Colt Walther pistol. 1848.

America ran his fingers over the smooth wood, admiring how it still gleamed slightly even though it features had worn with age.

The pistol he shot Mexico in the back of the head with.

America let out a shaky breath and placed the revolver back on its peg on the wall. It seemed to taunt him. The days of the 1800s were laced with so much pain. But the wounds of that time had healed over. He and Mexico were getting along finally, and America was happy to say that they had become rather close.

"You really gonna keep all these up?"

Dixie's accent was laced with concern.

"Well, I can't back down." America tore his gaze from the artifact's and met Dixie's blue eyes. "He wants to get to me. I can't let him do that."

"So you're gonna keep your wall of weapons free for him to grab?" Dixie frowned. "You could at least take the ammo out. Why did ya leave these loaded anyway?"

"I can't let him have any more ground," America said, ignoring his brother's visible disapproval. "even if it's dangerous."

Dixie rolled his eyes. "You always were a bit of a drama queen."

America pouted. "I'm NOT a drama queen."

Before Dixie could counter, a knock on the door caught his attention. Alaska poked his head through.

"Can I come in?"

America nodded, and Alaska slipped through the door, ignoring Dixie on his way past. He sat on the couch.

America sat next to him. "What's up kiddo?"

"I was thinking," the Last Frontier started, "that I may be able to communicate with this shadow thing. I don't know how, but it could be possible."

America frowned. "I don't want you anywhere near this thing. It could hurt you." He looked at the doorway. "And that includes all those listening."

A couple of states shyly slipped into view. America gestured them closer, and they came in. There were about twenty-seven, most of them younger, but they all stumbled forward into the room and gathered around America.

"I don't want any of you going after this shadow." America made eye contact with each of them. "I don't want you near it. Don't do anything stupid. Got it?"

They all nodded, looking a bit guilty.

"Is there anything else that you want to tell me?"

They all shook their heads.

"Alright." America sat up a bit straighter. "If this thing tries to communicate with anyone, tell me. And I'll do the same."

Alaska nodded and trailed off with the other states. He looked over his shoulder, his stare flashing to Dixie for a split second, then disappeared through the doorway.

"I don't think he likes me." Dixie squinted at the spot Alaska disappeared in.

"Alaska doesn't really like anybody." America sighed, folding his arms across his chest. "He has trust issues. Took him a while to warm up to me. Plus you have a scary face."

"I do NOT have a scary face."

"Do too."

"Do not!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The morning was uneventful, followed by more uneventfulness. America managed to track down the bed that he promised Dixie- he even found a small nightstand. It was a bit beaten up but the battle flag seemed giddy with his new furniture.

"It's perfect." He said rather happily as he straightened a light gray comforter across the mattress.

America looked around at the small space with confusion. "Really?"

"Yes." Seeming satisfied with his work, he sat down on the bed, disturbing his perfectly placed pillows. "How many times do I have to say that?"

"No more I guess." America smiled, sitting next to him. "And you need some new clothes. I'm tired of you stealing mine."

Dixie snorted, rolling his eyes. "Whatever. The sleeves are tight around my arms anyway."

"Are you implying that you're stronger than me?"

"Implying? That's a fact."

America punched him in the arm. "Look who's talking Mr. ILostTheCivilWar."

Dixie hit him back, a bit harder than intended, and a full-on squabble began. Soon the two were playfully wrestling on the ground, Dixie's head pinned under America's arm.

"Not so tough are ya!" America snorted out, struggling to keep Dixie in the headlock.

A forced-sounding cough from the doorway caught their attention.

America looked up to see Delaware and Pennsylvania with confused looks on their faces. The country cleared his throat and stood up, straightening his shirt and offering a hand to Dixie.

"Something's wrong with New York." Pennsylvania said as if nothing happened.

America's brow knit together in concern. "What do you mean somethings wrong with New York?"

"He won't come out of his room." Delaware rubbed the back of his neck. "Even Cali tried to get him out."

"I'll go talk to him." America walked passed the two brothers and up the stairs. New York was usually a social butterfly- he was rather crude sometimes, no doubt, but he didn't really care what other people thought of him. He did inherit America's arrogance, and on occasion beat himself up for screwing up.

The country turned and walked up the stairs, his head circulating with thoughts. Even when the virus hit he usually stayed out on the couch. He reached the grey-painted door and knocked.

"Go awa'." New York's voice sounded shaky, lacking his usual street confidence.

"New York it's me."

"I said go awa'." A string of low hacking coughs erupted from the other side of the door.

America's hand curled around the silver doorknob. "Open this door or I will."

New York didn't answer. So he wrenched the door open.

New York's room was a bit on the small size- it only contained a small bed, a simple dresser, and a little closet. The room was messy with papers and the window that made up most of the room's fourth wall had its curtains pinned shut, casting a depressingly dark gloom. A figure was on the bed, his back turned to the country that had just entered.

"New York-"

"Leave me alone." The state curled into himself.

America sat on the edge of the bed, it creaking slightly under his weight. "What's wrong."

He didn't answer.

America sighed and folded his arms across his chest. "I'm not leaving until you tell me what's wrong. I'm no idiot. I can tell."

"You promise you won't tell?" his voice was suddenly small. With a hint of... fear?

New York was never afraid.

"I have to tell the states." America said, looking over at the curled-up state. "We can't keep any more secrets."

New York sniffed, shuddering slightly as he pushed himself into a cross-legged position. He turned his hood and pulled it off.

Cracks were everywhere.

Splintering up his neck and crisscrossing up his chin. Like spiderwebs. One large one had already reached his lower lip. It looked like his lip was splitting. His flag was an unhealthy shade, illuminating his now pitch-black eyes, that were now running tears down his face. Those cracks couldn't have sprouted overnight.

"W-what?" America whispered hoarsely. "When did this start happening? Why didn't you tell me?"

"A co'ple of months ago." The state tried to keep his voice steady. "I thought it would go away. But it ain't. And then it got wo'se and the cracks started spreadin-"

America reached out and tried to pull New York into a hug, but he only curled in on himself, and let out a shaky hiccup. "Why does it hurt so bad?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

America closed the door with a soft click. New York had finally calmed down, and America had coaxed him into sleep. He didn't need it, but the state looked like he should have a break. The country sighed, running a hand through his hair.

He walked through the hall, down the stairs, and into the living room, where a group of states had gathered.

"Is he ok?"

"What's wrong with him?"

America sat down on a space that Dixie had made next to him. "He isn't ok. He's... got cracks all over."

The silence that fell over the room was excruciating. No one moved. The only thing that was heard was the truth settling with them.

"He's recovered before." America said. "New York is strong. Nine-eleven, the American Revolution... he'll make it. And then Apple will feel better than before."

America's attempt to make himself feel better didn't work. The states seemed to cling on to it though.

"Ya." New Jersey said. "He's a tough guy. 'ou remember the newsie strike?"

"Ya! Ya!" Pennsylvania declared. "New York'll be alright!"

This seemed to rouse the states, and soon there were all saying words of encouragement to themselves or to others. Through all the commotion, America slipped away. He wanted to be alone.

America?

Heh. Forgot we could talk this way.

Seriously! Just leave me alone. I- I need to think.

America, please.

Dixie followed him into the kitchen, where America seized the side of the sink and focused his watery eyes on the drain.

"America, please." Dixie repeated, aloud this time.

"What?" America whimpered. He felt pathetic. New York was suffering. It was his fault.

"This isn't your fault." Dixie seemed to read his mind.

"Yes, it is."

Dixie put his hand on America's shoulder. The country watched as his tears dripped into the sink. he let out a shuttering breath and inhaled, feeling the sting of his own cracks restricting him. He felt his throat grow hot. He swallowed and wetted his lips, biting his lower lip to keep it from trembling.

America let out a ragged sob and broke down.

OoOh ANgsTy

Sorry, Iek off for fall break SO WOOT WOOT.