I don't want to risk ruining the story by using google translate for certain phrases, so phrases in other languages will be in italics.

—

America couldn't remember the last time he had smoked. Maybe it had been the late 1800s? Early 1900s? Either way, he had never been overly-attached to cigarettes because his children had cried because the smell reminded them of fire, smoke, and death. America understood, often times remembering his capital burning, but he had long since associated smoking with being stronger than old memories.

Despite this victorious feeling, he had sworn to never even look at a pack of cigarettes after New York was attacked in 2001. He could remember his toughest state breaking down in sobs, screaming from nightmares, and carrying a pistol everywhere he went. He hadn't even let anyone light the fireplace for a decade after that, nor had he let anyone go on a plane without giving them a hug and a few kisses. It had been hard going overseas for meetings with New York gripping his hand and making him promise to come back as soon as possible.

Sure, Alfred has recently been coping, and failing, with his lack of emotions, but now he knew three things could change that: a pleasant game of chase, a long drag from a cigarette, and the thought of his states. Most days, all he could see in his mind's eye was death—his states suffering, crying, screaming for him to take away the pain they were feeling. He had felt so helpless, and now he felt bitter. However, specifically last night, he had dreamed of the early days of his first thirteen states. His dreams had been filled with old memories of them playing, singing, and them smiling so brightly at him.

He had woken up stoically, knowing he had forgotten about visiting New Mexico, Texas, and Oklahoma. With his phone being crushed, he couldn't call the states, either, which had led him to going out to buy a pack of cigarettes before he left to Italy.

"Dad!" New York shrieked in his sleep.

Alfred lowered the cigarette from his mouth. He had only taken two drags from it, and already he was dropping it and crushing it under his shoe.

"What a waste," he sighed.

The feeling of weakness and hopelessness overwhelmed him. He couldn't smoke one goddamn cigarette, could he?

"Smoking is really bad for you," Utah said, concern clear in his bright green eyes.

"I know, I know," Alfred murmured, reluctantly tossing the rest of the pack into the trash.

In place of the cigarette, he mindlessly chewed a stick of gum. It made him less impatient as he waited for his 'aid' to arrive and accompany him to the countries-only meeting.

"M-Mr. Jones?" a shy voice stuttered behind him.

Just wonderful, Alfred internally snarked, he's a pushover, isn't he?

"Ready to go, sir?" Alfred lazily asked, turning enough to look the man up and down.

Mr. Cox a short, dark-skinned man who hunched his shoulders to appear smaller, seemed skittish, nervous, and annoying. His hair was long and braided back—something small was tied around the hair tie in his hair, but Alfred couldn't immediately identify what.

"Native American and black, sir," the man whispered, "that's what I am. I-I'm sorry for the long hair; it's just what my grandmother wanted, a-and—"

"Shut up already," Alfred harshly interjected.

He pushed his fingers through his own hair, shivering a little when his hand brushed over his cowlick.

"It's not a problem, so don't treat it like one. If you act like that at the meeting, they'll walk all over you."

Wordlessly, he began walking down the streets of Italy away from the airport. Mr. Cox followed directly behind him like he was Alfred's shadow.

In fact, it wasn't until Alfred arrived at the assigned hotel to check-in that Mr. Cox finally said something to him. He had just received his room card, also earning a strange look for only having one bed for the two men, when they stopped in the hallway.

"Sir, could you...?"

Alfred pursed his lips, forcing himself to not make another sarcastic comment while he turned to face the much smaller man. Swiftly, with a speed he hadn't expect, Mr. Cox clasped a small metal band around Alfred's wrist.

"You clever piece of shit," Alfred hummed, slightly more impressed than pissed, "what the hell is this?"

"W-Well, I was instructed to t-t-test this out on you, " Mr. Cox vaguely said, twiddling his thumbs. "It should give you a shock based on your b-behavior to prevent violent lash outs."

Alfred was really starting to get pissed off with this man's stuttering. He hadn't even moved when he received a small shock, which made his anger fade into dull, blunt rationality.

"Alright, fair enough," Alfred said in monotone.

They continued walking until Alfred unlocked his room. He proceeded to grab the remote and turn the TV on while Mr. Cox unloaded his bag. Alfred was minutely aware of the man talking to him, but he continued to pretend he was whole-heartedly focused on the TV.

"...I-I also brought some toiletries for you because Boss told me you weren't taking care of yourself. I mean, I-I'm just a rookie, but I've been training really hard to do my job—"

"What is your job?"

For the first time since meeting the shy man, Alfred saw a prideful, confident smile bloom on his face.

"To put it simply, I'm a spy," the man puffed out his chest,"but it's more than that! I can blend into a variety of areas all over the world! I've studied languages, cultures, and researched international affairs just to get to this point!"

Alfred curiously lowered the volume on the TV and leaned against the drawer holding said TV.

"You know any Chinese?"

"Forwards and backwards," Mr. Cox fluently responded.

Alfred eagerly smirked.

"Arabic?"

"Without a doubt."

"Japanese?"

"Had a conversation with a little Japanese girl if that counts."

"Yeah, it counts," Alfred confirmed. Mr. Cox was slightly surprised the country had known what he said.

"So, you know any French? Portuguese? Ukrainian? Swedish? Gaelic?"

"Yes, yes, definitely, of course, and just enough to talk to middle schoolers," the man rapidly responded, impressing the other.

"Ah, but do you know any British?" Alfred joked.

"Why, of course, you bloody Yank. You're interrupting my tea time now, lad. I've already tried my best to avoid hearing the Scottish having their way with the sheep," Mr. Cox imitated in a posh accent, sending Alfred into raucous laughter.

Mr. Cox beamed at the sight, his happiness revealing dimples and a Hollywood smile. Seeing that proud smile on such a small, easily-intimidated man made Alfred laugh harder.

The bracelet gave him a heavy shock, which took the breath out of his lungs until he was coughing, voice rasping in the struggle for air.

"O-oh! I'm so sorry! I-I didn't know it would react like that! I-It wasn't supposed to sh-shock you for laughing! Here, let me g-get that o-off..." Mr. Cox fumbled, slim fingers shaking with each stuttered word as he tried to find a way to remove the bracelet.

Alfred easily shook him off, glaring at the bracelet until it gave him another smaller shock.

"It's fine."

The emotions had literally been zapped out of him. He was back to his bland and blunt rational side.

Mr. Cox skittishly returned to his back and kept his distance, mumbling to himself in varying pitches as he unpacked the rest of his stuff. He could see Alfred looking at the TV again, but the country's eyes made the smaller man shudder. Those eyes were void—he almost appeared to be looking through it.

"Give me your phone."

Mr. Cox knew it wasn't a request, so he fumbled for a moment until he grabbed his phone. He unlocked it, quickly cleared his history and data, and tossed it to Alfred. The country caught it with ease and dialed a number, lowering the volume on the TV.

The phone rang once...twice... three times...

"...Hello?" a grainy voice answered.

Alfred cleared his throat, briefly licking his lips.

"Hey, Okie. Can you go get the others? Bring 'em on speaker phone?" Alfred requested.

As he waited, he made eye contact with Mr. Cox, dragging a finger across his neck and mouthing you tell, and you're dead. To emphasize this point, Alfred winced when he was shocked.

"Alfie?" a child-like voice called.

"Yeah, it's me, New Mexico. How are you three?"

"How are we? What about you? Where were you? New Mexico was up all night waiting, and I barbecued some stuff for you to eat, and Oklahoma wouldn't stop worrying over your sorry ass!" Texas roughly yelled.

To Alfred's trained ear, he knew Texas was more concerned than angry and was just using that as a front. He always claimed he didn't want to be a part of Alfred's family, but when given the chance, he never left.

"Sorry, guys. Something's come up, and I didn't want you to see me this way," Alfred said.

No emotion, just... lackluster. His voice was a smooth, crisp, monotone line with words that chilled Mr. Cox.

"What? Dad...!" a strained voice cried with emotions weighing both words down.

"Hey, hey, New Mexico. I'm fine—promise!" Alfred chirped with fake cheer. "Once this world meeting is done, I'll head straight home, fix myself up, and visit you guys! I know Hawaii will understand."

"...Why are you at a world conference?" Texas growled.

"It's necessary."

"Other countries can see whatever's up with you, but these pipsqueaks can't?"

Alfred robotically replied, "I have to go to the world conference. Skipping is not an option—it will give off the impression that I am weak and unable to attend. For your safety, for the people's safety, I have to attend."

"That explains why you went to one the day after New York was attacked," Texas snapped.

Both fell silent.

Mr. Cox couldn't see a single trace of emotion on the country's face.

Someone whimpered on the other end. Alfred faintly heard Oklahoma harshly whisper to Texas that he needed to apologize. Of course, the stubborn state refused.

"You didn't even cry. You just stopped your own bleeding and left to that stupid world meeting."

That's when Alfred responded.

"You're right, Texas. That's what I did. And I'm going to attend tomorrow's stupid world meeting, too. And after that? I'm going to skip all of my paperwork, ignore calls from my boss, and head straight to your house. We'll talk there, alright?" Alfred assured him, still emotionless.

"Wait! Texas don't hang up, please!" New Mexico protested.

The call ended. Then, the phone rang again.

"Yes?" Alfred answered.

"I'm sorry for ever doubting you—I was just so scared! I knew there was something wrong! Allen told me if you were anything like him, that you loved us! Right?" New Mexico cried, slipping into a Spanish accent more than once.

And still, Alfred looked just as blank as when Texas yelled at him.

"Of course, I do. I'm just a little sick," Alfred blandly mumbled. "...Who is Allen?"

"...Promise you won't get mad?" New Mexico whispered.

"Promise."

"Well, I went wandering out at night, cuz I wanted to see the stars. Dios, they were so very bright. I-I thought that... maybe, you didn't love us anymore? That... you didn't love me anymore," New Mexico's voice briefly quivered, "w-well, I heard singing, and I felt that warm feeling—that little part of me telling me that my country was around, but it was this man named Allen, instead! He didn't look anything like you, either, except maybe his hair... he had that little hair up like you do! And he knew I was New Mexico, and he said that you did love us!"

Alfred felt the gears turning in his head. He made a little sound in his throat as his mind worked out the issue.

"What did he look like? As in, was he happy? Sad?" Alfred questioned.

New Mexico thought for a moment and said, "He was sad. He cried, and he talked about his son, I think. Oh! And his friend was there, too! This man that kinda looked like Mr. Germany was there, but he didn't look happy, either. Allen looked mad at him."

"I'll have to keep an eye out on Germany..."

"Huh? What was that?" New Mexico asked.

"Oh, just talking to myself. I'm glad you told me what you did, but please, if you run into 'Allen' again, do not approach him. Something's telling me that he's the one creating issues..."

"What? Oh, I won't! I'll keep Okie safe, too!"

Alfred heard a small slap.

"I'm older than you," Oklahoma muttered. Apparently, the quieter state had hung around. Alfred assumed that Texas had stormed off to hang out in the stable.

"Nuh-uh!"

The two bickered until Alfred interjected, "I trust that you are both old enough to take care of your new sister."

"Aha! I've got a new little sister! Heck yeah! We'll take great care of her!"

"You both remember my friend, Prussia?"

Both states made sounds acknowledging this statement.

"And you know where he lives when he comes over?"

Again, they hummed.

"Right now, he's staying over there because he's babysitting. Alaska's still young, so don't play too harshly with her. Unfortunately, work came up, which is why Prussia is watching her. If you want to see her—"

"Alaska? Now?"

"Duh," Oklahoma snickered, "Alaska's the only state that's not personified."

New Mexico ignored his brother and excitedly proclaimed, "I can't wait to see her! Will we be the first states to see her? Will we? Will we?"

Mr. Cox smiled at the sound of the child's excited voice. Still, he couldn't help but notice just how silent the country was.

"Yes, you will," Alfred said matter-of-factly, "and do not tell the other states just yet—only Texas. We'll introduce her during the next family gathering."

"Okay! Thanks, Dad!" New Mexico instantly quieted at his own mistake.

An awkward silence made both parties tense.

"Sorry, Alfred. I didn't... I didn't mean to call you that..."

Alfred briefly smiled, eyes brightening until the bracelet delivered a harsh shock.

"It's okay. Just be careful. You, too, Oklahoma."

"I will," they simultaneously replied.

The call ended. Alfred wordlessly tossed the phone back. Mr. Cox scrambled to catch it, shaking a little at the abrupt throw. Alfred crossed his legs and turned to the smaller man.

"I take extra care to keep my states safe, Mr. Cox. I have my ways of hiding them from this government, and I keep their presence in the world nonexistent. So, Mr. Cox, you never heard this conversation. Should I hear a whisper of this, you may find yourself in... troubling times," the country threatened.

Of course, Mr. Cox didn't need any convincing. The moment he saw Alfred type in a few more digits than necessary for a regular phone call, which he assumed was to contact a secret-service type, he knew he was to keep his mouth shut.

"G-Got it, sir! No problem!"

And he feared for his life whenever the phone call even crossed his mind.