Canada hurries through the woods, branches whipping at his face and snagging in his hair as he goes. His breaths come out in sharp puffs, his lungs starting to burn from the non-stop running, but he doesn't take a second to slow his pace. He's driven forward by a rare emotion, something that has grown too hazardous and wild for him to contain.

His memories flash by in his mind, spurring the utter rage he feels towards America and his actions. The young nation sees First Nation kneeling next to the broken body of Tecumseh, her tears slipping down the man's still face. He sees Adalene evading the American soldiers on her tail, trying desperately to find her mother amongst the hail of gunshots and the musket smoke permeating the air. He sees Alfred, his brother, burning Matthew's parliament at York to the ground with a steely defiance in his eyes, no remorse for Canada's terror in his being.

Most of all, ringing out above all else, he hears the screams of his people; his innocent people that were thrust into this war just as harshly as Canada himself was.

The warm August wind of the evening blows onwards as Canada keeps running, his teeth gritted and his breaths coming in sharp, rage-full puffs. He finds solace knowing that Ontario and Britain are no doubt already far ahead. Britain got word to Canada of the battle at Bladensburg, Maryland, where Arthur's troops have stormed the barricades and now march towards Washington.

America's capital. Only now does the idea of revenge seem so sweet to Canada. No more will he lay down and roll over, let his overconfident brother step all over him like some sort of doormat. Not today. Today, Washington will feel what Canada has felt every year since this war broke out.

The sun starts to set as Canada reaches the marching British troops. He loops around the men, finding Britain at the head easily as he takes his spot next to his older brother. Ontario marches on the other side of the Englishmen, sparing just enough time to shoot Canada a pointed look.

"Thought you wouldn't make it in time," he utters, his voice hovering between a whisper and a yell. "Not that I couldn't have handled it if you didn't—"

"Ssh," Britain scolds with the same volume. "America has retreated. We have to reach Washington without any more delays."

"Have you seen the others? Québec? Nova? Newf?" Canada asks.

"No sign of them. I'd bet they're defending the home front," Britain utters. "Now, onwards with less chit chat, I beg you."

By the time the sun sinks below the horizon, the British troops have entered Washington. Feeling fuelled by his anger again, Canada takes the lead and jogs off towards the White House, followed closely by a few other willing men and Ontario. The dark town is lit with torchlight as the rumbling of the soldiers' boots echo through the still night air.

The White House stands tall, empty and silent. Canada stares up at it, knowing that as of the moment, this building is one of his brother's pride and joy. For only a second, the nation hesitates, remembering how he himself felt when he saw York burning and debating whether he truly wants to harm America in that way.

"Canada, what is with you?" Ontario hisses, snapping the country from his daze. "Admiring the Yank's parliamentary stable-house?"

The young colony lets out boisterous laughter at the sound of the insult, but Canada refuses to acknowledge it. He may feel enraged, wrathful, hurt, and an array of other unpleasant emotions to his brother right now, but he can't go so far as to call his White House a stable.

"Burn it," he utters, a steely look settling in his eyes.

The men holler and throw torches, the flaming beacons smashing through the windows and spraying glass across the dirt road before their feet. The crackling of paper and wood fills the air as the fire spreads, flames reaching up and licking at the window panes like the tongue of excitable dogs.

Canada watches, the flames reflecting in his violet eyes, and a feeling of power surges through him. He may be younger and less independent than America, but by God he's going to prove that he's stronger than he looks.

"WHOOOOOO!" he howls, flinging his hands to the sky and laughing. "LOOK AT IT GO!"

"I BET MADISON IS PISSING HIMSELF RIGHT NOW!" Ontario proclaims.

The green-eyed colony releases a similar whoop of glee and sweeps his hat from his head, flinging it around and dancing in happy circles. Some of the soldiers around them laugh and join in, others remain in stoic silence, preferring to stare at the flames that slowly but surely engulf the White House.

"What in the..."

Matthew spins abruptly at the sound of a familiar voice, hands still raised to the sky in celebration. America stands at a distance, his mouth hanging open and his wide blue eyes reflecting the flames of his beautiful parliamentary building. His clothing is tattered, completely disheveled compared to the rather clean look of the Canadian soldiers, but Canada has no doubt that that's simply because he got his butt kicked over at Bladensburg.

"Hey Alfred," he calls, slowly lowering his arms. "Lovely night for a bonfire, eh?"

He gestures to the massive fire behind him and flashes an almost taunting grin. America's shoulders tense up, his hands clenching into fists as his teeth grind together. Ontario squeaks and backs up, having never seen the U.S.A look quite so angry before.

"Canada..." America growls, dragging out the name through his clenched teeth.

"I'll...be going now!" Canada shouts. He spins to his throng of men and shouts, "EVERYBODY RUN!"

The men laugh even harder as they turn tail, Ontario racing along after them shrieking into the sky. Canada winks at his brother, salutes, and follows after them down the fire-lit trail, laughing the whole way.

"I AM GOING TO KILL YOU!" America threatens as he takes off after his younger brother.

"THAT WAS FOR YORK!" Canada hollers back. "NOT SO EASY NOW, EH?"

Meanwhile, Britain wanders away from the various other buildings that have been set ablaze, feeling an odd mix of satisfaction and exhaustion. Before he can go too far, the loud clamour of many men assaults his ears as an entire throng races past.

"Oliver! What is the meaning of this?" Britain gasps as Ontario stumbles by.

"White House...burning...America...angry...HILARIOUS!" the boy pants, half breathless from laughing and the other from running.

Not a moment too soon after, Canada goes leaping by with all the grace of a deer, evading wood debris and flaming piles of broken carts strewn everywhere. America sprints after in a blind rage, tripping and fumbling over his own feet. Britain's horror rises.

"Boys! This is war! Now is not the time for playing tag!" he screeches at the young nations.

"He burned down my White House, old man! You burned my capital!" America retorts, stopping the chase briefly to glare at Britain.

"You burned my capital first!" Canada calls with a teasing air in his tone. "Revenge is sweet, brother!"

"You are acting like children!" Britain attempts as they go tearing about the burning wreckage of the city once more. The Englishmen groans and pinches the bridge of his nose, exhaling heavily. "Oh bollocks, I'll need some tea after this..."

"Me too!" Ontario says as he returns to his brother's side, face lit up with exhilaration and firelight all the same. "I'm feeling like camomile today."

Arthur lets out another long sigh and ruffles the boy's hair. The screams and taunting of the countries before them continue, the roaring flames of the White House creating a beacon in the still August night.