"So, how are ya liking England so far, Laddie?"

Alfred stared at Alistair for a few moments as he tried to process the words through the man's thick accent, "Huh?"

Alistair lit a cigarette, "You are you liken' England?" He said, speaking slower.

"Oh, It's okay, I guess." To be honest, he was practically miserable here.

"Haven't really seen the good side of it, eh?"

"Huh?"

Alistair rolled his eyes, "This whole language barrier is gettin' too annoying, isn't it?"

Alfred heard that part. Since his move to England, he didn't really have many friends to talk to. He wrote to his twin brother in Canada, but that was basically it. But, Alistair had been taking away the loneliness. The Scot was short-tempered, quite a bit older then him, just a few years shy of ten years, and certainly striked Alfred as the type of person you didn't want to mess with, but he was good company, and they were becoming friends.

Not wanting to lose the possible friendship, Alfred began to panic a bit, but tried to sound casual, "What? No! It isn't a language barrier! It's just your accent, that's all."

Alistair sighed out a puff of smoke, "I said," He began to repeat, "You haven't really seen England, have you?"

Alfred had seen England, but not the parts he wanted to see. In fact, none of this was what Alfred had thought about in his head. Alfred came here from America because there wasn't a way to help in the war from there, and becoming a Canadian and fighting in the war seemed… Well, terrifying. As much as he wanted to help, he really didn't want to get shot at by Nazi's either. But, he eventually found his chance, and decided to join the search and rescue teams in England.

It wasn't what he imagined. What he imagined was saving a family. He and a few other people would pick up this big piece of birck, Alfred would reach out his hand, and would help the picture-perfect family out of the remains of what used to be their house. Maybe even visit the kids in their hospital rooms when he got the chance. Buy the mother flowers, and shake the father's hand. He would get "thank you's" from them, and even write to them after the war blew over.

Instead, he was walking through a collection of what used to be neighborhoods at the break of dawn with Alistair and their little group of other men. They walked past the houses they already searched and the ones that were already being tended to. It was cloudy and dark, everything was broken, and the wind passing through the crumbled buildings sounded eerie… On top of all of that, there was no picture-perfect family. They were dead, just like all the others they had found.

"You okay there, Lad?"

Alfred turned his head back to the Scot, "Huh?"

"Oh, c'mon!" He groaned, "I lighted my accent! Now you're just not listening!"

"No, it's not that," Alfred responded with a sigh, "I was… Lost in thought."

Alistair took a long pause, taking a deep inhale off his cigarette and letting the smoke out, "That's alright. I haven't really seen England either." His voice hinted towards sympathy, which was strange since he didn't come across as the type of person that could read people well. He chuckled and smiled crookedly, "Hey, maybe after this all blows over, we could tour England a little."

"Yeah, maybe." It did sound nice, maybe he could leave England with some good experiences to talk about.

Alfred would really like to talk to Alistair more, but unfortunately, they had to get to work. They began searching one of the houses that had been left in pieces by the bombings the night before. On the bright side, no one was found in it, but the older woman who supposably lived in that house was still missing. It had been hours of moving brick, broken glass, and furniture, but Alfred's day wasn't close to ending, which made it all worse. He just wanted the day to end so he could get a few hours of sleep.

They were beginning to finish up with the last bit of cleaning when Alistair called out to him, "Hey, Lad!"

Alfred looked up from what he was doing, "Yeah?"

"We got the rest of it, how about you scope out the next house?" Alistair said, "See what we'll be dealing with."

"Alright."

"Don't forget to call out around the house to see if anyone can hear you." The Scot added.

Alfred paused to understand the man's words through his accent, "Right, I won't."

Alfred walked over to the next-door neighbor's house and circled around the back and to the front. Overall, it seemed to be just like the previous one. A lot of brick, wood, glass from the windows, nothing that they've handled many times before.

"Hello?" Alfred said, booming his voice like he knew he could. In fact, everyone on the team knew it, that's why it was always his job to do this. "Hello?" He repeated, "Search and rescue, can you hear me?"

Silence, as usual. Alfred rounded the house again, repeating his words over and over, but still no response. It wasn't until he got back to the front of the house when he noticed a patch of brick with a little hole in it. Alfred grabbed the flashlight on his belt and shined it in, it seemed hallow. There are usually patches of hallow spaces in each house, where support beams had conveniently held up a huge patch of floor, or something along those lines, but no one was ever in those spaces. They were always crushed in the collapsed basement. Nonetheless, Alfred had a strange hunch.

He walked over and removed the remaining loose brick and stuck his head into the space. It was small and cramped his broad shoulders, but he could fit in enough to see with his flashlight. To his surprise, he saw a man, just out of arm's reach. The man laid on his back, one arm up and over his head, the other laying on his chest. A beam, or a piece of wall, or something was propped up just centimeters from his stomach, obsuring anything below it. He would have been lucky, if he were alive. The man was motionless and a good portion of his hair and the ground around his head was covered in dried blood.

Usually, Alfred felt extremely sad whenever he came across a body like this, but instead, fear settled in his chest. Because, the man was just about his age. Alfred was a nineteen-year-old boy from America. He was reckless and made quick decisions without thinking about the consequences. He lived life in the now, and didn't plan for the far future because he was young. Nothing could happen to him. He was in the best physical state of his life, and he was invincible… But, suddenly, that mindset, that ignorant, innocent, invincibility was gone. Because this man must have been twenty-four, or twenty-five at the oldest, and it was all taken away. He had a family, friends, maybe even a girlfriend. He was in the prime time of his life, and had thought he was invincible, but he wasn't.

All Alfred could think was: That could have been me.

"I'm sorry." He whispered in his sudden understanding.

He began to adjust himself so he could crawl out but froze when he thought he heard a groan. Alfred looked back to the see the man shift slightly. His jaw dropped, "You're- you're alive!" The man only groaned again in response as he pulled down his arm and turned his head.

"Hey, can you hear me?" Alfred said, raising his voice a little. The man sighed and shifted again, but didn't answer. Alfred took his flashlight and clicked it on and off in the man's face a few times, trying to rouse him, "C'mon, wake up. It'll be easier to help you." Alfred continued to shine the light in his face, and eventually, the man flickered open his eyes. Alfred turned off the light so it wouldn't blind him, "Sir? Can you hear me?"

With a grunt, the man tilted his head back and looked at him, "What?"

"I'm Alfred," He introduced, "Search and rescue." When the man relaxed with another sigh, Alfred raised his voice more, "Try to stay awake, sir."

"...I'm awake…" The man slurred.

"Alright, sir, I-"

"Alfred, what's goin' on over there?" He heard Alistair yell from the previous house.

"Just a sec," Alfred said, crawling out of the hole. When out, he sat up on his knees and stretched so he could see his Scottish friend, "I found someone! He's alive!"

Alistair and the other men immediately dropped what they were doing and ran over, "Is he hurt?"

"Uhh, let me ask him." Alfred replied, crawling back into the hole and turning his flashlight back on so he could see, "Sir, are you hurt?"

The man looked around himself, the life in his green eyes dim, "What's happening?" He slurred frantically, "Where am I?"

"Sir, look at me." Alfred made his voice firm to try to calm the half-conscious man. When the man looked back up, Alfred spoke again, "Are you in pain?"

The man relaxed again, "My… My leg… And head."

Alfred took note of the dried blood in the man's blonde hair, "Okay, stay calm, I'll be right back." Once out of the hole again, he looked to Alistair, "He has a head wound and his leg hurts."

"How bad are they?" Alistair asked.

Alfred shrugged, "I can't see his leg, but his head looks like it had been bleeding."

"Is it still bleeding?"

"No."

Alistair looked off in thought for a moment, "Do you think you could get him out of that hole?"

Alfred nodded enthusiastically, "I think so!" And with that, he went back down with his flashlight, "Sir?"

"What?-What's happening?" The man looked up directly at him, his dazed expression replaced with fear.

Alfred spoke calmly, trying not to panic the Brit any more, "There was a German bombing last night, and your house collapsed. But don't worry, everything will be okay."

"'Okay?'" The man retorted, "How exactly do you yanks define the word 'okay'?"

At least he's awake, Alfred thought. "Sir, what's your name?"

The man grunted in pain, "Arthur."

"Alright, Arthur, I'm Alfred. Was there anyone else in the house when it collapsed?"

Arthur suddenly gasped in fear, then held his breath, his eyes scanning the rubble above him as if it had some kind of answer. After a moment he sighed in relief, "No. I'm the only one."

Alfred raised an eyebrow, "Are you sure?"

Arthur nodded, "I thought my, uhh… Friend was here, but I remember him leaving."

"Alright then, Arthur, I need you to listen," Alfred began, "I know you must be in a lot of pain right now, but I'm gonna get you outta here. Now, how bad is you leg?"

Even in the dim lighting, Alfred could see Arthur roll his eyes, "Oh, marvelous! Just, you know, like it's been smashed into bits!"

Alfred wondered if Arthur was this sarcastic all the time, or if it was his own way to cope with the physical pain he was in. Alfred shook his head, trying to get his mind back on track, "Okay. Well, to get you out of here, I need you to reach up, and grab my hands."

After breathing through some pain, Arthur reached up and grabbed Alfred's outstretched hands. Alfred tightened his grip, and pulled Arthur towards him. But, after only a few inches, Arthur screamed out in pain. Alfred immediately stopped, "What? What's wrong?"

"My leg," Arthur breathed, "It's stuck!"

"Which one?"

"Same one."

Alfred sighed, "Give me a moment, I need to talk with the rest of the team." He got back out and turned to Alistair, "His leg is stuck."

Alistair closed his eyes and visually deflated for a moment, "Was there anyone else in the house?"

Alfred only shook his head.

"Alright," The Scot said, stepping forward, "Let me see."

Alfred moved out of the way as Alistair took his own flashlight, flicked it on, and peered in. Alfred saw him line the walls with the light and then shine it in the middle towards Arthur. He smiled, "Hey, there." Alfred heard Arthur mumble something, and Alistair looked mildly offended at first before giving the Englishman a taunting grin, "Now, is that any way to talk to the man that's about to save your arse?" Alistair then moved his flashlight slowly, probably trying to get a look at Arthur's legs, "That damn pillar's in the way. Is something behind that crushing you?" Alfred heard more mumbling and saw Alistair nod, "Where on your leg? You knee? Shin? What?... Right or left?... Alright, we'll have you out of there as soon as possible, if you feel any more pressure, or if you see something slipping towards you, yell out. We don't wanta hurt you more than you already are." Alistair stood back up, "Alfred."

Alfred looked up, "Hmm?"

"The boys and I are going to start digging him up so we can free his leg." His friend started, "Your job is to get back down there and keep an eye on him. When he's free, pull him out. Otherwise, keep him awake, give him water and some of your food. Got it, Laddie?"

Alfred nodded, "Yes."

"Alight, men," Alistair said, gaining the others attention, "Let's go-"

Alistair said more, but Alfred went back down, the rubble muffling the Scot's voice. He turned on his flashlight and set it where it wasn't shining in either of their faces, "You awake, Arthur?"

"Yeah." Arthur said, his voice faint.

"Are you sure?" Alfred joked, "I mean, have you heard of the theory that your whole life could be a dream?"

Arthur paused for a long time, "This is not a good time to question my existence, Alfred, because if your friends make a wrong move, I won't anymore."

Alfred took that in for a moment, he hadn't actually realized that Arthur wasn't safe yet. In fact, Alfred was down there with him, so he wasn't safe either. He took a deep breath, trying to forget about it, "Do you want some water?"

Arthur moved to look at him, "You have water?"

"Yeah," Alfred said, taking his canteen off of his hip, "I bet you're-"

"Can I have some?" Arthur interrupted.

Alfred handed him the canteen, and Arthur drank from it quickly, some of the water leaking out the sides of his mouth, creating clean streaks on his dusty skin. Alfred chuckled, "Don't drink too fast, Art."

Arthur took it away from his lips and closed the top of the canteen, "Thank you."

"I have some crackers too, if you want some." Alfred offered, taking a small package of them out of his chest pocket and handing them out.

"Thank you." Arthur repeated, taking them.

There was a moment of silence as Arthur struggled with package and finally getting it open. Above, Alfred could hear shifting. Alistair and the other men had started digging.

"So…" Alfred said, breaking the awkward silence, "Got any family?"

Arthur hesitated, "Not really."

"Oh… Who did you lose?" Alfred said, hoping he wasn't prying too much. He had a bad habbit of doing that without knowing it, unlike his brother.

"My parents. And a brother."

"I'm sorry," Alfred started, "Was it in another bombing?"

Arthur took a moment to eat some of a cracker, "Oh, they're not dead- or at least I don't think they are."

Alfred narrowed his eyebrows, "I'm not following."

"Well, I was kind of… Disowned… But, don't worry, it was their problem. Not mine." Arthur confessed.

"What did you do?"

"Mind your own business." He suddenly snapped.

"Okay, okay, sorry." Alfred apologized, trying to calm him back down.

After another short silence, until Arthur spoke again, "What about you? Got any family?"

"Yep!" Alfred responded happily, "I got a twin brother, Matthew."

"You two close?" Arthur asked, taking a bite of another cracker.

"Uh-huh. Very close."

"Is he in England too?"

Alfred shook his head, "No. He's in Canada. He's in college studying to become a psychologist."

"Psychology? Seems to be a growing field, doesn't it?" Arthur commented.

Alfred shrugged, "I guess so."

Another long silence, but before it got too awkward, Arthur asked, "What about friends?"

"Well, there's Alistair, the Scot you saw earlier." Alfred explained, "He's really the only friend I have here."

Arthur finished his last cracker, "What about in Canada?"

"Canada?"

"Yes, that's where you're from, right?"

Alfred shook his head, "No, I'm American."

"Oh," Arthur took a long breath to breathe through some pain, "You said your brother was Canadian, I assumed you were too."

"My dad always said that 'assuming makes an ass out of you and me.'" Alfred said before laughing loudly.

Arthur chuckled, "Oh, I'm going to have to use that one."

Alfred calmed down his laughter, "But anyway, I have this friend, Kiku, back in Virginia."

"Virginia? I thought you said you were from America."

"Virginia is a state in America."

Arthur spoke in a apologetic tone, "Oh, sorry. My knowledge of American geography is limited to New York, Texas, and… That's it."

"That's sad."

"Anyway," Arthur said getting back on subject, "What's Kiku like? He sure had a strange name."

"Well, he's Japanese."

"Oh." Arthur said, slowly and cautiously.

"I know that's kinda…" Alfred paused to find the right word, "Controversial with the whole war going on, but it's okay, I've known him and his family since we were children."

"So before the war?"

"Yeah," Alfred continued, "He's great. I used to go to his house all the time and eat dinner with his family. You should try it! It's real Japanese food! It's delicious!"

"Maybe I will sometime." Arthur said as he adjusted, probably trying to get more comfortable on the rocky gound.

Alfred went on, "I tried to convince him to come to England with me, but he's been trying to go to college to become a veterinarian because he really likes animals."

Arthur shrugged, "That's understandable. One should never turn down the chance for a education."

Alfred sighed in frustration, "Yeah, but no colleges will accept him. They don't say it to his face, but it's because he's Japanese. Which is wrong because he's an American citizen, not some imperialist bastard trying to take over China."

Arthur was silent, almost as if he didn't know what to say.

"What about you?" Alfred asked, turning the original question on Arthur, "You mentioned a friend earlier."

Alfred saw Arthur smile warmly, "Yes, that would be Francis."

"What's he like?"

"Oh…" Arthur chuckled, "Bloody frustrating."

Alfred tilted his head, "How so?"

Arthur shrugged, "So many things, but I- he's my friend."

"I understand, Alistair can be frustrating sometimes."

Arthur laughed lightly, "The annoyance of a Scotsman is nothing compared to a Frenchman."

Alfred adjusted so he could stretch his cramped shoulders, "He's French?"

"Yes, a solider, actually. Well, not anymore."

Alfred relaxed again, "What happened?"

"He was discharged due to an injury at Dunkirk… And some other reason.."

"Dunkirk." Alfred repeated, thinking, "That sound familiar."

"Before France was annexed, the Germans pushed the French army to the English Channel at Dunkirk," Arthur explained, "Britain sent practically anything that could float across the channel and brought them to England."

"Oh yeah!" Alfred exclaimed, "I remember hearing about that! That was so cool!"

"Anyway," Arthur said, "I work at a hospital, and he was a patient of mine. In his time there, we became friends. When I found out that he would have to go back to France, which was being filled with Nazis, I gave him hospitality here."

It was a touching story, to think that someone would do that for someone else. Alfred smiled, "Well, that was nice of ya. How did he get injured?"

Arthur sighed as if talking about it hurt him, "He was shot in the leg. Stupid Frog didn't listen to his doctor and it got infected as well."

"Is he gonna be okay?"

Arthur nodded, "Oh, the infection cleared up quickly, he's okay… Or, at least I hope he is."

"Why wouldn't he be?" Alfred asked.

Arthur's voice got quiet, "He went out not too long before the bombing started… He said he had a surprise for me… I hope he's okay."

"I'm sure he's fine." Alfred reassured.

"Hey, Alfred?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you remember what it was like to be a kid? That you're only worry in the world was weather or not you were going to have dessert after dinner?"

Alfred was silent for a long moment, taking it in. Arthur's voice held so much worry and pain, almost as if his innocence had just been shattered. Wondering where exactly Arthur was going, Alfred slowly said, "I guess so."

Arthur's voice was now a weak whisper, "It was nice, wasn't it?"

Arthur really didn't mean that literally, did he? It would surprise Alfred if he did, he was hit in the head. But, the way he said it, all the regret in his voice, hinted to a different meaning. Unfortunately, Alfred was never good at reading between the lines. "I guess, but, what do you mean?"

Arthur was silent.

Alfred continued, "I don't really know what you mean."

Nothing.

"Arthur?" Alfred said, picking up the flashlight and tilting it so he could see his new friend better, "You okay?"

Again, Arthur didn't aswer, and when Alfred actually got a good look at him, he realized that the young Englishman had fallen back uncouncious. What was worse: Because of the awkward angle that they were both in, Alfred couldn't tell if Arthur was even breathing. Panicking, Alfred began to flick the light on and off in Arthur's face again, hoping that it would work like it had before, "Arthur! C'mon, man, wake up!"

Arthur didn't move. Alfred ran a hand through his dirty blonde hair, "Dammit!" He whispered to himself. What now? Sure, Alfred could dig and pull someone out of a mound of brick, but he was no doctor. Should he tell Alistair? But, if Arthur isn't awake to yell out to the team, then he needed someone who could. But, Alfred can't tell if there's more pressure being put on the poor man's leg, so maybe Alistair, or one of the other men could wake Arthur up?

Luckily for Alfred, he didn't have to make that decision, for his pondering was interrupted by a loud shift, a crash, and a sudden light that came from behind the pillar above Arthur's waist.

"Ah-Ha!" Alistair exclaimed, as if he had just discovered something, "I see your leg now!"

"He's unconscious." Alfred said, speaking loud enough for the Scot to hear him.

"Shit," Alistair cursed, "Alight, let's see…" Alfred hears some more shuffling on the other side of the pillar before Alistair spoke again, "Alright. Alfred?"

"Yeah?"

Alistair paused and spoke slowly and carefully, lightening his accent as much as possible, "I, and Ken here, are going to lift what's on top of the poor lad's right leg. Now, it is very heavy, so I need you to move him out of the way so I can set it back down, got it?"

Alfred took a moment to think, "Got it."

"Good. Are you ready?"

"Wait." Alfred said. He pushed himself further in so that he could reach Arthur better. He hooked his hands under Arthur's arms and positioned his legs in a way to make it easier to pull Arthur out. He took a deep breath, "Ready."

Alfred heard a loud shift. "Alright, go!" Alistair ordered, his voice strained.

Quickly and carefully, Alfred pulled Arthur towards him. Once he had Arthur's head at his face level, Alfred scooted himself further out and pulled Arthur again. He repeated the motion until he was able to pick Arthur up and lie him down on the lawn. It was a lot of movement, but none of it seemed to rouse Arthur in the slightest, which made Alfred fear the worst. But, by the time Alistair and the rest of the team reached them, Alfred realized that the poor man was still breathing regularly.

Not long after, two paramedics ran up, put Arthur on a stretcher and rushed away.

Alfred followed them, and after the ambulance was gone, he pulled one of the paramedics aside and asked which hopital Arthur would be at.

"Room 213."

It was about a week until Alfred was able to ride a double-decker bus, (which was awesome), to the hospital Arthur was at. He walked up the stairs and through the halls, got lost, found himself again, and stood outside the room 213. He took a deep breath, hoping that Arthur would remember him, still taking the blow to the head into consideration.

Alfred opened the door quietly, just in case Arthur was resting. Arthur was in his bed, propped up in a sitting position with some pillows, next to him, a man with long, golden hair. The other man was sitting in a chair at Arthur's bedside, leaning forward with his elbows on the bed. Both held serious expressions.

"Two cripples in France? With the Nazi's we wouldn't last a day." Arthur said quietly, his voice sounding exhausted. Arthur glance over and smiled, "Alfred!"

The other man hummed and looked over, giving him a quizzical look. Alfred laughed nervously, "I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"

"Well-"

Arthur didn't let the other man finish, "No," He said before glaring at the man next to him, "We were just finishing the conversation."

Alfred had never been good at sensing the mood like his brother and Kiku, but Alfred knew that this was probably a bad time. Alfred glanced away in thought, "Are you sure?"

Arthur smiled again, "Yes, yes please, come here."

Alfred walked over and stood on the opposite side that the man was on, "So, how'ya feelin'?"

Arthur waved his hand dismissively, "Good as new. Don't worry, I'll be up and walking tomorrow."

"You will not!" The man argued, finally saying enough to hear a stereotypical French accent in his voice, "Will lay in bed and rest!"

"Now," Arthur started, turning to the Frenchman, "How will I get better if all I do is lay around and sleep?"

The Frenchman but his head in his hands, "Mon dieu, you're such a bad patient."

Arthur rolled his eyes and looked back to Alfred, "Oh, Alfred. This is Francis, I believe I told you about him."

Before Alfred could greet him, Francis interrupted, "Wait, you're the American that talked with him?"

Alfred shrugged, "That's me!"

Francis smiled and stood up, keeping a significant amount of weight off of his left leg, "It's so nice to meet you!" He held out his hand, "Thank you, and be sure to thank your team for me. I can't tell you how thankful I am to still have him with me."

Alfred laughed, a bit embarrassed by the gratitude, "You're welcome," He shook Francis' hand, "And thank you for your service. Sorry about being discharged, though."

Francis' bright smile dropped a bit as he lowered himself back into the chair, "Oh, it's okay. I mean, unless you were the Nazi who shot me."

Alfred chuckled, "Nope. Wasn't me."

"No worries, then."

There was a long, awkward silence until Arthur finally broke it, "So how are you, Lad?"

Alfred sighed, "Actually, I've been think about going back to America… I've been feeling very homesick."

"Take the chance to go home." Arthur said without missing a beat.

Francis nodded, "Take it from two men who just lost their home."

Alfred looked from one man to the other, "You two could come to America with me."

Francis and Arthur laughed, "We appreciate the offer," Arthur said, "It is very sweet of you, but America is so far away, it would be too difficult to come back after the war was over."

Alfred nodded in understanding, "I know, but you don't have anywhere to stay."

Francis lips curled, and he looked as if he were going to cry, "We know. We'll figure it out together."

Alfred drew his eyebrows together in concern, "Is there… Anything I can do."

Arthur chuckled, "Alfred, you and your team saved my life, what else can we ask of you?"

Alfred shrugged, "Anything. Really, I don't mind. I like helping people. That's why I came here."

Francis nodded, "You've already helped us, Alfred. I'm sure someone else needs your help now."

Alfred sighed in defeat, "If you say so…" He looked at his watch, he knew he didn't have much time to visit, but he didn't think it was time to go already, "I'm sorry, but I gotta go."

"I understand," Arthur reassured, "Everyone is so busy these days."

Alfred shook both of their hands and revived more heart-felt 'thank you's' and left. This wasn't what he imagined either. He never really thought about where the survivors went after their house was destroyed. He could only hope that the government was giving some sort of housing to them, or that they had some distant relative they could live with.

He was about half-way down the staircase when he got a bight idea. With a smile, Alfred went back up the stairs and quickly walked back to room 213. When he opened the door he saw Francis leaning close to Arthur with tears streaking down his cheeks. Arthur had one hand on Francis' face, wiping away the tears with his thumb, his other hand, tightly holding Francis'.

'I thought my, uhh… Friend was here, but I remember him leaving.'

'Well, I was kind of… Disowned… But, don't worry, it was their problem. Not mine.'

'Mind your own business.'

'So many things, but I- he's my friend.'

'We know. We'll figure it out together.'

Alfred never had much of an opinion on homosexuality. Sure, he didn't exactly agree with it, but a person was a person, no matter what. But, then again, he had never been exposed to it. It wasn't what he imagined either. He expected a strong reaction from himself, but there wasn't. In fact, it didn't even look wrong. How tightly they held each other's hands, the comfort in their eyes, the look that said 'we can get through this' written on their faces… In a way, they were a picture-perfect family…

Alfred was snapped out of his thoughts when he realized he was staring. Poor Arthur looked like a deer caught in headlights, and Francis looked defensive, almost as if he expected Alfred to attack Arthur.

Alfred put out his hands in surrender, "It's okay. I promise. I swear to God." After they both deflated in relief, Alfred took a step forward, "I was wondering if we could write to each other."

Arthur and Francis exchanged a look before smiling, "Of course, mon ami," Francis said kindly, "Give us your address. We'll write to you once we figure out your living situation."

"Great!" Alfred exclaimed loudly. He dug into his pockets and found his pen along with an unused napkin. After writing down his address, he gave the napkin to Arthur.

Arthur looked at the address, "Really?" He said in a teasing tone, "Independence Drive?"

Francis laughed, "How stereotypical!"

"Hey, don't blame me!" Alfred defended, "Blame my parents! They're the ones that decided to live there!"

Arthur rolled his eyes, "Fine, I suppose I won't tease you about it too much in our letters."

Alfred looked back at his watch, a bit of fear hitting him, "I really gotta go."

After exchanging more 'good byes', and actually getting a hug from Francis, Alfred left the hospital.

He took the first ride home, and waited for his letter.

Author's note:

Hey everyone! Thanks for reading! I hoped you liked it! I personally think that this is one of my best works!

If you are interested in Francis' and Arthur's side of the story, you are in luck! I am planning a FrUK prequel! I don't know when it will be coming out though.

Anyway, thanks again! Please review!

Happy reading, and fandom hugs!