So…first multichapter I have ever done…and I wrote it all at once. Wow. Anyway… please enjoy. Lemon in later chapters. Reviews are adored (flames are put up with). I do not (I have to say this a lot, don't I?) own Hetalia.
It was four AM when America stumbled through the door of his apartment. His rather ratty apartment. The sink was broken again, the oven only worked half the time, and sooner or later the bedroom light was going to fall right on top of Alfred while he was sleeping. But, there was a roof over his head and he wouldn't freeze to death, so he should be thankful. Stupid economy. Stupid government. Stupid everything. Despite his cheerful appearance and his "total hero attitude", America really was worn down. He'd lost weight, lost sleep, had been sick on and off for the past three months, and what's worse, nobody noticed or cared. Though his pride would never let the Super Power admit it, all Alfred really wanted was somebody to care for him. Like Arthur once had. It wasn't until this stuff had started that he realized just how much he had been missing the island nation. He'd kept busy, so thoughts of his childhood were pushed aside, along with all thoughts of England and their past relationship. Really...if he could trade the past two hundred some odd years of freedom for one more hug, one more gentle word, as of right now, he would. But that was impossible. So, the tired nation simply turned out the lights and collapsed on his bed, passing out before he could set his alarm.
Is this really where Alfred lives? The green-eyed brit wondered quietly to himself. It had taken him all morning to track this place down, but there was no way this could be right. Alfred F. Jones was a nation for heaven's sake, there was no way he lived in a place like this. However, Arthur figured it was worth checking anyway. He'd come this far, after all. Wandering inside, he found the building was even worse than he'd thought. It smelled bad, the heat was primitive and obviously didn't work all that well, the paint was chipping everywhere, the floor was a major splinter hazard, and the ceiling looked ready to collapse in on itself. No way Alfred lived here.
"Excuse me...Miss?" Arthur said to the dirty, vicious looking woman seated in the office.
"No rooms." She growled.
"No no, ma'am. I'm looking for a friend of mine. Alfred F. Jones."
"Oh. Him." The woman snatched a key from the wall behind her, tossing it at Arthur. "Room two-sixteen."
"Thank you." Arthur said, turning to go find America. Lord. He did live here. Noting the condition of the elevator, Arthur opted to take the stairs instead, not that they were in any better condition. Making it to the second floor safely, the small man made his way down the hall dodging holes in the floor and drips from the ceiling. Reaching two-sixteen, Arthur pounded gently on the door.
"Alfred! Open the door, Alfred!" England yelled when his ex-colony failed to answer to his knocking. When the silence continued, Arthur used the key he had been given.
"Alfred. I'm letting myself in. For the love of God you'd better be decent!" Arthur yelled as he made his way through the door. He would have removed his shoes, but really didn't want to risk the splinters...or the rusty nails...or...God only knew what else. The floor boards creaked obscenely under his weight. Arthur spied America's bomber jacked slung over a chair in the kitchen/dining room area, so at least he knew for sure that Alfred lived here. How embarrassing it would have been to barge in on someone else's home and have to explain himself.
"Alfred! Where are you?" Arthur padded down the hall, past the bathroom and towards the bedroom. He let out a sigh. Poor America. The apartment was not only in bad condition, but it was tiny. The entire thing would fit into Arthur's living room...three times over! He couldn't help but wonder why on earth Alfred lived here.
Reaching the bedroom Arthur finally found the man he'd been looking for. He froze in his tracks. There, shirtless and flopped across a bed that was way smaller than he was, was Alfred. Without his shirt, Arthur finally noticed the weight America had lost. He could see the man's ribs. On silent feet...or, as silent as the bloody floorboards would allow, Arthur made his way to Alfred's bedside. The nation's eyes were screwed tightly shut in his sleep, cheeks slightly flushed, his breathing irregular. He looked anything but comfortable.
"Oh, Alfred..." Arthur murmured, stroking the larger man's cheek. Alfred stirred at the touch, his eyes slowly blinking open.
"Ar...thur?" The boy's words were slurred from sleep, and his eyes were a bit clouded as well.
"Yeah. Uh, sorry for barging in, but, you were, uh, late for the meeting and I came to look for you...and uh, well, here I am. Found you." Arthur stuttered, really unsure of what to say.
"Good morning. Shit! What time is it! Oh, lord, I'm sorry, I forgot to set my alarm! Give me ten minutes to shower and I'll be ready to go, promise!" Alfred bolted out of bed, swayed unsteadily on his feet, righted himself and ducked into the bathroom, grabbing some clothes on the way.
"Alfred...?" Arthur called after him. They really needed to talk.
"Sorry. Make yourself at home. I'll be out soon." Alfred disappeared. They'd have to talk later. Arthur reluctantly settled down in the living room, losing himself immediately in his thoughts. I can't let him stay here. This place is terrible. But there has to be a reason he's living here. Could it be he has no where else to go? God. That must be it. I knew things were bad...but this is awful. Well, that settles it. I'll just have to take him home with me. Arthur sighed. The American would never agree to that though. Besides, the boy was a nation, not a stray cat. But there really was no other option. Noting the moving boxes in one corner of the living room, Arthur silently packed Alfred's clothes and lugged them down to his car. He'd give the boy no choice but to come home with him, even if he had to go all pirate and kidnap him. Arthur made his way back into the room, settling back down just as Alfred burst out of his bathroom, not even noticing the lack of clothes and personal effects in his apartment. He slung his bomber jacket over his shoulders and headed for the door.
"Well Iggy. We'd better go." The lad didn't even stop to eat, just took off out the door. Arthur scrambled up and hurried after him, opening the car door like a gentleman should. As they drove to the convention center, Arthur kept tearing his eyes off the road to look the larger nation over. With clothes on you couldn't even tell how thin he was, but there was still a weariness in his eyes, though the boy tried to hide it, and a tiredness that seemed to engulf all of him. But, the closer to the convention center they got, the more seamless the boy's facade became. Soon he almost looked like his usual self.
"Alright! We're here! Let's get on with the meeting! I'm the hero!" America shrieked, flying out of the car and up the steps. Arthur couldn't help but marvel at how well the boy faked normality.
"Dudes. Sorry I'm late, forgot to set my alarm!" America burst into the meeting hall, laughing obnoxiously. "But you can stop worrying, the hero has arrived!" Alfred was greeted by several countries *cough*Germanyinparticular*coughcough* lecturing him about being almost five hours late. Arthur wanted to punch them all in the face. Couldn't they see the state the poor lad was in? No. Alfred was too good at acting. Seeing as punching them all in the face would be rude, Arthur settled for sending them all death glares. Eventually everything was smoothed over and the meeting went on as usual. Alfred ranted about all the usual subjects, but never once brought up how bad conditions were for him. His mask never slipped once and the meeting went smoothly from that point on.
It was dark out before the meeting adjourned. It had run on really late. As the nations tiredly piled out the door, Arthur managed to pin Alfred down. It was time for them to talk.
"Dude, England...what's up man?"
"I saw that apartment, Alfred. You know I did. Why are you living in a place like that? Didn't you used to live in the White House?"
"W-w-well yeah, I did..." Alfred began. "B-but the new family...they don't like me. At all. So I had to find somewhere else to live."
"But..why a place like that?"
"Bad economy...I guess...I'm just happy to have a place to live. I'll be alright though, so if you could just do me a favor and drive me home..." Alfred said, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly.
"No!" Arthur snapped at him.
"Wha..."
"There's no way I'm letting you go back to that shithole! EVER!"
"Arthur..." America said, obviously confused.
"Come home with me, Alfred. Let me take care of you for a while." Arthur said more gently. "I have plenty of room."
"I-I can't..."
"Nonsense. Of course you can. Your government only ignores you right. They make you do intern level work, don't they." America reluctantly nodded. "Well then, you can take some time to rest Alfred. Heaven knows you need it. You won't be missed. It wouldn't be abandoning them, Alfred. They abandoned you. Not the other way around." Tears threatened to spill over Alfred's cheeks as Arthur said that.
"Ar-arthur! Don't say that!" He wiped the tears away furiously, rubbing his cheeks red.
"Sorry, Alfred. But you know it's true. And I know how much it hurts you." Arthur's hands replaced Alfred's, wiping at the tears much more gently. "I know you just want to be cared for. You just want to be loved. Am I right?" No response. "Am. I. Right?" Alfred gave an almost unnoticeable nod.
"Well, all right then. Come home with me, Alfred Jones. Let me love you." Alfred's eyes widened in shock at the words. He'd thought for sure England hated him. But the soft press of lips against his begged to differ.
"Come home with me." Arthur repeated as he pulled away. Stunned, Alfred could no longer find any reason to argue.
"M-my stuff..." He muttered, blushing.
"In the car, love. I packed it this morning." England reached out a gentle hand to straighten America's hair a bit. "Let's go home, yes? You could use a good meal and a decent night's sleep. I'll even cook you one of those burgers you're so fond of."
"Ok, Iggy." America nodded meekly, too tired to argue, and climbed into his side of the car. England smiled. That had been easier than he'd thought. The drive to the airport was short and silent. There were several seats available on the next red-eye to London, and the flight was uneventful. Not even an hour in, England felt a heavy weight on his left shoulder. Looking over, all he could see was dirty blonde hair and the rough fabric of a bomber jacket. Arthur smiled. America had fallen asleep, his breathing even, expression peaceful, and was using England as a pillow. The island nation couldn't help but reminisce about the days when Alfred was a colony, sleeping in England's lap or on his shoulder, just as he was now. Golden days. Perhaps the days ahead would be just as golden.