The morning was dark and stormy. Arthur tried to roll over and get comfortable, but something stopped him. Something large and warm, with a familiar, comforting scent.

He snuggled into Alfred's side, feeling the fabric of the hospital gown crinkle under his weight. Strong arms cradled him gently. A careful kiss was planted to the top of his head. Arthur opened his eyes and looked up. Al's hollow blue eyes were looking at him contemplatively. There was something different about him that Arthur couldn't quite place. Resignation was folded into the creases in his forehead. Despair clung to his breath like whiskey. This wasn't Al. Al was always laughing, always joking. Happiness radiated off of him. He was always talking. Now there was only silence. It was a quietness that stole your breath and clenched at your chest.

Arthur swallowed away the fist gripping his lungs. "Good morning."

Al's eyes widened a bit. "You could say that."

"How're you doing?"

"Bullet wound's all sealed up. I heal fast," he replied with a shrug.

Arthur whispered, "That's not what I was asking."

"I know."

They didn't talk after that. They just sat there, Alfred with his arms around Arthur, Arthur trying to enjoy it while it lasted.

Kiku walked in.

"Hello. I need to speak with Kirkland-san please," he said shortly.

Al slid his hands away from Arthur. The linoleum floor was cold under his bare feet. They stood to the side of the door, which Kiku pulled shut behind him.

"What's up?" Arthur tried to ask casually.

Kiku looked at him gravely. "Kirkland-san, Jones-kun is free to go home. We are releasing him to you."

Arthur nodded, and then did a double take. "To me? Why can't he just go home?"

Kiku looked uncomfortable. "You may have noticed that Jones-kun is rather, well, depressed. We think it would be best if he had someone to watch him. You can of course, refuse, but I think you will have Jones-kun's best interests in mind."

So it was true. Even the doctors had noticed.

"Yeah, I'll take him."

"Excellent. Arrangements will be made at once."

Arthur shuffled back into the room. Alfred cocked an eyebrow. "So, what're you doin' with me?" he asked.

He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. "You're gonna stay at my house for a while."

"Okay."

That was easy. Arthur had been sure that getting Al to resign to staying at his house would take at least twenty minutes and possibly some sedatives. The quick capitulation caught him by surprise.

"Are you gonna take a shower?" Alfred ran a hand through his hair. "I sure as hell need one."

"I'll take one after you're done," Arthur waved him into the bathroom that smelled of antiseptic and old people. He set about packing up, shoving books into the bag, wondering how on Earth Francis had gotten them all to fit in there. Speaking of Francis, the bastard had packed a shirt that read "From Paris, With Love" in curly pink writing. It was one of those shirts that always fall off one shoulder, no matter what you do to stop it. Arthur had a sneaking suspicion that was a girl shirt. One that was confirmed when Alfred walked out of the bathroom, dripping wet and glorious, cocked an eyebrow and asked, "What the fuck are you wearing?"

Arthur blushed. "Francis picked it out for me, the bastard."

The corner of Alfred's mouth curled up a fraction of an inch. "Looks good on you. You should wear French fashion more often."

"Oh, shut up, you."

Alfred got dressed in jeans and a t-shirt that wasn't for girls, and then Kiku came to the room and ushered them down to a much too fancy sports car. Francis was behind the wheel, wearing stylish sunglasses and button down shirt with too few buttons. He helped Arthur put the bags in the trunk of the car.

"I see you like my shirt, mon amour," he purred.

Arthur elbowed him in the ribs. "For your information, I'm only wearing this because everything else was dirty, you ponce." he hissed.

"He looks bad," Francis murmured.

"I know." Arthur glanced at Al sitting in the back seat of the car, shoulders slumped, face in his hands. He was paler than usual.

"Take care of him. I don't want to see you if something should happen to him. Your heartbreak would be unbearable, mon petale." Francis pressed a light kiss to the back of Arthur's neck and walked away, climbing into the car. Arthur got into the other side, right next to Al. He shivered in the blast of freezing air from the air conditioner, so Arthur looped an arm around him and leaned into him.

"I would buckle up. I drive, how do you say, recklessly." Francis gave them a shit-eating grin in the rearview mirror before stomping on the gas pedal.

"JESUS CHRIST! WHO DID YOU GET DRIVING LESSONS FROM? ITALY?" Arthur shrieked as the sped down the road at a bound-to-be-illegal speed.

Francis pouted. "No, he got them from me."

"Slow down!" Arthur grasped for the seatbelt, not feeling much better when it was snapped into place. The only good thing about Francis's insane driving was that they got to Arthur's house in a time he didn't think was possible. He took longer than that getting to Al. He flinched. It was his fault Alfred was like this. If he had gotten there sooner, everything would be okay. Al would be happy. Arthur wouldn't be so indebted to Francis.

Al didn't notice when they pulled into the driveway. He didn't move when Arthur got out of the car and popped the trunk, retrieving the bags. He looked as if he could sit in the car forever. Francis stuck his head in the car. "We must go, I know my car is fabulous, but really, the house is much fancier."

Alfred murmured something.

"What was that?"

"I said, 'Why didn't he fall for you?' This'd be so much easier on him. With you he'd be happy. With me, it'll just end up badly." Al clenched his hair in his fists.

"You think I know? If I had my way, I would be with him, and you, well, I don't know where you'd be. Didn't you start the fight with Russia and China because of him?"

Al nodded. "Ivan was being an asshole, saying that the British Empire didn't have any more pride left, that he should just give up, and disappear. I-I had to fight him. I couldn't let him get away with that."

"You had a reason to fight. Why are you depressed now?" Francis asked.

"Everyone died because of my anger. I could've just walked away. Told him off or something, I dunno. But no, I had to go stick my head in someone else's business, and so many men died because of me. And all of the other battles. So many people died. So many…" Tears fell down Al's face. He hiccupped.

"Francis! What did you do?!" Arthur yelled, pulling him away from the car door.

"Shh, it's okay. It's okay. Everything is gonna be fine," he told Al, cradling his face in his paler hands. Arthur planted a kiss on his forehead, just under the cowlick. "It's gonna be okay. Shh."

Al looked up at him, eyes watery. "Why do you love me?" he asked desperately.

"What?"

"Why do you love me? I hurt you so badly that time," Arthur recalled with a wince. The Revolutionary War was forever engraved in his memories. "See! Even now it still hurts you! So why? Why not Francis?! He hasn't hurt you as badly as I have. He's not depressed. He-he-he…" Alfred collapsed into sobs. Arthur wrapped his arms around him.

"The War was my fault. I knew you wanted to be free, I had been expecting it, but I was too stubborn. I didn't want to let it go. And I love you because you are you. It may not be rational, to you there may be other choices I could have, but for me, there will always be you, and only you." Arthur rocked them back and forth on the leather seat, stroking Al's hair.

"Big brother, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Shh, it's okay. It's okay."