"Matthew, you look well," Arthur remarked pleasantly, settling down beside the young nation at the long wooden table. "Are you sleeping better?"
"Oh, yes, thanks," the blonde man smiled, eyes scrunched delightedly behind his glasses. "I've got this new routine worked out, it works quite well for me. Thank you for asking."
"Yes," Arthur nodded, smiling genially. His face twisted into a frown as he glanced down the table, "Where has that blasted American gone…"
Humming vaguely, Matthew settled more comfortably into his padded chair, rubbing idly at a reddish brown stain on the wrist of his dress shirt.
"Is…is everything alright, mon cher?" Francis asked, cautiously approaching the blonde nation scrubbing his hands in the bathroom sink.
"Everything, fine, all's fine, just fine," Alfred said quickly, not looking away from the sink. "No problems, nope, none-"
"Alfred…?" Francis settled a soft hand on his shoulder, and America spun, backing away and holding his hands out pleadingly. "Mon dieu, what had happened to you?"
"Nothing, why do you ask?" Alfred asked with a manic smile, pressing his hands flat to his chest. Blood from his raked-open palms quickly seeped through his white shirt. "I'm fine, of course I'm fine, why wouldn't I be fine?"
"Alfred, this is not like you," Francis frowned, holding his hands out placatingly, palms up. "What is the matter, dear? Is everything alright? Who did this to you? You can tell me anything, cher."
"No, no I can't," Alfred shook his head, back hitting the wall. He was tearing up, sniffling miserably. "No, please don't make me, please, he'll kill us all, he will, I know he will. He's got no soul!"
Francis blinked, taken aback. "Who, dear?"
"Me."
The nation spun, and came face-to-face with-
Behind him, America let out a bitter, mournful moan.
"Canada!" England gasped, hands flying to his mouth. "What happened? Are you alright?!"
"Perfectly fine," the blonde smiled at one of the men who had raised him, splashing water on his face to wash away the blood. "America and I got into an argument and I accidentally punched him a little harder than I meant to," he held out his hand for proof, showing the bruises already beginning to heal along his pronounced knuckles.
"Oh?" England frowned, rubbing his thumb gently over the marks. "Matthew, darling, you should eat more. I haven't seen you this thin since…well, since."
"Yes," Matthew smiled toothily at him, revealing blood caked into his otherwise pristine white teeth. "You would be quite correct on that. I am sorry about this, truly I am."
"Sorry-?" Arthur's eyebrows knit together, and he spun, to be met with a dark-haired brunette holding a slender black pistol. "Italy-?!"
"Call me Lovino, I dare you," he smirked, and put a bullet in the Englishman's head.
"Brilliant shot, Lovi," Matthew purred, stepping over the Englishman's corpse and pulling his somewhat splattered lover into a lingering kiss.
"Allus am," Lovino smirked, rubbing his nose against the Canadian's. "Did you see his face?"
Matthew giggled, glancing down at the Englishman. "Surprised, was he?"
"Very," Lovino laughed delightedly. "Who was in here before?"
"Mm, Alfie and Papa," Matthew shrugged, gesturing to one of the stalls on the end row. Spots of blood littered the otherwise pristine white tiles. "But I took care of them. Northern Italy?"
In answer, all Lovino did was smirk, and Matthew threw his head back and laughed. "Oh, this is fun! Why didn't we do this sooner?"
"Well, we didn't know it was needed sooner," Lovino reminded him, tucking his hand into Matthew's back pocket and walking beside him as they left the bathroom.
"That would be entirely Gilbert's fault," Matthew wrinkled his nose. "Idiot. If he'd have told us sooner, he'd be in less bad shape."
"True," Lovino nodded, sinking into momentary melancholy. After visibly shaking himself, he asked, "Do you think Russia would be good?"
"Aye," Matthew nodded vigorously, already planning it out. "But let's leave Liet and Pol alone. I've no quarrel with them."
"Sí," Lovino agreed, nuzzling into Matthew's shoulder. "Ti amo, Matthew."
"Love you too, darling."
~/\~
Gilbert stared at the blood-splattered duo at the end of his bed. "…Hey guys. How'd the meeting go?"
"Excellent!" Matthew grinned, perching on the edge of the bed to the Prussian's right. "We -Lovi and I- we got a lot done."
"Sí," Lovino smirked, settling down on the infirm man's other side. "See, there was this thing that Matthew remembered reading."
"About aging countries," Matthew interjected, leaning forward eagerly. He was nearly vibrating out of his skin with excitement, his blue eyes bright and practically manic.
"And how, once the country technically no longer exists, it'll fade," Lovino added, rolling his eyes at Matthew's eagerness. "And, Matthew and I, we just can't allow that to happen to you."
"It'd break our hearts," Matthew nodded, shuffling forward to help Gilbert into a sitting position, propped up by copious amounts of soft pillows. "So we really just can't."
"I…" Gilbert looked back and forth between the two, and a small, pleased smile spread his pale lips. "You guys are great. What've you got for me?"
"Last blood of the immortal," Lovino said with a shrug, extracting a silver flask from one of his inside pockets. "England, Russia, America, France."
"China, Japan -ooh, Australia, too," Matthew added, ticking off the marks on his fingers.
"North Italy and Germany, as well," Lovino hummed, pressing the flask into Gilbert's shocked-stiff fingers.
"You…you guys…" Gilbert sniffed, rubbing at his eyes with the back of one hand. "You guys did that all for me?"
"Of course," Matthew blinked, as if anything less would have been a travesty. "We love you. Why wouldn't we do whatever possible to keep you safe?"
"You, you two," Gilbert smiled through his tears, tugging the two close. "Oh, each day I ask myself how I was so lucky to get to know you, and each day I love you two a little bit more! You guys are nothing short of miraculous."
Matthew demurred, turning a rather fetching shade of pink under his mask of blood. "Stop it…" He rested his forehead against Gilbert's collarbone, one hand clenched in the too-loose fabric of his shirt.
"Shut up and drink your blood," Lovino muttered, nudging his face into Gilbert's neck and breathing deep, smearing blood against lily-white flesh.
With a light chuckle, Gilbert wiped his nose with a tissue from the nearby box and unscrewed the cap of the flask. He tipped it back and, careful not to miss a drop, swallowed it all down.
Both of the others watched his throat intently, Lovino rubbing small circles in the divot between his collarbones.
The Canadian met his gaze across the pale expanse of Prussian chest, and they shared a small, secret smile.