Mandee's Utterly Ridiculous Hetalia Fanfic

[Nearly Headless Mandee]

...also known as Mandee has too much time on her hands, is way too interested in history, and has a warped sense of humor. XD

------------------------------------------------------------------

The war had officially started a little more than two years earlier, and yet little progress was being made. The Continental Army was still struggling, and General George Washington was happy to accept any troops so long as they met two conditions - a) They were of age, and b) They were willing to fight.

Never before had he come across a recruit with such odd requests as this one. He was to meet the recruit at an abandoned home, and was explicitly instructed to come alone. Washington was leery of this directive at first, but something - he wasn't sure what, exactly...told him that he could trust the writer of this letter.

As he entered the dwelling, he saw a figure seated on a chair in the main room. Assuming that this was the recruit in question, the general went on to address him. "I was instructed to meet with a recruit for the Continental Army here. I presume that you are..." Washington paused here, to take a quick glance down at the name on the letter to make sure that he said it correctly. "Alfred F. Jones?" The figure, presumably Alfred judging by his response, was a young blonde man, who appeared to be no older than 15 or 16. As he rose from his seat, Washington was surprised at just how tall the young lad was.

Alfred extended his hand to the general, whose own hand met the new recruit's. "General Washington! I'm so glad I finally got to meet you! I've heard so much about you! I think you're really going to help us win this war!" Expecting a light shake, General Washington was not at all prepared for the almost superhuman strength at which Alfred yanked his hand up and down. By the time the handshake was finished, Washington rubbed at his shoulder, half surprised that his shoulder had not popped out of his socket! Alfred appeared to have noticed Washington's discomfort, and chuckled abashedly.

"I'm sorry, I guess I don't know my own strength..."

The next bit that Washington noted was that the young man, inexplicably, was already wearing a Continental Army uniform. "Where did you get that? Did someone give that to you? Did you raid the company stores?"

For the first time in their conversation, the young blonde's facial expression registered something akin to concerned. "It's a bit more complicated than that." Looking eager to change the subject, Alfred directed the general to a table several feet away. "Would you like something to drink? I have beer!"

Before long, Alfred and General Washington were seated at said table, each with a tall glass of ice cold beer situated in front of them. But General Washington had barely touched his, preferring to keep his eyes focused on the strange youngster before him. Something was peculiar about this guy, though Washington wasn't exactly sure what it was just yet...

"So, what made you decide to join the Continental Army?" Came Washington's next question.

"Well, it's a long story..."

"I have all night." Washington normally wouldn't spend this much time on a recruit, but again, this one struck him as strange...he needed to figure this out.

Alfred shrugged. "Well, my brother ended up protecting me from this other guy. Now he's acting like I have to pay him back for helping me out, when I didn't even need his help in the first place! And it's not like I had any say in the matter." Alfred raised his drink to his lips and took a few chugs.

Washington raised an eyebrow. "That seems like a strange reason to enter a war."

Alfred raised an eyebrow in return, almost seeming to mock the general. "It's a bit more complicated than that."

Okay, that was starting to get annoying. Washington decided to change the subject a tad. "You mentioned your brother. What about your parents?"

At this question, Alfred blanched. "I...don't have any. Arthur's raised me from the time I was a child..." Was it just Washington, or was there a hint of bitterness in Alfred's voice when he talked about Arthur?

"I assume Arthur is your brother?"

"That'd be correct."

Alright...so this young man was an orphan, and his older brother had raised him. That was about as much sense as General Washington could make of what Alfred had given him thus far. That still didn't explain why Alfred wanted in the army. "What does any of this have to do with the Continental Army?"

The concern was back on Alfred's face. "Well, Arthur has his Regulars, so I wanted my own army..."

Recognition (or at least what he thought was recognition) crossed Washington's face. Was this young man's brother a British soldier? That would certainly explain a lot of the animosity! Washington was about to offer Alfred a place in the Continental Army when Alfred spoke up first.

"Say...do you want to be my boss?"

Washington looked at the boy with a puzzled expression. "Your...boss?"

"Yeah! Like Arthur's boss is King George, you'd be my boss!"

Arthur's boss was King George. That settled it. "Your brother is British, then."

Once again Alfred blanched, tracing around the top of his beer glass with his finger. "It's a bit more complicated than..."

Alright, that was it. This duck and dodge was getting really annoying. If Alfred F. Jones wanted in HIS army, he'd answer the general's questions. "Really? What is so complicated about it? If you want to be in my army, you will answer my questions."

There was a long pause. And then, with considerable effort, Alfred finally spoke. "Arthur...is Britain."

The general of the Continental Army stared at the young recruit dumbfounded for at least one minute. Then he rose to his feet without a word and headed straight for the door. However, just as Washington reached the door, he felt a jerking motion at his neck. The doorknob seemed to descend, just out of reach.

It wasn't the doorknob that was lower, however. Washington's feet were dangling in mid-air. One quick glance behind him showed that he was being held off of the ground by the collar of his uniform, one-handed, by one Alfred F. Jones.

The general said nary a word as Alfred carried him back to the table, still dangling him one handed by the collar of his shirt. The fact that Alfred was doing this with what appeared to be no effort (he wasn't even showing any physical signs of exertion), coupled with the fact that Alfred had just stated that his brother was Britain, had Washington in so much shock that he barely even moved as he was being carried across the room. Alfred placed Washington back in his seat, before taking his own seat once more.

Aaaaaaaaand insert incredibly awkward silence here.

Awkward for General Washington, at least. While Washington stared stunned across the table at Alfred, Alfred for his part didn't look bothered at all. In fact, he had his eyes closed happily, all the while humming the tune for Yankee Doodle!

Washington cleared his throat. "If your brother is..."

Alfred held up his pointer finger to Washington to shush him, then continued humming. His tone increased in pitch toward the end of the tune, and at the last note, he thrust his fist up into the air in a sort of victory gesture. He opened his eyes to Washington staring at him bemused. "So, what were you saying?"

"Are you done?"

"For now, yes."

Washington blinked, then continued with his prior question. "If your brother is Britain, then who...or what, exactly...are you?"

"Well, guess I've put it off long enough, and if you're gonna be my boss, you might as well know anyway. I'm the United States of America, but you can call me America for short. Or Alfred. I'd prefer Alfred when we're in other company."

Washington wondered if perhaps he'd had too much to drink, but a quick glance over to his glass reminded him that his alcohol remained almost entirely untouched - as opposed to Alfred's glass, which was entirely empty at this point.

Though at the rate this meeting was going, Washington would probably start drinking heavily soon enough. "I...I see."

Alfred rose to his feet and placed his hands on the table, leaning toward Washington. "So whaddaya say? Will you be my boss?"

Washington's first instinct was to say no. This was just too weird for his liking! But then he looked at the figure before him. His enthusiasm was undeniable. That whole super strength thing would be an asset. And if, by some odd chance, this really was the nation that he was fighting for personified...he smiled in spite of himself. Despite how utterly insane this was, this just felt like the right thing to do. "Alright. I'll be your boss."

Alfred let out a whooping sound and patted Washington on the back. "That's great!"

Unfortunately, what was a small clap on the back in Alfred's book registered as a shove, the likes of which General Washington had never seen before. He was literally pushed off of his feet and sent airborne, crashing into a wall on the clear opposite side of the cabin. Fortunately, Alfred was there to help him up almost immediately, apologizing profusely for what would account to more than a few bruises the next morning.

Yes, this super strength thing would definitely come in handy.

When Washington was finally back at his feet, he retrieved a tri-corner hat from the pack on his back. "If you're going to be a soldier in my army, I want you to have this."

Alfred's eyes lit up at once. "Really? Thank you so much!" Alfred pulled Washington into a back-crushing hug that left Washington rubbing his back as he looked down at his roster. He still wasn't sure how he was going to explain this to the others in the army, but he had faith in this kid. He had a lot of enthusiasm, and he could go far as a country. Washington made up his mind then and there to pledge his undying support to the cause. Whatever it took to win the Revolution, he would do!

"Hey General Washington, look! I can balance this hat on my nose!"

...this was going to be one long revolution.

[Nearly Headless Mandee]

Two weeks. It had been two weeks since General Washington's run in with the young man known as "Alfred", who was, apparently, the United States of America personified. It took a little while for the general to come to truly accept what the young man was telling him, and he was still attempting to adjust to...well, everything.

For starters, Alfred had such a voracious appetite that Washington wondered if he might eat his way through all of the rations at the fort. It felt like he was witnessing the start of an obesity epidemic two centuries in the making.

In addition, there were honestly times where Washington wondered if Alfred was ready to go it alone. He looked on the verge of adulthood, but in many ways reminded Washington of a child in an adult's body. Was he really ready for complete independence?

Washington quickly reminded himself that he was the leader of an army in a historical war, and that he couldn't let his personal feelings about Alfred F. Jones get in his way of what was best for the country.

...who...just so happened to be Alfred F. Jones.

Washington needed some time to think.

Alfred, for his part, was having difficulty fitting in with the other soldiers at the base. His behavior struck most of them as peculiar, and then there were the conversations.

A singular soldier sidled up next to the tall blonde teenager. "Hey kid, how old are you? You're pretty young to be fighting, ain'tcha?"

Alfred beamed at the other soldier. "I'll be two next 4th of July!"

On another instance, a group of soldiers was discussing their origins. Alfred was eating quietly, listening to the others as they conversed. It was only polite to include Alfred into their conversation. "Say, Al, where do you come from?"

Given the nature of the question, poor Al had to think a little. Finally, he arrived on what he thought to be the best answer. "Well, my brother adopted me in 1607..." He closed his eyes and laughed, only to find that once he opened his eyes again, the other soldiers were crowded in as small a space as possible at other end of the table, staring at Alfred warily.

"Was it something I said?" Alfred remarked in confusion.

Military training was a different ballgame entirely. Alfred turned out to be a natural when it came to a gun. He was relatively adept at guerrilla warfare, seeming to know the countryside like the back of his hand (though for all Washington knew, giving the situation, the countryside might very well be the back of his hand). In fact, all seemed to be going perfectly until Alfred picked up the slightest scent of food cooking back at the fort.

"FOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOD!" He shouted at the top of his lungs and made a bee-line for the fort, alerting not only the men impersonating redcoats for the purpose of this exercise, but likely everyone back at the fort of exactly where he was.

Yes, definitely the start of an obesity epidemic two centuries in the making.

Finally, there was hand to hand combat. While hand to hand combat was not typically a designation in the training of militia for the Continental Army...Alfred was an exception. As usual.

A few members of the colonial army were arm wrestling. Alfred, per usual, was just watching. Another man noted this and called him out on it. "Hey Al, you want to give it a try?"

Alfred quickly shook his head...almost too quickly. "Uh, no thanks! My hand's a bit sore, I don't think I'd play my best."

"I think you're just scared that you'll lose."

Alfred sat up at once. No one told America that he was scared. The inherent risks that concerned Alfred before no longer mattered. He had to prove himself. He had a reputation to uphold!

To who? Alfred wasn't exactly sure. It wasn't like any of these men knew what he really was. Maybe he thought Arthur was looming around, watching from behind a tree? Doubtful. He'd have been sighted by now. Nothing screams 'I'm your enemy, come attack me!' more than wearing bright red clothes in the middle of a forest.

Whatever the reason, Alfred felt like he had to prove himself, and prove himself he would. He grasped the other guy's hand and began to wrestle. At first, it appeared as though Alfred was...losing? Of course Alfred had to make it appear that way. He didn't want to complete crush the other man's confidence, after all. Eventually, though, Alfred grew tired, and slammed the other man's hand down toward the tree stump. "Ha, I win!"

Alfred's victory was drowned out by the sound of high-pitched screaming. "Whoa, I didn't even know wrists bent that way."

The other man's wrist was completely mangled, bent at an impossible angle. Well, impossible if you wanted to avoid pure, unadulterated pain, at least.

Another man in the small group laughed. "Looks like you won't be holding a musket for a while!"

"Shut up shut up SHUT UP!"

"I'm sorry! I'm SO SO sorry!" Guess who.

And George Washington, watching the entire thing, proceeded to invent the facepalm.

--------------------------

Two days later, General Washington called Alfred Jones to him for a private meeting.

"Can we hurry this up?" Alfred stated as soon as he entered the room. "There's a plate of food waiting with my name on it!"

"UNITED STATES OF AMERICA."

Alfred jumped at the rare sound of his full name, looking suddenly like a child who'd been scolded for sneaking out late at night. "This is about that guy's wrist, isn't it? I didn't even want to arm wrestle, seriously! They pushed me into it and I was happy just watching, I totally didn't mean to break his wrist, I promise! I..."

"Would you shut up and let me finish talking?"

Alfred had known General Washington just long enough to know that when George Washington tells you to shut up, you had better shut up. "Yes sir."

Washington sighed. "I've received news that the British are marching in this direction. What do you think we should do?"

Alfred was so taken aback that the general of the Continental Army was asking for his opinion that he simply stood, mouth agape, for several seconds. Then he remembered that he was the country here and that really, Washington probably thought he was doing his duty by Alfred to inform him first.

"I'll tell you what we're going to do." intoned Alfred with pure confidence. "We're going to kick..." Here he smacked Washington on the shoulder. "...some..." smack, "Regular" smack, "ass!" There was a pause after, shortly followed by, "Hey, did you get shorter?"

Washington groaned. "No, you pushed me through the floor."

"Sorry. I really need to get a handle on that, don't I?"

Washington sighed as Alfred helped him out from the wreckage that was now the floor where the general had been standing mere moments earlier. He dusted himself off before continuing, this time making sure to leave a gap of at least four feet between himself and Alfred. "The other issue we have to consider is how we're going to kill 'Arthur', as you call him."

Alfred's eyes widened at once. "Kill him? I don't want to kill him!"

The general arched a brow. "You want your freedom, don't you?"

"Well yeah, but that doesn't mean that I want to kill him! He's my brother! He practically raised me!"

Washington sighed once more. Here he was, trying to run a war, and now he was getting caught up in some twisted geopolitical allegory.

"Promise me you won't kill Arthur?"

"I promise."

Alfred smiled. "Thanks man. You know, for a first time boss, you aren't half bad."

Washington smiled back. "Thanks." Coming from Alfred, that was some praise indeed. A long pause ensued, broken by a simple question from Alfred.

"Wanna arm wrestle?"

"NO."

[Nearly Headless Mandee]

Dawn had arrived over the fort. General Washington lay in bed, the sun's rays hitting his face lightly. It was early enough that he could perhaps lay in bed a little bit longer, get some much needed relaxation. Washington closed his eyes, and then...

"THE BRITISH ARE COMING! THE BRITISH ARE COMING!"

Washington's eyes flew open at once. He would have bounded off of his bed at once were he not positive that he recognized that voice...

The door hit the wall with a resounding boom. "THE BRITISH ARE COMING!"

Washington groaned. "I heard you the first time..." He finally pushed himself upward, into a seated position - just in time to see that Alfred Jones was standing in the doorway in his undergarments. "Put some pants on!"

"Okay!" Alfred responded in earnest, before adding. "I just wanted to warn you that the British..." Washington narrowed his eyes, "...are coming." Alfred turned around at once, but Washington could swear that he heard chuckles coming from the retreating form.

The general sighed. He was supposed to be running a war here, not babysitting a teenager!

...albeit a seemingly immortal, extremely powerful teenager who's entire existence was based on an allegory of current events.

Putting it that way, Washington almost felt sorry for the kid.

----------------------------------

General Washington observed his assembled militia. He was just about to deem them ready when he realized that one integral member of the team was missing. "Where's Alfred?"

One of the other soldiers spoke up. "Last time I saw him, he was near the dining hall. I don't see why it's so important for him to be here, he's just a ki..." By the time the soldier was finished speaking, he was already talking to Washington's back as he headed off toward the dining hall. The soldier sighed. "I don't see what General Washington sees in that kid anyway..."

Meanwhile, Washington entered the dining hall, where "that kid" was busy chowing down on breakfast. The general sighed. Of course. "Come on Alfred, it's time to go fight."

"But I'm hungry!" Alfred whined.

"DO YOU WANT TO FIGHT FOR YOUR FREEDOM OR NOT?"

Alfred paused in the middle of scarfing his food down, rising to his feet. "Right. Independence first, food later." Alfred F. Jones had priorities.

With Alfred back in their ranks, the Continental Army scattered out. Any doubts that the other soldiers might have had about Alfred's capabilities as a member of the militia were quickly pushed by the wayside. Alfred was quite the sharpshooter, and was doing just as much work, if not more, than everyone else.

The unfortunate part? Alfred had a habit of getting bored very easily. Shooting redcoats was all fine and dandy, but there was far too little action in this battle. So he made up his mind. He watched from his perch in a tree as General Washington slipped behind another one, apparently taking a small break to reload his musket. He also saw a flash of red, and decided that it was his time to pounce.

Literally.

"YIPPEE KI-YAY MOTHERFU..."

"AGH!"

In the meantime, General Washington stayed frozen behind his tree, watching the whole thing unfold with wide eyes. The future first president of the United States, folks!

"What the bloody he...Alfred?"

"Arthur?"

The tangled mass of red and blue eventually managed to separate themselves, Alfred pulling himself to his feet shortly after Arthur.

"Pathetic."

Alfred's eyes met Arthur's at once. Though Washington could not see Arthur's face, he could see Alfred's. Was that...hurt? "What?" Alfred asked quietly.

"You can't do anything right on your own, can you?" Arthur shook his head, turning to leave with the rest of the retreating British army.

Alfred turned his back on Arthur, the hurt lingering on his facial features quickly turning to anger. "I think I'm doing just fine on my own! And who the hell wears bright red clothes in the middle of a forest? I'm glad I didn't inherit my fashion sense from him." He grumbled, kicking a rock across the ground in his frustration.

Washington finally emerged from behind the tree. "Was that...Arthur?"

A flash of surprise came across Alfred's face as he registered that General Washington was still in the vicinity. At this general's question, however, Alfred punched at a tree in frustration. "Yes, that's Arthur."

The general emerged from his shelter behind the tree, placing a hand on the blonde young man's shoulder. The animosity between the two of them...Washington could almost feel it in the air! If Alfred and Arthur's relationship truly was symbolic, what did that say about the war that they were fighting?

Alas, his concerns quickly shifted as he heard a low creaking noise echo through the forest. Realizing within seconds exactly what he was hearing, the general of the Continental Army darted behind Alfred's back at once, narrowly missing the large tree that fell where he'd been standing mere seconds before. There was a pause, and then...

"I didn't do it."

"What did you mean you didn't do it? I saw you punch the tree just now!"

"I didn't mean to knock it over..."

Washington just shook his head. Another soldier came running at once. "General Washington, I thought I heard a tree fall over! You weren't anywhere near it, were you?"

The general cleared his throat and nodded, pointing behind the soldier.

"Oh."

The soldier began to walk around the tree, apparently observing the damage. "I don't get it. How did what looks to otherwise be a perfectly healthy tree fall so suddenly?"

The general watched as Alfred walked away, whistling innocently, and sighed. "I don't know."

[Nearly Headless Mandee]

Peace and quiet at last. General George Washington was going to take advantage of this time to get some work done. He dipped his quill in a bit of ink and began to jot a few words down on parchment before a chill went up his spine.

Why did it feel like someone was watching him?

But as General Washington turned around, there was no one behind him. He tried to go back to his work, but the feeling returned almost as quickly as it went away. Still no one there. Shaking his head, Washington started to turn back to the table when he froze.

Was it just him, or did he hear breathing?

The general reached behind him at once, grabbing the intruder by his shoulders and slamming him into a wall. "What is the meaning of this you..." Then he got a closer look at the figure in question. "Alfred?"

"Whatcha working on, General Washington?"

The general sighed and moved away from Alfred. "Just working on a few documents." He started back toward his desk, blinking a few times contemplatively before looking back at Alfred. "How did you get in here when the door was locked?"

Alfred laughed nervously, which gave Washington an ill feeling in the pit of his stomach. That was never a good sign. "Oh...it was locked? I thought it was just stuck, so I unjammed it a bit."

"What do you mean you...unjammed it a bit?" Great, was he missing a doorknob now?

The blonde just let out another laugh, pointing over at the door.

Or, rather, what used to be the door. It was now an empty archway, with the actual door itself leaning against a wall a few feet away. Washington bit down on his lip to keep himself from saying anything that he would regret. "Must you always poke your nose into other people's business?"

Alfred grinned. "I'm America! I always poke my nose where it doesn't belong!"

Choosing to ignore that particular comment, Washington decided to change the subject once more. "A few of us will be a traveling to a town not far from here to see if we can gather up any more recruits for the militia..."

"Can I come?"

Washington closed his mouth, staring at Alfred. He was conflicted on what to actually say to the eager "teenager" standing before him. On one hand, Alfred's enthusiasm was contagious, and his morale might be just what they needed to attract plenty of volunteers. On the other hand?

"If I do allow you to come...do I have your word that you will lay off of the funny business?"

Alfred looked befuddled. "Funny business?"

"You told one my soldiers that you would be two years old next 4th of July."

"But it's true!"

"You broke one of my soldier's hands."

"Can we forget about that already? That was an accident!"

"You broke my door completely off!"

"I can fix that!"

Washington let out a heavy sigh. "If you come, you have to promise me that you will at least try to blend in. I don't want any of our potential soldiers to think of you as anything more than Alfred Jones, a 16 year old soldier in the Continental Army."

"I'll do my best, sir."

The general smiled. "Good, then I'll be happy to have you. We'll be setting off later today."

"Can we give all the new recruits cookies?"

"...no."

"Why not? People will be more likely to join the army if you offer them cookies!"

"Because you already ate all of the cookies at the fort."

"Oh yeah."

-------------------------------------

"General Washington, did he really have to come along?"

The four of them - General Washington, Alfred, and two lieutenants - had almost reached their destination. The three higher ranking officers were having a discussion. Alfred was sleeping.

"I agree. He's really weird. What if he scares off everyone who signs up?"

At this point, everyone paused as Alfred stirred in his sleep. "I wet the bed again, Britain..."

One of the lieutenants looked at the general with a raised eyebrow as if to say 'case in point'.

Washington let out a sigh. "I know he can be at times, but we need him."

"Need him? Need him for what?!"

"We've arrived." At the sudden stopping motion, Alfred jerked awake. He blinked a few times, yawning widely.

"We're here?"

The four men slipped off of the backs of their horses. They set up their things and waited, Alfred surprisingly well-behaved. They already had several men enlisted when a disconcerted man cut past the line that formed, jabbing his finger into Alfred's chest (probably because he looked like the youngest and easiest to bully around...bad idea). "What business do you have coming here in those uniforms?"

Alfred looked down at the man's finger. "We're looking for men who are willing to fight for their free...agh!" The loyalist had seized Alfred by the corner of his uniform (using two hands, mind), and pushed him against the outer wall of a building.

"You have no business being here." The man snarled in Alfred's face. Alfred, for his part, played the part of a floppy wet noodle well. The problem? He was only playing the part.

Alfred looked down at the man's hands as they held his shoulders to the wall. "Let go. I don't want to have to hurt you."

The calm tone with which Alfred spoke caught the loyalist temporarily off guard, but he held his ground, laughter ringing out. "You? Hurt me? It looks like you're in a far worse condition than I! I remain loyal to the cr-what do you think you're doing?"

Alfred, at this point, had his hands pressed against the other man's ribcage, as if he were about to push the man away. "Let me go." Alfred repeated, this time more forcefully. "I don't want to have to hurt you."

At this point, the loyalist placed his hands around Alfred's throat. And suddenly, Washington had the sneaking suspicion that this was about to end very badly.

He was, of course, right. See, it's a natural reaction when someone puts their hands around your throat to want to fight back. Consciously, Alfred realized that he wasn't truly in any physical danger. Subconsciously? Alfred, despite any circumstances that may lend to the contrary, reacted in the same way that any human who was about to have their airway blocked would.

He pushed back as hard as he could.

Two sickening pops followed, as well as a thump as the loyalist collapsed to the ground in a sobbing mess. His arms were turned at an odd angle, and once again, the officers of the Continental Army received a lesson in which way human bones are not supposed to turn, courtesy of Alfred Jones.

Alfred, with a frown, turned his attention away from the sniveling man on the ground, and back toward the line of men waiting to sign up. They had gone completely silent after what they'd just witnessed. "So, who wants to join the Continental Army?"

Every single man waiting signed. Whether it was because they truly wished to join the Continental Army, they were impressed by Alfred's show of power, or utterly terrified they'd have the same fate as the man still weeping in pain on the ground remained unknown, but there were a few hints toward what the real reason might be.

Hint - Nearly every recruit looked at Alfred nervously as they signed.

The small party left, feeling satisfied with what they'd accomplished. Mind, everyone other than Washington was still looking at Alfred as if he had two heads. Alfred didn't seem bothered by this, though - Probably because he didn't notice.

With the other two officers several feet ahead, Washington finally had the time to ask a question that had been plaguing him for a while. "Alfred?"

"Hmm?"

"What did you mean when you said 'I wet the bed again, Britain?'"

"WHAT? Were you watching me sleep?"

"Well no, I just happened to overhear..."

"YOU WERE WATCHING ME SLEEP, YOU CREEPER!"

And thus concluded another day with George Washington's Continental Army.

[Nearly Headless Mandee]

It didn't take General Washington long to figure out that something was amiss.

He hadn't seen Alfred all day - not out with the other soldiers, and not even eating.

That last one alone was a cause for Washington to be worried.

He eventually reached the medic, frowning. Was that even a possibility? Could Alfred even get sick, given what he was?

The answer, much to Washington's chagrin, was yes.

"I'm not sure what's ailing him, to be honest." The medic stated in a grim tone. "He acts feverish, but yet he's cold to the touch. He's not eating, and just generally seems to be lethargic. Oh, and he's been saying very strange things in his sleep..."

Washington raised an eyebrow. "Such as?"

"Just last night he asked if 'England' would read him a bed time story."

Looking over at Alfred, the general blinked. He found himself wondering just what sort of bed time stories Alfred listened to as a child...the Magna Carta?

The general's gaze darted back to the medic. "I'm worried about what this might entail for us."

The medic looked back at him in confusion. "I don't think what he has is contagious, others would have fallen ill by..."

Washington's facial expression stopped him in his tracks. He looked so serious. "That's not what I meant."

"Then what did you mean?"

At this moment, both men turned to look at the sleeping Alfred, who stammered out, "s-so c-cold..."

But Washington only shook his head, for he knew that he couldn't explain exactly why Alfred F. Jones falling gravely ill was a bad omen for the Continental Army...

---------------------------------

General Washington was right. As usual.

In the days that past, a cold front swept over the area, along with the first snowfall of the season. The militia was ill-prepared for this so early in the season, and to top it all off, their rations were running extremely low.

Freezing cold. Nothing to eat. Sound familiar?

With everything that had happened in the past several days, Washington hadn't been able to spare a chance to see Alfred. He waited outside, greeted by the medic who was eager to give him an update on Alfred's condition.

His tone was no longer grave, but rather puzzled. "I don't get it." The medic blurted out as he spoke with the general. "He is ice cold to the touch. He hasn't eaten anything in days. By all means, he should be dead. And yet..."

The bed was empty. "Where did he go?!" The medic stammered. General Washington looked at him with an equally wide-eyed stare. And then...

"I'VE BEEN EXPECTING YOUUUUUUUU."

Both the general and the medic jumped about a mile.

This was followed by a familiar laugh that carried far less force than usual.

Alfred Jones might have been out of bed, but he still looked utterly terrible. His face was drawn and white, and he had bags under his eyes. He swayed slightly where he stood, as if he was having trouble standing up.

The medic took a step forward. "Mr. Jones, you should really be in bed."

Alfred shook his head. "N-No. That's not going to do anything."

The medic looked toward Washington for back-up. He certainly wasn't expecting the general to chime in with "no, it's not."

"But then what do you suggest, general?"

The medic watched as Washington's gaze shifted back toward Alfred. "This is not good. This does not bode well for us at all. I just wonder how long we'll be able to hold out at this rate. I think we might have to seek out assistance..." Washington''s monologue was interrupted by an outburst from Alfred.

"No! I don't want anything to do with Arthur! I want to be indepen..." Suddenly Alfred lurched forward, completely out of balance. He reached out to grab the nearest thing to him in an attempt to steady himself. Which, in this case, just happened to be George Washington.

Needless to say, both of them tumbled to the ground.

"...dent."

Washington pulled himself to his feet, an annoyed expression on his face. "Hey Alfred."

"Yes?"

"Would you mind being independent over in that general direction?" Washington pointed to the opposite end of the room.

"N-No, I suppose not..." Alfred pulled himself to his feet with considerable effort and began to shuffle over.

General Washington let out a sigh. "As I was saying, we may need assistance. Not from Arthur," Washington commented, noting the way that Alfred was about to open his mouth to protest, "but from other sources." As if the impeccable timing was planned, there was a noise from outside just as Washington ceased speaking.

"I'll get it," called out the medic, racing over to let the man into the small dwelling.

"BONJOUR!" A tall man with long blond hair and rather colorful clothing stepped through the door. The three men stood back and watched as the stranger helped himself into the building, only Alfred showing anything resembling recognition of this man.

Staking out the room, the man shook his head disgustedly before speaking with a French accent. "This room looks terrible! It is so drab! It needs more...color!" The man spun around, looking at both Washington and the medic. "Ooh, it is a pleasure to meet you!" He strode up to Washington at once and grabbed his hand, kissing it. "I must say, your derrière looks quite appetizing in that uniform!"

The general's eyes widened in an almost comedic fashion as the blond man walked away, grasping the medic's hand in the same way he'd grasped Washington's. Washington leaned over to Alfred and whispered out of the corner of his mouth. "Is he homosexual?"

"No, he's France!"

"...that's not very reassuring."

When "France" was done greeting Washington and the medic, he finally noticed Alfred.

"Amerique! You look terrible! What happened to you?"

The medic blinked. "Why did he just call Alfred America?"

Washington looked over at the medic. "Do you have a week?"

"Why?"

"Because that's about how long it will take to explain everything."

In the meantime, Alfred was caught up in a conversation himself. "I'm feeling a little under the weather. This war is a little more than I bargained for."

"Do you need some help?"

Alfred looked at the other man in surprise. "Aren't you still a bit peeved off about that whole Seven Years War thing?"

The other man shrugged. "What can I say? The enemy of my enemy is my friend. I wish to help you."

Alfred grinned. "Thanks man, that would be great." And then the two of them shook hands.

The medic blinked and looked over to Washington again. "What did we just watch?"

"Several months worth of diplomatic negotiations taking place in a span of less than five minutes."

"Oh..."

Alfred approached General Washington with a smile. "Good news, we've got France on our side now! Mind, we do have to wait a little while for all of the behind the scenes work to get done, but I think we made some great strides today!"

The medic shook his head. "I still don't get what the hell is going o-"

"Well, I shall be bidding all of you adieu. Bonne chance, Amerique, and you, Monsieur..." He paused in the doorway and looked back at Washington with a wink. "I hope to be seeing you later, Monsieur." The long-haired blond man blew a kiss in the direction of the general before closing the door behind him.

An awkward silence followed, broken by someone other than Alfred for once.

"Will someone tell me what is going on?" The medic stammered.

-------------------------------------------

After explaining the situation to the medic (who now thought he was developing some sort of fever, despite Alfred's protests to the contrary), Washington left for his own hut. He started to change into his night clothing before climbing into bed, feeling quite pleased with the day's outcome. He took this deal with France to be a good omen. Perhaps they had a chance in winning the Revolution after all. It was with a satisfied smile that the general of the Continental Army climbed into bed, nearly drifting off to sleep when his eyes shot open at once.

Did he hear breathing?

"Alfred, what are you doing in my bed?" Murmured Washington.

"Bonjour, general." Breathed a familiar French accent into his ear, as he felt a set of arms wrap around him.

Washington's scream echoed through the night.

[Nearly Headless Mandee]

Several weeks passed, and Alfred's condition continued to improve. He still struggled with residual illness, though, and this bothered Washington. So, too, did the information he was gathering from his soldiers. Nearly all of the men in the army were trained, but there were no standards being followed. Everyone was trained differently, and were at different levels of their training. General Washington knew that he had to remedy the situation as soon as possible, and was thus extremely relieved when said helped arrived in early February.

Before introducing the men offering their assistance to the rest of the army, Washington opted to introduce them to Alfred first. Whether or not this would be a good idea remained to be seen, but the other man had his nation with him, and Washington figured it was only right to bring his along for a private meeting.

Alfred took in the appearance of the two men. The older man appeared to be similar in age to General Washington, and held himself in a similar manner. Though the uniform was not entirely familiar to Alfred, he could tell that this man was a high ranking officer.

The other was more of an anomaly. Alfred had never seen anything like this man before. His face was that of a young man, not much older than Alfred's own physical appearance. His skin was paler than any Alfred had seen before. Perhaps the most intriguing part about this man's appearance were his eyes. They were unmistakably red. Alfred continued to stare, the man raising one eyebrow at Alfred before his lips curled up into a smirk. Washington was about to nudge Alfred and tell him to stop staring when he noted the albino's facial expression. It almost looked as though their guest was enjoying the attention!

Washington decided to clear his throat to get Alfred's attention instead. It worked, and Alfred looked over at the general at once.

"Alfred, this is Baron von Steuben," Alfred strode forward to shake the older man's hand, before Washington's arm blocked him from moving further. "I think he'll be fine without a handshake. He's quite partial to the health of his hand, and would like to keep it that way." Alfred grinned sheepishly, recalling the events of several months prior. On the bright side, the injured soldier was making wonderful strides in learning to use his musket with his left hand! A sudden voice cut through Alfred's thoughts.

"And I am the awesome Prussia! But you can call me Gilbert Beilschmidt."

Washington raised an eyebrow. "And...that is the awesome Prussia."

Gilbert grinned. "I like you already!"

Through the ensuing conversation, a plan was formed. Baron von Steuben would be training the majority of the men in the Continental Army. This would hopefully put the entire army on the same page in terms of their training, and increase their chances of success in any future battles. Gilbert, on the other hand, would not only serve as one of von Steuben's translators ("God help us," thought Washington when he heard that), but as Alfred's own personal trainer.

Alfred thought he'd gotten off lucky at first. Gilbert seemed nice, and it seemed like the two of them could get along great. Maybe he wouldn't even have to do that much training!

As it turned out, Alfred couldn't have been any more mistaken.

Gilbert was fierce. He barked orders at Alfred, orders that Alfred was expected to follow immediately or face punishment. He would often yell at Alfred in languages that he could not even understand (but later learned were German and French - apparently Baron von Steuben adopted the same strategy when it came to the training of the rest of the men). Alfred was worked to the bone, to the point where his muscles ached terribly every night before he went to sleep. Then he would be woken up at impossibly early hours of the morning and it would start all over again. He started to wonder how much more he could take of this.

One day, the matter hit a head. Alfred and Gilbert were sparring, and Gilbert was doing far better than Alfred. Alfred, to his credit, struggled to keep up, but he was not making much progress. It did not help that Gilbert offered no words of support, only insults. He would be called weak and useless, as well as all sorts of colorful swears in a variety of different languages. At one point, Gilbert had Alfred on the ground. He sneered down at Alfred, as if Alfred were the dirt on the bottom of his shoes. With the way Gilbert treated him, Alfred wouldn't be surprised if that was exactly what Gilbert thought of him.

Gilbert scoffed, then, unexpectedly, started to laugh. It was not a pleasant laugh, but rather a taunting laugh that instantly made Alfred tense up upon hearing it. "You know, I didn't think it at first, but maybe England was right. Maybe you aren't ready to be a nation. Maybe you're just a colony who wants to play with the big boys and is in way over his he-"

"SHUT UP!" Alfred moved back to his feet at once, charging at Gilbert with a fire in his eyes that Gilbert had not seen prior.

"Oh, did I hit a nerve?" Gilbert stated with a grin, preparing to defend himself.

As it turned out, the albino did far more than just hit a nerve. Gilbert uncovered Alfred's primary motivator. The spar was no longer one-sided. Alfred even landed a few blows on Gilbert. The spar was still in Gilbert's favor, but he'd nevertheless achieved the results that he wanted to see. There was hope in Alfred yet, and he planned to lure all of that potential out into the open.

From there on out, Alfred's performance improved, as did that of his men. If Gilbert caught Alfred slacking, he would remind Alfred of what was at stake. Alfred would inevitably be right back at whatever was causing him trouble, and tackling it with as much force as he could muster. Sometimes the boy even overworked himself, trying to not only meet Prussia's expectations but exceed them. The young nation still went to bed sore at night, but would soothe himself through it, repeating to himself, "it's worth it in the end. It's worth it if you beat England." Almost all evidence of his illness throughout the winter was fading, and he was feeling more robust than ever. He was confident that the next time he met England, the older nation wouldn't know what hit him.