Hello once again! Sorry about the late posting, yesterday was really busy. So, here's the next installment of The Dead Can't Testify! As usual, thank you to anyone who reviewed and favorited; they really mean a lot to someone who isn't really used to getting compliments like that. ^.^ You guys are great! *Gives out more cookies*

Glowstick145 I agree. ^.^ Russian makes a lot of things sound really awesome (and slightly intimidating at times). Japan's part is kind of small in this chapter, but it gets bigger as time goes on.

Renuki XP Go Canadia! Anyway, yeah, it's finally starting to get to the action bits after this chapter. *Punches air* Yeah!

Nayli28 That's awesome! XD That's the guy you need when you're in a random car chase. I figured that Antonio is just so adorable that it would be funny if he drove like a maniac.

Knowing Gilbert, it was something awesome. XD And then there's the fact that Russia is amazing at randomly showing up.

O.O *is waiting excitedly for message* I've never had anybody draw anything based from my stories before. *wipes tear* This is amazing!

CaptainCynical We all know that Al is a bit smarter than he lets on. XP I really hope I didn't push the relationship too fast in this chapter, though. .

And, I agree about Ivan. I can't just write him as being the type to just randomly attack people. But, I think that's a bit more detailed in this chapter.

Anyway, here is the next chapter of Astro-does-not-own-Hetalia-and-is-sulking-about-it-on-fanfiction.


Chapter Six:

Comics and Rendezvous

Arthur realized that it was defiantly a good thing that he'd stopped to get the headache medication. Alfred and Gilbert were completely and utterly wasted, sitting in the floor, laughing like madmen at three o'clock in the morning. Gilbert had an arm around Alfred's shoulders while Alfred snickered when he poked Gilbert on the cheek as though it were the most hilarious thing he'd ever seen. Arthur lost count of how many German beer bottles were scattered about the floor. He simply knew three things. The first of which was that the pair of men before him were going to have the worst hangovers of their lives in the morning. The second, of course, was that he regretted suggesting that they turn their pent up violence and anxiety into a game rather than house abuse. And the third was that he was ready to fall back against the couch and sleep, no matter how many bottle poked into his back.

Around the point when the pair collapsed onto the ground and began to stare at the ceiling, trying to count the "stars," Matthew walked down the steps, his glasses of and rubbing at his eyes. "What's going on?" he asked, sleep evident in his voice.

Arthur pointed at the "stargazers," "These two gits thought it would be lovely to drink themselves to death at three in the morning."

Matthew frowned and walked over to Gilbert. Violet eyes met sluggish red. Gilbert grinned, "Hey, birdie… Vhat's going on vith you?"

The Canadian sighed and knelt down to collect Gilbert. "I'll take him to bed," he told Arthur as he pulled one of the German's arms over his shoulders and brought him to his feet with an ease that left Arthur a bit unnerved. Both twins seemed to have some strange amount of strength that left him feeling uneasy. Arthur gave a curt nod. Matthew smiled, "Please take care of Al. He seems like a nice guy." He'd added the last part on hastily to try and cover up a mistake.

Arthur frowned, "I know, Matthew. You're twins; it's obvious."

Matthew tensed, "What are you going to do, then?"

It was Arthur's turn to sigh. What he was doing wasn't what a detective should do. He just couldn't get the picture of the scars on Alfred's back out of his mind, nor the emotional scars the American was obviously very good at hiding. Arthur didn't want to be responsible for adding another; that would put him on the same level as Winter. "Absolutly nothing," he answered honestly.

Matthew relaxed, "Thank you. But, please… I'm begging you to take care of him. There's no punishment you could give him that would be worse than what he does to himself up here." He used his free hand to point at his forehead.

Arthur frowned and looked away from Matthew, "I can't make any promises."

Matthew's violet eyes took on a morose layer as they looked to the ground. He nodded, "I see." He turned and began the task of hauling Gilbert up the stairs. Arthur didn't look at Alfred, who was still "stargazing," until he knew Matthew was upstairs.

The younger blonde looked oddly peaceful in comparison to his expression only an hour earlier. He'd been grinding his own teeth and gripping the arm of the couch so tightly, Arthur feared it would break. His arms were spread out like he was about to make a snow angel, and his wheat-colored hair fell away from his face, letting his sky blue eyes shine through. That dumb grin Arthur was slowly getting used to (a dangerous thought) was slapped across his face. "Come on, you lug," Arthur muttered, leaning down in the same manner he'd seen Matthew do with Gilbert minutes ago.

Alfred let Arthur lift him off the ground (Matthew made it look so easy), and the two stumbled towards the couch. Right before they made it, something shifted in Alfred's weight and Arthur found his back slammed against the nearby wall with a hand pressed to said wall, right next to his neck and the other pressing into his shoulder. It was official; Alfred had an unfair height and build advantage. Arthur gulped, looking into strangely coherent blue eyes.

"I don't want him to kill you, Arite," Alfred informed him.

Arthur blinked several times, trying to back up even though his spine was literally against the wall, "I'm not following, Alfred."

The American leaned in closer, "Winter. He'll kill you because you're with me. Ivan's right about that."

Arthur's frown deepened at the heat radiating from the body before him, "Why am I not surprised that your grammar actually improves when you're drunk?"

Alfred chuckled lazily, eliciting an odd fluttering in Arthur's chest, "I don't want you to die."

Arthur raised a large brow, trying to seem level headed when he clearly was not, "I can't imagine why not."

"'Cause you're a good guy," Alfred responded, grinning as though it were the most obvious answer in the world.

"But you could escape," Arthur pointed out, honestly not liking the hypothetical 'if Arthur died' part of the conversation.

Alfred leaned his forehead against the wall on the opposite side of Arthur's head of the hand that had pinned him in. He was laughing. "You saw 'em, Artie," he answered. Arthur knew he was referring to the scars on his back. "Why would anybody go back to that?" he asked rhetorically, "Besides, I'm so tired of being a villain; I just wanna be the hero for once." Arthur scowled, feeling unbalanced both by his lack of sleep and by his inability to escape. He pushed against Alfred again, trying to make space between them to no avail. Alfred chuckled again and Arthur shivered, "That's what happens to heroes in Winter's house." With that, he used the hand propped against the wall to push back. He headed towards the couch with only a slight stagger and collapsed into sleep seconds after his head hit the pillow.

Arthur stood there for a moment, emerald eyes locked on the other man's back. Even in the dim starlight that filtered through the window, he could see two thin lines peeking out of the American's collar, just at the base of his spine. And that's when it dawned on him; the younger man was obviously substantially stronger, even when wounded. He was the better fighter; there was no doubt about it.

At any point when he'd been alone with Alfred, the American could have overpowered him without any trouble at all.

The boy really meant to redeem himself… or Arthur would have been dead.


Alfred woke up with the worst headache he'd ever experienced in his life (except for the time that stupid commie actually smashed that lame pipe over his head in a "training" session). He groaned and pressed his throbbing forehead into the soft cushion of the couch. "I see that you're finally awake," the English accented voice sounded like thunder cracking in his ear.

"This sucks," he groaned, trying to worm his way into the couch.

Arthur chuckled, "And what's worse is that Francis has decided that we are all going to the park. You have to get up now."

Alfred made a noise somewhere between a growl and a dramatic sob that was severely muffled by the couch, "You're so mean, dude…"

Arthur scowled, "If I'm so mean, then I certainly won't give you anything for it."

The wheat-haired man shot up into a sitting position and instantly cringed at the light that flooded his sensitive eyes. It was going to be a really long day…


As it turned out, the pounding against Alfred's skull faded to a faint throbbing when lunch time rolled around. As Francis intended, the entire group shipped out to the nearby park for "rest and relaxation time." A good half of the group complained, claiming that it was a waste of time, but Alfred, Antonio, and Francis managed to outvote the others (all Alfred had to do was convince Matthew, who easily convinced Gilbert). So, they'd packed up and headed out for the day.

Once they arrived, Alfred was thoroughly unimpressed. It was just a big field with a playground, a couple of benches, and a few food venders. Gilbert, Francis, and Antonio decided that it was time to play several pranks on various park goers, including Arthur, who found himself drenched by a sprinkler.

Alfred laughed and pointed at the scowling Brit, "Dude, you look like a cat that just got a bath!" Needless to say, Arthur was not amused.

An hour and two pranks later (one including a bucket of paint and a now green dog), Alfred bummed a bit of money off of Gilbert, who was the only one who had Canadian currency, and headed over to the hotdog stand. He was a bit surprised that Arthur didn't follow right after him, but he shrugged it off.

A hand brushed his shoulder and a voice whispered quickly at his side, "Go to the benches when you are done, Alfred-kun."

Recognizing the voice immediately, Alfred nodded with a grin, "How'd you find me?"

He got no answer. He shrugged it off and waited in line for his hotdog, smiling the entire time. Ivan wasn't the type of person he wanted to find him, but Kiku Honda was. The Japanese man was a good bit shorter than the American, but he easily made up for it in his agility and grace. Working under his brother, a major figure in the underground set him in a position to begin learning to fight at even a younger age than Alfred. The grace and lethal fluidity of his fighting background easily translated into his everyday motions. He wore a black jacket that sported buckles and chains for decoration and a black and red shirt underneath. His jeans were ripped towards the bottom and a pair of thick black boots peeked out from underneath them.

Alfred took a seat on the bench, munching on his hotdog. He glanced at Arthur. The British man was shouting at Gilbert and Francis who'd managed to gang up on him about his cooking. The American glanced at the Japanese man who was sitting beside him like a stranger, tossing crumbs to the park's birds, the paper bag in his lap an odd contrast to his clothes. "Good afternoon, Alfred-kun," he greeted softly, "I have a warning for you."

"I heard," Alfred responded, using his hotdog to cover the fact that he was speaking, "Ivan told me."

Kiku didn't look surprised, "Something strange is happening. I think that you best prepare."

"I can't, dude," Alfred pointed out, the black band on his ankle suddenly feeling like a chain, "I'm gonna get them killed, too."

Kiku smiled softly as a pigeon landed on his knee, "All you need is an army."

Alfred frowned, "Funny thing, Kiku; that's exactly what Ivan told me."

"Perhaps you should learn to look past the surface, Alfred-kun," Kiku suggested, "Things are not always what they seem."

Something weird was going on, and Alfred was beginning to suspect that it may have had something to do with the reason he was still alive. He bit at his lip, trying to think of an explanation, "Why didn't Ivan try harder? I'm kinda insulted."

Kiku frowned a bit, "Ivan is not what you have made him out to be in your mind, Alfred-kun. You know that he has his reasons, too." Alfred took another bite of his food, covering his frown. Yeah, but he wasn't going to admit it anytime soon. "There are people like Yao who think Winter's reign is at an end," Kiku continued, "Then there are people like you and Ivan, who have…personal grudges."

They were quiet for a minute while the information digested in Alfred's mind. Then it clicked, "Ivan was trying to help me? With what? Why?"

Kiku returned his attention to the birds. He was quiet for a while, likely recovering from the decent bit of speaking he'd done earlier. "Spring will be coming soon, I hear," Kiku answered cryptically, setting the bag of breadcrumbs on Alfred's lap before he stood up, "It is good to see you again, old friend."

Alfred nodded, finishing his hotdog, "You, too, man." He quickly dug through the bag and found a piece of paper and a phone that he slipped into his pocket before he threw the remaining crumbs out on the ground and pitched the trash in the trashcan without Arthur seeing.

Alright, weird wasn't the right word. Whatever was going on was just freaky… and pretty awesome.


With the park pretty much being a bust for everyone except Alfred, who claimed his suddenly mirth came from a hotdog, the group headed back to Gilbert's. Arthur was not a happy camper. His messy mop of blonde hair was still drying from the sudden shower, and he looked as though he could smash the nearby car window.

Alfred poked his shoulder, "Hey, Artie, whatcha doin'?"

Emerald eyes glared back at him, "I'm sitting, git."

Alfred frowned, looking like a small puppy, "C'mon, dude… It's not heroic to sulk."

Those emerald eyes narrowed to deadly slits, "Says the one pouting."

"Ya know what you need?" Alfred asked with a smile.

Arthur sighed heavily and took the bait, "What do I need, Alfred?"

"Ice-cream!" Alfred announced happily, "Ice-cream and a stack of comics."

"Why would I want to read a stack of comic books that all have the same basic plot?" Arthur demanded, looking even angrier than earlier.

Alfred looked like a child who'd just been told that his dog died, "Dude, have you even read a comic?"

"Have you?" Arthur snapped, "I thought hitm- I thought people like you didn't have the time for things like that."

Alfred sighed, his shoulders slumping just a bit. There was an odd twisting Arthur's stomach at the look in the American's blue eyes that he almost disguised with his usual smile. "I had a friend whose… boss worked with… that guy. I've only read two, and they totally weren't the same."

Arthur tried to squash what he identified as guilt. He failed.


Oddly enough, once they arrived at Gilbert's house, Arthur told Alfred to stay in the car; apparently he had some official business to take care of. Alfred climbed into the front seat, calling shotgun enthusiastically while Arthur walked around to the driver's seat. Arthur didn't even bother to scold him.

"So… what're we doin' that you've gotta be all secrety about?" Alfred asked, tempted to poke the other blonde on the shoulder.

"Secretive, git, "Arthur corrected, "I need to do a few things."

Alfred pouted and turned to the window. In the silence, his leg bobbed up and down rapidly in place of his mouth moving. Luckily, it didn't take long to reach a small store that Arthur parked at. He turned off the ignition and turned to Alfred, "You're going to stay put. If you get out of the car, I'll be forced to assume that you are attempting to flee and will take action. Do you understand?"

Alfred nodded, looking a bit surprised at the fact that Arthur was going to trust him, "Yeah, man. I got it."

"I'm not even going to bother correcting that one," Arthur sighed before he got out of the car and walked inside.

Once he was out of Alfred's line of sight, the American pulled the paper and phone from his pocket. He'd definitely need a better hiding place, but that'd have to wait. He opened the note first and recognized Kiku's neat writing:

"America-kun,

We are moving, and the army is forming.

Gather anyone you can and send them to China,

-Japan"

Alfred frowned, not really understanding how he was supposed to gather anybody while stuck with the ever vigilant Arthur. Then again, he sure wasn't being too vigilant at the moment. He slipped the letter back in his pocket, making sure that it didn't leave an impression. He turned the phone on next and grinned. The background was definitely something Kiku set. He didn't know many other people who put adorable, cartoon animals on electronics.

He pulled up the list of contacts and scrolled down finding the names of countries: Belarus, China, Japan, Prussia, Russia, and Ukraine. Codenames based on nationality. Alfred resisted the urge to burst into laughter, substituting snickers in their place. He turned the phone off and slipped it in his pocket, managing to get himself under control.

As soon as he pocketed the phone, Arthur exited the building. Alfred quickly glanced out of the window, pretending that his attention was elsewhere. He only looked back at Arthur when the car door opened and shut, signaling that he was inside.

Before his mind could register what Arthur had in his hands, a soft weight fell into his lap. He looked down at the three books stacked there. "Huh?" he managed, looking up at Arthur, shock written clearly across his features.

There was a light pink dusting Arthur's cheeks as he glared at the road after starting the car and pulling out, "I thought you wore those glasses for a reason."

Alfred looked back at the graphic novels before he returned his gaze to Arthur, "These are mine?"

Arthur's scowl deepened, "No, git, I bought them for myself because I enjoy wasting money on things I don't like."

Once again, Alfred looked at the volumes, finally reaching out to examine each one individually with the care one would associate with a parent holding an infant. Slowly, Alfred felt his lips curl into a bright smile without having to force it. He turned back to beam at Arthur, "Thanks, Artie!"

If looks could kill, Alfred would have been dead. "Now you have to leave my book alone," Arthur reasoned.

The American ran his fingers across the pages, still beaming, "You got it, man!"

He really didn't care what Arthur's reasoning had been; those thin magazine-like books were first gifts he'd received in thirteen years. Even if he was cranky and work-obsessed, Alfred decided at that point, that Arthur was a pretty nice guy under it all. And that gave him all the more reason to try and see to this army to get rid of Winter before Winter caught up with them.


Sorry guys, I didn't have time to write a preview yet. But I will be updating tomorrow.