Chapter 2

America gave Arthur his old room from when he used to visit back in the colonial period. The room looked exactly the same; he felt like it was a bit dustier than last time he came. America hadn't been in there in at least two hundred years, he guessed, other than to occasionally dust, every ten years or so. Arthur sighed and brushed the thick sheet of gray off the bed and pulled the covers back. A spider crawled across the newly revealed surface, and Arthur watched as it scrambled to safety under the pillow.

This is it. He thought, This is where we go to die. The world is ending as we speak, and there is nothing we can do about it. Even the nations holding on the longest are falling. We're all falling.

He curled up under the sheets and sneezed. Down the hall, he heard America shout something like, "Bless you," but he wasn't exactly sure. Soon, he was asleep, though not for very long.

The moment the sun rose, America was in his room, shouting for him to get up. "Come on, Arthur! We're going hunting for more food today! Even Gilbert is coming!"

"Bloody hell, why are you waking me up this early, America? You can't be getting up yet!" Arthur groaned as the sheets were ripped off him.

"A post-apocalyptic environment is no place for sleeping in! We have to work to survive now!" America cheered. "Now get dressed, old man! You're clothes are still in the closet."

"After all these years?" Arthur shielded his eyes from the sunlight. The days were growing increasingly darker, but the light still bothered him in the mornings. Now, he could barely understand how he survived before the war when the light was so much brighter.

"You need someone to watch the house while you are gone," Arthur pointed out.

America laughed. Even now, his laugh was as bouncy as ever. "Good try, old man, but a sleeping Brit won't guard the house. You're getting up and you're going to help us!"

"I'm in hiding, remember?" Arthur sat up, yawning. "I shouldn't be seen by the public."

"These people won't recognize you! Besides, Gilbert has the perfect disguise for you. He's waiting in the bathroom."

"Fine, I'll get up, but if this is some kind of trick, I swear…"

Arthur should not have gotten up. He should not have complied to America and Gilbert's amazing plan.

"Gilbert, where are my eyebrows?" Arthur stared blankly at the mirror when Gilbert finally let him open his eyes.

"Look in the sink!" Gilbert let out his signature laugh as Arthur looked, horrified, down the drain. Hundreds of small hairs coated the bowl, hairs that had once been his eyebrows.

"What have you done, you thieving wanker?!" Arthur garbled. He could barely make words out of the nonsense.

Gilbert grinned. "Now no one will recognize you. Without your eyebrows you are a new person! Now, you can really be Arthur Kirkland."

"I can make a perfect disguise, thank you very much. Besides, what are you going to do about that hair of yours. Everyone will pick you out in an instant," Arthur growled.

Gilbert snorted. "America found some hair dye the other day. These delicious locks will be a new color by the time the hour is up!"

"Ha. I'm sure you found something equally as noticeable," Arthur snorted.

"Nein, America found black, and black blends in with the night," Gilbert picked up a bottle of black dye from the floor and shoved it in Arthur's face.

"People still notice black, Gilbert," Arthur rolled his eyes and walked out of the bathroom. The moment he appeared downstairs in the kitchen, America burst out laughing.

"You look great, Iggy- er, Arthur!" America snorted.

"Really, you two should have trusted that I would have made a disguise better than this one. With my magic-"

"Dude, magic doesn't work if you're not a nation anymore," America interrupted.

Arthur paused. "What?"

"Gil couldn't do anything after his country fell, and he knew when Ludwig fell last night, because he couldn't feel the connection anymore. And Lukas lost his," America explained.

Arthur just stared at him. "What do you mean Gilbert and Ludwig lost theirs?"

"You and Lukas aren't the only ones with magic. You just have the strongest abilities. Every nation has something, just like how the brothers have connections. Mattie and I can still feel each other, but it broke between Gilbert and Ludwig after Germany fell. It takes only one nation's magic to still feel each other, but it's not as strong with a fallen nation because it's the other nation's magic that is keeping the bond. It's the same magic that makes us immortal. Once we fall, we can be killed."

"Is… is Canada still alive?" Arthur asked. His hand met his temple and he leaned heavily against the wall.

America nodded. "He's still hanging on. He doesn't have much more than his capital, and his health is declining from the rising water levels, but he's still alive."

"Thank goodness," Arthur nodded.

At that point there was a scream. The two men ran upstairs and found Gilbert staring at his soaking wet, black and gray hair. "It's so unawesome!" he shrieked. "What is this stuff? My hair isn't black!"

"You probably didn't do it right, git," Arthur shook his head. "Let me help. I can- Is there any dye left in the box?"

It was going to be hard getting used to losing his magic. Would he never see his friends again? Thinking about it now, he hadn't seen them since before the war ended. And the last time he had used his magic was at the end of the war. For once, he hadn't messed up a spell. It saved him, but only momentarily. Now, his nation was falling yet again, and he feared nothing could fix it.

"Arthur?" Gilbert reached over and shook the Brit's shoulder.

He jolted. "What?"

"You weren't responding to anything for a minute there. Are you okay?" Gilbert asked.

Arthur sucked in a deep breath. "Yes, I am fine."

"Good. Now, here is the rest of the dye. Maybe you could fix this unawesome hair of mine," he smirked and handed the box to Arthur. He examined it and read the directions.

"Did you try to wash your hair?" Arthur looked up at Gilbert's dripping hair.

"Yeah, it's supposed to get the chemicals out," Gilbert said.

"You aren't supposed to do that for a while. Now grab a towel and hand it to me." Arthur instructed. It took several minutes, but he managed to fix Gilbert's hair enough that it wasn't erratically gray and black.

"Now we can go out and find food!" America cheered, and the three of them headed out.

Several minutes down the road, America began to get an itchy feeling. Something wasn't right.

He glanced behind them, but no one was following them; in fact, nobody was around in any direction he could see, which really wasn't all that far. Still, he could tell that they were not in immediate danger of being attacked.

"Face forward, America," Arthur snapped. "People will start to suspect us."

"Something's off. I can't tell, but something feels like it's missing…" America trailed off.

"How so?" Gilbert asked.

"I dunno, I feel like something is missing that should be there. It kind of hurts-" America broke off into a cough, soon causing him to double over, clutching his stomach.

"America, what's going on?" Gilbert and Arthur grabbed his arms and pushed him into a sitting position.

"The west coast, it's breaking off into the ocean," he gasped out, clutching his side.

"We have to get him home," Arthur lifted America. Gilbert helped, and the two of them backtracked to America's house.

Arthur fished the keys out of America's pants and unlocked the door. They set him on the couch, and England ran to grab a glass of water.

"Hey, America, it's just the west coast. You'll be okay in a few hours… It's nothing compared to losing your capital," Gilbert patted him on the head as Arthur returned with the water.

"My capital won't last much longer, I only hope his does," Arthur brought the glass to America's lips.

Gilbert nodded. "You know it's coming, but even when it does, there's no way to brace yourself for the pain. Many nations don't survive past the fall of their nation."

"We'll have to save his nation," Arthur nodded.

America sputtered when the water went down the throat, but a moment later, he accepted it and swallowed a few more sips graciously. "Thanks," he rasped.

"Hey, America! You doing okay?" Gilbert flashed him a huge smile.

America coughed. "Yeah, I'm fine, just a little sore." He moved to get up and fell back onto the couch, groaning.

Arthur frowned. "You don't need to be getting up anytime soon. You'll be staying here today."

"But I have to help us get food. I know all the places," America whined.

Arthur shook his head. "No, you will not be getting up. We can find the places ourselves. Gilbert has lived here long enough, and I used to come here all the time. It can't be that different."

"You've never been able to find your way around here. Let the hero help you," America attempted once again to get up, and once again fell back down.

"You can't even stand, let alone walk around and find supplies. Stay here, and you can help us when you are better," Arthur commanded.

Gilbert whispered into Arthur's ear, "I can stay back and watch him if you go and get some supplies. Just don't get lost."

"Okay, thank you," Arthur nodded and handed the water glass to Gilbert. "Well, I'll be going now. I'll be back by sundown."

And with that, Arthur left the house. He found his feet carrying him down the path back to the dock where he arrived. He rubbed his bare forehead. Gilbert and America had been right; on his voyage over here, he had gotten many odd looks, and a child even came up to him and asked him various odd questions that only a nation could answer, and when the boy's mother drew him away, she said, "I'm sorry, Mister Bri- Mister."

That boy had reminded him of Sealand. The micro nation hadn't survived long into the war. His metal "island" had been bombed early on, and even though his citizens had evacuated, and he was living with Sweden, Arthur doubted he lived long. Even if he made it through the war, all the flooding that wiped out the Nordics would have killed him too.

Only a few people were milling around on the docks, trading fish and other supplies. Arthur felt around in his pockets: nothing. He would have to move on to somewhere else or risk stealing something without getting caught.

His eyes scanned the area. Many of the traders were keeping knives in their belt loops or pockets. Some even had guns. Children were kept close to their mothers. Everyone kept watch of their few possessions.

Arthur approached a man nearby with a cart of fish. "Good day, sir. Might I ask where you go those fish?"

"There's a lake nearby I own. One of the few with clean water. I suggest you don't go near there if you value your life," he growled. He stared at Arthur with one focused eye: the other was wandering in every direction, pale and useless with the eyelid mostly drooped over it.

"Thank you," Arthur dipped his head and scurried away back to the outskirts.

He would have to find someone weaker or move on. Fishing in the sea wasn't an option anymore, not since they were so thick with pollution and dying creatures from the dropping salinity levels. Marine biologists had taken these post war days to their advantage as many unknown sea animals washed up on shore. He would have to look on land, but that would be hard with many of the creatures here dying as well.

In the end, Arthur followed a young man away from the docks. There was a possibility this man could help him find something. If not, Arthur felt like he still had enough strength to take this man and steal the supplies he got earlier.

After a few minutes, the man looked back, catching sight of Arthur. He smiled back at him half-heartedly and quickened his pace. Arthur matched it, and when the man checked behind his shoulder again, his eyes widened, and he moved faster, almost into a run. Arthur broke into a run and shouted, "I just wanted to ask where you're finding food!"

"It's not free! I'm not giving it to you!" the man shouted back. "Stop following me!"

"I just need to know where you found it!"

"I told you: it's not free! I bought it! At this point, the man had stopped looking back at Arthur and was concentrating solely on keeping his food in his arms while running.

Arthur picked up his pace even more. He was gaining on the man now, and with luck, he would catch up to him before he grew too tired to keep chasing after the food. The man stumbled, and, with a loud cry, he fell to the ground, spilling his bread and packages of American foods everywhere. Arthur slowed down just before bumping into the man.

"Are you okay?" he bent down to help the man. He took Arthur's arm begrudgingly and sat up. Eyes widening, he moved to grab the food closest to him. Arthur reached over and grabbed a loaf of bread, then handed it to the man. "Here, this is yours."

An idea suddenly formed in Arthur's head. All I have to do is help him with most of his things, and while he isn't paying attention, I'll take three of the packets of whatever junk that is. He won't notice the difference, what with already having so many of these.

"Thank you," the man got up and dusted himself off before taking the loaf of bread. He bent down and began picking up his belongings.

Arthur helped. Whenever the man was not looking, he would sneak one into his large pockets. After taking four of them, he resolved to giving the rest back to the man. When Arthur could not see anything else lying in the path, he stretched his back and coughed. "Looks like we got everything. Sorry for troubling you, sir. I haven't seen anyone in a while, and you had food. I must have gotten ahead of myself. My deepest apologies for my lack of self control."

"You are quite fine. You gave me quite a scare back there! I thought you were out to kill me!" the man laughed.

"Why would anyone try to kill another man?" Arthur asked.

The man said, "You don't know? Many people have been going around killing other men and women for food or shelter. They believe killing more people will give them a better chance at survival."

"How long has that been happening?"

"Since the war ended. It's been really bad back up in my state-um, where I live. Many people I know well have died up North. Many of the states there are collapsing."

"Where are you from?"

"Delaware."

"And your name?"

"De- I'm not giving that out. You may have helped me, but I am not going to trust anyone."

"Very well then. I will be on my way now," Arthur turned to leave. "I suggest you do the same before you run into any unwanted people that do not stop themselves like I do."

"Thank you!" The man smiled.

Arthur was several meters away before he heard the man call out again: "Hey! There are supposed to be twenty bags in here! Not sixteen!"

Dammit, Arthur thought. He wasn't supposed to notice! "Maybe they fell in the grass," Arthur suggested, realizing it was a bad suggestion only after he said it. Most of the grass had died, leaving only a few shriveled shrubs lining the paths. He would need a lot of luck getting out of this one.

"There's nowhere they could have fallen where I can't see them!" the man insisted, thrusting his hand out to show me the sparse shrubs.

"Did you miscount? Or drop some while I was chasing you?" Arthur suggested.

The man frowned. "Did you steal any?"

"N-no! I would never do such a thing!" Arthur stammered.

The man replied, "You're lying. Look: your pockets are bulging. They weren't before."

"I don't understand." Arthur took a step back. "There is nothing wrong with my pockets." Patting his pockets was a bad idea. Arthur should have realized that from the start, but he did it anyways. Instead of little to no sound that would come from having an empty pocket, a crinkling noise erupted from Arthur's pants. The two men made eye contact, and then another chase began. Arthur ripped back down the path, his old legs taking him as fast as they could go, which wasn't very fast, now that he was thinking about it. For whatever reason, the man chasing him happened to be even slower. Usually humans were fast than that.

These were changing times, Arthur reminded himself. The change in the environment and climate, added with the radioactive wastelands and declining health of many people and other species that would usually feed the population would cause everyone to lose some of their abilities, such as running fast and for long distances.

The man was still following Arthur when he began to run out of energy. He only hoped he would be home before he collapsed. His lungs were beginning to burn, and a growing pain in his side was stabbing him, making it harder to stand straight. His knees were groaning with every step, and Arthur's head was pounding. He would have to stop soon, and then the man would catch up to him. His only hope was to keep going until one of them got too tired to go on.

"Come back, old man!" the man yelled at him.

Arthur somehow shook his head and said, "No!" He could barely form the words in his mouth before his jaw went slack and spit flew everywhere as he hurdled over a fallen tree. Soon, he would be safe. And they would have food. Not much food, but food, nonetheless.

"Filthy thief!" The man shouted, but the voice was farther away than before. Arthur risked a look back, and, to his joy and astonishment, the man had stopped running.

"Yes!" He whispered to himself so that he was the only one who could hear it. He kept running a minute longer, then broke into a jog and soon after that, a brisk walk. He could feel his insides burning, and his throat was hollow, but he was safe. Every minute or so, he looked back at the man standing there on the other side of the tree, and eventually he turned to leave. Arthur smiled and continued on his way back to America's house. As night descended upon him, he passed by the graveyard where he met America only a day earlier. The blue flowers America had set on the old grave were already wilting. Arthur wondered where America had found flowers still so alive not that long ago. Everything he saw here was dying. Only those flowers were alive, and, even in their current wilting state, they had more life than any of the other plants.

Arthur sighed and hurried back to America's house. His bad leg was greatly paining him, and he doubted he would be able to stand much longer. If the water pumps were still working, when he got back he would take a nice, long bath. Nothing else sounded better than warm water soaking his skin and aching bones.