America stumbled backward, trying to fathom what was happening.

Bloodstained stalked out of the shadows, slowly moving his body forward. His crooked smile, his rumpled button-up shirt, his brown boots- everything was was perfectly Bloodstained. But something was off.

"H-how-" America choked out. His heel hit a bump on the carpet and tumbled, hitting the ground hard.

Bloodstained only smiled wider.

"Hey Dad!" A voice came from the media room. Mississippi popped out of the doorway. "Have you seen-"

He went a shade of off-color white. "W-"

Finally, the figure spoke. "Mississippi. How's the flag change going?" Bloodstained's voice was raspy and coarse, like sandpaper.

Mississippi's pale face distorted into pure rage. He threw himself forward, slamming his fist into Bloodstained's stomach.

Or so he thought.

Mississippi's fist went through Bloodstained's body. He tumbled forward, his angry features changing into new confused ones. He landed on top of America in a heap.

"Ah uh ahh." Bloodstained taunted, turning around to face the two. "None of that."

"How?" America repeated. His voice sounded small.

Bloodstained hummed. "What do you mean brother?"

America clenched his fists. He forced himself to stand up. "Who are you?"

A low chuckled erupted from the confederate flags throat. He then sighed and tilted his head. "I suppose my appearance didn't fool you. Or Dixie. Such a shame. I enjoy unnerving you."

"Answer the question." America stared down into Bloodstained's eyes.

"I am merely a shadow." Bloodstained looked straight into America's eyes. "A shadow of things to come."

He then morphed. His features lengthened, his flag changed. Soon he was staring into Stars' silvery eyes. He tilted his head, daring America to make a move.

America held his gaze.

Stars rolled his eyes and turned around. He walked away from the country. "Oh. A word of advice." Stars' southern accent said. "Keep an eye on your historical artifacts."

Then he disappeared into the shadows, taking the uneasy feeling with him.

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America gently pressed the ice pack up against Mississippi's shoulder. He let out a soft hiss.

"So he was just there?" Nebraska's voice was a strange kind of soft.

"It wasn't him." America said, looking at his states that surrounded him. "He called himself a shadow. Of things to come."

A sort of chill came over the room when he said that. New Mexico shifted towards Nevada and Arizona. New York wrapped his arms around himself. New Hampshire shuttered. Alabama looked down.

"What do you think he means by that?" Kansas said. "Does he mean another Civil War? "

"I don't know." America looked down at the couch he was sitting on. "But I won't let any of us to through that again."

"Did he say anything else?" Minnesota squeaked.

America creased his forehead in concentration. "He did say something along the lines of 'watch your artifacts'."

"What do you think he means by that?" Montana pulled the blanket she was curled up in closer.

"I don't know." America said again. He sounded like a broken record. He felt helpless. Hopeless. He had no idea what was happening or how to fix it. He adjusted his grip on the ice pack he was holding against Mississippi.

The rest of the night was silent. No one spoke. And if they did, it was in low, hushed voices that drifted off when America attempted to listen in. Dinner was quiet. The only thing that was audible was the clunking of forks and knives cutting through the tender chicken. Dixie was the quietest out of all of them, his expression blank. He tried reaching out to America through their mind link a couple of times but America gave short responses and he seemed to get the message.

Soon they all filled off into their rooms, some going in groups others only having themselves for company. Dixie made eye contact with America as he looked over his shoulder, about to descend into the basement and into his room. The eye contact was rather fierce, like he was trying to tell him something without using words. America looked down, exhausted and tired and wanting to go to bed. Dixie turned back around and marched down the steps.

Dixie's words echoed in his head. He tried not to think about it. He didn't want to think about anything. How things seemed to be getting worse.

America shoved those thoughts away. Stop thinking negatively. He thought to himself. Look for a bright side. There's always a bright side.

Well peace in the Middle East was starting to become a reality. That was good. The economy was recovered rather fast. The unemployment rate had fallen under ten percent. And of course there were his friends- Mexico, Japan... they seemed to be doing well.

Feeling a bit better, America changed into a pair of sweatpants and a loose tee-shirt. He jogged up the stairs to his bed and flopped into it, curling up under his blanket and rested his head on his pillow. It was cold and felt nice, soothing his pounding headache. He closed his eyes and hoped for a better tomorrow.

America woke up to a clear head and a feeling of laziness. He didn't want to get up.

He rolled over to face his nightstand, which held an awkwardly taped together alarm clock. The red digital numbers read 4:23. He groaned aloud and rolled over, squeezing his eyes shut. He felt like he had sand in his blood. But his mind didn't want him to fall asleep.

America lay there, trying to go back to sleep for a couple of minutes, but it was no use.

He sighed and sat up. He rubbed his eyes and stretched. If he wasn't going to be able to sleep, he better do something about it.

America pushed his covers aside and made his way down onto the main floor. He changed into a tank top and basketball shorts and went out the door.

The house was quiet as he crept through the long hallway. The states had their rooms arranged in no particular order, but only a couple were on the same floor as America's.

He continued to tiptoe until he reached the training room. Work out room, exercise room, whatever you wanna call it. He slid the door open and squeezed inside- but found someone already in there.

Dixie was sitting on a bench muttering to himself. He looked a bit upset as he was wrapping a new clean cloth around his bleeding wrist.

America furrowed his brow and walked over to the angry southerner.

"What happened?"

"Hit the stupid punching bag wrong." Dixie snapped.

America sat next to him and gently took his arm, taking over wrapping it up. Dixie turned away from him, pouting.

"We need to find a better solution," America concluded as he lightly strained the bandage before tying it up. "What about some cuffs or sweatbands or something?"

Dixie just growled.

America finished and stood up, offering Dixie his hand. "Are ya gonna keep that bad attitude?"

Dixie accepted his outstretched hand and America pulled him to his feet.

"So what brings you here?" Dixie asked.

"Couldn't sleep." America turned towards a punching bag. "Thought I could blow off some steam."

"Same." Dixie sighed.

"Wanna train together?" America tilted.

"You know what? Why not."

"Ready to get your butt kicked?"

"Ha. You wish."

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"That all you got?!"

America grunted as he wiggled out of Dixie's headlock. Dixie turned around and lunged. America moved out of the way just in time, Dixie flew past him and tucked into a roll, slowing his fall and standing back up.

The battle flag whirled around and caught America's fist before it smashed into his face. The country jerked his fist out of his brother's grip and kneed him in the stomach.

The two had been at this for a couple of hours now. Taunting, fenting, jabbing, and hitting. America couldn't remember the last time he had this much of a workout.

The country took time to collect himself as Dixie stumbled backward. He only needed a second to recover before he went the offensive again, aiming a punch at America's chest.

He liked this. He and Dixie were always evenly matched, and knew each other more than anybody.

America twirled out of his reach and attempted to jab him in the ribs, as Japan has taught him. But the battle flag caught his hand and twisted it behind his back.

To fight, he didn't need to think. It was all instinct.

Dixie held firm as America tried to wrestle free. He managed to get loose enough to flip around and yank his arm out of his grasp. He aimed a high kick at Dixie's face and got him in the jaw.

"Do you... give up?" America panted.

"No." Dixie rotated his jaw. "Do you?"

"Never."

So the two squares up again, continuing their game. America would punch, Dixie would dodge. Dixie would kick, America would dodge. Soon the sun was peaking over the orchard trees, making the large window gleam and filled the room with a silvery yellow early morning light.

Dixie rubbed his mouth using the back of his bandage wrist. "I should probably go down and make breakfast."

"Does that mean I win?" America grinned.

Dixie snorted. "No. It just means that I actually have things to do."

America wrinkled his face.

"Welp I best be off." Dixie grabbed his shirt and pulled it over his head. "I'm off to make about a thousand pancakes and a lot more bacon. Wish me luck."

America watched him go out the door as he sat on the bench. He stretched upward, feeling the bottom of his tank top brush against his stomach.

"Papi! Papi!"

Arizona burst through the door, dragging New Mexico by the arm. "You'll never guess what happened last night!"

America looked at the two states with only one thought on his mind. What did they do now. He felt a small smile come over his face.

"What are you kids doing up so early?" America asked as they rushed towards him.

"Early to bed early to rise makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise!" Arizona chirped, straightening out his "I Survived La Chancla" shirt.

"And socially dead." New Mexico replied dizzily.

Arizona ignored him. "Tell him what you did last night."

"So-" New Mexico started.

"So you know how he can contact people through their dreams?" Arizona interrupted. "Last night he was like 'what if I tried to contact the shadow thing and find out what it wants' and I said 'YA that would be AWESOME' so he tried it an-"

"And it worked." New Mexico shot Arizona an annoyed look. "Well, sort of."

America raised his eyebrows. "What do you mean?"

"Well since he doesn't seem to dream or have a tangible mind, he seemed to be replaying things over and over again." New Mexico scratched his chin. "He would rewind it and watch it again sort of. So I got to see things from his point of view."

The country leaned forward, still listening. Arizona was practically vibrating next to his brother, wanting to tell the story.

"And I know why he said what he said- about the historical artifacts." New Mexico paused dramatically. "Because they're the only things he can touch."