America sat in a pile of blood, but not minding even though it was his own blood, mixed with a few others, as he held onto his lover's hand, clenching it as if it was the most important thing in the world, that was trying to leave his grasp. He felt his heart slowly shattering into a million pieces (that never matched the amount of stars in Ivan's eyes) as he remembered he was the one that dragged him into the war, and oh, how much he hated himself, he hated being strong, he hated being the last living being on Earth right now. Tears fell from his eyes and onto the red-splattered ground, as he looked up at the sky, filled with lead and smoke.

A man appeared to him, his skin tan like bronze, and his hair long with a small thin braid going down the middle, his face with beauty that was definitely masculine, yet almost looked feminine if you look at it long enough. His eyes were dark, dark like a beautiful night sky, with it's twinge of blue hinting here and there sometimes when the light hit just right.

"Alfred." The man said, making said-nation jerk his head up.

"Native America?"

"Do you wish none of this happened?" He asked, his voice filled with sadness that only Alfred could ever match, "My son, do you wish none of this ever happened?"

"I do!" He wailed, putting Ivan's hand over his chest, wishing it was still warm with a roughness that was still soft, instead of cold and covered with wounds from gripping a knife too hard, or cuts from pulling his gun out too quickly, or the bullet that went through the palm, "I wish that none of this ever happened. I wish I could've stopped it."

Native America hid a smirk behind a hand.

His voice was a little more than a whisper as he said,

"Then I hope you do a good job."

I'VE BEEN WATCHING YOU, FOR SOME TIME, CAN'T STOP STARING AT THOSE OCEAN EYES.

America woke up to the sound of two people fighting, which he immediately suspected were England and France, after flexing his arms and legs out in a stretch, cringing at the sound of the loud popping of his bones. Wait- didn't Finland or some other Nordic find him first? Perhaps he woke up too late, he thought, as he got up and walked towards them, a small smirk on his face as he wondered what would happen if he chose France instead.

He didn't notice it, but he was laughing, and rather hysterically as well, making them look at him with a bit of shock and concern. Alfred immediately realized that and stopped, not wanting them to think he had a mental disorder or something, but then almost wanted to slap himself for forgetting how he chose between them. Didn't France try to bribe me with food? Can't I just grab England instead, I mean, it can't make that big of a deal, can it? Eh-

"England- England!" America smiled, giving Native America mental high-five for remembering to make his voice it's former high voice, that sounded like a girl's to him, but it will do, "Are you going to take care of me now?" He tried to sound excited and cheerful, which worked, but inside he was dying and hoping England will just pick him up already and go idley-do.

France huffed angrily at the smug look England gave him, and put his hands on his hips, "Well, I suppose he already chose, them/ I bet you'll corrupt him in no time." He crossed his arms, giving a smirk to England, who spluttered.

"What the bloody hell is wrong with you? What even goes through your perverted-"

"What does pewverded mean?" America asked, trying not to laugh. At least his mind was still like a two hundred something-something year old's mind. France did his weird, 'ohonhonhon' thing that Alfred used to hate, but got used to and started to find lovely. England stayed silent, his face turning a bright red in embarrassment for using such words in front of a kid, as Alfred just jumped into his arms.

He could feel himself getting drowsier- damn his weak colony body! How did he even lift a heavy animal up back then? He glared at France before falling into a blissful slumber, until all he could see was black.

He wished he could sleep forever, sometimes.

BURNING CITIES AND NAPALM SKIES, FIFTEEN FLARES INSIDE THOSE OCEAN EYES

America didn't want to admit it, but he could feel himself falling into depression. It was probably because he had depression before he turned into a kid as well, and the fact he had to relive his life, and all the anxiety and thoughts that crowded his mind especially when he was laughing and hugging England, calling him 'big brother', which he missed doing so much. Yet, that aching thought that he'll have to go through the Revolutionary War again. He decided to start cutting but in areas that obviously England wouldn't see, such as his shoulder and thighs, though occassionally his wrists, but he always wore long-sleeved clothing, anyways.

Besides, did England really give more than than two shits about him? Only flaunting him off like a trophy to others.

What he really cared about right now is when Youtube and the phone will get invented, because damn, it was so boring inside this small cottage-like house hidden from others.

He spent his time writing down World History onto pieces of paper, but then finding them too heartbreaking for him to throw away so he hid them in the little drawer-like space above his bed, well hidden by a curtain since there was a window next to his bed.

He also spent his time drawing Russia.

There are times where he just wanted to forget about him, his soft silver hair that sometimes draped over his eyes, his beautifully purple eyes like a painting he's never seen before, and that replica of his voice in Alfred's head that made him homesick for Russia, the place he once hated so much and now he hated himself for ever even just disliking it. Every little bit of snow that fell made him think of Ivan.

Alfred sometimes thought that he went through too much stuff, but yet he'd go through all of it again just to see Russia. Especially how he'd put his coat on him whenever they walked through the colder streets that America wasn't used to, and how Alfred would pout and complain about how Ivan was too tall and his coat would get messy since it practically sweeped the floor whenever it was on him, then Ivan would laugh and say he's too short, as they feigned anger and pressed closer to each other.

Yes, this is why he went through this, to go back to moments like those.

YOUR OCEAN EYES, NO FAIR, YOU REALLY KNOW HOW TO MAKE ME CRY

America was standing on a wooden stool, no rushes of adrenaline rushing through him like how it used to be the first time he experienced this feeling, a noose hanged around his neck, as a crowd gathered around them. It made him sick how his own people would want to watch such a thing! But yet it made sense to him how they would think he was a witch, but the girl next to him? The shivering, poor little girl with pale skin freckled gently with brown spots, and long blonde hair, with dark brown eyes? She did nothing wrong, but yet her family turned their back on her so quickly.

He closed this eyes as the stool was taken away from under his feet, a choking feeling greeting him but yet went away as unconciousness fell over. The last thing he saw was an exhausted but not protective-looking or angry-looking England, and it saddened him a little.

Arthur was trying to shake him awake, France and Canada besides him as Alfred opened his eyes, examining around him- he was in his room, surprisingly, he'd never miss those large dark blue curtains with blue flowers decorating the desk for anywhere else. Arthur had a weird expression on his face, making America almost laugh because of the eyebrows.

"Alfred." He said, his voice deep and serious as ever, "What are these cuts on your wrists- shoulders, even!"

Alfred blinked, then forced himself to cry, getting surprised looks from France and Matthew, "W-well, there's this b-boy... His name's J-jack... And he likes to bully me, and h-he likes to g-grab my wrist... and c-cut it... I don't want to tell his family, because I'd feel bad for him, and I don't want to hurt him, because he's my c-citizen." He lied, sniffling as Matthew went over and hugged his brother, making America feel better, even if it was a lie. He hasn't been hugged so long, it felt even better than if someone gave him a hundred pounds of gold and diamond.

"Where does zis boy live?" Francis asked, trying to stay calm, but anyone could see through that and see how angry he was, so close to blowing up like a volcano.

"I don't know." Alfred shrugged, tapping his chin as if in thought, "I think he moved away just a week ago."

Matthew tightened his grip around his brother, "I want that Jack boy to die." He said simply. Francis looked so proud of his little Matthew, but Arthur just groaned, hiding an amused smile, "What are you teaching your colony? No wonder America chose me."

Alfred took a deep breath, placing a smile on his face.

WHEN YOU GIVE ME THOSE OCEAN EYES, I'M SCARED

Alfred was finally able to go to a meeting with older brot- stop, America! Just calm him England, best not to get attached to him again, or his depression will get worse than it already is. He noticed stares, and a few glares coming from the other nations in the room, but he ignored it knowing they weren't directed at him as he poured a cup of tea for England, who just merely patted his head, like always when he did something good.

Prussia laughed obnoxiously, "Kesesesese~, you treat him like a slave."

America noticed England's jaw clench a little, and that made a rush of protectiveness go through him, even if he denied it. Alfred put on a strained smile, brushing a strand of golden hair out of his face, "I am no slave, just a colony. But I suppose that would be too much for your brain to take in, correct?" He smiled innocently, noticing others look at him in surprise, and horror. How dare a tiny colony disrespect someone like that? Arthur pretended to be angry, but deep inside he was proud.

L- Germany put an arm in front of his brother to keep him from destroying America. As if he could, America snorted.

Italy went up to America, "Hello! I'm Italy, but you can call me Feliciano~, at first I thought you were a bella, so forgive me, but do you like pasta?"

"Actually, no, I don't think I've ever tried pasta." America said, almost laughing at the look Italy had on. Most people would think it was dramatic, but America knew it was real, and Italy was horrified that he never had pasta before- at least in this life.

"Well, maybe I can show you it later." He smiled, making Alfred grin, Italy was just as sweet as he was in the past life! Arthur glared at the Italian, shooing him away instantly. Alfred frowned at that, giving an absolute look of hatred to Arthur, who pretended he didn't notice it, as a way to just play with the American, like mocking him.

Alfred used to pretend it was to hide the look of pain on his face, but he knew better than that now.

Instead of thinking about that, he instead decided to use his thoughts on Ivan, and why he wasn't here, yet.

The other nations can call him immature and disrespectful all they want, but they'll never know it's to hide that true self of himself, and keep himself controlled in a way that wasn't too violent, because when you see too much, you can't help but think as if the world has turned its back to you, as you're left to cry at night, instead of using it to sleep. Sleep was something he missed, but not the horrid sleep filled with nightmares he got nowadays, he wanted the careless nights of sleep after drinking too late with friends, and the lovely dreams filled with hopes and wishes.

If he gave himself to his people, what would his people give him back?

A/N:

okay i like totally redid this chapter, but i hope you like it! I'm working on the next chapter rn :P