Alfred ran through the decimated city in his radiation suit, colored a shade of gray for blending purposes. His squad followed behind him at a distance due to the weight of the suits that the country was oblivious to. Though to where he was going he didn't know exactly. Did he want to find Belarus first so the could set up a perimeter and safely escort Ivan out of the area? Or maybe he should find Russia first. The latter was one he wanted to pull at more. The image of Ivan, blood covering him head to toe, was engraved in his memory.

On a whim, America decided to find his ally and pray to meet up with Belarus at some point. He was only a recon squad. They only had basic medical supplies, not enough for the injuries he had witnessed through the broadcast before the company cut off the live feed. Belarus most likely had better medical equipment . . . or so he hoped. After almost an hour, he was beginning to see recognizable rubble, which meant they must be getting close. Walking ahead, Alfred was going to make a mad dash to the building until a gun cocked off to his right from the cover of the debris.

A man, roughly in his late thirties, dressed in a black radiation suit with the Belarusian flag on the sleeve. He spoke his mother tongue, something Alfred wasn't fluent in. He held his hands up in a surrender position as the gun leveled with his head. Nervously, he licked his lips. What if Natalya had something against his coming? He slowly patted his chest. This was going to be a bit embarrassing. "A-Alfred. Friend . . . Natalya. Natalya?"

The man watched him carefully, but his eyes lit up at the name of the female country. He slowly tapped an internal radio and began talking in rapid Belarusian. A moment passed where Alfred prayed that Natalya wouldn't order his capture. The conversation ended, but the gun didn't drop. This, consequently, put a sinking motion into the American's gut. Luckily, the rest of his team had separated from when he stopped. They weren't to engage unless hostility became physical. Rule number one.

"What are you doing here America?"

The gun dropped and the man saluted before moving away. Alfred turned to be met with Natalya's disdainful glare, but it was at a much lesser degree since he was helping her Vanya. Still, her hands grasped her thin waist through her radiation suit.

"Isn't it obvious?" Alfred announced, shoving a thumb at himself, "I came to get Ivan and take him back to America and patch him up."

"Neyt, not happening America. My men are doing what they can right now, but we don't have enough. I left as soon as possible, not taking the time to wait for a chance update of Vanya. I didn't bring the heavy duty medical supplies you need. And with Poland on the way, I'm worried," she allowed her emotions to seep through a bit, her hands clasping and unclasping nervously, "And I want to get him out of the radiation as soon as possible, but moving him is dangerous in his state. Even while being a country."

As the hero should, America placed a firm hand on Belarus' shoulder, shooting her his 'It'll be alright' smile, "I got ya, I'll see what my guys can do." Turning from her out of his still-strong Cold War habit, he tapped his radio and contacted the rest of his team, "We've come across Belarus' team. They are tending to Russia as we speak. I want you guys to all form up on me and we'll head over to the site. Understood?"

"Copy that sir, we're coming," an elder voice crackled from the other end. After a good five minutes, all the Americans had arrived and they made their way to the treatment area.

In the cover of a forest of debris, Belarus' people had found a large slab on its side, a good use for a table. On it was Ivan, who looked even worse than Alfred remembered. He still had that giant wound in his chest; a man who must have been a doctor was just beginning to sew it up. He had gauze and a white bandage strapped around his head to keep his right eye from infection. Even though it couldn't have been on for more than a half hour, red was seeping through the wrapping. His skin had severe burns that were scorched and some blistering, and many open wounds, some going black; not a good sign. A bit of dried blood trailed from his ears, obviously from the blast. His left wrist was in a tight cast, and the matching thigh was exposed to remove shrapnel. His scarf was gone, missing somewhere in the dark of the nearby hole. While his skin had once been smooth and soft, it was now cut and scarring. In short, he looked like shit.

At this moment, America would go over to his ally and lightly touch his hair and face, telling him it would be all right. Sadly, his ally's marriage-obsessed little sister was there, so no touching allowed. He didn't want to get into a domestic quarrel . . . no matter how wrong her want to marry her own brother was.

"So can we move him once he's all sewn up?" Alfred asked watching intently.

The platinum blonde girl shook her head, "I wouldn't want to move him. He's lost too much blood and in very much pain. Also, he'd need to go into a chamber to cleanse his body of the radioactivity, not counting the internal damage due to the toxicity. Sadly, we don't have one of those chambers. Do you?" He shook his head. He had hoped that Ivan wouldn't have gotten so injured and could have slipped into a radioactive suit.

Alfred frowned before nodding over to one of his men, a doctor from his own country who took out a small rod. This was to burn the arteries to keep the person from bleeding out, this one happened to run on batteries. His scientists had perfected this machine back in the 2000s, but they were never put into much use due to the high popularity of blood. After scientists had proven that the host's blood reacted to the donor's as it would a pathogen, the use of it was discontinued. Mostly from the death rate due to denaturation of the proteins during the fever. It turned many people off from donating when children died because of it. Now in wide use around America and Western Europe, it was a standard machine placed in every first aid kit.

The man moved forward and inspected Russia's leg. The shrapnel had cut into a major artery which was still pooling blood under heavy wrappings. He slowly undid the red bandages and revealed the gaping wound. With a soft flick of his wrist, the bleeding stopped. It would still need to be bandaged, but the issue of blood loss wasn't going to get any worse. This was only a quick fix. He'd need proper medical attention so as not to lose his leg. Even as a country, that was a possibility. Amputation wasn't a very positive outlook, now was it. A sudden sound of fumbling feet made everyone turn besides the two doctors who were too focused in their work.

A military green suit came into view with the flag of the Polish Empire on the sleeve. Guns raised before Alfred recognized the wavey brown hair. He lowered his hand to signal them to put their guns down. While the Americans complied, Belarus wouldn't. With a sigh he walked over to Lithuania.

"Liet, what are you doing here?" Alfred asked casually.

"America, you don't need to play coy. I saw the news after Liet told me to assemble a team to come here. He needs help," Toris asserted, "And I just heard your little predicament. Luckily, I brought a detoxifying chamber. And my entire team is composed of Russian sympathizers, so I have no worry about Poland."

A pregnant silence stretched between the two before Alfred finally allowed a broad grin to stretch across his face. He slapped a hand on Lithuania's back, "Good man Liet. I knew we could trust ya!" He looked back at the platinum blonde girl who reluctantly dropped the muzzle of her gun and rolled her eyes. The American was simply too trusting.

With that, Lithuania made a motion and two men carrying a rounded capsule. When Alfred had first seen the machines from Germany, he had been bouncing off the walls with glee thinking they were meant for light speed. Once being informed that the machine was meant for detoxifying a subject from radiation instead of keeping the effects of time at bay, it kind of put him out. Now he was glad for the use a little bit more. The two doctors had finished stitching Ivan up and were covering him with a blanket for transportation.

"I'll take him. I have very little to worry about Poland while the two of you are his next door neighbors," Alfred asserted while watching the Russian being placed in the carrier. His tone made a wall between him and the other two. It wasn't playful, but forceful and unyielding. Still, the two nodded silently. It was, by all accounts, safer to leave the warring country with his ally out of enemy reach.

"And you should probably take this with you. He'd be so depressed without it." Toris placed the scarf into Alfred's had, who smiled and folded it in his arms, silently glad it wasn't too damaged from the blast. Mostly, it just had blood splatter. The chamber was being moved and they followed behind as he was taken to the American transport and they said their farewells. Alfred leaving a note that Belarus shouldn't break Lithuania's fingers before jumping into the transport and heading off.


He watched Ivan's face on the way back. He looked peaceful . . . he hated that peaceful look. Even though so many people felt relief at the thought of a peaceful death, no death was free of pain. Even if the corpse felt no pain, someone would be racked with the agony. He knew it would be him if he were to lose Ivan again. If only he could know what was going through the other's mind, if anything at all.


This had all happened before. It had happened repeatedly. Not once, or twice, or even three times, it had gone on forever. He didn't know when it started, but all the events led back to here. Always. He would live through the anguish and make a complete recovery, no worries of that. But he should have been in more pain. Small technicalities however. He was moved and placed somewhere stable before it heaved and traveled away from the dead city. It was just as before, like a broken movie that refused to reach the end. He was with America, heading back to D.C. to get medical attention that would save his leg and he'd be scarred until the end with the gnarled wounds in his chest and neck. Never would he show his neck again.

Then, while he was healing . . . the two would be in Kansas and Alfred would go through a wave of pain because – . . . – His boss – . . . – The blood –.


His eyes shot open, startling the blonde sitting beside him at the bedside. Confused, Ivan looked down himself. A nervous laugh came from America who rubbed the back of his head, "I brought you back to D.C. as soon as possible. Don't worry, you're fine."

Ivan looked the blonde up and down, he looked fine. Now wasn't the time, "I know."

"Eh? Really? Uh . . . well . . . you'll be out of action for a bit, ya know. I was thinking . . ."


'Want to relax somewhere? Perhaps we can go to Kansas and see the sunflowers again.'


"Want to relax somewhere? Perhaps we can go back to Kansas and see the sunflowers again. You'd like that, right?"


'And I say yes . . . and he'll . . .'


"A-Alfred," he stuttered, looking to his hands, "I-I . . ." He sighed defeated, not knowing what else he could do, "I would enjoy that very much . . . but what of your boss?"

Alfred blinked confused, "She'll be here working out the political stuff. Why are you worried about her?"


'The explosion will hurt you . . . her death will crush you . . . you'll leave me . . .'


"No reason."


A/N: That one was pretty nice. I like Ivan's part so much more. This'll get a little trippy! BEWARE! XD Hope you enjoyed. Review! NO I WILL NOT SPOIL IT FOR YOU! ^^