Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia. I am merely a fan who appreciates the ingenious glory of such masterful tomfoolery.

Warning: Strong Language, Graphic Scenes, Descriptions of Gore and Violence

Chapter Nine Characters:

-England/ Arthur Kirkland

-America/Alfred F. Jones

Time Frame: World War I

-Never Your Hero-

Chapter IX

"The last time you held me..."

It had to be the longest rail line of his life.

Alfred had always been fond of trains; in fact he absolutely loved them. When the lines connecting the East and West Coasts had finally completed the merger of his country, he had enthusiastically ridden the line for months just to see the wonders of his land passing by.

It had been one of the only joys he could remember having after the assassination of Lincoln and the end of the Civil War.

In the months following Andrew Johnson's succession of Lincoln, Alfred had been completely drained and fell in and out of states of consciousness. He was still repairing himself physically and mentally from the damage of the war, but unlike Lincoln who had done everything in his power to help, Johnson both feared and loathed the inhuman charge appointed to him by the presidency. The man made it a point to stay away from him at all costs. He had known Alfred during the war and was even present on one of the occasions the avatar broke down and lost control. He had been the strongest advocate for "containing the volatile burden" against his president's wishes...but it had been the only thing Johnson and Alfred had ever agreed on. He had been too unpredictable and dangerous, so the door was locked and the key thrown away for longer than Alfred cared to remember.

When it was all over, Lincoln was buried and Alfred - like much of his country - fell into a depressive state during the Reconstruction. It was around this time that Alfred spent his waking hours trying to catch up on what he had lost during those four years of hell.

His people amazed him. The war aside, his people had been pioneering the way in inventions and discoveries. He saw a twist drill for the first time and marveled at how it had been utilized to create marvelous machines, even commissioned for use on the incredible Transcontinental Railroad. A rotary printing press had been manufactured and put into use for the first time in Philadelphia, a city very near and dear to Alfred's heart. He couldn't believe such a thing could produce hundreds, even thousands of newspapers a day with such swift efficiency. There were even recreational things like wooden shoes with four wheels attached to the bottom, something Alfred had laughed at the first time he saw them, but had to admit they were fast and pretty fun once he wasn't landing on his ass every few minutes.

Of all the mounds of things made by the American people, however...he would have to say his favorite had been a funny-shaped wide brimmed hat the people of Texas and the West seemed to love wearing. He hadn't seen anything like it before, but the way it protected one from the sun, wind, and rain was nothing short of impressive. He would be lying if he didn't say the fashion statement wasn't a big draw to it as well.

He had traveled to the West a few times before 1861, and the stark difference between the East and the people populating the Midwest and West was mind-blowing. The cultures of his country had always been diverse, but seeing the West and comparing it to the East astonished him since it was like traveling to a whole new world on the same continent. People spoke with a perpetual drawl west of the Mississippi, a sharp contrast to the quick-tongued speed demons one found from New York to northern Virginia. While the West was wearing wide brimmed hats, hide chaps, and shirts meant for dirty work - the East was still sporting top hats, pressed trousers, and tunics better suited for an office or a factory.

Industrialization had boomed in his North, agriculture and cotton still ruled his South; his Midwest was producing more wheat and cattle than any other region, and California was bleeding gold. From coast to coast the entirety of his nation awed him; seeing it through the window of the first Transcontinental Train-ride of his life was as healing as reining up a horse and tearing off through the open plains without a care in the world. He felt decades away from Washington, from the politicians and backstabbers, from his president who hated him, and the still flammable tension between his North and South. Out here, he was whoever and whatever he wanted to be - Alfred F. Jones or the slowly reforming United States of America. He hadn't felt so alive in years.

He loved it, he loved it all! After having been imprisoned alone and in agony for so long, this freedom made him think he could fly!

That's right. He ruled the land, his seas, and someday he vowed he would take the sky. He'd fly higher than anyone else and taste freedom from above as it was meant to be tasted. He always watched eagles soar on the thermals far beyond him, and someday he promised he'd stop reaching and join them.

Freedom was everything. Freedom gave his country new life and made it grow without limits. The sky was the limit for now, but someday - who knew? He might just reach for the stars and actually catch them.

Thinking of it all...remembering his people, their inventions, his lands...he missed it. He missed all of it so much it physically ached. The echoed sadness of the men he was leaving behind resonated and made the ache stronger. He had left New York in May...it was now inching closer to September. God, he wanted to go home; God, he had never wanted to leave! It had been a while since he'd had such a stable economy, such peace among his people, and a president he actually liked and liked him in turn. He could bear dealing with affairs of state with people like Wilson in office, but he missed being among his populace the most.

He missed taking nostalgic walks through the streets of Philadelphia, seeing the old buildings and monuments of his nation's history he had been ever-present for. He longed for the rocky coasts of Maine and enjoying the shore without fear of what was on the other side of the ocean. He missed the mountains of Virginia and the beauty of its rolling hills. What he wouldn't give to be back in Georgia biting into a fresh peach beneath the sweet smelling tree that birthed it. He wanted to go riding through Texas again and enjoy the hard labor and companionable evenings under the stars. The fields of Kansas were never ending, and the deserts of Nevada were breathtaking at dawn. California was always an adventure; he wanted to see San Francisco and Los Angeles again - there was so much life in those cities! Even Washington State with its evergreen forests, full of all the flora and fauna he could ever want...he could still see the Pacific Ocean from the cliffs and wonder what worlds were beyond it.

But never be more content with his.

His heart constricted every time he thought about it...A burning sensation prickled behind his eyes and he had to remember where he was to keep the tears from falling. This war was so alien, so completely foreign and the more he remembered home the more he resented this place. There wasn't any freedom to be had here, there were no dreams alive in this forsaken land. There wasn't anyone or anything remotely close to what he remembered of his nation. The only city he had seen was Paris, full of stuck-up Parisians ignoring the zombies who shuffled by and not a single of his own cities came to mind to compare it to. The so-called forests were nothing but ashen-colored broken spears shooting up from a chalk ground, the rivers were lined with mud and ran red. Fields were a thing of the past, a No Man's Land put in their place. The people here were indeed a conglomeration, but they all spoke so many different languages; those who didn't, spoke versions of English so odd to him he barely understood it.

His country was full of unique dialects, but none came close to British-English, Canadian-English, New Zealander-English, or any other English he had encountered in this war.

The sadness of this place was overwhelming...joy was as displaced on this continent as he was.

He didn't belong here...none of his people did.

There was a sigh next to him and sky-blue eyes slowly opened as his head turned in the direction of the sound. Arthur was sitting next to him, leaning back against the same wall of the train car they'd been cooped up in for close to two days. The rocking of the locomotive had lulled Alfred to sleep hours ago, but it didn't look like it had the same affect on Arthur. The Brit had terrible black rings beneath his eyes, making him look deathlike beneath the shadow of his helmet. Neither one of them had really talked since boarding this new train after having disembarked from the last one. Between the two trucks, three convoys, and now their third and final train...Alfred was beginning to wonder if his voice would even function properly any more.

When one vehicle stopped, movement was hustled and quick in getting onto the next transport that took an incredibly long time to reach its destination. Alfred doubted they were even in France anymore. He felt like they should be halfway across Europe by now.

There weren't any windows in the car, the explanation had been that it better concealed the cargo and saved money on having to put breakable glass in every compartment. The only light and ventilation came from three overhead holes covered by raised panels. There were no seats or even benches, there were only giant canisters filled with God knew what, stacked up to almost the ceiling and held in place by their packing or thick ropes tethering them to the floor. It was hot, crowded, and smelled like rust and old smoke. There wasn't any kind of comfort here, just like everywhere else in Europe, but at least he wasn't the only person trapped in the dirt class accommodations. Neither he nor Arthur openly complained about their situation, but inside was a totally different story.

Alfred had been suffering of homesickness for days, and Arthur was just as lost in that far off stare he'd been sporting since they left Paris.

Stiffly, Alfred lifted his arm to rub the back of his neck, not particularly loving the feel of congealed sweat on his skin but he needed to work out the knot forming beneath it. Both his and Arthur's uniforms had been clean and new when they left, but by the second train they were dusty, dirty, and sweat-stained as though they'd been stuck in them for weeks. Miserable...didn't begin to describe the mood.

The silence had been grating on Alfred for miles, but the last time he had tried talking he only got noncommittal grunts and the occasional glare from his companion. Humming hadn't yielded any better results - it just earned him a smack to the back of the head that made his ears ring. He had only tried to peek inside the cargo containers of the first train once before Arthur had threatened to strap him to the roof if he didn't sit down and stop acting like a child.

It would have sparked an entertaining argument to break the monotony of the trip, but Alfred ended up relenting and going to sleep in a corner. Boredom only lasted so long before it gave way to pure listlessness. His mind escaped where his body couldn't...it was as though his being demanded it would have its freedom in one way or another. Sadly, that freedom came with a terrible price...nostalgia and heartache.

Unable to feel anything below his coccyx, Alfred grabbed his legs and pulled them up, bent at the knee and slowly tried to flex and extend his feet to return blood flow. It was pretty cramped in the car, nothing but a narrow strip between them and the first wall of containers that made an "L" shape around the right hand side of the car. Deciding it was likely better than more sitting and more silence, Alfred eventually got up and stretched out his body. He felt the pops along his spine and winced, then let his arms drop and swung them a few times. He glanced down at Arthur and couldn't even tell if the man was still staring off into space or just asleep with his eyes open.

It was Alfred's turn to sigh and he took to walking the length of their crowded little box.

In some ways this room-on-wheels kind of reminded him of the room he'd been stuck in during the Civil War. It was a room in the lower levels built beneath the White House, one in a series of strong rooms Madison had commissioned during the rebuilding of the White House after the British burnt down most of D.C. They weren't big rooms, maybe just a tad smaller than the train car, but there wasn't much to them. The one they put him in had been cleared of everything but a basic bed and bedside table, both nailed to the floor. A physician had come in every other day, though they didn't stay long since there was really nothing they could do. After a while, the census became that the doctors were only sent to help ease his boss's guilt and let Alfred know someone still cared. When he had been calm and sane enough to appreciate the gesture, he usually just laid there and let the assessment come and go. But for the most part, he had just wanted to be left alone unless said assessor was going to be kind enough to put him out of his misery.

Alfred paused in his thoughts as he stopped at the end of his path amongst the containers. Hadn't Arthur had like...three civil wars? ...He hadn't really thought about it before, but just surviving his one had nearly destroyed him; so how had Arthur come out of so many?

A shiver went down Alfred's spine and he quickly rubbed his shaking hands together. He hoped he never had another, he really didn't want to know what having more than one was like.

Pacing back the way he had come, Alfred looked back down at Arthur - still unmoved from the last time he had seen him - and stopped just beside him. He looked down at the other blond, all of his wild hair hidden by his helmet, and tried to understand what was weighing so heavily on the man that he was the quietest he'd ever seen him. He almost had the urge to tap him on his metal dome, or give him a little nudge with his boot. Right now he felt like he was accompanying a dead body to some designated burial spot in a military-approved hole.

"I'm not dead."

Alfred nearly jumped three feet in the air when Arthur suddenly spoke. His voice was deep and gravelly, like he had just woken up with a sore throat, which freaked Alfred out even more considering his words.

"Jesus Christ, are you a mind reader or something?" Alfred exclaimed, still trying to put himself back together after the fright.

Arthur didn't smile, but he did tilt his head back, eyes closed, and rested his helmet back against the side of the car. "First of all, I am not Jesus Christ. Second, I couldn't tell you whether he was psychic or not, I never met him."

Alfred rolled his eyes at the comment and gave a mock 'Ha-ha' before shoving his hands into his pockets and looking annoyed...but still curious, "Considering you're older than dirt, I figured you'd have at least been there for the great water to wine bit. You and Francis would have loved it."

"Hm," Arthur said without feeling, still with his eyes closed. "You're hilarious, Alfred, but sorry to disappoint you," he continued, "I'm an ale and brandy kind of guy."

Alfred snorted before leaning back against one of the canisters, arms crossed and legs spread to keep his balance as the train continued to move beneath them. "At the risk of sounding like my age, when are we getting to wherever the heck it is we're going?"

Arthur sighed and eventually his eyes slid open. He almost looked like he'd been asking himself the same question and dreading the terrible answer. "Whenever this stops, I suppose...given, our fortune holds up and we're not detoured due to some disaster or another." He shrugged. "I hope we at least reach the Belgium boarder by nightfall."

Eyebrows rising, Alfred looked surprised, "Belgium?" They were going all the way to Belgium?

"...Yes, Alfred, Belgium," Arthur replied and slid his companion a drawn look. "It's a little European nation between France and Germany that boarders the Netherlands. That big bluish thing called the English Channel runs along next to it, hence why the Germans were so keen on taking it."

The scowl he received from the American was enough of a reply and Arthur sighed and closed his eyes again. "...Sorry. I forgot my promise."

Alfred didn't respond for a while, but eventually he too looked away, still frowning. "I'll say we're even since I made the 'older than dirt' comment." It was as much of an apology as Alfred was giving.

It was a while before either of them spoke again. The click-clack of the train continued to fill the silence as the world around them passed by without their notice. Alfred had traveled outside the U.S. a few times, when it was overseas is was mostly to either France or England. He hadn't been to Belgium or Luxembourg; he couldn't even say he'd been to Germany. Of course he'd been to Canada and Mexico, Cuba and the islands, but for the most part...he was rather ignorant of Europe. He would have liked to have asked Arthur what Belgium was like, but it would just further solidify that he wasn't very geographically inclined or well-traveled.

Arthur had circumnavigated the globe; Alfred had barely traveled the western hemisphere.

Finally, Alfred decided to throw a small amount of pride to the wind and ask, "Hey, Arthur...what can we expect in-"

Alfred was abruptly cut off when Arthur's eyes flew open and his body tensed. Alfred watched him with curiosity for a moment, and suddenly Arthur was up, grabbing him, and throwing him to the floor. Alfred barely had time to breath before Arthur was on top of him and a high pitched whistling sound ended with a massive explosion outside.

The rail gave a deafening screech, gears locking and metal scraping against the track before another whistle and explosion rocked the car and the world began to tilt.

Alfred let out a scream as he and Arthur were unexpectedly pitched to the left, flipping over and slamming against the metal containers that were groaning almost as loudly as the screeching train.

The world jolted when the car hit the ground on its side, still being pulled along by the momentum of the locomotive, and Arthur remained on top of Alfred covering the other as much as he could while protecting the back of his neck with one arm. Alfred could barely see a thing through his pushed over helmet, Arthur's body, and the container he was pressed against. The weight and shock of everything was making breathing incredibly difficult, and he couldn't hear anything over the noise of another explosion and the twisting of metal.

Without warning, the ropes holding the containers in place began to snap, making the pair start to slide along the surface of the tipping crate. Alfred's heart leapt into his throat as Arthur's weight lifted from him. He snapped his head around in time to see Arthur nearly falling down the side of the panel, and immediately his arm shot out and latched on to the Brit's wrist. It was on instinct he used his other arm to grab the edge of the crate closest to him, holding on for dear life as he tried to keep himself and Arthur from sliding further and getting trapped between the container and the car.

Alfred was gritting his teeth against the strain and was jerked when the container began to slowly fall even further. The creaking ropes were stressed to the breaking point, and Alfred knew they had to get off this thing now.

Arthur was screaming something to him, but Alfred couldn't hear it before he yanked Arthur up and flung the man behind him and over the soon-to-be-bottom side of the container. The Brit was in the clear before the last rope snapped and Alfred lost his grip and went careening down the repository's surface.

Oh God, he was going to be crushed!

Falling headfirst on his back, Alfred's descent was halted when something grasped onto his ankle - but it wasn't for long. Something burst near the belly end of the train and blew the car clear from the track, detaching it from the other cars and sent it spinning.

Alfred remembered falling and the sounds of metal ripping, heavy objects blowing apart, and someone screeching his name. He hit something hard and his breath left him.

Then everything fell black and silent.


He had to be sneaky and really stealthy. He had to summon all of his inner indigenous cunning to pull this off. It had taken a while to find the right moment for this, but now that the opportunity had arrived he just couldn't pass it up. His target was completely unsuspecting, distracted, and unarmed...all he had to do was wait for the exact second and-

He sprung from his perch and freefell from the highest branch of the aptly named American Elm. He had no fear of falling, it was the closest he ever got to flying, and the thrill of it was always so exciting!

This time, he'd even have a soft target to land on.

The Englishman had barely a heartbeat to look up and gasp before the boy fell on him.

The Brit hit the ground with his American charge slamming into his chest before bouncing off and sprawling out face first on the ground next to him. Had the Englishman's hand not been firmly attached to the boy's leg, he would have certainly kept on bouncing.

While the adult was trying to remember how breathing went, the child pushed his upper torso up with his hands and vigorously shook his head. Blond hair went everywhere, but a few green leaves remained stuck. There was a grass stain now smeared across his white shirt and tan slacks, and his bare feet were covered in sap and bark from the tree. His youthful face and size pegged him at around six or seven, still a short lad, but growing a slightly lankier body than one softened by baby fat.

Though with the wide grin spread across his face he looked like an impish four-year-old.

Alfred twisted around in Arthur's lax grasp and beamed that smile down on the man still collapsed on the ground. Alfred didn't seem to think there was a thing wrong with the situation and happily chirped, "Hi, dad! Welcome home!"

Arthur was the funniest shade of blue, but Alfred just attributed it to the low lighting of the evening.

With a cough and a less-than-enthusiastic wince, Arthur tried to speak but had to settle for a weak squeeze of Alfred's ankle as a response. Though, had he been able to get up, he would have rather liked to wring the boy's neck.

Not only had Alfred all but crushed him, but Alfred knew Arthur wasn't all that comfortable about being called "dad". He had asked him repeatedly to just call him England or Arthur, but Alfred did whatever Alfred wanted, and there was just no changing that.

Not even the threat of bodily harm or gravity.

"Hey dad, wasn't that fantastic? Did you know bear cubs often do that to their mothers in the wild? ...Well, not that I think you're my mother bear or anything...Hehe, but you sure act like one sometimes, huh dad?" he continued, happy to be able to share a common American black bear ritual with his caretaker.

Before Arthur and his people had come, he had often spent his time alone and observing the native people and animals of his land. He liked to watch human and animal families interact, often wanting to join them but to afraid they'd stop being happy if he got to close. He was content to play with the few children who ventured too far away from their tribes or small animals curious enough to approach him. He heard from some of the small children that their people sometimes saw him and thought he was a spirit; since he hadn't really known what a spirit was he just assumed he was one and happily let the children go home to tell stories of how they played with the wild land spirit.

The day the other kind of people had arrived...he'd been incredibly drawn to them and it frightened him. The majority of the Natives were wary of the strange ones and so he had also been wary. But something about these new people piqued his curiosity and he couldn't help himself.

When he saw the others who didn't feel like the humans he knew, he often ran from them for fear they were the kinds of spirits the children always talked about. What if they were mean spirits, like tricksters or Iya?

Several times these spirits had been startled by his presence and tried to approach him, each time he ran and hid among the safety of his land.

That was...until Arthur arrived.

He had been spying on and evading them for years, but eventually he felt cowardly for running and decided...well...maybe meeting them wouldn't be so bad. They never ran from him, in fact they had always seemed to encourage him to come out with their strange languages and gestures. One man had even tried some very good smelling food, but he wasn't sure what to make of the cooked meat and other strange offerings so he shied away.

Arthur hadn't tried any of that. In fact, he tried something similar to what his own Native people had tried...

Magic.

He didn't have any other explanation for the power he felt in Arthur, but he liked it. It was dark and kind of scary, but Arthur looked genuinely warm and smiled at him a lot. He liked that Arthur seemed as fascinated with him as he was of the other, he also liked that Arthur hadn't tried to coax him out with anything other than what he was. He didn't overly confuse him with his strange language and he didn't try to reach out and catch him...he let him choose when he was ready and finally the boy decided to stay and greet this strange spirit.

Arthur was the first person who ever held him...and he found he liked to be held very much.

Time wasn't one of Alfred's strong suits, but he knew it'd been a really long time since he had come home to live with Arthur, and he didn't regret it for a moment. Arthur taught him his strange language, which was frustrating at first but eventually he had grasped it and made Arthur smile even more. Arthur taught him how to interpret the weird scrawl important people left on paper, and even showed him how to make that scrawl himself; Alfred felt incredibly important then, especially when Arthur gave him a name similar to his own.

Alfred was no longer a spirit, he was real and Arthur made him that way.

The boy cocked his head a bit in confusion and not without a tad of concern, looking at Arthur as the man looked like he'd fallen asleep with his eyes open. Alfred gingerly reached over and poked his side. "Hey, dad? Are you well?"

"...Alfred..." Arthur slowly replied, breaths quite shallow as he stared up at the darkening sky, "...You...are not...a bear...so...please...do not act like one..."

Alfred blinked and cocked his head again like a little bird, still leaning over Arthur's side and looking wide-eyed and quizzical. "But dad, that's how bears say 'I love you'. It's just saying it in another language," he said with a bright smile. "See? I'm multilingual, like you!"

While the Englishman looked as astounded as he was annoyed with his defeat, he let out a long breath and squeezed Alfred's ankle back, letting the boy know he wasn't angry...he never really could stay angry with Alfred, no matter what. "I fear to see what you'd do if you hated me."

Alfred giggled and ignored Arthur's sudden yelp when he crawled on top of him and gave him a tight hug. "You're funny, dad. I could never hate you."

How could he? Arthur was the reason he wasn't lonely anymore. He was happy when he was with Arthur. How could anyone hate someone who made them so happy?

Though in terrible pain - the boy really didn't seem to know his own strength - Arthur wrapped one arm around the lad and placed his other hand on his head, gently combing out the leaved while fighting to keep steady breaths.

"Let's hope...you remember that when you're older."


Everything...hurt.

The first thing he noticed upon returning to consciousness had been how much his back, neck, chest, stomach, arms, legs...hell, everything meant everything. Something was broken, possibly several somethings, but he couldn't pinpoint anything considering how badly his nerve endings were screaming. Breathing was an issue, he guessed he had landed on his chest and something was on his back...ugh, whatever it was it was heavy.

Too heavy...way too heavy.

He groaned, still unable to open his eyes for fear of seeing something worse than he was imagining, and suddenly felt some of the weight vanishing from his back. There was the sound of something heavy and metal hitting something soft that muffled it. Someone panting and straining above him, but he couldn't figure anything else out. His brain wasn't firing on all cylinders at the moment, but eventually he deduced someone was throwing things off of him.

He still wasn't sure who that someone was or what the hell they were digging him out from under.

Groaning again, he felt some feeling other than pain returning to his hand and slowly flexed his fingers over soft soil. He knew it was soil because he could smell it...even if there was a tinge of ash and charred metal to it.

"Don't move yet, damn you!" Someone frantically whispered above him as more weight was hastily lifted.

Alfred tried to obey, but his body was desperate for movement, he needed to breathe and find out what was damaged so he could fix it. He didn't know what brought him to this state, but he remembered falling, landing, and screaming...though who had been screaming, he wasn't sure.

Finally, the last of the weight was lifted off of him and the person above him panted even harder, staggered, and fell down to his knees on the soft earth next to him. Alfred wanted to open his eyes more than to just see the green-clad knees...he wanted to move and get off his chest so it would stop hurting...but neither seemed possible in his current state. It hurt so much.

A hand reached down and quickly pressed two fingers against the side of his neck making Alfred gasp. Even the slightest touch hurt, and eventually satisfied about something, the fingers pulled away and the same hand moved to the back of his head to cradle it while the other carefully pushed against his shoulder.

Alfred immediately knew what this person was trying to do, but the only protest he managed as he was rolled over onto his back was a strangled cry before squeezing his eyes shut.

The sound seemed to startle the other person, who paused for a split second before lying Alfred down and quickly leaned over him. Alfred wished he could punch the bastard causing him so much agony, but he couldn't even unclench his eyes or jaw for fear of crying out again.

"Alfred, listen to me -"

Listen? Listen! God, he was dying! He didn't want to fucking listen!

"I know it hurts, but please try not to make any noise," the whispering continued. "I can't be sure how far away those shells were coming from, nor from whom. I will do what I can not to make it worse, but please don't make a sound." There was a pause, the person above him still trying to catch his breath while Alfred was trying not to lose his. "Do you want something to bite down on?"

No. He wanted someone to shoot him and make the pain go away, which could be accomplished if he did a little screaming. He was very tempted.

Eventually the memory of what happened returned. He remembered the train, something about wine and brandy; Arthur jumped him before the first explosion...it was all a blur after that, but he remembered more explosions and...falling.

He caught Arthur before Arthur caught him, but Arthur wasn't strong enough to hang on...

His pain-filled eyes slid open and found Arthur above him, expression wider, more alert, and more shaken then he'd ever seen it. The Englishman's helmet was drawn back, his wild hair was plastered to his forehead and face, and the dark circles beneath his eyes were more prominent than ever against his pale skin. There was a red and orange glow around him and Alfred smelled smoke. He guessed the train was on fire...but he wasn't sure how far away it was.

Alfred swallowed, terrible pangs of agony washed through him but he managed to fight to breathe a little better, eventually shaking his head. His neck hurt, but it wasn't broken which was a relief. Feeling was still painful, but present in his arms and legs which told him his spine wasn't damaged. His collar bone and ribs ached and sent stabbing pains through him with every breath; they were likely broken. He couldn't really tell what else, but he could feel the healing process starting and knew the uncomfortable sensation of tissue regenerating meant he'd ruptured something.

Since he was still alive, he guessed his heart and brain were still intact.

Struggling to take deeper breaths, Alfred shook his head again and closed his eyes, still working on controlling the throbbing in his chest. "You...'kay...?" He rasped, not even sure if he'd been clear enough to be understood. He wasn't sure if he'd try talking again for a while, it strained his breathing too much.

Alfred couldn't see it with his eyes, but he knew Arthur had given his half-smile and looked a mite relieved when he avoided the question and merely continued, "Better off than you, lad." He shifted his position around Alfred, "This is really going to hurt, but please remember not to move or make a sound...I'll try to have this over with soon."

Not really looking forward to more pain, Alfred swallowed again and nodded. He tried to hold in his gasp when Arthur reached over and grabbed his shoulder, drawing him up before pulling his limp arm, then the other, around his neck. Alfred ground his teeth together and was breathing harder and faster as one of Arthur's hands remained firm around both of Alfred's wrists while the other grabbed beneath one of his thighs and hauled the leg up over Arthur's green clad hip. The Englishman bent over to hoist the American higher, then with a grunt, stood and swiftly grabbed beneath Alfred's other leg to better keep his companion's larger body steady and draped over his back.

If Alfred's mind hadn't been screaming since voicing it wasn't allowed, he would have been impressed with Arthur's feat in carrying him like this.

There was heat behind him, but it was distant and Alfred continued to wonder just how far they had been thrown when the train was attacked. He didn't last long in his thinking as pain, exhaustion, and Arthur's careful, yet rapid movements drew them farther and farther away from the wreckage...and from consciousness.

His chest hurt from being pressed against something again, but Arthur's breathing slowly pulled his mind from it. He felt bad for Arthur, who was probably hurt too and being a stubborn ass about not admitting it, for having to carrying him like this...but after a time that thought faded too and the darkness began to return.

It was quiet again except for Arthur's breathing...and eventually, he slipped back to sleep.

To Be Continued...


Notes from the Author:

WOW! Two chapters in one week? XD I haven't done that in a while! But to explain, I had chapter 8 written for a while and was slowly picking and revising it before I said "What the hell?" and sent it to the wonderful and amazing Oneechan for editing. During that time I had also been working on this chapter here, something I started in between classes and dabbled with on break at work...Finally, last night, I started fully attacking it and just couldn't stop! XD Seriously, props to my amazing Beta for putting up with the spaztalicious me; she pumped TWO chapters out in one night! I LOVE YOU ONEECHAAAAAN! XD

ON TO THE NOTES!

1.) I mentioned a while ago that you'd be seeing a lot of American history in this fic, especially history surrounding America's Civil War. The events and aftermath of the Civil War really shaped America into what it is today, and Alfred is just over 50 years post it in WWI. In country years...that's not a whole hell of a lot of time in terms of recovery. If you've ever been to the States and traveled between the North and South, you'll DEFINITELY see the STILL present and stark differences between them; to my fellow Americans, I'm sure you know exactly what I'm talking about. Now, after our 16th president, Lincoln, was assassinated, his vice president, Andrew Johnson, took over and was in charge during the Reconstruction Era (which is what America calls the years following the Civil War where the country was trying to repair the unstable economy, areas ravaged by the war, and the trade routes that were shut down). Johnson was a southern sympathizer and a native Southerner who favored the South when he took over. This caused a lot of controversy during his years in office, especially when scandals erupted and positions of power were unfairly appointed to personal friends. Johnson was the FIRST American president to be Impeached, however his trial did NOT result in his usurpation. In this respect, I painted his and Alfred's relationship not as a good one; Johnson is considered to be around the bottom rung of the of America's favorite presidents (uh...does that not say it all?). Therefore, I imagine Alfred took a kind of hiatus away from politics and Washington for a while (since it wasn't helping with the healing process) and I can't imagine Johnson being too against it, given I peg him as someone who wouldn't get along with Alfred. SO! To show ya'll what the post-Civil War era was like, I added in the Transcontinental Railroad (which was a system of railways that connected the Atlantic and Pacific coasts of the U.S.) and some of the inventions that came about in the years during and after the war. :) Yes, roller skates and cowboy hats are all American XD, and Alfred loves them. Also, those descriptions of the States Alfred travelled to...I was so tempted to describe even more. I've traveled to 21 of the 50 beautiful States in my country, and while my heart lies in the North, I love and appreciate the beauty of ALL of my homeland with all my being. We have majestic mountains, lush forests, vast deserts, tropical wetlands, wonderful hill-lands, and some of the liveliest cities in the world. :) If you're a native or have just visited the States, I hope you appreciate America as much as I do; if you've never had the experience of America then I hope you get the chance someday. Its a beautiful place! XD Shameless representation here, people.

2.) The coccyx is the tail bone of the spine. :) Trust me, we've all felt Alfred's pain. Ever sit too long and suddenly your tushie is numb and pain pings at the very bottom of your back? Yep. That's your coccyx. XD

3.) To my knowledge there were three English Civil Wars, and sadly I don't know much more about them than that. ): I think for future chapters I might try to grab a book and read a little more information about them to see how they would have affected Arthur's behavior. If any of my U.K. readers would like to help educate me I would be ETERNALLY grateful. :)

4.) The battles Arthur and Alfred are heading for actually took place in and around the boarder of Belgium. Belgium was occupied by the Germans during WWI, and the initial invasion of the country had brought Britain officially into the war in the first place (though Britain would have likely ended up in the war anyway, pact with Belgium or not). Belgium was a key strategic area since it was full of railways, ports, and more importantly it was right next to the English Channel, which gave them access to the sea and overseas trade. One of the BIGGEST Allied goals was to shut down those ports and choke off the U-Boats coming from them; they also wanted to stop the supplies from coming in. The problem most faced by the Allies was the fact that the routes into Belgium were heavily guarded and lined with ridges - ridges held by the Germans who used the high grounds and pelted the Allies from above. In short..."control the ridges, control the entrances to Belgium". Sadly, this cost hundreds of thousands of lives on both sides.

5.) Railway travel was THE way to get around at this time period, and during WWI - while it was the fastest way to carry large amounts of troops and supplies - trains were some of THE number one targets for both sides. It was always risky taking a train, but in a situation where speed was everything, there just wasn't much choice. For poor Alfred and Arthur...well, that's what happens when you go blaspheming God. :) Good job, boys!

6.) The "Trickster" spirits and "Iya" are common in Native American folk lore. By most religious standards they would be considered "evil", but this was not so in Native American lore. Spirits were neither truly good or evil, spirits were the essences of nature and the world that dwelt on both plains of existence and influenced them. Tricksters are wily and mischievous, they seek to teach lessons whether it means making one's life miserable or not. Iya is a deity-like spirit that's depicted in a number of tribal cultures as either a storm god, hunter of humans and the land, ECT. Spirits in Native American culture can be feared, but always respected. It is my belief that before the arrival of the Europeans, Alfred would have likely taken on the customs and understandings of his native people and likely been mistaken for being a spirit. Also, since English wasn't introduced until...well...the English arrived, Alfred would not have known a European language until formally taught. Oh, back to America: Native Americans also believe/believed in rituals and magic, but not the conventional kind you see in like...tales of Merlin or Harry Potter. A good example to look up would be the novel Ceremony by Leslie Marmon Silko, FANTASTIC book. :) By the way...the first official English settlement in America was Jamestown, Virginia...so I picture the flashback scene to have taken place around there. XD

7.) YAY, its Alfred that's ALL messed up this time instead of Arthur! Gotta love it. Don't worry, he'll heal faster than Arthur for a number of reasons: A. Alfred is fresh in Europe and still pretty energized considering he hadn't left his home soil all that long ago; B. Alfred hasn't taken all that many hits since the start of his involvement with the war (which is pretty much Arthur Boot Camp and now); and finally C. Alfred will have the chance for a brief nap at Arthur's expense, and people naturally heal faster when they sleep (scientific fact, dudes - why do you think the doc is always saying "get some rest", HE'S SERIOUS!). :) In my mind, nations also heal faster when they've had sleep/rest, so fear not, Alfred will be back to being Alfred before ya know it!

8.) Last one, PROMISE! If it hasn't been noted by now, the focus of each chapter differs in its narrative perspective. :) I like the third person limited style, giving readers a real time view while also letting them into the characters' heads. I've been bouncing back and forth between Arthur and Alfred depending upon who I feel best depicts a scene. For the most part, Arthur has been dominating this role (let's face it, when it comes down to these two, its kind of Arthur's war), but there have been a few more Alfred-centric chapters. X3 What can I say? I love 'em both too much to shut either of them up.

:D Hope ya'll enjoyed this chapter! I had so much fun writing it, and now that its done I'll have to try working on chapter 10 in between the...*sweatdrop* 4 other papers, two presentations, and multiple modules I have to do...*sigh* This sucks...Alrighty campers, as always I thank my readers, reviewers, subscribers, and favoriters and reiterate that YOU ALL ROCK AND KEEP THE UPDATES COMIN'! XD Till chapter 10, SEE YA!

Sincerely,

General Kitty Girl