peace of mind. Yes, that’s what she wanted, a complete and utter blank state of mind, where she didn’t have to fret about these disgustingly mixed emotions and of course, the thousands of people in her care.

Did all beings like her have thoughts like this?

Of course America wouldn’t know. She was a pitiful colony, no other countries or such creatures would dare waste their time on her. England had told her so in those exact words.

Bastard. How on earth could her mind have wondered to that daydream of horrors? Nevertheless, it certainly must be because she was getting older, that was the only logical (only sane) motive behind it! No other could be as cruel, as brutal, as Arthur. Even with the soft tones he once used to sing to her with. Lust was not love.

Again. Brutal. Murder. Liar. Amelia hit her palm against her forehead with each word passing through her head.

But Ivan didn’t follow that criteria. He always replied her letters with those breathtakingly beautiful writings. Amelia softened the tension her eyes had drawn themselves into. He always made sure to spray some kind of pretty smelling stuff onto his letters, so when it finally arrive and her greedy hands would prudently rip into the paper, the smell would waft out into her face.

At the incoming pressure behind her eyes (a feeling she was getting used too) Amelia pressed her face into the soft ground underneath her in an effort to stop the cries.

She missed her friend. Ivan always talked about oddities that made her either raise a brow or fall in a heap of snorts and giggles.

If she focused her mind a bit, Amelia could easily picture herself visiting his home one day. Ivan often spoke about his country as a beautiful winterland that did have its imperfections, but made up for it ten times over in its customs and looks. One day she’ll make good of her many promises and go visit him.

He gave her a chance to be how she really was. That’s all she ever craved of England. Ivan wasn’t like him and that was a key factor resulting in her mouthing sometimes late at night, “Imperil Russia.” She would never admit it to him though, he already has a large ego.

“He’s so vain…” Amelia mumbled throatily against the warm skins. But not as much as France. Nothing and absolutely no one could beat that man in that category. Blue eyes wrinkled along with a sloppy crooked grin on her face.

Amelia could see him strutting down the town’s cobblestoned streets, complaining about the stains it would leave on his new silk shoes. Canada could be there too.

It had been such a long time since she last saw her baby sister. But her mind could imagine how she would look like. It almost was looking in a mirror, one with a neater appearance, but a mirror nonetheless. Long blonde hair (Madeline could never hack hers off), a perfect white heart-shaped face (Amelia was forever the filthier one from the two) with those strange violet orbs surrounded by matching blonde lashes.  

Canada would try to see the beauty in her meek town and come up with how wonderful the buildings were shaped.

Mary and her sister would get along well, Amelia concluded faintly. Both of them are so… quiet. That sounded like a damn well reason to have the two met and enjoy themselves over a cup of- wine. Fuck that tea England made her drink day in and day out.

Amelia will invite Madeline and Mary to as many glasses of wine as they wanted, and not that watered down version men thought “ladies” should only drink if allowed too. Francis could come as well, just as long as he could keep his hands to himself and stop from sputtering that irksome French-talk. Sure she knew some phrases, but if she had to sit through an entire conversation of nothing but mon-this and ma-that. She would toss the table outside.

Quietly, little chuckles slipped from in between her teeth and into the tiny cave-blanket she made. The noise had to bounce off the walls of her cave. She was far away from everyone, living inside a tiny, but homey, cave where nothing ever happened and no grave decisions were up to her to say.

Where nothing she could do was the wrong choice.

The familiar sensation came over there right then, face buried into blankets, snot running down disgustingly onto her lips. At last her sob tore out from her battered chest and tender throat.

America the Colony was useless.

Again she spent other day with her face glued to the blankets thanks to her tears. It was only after she watched someone leave food outside her teepee did she sit up and crawl to her bundle of clothing inside her pack. Blindly, she pulled out a new set of outwear consisting of worn black pants and a white long-sleeved shirt.

With nimble hands, Amelia dressed and slipped on the old vest she had on previously for extra warmth. She reached down to tug her bag over her head when she dropped it, landing on the floor with a soft thup. Amelia rubbed her eyes then pinched the bridge of her nose from the fatigued state her body was insisting she was in even after sleeping so much.

“Ahahhh…” She wearily sighed into her room. “Time to go.” The words sounded small, both disappointed and slightly frustrated. When she had visualized herself leaving here, she had hoped it would be with some newfound knowledge and a plan to carry out.

And here she was. With completely nothing to show for.

Teeth clunked together with infuriation. “Perfect.”

*

America peeked of the teepee quickly and when she saw the cost clear, she hurried out, pack on and boots stomping soundlessly away.

She was almost out of sight of the Native’s campsite and into the entrance of the woods, when she heard distant rustling from somewhere near her right.

On the ground.

Truly nervous now, combined with the thought it was a yelping pup from the small pack of wolves the Natives have taken in with a very angry mother around, Amelia spun around while trying to move away from the sound. Angry wolves were not as cute as they looked. Plus, when they tried to bite, it took forever to get a good grip around their hind legs and toss them away.

“Nice mama wolf… I don’t want to mess with you… I already had a mama almost bite my head off…” She whispered, eyeing a row of bushes when the sounds got louder and closer. She swallowed, thinking she could maybe outrun whatever was stalking her.

Then a flash of white flew from the brush and straight at her twitching figure. The thing was followed by a strike of brown. Scared beyond her mind, Amelia almost screamed. It was clearly an almost, for before an actual noise could form from her throat, her feet tangled into one other, both trying to escape.

Each in a different direction. America you damn stupid-

She didn’t have time to finish that train of thought either, because thanks to her confused feet, she fell forward, and right into the all so gentle arms of a half-buried rock.

The world didn’t fade to black like she had read in those forbidden French novels. No, life exploded into a million of colors behind her closed lids and suddenly she was shoved into the rainbow. Once in the vomit display of colors, she cursed the rabbit and fox.

*

After Amelia regained consciousness, the dying sun in the west told her hours passed from the last time she was awake. Hand curling back to touch her head, the only thing she noticed was the crusty dry feeling of- “Blood.” She squeaked, suddenly thankful that she couldn’t have died from the wound.

She couldn’t even leave here with messing it up in some way. Why was she such a failure? She sniffled, tears begging to come out gain. She was so tired, every part of her body felt like crying along with her eyes. So tired. All Amelia wanted to do at least one thing right. Why couldn’t she do something as simple as get up and leave?

She had wanted to know. She wanted to understand everything. She wanted to be the hero, to help the Natives, her settlers. The sadness gathering behind her closed lids and the wetness was on the cliff of her lower lids. Was she that useless? She wanted and wanted with all her might but how could she want when she was so broken that she was in no position to take or give.

I am a fool.

“One With The Land?” At the sweetened voice crashing against the wilderness, Amelia turned sharply, leaving her back unexposed. However, the one standing before her was none other than Weeping Winds.

“Windy?” Amelia could see her shape in the dim light, but it looked blurred. The sound of her voice sounded odd and rough, most likely the aftermath of her silent sulking.

Windy on the other hand, smiled, holding out something to her. Amelia squinted down at it and swallowed thickly at the smell rather than the sight, for it was too dark to see the stew in the dark. “I thought you would be hungry, you weren’t in your room.” Amelia gently took the bowel from her small hands, tears now really starting to tumble from her eyes again. She quickly noticed that Windy didn’t bother to question why she was all the way out here with her things in the first place.

It had been such a long time she had been shown this kindness not because she was America the Colony, prized passion of the Great Britain, or the sweetened and sheltered sister of the equally great Lord Arthur Kirkland. That was a farce.

Yet here was Windy, smiling at her like they had been the bestest of friends since the 1200’s. Amelia tried to blink away the tears, really she tried, but, “Aghhhhhhhh!” Holding the bowl with one hand and bringing the other up to rub at the waterworks her blur orbs were admitting, she wailed to the darkening skies.

She squinted harshly through the tears to see Windy smiling and gracefully sitting down. “Y-you-,”Amelia tried to start but Windy only had a kind smile to offer her weeping self. After a moment of loud sobbing, Amelia sniffled before the other patted the spot beside herself.

With a gross sounding sniff, she sat down, slow this time, not wanting to spill the soup into the grass. Amelia bowed her head in shame towards the stew, silence taking over the scene there. Windy shifted next to her and when Amelia glanced up, she saw Windy holding a spoon-like utensil out to her. With trembling fingers, she reached out to grab a hold of it. “I-I’m sorry-” She started only to be cut off again.

Windy giggled softly through the clear air. “Make it up to me by eating. It seems you’ve been here a long time.” Great, besides the shame and awkwardness, she could add guilt to her list of jumbled emotions.

Digging the spoon into the stew, she brought it up to her lips-

“Holy fuck!” Her lips clamped shut at the curse, but ohh, it was needed to describe the flavor. She gushed at the explosion of taste filling her taste buds and almost moaned at the sensation combined with the feel of her stomach actually getting some food. Amelia chewed slower, trying to capture the taste of rosemary, thyme, rabbit, maybe deer, potatoes, and carrots. Before she knew it, her spoon was circling the thick broth, coming up empty each time she brought it from the liquid. Amelia dropped the spoon in her lap, fully taking ahold of the bowel and gulping down the remaining contents.

Sighing happily, her eyes seemed to have a renewed sense of her environment. She patted her now swollen belly with satisfaction. Then she heard an equally pleased exhale from the girl next to her. “Good isn’t it? I don’t think anyone will ever have Sun Bringer’s touch with cooking. I’m a bit jealous of her you know.” Even through the darkness, Amelia could make out Windy’s soft smile, but her voice, it was small.

Thoughts moving at a snail’s pace, Amelia suddenly sat up straighter, fear coming over her being. “Oh Windy! I’m so sorry I got your sister mad! But please believe me when I tell you that I don’t know what I said wrong! But-but I’m not saying it’s Sun Bringer’s fault! Who would say that when you all been nothing but the perfect hosts! I- I ahm… I- I can leave, so you none of you have to bother with me! I can out here cause I’m a coward! And I may not have my head around things yet- But I can do this! Somehow… ah… I can…” The strength in her voice grew weaker as she went on speaking until finally the words died on her tongue, shriveling up and turning to dust. The taste of it was disgusting even after the amazing food,

Damn it! She was scared out of her mind! She told herself not to be afraid, what kinda hero gets scared! She wants to be a hero, so she can’t be scared, but the thought of returning so soon to her town scared the living ducks out of her. Shit.

Calm down. Relax. So what you don’t have a plan to leave England and lead your settlers out of his tyranny, you- you had a nice vacation…? “Arghhhhh!” Her arms reached up to take clunks of her short hair and her body started to rock back and forth…. Shit. This wasn’t good. Maybe- maybe she could go talk to Adams, or maybe Jefferson, or or or-

“Shit.”

“Old One! Please I’m not asking you to leave here. That choice only lays with you, not with my sister or anyone else.” A twitch of her brow made her clutch her teeth and grind them.

“I heard nothing but Old One. What’s with that anyways?! Yesterday, everyone was calling me One With The Land and know I hear nothing but Old One. I’m not that old damnit! Talk to China if you want old but not-” She started to hyperventilate, the aftereffects of the situation she was in. Amelia get a grip!

“Old One! Please…” Windy had a ridiculously wide eyed expression on her face that would’ve made Amelia bursting out laughing in any other situation. “It is just a name… like how you call me Windy.” Amelia stared, a sulky pout on her lips out of desperation.

“A nickname?” She croaked.

Windy gave a shaky nod of her head, “I suppose that’s what you would call it. But One With The Land, I am not asking you to leave, the fault was with my sister’s, not your’s. You can continue to stay here with us.”

Amelia’s mouth opened then closed. This process went on for half a minute until, “I can’t let you chose me over your sister! I have a sister too. She’s mostly weird half the time and the other half, I kinda sorta forget she’s there… and it’s like, since she’s the favorite she thinks she can just snap her fingers and get whatever she wants, but I know it shouldn’t work like that and holy smucks I totally don’t know where I was going with this- oh right. Family bonds are important!” Amelia settled on.

Windy didn’t look at her for the next moment as she spoke. “I know that Old One, truly I do, but my sister was being awful for reasons you do not have control over. For you to understand…” Her hands held her long black braid to keep the newborn breeze from pulling on it. It was getting so dark, Amelia could only just make out her rope of hair against the rest of the surroundings.

“Do you wish to hear a tale of a dead man Old One?” The girl in question stared, fully aware of the crickets humming in the background along with the slowing tweeting of birds in the trees.

“Yes.”

Windy nodded, still not looking at Amelia, instead her faced stayed tilted to the border of trees before them. “To understand his death, you must know that with our people, there stories of spirits who embodied the very land we live upon. We honor these spirits as best as we can, especially when sightings of a small child who never seemed to age started to occur.” Weeping Winds smiled at the trees as America stare bluntly at her.

Her whisper sounded like a canon going off. “Me?”

“Yes. As you know, Dream Listener remembers you when she herself was just a girl. There are many tales speaking of how such sightings of a spirit can cause good will to flow into the being, and thus the land, bringing great harvest, more animals, and beautiful seasons. It is said you are put in our favor.

And so, one day, when I was only 10 summers old, the Whiteman began to spread further into our territory. So many were furious,” America was scared to hear how her voice turn bitter, the tone reminded her of Sun Bringer, “But we are peaceful folk. Prideful people cannot hope to live long in this world, and so we sent one of our own to speak with the Whiteman. When this person came back, saying that they refused to move, one man thought of an idea that had to work; find One With The Land, the great spirit will surely hear our plea and help us.”

America’s glaze fell to her empty bowl. Her sight blurred once again, senses turning painfully numb at where this story was going. “No…” She breathed heavily in English under her breath. “No.” Her eyes clutched tightly, both fists moving to cover her eyes in horror.  

If Windy heard, she made no move. “This man searched. He searched long and hard for you. Yet in the end, it was as if you disappeared. His wife begged him to stop following a dream, she said the spirit had left us for the Whiteman. But he laughed. He laughed and I can still remember how booming it was. He went to look in the one place where none of our kind had ever ventured into- the Whiteman’s village.”

America shook her head. Oh God, let this have a happy ending. She knew though, knew it in her pounding heart, it was anything but that. “We saw his body several suns later, at the edge of the campsite. We don’t know how it happened, but that day we learned that the Whitman were cruel people who… push the limits of morality… Old One,” America felt Weeping Winds extend her fingers to her knee gently, causing her to look up with tear stained cheeks, “Sun Bringer’s partner was called Water’s Son. His eyes were like your’s, the same shade as water in a clean spring. The Elder’s thought he was blessed, as they do with my Nikita. I believe with all my heart that Water’s Son was the gentlest person there was… Old One,” The wind swept by at that moment, making wisps of blonde and black hair dance in the darkness, “Sun Bringer blames you for taking her mate, the father of her son, but it was not your fault. We should’ve known that spirits who do not make come before us want no part in our follies. You did not kill him, it was the doing of creatures such as ourselves. Water’s Son’s death was simply a sign of our ignorance.”

America could no longer see her face, the darkness was too overbearing for that. Amelia touched Weeping Wind’s hand gently. She leaned forward, arming her lackey arms around the other’s think shoulders. “I am sorry.” Humans were terrifying animals.

When they love, it seems to take over their entire being, but when they hate, the detestation boils in their blood until… Amelia felt Windy wrap her own arms around her. Amelia should know how humans think, she exists because of them. She is because of them. America feels like them because they are a part of her. Yet she felt that she would never truly understand.

She pulled away, and with the light of the arriving moon, Amelia saw the spilled tears on Windy’s face. But she also saw the smile adorning her features. “Do not be sad Old One, we are on this land for a short time before we return to the Great Beyond, and that is where we truly become alive. Sun Bringer will see her love again, as will Deer Dancer see his father. My sister is only mortal, she know so little, please forgive her. Your presence here has made so many happy, many have said that they could die in peace now after having you come to us.” Windy chuckled softly, the giggle sounded much like bells. Amelia shook her head at her logic though.

“Windy I should’ve done something. I should’ve been ther-”

Windy tightened her grip on Amelia with a dainty hold. “One With The Land, it isn’t your fault. Water’s Son made his choice, let him be at rest with his last thought. We moved farther from the Whiteman and we live at peace now. Distance may be the only thing keeping that peace, and if that’s all it takes, we will do so happily. No blood shall spill in the name of the Prinova people.” Amelia opened her mouth, but it closed at her blank mind.

Windy was so set in these views, in her beliefs, who was Amelia to try to banish those and replace them with something she thought, knew, to be false?

If she did so, America would be no different than the other personifications who persecuted without second thought. She wouldn't be any different from England.

“I see Windy… thank you for telling me all of this…my friend.” Amelia finally replied after a long pause.

Windy’s smile had grown large just as the first scream ripped out of the Natives’ dwelling. The echoing snarling of their wolves were almost as loud as the following yells. America pulled away from Windy, bringing the other girl by her hand to stand. “What’s happening?!” More screams followed and Amelia wasted no time, dragging Windy behind her as her feet raced quickly and silently to the tepees.

Just as the two barely made it into the first ring of homes, Windy gasped loudly besides her, pulling from herself from Amelia’s hold and running to where most of the Elders and men were circling two strangers. There were too many of the Natives gathered around them, all she could make out were a head of brown curls and long red hunting boots. How did they get in? She felt her insides become ice. The Natives had portals moving around the campsite at all times. How could they have gotten in without hurting someone?

 Amelia stumbled forward, ready to protest Windy’s stupid decision on running into the dangerous situation, when she spotted Nikita on the ground, a hand over his nose. A thick stream of blood flowed from under it.

Windy threw herself into the crowd, moving directly at Nikita’s form on the floor. Even from her distant spot away from the group, Amelia could hear the muffled swear words Nikita was spewing from his place.  

Windy’s face was steady and held a completely raw emotion as she ripped a piece of fabric from her dress and pressed it to his face.

Amelia eyes traveled to the faces of the Elders and men; all were sternly grim. A subdued cry caught her attention and she turned sharply to see a girl (one of the two young girls googling over Nikita some days ago) peering out from a tepee just as someone, her mother perhaps, hauled her from the entrance.

BANG!!

The Natives sprang back, some screaming out of terror, staggering away from the strangers who she had yet to see completely. 

Amelia flinched, her muscles tightening and earing stinging. Her mouth was left open at the deafening blast. Over the heads of the Natives, she saw a gun pointed to the heavens; a warning shot, probably to scare them more than to get them to shut up. They had to have more guns on them to carelessly fire a shot.

Sadistic bastards. Someone from a nearby town must’ve come for a night of plundering.

By that point, she was snarling much like wolves she heard only a few minutes’ ago. She actually saw the animals being held back by some their keepers; a portly man and his gawky son. The fur on their backs prickled as their needle-like teeth snapped again and again, aching to attack the ones threatening their homes.

Amelia could relate to that. She felt her own lips curl back into a snarl and a nonhuman-like noise ease its way from her throat. If she could be of any use it would be at that second.

America used the crowd of the Natives to hide her form circling around to the strangers’ backs.

She finally reached her desired location, using the deathly calm voice of Dream Listener to hide the small crunching sound her boots made against the grass. Amelia met the Elder’s eyes through the crowd and she read the old women’s stare perfectly.

Don’t do it.

Too bad she had a slight problem with authority.

A war cry sang from her lips as she broke the human wall separating her from the strangers. She tackled one of them, pinning him down by forcing down a forearm to his throat in a painfully tight hold while using her legs to immobilize his lower half. She forced all her weight on him, knowing the pressure she was inflicting was close to the weight of a horse. Amelia was not going to let him get anytime soon. For half a second, her free hand groped the man’s side blindly for his holstered weapon. In the other half of the second, she found it, pointed to his accomplice, and shoot blinding at the collaborator. A cold relief fell over her when she heard the piercing bellow of an individual in a lot of agony.

“You stupid bitch!” The women screamed out, the shriek unearthly. Amelia blinked, lips turning downward at the screeching feminine voice. She gawked as the women clutched her bleeding arm, her gun fallen to her feet. But that wasn’t the reason for her staring. This women… her hair was white as snow, with crimson eyes. Eyes that were currently giving her a death glare like she just announced more taxes. “That was my fucking shooting arm you whore!” The women made to jump towards her discarded gun just as someone reached it first.

Nikita rolled away from the estranged women, gun in hand pressed to his heaving chest. Dried blood from his nose (looking broken by the way) had left an ugly print streaming over his mouth and chin. His grey eyes held triumph though.

The women looked around, disgust showing on her cat-like features. Her eyes landed on America with venom. “Spain, you stupid fuck! Get that little bitch off you!” America was panting at this point, but… what did she say? Spain? As in the country?

America blinked sheepishly, and looked down at the man currently held prisoner to her monster strength. He was turning blue and shifting to a shade of plum purple by the time her sky-eyed stare fell on him. She recognize a pair of forest green irises surrounded by whites turning cherry red. His hands were clawing furiously at her forearm, a gurgled begging followed after his loud gestures. America gasped, the air in her lungs coming out by the force of shock.

She snapped back, pulled away by some invisible strings, and strangled his hips instead. America’s mouth hung open, beyond confused at that point. “Kingdom of Spain?” She asked, puzzled and lost.

At the suddenly being able to breathe again, said country wheezed loudly, adding a fit of coughs to his array before moving a trembling hand to grip her shoulder weakly.

“Don’t touch her!” Windy cried out from behind Dream Listener. She rushed away from the tribe’s matriarch to somehow help her, but instead of aiding America, Nikita caught her around the waist, gun still tight in his hands.

“Am-Ameri-ca-,” Spain started, grinning like in her memory, and spoke in a raspy tone, “You’ve g-grown up.”

Chapter Text

The Nikita glare was shooting the European nations could have easily killed them if it was a gun.

Likewise, the atmosphere within the teepee was intense and almost begging to make America snap from her place cross legged on the animal pelts. The bonfire inside the large teepee caused the slightest change in anyone’s expression to become dramatic. For a while, as the stillness crawled by, she watched the smoke from the fire float up into the ceiling and into an opening at the top.

 The colony’s gaze was drawn back to the scene at the glance of Dream Listener uttering something under her breath. She continued to look at the old women who, along with some of the other Elders, silently regard the foreign countries who sat by the entrance of the home.

While the Germanic one, Prussia, laid lazily on her side, like nothing there was to her importance. She had tied bandages around her arm where America had shoot her. It made the colony feel a little pride that despite the country acting so nonchalant, there was a sign of agitation within the female country when she moved her wounded arm. Many must not get a chance to shoot her, and by that scar running over her check, America could wager that this women was a tough one in a fight.

Spain, on the other hand, was seated cross legged too, looking comfortable, an ease placed on his shoulder by the way they slouched some, and a soft smile on his lips.

She hated them.

“They have no right to have stepped foot on this land!” Nikita shouted, gray eyes piercing right at Spain and Prussia.

“Nikita, silence. You are only here to tell One With The Land what happened. After you are finished, leave.” Those brief words had him clutching his jaw and made America remember that is how a loved one shows their love in these hazardous situations. America eyed the dried blood patched onto his upper lip and jaw, and frowned. His nose was still painfully bent. She needed to fix that.

 She glowered at her fellow personifications with a curled upper lip, surely revealing teeth. “Who’s the one who hit him?” She demanded.

Prussia’s laughter was a mixture of a cackle and a hiss, “Do I win a prize if I say it was- m-me?” her last words caught onto her howling of devious joy. At the harsh sound coming from her mouth, her head of white snow bobbled in sync. America watched Prussia in distaste. She was wearing some mockery of a man’s uniform, with the black pants cut scandalously short, her legs surely only hidden by those thigh-high boots typically known to wealthy men, and a blue jacket just well enough to stretch over her bosom.

America clicked her teeth together in annoyance with the whole thing. She knew she shouldn’t critique this women, look at herself, but… argh. Europeans.

Spain tapped Prussia’s leg with a sheath of a sword, a thing America had not seen when she was strangling him. “Shame Prussia. These good people take us into their homes, and you laugh in their face.” His sentence didn’t match the expression on his face. It was too carefree, almost as if this was a huge joke. America felt the disgust start to show on her face. “Show our hosts some,” his eyes swept over the Elders and landed on Nikita, making America narrow her eyes, “respect.” He ended with a stretched smile.

The women kicked him in the knee with a hard jerk of her heeled boots. “Shut your damn mouth asshole. You of all people have no reason to preach to me.”

Beside her, Elders muttered questions about what they were saying. She was about to reply when Nikita had enough of his short-lived silence.

“Old One,” Nikita hissed, clear irritation on his face that he couldn’t understand the countries, “We were about to settle down for the night, when I heard a cry from one of the men who was on portal. I came around to see what was wrong, but just as I went to see, these two, these Whitemen,” He spat out that word, “had already made their way into the village. When I tried to speak, that one,” He bluntly pointed at Prussia, “hit me.”

Prussia, at response of the crude gesture, started to crow louder. She clutched her stomach, full out in laughter. Nikita was pale with anger at her rude dismissal of himself. He looked about to stand up and go over to Prussia to finish their brawl.

Wrong move.

She didn’t know this country, but at first glance, it was obvious she was strong. Maybe in another situation, America would’ve felt more mirth at finally meeting a new country (a women no less!) but this wasn’t a moment to be happy.

“Nikita, sit down!” America said in a low and steady voice. America didn’t look at him, instead focusing on the two beings positioned in front of her. Nikita started to argue just as Dream Listener snapped at him.

“Nikita leave us!” He appeared ready to lunge at the inhuman beings set before him (Amelia wasn’t sure she would pry them apart too fast. The gift of surprise he could give would catch them off guard and leave them some bruises…) but his grandmother held his eyes long enough to get him to leave in a steamy rush.

Once again Spain’s eyes slide to Nikita as he left.

After he was gone from his view, Spain looked impressed, not with Dream Listener, but with America, his dark green eyes smiling as well as his mouth. “You handle them so well, it makes me envious that I couldn’t do that the first time I met the Indians.” America’s breathing became stressed when he said that. Not only was it completely insulting, but he dared called them Indian.

“First off Spain, they are Native Americans, I ain’t India you idiot. Second, I do not control them.”

He chuckled, shoulders shaking a little, and held up a hand in surrender. “Sorry, Sorry. America, this all just… brings back memories, that’s all… It was an accident that we acted so- roughly. Tell them we’re sorry.”

Prussia snorted, plucking at the skins on the floor, “Speak for yourself.” She boasted.

America rolled her eyes. That was the closet they were getting to an apology. “They say they’re sorry for handling this situation the way they did.” She explained to the Natives. The Elder’s whispered to each other, heads inclined to hear better.

Next when they finished their talk, Dream Listener looked at America, “They must leave at once.” She said, “Tricksters and people of dishonor are not welcomed here,” The Elder spoke that part to their direction as if they could understand. But America was sure they assumed what she meant by the coldness in her manner.

Spain’s smile twitched at the corner, making America wonder what was up with him. Prussia scoffed at the Elder’s words, sticking out her tongue in a brutish manner.

America forced back her insult for these people.

The Elder’s words though… She should’ve seen that coming, but still, she couldn’t keep her mouth from questions. People of dishonor? They never used the word people for herself. Did the Natives know that Prussia and Spain were so-called spirits? It could’ve been seen as disrespectful, but… “They’re spirits like me, and you honor us, so is there a certain way you want me to say-”

She stopped suddenly at their shared looks. Someone murmured something in the back and the others practically growled.

“Old One, we did not know they were spirits,” stated an Elder from the back, an old man with thinning long white hair, “We have seen them before yes, but when they first came, they were cloaked behind hidden truths. They came before us, letting us think that she was a demon, or a shapeshifter.” The other muttered in agreement, outrage starting to grow in their tones, “They did not tell us the truth but let us continue to believe our own lies. They have humiliated us.”

America stared at them, then remembered the time Windy told her that they traded once with a women with white skin and red eyes, and she understood.

“Where do they come from?” Asked another Elder.

Amelia hesitated, already foreseeing where her answer will take her. “They come from the home of the Whiteman, Elder.”

Dream Listener’s frown was permanently stitched onto her worn features. The old man from before leaned forward to her ear and began to feverishly whisper things to her. Dream Listener put a hand up, silently ordering him to stop.

“No, they are not like you One With The Land,” The matriarch fumed mutely. All of the Elders stared at Spain and Prussia. “They are foreign... They are the spirits of the Whiteman, the ones who have hunted us for sport, kill our men and children, and rape our women for laughs. That explains all their deception, all of their abhor. They are not spirits of this land. They are not you. These beings belong to the Whiteman. They are not you Old One. Not you.” A chill slithered up her spine, slow, making sure to give America a full feel.

Spain was the first to get fed up with the looks. “What?” He retorted silently, keeping his eyes on America.

“They didn’t know you were countries.” She almost yelled. Why did every one of these nations intend to make everything complicated for her?!

Prussia shrugged, her long legs moved, giving the dyed red leather of her boot a shine in the fire. “They didn’t ask.”

Now she was very close at throwing herself at her and shoving a piece of burning wood right down her-

“What does it matter? They would’ve wanted us to bless them or something, and I’ve had enough with helping Indians.” He made sure to say it that time. Bastard.

America stood, looming over everyone in the room. “You are in my home, you insult my people, so why aren’t on your damn knees begging me for forgiveness Spain?” The nation laughed. Actually full out laughed, throwing his head back and letting the noise fall over everybody. Prussia snickered, shaking her head.

The older female persona snapped her fingers to get America’s attention. “Boy oh boy, girlie,” She grinned with knives for teeth, “You got a lot to learn. It’s funny because all of this bitching you’re doing, yeah you know that, it’s pointless. Spain, France, England…Gott knows how many more have come here and picked and picked and picked you for everything you got. These people of yours? They’ve been suffering for centuries before now, but just because you finally decided to look, you think you can make everything alright? Precious. Just like a child to think.”

She breathed deeply through her nose, forcing herself not to let her words pierce her.

“Old One, please sit down.” Dream Listener said, but despite the gentle words she used, they were hard.  In many case, Amelia sat back down. 

She swallowed, begging her mind and body to focus and stay calm. “What do you want?”

 Spain piped up cheerfully, “You.”

“Me?”

“Yup. France set us to bring you back to civilization.”

“We owe the slut a couple of favors, and,” Prussia raised her pale brows, “I had nothing to do.”

America closed her eyes for a moment, cursing herself. Of course they came for her. People like them don’t go around in the colonial wilderness for giggles. How did they even get inside her home? England had most of the ports closed off from other European countries. Then again, France made it seem easy to slip on in.

 Even so….

“The Spanish Colonies.” Those guys way down south were perfect stepping stones for two wealthy countries to tread on.

Spain nodded at her understanding. “Yea… my children are so useful sometimes, it makes me feel like a proud padre.” Her mouth creased in loathing. She knew how Spain treated his colonies in the new world. He made England and France look like parents of the year.

What did France want with her? He’s never gone to the trouble of actually looking for her. There was something amiss going on.

“One With The Land?” Dream Listener finally asked, a thin slice of impatience dabbing on her face.

“They came for me.” She said wearily. “Their business is with me. I’m sorry for having them trouble you.” America lowered her eyes when she saw them looked tired.  

Nevertheless, Dream Listener nodded, opening her mouth to tell her it was alright. “The ways of the spirits are no business of ours unless they wish it,” She said the words with that sprinkle of olden wisdom America wished she possessed.

America murmured a quiet thank you. The Elders continued to look tired, she could see the apprehension buried deep in their black eyes though, and she figured out what needed to be done. “We’ll leave at once.” She assured them.

The old man from before frowned, “The sun has already fell, Old One, it will be difficult to-”

“Elder, I know this land, its animal, its ways. I am One With The Land after all.” She moved her blue gaze back to Dream Listener, “I’ve had enough of troubling you all. Please respect my decision. It is my only chance to repay you; by not allowing these strange spirits linger any longer within the tribe.”

From behind her, Spain said something low and under his breath, making his companion bark out a laugh like a horse. America felt a knot take its grip deep into her neck at their jeering. They had no regard for her. No respect. Nothing. And why should they? She thought angrily. She hasn’t done much, or anything to really prove herself. Yes she’s taken them down single-handedly, but America hasn’t shown she’s anything else but brute strength. A stupid child is easy to control, but a smart one will gain attention for their logical thinking.

She straightened, turning her back completely at the countries as if they weren’t there, “So I ask of you, DreamListener, will you do me the honor of blessing my trip back?” She bowed, still on her knees, and head almost touching the ground.

“Raise your head One With The Land.” Amelia did so, and was met with something she couldn’t place inside the human’s eyes. Dream Listener put her palm on her forehead and started to chant something softly. It took America a second to realize that it wasn’t normal sentences, but a song.

There, in her sapphire orbs, tears formed, but she bit down on the soft meat of cheek. Please make me be strong. The thought wrapped itself around her mind.  

Once it was done, Dream Listener lowered her hand, making America look up at the old women, and saw her smiling a small proud smile. “Let you roam for all time.”

America felt a cry edge up her throat but she forced it down, and smiled just as widely. “May you and your people be forever blessed.” Amelia stood and turned to see the other personification staring carefully at her. Then, at her eyes falling on them, they looked at one another, a message passing by their glance, and followed her lead at standing.

They walked out of the teepee and she was at the entrance of the home, when she heard the rustle of movement behind her. She glanced back then turned around completely, jaw dipping down. The Elders had given their own bow at her, arms crossed, and upper body bend at the waist. Amelia’s gaze softened at the soft.

They were equals.  

America spun back out the teepee to meet Spain and Prussia plotting in hushed tones. “We’re leaving now.” She interrupted loudly. They paused in their conversations and looked up at the night sky spotted billions of stars.

“It’s dark.”

“Yeah, thanks for the report. I bet you came here on your horses but left them somewhere near by?” She didn’t wait for an answer, “We’ll get them and start on our way back into town before you take me where France is.” Her eyes moved around the area. “You two have some explaining to do on the way. We got some days for you to catch me up on the gossip France has.” She undid the ribbon in her hair and retied it in a short ponytail.

It was quiet, no mothers were hurrying their unruly children into bed, no old friends putting out the fire they had huddled behind for a late night talk, and not one person whistling through wooden pipes for a nightly lullaby.

In their places, there were men standing around, acting as body guards, and the father and son wolf keepers around a roaring fire. The animals, by the way, had stood and started to growl lightly at the sight of the Europeans. 

“You don’t get it do you? Its pitch black out here. Understand? It’s nighttime, we wouldn’t be able to find our way around in this wood-”

“Suck it up. The dark means nothing to me. I could be blind and still find my way around.” America snapped and recognized Nikita sitting by a multicolored teepee, fussing as Windy dabbed at the dried blood on his face. Sun Bringer (without her baby) was standing behind them, a cool look of sharp annoyance imprinted onto her plain features. “Nikita! Windy!” She called out to them. America didn’t have time to fret over Sun Bringer, even if a twig of fear blossomed in her heart at the view of the women.

The loudness of her voice in the silence of the area made it seen booming.

Nikita stood at once and met her half way. Windy followed behind him and stayed close to his back at the sight of Spain and Prussia. Sun Bringer stayed behind, eyes narrowed and watching. “Old One,” Nikita greeted, a glared aimed at the ones behind America. She winced at his nose.

“Hold still.” He looked confused. Amelia had said it in English, but it was better to have him distracted for this next part. Her hand gripped the bridge of his nose tight and snapped it back into place with a disgusting crunch.

He yelled, bowing over to take hold of his newly fixed feature. America grimaced, lips recoiling at his reaction. “Sorry.” She said, “I had to do that before I leave.” She continued.

“I don’t care how fucking well you think you know this place, kid, I am not following you around like some- Ouch! Spain you fucker!” Prussia’s snarky voice hung in her ears and she heard a smack, probably Spain, but she didn’t take her eyes from the two in front of her.

“You’re leaving?” Nikita asked, frown deep set in his handsome face. “With them?” He sneered that last word and she wanted to laugh.

“But Old One, they will harm you.” Windy said firmly, a hand clutching Nikita’s arm. America smiled at her thinking.

“You two want to know a secret?” Her tone was childish and playful, a great contrast to their situation. She didn’t wait for a reply and whispered, almost inaudible, “Only your kind can kill us.” Windy’s large black eyes filled with liquid and she threw herself into America’s arms.

“I want to beg you to stay with us, to become a part of our family, but I know you cannot…” She cried into her ear, soft and beautiful whimpers, “See your dreams come true! Please and I will know we will meet again!”

America couldn’t cry, not there, not with Spain and Prussia reading into her every move. But she hugged Windy back and whispered, “I promise.”

Weeping Winds detached herself from America, still hiccupping tiny sobs every now and then when Nikita touched her face. His gray eyes held her blue, begging her for something she couldn’t figure out for the life of her. His hand fell away from her check, the feel of his fingertips still lingering after they left.

“We will meet again.” It was firm and held his own promise. America’s felt that that lump in her throat and nodded, determined in her own right. From behind, Spain’s hand (she knew it was his by the largeness of it) slip onto her shoulder. Her head moved to see him, but just as she did so, Windy gasped, probably at Spain’s seemingly possessive gesture. The noise from her had Nikita shoving Spain away at once, a dagger from his belt to the nation’s throat.

“Hey!” Sun Bringer yelled and America could make out her footsteps running towards them.

Spain’s eyes were wide as the forest surrounding them. The men around were put on alarm, the wolves barked and pulled from their handlers. “I was just going to ask how much longer was this goodbye going to last.” Spain uttered, lips barely moving as the knife Nikita held was almost cutting into his neck.

“Ha! Services you right for hitting me bastard!”

America put her hand on Nikita’s arm. “Nikita, stop. He wasn’t going to hurt me.” The Native’s eyes didn’t move from Spain’s dark green, and just as America was going to take matters in her own hands, she saw Spain smile, dangerously gentle and innocent. It was terrifying.

She was close enough to hear him hum deep in his throat, seemingly elated at something. “Ah… I see now.” Out the corner of her eye, America saw Nikita sneer at it. Despite Spain saying it in a different langue, his tone of voice was enough to assume it was an insult of some kind. “Mestizo…” Nikita’s eyes enlarge, and the black pupils expanded, almost consuming the gray irises. With shaking hands, he tossed Spain back, a tremor running through his body.

Mestizo? America pointed Nikita with a stare of surprise, but his express… it was that of a beaten child. “Spain!” She barked, shoving him away, yet all she could see was Nikita’s terrified face and hear Prussia’s cruel cackles. She grabbed ahold of both Prussia’s and Spain’s arms in an iron grip. Her heart was racing at what happened even though her thoughts were beyond mixed up.

She heard a call of her name and glanced back. Windy was holding Nikita, the young man staring, jaw slacked at their leaving form. Sun Bringer was the one who had called out to her. The young mother was running up to catch them, “Wait, One With The Land!”  Her long black hair jumped with each step she took. America’s grip on the nations tightened as the women came closer. She didn’t them slow down and they were quickly reaching the end of the teepees. America didn’t have time to let the women speak first however.

“Why didn’t you tell me that Nikita was only half Prinova!?” She spoke sharply, “I would’ve been more careful letting him around this one.” She tugged on Spain’s arm, jerking him harder to follow her, and even if they were dragging their feet, she had more than enough strength to pull them along.

“His mother was raped by a Whiteman and died in childbirth. Why would we tell you that, uh?! So you could critique his blood?!” Sun Bringer snapped back, a small pant coming out of her mouth, “I didn’t come to talk you about that!”

America was mentally exhausted at that point, sweat tearing out of her body at each passing moment. Prussia kept clawing at the hand holding onto her arm, but let out the occasional giggle in remembrance at what had occurred with Nikita. “What?!”

“I know what I have said before may have hurt you, but if you have any love at all for the ties you have made here these past suns, then please, never come back.”

She turned abruptly at Sun Bringer, the border of the teepees with within a few feet. Spain moved in step with her then, watching her facial expressions when Sun Bringer spoke.

“I’m sure my sister has told you my life story, and yes, I do blame you, but even so, I will push back my hate for the love and happiness of my sister. I was not lying when I said we are people of the past. We will die and you will not,” All of this was coming out in rushed lines, “I love my sister and I know how foolish Nikita is, how much of a pig he can be, so I beg of you never to return. My sister is a blind simpleton if she cannot see how her mate acts around you!”

None of what we was saying made sense. “Mate? As in lover?” America hurried to understand.

“Yes! Nikita is her mate and if you come back, you will not have ruined my love, but Weeping Winds’ as well!” Sun Bringer stopped at the border of the teepees, like some magical force was keeping her from coming out.

America wasn’t looking at her anymore. Her eyes stayed pinned onto the black sight of the forest in the distance. She pushed her body faster and faster until she was basically carrying both Spain and Prussia in her urgency to get away. There was no need to know where to go, the colony only knew she needed to get away from the place she left behind- again. Maybe personifications and humanity weren’t so different after all.

Chapter Text

She could break the ground at her feet as easy as snapping a twig. America could split a skull if she really wanted too. From early on, she knew her strength rivaled that of 50 men, and that was as a child. Now, she could uproot trees that had been planted for dozens of decades, a flick of her leg could reduce the side of a wooden house to rubble, a careless punch could kill a person- a human.

And fuck did she want to do something now more than ever.

“I can’t see! I fuckin’ told you, you bratty shitstain!”

“Leave her be, Prussia. What could you expect of a child? I didn’t. I don’t know what the hell England and France did to this girl, but they did nothing to actually teach her anything. My colonies wouldn’t be acting up this way-”

She grinded her teeth together to the point where it physically hurt, but America would chose that over what was flying into her ears.

“That’s cause you beaten them into submission, asswipe. They can’t even look you in the goddamn eye when you go to them. Do you have something against the ones here? I’ve never seen Romano piss himself like these guys do.”

“I always thought fear was the best cure to rowdy folly, and Roma is special. Yes he is a bit difficult, but he’s actually civilized. Unlike the barbarians here. Jesus. Why did I agree to do this for France? This helping out might give my ninos some ideas...”

Seriously, if they didn’t shut up…

They continued to stumble in the darkness, staggering behind her. The only light in the black forest was the shine of the full moon, guiding her to another unknown chapter in this life. First her settlers then her Natives… or, was it always like that?  Who came first? Who suffered first? Who did she fail first?

“Oh my Gott, look at the grizzly bruises she gave me! I thought she was going to break my arm in half!”  Prussia seemed incapable of shutting her yapper. 

Spain complained right after her, “Yours!? Mine was practically ripped from my shoulder--”

America rotated around, stopping them all in their tracks. “If you both keep grumbling, I will do that! Both of you can still lead me to France without an arm in place.” There. That finally shut them up.

For a minute.

“How rude.”

Ignore it, Amelia. They’re self-centered prideful pieces of shit who deserve what you wanna do to them. So. Chill. The. Fuck. Down. Keep focusing on the tracks.

The moonlight may have been strong that night, but it took her extra concentration on the forest floor to find the hoof prints on the trail. They should consider themselves lucky to have ridden on a semi-common road. It was basically lined up for them to follow.

“Can you believe her talking to us like that? No respect.”

“I can see England in her--”

Her steps paused, bringing the two behind her to another abrupt stop. Amelia froze there, feet trapped in their step, shocked. I can see England in her. No. She is nothing like him. Nothing. Before she knew it, there was a pushing against the back of her eyes. Hate. She hated him for making her like this. Constantly worried and scared, so, so scared all the damn time, for everyone, about everything. For herself. He made her selfish and weak. There were intones of people (her people) in her ear drum;

Helphelphelphelphelpehelpwhywontyouhelp

“I’m not like England,” she said softly. “I’m too useless.” She didn’t bother turning around that time, instead choosing to tread onwards. France better have a damn good reason of all of this.

Silance, at last.

“Hey… kid.” Of course.  It felt wrong hearing brutish Prussia speak in a gentler, but still demanding, voice, “Listen,” She kept pace, thinking of nothing other than the horse prints on the soil and the throbbing of sorrow in her chest. Dang, she was certainly getting very poetic through all of this. “We know you and Brows are different. But all of this isn’t anything none of us have gone through before--”

“Don’t.” She heard the crunching of glass and then nothing as she came face to face with the Kingdom of Spain. The shades of black and white made the green of his eyes stand out. She could only imagine how Prussia appeared with those glowing red eyes of hers.

“No, you don’t. We all have suffered, we all have been ripped apart and broken, again and again and again,” he slapped his fist into his palm at each ‘again’. “So what makes you think you’ve had it any worse than us? Do not be a hypocrite, America.” There was no malice in his words or angry, only blandness that made her fingers curl over the straps of her pack.

“I may not understand you, but you can’t understand me either.” She tried to walk around him, pressing down the nausea in her throat. “Stop talking to me Spain.”

Yet he didn’t stop, like some macho father figure, he kept picking and pushing. Answers. He wanted answers, just like everyone else did.

When major talks and decisions where rampant within her people, their thoughts influenced hers, and right now, they didn’t know what they wanted. Stay? Leave? Keep face but ask for space? Beg for forgiveness over everything? Ask politely him to leave her? War?

But that last one seemed to rage on inside everyone. Who would want war? Death and loss? But the prize waiting at the end was too tempting not to try.

Answers, just give an answer. Say something.

She stayed staring at Spain, at his mouth moving (asking and asking, telling and telling. She had nothing to give.) There was no sound sprouting from his lips onto the air around her. Her ears muted nothing but his voice. The buzzing of bugs rang out, along with the rustle of small animals hunting through the underbrush.

“Spain. Shut up, she looks like she’s going to explode.” Prussia’s voice was still the same, hissy and cracked, glass-breaking, yet she got drawn to it. America pushed her eyes from one nation to the other, fixing her gaze on the female personification.

America never had a mother. Or a father.  She hadn’t really known Canada. Not really or France, he always wanted something. She supposed that’s just how it worked with them. She did have a brother, then maybe something else…

Nothing. She never had anything.

“I said, shut up.” It was weak and tiny. Spain kept going, and Prussia, the only one seeing the blooming frustration on her features, stepped away, the heels on her blood red boots polished in the moon’s light.

“Shut the fuck up Spain! I don’t care! I don’t give a shit about any of you Europeans! You say you’ve been through this, you say you understand this pain!” She stomped his way, shoving her face right by his, blue orbs bearing down on every single detail of his face, screaming her lungs out.  “It feels like something is tearing you away from the inside! Like someone is charring my heart and soul, and it’s so fucking stupid ‘cause I don’t even know if we do have souls! But if so, then it feels exactly like that. It burns so goddamn much!”

Amelia kept walking into him until he started backwards, his gaze glued down on her figure. His back slapped the thick trunk of a tree and there he stayed. “I don’t think I’ve had it worse than you! Than any of you! But I know I can’t compare our feeling because that would be trying to separate the clouds in a storm! Don’t patronize me! I’ve had that from every single fucking person like us I’ve ever met and I’m so tired of it! I think I’m dying,” her fist slammed into the truck beside his head, and her emotions sang through that closed palm, and with an earth-shattering sound (force) the tree collapsed onto its knees before her (them), animals shrieked into the night and echoes of the noise rebounded in the area, “but you still have the damn fucking nerve to do that to all of those personifications down there and call me a hypocrite?!”

Prussia was mumbling nonsense behind her, mumbles and gurgles over the tree, her strength, but by that point, all the fight was taken from her, spilt into that tree maybe. Spain, however, was jaw-slacked, green eyes still shining in the dramatic lighting of the moon and the night’s shadows.

“All of you should’ve just left us alone. But you’re afraid. You scared that you’re be powerless and it will be over. So you need someone under you to kick and beat, but know you are the monster.” America felt her shoulders slouch, yet forced her hazy gaze on him, voice now much calmer but just as emotional. “You don’t deserve my hate, you, all of you, only deserve my pity, you sad, little worms. So. Don’t talk to me.”

They didn’t.

Not when they found the horses, not when they rode until sun up, or the rest of the days to a tiny settlement a day from her port town.

#

It was dusk when she finally saw France.

He sat on a couch, one ankle thrown casually over the knee, slipping at a tall, crystal glass of something pale and simmer- champagne. His outfit was just as vain as she expected it to look with an expensive, creamy shirt with the front gold buttons unbuttons and sleeved rolled up to the elbow. Like always, his well-kept blonde was held back in a ribbon, black this time with a gold trim, to match his pompous high-thigh boots. Amelia tiled her head to the side, wondering if her short ponytail appeared anything like his. Probably not, her hair could never have that silkiness to it.

“Ah! Ma ami! I see your journey has left you- uh… with a fresh face.”  Amelia stared blankly at him, jaw slipping down just as she dropped her pack on the floor. It fell with a very hard thump. She hadn’t seen a reflection of herself, but she could feel the dirt smothered on her face and body. On top of her head, her hair felt thick with the aftermath of almost a week’s trip through the wilderness. And most likely shit from when she fell from her horse onto a pile of dirt and mangled grass.

“Eh.” It was all she could muster.

America collapsed onto the couch next him, forcing France to move over in fear of the filth on her body with a grunt of distaste.

Prussia and Spain wondered in after her, both wearing a cleaner face of exhaustion. Prussia tore off the short jacket off her body, batting with the buttons, and tossed it to the floor, hissing. America jumped in her spot, shooing her gaze away from the women after getting an eyeful of a tight long-sleeved shirt strapped to her body. Next she started on detaching the thigh-high boot as Spain ran a hand through his brown curls and removing his long jacket and removing the cravat from his neck.  

“This better pay off France. Getting her was more trouble then you made it out to be,” Spain said, annoyed and calling out a servant for a drink.

Prussia muttered loudly under her breath, “It’ll be easy he said. We’ll get our chance at pay back he said. No one will put up a fight you said, you flaky bastard! Fuck you France. Fuck, fucking you.” Her ruby eyes snapped up at him.

Amelia sighed, tossing an arm around her eyes and toned out the argument. She heard a maid come into the room and hand the newcomers some drink. The girl stopped before her, asking her if she would like some. Amelia shook her head, not even bothering to respond properly.

“This is stupid….” she groaned softly. All of her joints ached and begged her for a warm bath and at least several hours of sleep. However… she didn’t come all this way to bathe and sleep. Immediately, America prepared herself for something big. No way France called her out her for a social gathering. He wanted something. Actually, she was still trying to figure that one out.

Coming into this town, Amelia bought a newspaper (getting a look from the buyer. No one who looks like her could possibly read) and flipped through it. Much of it was prapaganda against the British. But mostly it was a mixture about feeling for this… thing. Disagreement? It couldn’t be called war. No. It couldn’t.

But anyways, the French. They couldn’t take supporting her for whatever may happen. They had too many things tied up back in Europe. If they tried doing something here, it wouldn’t look good. They knew that. Their king knows that, so why….

America peered around her arm and stared at France. She narrowed his eyes. The man didn’t look so ‘refreshed’ himself either. There were the softly of lines on his brow and the whites of his eyes looked bloodshot. America wondered if they were from that glass in his hand or something else… maybe the why to her being here.

“…so are you going to tell her or did we track through the mud and the Indians for nothing?” America growled at hearing that, but the muscles in her back refused to let her sit up and spit on Prussia.

“Yes, yes. I will.” France waved a hand dismally at Germanic nation. He turned to her, searching for something on her face.

America grunted, “What?”

He rolled his eyes. “Pleasant as always.” He paused and took a drink from his glass. “Did you find what you were looking for with your… people?” He just had to start with that, didn’t he?

America didn’t sit up, she stayed slumped on the couch like a bag of onions thrown to the floor. “No, I didn’t. But you know that.” She twisted her body from her, facing the interior of the couch and blocking the other two out. There was a quick mumble and she listened to two footsteps leave the room. “I don’t want to do this anymore. I can’t help anyone, so what’s the point of doing anything? England,” the name felt homely and starched her tongue, “he’s never going to let me go. It hurts too much now. If I stop, it won’t hurt anymore, not me, not my people.” So what’s the point?

 “Oh you’re right. You’ve been rather wishy-washy through all of this, not knowing if you want to bow your head or bit his hand off, so yes. What is the point?” She drew inside herself more as the words continued.

“He will bring down this rebellion easy enough and that will be it. He will continue to sell you out like some cheap whore at a brothel and you will kiss his last seasoned shoes as a thanks and that will be it. And when he finally goes a pair of balls, he will come and see you, still a child, still as ignorant,” his voice was right there by her ear. When did he get closer? A hand was on her shoulder, still and tight on her flesh. Nails dug into meat. Why can’t she move? America felt locks of hair hit the side of her face. He was so close. Her eyes were wide, imprinting the pattern of the couch into her sockets. Get away. Don’t me. Stop. “And know, all of this was nothing but a tantrum, and he’ll laugh in that snarky tone and touch you,” he uttered the word like a snake as his hand ran up lazily down her shoulder to the dip of her waist (his hands were too thick, Arthur’s were thin and boney, she loved his hands) “knowing you won’t fight back because,” he grabbed her shoulder roughly and pushed her spine to the seat of the couch, “What’s the damn point?!”

She gawked at him, lungs grinded to a stop at this shock. He watched her again, mouth twisted into a sneering frown and his beefy hand was still on her shoulder. Touching her.

“He’ll take everything until you don’t have any more to give. That will be when he will leave you alone, but unfortunately for you, ma ami, that only happens when we fade away. So expect him to rape you in every sense of the word because that is just how we monsters work. I know because I’ve been in both side of this.” America felt her bottom lip trembled. Everything was so difficult to understand, to decipher the emotions inside of her. It was trying to separate clouds in a storm. When France spoke next, it was flattened, so unlike his usual snobbish act. “What happened to the little girl who swore she wouldn’t rest until everyone was happy?” 

She… the little girl grew up and saw how the world worked. She saw how being like her worked. She thought she understood but still she hoped. America could practically feel the droplets of tears on the rim of her lower lids. The little girl hoped. Because she wanted to save her people, Natives and settlers. It was all she could do… and she can do. Hope. Fight. Try to understand. To break free and live.

Free.

For a second, she could smell the sea air from the times she sat in front of the huge window in her parlor, watching for him to come home, to her, and be with him.

They conflicted. Her wants and needs. And for the first time, she could tell them apart.

Her needs: Freedom.

Her wants: England, her Arthur. Her owner.

It was in black and white for the moment and Amelia clawed her fingers into it, not going to ever let go of it even when it reverted to color.

“I thought you were stronger than this but I seriously underestima--”

“France, you poppycock chicken.”

He sat back, drawing his hands from her shoulder, mouth falling open at her insult. Her amazing award winning insult. Her jaw-dropping piece of gold choice of perfect wording.

“W-wha--”

America sat up in a flutter of a blink. Her lips broke into a scornful grimace, thrusting her hands into his blasted hairyass chest to grab fistfuls of flimsy rich fabric. “You heard me, you poppycock prat! I am done listening to others about what I should and shouldn’t do! From now on, I’m going to decide if I listen and do anything with any of you richy-rich, pompous European bastards!” Her arms shook him hard, enjoying the way his head bobbled to and fro. “And who gave you any say to touch me! France, you stinking no-good low-life son of- AGHR!” She had gotten to into it and was rocking her own body into the shaking. America plummeted onto the floor, the pretty print of the carpet coming into her view, and face. “Son of-- I’m going to punch you in the fucking eye! Then I’m going to find and tell that Limey to shove off! I’m going to do what I have to! If he wouldn’t stop, I’ll fight!” Her throat closed up and she almost choked at that last word. She slammed her fist on the floor, hearing the sound of cracking wood, and shoved herself up to face France.

Who was laughing. The man fell back onto the couch, his cackles bouncing off the room and hitting the walls and back. His hands clutched his skull, snorts becoming abundant as the tremors he was going through. Suddenly there was a nails-on-glass cackles and booming chortles. America looked up and rested her blue orbs on Spain and Prussia falling down on each other by the door. Her expression must’ve held the question she had in mind because Spain sputtered, “P-opp-poppycoc-! Ahahahahahahahahahah chic- oh Dios mio-hahahahaaa!”  The only thing she could get from Prussia was a combination of German and talking about peeing herself.

They were crying. All of them. America slapped her forehead disgustingly as she saw the three of them with tear stain painting their faces. She sighed, anger filing out of her body and refilling with pure drowsiness. She grumbled and pushed her two esorts outta the way to call a maid to draw a bath for her and setup a room for later. Once that was done, she eyed the giggling countries, and yeah. Anger was still leaking in.

“Was that why you called me all the way out here, froggypants?” America inwardly groaned at her usage of England’s nickname for him. “To convince me to join the good cause and laugh at me when I decide too?”

Still they went on laughing like mad men.

She frowned as France shook his head. “Non honhaonahahaha! Non, ma ami!” Plan to dunk France with cold water tomorrow morning- check. “Honhonhonhaha- I had to to- te-tell you honhon- that the- the Royal Assssshahahha himself is he- he-here! Hahahahahaha.”

Royal Ass? Well that was new….

What.

What?

Whaaaaaaat?!

Nope. It was good. She was good. She knew this was going to happen sooner or later. Wow America, you have in this control. You’re doing amazing. Not freaking out or nothing, just… just she can’t feel her face…or legs actually. But wow. Other than that, she was doing perfection- er- perfect. Gr-eat. Amelia nodded slowly, the world blurring for some reason. Then following the gesture her head was going, dropped head first, hearing the ever-so-concerned cry of, “Oh fuck, she’s bleeding on my carpet.”

Just perfect alright.

Chapter Text

There was the crackle of the fire as she felt herself tug deeper into dreamland…. Then came the footsteps of the boots.

Who was that?

The question always popped into her head in this dream. Yes. All of this was a dream. Wake up before--

CRRRRK

Next, she jumped from her place, brave as ever yet deflating at the sight of him for the first time in what seemed like forever. He had turned his head slightly to the light, causing just enough brightness to reveal his tired, bright green eyes. Oh my God, his eyes. Not like Spain’s dark green ones but vivid emeralds. “England?”

Shut up. Don’t say his name. But the happiness felt like it was overflowing inside of her and she was going to drown in it—she wanted to drown in it, and when she ran to him, finally touching him after so long, America was fighting the urge to scream at him, knowing what all of this was going to lead to, and need to splatter his face with tiny kisses.

 “England… England…” She whispered over and over again. Pants fell from her mouth as she rubbed tears on his waistcoat. He came back! After all these years! He came back! Who knew 120 years could feel so long? (No…. she knew. She always knew.) 

A sob ripped from her chest and smothered itself on him. He smelled like the sea-salt.

“Luv… America…” She felt him breath into her hair as he kissed the top of her head. But it was only then did America smell the odor of rum on him. It made her nose wrinkle. Of course. Of course. Stop. Get away. Come closer. Please oh please closer. “Let’s sit on the bed, luv. Big brother is so very tired tonight.”

Amelia was breaking at the seams with happiness as she did was she was told, then she hurried to her nightstand where she had the matches to light her candle.

They sat facing each other on the bed. America blankly goggled at his face, it was exactly the same from the painting hanging in the parlor. No… not quite the same. It looked like he may have aged a year or two.

Wake up. For God’s sake, wake up.

“Arthur why are you here? You never said-” the words stuck in her throat as England placed his hand (without a glove!) on her neck. She shivered at the feeling. Don’t let ever let a man touch you America. She could practically hear his voice in her head, But what if that man is you?

She lo—so mu—She hated—hated—She lov—Lov--

America watched his neutral expression with aching lips. She swallowed thickly from the feeling. How odd... Just then, his thumb brushed her bare collarbone, earning him a strange look from her, yet the touch caused an even stranger stirring low inside her belly.

She wanted, wanted, wanted—needed. Needed him. She hated herself for it.

She started to pull back in shame when his other hand gripped her arm, propelling her to him until they were chest to chest-

“It’s ok luv.” He hugged her tightly to him, his mouth speaking agsint her temple, arms pressing her shape to his, almost molding the two as one. “Don’t mind brother. I’m just so tired. I’ve been at sea all this time just to see you.” All a while, they separated. America turned to him, crossed her legs under her night gown and tried to ignore the burning areas where he touched her. She grinned widely as she talked and talked to him by the candlelight.  

He continued to listen and only give short replies. It was when the candle had melted down did he bid her a farwell, kissing her once more, this time on the corner of the mouth (it felt like her heart  forget to beat) and left her room for the one at the end of the hall.

She hated this memory. It’s the night he came back for her, the night he had her full of hope and girlish thoughts and dreams.

Images flash forward and she was spending the next day laughing and dancing with him in the parlor, twirling to invisible music. He laughed at her sloppy style and went on to say he’ll hire a tutor. She didn’t want one but she didn’t want to make this peaceful moment into a fight. So she’s obedient for now.

Next they were in town, his arm through hers as he leads her around the richer areas, chatting and arranging for new dresses and bonnets and slippers when she told him not too, she was so tired of them, why not let her wear trousers?

It’s like she asked him to for an orgy in her room. America remembered bitterly that he flipped his shit and gripped her arms, leaving bruise, snapping at her, “No! Amelia what is wrong with you? That is disgusting and I will not have you getting these strange ideas! Have you been talking to anyone to give you this ludicrous notion?!”

She held back tears as they get back to her house. Soon enough, the fight only increased and she’s screaming right back at him. Their first fight left her shrieking, “Go to hell England!” and stormed out. He didn’t see where she hid and he went off, boiling, into town to help his men search for her.

She hid in the barn, huddled in to corner, forcing back tears and rocking herself. She thought hours passed according to the slip of the sun. Someone comes in. Immediately she is gripped with fear and anger, but it’s only the stable boy. At once he spotted her, feet shifting his weight in uncertainly, yet he approached her, like she’s some injured dangerous animal. She broke down in his chest, uncaring for what he might think of her. She just needed someone. Anyone to soothe her.

His arms awkwardly held her as she smeared tears and snot on his already dirty shirt. He cooed and tried to offer stuttering words. But she can’t hear him over her wailing. Why did England have to yell? Was it that bad to wear slacks every now and then? Why did it matter so much if she talked to someone else about how she wanted to be?

Then the barn doors sprung open and she clung to him even more, scared along with surprised at the suddenness of it. England stalked in ,her name half spilling from his mouth when he saw her and this human- this boy.

And that cannot do.

Wake up. Please wake up. She didn’t want to relive this. Not this nightmare, not this part. Please, wake up. She didn’t.

“No! What are you doin’?! Stop!” His men tore her away from the boy, he can’t even be 20, and hold her tightly. They’re both burly men from England’s ship. She struggled with them, wriggling and bucking but it was like the more she struiggled the harder England grew furious. So it’s better to stay weak and numb at the men’s hands holding her like shackles. She was useless. She sobbed at England, begging at this point, as he wacked the poor boy in the face with his cane. The boy bleeds red and started to cry at the pain, bawling and telling the Master he didn’t mean to touch her. He didn’t mean to touch.

He didn’t mean too

Wake up….!

England doesn’t listen, kicking and beating and pondering away with grunts and booming remarks about never touching property of his, the great and powerful Arthur Kirkland. “All of you colonist are the same bloody fools!” Whack “I have given you everything!” WhACK. There was a horrifying cracking sound, echoing off the barn walls and punching her in the gut. His leg couldn’t be at that angle. “Everything! And yet you want more!” The boy screams, and it’s so inhuman, so broken, that she can’t move. He tried to cover his head and curl into a ball for protection yet England kept hitting and slamming that cane (it was such a pretty cane) into his back, neck, and chest. He’s going to kill this boy. England is going to kill him.

It’s terrifying.

She can’t wake up. It’s terrifying. This was appalling.  

His voice shouldn’t be burning wild like that. His words should be soothing and gentle like when he read her stories about the princess in the tower or sang lullabies to her. His eyes can’t be filled with wrath and jealously like that. They should be clear with tales about the fairies she can never see but can never get enough of listing too. They should be brighter than the grass in the middle of spring. They should be smiling. His voice should be warm.

He shouldn’t have called her his property.

He shouldn’t have but he still did.

“England! I’m pleading,” she tumbled to her knees, arms still held by the men, to prove her point. “Please don’t kill him! Please! Listen to me!”

Something in him cracked and then he’s stopping his beating. Turning to her, blood scattered across his fine clothes, blonde hair disheveled and eyes crazed with fury, America wondered if this was the England who ruled the oceans once.

Then she thought that this was the England who owned most of the known world.

He owned her.

He still owned her.

He straightened his jacket, nodding to the men. One of them lets her go, scraping off the boy from the bloody floor and dragging him away. Somewhere.

The other picked her up like she was a doll (she was a doll) and she let him. Everything felt numb and her sight was failing her. Things blurred and she was fadin’ in and out of her body as the maids give her a bath and dressed her, finally putting her to bed. She was staring at the black of the ceiling when the door opened again and England slipped under the covers with her.

He cried into her shoulder, now the one begging, repeating his apologize. “P-please Amelia, I’m sorry. So sorry! Pl-please! I don’t want to lose you… I’ve never had anything before you, nothing that I truly loved with all of my heart. Please don’t leave me. I’m s-sorry. I’ll give you anything but please don’t leave me alone. I’m begging you, don’t be angry with me…!”

She remembered all the letters they’ve exchanged before then and recalled the words of pain he wrote into the paper about his life once. Tortured. Mutilated. Hunted. All by men his ‘brothers’ brought down on him and his once small populace. That must leave one with scars. 

Her heart wept for him and for herself for loving him so much and so honestly. She was willing to forgiven him for his faults, all of them. So she hugged him and whispered in the shell of his ear; “It’s ok England.” The magic words were spoken and he hugged her midsection tightly, whimpering and shedding tears over her body. She lo-- Shhh… no…. -- so mu-- No.

The night ended with their arms and voices intertwining.

She hated that memory. It was her own fault for forgiving. But it was England, her England, and with that, it was all she needed to shed her sight from all his mistakes. Like almost killing a boy for touching her was a fucking mistake. America was an idiot. That night was the worst one, for it showed her how much of a fool she actually was.

But it always was the third and last night that America wanted to stick a knife in her wrist. It held all of her confusion and revealed so much more than she wanted to know about herself. England placed her stupidly in front of her.

The afternoon sunlight spilled into the upstairs hallway thanks to the windows on the walls. Amelia quietly tiptoed up the stairs since the head maid forbade her from going up and disturbing Arthur’s nap. He had been gone all day, doing business with the boring men living in the huge houses. He needed rest.

Amelia was soundless in her slippers, a hand touching the door at the end of the hall. She was planning on rushing in and pouncing on him at the bed. He would awake and scowl her but it would’ve been nice.

Oh God… Wake up!

There was a noise behind the door, quiet and soft. It took her a moment to realize it was moaning and gentle panting… and a slicking resonance. Her hand moved to grip the doorknob however, something inside of her muttered, ‘Watch…’ and so she slipped down onto her knees before the door, hands on either side of her head, one on the door, the other on the doorway, and placed a blue eye at the keyhole…

WAKE UP NOW!

Chapter Text

America’s eyes snapped open as she breathed in lungful of air, like she was dying from the lack of it. The gasping soon turned to coughing and she sat up in the bed, pounding on her chest to get back control of her lungs.

After that close death experience, America groaned and pushed her face back against the bed, one eyes staying open but unseeing. The nightmare ran through her head and she was so glad she managed to wake up before…. It happened.

It.

The thing that always left her tender and almost broken along with a scrambled brain and confused heart.

“Screw this,” Amelia murmured, pushing herself up of the bed. Her bare feet touched the cold wooden floor with a loud groan. She looked down at herself and saw herself dressed in a modest white, sleep gown, and with her hand running through her hair, she also discovered along with being dressed to bed, she had taken a long scrub. A quick look at her spotless nails confirmed that much too.

Who the hell did this?  Her lips sneered in revulsion with the possible names that might’ve touched her. Thinking of Francis’ creepy smile, Prussia’s suggestive eyebrows, and Spain’s wondering grip, she stuck out her tongue, disgusted.

Gross.

With that in mind, Amelia padded over to the window, looked out, and saw night still had its grip on the earth. Stars were sprinkled overhead along with the glow of the moon. Amelia leaned on the windowpane to look out of it.

She nodded to herself. Ok, it was probably the same night they came back. No way could see she have slept through more than a couple of hours… No she could sleep for days if she could, she has before, but that was beside the point. She had to go downstairs and find out what was going on—

He was coming.

England was coming.

The last time he came, it was around a decade ago, and it only lasted for three days.

Her hand tightened into a fist, recalling her dream and actually peaking into memories she hadn’t bothered to reach in years. What would she do when they saw each other? How will she react? What would be their first words…?

It was almost weird that he hadn’t said anything to her. He was always a planner and whenever something concerned her, he either slapped it in her face or practically turned it invisible. This, his visit, was defiantly something he would’ve told her.

He would’ve wanted her ready and perfect, up to his expectations, to welcome him. Fucking snob….

Something clicked in her mind and she straightened up. Maybe he had told her….

Picking herself up from the window side, the colony looked around the room, eyes stopping on a lump thrown carelessly at her bedside; her pack. Quietly walking over to it, Amelia chewed on her lip, telling herself that they would come up if she made too much noise.

She pulled out everything she had within her bag and just as her hand touched a folded parchment, she smiled. Mary had delivered it the day she had decided to journey to the Natives. With all the rush (and frustration), America had just forgotten about it.

Amelia’s mouth twisted but forced her hands to open it.

America,  

She noted that he now just started off with America, not my love, America, or even dear, Amelia.

I understand your wish to show more individuality, it seems that is now a fashionable trend among young folk, but it is simply not fitting for a girl of your standings. I have told you this more than once and I say it would be better for all if you just come to expect this.

You are my colony and whatever foolish ideas that comes into your mind reflects on my teachings. I believe myself to have been extremely tolerant with you, but with your recent tantrums, it has become clear that I must join you and enforce the rules myself.

It is a deep disappointment to me, America. You have showed me that I overestimated you to a point where I thought you were learned enough to do well on your own. This, I only blame myself. In the absence of a parent, you have fallen into disturbing actions uncommon to a normal female. I thought you were smart but alas you are only a girl, so this is my fault.

Her breath caught in her chest and her hands almost crushed the paper into shreds. Most of this was just rewritten in different words from other letters. At least he even bothered to write them himself.

She wanted to scream and tear out her hair that he even dared call himself her damn parent. Everyone seemed to think that he was some sort of child caretaker just because she was under his title. She was more like a dog to a master than a sister or daughter.

He’s been patient with her? So all the restrictions and humiliation of her people, all the blame and demeaning he put on her was him being gentle? The man was a joke.

And, he called her a child? A girl? There were girls her age, 17 human years, who already had married and made their own families. She was defiantly not a child.

She shut her eyes tight, the sound of her shallow breathing the only thing her ears could hear over the pounding of blood.

America slowly opened her eyes, letting them readjust to the lightening before reading on.

I will arrive the beginnings of August, if not sooner than that. I must continue to clean up the mess you have forced on me. Truly, America, you are the only one of my colonies I have to steer around like this. When you were first discovered, I had high hopes for you, and while you have kept resources on going, you have been an utter prat.

How much more will you act out like this, I wonder? I hope with my trip over, you’ll stop all of this whining and act like the British Colony that you are. My pride in you may have dwindled some, but I still anticipate great things from you if you just let me help you through…whatever this is.

It is my job to turn you on the right path, but I cannot even do that when you fight me over the smallest of things. This confusion and disorder in you is behind all of the colonist troublemaking, I am sure. Just stop acting like this, America. I have known many who have fallen away to pitiful emotions and I’ll be damned if I let you, a little girl, do this to herself, to me, all because she could not control herself.

Being brash can only get you a horrid reputation, and while you are yet a woman, as one of the fairer sex, you must know your place behind me. I have put you above the others of lower breeding despite their gender and yet, I haven’t seen you thankful for this in the longest time.

You have seem to have forgotten your place, child. I intend to remind you where that it and expect you to stay there, quiet. I pray to God that you can keep that mouth from spilling out brutish remarks.

I have been keeping an eye on the surround ports, as you know, and listen to this well, America, if I catch the faintest whisper of that portentous stuck-up frog, or any of his allies, the consequences will fall on your people, and a punishment will be in order for those who have the audacity to go against their king.

As much as I have spoiled you, this is the last chance I will give you to make something of yourself. His Royal Majesty has made it clear to me that as you are an important to me, he demands, no, expects, me to train you in the ways a proper colony, a proper child, should behave.

Think before you start to shoot off writings on paper for me, it would do you well to actually think before you go off acting a fool.

Until then,

Great Britain

She finished reading.

And stared up at the opposite wall. Her blood churned in fury under her skin, but at the moment, America tried to pick herself up. If she let herself get all worked over about him, like all the other times before… Nothing would’ve changed and no one would’ve gotten helped.

She tossed the paper into the floor, and stood up, heading out the door. “I have to think,” she intoned to herself. He was right about that at least. It wouldn’t hurt to think about her actions before doing them.

But she just wasn’t like that. She was lucky if she even paused to think about the outcomes to anything. Yet… if this whole affair was going to end up like she was starting to think it was… (war)… thinking a little could help herself, and in turn, help everyone.

She peered around the doorway, seeing if anyone had been posted outside her door. No one. Not even a lingering maid. There were voices coming from down the stairs and as she wondered to the top of the staircase, she saw the glow of candle lights emitting from the room right at the bottom of the steps.

Thinking back on it, America was sure that was the parlor. She strained her ears more and made out Prussia’s crocking voice. With more intend placed inside of her head, America knew this was her chance to eavesdrop. No way would they talk to her as freely as they would to each other in private.

Padding down the wooden steps on the lightest she could make her feet, she finally made it to the end, with only a couple of times she thought her heart would burst.

This was kinda exciting.

When was the last time she felt like this?

Crouching down, she got as close to the doorway without leaning into the room. Thank God the doors were open.

Spain: “So then, she fucking breaks the tree behind me, and I’m in shock. I knew that when she was younger… Ok, I heard things, but I never imagined…”

Laughter from Prussia. “He was about to piss himself, I swear.”

Spain: “Then why did you shut up after it happened, Prussia? I think that’s the only time I’ve ever seen you with your moth closed.”

Prussia: “Fu--”

France: “No fighting. I don’t need this from the two people who are supposed to help me out. Hm!” There was the clinking of glasses and America imiaged that France was still going at the champagne hard.

Spain: “France, you know our kings wouldn’t let us do shit about this. England is too strong… They don’t want him to turn his eye to us. America has it lucky. She’s an ocean away from that pendejo.”

Prussia: “Spain is right on this, Frany. It’ll take a lot to convince them and right now, they’re just kicking back to see Brows beat another colony into submission. Though… I gotta give it to the brat. I haven’t seen anyone stand up to him since the 7 Year War. And he didn’t even take that too seriously.”

Silence… then…

France: “America needs to prove herself to gain allies in this war--”

Prussia: “War? Can you even call it that? Sure she has a spark, but she’s in love with the guy! How the actual fuck can she fight a war against him when she’s spazzing out on what to do?!”

She froze. Thought stopped for a moment and she almost forgot to breathe. Prussia… Prussia wasn’t wrong. No matter how much she wanted to leave him… could she actually do it with all of this baggage of feelings inside?

France: “She loves herself more…and her loves her people above all. That’s why she’ll fight, for her freedom, the freedom of her people. I know she’ll fight.”

More silence. Francis… He knew her better than he knew herself at times. He was right. For her people, she would hurt England, and herself. Gladly she would.

Spain: “France… I know you’re not fighting for her. You’ve never been so chivalrous. You’re fighting for yourself.” Pause… Pause… “For that woman…” There was nothing, and even from outside the room, the tension was choking America. Woman?

Prussia: “Wasn’t she all about God, France? Do you think she would like to see you getting your hairy ass kicked and your mind overrun by anger every damn time a little skirmish with England breaks out?! Fuckin hell, France. I know you loved--”

France: “Love. I love her. But I am not here to talk about Jeanne. I, however, can say that is a reason, but I do care for Amelia… for Madeline. England will never take them away from me as he did to her. I will burn his country before I allow that to happen.”

Who the hell is he talking about? France had many women, had always slept around. The man could find a brothel in any town before finding a place to sleep and eat. She had never even heard the love come out of his mouth before.

Spain: “Those… are dangerous words, amigo.”

France chuckled. “It becomes even more dangerous when you hear how utter shit my country is falling too.”

Prussia: “I’m calling a maid to get him upstairs. I’m not mothering this shit.” 

America tensed, already seeing herself race up the stairs when Prussia seemed to start getting up. But Francis said something else that quieted both of their movements.

“I am a coward. They won’t do anything until they’re sure of a victory will take place… I can’t even give her what little I can. I only have myself to give and compared to him, it’s practically nothing. America doesn’t need a single man with connections that can take her so far. She needs- she needs strength, soldiers, weapons, and power.”  

There was a soft sound of weeping, and even though she couldn’t see him, America could imagine the tears sweeping into Francis’ beard, red ringed around blue, a glass in hand, and a tremor in his body. I can’t leave her to die. Not again! I couldn’t do anything, not my people or myself, so I can’t let him take her away this time!”

The next time Spain spoke, it was followed by the chair he was sitting in groaning slightly from getting up. “Jeanne… I think she would’ve been sad if she saw you like this Francis… They say not to love one of them for a reason, mi amigo.

 My work here is done. I don’t know if I can prove any support so don’t expect anything.”

Spain’s voice crept closer to the doorway and that time, she actually did run up the stairs. America hid in the shadows at the top of the steps, driven to see how this ended.

“Same here. Since that asshole is coming here, I’m sure that he would lynch me if he saw I came within a foot of his flower. England’s got problems with that one…” Prussia said with a disgust dripping from the words.

America distinguished Spain walk out the parlor. He stood out there for a moment. The spit in her mouth disappeared and she thought that he saw her. Her blood turned to ice when he turned his head in her direction.

Holy smothering—what would he do to her for eavesdropping? Despite his friendly face and exterior, there was something darker in his soul, something bloodthirsty and hungry to stay on top of the power chain. The way he tried his colonies scared her.

Instead, he said calmly, “What do you think?” America was a second from standing and telling him she just came out of her room.

“Still crying. When he drinks too much it always end up like this. He’s such a dramatic pansy.” Prussia crept from the room behind him, closing the door on her way out.

“Not that. I can’t believe he’s still in love with that woman. I think it might be guilt more than anything, though.”

“Are you joking? Did you ever see them together? If she asked him to give her his arm, he would’ve asked if she wanted both. I can believe it. It’s only been…what? Two centuries? Three? Eh, four? I don’t know. Still fresh, I guess.”

“We aren’t supposed to love humans either way. Even if things had gone well, she would’ve been dead centuries ago. It was only a matter of time.”

Prussia ran a gloveless hand through her long white locks. “I think we weren’t supposed to love in the first place. Humans aren’t the only ones that can hurt us, ya know.” She looked straight ahead, and even in the darkness, America saw her figure engulfed in a sadness of sorts.

“Austria and Hungary…they’re very happy together, aren’t they?”

A delicate silence swept over the area and America internally recalled how that happened a lot that night.

“For some reason, that prissy little girl, that toffee-nosed aristocrat, likes that tomboy more than me.” Prussia’s voice had become defeated and tired all at once, and if she started to cry, America expected nothing stranger in the world to help ever again.

Love. Was there a force in this world that prevented them from loving? Something that spoiled and ruined the feeling?

“Let’s go already, Tonio. This place is too new. It makes me all sentimental.” She sniffed loudly and cackled. She was the first to stomp to the nearby entrance and open the door.

From her perch upstairs, America felt the chilly breeze of night air find its way up to her.

Prussia’s boots walked out the door along with Spain’s footsteps.

*

Amelia watched the stars from her bed, wondering what she would gain and lose after this. She wondered what things would be pinned out of her reach, like the colorful butterflies England once had in his office.