Chapter 1 ~ Bandages

Alfred tapped his middle and forefinger against the steering wheel to a beat in his head. The stereo had been turned off to allow for conversation, but the cabin of his dull red jeep was only filled with the sound of late autumn chill rushing past the soft black top. Alfred bit his lower lip and was tempted to switch the radio back on just so he could listen to a voice, but kept his hands where they were. He stole a glance at his acquired hitchhiker. The man had pushed the seat back as far as it would go and had concealed those intelligent green eyes behind dark golden lashes. His arms were crossed and relaxed over his abdomen, giving the blonde a very standoffish appearance. The stranger was being careful not to get any blood on Alfred's seats, but the car was kinda old and another stain certainly wasn't going to kill it. Alfred turned back to look at the road, navigating through the town's streets and intersections. He cleared his throat.

"Where to?" Alfred asked in a bouncy voice, trying to break the awkwardness with a positive attitude and a smile.

The man didn't even look at him, his voice lazily droning out the required response. "Where ever you want."

Alfred's lips pressed into a line and he almost stopped the car to let him out on the spot. He saw no point in keeping the man in his company if he didn't want his help or, apparently, need it. Al looked across to ask his if he should just pull over at the nearest gas station or something. He stopped, though, and really studied the man out of the corner of his eye. Alfred noticed how tired he looked; dark circles smudged under his eyes and his skin looking too pale to be healthy. He was probably really hungry too. How long had he been out in the cold anyway? When he had touched him his skin felt like ice. He must've been in this God-forsaken weather for hours.

No. Alfred resolved, he couldn't let someone in need get off the hook that easily. It just didn't sit right with him to ignore someone who so obviously required his help (no matter how stubborn said person was).

He tore his eyes away from the man for a moment, and remembered that he hadn't even asked for his name. He hadn't found the time for that particular courtesy in between hitting the poor guy with his car and kidnapping him. He blew out a lungful of air.

"What's your name?" Alfred asked, toning his voice down to a softer level, glancing back and forth from the road to the stranger. "I'm Alfred."

"Arthur," the man answered quietly.

Alfred smiled, happy for the response. Now they were getting somewhere. He slowed for a red light. "So, Arthur, wanna tell me where you're from? Your accent kinda sounds like you're from somewhere in the UK, right? I can't really tell cause you haven't said much. Do you live in this town? It's not exactly the biggest town and - well, sure, I haven't been here too long, but I'm pretty sure I've never seen you before." Alfred began thumping his fingers against the steering wheel, waiting for the red light to turn back to green. "I've never been to the UK personally. Actually, I haven't been much farther than Canada. My roommate said he wants to take us to France at some point. Oh, um, I have three roommates, but you don't have to worry. They're gone for the night." Wait. Why would it be a problem if his roommates were at the house anyway? It almost sounded like he was talking to a girl he was trying to take home. Alfred flushed, his finger thumping faster on the wheel. Was this light ever going to change? "Anyway, do you like French food? I figured you would be hungry and we have leftovers from last night that I was going to eat. My roommate, you know, the one that wants to take me and my other roommate to France, is also a kick-ass cook. He kinda went all out the other day and we have tons of food left." Finally the light changed and Alfred almost jerked the jeep from pressing the gas too quickly. Why was he so nervous? He was always really good at talking and meeting new people. Suddenly the white button-up he wore for work seemed unbelievably rigid and hot. "Do you want to stay for dinner? I don't mean that in a weird way, I just really feel bad for, you know, hitting you with my car." Wow, that sounded so bizarre to say out loud.

He waited for a moment, then waited a bit more as he turned down the familiar street that led to his house. The silence was getting uncomfortable again, and the college student glanced over to see if his passenger had fallen asleep on him.

Arthur was wide awake and looking at him with a bushy eyebrow raised. "My God, I thought you would never shut up."

Alfred blinked before laughing out loud, making Arthur jump in his seat. "Sorry man, I don't know what's wrong with me tonight. I guess it's kinda awkward talkin' to you cause I... well, you know."

Alfred pulled up into the empty garage and grabbed his small red duffle bag and heavy backpack from behind his seat. He yanked his keys out of the ignition as soon as the car was shifted into park. "Home sweet home."

He let himself out and Arthur did the same, albeit much more quietly, and followed the teenager up to the door.

Alfred cussed when he dropped his keys, snatching them up again and shoving the right one into the door to get it open. He was already shivering and couldn't wait to be inside the house and out of the cold.

"Dude, you never answered my question," Alfred started up again, pushing the door open and letting himself and his guest in before slamming it closed on the winter weather.

Arthur scoffed, striding into the house with an ease that took Alfred by surprise. A few snowflakes were quickly dusted off of his shoulder as he sat down on their dark blue sofa, crossing his legs as he leaned back. "Which one?"

Alfred stood there for a moment before remembering he was hungry. He routinely switched on lights as he walked past Arthur and into the kitchen. "All of them. You know, where are you from? Would you like to stay for dinner? Are you new around here?"

Alfred heard a sigh from the living room and was halfway to the fridge when he suddenly remembered that Arthur was bleeding and hurt. He made a quick one-eighty and walked past the other blond again to get to the hallway closet. There was a first aid kit in there somewhere right?

"I'm not sure why I have to answer any of those questions." Arthur's voice carried over to Alfred, a small growl in his tone. "I'm not going to be here that long anyway."

Alfred poked his head out from behind the closet door to look at Arthur. "Well, I never said you had to answer my questions. I'm just tryin' to make small talk, ya know?"

Arthur stared at him for a moment before his figure slackened a bit and another sigh was heaved from his thin chest. "Fine."

Alfred grinned and returned to his search.

"I was born in England. However, I've lived all over the UK at some point in my life."

"Any part of the UK you don't like?" Alfred asked, trying to keep the conversation going.

"Scotland," Arthur answered immediately. "Bloody bastards, the lot of them."

Alfred laughed at how ruffled the man sounded, finally locating the first aid kit right in front of his face on the third shelf. He tsked and grabbed it. "Why do you hate Scotland so much?"

"Because it's filled with bloody bastards! pay attention boy." The man snarled.

Alfred crinkled his nose as he shut the closet door with the toe of his shoe. "Boy? You don't look that much older then me." Arthur smirked, but it was gone so quickly that Alfred questioned if he had even seen it. "Wait, how old are you anyway? Nineteen? Twenty?"

"Twenty-four if it's any of your business," Arthur snapped, watching Alfred as he sat down on the hassock in front of the couch with the small medical box. Alfred blew out a mouthful of air, frowning before he looked up at Arthur seriously.

"I'm sorry, sir, I didn't realize how ancient you were. I'll be sure to treat you with the respect you deserve."

"That's right. You should respect your elders, boy," Arthur said, crossing his arms. Alfred snickered at Arthur, who was unable to help a small smirk of his own. He flicked the silver latch up on the white box and opened the kit, rifling through its contents to find a wet wipe. He pulled out a small packet from under some mismatched bandages and a pair of tweezers.

"Alrighty, now I'll just clean you up a bit first and-" Alfred looked at Arthur's face. Blood had dried across his forehead and down his right cheek. The dark color contrasted sharply against his pale skin. He looked from the dried blood to the small moist towelette in his hand then back to Arthur's face.

"Um, maybe we should wash your face off in the bathroom instead," Alfred offered, standing up and bringing the kit with him as he went. He didn't look to see if Arthur was following behind as he walked down the narrow hallway and ducked into the moderate sized bathroom. He flicked the toilet seat and lid down so Arthur could have a place to sit and twisted the cross-handled tap to get the hot water flowing. He left it running and placed the kit on the sink counter. He was about to pull out the few items he needed before he noticed that Arthur wasn't with him. He stuck his head and shoulders out the bathroom door to peek down the hallway to see if his English patient was still lounging on the couch. Arthur had paused in the short stretch of hallway, looking at one of the very few pictures the college boys had managed to nail to the wall. Alfred didn't need to come over to see which picture Arthur was looking at.

"That was taken about a year and a half ago in Canada."

"Twin?" Arthur asked, glancing at him briefly then back so he could compare the picture with Alfred himself.

The American nodded, "Yup, that's Matt."

Arthur tilted his head a fraction of an inch as he leaned in to analyze the picture. "Why are you all banged up?"

Alfred laughed and ducked back into the bathroom. "It's kind of a funny story."

"Oh?" Arthur inquired, following the American back into the washroom and perching himself onto the lid of the toilet when Alfred motioned for him to sit.

Alfred then began soaking a wash cloth in warm water before bringing it to the older man's face. Arthur refused to let the teenager fuss over him. He shooed his hand away and plucked the wash cloth from his grip so he could begin cleaning up his face himself. He dragged the rag over his forehead and began scrubbing the blood away with a bit more force than Alfred was personally going to use. Arthur pulled the cloth off and held it under the hot running water before returning to his face. "You were saying?"

"Oh. Right. So anyway, me and Matthew-"

"Matthew and I," Arthur corrected.

Alfred grinned. "So me and Matthew went skiing the day that picture was taken-" Alfred paused as his face turned sour for the first time that night. "And the reason I'm so 'banged up' is cause my brother's a liar."

"You don't say," Arthur sighed, obviously not as interested in the story as Alfred had hoped. "So how is it that your brother put you in the position of being physically injured by being deceitful?" Arthur stood up and nudged Alfred aside so he could look at his face in the mirror. He soaked the wash cloth once more to go over the places he missed.

"I'm getting there, just hold your horses." Alfred plopped down on the toilet lid in Arthur's place. "So before we get there Matt had been talking about us getting snowblades instead of snow skis. Do you know what snowblades are?"

Arthur shook his head as he placed the sangria red-stained face cloth on the lip of the sink. Alfred made a mental note to throw the tiny towel away before Francis saw that he had ruined one of his new cloths. Alfred inspected the gash when the Brit turned his head to examine it in the light. It traveled across the right side of the man's forehead, disappearing into messy blonde bangs and eventually into his hairline. It was nowhere near as bad as Alfred had originally thought it would be. He grabbed the kit off the counter to grab a tube of Neosporin and a large bandage. It seemed like a lot of blood for such a shallow cut, but Alfred had to remind himself that head injuries always bled more than anything else. Also, he thought darkly, Arthur was lucky to have come out of the whole ordeal with a mere scratch.

He handed the bandage and tube over when Arthur held out his hand for them, remembering where he left off while he watched Arthur.

"Well, Matthew had been using snowblades for years. He lived up in Canada with mom for a while so was in a place where he could practice a lot."

Arthur gave Alfred a confused sidelong look, so the teenager paused his story to explain. "Snowblades are kinda like skis only way shorter, like about maybe two to three feet." Arthur nodded.

"He told me that snowblades were easier than skis," Alfred continued while his guest returned to his task.

"Were they?" Arthur asked, halfway through smearing the ointment over his minor wound.

"Hell no!" Alfred all but shouted, getting into the story with exaggerated hand motions. "We get up to the top and Matt takes me down one of the hardest slopes on my first go!" Alfred demonstrated the massiveness of the rise by stretching his hand up as high as it would reach. "So I go down the hill, and this is a really hard hill so there are trees everywhere. I start building speed." Alfred's voice sank lower as he used his other hand to start "skiing" down his nearly vertical arm, weaving in and out dramatically between tiny invisible obstacles. "I start realizing that I can't really bank very well because the snowblades won't turn hard enough, As an added bonus, I can't stop."

Arthur paused for a moment so he could lean on the sink counter, regarding Alfred with a raised eyebrow. The younger man smiled gallantly at his audience before his face took on his a more serious expression to narrate the rest of his grand adventure. "Suddenly the speed was far too great for our hero; he began to wobble at the incredible speed." His hand began to mimic his ultimate doom. "With upcoming trees it was only a matter of time, then WHAP!" He clapped his hands together sharply and Arthur's second eyebrow raised as well. "I go right into one of the trees and the next thing I know I'm on my back and both of my snowblades are nowhere in sight."

Arthur turned to look at the mirror, placing the bandage over his cut. It wasn't broad enough to cover the entire gash but Arthur seemed satisfied as he began placing the tube of Neosporin back into the kit and threw away the paper remains of the band aid into the small waste basket.

"Did you ever get the hang of the snowblades?" He finally asked, snapping the lid of the first aid kit closed.

Alfred's eyes lost a bit of their excited twinkle behind their wire-rimmed glasses. "Not exactly."

Arthur looked at Alfred expectantly as he exited the washroom. Alfred left the first aid kit where it was and followed Arthur. "I exchanged the snowblades for skis when I eventually got to the bottom of the hill."

Arthur chuckled and Alfred smiled, glad that they had somehow broken through the awkward barrier.

Alfred passed Arthur and headed into the kitchen, making a beeline to the fridge. He rummaged though translucent Tupperware filled with dishes he had no clue how to pronounce. "Are you hungry?"

"Starving," Arthur said simply, seating himself at their kitchen table.

Alfred gave up trying to pick something and pulled out as many plastic containers he could balance before dumping them unceremoniously near the microwave.

They kept a light conversation going, in which time Alfred heated up two plates for their dinner as he told Arthur general facts about himself. Arthur was a good listener, Alfred found; he was scathing and really harsh between comments, but he sat and listened to Alfred regardless, never cutting him off or interrupting once.

"You don't look nineteen," Arthur said, placing his fork down when most of his plate was cleared. He had left the vegetables intact while all the meat had steadily disappeared. Alfred, on the other hand, was already finishing off his second helping, and ate, as Arthur described, like an "uncivilized Neanderthal." Alfred responded by eating faster.

"Older, right?" Alfred asked, a bit hopefully.

"Younger," Arthur amended, pushing his plate away. Alfred pouted and moved to stab one of Arthur's green beans.

"Everybody says that," Alfred grumbled, glaring down at his own plate. "Guess I have a baby face."

"If you lost some weight in your face you would look older," Arthur pronounced around the brim of his glass.

"I'm not fat," Alfred snapped, self-consciously putting his fork down as well. Sure he was a little chubbier around the middle after he had gotten into college, but that was only because he had worked out nearly every day in high school when he was on the varsity baseball team. Plus, between classes, papers, and working, there wasn't much time for him to do anything anymore.

Arthur placed his glass down, swallowing properly before answering. "I didn't say you were fat, Alfred. I'm just stating a fact. You would look older if your face lost a bit of its roundness. It would be the same for anyone." Arthur waved his hand before Alfred could say something else, dismissing the topic entirely. "Regardless, please continue with your family."

Alfred stood up, his voice perking up to a lighter tone as he talked about his brother and father, picking up the finished plates to place into the sink. He would get hell from Francis for not washing them, but he felt that getting scolded was completely worth being lazy for once.

"What about your mother?" Arthur asked as Alfred walked back to grab his drink.

The teenager's grip on his glass tightened a fraction, but he smiled all the same for Arthur. "She died when I was sixteen."

Arthur made eye contact with Alfred, the room falling silent for a beat. "I'm sorry to hear that."

Alfred shrugged, trying to play it off. He had gotten over it mostly, but it still was a sore spot when addressed directly. "She was in the hospital for a long time, at least she's not in pain anymore."

Alfred quickly changed the subject after that, going on and on about his brother, who was now living with his girlfriend and her brother. They sat and talked for a bit longer before Alfred glanced at the clock and made a face at how late it was. He still had to re-read his speech. He stood up, about to do just that when he looked over Arthur. He still appeared tired, at least to Alfred. He looked at the clock on the stove again, then at Arthur.

"Listen-" He started.

"I'm going to leave. Thank you for everything." Arthur stood up and started heading towards the door.

"Wha-? Wait, Arthur, that's wasn't what I was going to say." Alfred stood up and followed after Arthur. "Besides, it's freezing outside and it's almost three. Why don't you just crash on the couch?"

Arthur stopped short and Alfred nearly ran into him, stepping back and recovering as Arthur turned to look at him.

"Look, I have class in the afternoon so I'll just drive you where ever you need to go when we wake up." Alfred stood his ground when Arthur's unimpressed look came back with a vengeance.

"Okay, you seriously have to stop looking at me that. I'm offering my couch to you until morning. It's not like I'm asking you to sleep with me or something." Alfred flushed a bit at that last part, but continued. "You don't have to stay here, I'm just saying that you have the option."

Arthur blinked, his face going from superior to unreadable during Alfred's proclamation. It was quiet. Alfred shifted from one foot to the other uncomfortably as deep green eyes studied him. He could hear the wind outside.

"Fine." Arthur finally said.

Alfred grinned and retreated back into the hallway to get a few blankets from the hall closet. "Hey, do you mind using the throw pillows or do you want to use a pillow from my bed?"

"This is fine," Arthur's voice stated, presumably referring to the pillows already on the couch. Alfred could hear something rustling and nearly dropped the blankets in his arms when he saw Arthur's bare back. Arthur was far skinnier than Alfred had originally assumed. With the pea coat off and hanging neatly on the arm of the couch, he could clearly see the slim frame it was hiding.

"Aren't you cold?" Alfred asked.

Arthur looked over his shoulder at Alfred as he toed out of his shoes. "I mean, you're not wearing anything but that," Alfred pointed at the pea coat.

"It's really warm." Arthur supplied simply.

Alfred nodded, walking over to the couch and dumping the thick blankets on the cushions.

Alfred waited for Arthur to settle in before telling him that he still had some work to do for his class tomorrow. Arthur berated him for slacking off and said, quite firmly, he didn't need to be baby sat for this long. 'Go do your bloody paper' was Arthur's goodnight and Alfred retreated into his bedroom, chuckling through his 'sweet dreams' before closing his door.


This is the end of Chapter One my lovelies, I'm gonna try and update this story once every two weeks or sooner so you know what to expect. Thank you so much for all the reviews (I was really surprised at how many people were interested in reading this…) But you all have convinced me otherwise and I'm making it a priority to write regularly. Please remember that I am in college and that if I miss my deadline of two weeks that I'm just being a college student and not to fret, I will have the next chapter up soon.

Special thanks to Elle Eclaire for edits~