A/N; Hey, I am writing this as a request, and I like it~! Haha, you know who you are! *heart!* I sincerely apologize for the Arthur's occ-ness in this chapter. TTATT I hope to make it better in the future… X/. Okz, now what? Idk. Onwards, my puppets!

Summary: A psycho serial killer is out to get Arthur after he's the only victim to escape his clutches. The only man stopping him is the head (only) sheriff in the small Western town, Alfred Jones. Will the killer succeed? Suspense/ Western/ romance/ hurt and comfort. UsUk

Pairings: UsUk, I have no idea of the others yet, though…

Disclaimer: I own nothing but a few posters… and a (n America) plushie… not even the idea… again… =_='

He runs down the abandoned, dark road, his ripped trench coat trailing behind him as the hard rain hits him like bullets. On his trail; a purple-eyed, light-blond, tall Russian, wielding a hand gun and kitchen knife. The dirt road made for perfect mud and puddle making material, therefore causing the two men to splash themselves with filthy water in their running. The larger was taking fewer and slower steps, his stride longer, a new limp slowing him down. The emerald-eyed Brit kept running, taking the first turns he could see that lead him to his destination.

New in the town, he only knew where the sheriff and his own house were. His house wouldn't help him; that's where the first attempt at murder had occurred. The sheriff happened to be on the complete other side of town and Arthur had thought he stood vary little chance, but he just kept running.

Running and breathing. But just barely for the latter.

He heard his heart pound in his chest louder for every turn he took closer to the building that stood tall next to the church. He took the last turn, finding the wooden thing that meant hope for him right now. He ducked behind a small brick wall in the yard of the church. The short man held what little breath he did take until he was sure that the Russian hadn't seen him, hoping his heart wouldn't give away his location.

He slowly peeked up, scanning the near-blackness in vain. His eyes spotted the faint glow of the lantern that hung right outside the sheriff's department at all times.

He slumps over to the single hinge-swing door, pushing it open with his body as it fell to the ground when he blacked out, only one witness to the sight.

Arthur

"Argh… what the… ugh, my head…" he tried to bolt up, but his body stops, pain and a single strong arm stopping him. He opened one eye. Arthur only saw a light blue vest fitted tightly to a fine-toned torso. He closed his eye again and tried to bolt up, ignoring the pain. Yet again, he was stopped by a single arm. This time, another arm matching the first was helping him sit upright.

"Hey there, glad to see ya finally awake!" a cheery ('American' Arthur mused) voice piped.

Arthur opened his eyes again, cringing from the brightness. As his eyes adjusted, he remembered the circumstances in which he was where he was. "Oh there was a man! And… uh.. he was chasing me! And I… came here… because I wouldn't be able to go to my... Home… My home! I- I- bloody hell! I don't even know any more! Where's my coat?" Arthur began saying random things that came to his mind, like purple eyes, freakish scarves, rain, someone named Scott, and a few British stuff his company knew nothing about.

"Um, kid, who are you? Why'd you come here and pass out?" Arthur registered there was still a person in front of him as he ranted, stopped and explained. All the while, taking in the descriptor of the wheat blond. His eyes were a perfect sapphire, his face not too bad either. A single, stubborn strand somehow defied gravity, and in some way, Arthur felt that was his only fault. [Author: For now~ MWA-HA-HA-HA! Lol, I'll just make him annoying… I think.]

"Hullo, I'm Arthur Kirkland, 25 as a matter of fact, don't call me kid, I'm older, the victim of an attempted murder that took place last night, and I'm about to pass out again." Arthur had his hand held out, but as that last part was rushed, his body and mind became unresponsive and limp, falling to the left. The bright blue eyed man in front of Arthur caught him, holding him bridal style against his chest as he stood up to bring him to the couch upstairs he so often used as a bed.

Alfred

I was carrying this guy that weighed less than most of the girls here and spoke with this weird accent up the stairs; I couldn't leave him on the ground downstairs! To be sure his head wouldn't hit anything, I had had his head slumping forward just a bit, so I could see corners and the random stuff around here before it got too close.

I knelt by the old floral patterned sofa and set him on the cushion. He looked so peaceful, almost dead, except for his rising and falling chest. 'Arthur Kirkland, 25' he had said. He was right; he is older, but only by a couple years. Why was there an attempt at murder in my town? And why him? Isn't he just the new guy from… England, right? That explains the jibber-jabber he was saying earlier. I understood next to nothing of it… I'll ask 'im when he wakes up.

"Speak o' the devil, rise and shine! Again." I muttered, unaware my face was so closely inspecting his.

Yeah, inspecting, that's it…

"Ugh… American's are so loud…" Apparently, my muttering is loud. I can understand that. Mattie used to yell at me with his whispered voice when I would speak at my natural volume. "Who are you?" he gruffly stated, sitting up after I pulled away from him, blushing I'm sure.

"I'm Alfred F. Jones, 23! I'm the only, ergo head, sheriff in this town! I hear you speak of a murder attempt in my town?" I give my infamous 'hero-pose' and look at him, resisting the urge to wink.

"Oh, it's nothing; I'm just being chased by a crazed, violet-eyed Russian with a freakish scarf who's been out to get me since I'm the only one that escaped his clutches a… f-few years back and he hates me and wants to cut me to l-little pieces slowly so I can feel e-every slice and cut like he did to his other victims, only slower and longer. Plus, the last time he found me, I-I had stabbed him with his own knife in his thigh, so he won't ever, ever, ever forgive me. And I don't even want him to. I just want him dead for killing my family. Well, I don't c-care too much about Scott, b-but Peter and Mum were important to me. And- and- a-"

I cut him off as he rambled. He didn't even notice, but tears were streaming down his face as he stuttered, the emerald in his eyes dimming with pained memories. I don't know why, but I didn't want that acidic color to dim down on him. When it dimmed it was like a part of him was dying, and I was the hero! No one dies on my watch! Not counting natural causes… but still!

And, for some reason, I had to be Arthur's hero!

Did it turnout well? I have no idea... ;^; But, saddly, it seems Arthur is a nervous wreck and Alfred already likes him subconsciously.

Review, please! I'll cry if I don't get favs... its happened before... TT-TT