How one is born is irrelevant, but it's what one does with one's birth that makes all the difference.

I remember someone once told me that, but I can't quite remember who. Such things are difficult to recall whilst trying to outrun soldiers.

As far as I could remember, though, I hadn't done anything wrong. I was born into this world and I was already in trouble. Such a thing for a newborn is confusing as one can imagine. However, I barely had a grasp of my own existence before I was attacked. I was stumbling around in the dark forest hoping to stay alive to even garner a name.

The bushes nearby startled me. I stifled my gasp, preparing to flee, when a man shot up from the ground, a bayonet in his hand. I had started to stumble back away from this stranger when gunshots rang in the distance behind me. I snapped my head back and forth between the two decisive deaths.

"Get behind me!" the man shouted.

I looked to him confused, but said nothing. He returned fire at the men chasing me. That was enough proof that he would protect me. I raced behind the man, only momentarily glancing at him. He had blonde hair, that's all I could see in the darkness.

I was against staying any longer than need be, especially since the hostile soldiers were firing in my general direction. I headed off into the night, not looking back.

It was only a quarter past four when Arthur was interrupted from his reading by a knocking on his front door. He was enjoying the peace and quiet he was steadily losing in the past few months and so, when he was bothered he found his mood growing quite sour. Still, he put down his book and answered the door.

He was startled at seeing a taller, but younger blonde man standing on his doorstep. "Alfred?"

"Hey!" said man replied cheerfully holding up a hand, the other in the pocket of his bomber jacket. Arthur noted that it was a jacket he hadn't seen in awhile and it was only worn when Alfred was upset or stressed.

Alfred stepped into the entryway, forcing Arthur to move aside. "What're you doing here?" Arthur asked, closing the door. He was used to this type of behavior from the young man. "Do you have a meeting in London I didn't hear about?"

"Nope, just thought I'd visit," Alfred replied simply. "You busy?"

Arthur glanced at his book, but realized it was a lost cause. Even if he was busy, Alfred was in the mood to rant. Something must be really bothering him. When he was normally upset he went to his younger brother, Matthew, or to his best friend, Kiku. Just talking to either one of them was enough to quell his uneasiness, but when he went to Arthur, that's when it was something very troubling.

With a sigh, Arthur shook his head. "I suppose not. What's on your mind? Care for some tea?"

Alfred grimaced. "No thanks. And what makes you think something's on my mind? Can't I just come over for a visit and chat with you normally?"

"No," Arthur said all too casually. He slid into the kitchen and started making tea despite Alfred's refusal. He could do with a nice cup. "We hardly just 'chat', Alfred. It's rare to see you come over and actually want to spend time with me."

"Why is that?" Alfred asked, plopping down in a chair at the small breakfast table. He propped his head up by his hands, a thoughtful expression on his face.

"Because we're busy, especially you." Arthur set the full tea pot on the stove, turning it on. "Your economy hasn't improved any I see. And I've been reading some distressing matters. Is it true that about seventy percent of your people are unhappy with your government?"

Alfred was watching Arthur, but didn't seem to be listening to him at all. His eyes were following his every movement. When Arthur turned around, Alfred blinked back into reality.

"Sorry?"

"Will you please pay attention?" Arthur sighed.

Alfred pouted, his arms falling flat on the table and his head lying on them. "I don't want to talk about that! That's sad!"

"Well, what did you come here to talk about then?" Arthur crossed his arms. He stared at the man sitting at his table in anticipation. He was actually mildly curious as to why Alfred really had come to pay him a visit.

It was silent for a few minutes with only the sound of the stove murmuring in the background to disturb the two. Arthur patiently waited for Alfred, but the blonde looked as if he were lost in a daze. The sun reflected off of his glasses as he stared at nothing in particular on the floor.

Perhaps he's just tired, Arthur thought. "Alfred?"

Alfred's blue eyes looked up Arthur tiredly. "What would you do if I died?"

The tea pot blew out the steam causing Arthur to jump in surprise. He turned away while chuckling. "That's a ridiculous notion and utterly impossible. Why would you ask such a thing?"

"I asked you a question first and that's totally not an answer," Alfred said. "Seriously, what would you do?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?" Alfred saddened. "Why?"

Arthur's back was still turned to Alfred as he pulled down a tea cup and pulled the pot off of the stove. "Because, it won't happen."

"Why?"

"You're a superpower and far too young to have such a thing happen to you."

"Why?"

Arthur slammed down the tea pot. "Come off it, Alfred! Are you a child again?"

"I'm just asking you a simple question. You're the one making it all difficult. Why can't you just say you'll be sad?" Alfred asked simply.

Arthur's hand slipped as he poured the water and he burned himself. He hissed in pain, pulling his finger to his mouth instinctively. He turned around angrily. "I'm through with your silly little game. You didn't want to talk about something sad, so then why are you asking such a question?"

For a moment it was as if Alfred hadn't heard Arthur again. The Englishman wondered briefly if the man was losing his hearing or was developing ADD. Then again, he'd always thought Alfred's attention was far too short compared to the rest of the nations. He retrieved his tea cup and readied his tea.

Alfred's eyes flickered to Arthur suddenly. "Because I'm dying."

Normally such a declaration would create the room to spin and all noise to cease, but in the case of a nation saying this, Arthur was unfazed. He waited for a few moments, his hand holding the tea bag bobbing up and down in the tea cup as he waited.

"Oh, so this isn't a joke?" he asked, his thick eyebrows rose. "I was waiting for you to tell me I was being Punk'd or something."

"It's not a joke, Arthur. I'm really dying." Alfred sat up in his seat.

Arthur scoffed. "Honestly. Where's the proof in this?"

The chair's legs scratched against the marble kitchen floor as Alfred stood up. "You said so yourself, seventy percent of my people are against my government."

"That doesn't mean you die." Arthur was growing tired of this conversation quickly; his tone starting to reflect that. "People go through changes like that, not that you understand as you've only had one revolution in the course of your life, but it happens. I doubt you'll die from such a thing. Has the entire core of your culture changed or have people stopped being proud to be an American? Once that happens, then I'd be concerned."

"Arthur…"

"No more of this," Arthur interrupted. "I'm done. Now if you're not here to talk to me about something meaningful then I'll have to ask you to leave."

The two men's eyes met and Alfred knew it was futile. He turned away from Arthur's green eyes and headed to the door. Without another word he was out the door, leaving a stunned Arthur in the kitchen.

That's peculiar behavior for Alfred, Arthur thought. He shrugged and was grateful that he could return to his reading, though. He thought nothing more of what Alfred had said.

Again, the blessed peace didn't last. Before long, there was a strange knocking on the wall near where Arthur was sitting. Ignoring it didn't work and checking around in the house for a rodent brought up no luck of discovering the source of the sound. Before long, Arthur's patience had run out.

He flung open the door, ready to go under the house if need be to grab a pesky animal, but stopped when he saw a pair of legs sticking out from the bushes adorning his front porch. He looked to see who it was and nearly toppled over himself, scrambling to help.

"Alfred? What happened?" Arthur exclaimed. He hauled the American into his arms and started to hoist him up off of the ground. "Can you walk? Come on, help me out. You're heavy."

The man grunted a reply as he struggled to move his limp legs. The two managed to stumble back inside the house, Arthur groaning under Alfred's larger body weight, until they were in Arthur's living room. There, the lifeless man was able to crash onto the couch.

Arthur stood back, rolling his shoulders and sighing in relief. "What…what happened? Why are you so tired suddenly? And how long were you out there?"

"One…question…at a time…," Alfred panted. The color from his face was completely gone, beads of sweat sticking to his face while much more had collected in spots on his shirt turning his blue shirt into a darker shade.

"Alfred…," Arthur started after he saw the change in Alfred's appearance. It was so sudden he was caught quite off guard. "What happened to you…?"

"I told you…" Alfred opened one blue eye to look at Arthur; his glasses were askew on his face. "I'm dying…"

Arthur stepped away in disbelief. Countries have gotten horribly ill and fully bed ridden before, he could personally attest to this, but he had only seen Alfred this sick one time. It was true that the world's economy was doing poorly and there was much unrest in the States, but was it enough to bring Alfred down?

"You must be just horribly ill. You're too far from home." Arthur composed himself, a familiar lecturing expression returning. "I'll call for you to fly home."

"No!" Alfred shot up and managed to grab Arthur's elbow as he turned away. However, it came at a cost. He fell forward, his knees slamming into the hardwood floor, and he leaned against Arthur's hip. "No… I don't…want to go home."

"Don't be so stupid." Arthur weakly tried to shrug Alfred off of his hand. He made no more tries when Alfred wouldn't let go. "You have to go home. Look at you, you're a bloody mess."

The younger man shook his head violently. He held back any signs that such a motion made him quite nauseous. "I don't want…to be…away from you…"

Arthur sighed. "Oh, bollocks. Alfred, if you know you're unwell then why would you want to stay here?"

Alfred tightened his grip, unable to even lift his head to look up. "Because… if I'm dying… I want to at least…be with someone I care about…"

Fighting back any traces of even the slightest bit of blush, Arthur huffed his disapproval. "You could be with Matthew or Kiku for that. Matthew is your brother and Kiku is your self-proclaimed best friend, right?"

"But I'm not there now am I?"

Long ago, the sun had started to set, but it chose at that moment to slide fully behind the hills. The room was cast into darkness. Arthur used this opportunity to slip away and turn on the lights. He glanced over to see Alfred slip back up onto the couch.

"Alfred," Arthur started, returning near the man's side. "You are not dying, but you are very sick. I suggest that you go home as soon as possible."

For a moment, Arthur wasn't sure if Alfred had fallen asleep or not judging by his slow and shallow breaths. Such a thought was erased when Alfred's hand shot out, grabbing Arthur's wrist. He pulled him into a tight embrace as his breathing became more labored; almost as if the very action had taken the last of his energy from him.

"I'm staying…at least the night…," Alfred mumbled. His chin was poking Arthur in the shoulder. Despite his struggle, he was holding Arthur in an iron lock grip, the smaller man finding it impossible to break free. "I have…that much."

"Like hell you do!" Arthur protested. He continued to struggle, his legs kicking out. He winced when his kneecap banged into the floor. "I haven't given you permission to stay!"

Alfred tightened his grip, effectively stopping Arthur's ministrations. "In the morning…they'll come for me… I can stay here, though… Please…Arthur…"

Something in his voice made Arthur's heart clench. It had been so long since he had taken pity on the blonde that he was momentarily surprised by the familiar action. However, it settled back into the pit of his stomach where it always would retreat to after Arthur scolded himself for having affections, especially for this man.

Arthur forced his throat to be quiet as he gulped. "All right… You may stay."

Instantly, Alfred released his hold. Arthur stumbled back, straightening his tie and clearing his throat; something was caught in the back of it. "But you're to go to bed right away and stay in the guest room. If you make any noises in the middle of the night or wake me, I'll have you right out."

Alfred turned his eyes up to Arthur. It was much too like times long past that Arthur's throat clenched on that something. "Can I sleep with you…? I don't want to be alone…"

Before Arthur could reply, he found himself coughing. He turned away, his hand covering his mouth, as he raced to the kitchen. After a few moments, Arthur returned looking sheepish.

"Excuse me. I didn't know that I was so parched."

Alfred regarded him a moment and then smirked slightly. "Still an old man, huh?"

"Don't look a gift horse in the mouth, Alfred," Arthur snapped. "I let you stay, did I not?"

"Yes…," Alfred sighed. "But you didn't say if I could sleep with you or not."

Arthur glanced at the clock. He shook his head to see it was barely past seven in the evening. "It's far too early for me to sleep yet, Alfred. You need your rest."

He could see how quickly Alfred was trying to formulate a way out of sleeping, so he too thought up a way to shoot down any requests he was about to make. But when the blonde asked for food, he realized that it was past dinner and he too was hungry. He resigned to the kitchen and started to cook, but Alfred followed him in. Arthur protested to him standing, but Alfred was insistent when he said that he didn't want to be away from Arthur's side. The two agreed Alfred would remain at the kitchen table until he had finished eating.

During dinner, Arthur watched the other man cautiously. There were countless times that Alfred was almost far too weak to sit up straight in his seat or pick up his fork, but he persevered. Arthur was slightly impressed that when he cleared the table, the younger man was still awake and had eaten every drop on his plate. Of course, he wouldn't let him know such a thing. He was still putting on the airs that he was annoyed with Alfred's presence.

And quite honestly, he was. If he were so sick that he couldn't even walk to his car or drive back to his home, he would never have left in the first place. He felt incredibly angry that Alfred had been so selfish and imposed himself on Arthur just so he could see him.

And yet…

"Now it's to bed," Arthur said, ignoring that something crawling up his throat. He felt a twitch in his gut that made him think of earlier times. He had said the same phrase so many times to the same man, but only when he was but a child. "I'll join you when I feel like it, but I gave you my word I'd share my bed with you so don't fret to me about joining you. It's still far too early for me, though."

Amazingly, Alfred didn't complain or whine. He merely nodded and headed upstairs. Arthur watched in slight disappointment. Somewhere in his gut, worming up into his throat, he had wanted a small bicker to break out between them with Alfred somehow managing to drag him up the stairs.

It was because of this that Arthur blamed himself and felt his throat constrict all the more as he went up the stairs. He found himself waiting outside the bedroom while he heard Alfred shuffle around, most likely undressing. But when Arthur entered the room, he saw the man was still in the same clothes, face down in the pillows, and taking up the majority of the bed.

"Hey, hey!" Arthur barked, kicking open the door. "How am I supposed to sleep with you taking over the bed?"

Alfred lifted his head in surprise. He blinked back weariness, but managed a weak smile. "I thought you weren't coming to bed yet. Did you realize you're too old to stay awake this long anymore?"

"Hush up." Arthur pushed Alfred's limbs on to one side of the bed. "If you're going to sleep in my bed you must dress appropriately. I will not have you dirtying up the sheets."

Arthur moved to his armoire and produced a pair of long pants and a matching shirt. He handed then to Alfred, taking his own pajamas, and slipped into his adjoining bathroom. Once they were both changed, Arthur joined Alfred in bed.

The two were silent, neither one coming up with anything to say. Arthur wondered if Alfred would just fall asleep without there being an awkward moment between the two. If that were the case, would he care so much? Alfred had said something about some people coming to get him in the morning. Did they know he was sick?

Alfred was one of the first of the nations to come forward about his existence, Francis being the first. There had been rumors that Alfred had always been known by his people, but the news didn't get out to the world until after World War I. Arthur had secretly always believed this to be true as Alfred was much more in tune with his people when he was younger than a lot of other nations.

If that were the case, then did the unrest signal Alfred's lack of understanding his people? Arthur knew he had lost some of his some time ago around when the Punk era had come about, but he wasn't sick or frightened. Some of the other nations had never been on good terms with their people or government while others were even still unknown to the general public.

A few creaks in the floorboards of the old Victorian house caused Arthur to return from his thoughts. The house continued to settle as the wind outside rustled against the window.

"Nothing's changed," Alfred mumbled. "This house…it's still the same as it's always been."

"Why would it change?" Arthur asked. His back was to Alfred as he faced his bedroom door. "I enjoy this house more than the rest of my others and I try to keep it in the same condition it's always been in."

The wind picked up slightly causing the windows to rattle for a moment. "What do you think makes someone want to change their mind?"

Arthur chuckled. "My, my, you're being awfully deep today. What brought all of this on? A dying man's last thoughts?"

"Something like that."

"Alfred," Arthur started. He turned around to face Alfred's back. "Why do you think you're dying? Don't you think this is just something brought on by the economy?"

"My scientists think that's what stimulated it," Alfred replied.

"Scientists?"

"Yeah… When I first got wind that I might be a little under the weather, I had them check me out," Alfred started. He turned around as well, his blue eyes glowing in the darkness. No longer hidden behind his glasses, Arthur couldn't help but stare into them. "They said it was the economy, at first, but then it just got worse and worse. The ongoing war overseas, the last Presidential election, how separate all sides are, the Oil Spill, and just… everyone else outside."

"Everyone else outside?" Arthur asked. "What do you mean?"

"No one outside is helping." Alfred lowered his eyes becoming more downcast than before. "They nitpick me, finding every available moment to hate and bash on me. Even during sports games like the Olympics or the World Cup. I try and keep it sportsman like, but I hear others' people talking trash."

"Of course they'll talk trash," Arthur smiled. "You're an amazingly strong country and no matter where we turn, so many of our people are like you or want to be like you. It just happens. Can you blame us for being protective?"

Alfred shook his head. "You don't understand…"

"Yes I do," Arthur said sharply. "You forget I was a superpower before you. I know exactly how much people hated me. But I didn't let it get to me. I thought you had more strength than that."

Alfred smiled weakly. "I do…but… I'm just so tired."

Arthur pat Alfred on the cheek once before closing his eyes to sleep. "Then rest up. The people can't have a tired nation, now can they? Things always change with you. One moment you're about carrying a big stick and the next you're all about love and peace. Trust me, Alfred, things will work out."

The wind outside had finally stopped. Arthur could tell that Alfred was just over thinking things. Perhaps he really was growing up. He had managed to quell his unreasonable fears just as he had when they were younger. A smug smile wormed its way onto his face as he drifted off.

Still, Alfred spoke one last time before Arthur was claimed by sleep.

"You'll see…"

The morning came without incident. Arthur awoke, not at all surprised to see Alfred still asleep. He slipped away to start breakfast. As the Englishman cooked, he thought back on his discussion with Alfred the previous evening. However, whenever he did, that something from before would come back.

"Why would you come to me?" Arthur mused aloud. "I'm not your best friend or…your brother… Not anymore. So then… why would you come here?"

It was then Arthur was jolted back to reality by a loud pounding on his front door. He left the stove, turning it to low, and went to answer. Just then, the door was flung open. Arthur jumped back in alarm. Three men, all wearing suits, took up the entire space of the front door.

"Who are you and how dare you trespass on my property?" Arthur yelled. He reached for his gun in the top drawer of his hallway table. "I'll have you arrested for breaking into Government property!"

The front man, a black man with shaved hair and mean eyes, looked at Arthur calmly. He produced a badge from his inner pocket. "I'm sorry, but we have diplomatic immunity. We are here for the United States of America."

"Oh bloody hell!" Arthur steamed. He snatched the badge to make sure this man was legitimate. "What division of the FBI is this? I've never heard of you. It says here your name is just Tom."

"Yes," Tom replied. He took back his badge. "For security reasons, I cannot tell you my full name. And as to why you have never heard of us, sir, it is because we are to remain that way. Now can you please tell us where our country is so that we may leave?"

"He's sleeping." Arthur moved between the men and the way to the stairs. "I suggest you leave him be. I hear he's a real bear if you wake him up."

"I'll take my chances."

Tom didn't move, but the men behind him came rushing in. The first two grabbed Arthur from under his arms, dragging him away from the stairs. Soon, three more men surged inside, heading straight for the upstairs.

Arthur struggled, kicking his legs and throwing punches out into the air. "Unhand me! I'll have you killed for this!"

"There's no need to fight us," Tom said, calmly. "We're just here for our country."

"Then there's no need to treat me this way!" Arthur growled. "You agents are the worst! You do not treat a nation in this manner."

"I apologize if we seem harsh, sir." Tom approached Arthur, pulling out am small device. It was square with a small screen facing Tom. Arthur was reminded of some old fashioned toy or a science fictional machine in an old television show. He waved the object over Arthur's face and then looked back at the screen. "However, this is a very dire situation. We need to make sure you've had as little contact with Sir Jones as much as possible."

"What? Why?"

Tom turned to glare at Arthur. "Because he is sick."

"This is ridiculous!" Arthur sighed. He slipped free of the agents' hold, a maneuver coming from years long ago. He pushed them away and strode right up to Tom's face. "Nations get sick. The boy is not dying, he's over reacting! You all are. Oh, you Americans always make everything to be so dramatic. I've been around a lot longer than you all and I know how this may seem upsetting, but I assure you, it's happened before. So if you would kindly leave my house, fix my door, and apologize for the trouble you have caused, I won't have you arrested."

"Unfortunately, I cannot allow that." Tom grabbed Arthur's wrist. "You're coming too."

"I most certainly am not!"

"Arthur!"

Said man turned around angrily. He looked straight at Alfred and seethed. It was his fault that all of this had happened. But when he saw how sad and upset Alfred looked, he couldn't help but feel that his anger wasn't necessary. He deflated before snapping at the American.

"Are these the people you told me were coming? Why didn't you tell me they were such warm gentlemen?"

"I'm sorry!" Alfred cried. His expression, Arthur thought. It was so genuine and sad, but so familiar. "I'm sorry you got caught up into this! I didn't know you'd be… Please, don't hurt him! He doesn't know!"

Arthur scrunched up his face in confusion. "Know what? What haven't you told me?"

Tom yanked Arthur away from Alfred. As it turned out, that was the wrong choice of action. Alfred threw his agents away from him and ran after Arthur, calling his name. Arthur saw how quickly the boy changed to a desperate and scared man, no, a child. He was reminded of the way Alfred would cry and cling to his pant legs when he left to go home to Europe whenever he visited the small colony. It was endearing at the time, but now that Alfred was fully grown, he had become a walking weapon.

"Alfred…! No! Stop!" Arthur called.

But it was too little too late. More agents appeared from seemingly nowhere, apprehending the frightened country. Arthur was dragged outside by Tom. The front lawn of Arthur's house was crawling with agents, all in suits, and a few of what looked like SWAT team members. Their vans and cars blocked the street and had pulled up onto the lawn.

"I swear you're all going to pay for this!" Arthur yelled at Tom. "Just let me go and I can calm Alfred down."

"I told you, I can't do that," Tom replied. Amazingly, he was still calm as he strode over towards a van. The doors opened as he neared. "You have to stay away from Sir Jones."

"Arthur!" Alfred screamed.

He was clawing his way to get free. Arthur was slightly terrified at seeing such an unusually happy country turn so dangerous and attack his own people. He had to act quickly if he was going to stop Alfred, but the more he thought, the closer he got to being imprisoned in that van and taken to who knew where. For a country, that could never happen.

"Tell me what's going on and I'll go with you," Arthur said loudly to Tom, hoping he'd hear him. "Tell me or Alfred will continue to resist you and I'll call my own task force to subdue you lot!"

Tom stopped. "You've been infected."

"Infected? With what?"

"Unfortunately, I cannot tell you more until I get you to a safer location." Tom looked away.

"Safer location? You're in my front lawn? How much safer can it be?" Arthur asked incredulously. He really had to hand it to Alfred's agents for being as dramatic as he was.

"Please, do not argue with me, Sir England. Please, calm Sir America."

With a sigh, Arthur turned to the increasingly violent American. He called his name and locked eyes with him. The younger man stopped instantly.

"Don't attack them," Arthur started. "I'm going with you, okay? When you get to…wherever it is we're going, I'll be there with you, okay?"

"Arthur…?" Alfred's voice was just like that of a child again. Arthur was overcome with shock. How had he reverted so quickly? Was it really just because he was that scared of Arthur being hurt?

Arthur collapsed into a fit of coughs suddenly. That something had returned and Arthur knew that was the infection.

No, Arthur thought sharply. I'm not infected. I don't even know what it is!

But before he could finish his train of thoughts, Tom flung Arthur into the back of the van. Alfred's cry was the last thing he heard before the metal doors were slammed shut and he was left alone in darkness and silence.

Hoshiko's 2 cents: Welcome to my new fanfic. This is my first Hetalia fanfic, so please be gentle. This is also my first ever action fanfic as I'm used to doing romance.
Please make note that there are no pairings in this series. If you want to imagine there are, feel free to. Also, there are quite a few OCs in here, though I try to keep them as low on the radar as possible. Some, though, will be very important. If you don't like OCs, I apologize. The final note, this was an RP I had between me and my two friends.

Please leave a nice comment or a constructive criticism. I'd love to hear if you feel there should be changes to my writing or something is off.