Hello there. I'm not new to the Hetalia fandom, however, this is my first time writing for it. It's also a lot more serious, so sorry if it seems like the characters aren't like how they are in the show. This idea just jumped into my head and wouldn't get out so I decided to just type. Bare with it!

Dobby's Polka-Dotted Sock

On the Edge of a Divide

How could he have been such a fool? He had been sitting there, smiling and babbling to the other nations he was just beginning to meet and know; while all the time discontent was stirring amongst his own people. The hatred had stewed and stewed, never quite boiling over, compromise after compromise. Even after those twenty years from the signing of the constitution, he did nothing. Even after John Brown, he did nothing. Even after nations in Europe who hadn't dedicated themselves to democracy abolished the venomous practice, he did nothing.

And now the first shots at Fort Sumter had been fired, and one man on each side was dead. The southern states had seceded from the Union, and were setting up their own government. The called themselves the Confederate States of America.

Confederates. He couldn't quite muster the same anger and disgust that some of the people around Washington could. Perhaps it was because he was America, and they had chosen to be his Confederate States. Childish as it sounded, he didn't want any Confederate States; he just wanted the United States.

He found himself wandering into his new boss' office, to find the man pacing in front of the larger desk, while little Tad snored on the sofa. The corner of his lips turned up at the endearing sight.

"America, just who I wanted to see," Mr. Lincoln was a nice man, and normally calm, but the splitting of the country made him depressed. America could easily understand.

"Yes, sir?" He asked, curious as to what the other man wished to speak about.

"I realize you are upset that I have not yet allowed you to fight alongside the other troops, but doing so would be a serious concern."

"Why is that?"

"The Union is refusing, under my orders, to recognize the Confederacy as its own nation. They cannot be allowed to secede from the Union over slavery. Therefore, you still are representing both sides of this war."

It all made so much sense, now. Why he couldn't feel angry, just…sad. Like he was breaking. America stared out the window at the Potomac, and the unfinished monument to his first boss: George Washington. Things were much simpler then, it was easier to point the finger of blame on Britain.

"But, how do I stand for opposite sides, I mean, slavery is wrong—"

"It is, America, it is, but I came into this office to keep the country together. That is my job, and it is yours. You must do your best to succeed."

"But how long will it last? What's going to happen to me?"


His head hurt. He had just met with his second new boss, Jefferson Davis. He had vaguely remembered the overbearing man from the Senate, and had not gotten off on the right foot with him. Mr. Davis did not want to hear any of his thoughts on slavery, on how to win diplomatic favor from other countries, or anything else. At least Mr. Lincoln paid attention to his nonsensical ramblings. He never was sure these days of what was going to come out of his mouth. He would congratulate a Union general on his defeat, and then slip a slave a ten dollar bill on the way to see the Confederate President.

Not that the money would help much. The Confederacy was printing money like mad, and their economy was sure to tank soon. He rode a train back to Washington, the only one allowed to pass effortlessly across the borders. As he sat, America tried to gather his thoughts on paper, but it all looked too jumbled. In frustration, he ripped it down the middle.

There! Two separate lists of ideas for each of his bosses. He wanted so desperately to help all Americans, yet a part that was becoming smaller each day knew that the Union side had to win this. But what could he do? His eye landed on one hastily scribbled line.



He was alone.


Would the fighting ever end? It had been going for years. Siege after siege, losing ground, gaining ground. He lost and gained. Trains carted him back and forth, but it didn't faze him much. He still just sat and stared at his two hands, wondering if he looked hard enough, one would suddenly become different from the other. Perhaps he could rip himself in two, like that paper, and finally be free from all the noise in his head.

Slavery should be abolished….but it was the backbone of the Southern Economy, they would all starve….the slaves were already starving….the South had the right under the Constitution to secede….but they were weaker separated….united we stand, divided we fall….a penny saved from slave labor was a penny earned….all men….3/5….men are created equal…


Sherman was marching to the sea. Total War.

"Let me out! Let me out of here, I can't sit and watch, I have to fight!"

He sat in a tent all by himself. Two uniforms sat on his cot. Blue and gray, north and south, Union and Confederate, a bruise lying on his bed waiting to be donned.

He liked ripping things so much now that he tore each coat down the center, and thought to wear half on each side. But which color would his right arm represent?

America stared at his reflection, the ruined fabric hanging useless in his hands, and laughed. He beckoned to his other self to step out from the glass and choose a color so he wouldn't have to, but his other self invited him right back, and so they both just stood separate and laughed forevermore.

So, I'm not totally sure about how this one turned out, but I'll send it off to you guys to decide. If you don't understand one of the history references pm/review your question and I'll gladly answer it. To lighten the mood some, here's a little bonus spoof!

America walked down the hallway, not being able to stand listening to another Cabinet meeting. He was about to heave another pointless sigh, when he thought he could just make out a noise behind him.

"…e-excuse me? Hellooo?"

He turned, and saw another person, uncannily similar to himself. He had longer, wavy hair and seemed to exude timidity, but it had to be…

"You—are you….the other me? Confederate America?" Had the separation finally come?

The other deflated and almost melted into the wall. "No," he said just above a whisper, "I'm Canada."

Couldn't resist. Review!