'Just close your eyes
The sun is going down
You'll be alright
No one can hurt you now
Come morning light
You and I'll be safe and sound'
'Patience... just a few more seconds...' Alfred thought to himself as he awaited, bow at the ready, behind a bush, aiming for a rabbit.
His stomach moaned- five days without food could do that to you. Then again, the Gamemakers weren't making anything easier, seeing that they had exploded any wild game that had gotten near him in the past five days.
Just a few more seconds... The blood dripping down his arm didn't help either. It was painful enough to have it broken, and it got to the point of being actually laughable when they set mutts on him yesterday to mangle it even more. Lucky for him, it was still there, but...
The rabbit turned its head towards him, its bright red eyes gleaming, making him grin and nearly laugh out loud for the first time in a while.
But no. He couldn't give himself away. Not now. The Gamemakers were probably only allowing this smidget of food to keep the entertainment on... which means someone must've...
The rabbit blinked, and he let the arrow go, sending a blast of pain down his arm, but he couldn't possibly feel any better. He hopped up and was about to run in for it, when the strangest thing happened.
It missed.
Not just missed, not even completely missed. It was as if there was an invisible wall of bulletproof glass right in front of it. It bounced off, and-
And he could recognize the gasp of shock coming from anywhere.
No... No, it couldn't be. It... it mustn't be...
A chill ran down his spine, his heart stopping.
And then it started again. But this time, faster than ever.
He stepped back two steps to try and balance himself, before running out. Out into the open, where everyone else couldn't possibly miss him.
It can't be him, it can't be him, it can't be him...
And he looked around... And to his luck...
He stood there, frozen in shock, unable to even register anything at all until the voice called out.
"A-Al? Alfred Jones, it can't be you, can it? You've looked better," Arthur mocked weakly, smiling softly from the ground, arrow in his chest.
Alfred knelt in the bloodied grass next to him, lump in his throat, tears in his eyes.
He grinned. "So've you. Art, I'm so, so sorry, I was aiming for the game, I didn't mean to-"
"It's quite alright... I was looking for you anyway." The man paused to pant a while before continuing.
"I wanted to tell you... Al, me and frogface, we teamed up... I guess everyone thought it was impossible, but we are family... I was going to... To ask you... if it could be the three of us. Just the three of us. B-b-because..." He had a coughing fit, spewing a bit of blood up.
"Because we're family."
Alfred lost it.
He began sobbing- yeah, even heroes cry sometimes- clutching the grass beneath him, his nails digging into his palms, knuckles white. How could he. Everything he'd done in life, every single decision he made sounded stupid. Everything. Independence sounded stupid. How he could've ever thought that he could do better on his own...
"Oh, God, I was so fucking stupid, I never meant- I'm so sorry, I was so stupid to fight you- if I'd have spent more time listening to you, if I'd have never rebelled, this would've never-"
"It-it's okay. Don't say that. I... I'd rather have everything happen the way it was... than to keep you forever, you little moron."
He had to clench his teeth now, to keep from completely breaking down.
"B-b-but you- you can't die on me, Artie, please don't die on me. Please don't die on me, please don't die, you can't die, don't die..."
And to his complete and utter surprise- the dying man sat up, falling a few times at first, but managed to sit up, and- ... and hold him. In his arms. Just like he did when he was a kid. Just sitting there, hugging him, and stroking his hair. The blood got onto his clothes, but Alfred didn't care. He buried his face into Arthur's shoulder, crying his little heart out. The two sat there, unharmed, rocking back and forth ever so subtly, a bloody mess.
"Shh, shh, it's alright. Everything's going to be okay." Just like before. Just like when he was a little kid.
"How do you know?" Little Alfred clung onto his big brother's shoulder, back then tall, strong, holding him up and stroking his back. His tears flowed down because of a broken toy- his favorite. Back then, the smallest things mattered so much more.
"How do you know?"
"Because you're my brother. Because you will always be my brother." Just like before. Great Britain murmured soothingly into the child's ear words of comfort. Words that he'd never received from anyone. Words he wanted America to receive.
Arthur's breath and heartbeat came out slower, more faint. But the fainter it became, the harder he struggled to get them out.
"Rockabye Alfie on the treetop..." He watched the little boy play around in his crib as night fell, humming the toddler's favorite lullaby, chuckling softly as he fell on his pillow.
"I'm too old for this kind of thing, Art," Alfred moaned softly, smiling and choking on tears.
"N-no... you're not... you're my... my little brother, aren't you? You'll always be my little brother... brothers... family..." Arthur ran throughout the house, a six year old Alfred on his back.
"Zoom, zoom! Haha!" the little boy cried, arms spread out. He seemed to have a knack for flying like this. Of course, Arthur didn't think much of it... until the boy grew up. And learned to fly.
"Art- Artie! Artie don't... don't leave me, please don't leave me..."
"You'll... you'll always be my little... little brother... brothers forever..."
"Artie, I beg you, please don't leave me-"
"Al?"
"Y-y-yeah?"
"The... cat... was... a... tom. The cat was a tom! Look, I can read! The cat was a tom!"
England blinked, then looked over his four year old brother's shoulder to see...
"Y-you can read! America, you can read!" He laughed, picking the child up in his arms and raising him up in the air. "You can read!"
"I... I forgive you."
Everything went still as the dying man slumped on his shoulder, ceasing to... to breathe...
'I forgive you.'
An older America sat on the grass, towering over England, who sat next to him. They were stranded on an island again, in the middle of World War I...
"Hey, England?"
"What, imbecile?"
"I hate you."
"I hate you too."