Yalta, 1945.

“OKAY, GUYS! LISTEN UP! SO THE ALLIES TOTALLY PUMMELED THE AXIS AND NOW WE HAVE TO FIGURE OUT WHAT TO DO NEXT!” America leapt from his seat at the conference table and began shouting.

“Yes, we get it, you ninny. We were all there. Sit down so we can discuss what’s happening in the world right now.” Britain rolled his eyes at his younger brother and shook his head.

“Well,” China folded his arms and glared at the other Allied powers sitting at the conference table, “Asia’s completely in ruins. Nine million people are homeless now thanks to you Xīfāng rén(1). All my industrial plants are destroyed and not to mention my poor farmlands!”

“You look good enough to me, monsieur.” France grinned, his blue eyes sweeping over China’s slight frame in pleasure.

The country’s face flushed a bright red, brown eyes narrowing in anger, “Not to mention Japan.” He said icily, “The man is a bloody mess. Half of Tokyo is burned like Britain’s cooking and Hiroshima and Nagasaki were blown right off the map.”

America laughed, “Dude, whatever. I mean, the war’s over now, right?”

“AIYAAAAH!” China jumped up from his seat, pulling his wok out from under the table and brandishing it threateningly at the young America. “Idiot! You only think of the war that way because you came out rich from it! Why don’t you think about us other countries for once instead of your own fat, conceded, pig headed, brutish-“

“China.” Russia cut in quietly from his seat, the first words he’d spoken all meeting, “No.”

China looked at Russia, a challenging glint in his eyes. Finally, the silent battle of wills between the two ended and the Asian nation smoothed down his robe, sitting back down, and cursing quickly in Chinese.

“Thanks, man.” America blinked and loosened his tie nervously.

“R-Right. Well then.” Britain tried to continue, flustered by the outburst, shuffling his notes about, “We need to figure out what to do with Germany. He’s been a large part of two wars in the last two centuries and-“

“He’s invaded me twice.” Russia muttered a look of death in his purple eyes.

“Yes. That he did. Anyhow, what are we going to do about him? If we leave him be he’ll come back even more powerful than before.”

“Ooh! Ooh! Me! Pick me!” America waved his hand in the air, “I have an idea! Me, me!”

Britain sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose with thumb and forefinger as if trying to stop an oncoming headache, “Yes, America?”

“Why don’t we split him into two nations?”

Everyone opened their mouths to object, and yet no one said anything. For the first time, it seemed, America had made a valid point.

“I’ll take the East side under my wing. It would be fun.” Russia smiled charmingly at the other nations, eyes seeming to dare anyone to object, and giggled.

“Yeah, and I’ll get West! It’ll be awesome to be the big bro for once!” America cheered.

“Well, I can hardly object. You two seem to be the strongest ones at the moment, best suited for taking care of other nations.” Britain said in a decisive manner, tapping his papers down on the table to put them in order and settling them gently in his satchel.

“Dudes, meeting’s totally over!” America laughing, crumpling up all his documents and stuffing them into a Superman backpack.


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America walked out of the conference building into the frigid air of Yalta, Ukraine with a skip in his step and a song in his heart. “I think that went well! What about you, boss?”

“Oh, fair enough…” President Roosevelt said conversationally, hands stuffed into his pockets, shivering from the cold.

“What about Russia though? That godless Commie was up to something like always, I’m sure. Y’know, some people think you’re getting soft on communism in your old age, Franklin.”

“Now, America. It’s rude to call other nations godless. I think that Russia’s a very nice young country. Spend more time with him. Maybe his quietness will rub off on you…”

And if the president thought things were okay, then they would be… Wouldn’t they?