Disclaimer: I still own nothing. I just think the formatting looks funny without something between the title and the top of the page.

Awakening

Chapter Four

"Back away!" Ivan shouted over the patient's cries, and the surgical team obeyed in an instant.

Alfred screamed like a banshee and thrashed against the cloth straps that were holding him to the table. They had been made to hold Russia, so even with America's unnatural strength, they didn't budge. But the trashing was taking its toll, splattering blood from the open wound of his operation-in-progress, and he was still screaming, screaming his brother's name over and over…

"Alfred!" Arthur gasped, diving forward. He grabbed America's head with both hands and held it still in his grip. "Stop it! Stop this immediately! You're going to hurt yourself!"

Alfred's eyes were crazed and unfocused, lost somewhere between reality and nightmares. Arthur motioned furiously for the anesthesia. Poland shoved a facemask into his hand.

"Alfred, listen to me," England begged, pressing the mask over the patient's mouth and nose with some difficulty. "Listen, boy! You're safe. You're safe, you're free, and we're doing everything we can to help you, I promise, but you have to calm down and let us!"

Gasping for every breath, Alfred inadvertently pushed the drug through his system, and it soon began to take effect. His thrashing slowed to a stop. His blue eyes rolled in his head for a moment until they finally focused on England. "Are….Arthur?"

"Yes. Yes, it's me. I'm here. We're all here. You're going to be okay, Alfred."

"Iggy…"

England's heart broke. Alfred had not called him by that name, with that inflection, since he was a child. He looked so young with tears pouring down the sides of his face, so like the little boy who had run to him with scraped knees and bruised elbows.

"It hurts, Iggy," he whimpered. "It hurts so much."

Arthur swallowed, barely holding back the tears that pricked at his own eyes. "I know it does, my boy," he whispered, kissing America's forehead, which burned with fever. "Just stay strong. It will all be over soon. You're safe now. You're safe, and I'm here, and we're going to take care of you. I promise."

"Mattie…"

"Matthew's safe, too. We've got you both. He'll be with you when you wake up."

Alfred shook his head. His teary eyes glistened with an accusation: You're lying to me, you're lying, you're lying, he's gone…

Then his eyes rolled back as the anesthesia finally overcame him, and Alfred slipped back into blissful unconsciousness. England continued to hold onto him, his hands trembling, even as Feliks attached the equipment properly and it became clear that America would not stir again.

"Damage?" Ivan asked as he stepped back into his place.

"None," reported Eduard.

"Good. Let us continue."

Russia rolled up his sleeves and selected a tool from the tray that Belarus held out to him. Before he put it to work, he glanced to England. His expression was unusually soft for the northern nation, and it made Arthur's stomach squirm.

"I believe you are finished here, comrade," he said softly. "If you would like to go out and get some air…?"

"Yes," England said quickly, backing away. "Yes, yes, I think I will. Thank you."

He scurried out of the operating room, barely making it out the door before the tears came. He sank to the floor and buried his eyes in his hands, hoping desperately that the tears would be able to wash away the image he knew would forever be burned into his brain.

America continued to sleep.

( - )

Alfred didn't sleep a wink without Matthew by his side. He sat up most of the night, comforting the children who woke with nightmares and praying to every god he knew to bring his brother back safely.

First thing the following morning, barrack door was kicked open and a single prone figure was shoved back into the bunks. He stumbled over the step and fell to the ground, moaning in pain. The door slammed shut behind him, but Alfred paid it no notice, leaping to his feet. "Mattie!"

He scrambled to his fallen brother's side. The Canadian was heaving sob after dry sob, as though he had no more tears to give, keeping his hands clutched over his face. Gently, Alfred took his brother by the shoulders, guiding him to sit up. "Mattie? C'mon Mattie, speak to me."

Matthew sniffled, hiccupped slightly, and said, "Al?"

Alfred smiled. "Yeah, Matt. It's me."

Matthew clutched at nothing for a moment, grasping nothing but air until his fingers finally found their way to the folds of Alfred's shirt. He gripped his brother's arm with one hand and pulled himself close. His eyes were clenched shut, and his glasses were nowhere to be found.

"God, Matt," Alfred said, taking hold of the hand that held his arm. "What's wrong?"

"I can't…I can't see, Al."

With a small sigh – thankful, at least, that his brother was beside him once more – Alfred stood and picked Matthew up off the floor. "It's okay, Matt. I've got you. C'mon."

"Yeah, Mister Matthew," Alyshea chimed in, grabbing Canada's free hand. "It's gonna be okay, you'll see."

"Yeah, you'll see," Anastasia echoed, pulling along with her sister.

They led Matthew to his bunk, the girls curling up at the foot of the bed while Alfred knelt beside his twin. He took Matthew's face in his hands and turned it slightly to examine the damage. Both eyes were heavily swollen, the skin around them scarred with burns and small blisters. The rest of his body bore cuts and scars, but they were minor, already closing up with the nation's preternaturally quick healing time. But his eyes…

"Matt," Alfred said softly. "I need you to open your eyes for me."

Matthew whimpered. "It hurts."

"I know it does," Alfred whispered, brushing the bangs away from his brother's forehead to plant a small kiss underneath them. "I know, and I'm sorry, but I have to see."

Matthew whimpered again, but slowly forced his eyes open. The purple orbs were murky and unseeing, blinded by the chemicals they had been exposed to. One was covered by a thick blue stain that began in the center of his iris and spread messily across the white like an ink blot. The other was bleeding from a dozen small pinpricks, rendered sightless as much by blood as by the dye that lurked just beneath the surface.

Alfred's breath hitched in this throat. His grip tightened and he saw red.

At that moment, the door opened again and the SS guards – twice as many as usual this time – filed in. They flanked either side of the door and saluted as Mengele and his assistants entered behind, smiling like the cat who had just caught the canary.

"Good morning, children," he said brightly.

"You son of a bitch!"

Alfred threw himself at the doctor in a rage, his movements so sudden that his guards didn't have time to catch him. He slammed his fist into Mengele's cheek, throwing the man back against the heavy door. The nurses screamed, as did several of the children, and the SS descended on the attacker en masse. Within seconds, Alfred was restrained, snarling and snapping like a rabid dog.

Matthew jerked after his brother, hearing the sounds of the struggle and the violent curses. Alyshea and Anastasia clung to him from either side, keeping him on the bed. "Alfred?"

"You fucking bastard," Alfred snarled at Mengele, yanking violently at the arms that held him. "You lay a finger on my brother ever again and I'll kill you, I swear I will. If you weren't such a fucking coward, you'd be dead right now. You hear me? Dead!"

Mengele recovered from the attack, rubbing his now-bruised cheek and brushing off the nurses who were checking on him. He straightened his hair and smiled at the struggling prisoner of war amiably. "I'm sorry," he said in very slow English, "but my English is not so good. I'm afraid I cannot understand a word that you are saying."

"Fuck you, you son of a bitch," Alfred growled in broken German. "I'll see you rot in hell."

Mengele just chuckled again, removing Texas from Alfred's face. He leaned in close, pulling the American's eyelids open to examine his eyes. When his fingers strayed too close to his mouth, Alfred tried to bite him. Only quick reflexes got the doctor away without losing a digit.

With a sigh, Mengele straightened, ran a hand through his hair and turned to his assistant with the clipboard. "Cancel the rest of the appointments, would you please? I think I'll focus on this subject exclusively today."

Alfred growled at him. "Bring it on, bastard."

"Alfred?" Matthew called again, trying to stand, but the weight of three children – Philippe had joined the girls, and a few of the older children were hovering behind him just in case – held him down. "What are you doing? Alfred!"

"It's gonna be okay, Matt," Alfred called back, never breaking eye contact with Mengele. "Just watch out for the kids, okay?"

Matthew tried to think of something, anything he could say to stop what he knew was about to happen, but the words died in his throat. The barrack doors opened and Alfred was 'escorted' outside, only a few steps behind the smug doctor himself.

The door slammed shut with a deafening clang. Matthew strained his ears a moment longer, but heard nothing. He clenched his fists and lowered his head. "Al…"

Philippe turned around in his lap and hugged the teen around the waist. Matthew held onto him tightly – but not to tightly – and could almost imagine he was holding Kumajiro. It made things better. A little better.

But no matter what anyone said, he already knew: it would never be okay again.

TBC…