Alfred stared at the scene before him. He and several other nations were currently on an assignment, and it had gotten bloody as many of them do. Several of the nations had already been slaughtered and laid dead on the ground before him, but he didn't care too much. They would be back, reborn exactly the same as they were before.
Clang!
The representation of America blocked a blow from one of the enemies with his gun resulting in an appealing sound of metal against metal. In one swift motion the unknown man's head had been split in two and he was now pooled by Alfred's feet dead.
Alfred didn't pay the man a second glance like he usually would; his eyes were glued to the fair haired personification of England. Arthur was fighting off the men with ease, swinging his sword with skill and poise, but he was becoming outnumbered fast.
Thunk!
Alfred grabbed someone by the neck as he began to make his way toward the nation, throwing them carelessly against a far wall.
He loved Arthur. That thought had been set in his head for years. He loved him more that a brother, and he desperately wanted to tell him, but he couldn't ever seem to find the right time. Now was the time. He didn't know why but he wanted to tell him now.
His mind ran slowly as he kept inching closer, few stray thoughts coming in. He felt so sure about everything right now, something just kept telling him, "You need to tell him now, before he dies again, He is going to die again."
And there it was.
One of the enemies got lucky and Alfred watched as a sword slid into Arthur's stomach and was yanked out. Arthur hunched over, his brows furrowed in pain as his sword slipped from his hand.
Alfred ran.
He grabbed Arthur just as his knees were buckling and eased him to the ground, laying him across his lap. Arthur laid trembling hands over his wound in a feeble attempt to stop the bleeding while he stared wide eyed at Alfred.
"A-Alfred?" Arthur asked almost disbelieving. "What are you…?" Arthur reached up one shaky hand and touched Alfred's face gently.
Alfred stared down at him trying to form words. In all his sureness he hadn't thought about what he would say if he told him how he felt. The silence seemed to last forever before someone finally spoke.
"You're crying."
Arthur's voice was hoarse and every breath he took seemed to be more difficult by the second. Alfred raised a shaky hand of his own to his cheek and felt moistness. Why was he crying?
Alfred let out a chocked sob and laid his head down on Arthur's chest, gripping on to his shirt tightly and crying. "A-Al?" Arthur asked, his concern bettering his pain. "Are you h-hurt somew-where?" He choked, trying to comfort his friend despite his own compromising condition.
Alfred leaned up and sniffed; placing a hand to his own chest, bloodied now by the Brits wound, and drew a heart with a shaky finger.
"I love you." He whispered, barely audible, but Arthur heard him and placed one of his hands over Alfred's.
There was so much he wanted to say, but his body was being resistant and refused to let him make any sound but a harsh cough. Alfred sat Arthur up in his arms and wiped the blood away from his mouth once he had finished coughing, tears still streaming freely down his face. Arthur looked at him through weak, glassy eyes and offered a tiny wobbly smile in return.
"I'm sorry" He mouthed. Alfred pushed some of Arthurs bangs out of his face and gently caressed his cheek. He was so cold. Slowly Alfred shrugged his old leather bomber jacket off of his shoulders and lifted the limp man up, tucking him safely inside. Arthur coughed once more, less violently this time and allowed himself to relax in the American's embrace, each breath becoming fainter and fainter until he stopped breathing completely, his eyes slipping closed and a calm look coming over his features.
Alfred sniffled once more and held the Brit close. He was dead now, but he knew they would be together again soon, happy and warm.
AN/ Pshhhh. I don't even know. Fail ending is failed. I couldn't think of anything fluffier so meh. Review?