Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia: Axis Powers.
Chapter Two
"ARTHUR!"
Scotland sprinted down an almost completely destroyed London street, Wales and Northern Ireland on his tail. None of them had been expecting a home front attack, and the fact that their brother's whereabouts were currently unknown had them terrified and in a rush to locate him. The Germans had left London in a post-apocalyptic state after an entire night of bombings. People were slowly revealing themselves from their hiding places as they ventured back out into the world to locate missing relatives and to survey the damage that had been caused.
After the Germans had gone, Scotland, Wales, and Northern Ireland tried to comprehend the damage bestowed upon their brother's capital. The previous night had been torture for the brothers. The only thing that each of them had been able to think about was what condition Arthur was in, and whether or not he was able to find shelter before he endured the long night of pain they knew he inevitably suffered.
Scotland continued to surge forward, wild desperation in his emerald eyes. They scanned every source of destruction and rubble for his brother, unable to focus on anything that was not Arthur's unruly, blond hair. His legs refused to stop their mad movements, and his throat continued to shout for Arthur. He barely registered his two other younger brothers, but he did know that their bodies were currently mimicking his own actions. Not one of the brothers knew how long they had been frantically running around London in search of Arthur, but none of them thought to care. All that mattered was finding him.
Then, three pairs of matching green eyes met their target at the same time. Without any hesitation, Scotland, Wales, and Northern Ireland sprinted towards their brother's limp body that was strewn across the pavement. Scotland reached Arthur first, immediately knelling to his brother's side, and began to try to awaken him from his unconscious state. Wales and Northern Ireland caught up to him a moment later, worry written on their faces as they fought to regain their breath.
The first thing they noticed was how deathly pale Arthur was. Blood was smeared across his chest and face, as well as the pavement where he had convulsed the previous night. His breathing was shallow and broken, but nevertheless there, bringing an overwhelming relief to the three brothers. Scotland continued his attempts to wake Arthur up, but knew he would be unable to do so. Wales and Northern Ireland looked at each other with concern.
"Allistor," Wales began, trying to make his words as soothing as possible as he addressed his older brother. "C'mon, now. We need to get Arthur home."
Scotland refused to show any sign that he had heard his brother, but Wales knew he had. Northern Ireland continued to shift his stare to each of his brothers, waiting for a response from Allistor. After a moment of silence, Scotland spoke.
"Look at heem, Dylan. He's waur than Ah thooght." Dylan placed a comforting hand on Scotland's shoulder, and Northern Ireland continued to stare at them, unsure of what to do. After another moment of silence, Scotland returned to his feet, gingerly picking Arthur up as he did. Once satisfied that Arthur was secure in his grasp, Allistor began to lead his brothers home.
The three brothers could only look around in shock at the destruction that the bombs had left. Craters had been created in the streets and buildings were continuing to collapse every now and then as the last of their supports left them. Some people were mourning those who had died while others were being rushed to hospitals for their injuries. The brothers passed a few fires that had failed to be attended to, and people were coming together for support and comfort as they tried to come to terms with exactly what they had experienced. As Allistor took in the scenes playing before him, Arthur began to stir in his arms, bringing him back to Scotland's full attention.
"Arthur?"
Wales and Northern Ireland immediately looked at Arthur. His eyes were beginning to open weakly, exhaustion and pain filling their expression. Allistor had stopped walking in order to inspect his brother.
"S-Scot-" Arthur immediately let out a series of violent coughs that were followed by pained whimpers. His body shuddered violently and his eyelids clenched shut from pain.
"Don't speak, Arthur," Wales said after Arthur had calmed from his fit. "You're in no state to be doing anything right now."
"Dylan's reit. Those krauts cam an' kicked yer arse lest nicht," Allistor confirmed. Arthur tried to muffle a groan as another wave of pain ran through his body. Memories of the night's events played in his mind, and he kept his eyes shut in order to protect himself from the sights of the aftermath, quickly sending him to sleep. The lack of Arthur's protests to being carried concerned Allistor, and he continued his journey with quicker and larger paces. Wales and Northern Ireland followed suit.
They arrived at Arthur's home thirty minutes later. Kirkland Manor, located just outside of London, had been spared of damage. The home was beautiful and proud, much like its master, and stood at the top of a lush hill. The old, grey stone that made up the exterior was decorated with thin lines of green ivy that had survived Arthur's countless attempts of the foliage's destruction. Of the four brothers, he was the only one who was not partial to what he referred to as the "parasite plant creeping up on his home." Rose bushes skirted the bottom of the manor, and a long, cobble-stoned driveway placed the path leading up to the home. A fountain gurgled in the front courtyard, and the sun peaked through the clouds to shine gently over the manor's grounds.
Allistor led his brothers inside, and they immediately scurried off in different directions. Allistor took Arthur to his room, Dylan hurried off to find fresh towels and warm water, and Northern Ireland rushed to get the medical kit. Dylan and Northern Ireland met Allistor in Arthur's room and the three brothers set to work. Soon after, Arthur was lying in bed, his wounds cleaned up and bandaged. While he was still pale and his breathing was not quite even, a considerable amount of color had returned to face and his breathing was no longer coming in rugged gasps. This brought a small sense of relief to his brothers, who took turns keeping an eye on him while he slept throughout the rest of the day.
Francis rushed through the defeated streets of Paris, desperately trying to make his way home. He had just learned of the events that took place in England the previous night, and he needed to contact a certain American. Nazi soldiers patrolled the streets as Parisians scurried by with their heads down to avoid eye contact. It pained Francis to see his people in this state, but he pushed it to the back of his mind as he continued towards his home.
A few minutes later, Francis found himself opening the door to his penthouse off of Les Champs-Elysées. He locked the door behind him, and shuffled around the penthouse, closing windows and luxurious curtains as he went. The early morning sun disappeared from his view. Once he felt a small sense of security, he took a deep breath, and locked himself into his study. There, he sat down at his desk and dialed Alfred's number into his phone.
The phone rang several times before Alfred answered, unnerving the Frenchman. He tapped his foot impatiently as his anxiety returned to him. Perspiration began to mist his forehead as he felt his body temperature increase. Though he knew that only a few seconds had passed, Francis felt time slow dramatically. When he wasn't sure how much more he could take, he heard the familiar voice on the other end of the phone line answer his call.
"Hello?" Alfred asked.
"Amérique!" Francis began, unable to keep calm as words began to flood uncontrollably from his mouth. "Amérique! C'est très sérieux! C'est Angleterre. Allemagne l'a attaqué, et je ne sais pas s'il est d'accord.Je t'ai besoin le trouver pour moi et-"
"Wow, slow down there, Francis," Alfred said, unable to understand a word of his French. "You know that I don't speak French. What happened?"
"Alors, je suis désole. J'ai oublié," Francis continued. "It'z Angleterre, Amérique. Germany bombed London last night. I don't know where Art'ur iz or what state 'e iz in. I can't go over zere to find out. You need to find 'im, Alfred. You need to make sure that 'e is un'armed. Call 'iz frères if you must."
Alfred froze on his side of the phone line. He hadn't heard a word after the Frenchman explained that London had been bombed. Fear took over him as concern over Arthur's well-being became his top priority. Trying his best to keep his adrenaline from peeking any higher, Alfred returned a small part of his attention to the still blabbering Francis.
"How serious was the bombing? How much damage was caused?" Alfred asked, barely noticing the small amount of panic that had crept its way into his voice.
"I do not know, Alfred. Ze German commanders will not tell me anyzing, and I draw conclusions based on ze gossip zat I 'ear from my people and what I pick up from eavesdropping on ze German commanders," Francis said. "While I know zat I am not providing many details, I am afraid of exactly what ze Germans 'ave done. Wars today no longer 'ave the restrictions or boundaries zat zey once did, and I am not sure what ze consequences are of zat. I am afraid for what 'as 'appened, Amérique. I am afraid for Art'ur."
Alfred allowed Francis's words to sink in before replying. A long silence stretched between the two nations, and each of them felt very old in their own ways. Pure exhaustion took over as memories from the Great War emerged themselves into their heads. They had each hoped that they would never experience those feelings of pure dread again, but they knew it was inevitable. Every nation did. While the end of the Great War brought incredible feelings of joy and respite for the Triple Entente, no one knew just how long those feelings would last. It was said by their people that it would be the war to end all wars, but the avatars knew this was not true. The threat of war always had and always would be alive somewhere in the world, no matter how much people may not want it to be. It was just a matter of time before the next war began. Although no one expected such a large scale war to erupt again so soon after the scars of the Great War began to heal, and Alfred knew that, no matter how hard he or his people tried to avoid it, their time to take part and join in the war would come. He knew that Germany was becoming too powerful and that Arthur would need his assistance, no matter how much the man would deny it. With his thoughts returning to Arthur, Alfred wondered just how much damage was done. He knew Arthur was strong, but Alfred could not prevent his worry from flooding over him. He needed to see Arthur.
"I'm going to London, Francis. I'll be in touch with you soon."
And with those words, Alfred hung up his phone and hurried off to see his president. He knew that his boss would not care for him to be anywhere near Europe during this time, determined to keep America out of the war. However, while America did not quite need to become involved in the war yet, Alfred did, and no one would be able to keep him from going to check on his former mentor.
Yes, England's brothers have made their way into this fan fiction. I originally wasn't going to include them in this story, but they some how became involved. Oh well, what can I say? I love them all! Their names were taken from the Hetalia Fan Made Characters Wiki page, so the credit goes there. Anyway, please rate review!