Again, thank you for your feedback! I gave the gents a break last time. Now - it's back downhill.
On a completely random sidenote: Funimation is releasing teasers for the Hetalia dubs. I'm giddy like a fangirl.
They were back on the road in under an hour, refreshed and recharged from their overnight stay in Ivan's cabin. Arthur was determined to make up for the time that they'd lost by their stop and hurried them through getting the vehicle packed back up. Their equipment had expanded with a few more useful items from the cabin that they'd brought with them. Even those had nearly been left behind at Arthur's insistence, until Russia had reminded the Englishman about the teakettle. At that point, some exceptions had been made, and Arthur had securely stuffed the kettle into the back of the jeep as if it were some rare treasure.
Having taken some offense to Alfred's mention of his driving habits the previous day, Arthur kept his foot steady on the gas pedal, if just to prove to the American that he was capable of driving at a fast pace of speed. Not that he had exchanged many words with Alfred today – they had been doing their best to avoid each other all morning, much to the puzzlement of the other two nations accompanying them.
Black smoke drifted up on the horizon. They were skirting close to another nuclear zone. Ivan stared off at the tendrils where they curled up into the morning sky. His youthful face was unreadable. Arthur nearly gave in to a desire to offer some words of comfort to the boy, though he swallowed them down. It would hardly have been appropriate – after all, his European neighbors had been responsible for causing that distant destruction. And hadn't Ivan's own people been the cause for the eradication of his brothers? Ireland - with his personality complex or Scotland with his domineering attitude - who had always plagued him no matter how much he tried to make peace between them. Then there was Wales, who – well. Maybe Wales had never been so very terrible. Mainly, Wales had just sort of sat down there and kept to himself, knowing that it was the best strategy.
He'd been in the middle of it. He'd suffered too. He risked a quick peek in the mirror towards Ivan when no one was looking. Despite the actions of Russia's people, it was still hard to hold the other nation accountable. They might have been greater creatures than the people born within their borders, yet in the end they were nothing more than the terra firma that their people walked all over, polluted, destroyed, reshaped to suit their needs. As nations, they might have been masters of their domains – yet Arthur often wondered if perhaps they hadn't somehow relinquished that power somewhere down the road of history.
Also, he wondered how difficult it would be to shift the proper balance of control back. Let them pound a hole through another mountain to make a tunnel, and see how they would react when a fussy British nation came to kick their doors in. That would have put the power back into his hands right quick.
Arthur couldn't help a smile at his thoughts. Matthew was unfolding the map beside him to make another notation. The Englishman nodded at it with satisfaction. "We'll need to make quite a berth for that large nuclear zone. Does that still fit in with your estimation?"
"Yes. I took that into account already." The Canadian said happily. He twisted the map so that Arthur could see it better.
"Brilliant." Arthur said, looking back ahead towards the road. He had to slow his acceleration as they drove towards a narrow wooden bridge. The river that ran underneath it was frozen over, wide enough that the ice cast the reflection of the sun in blinding patches in some places. As they were passing over the bridge, there was a large enough chunk in it that it caused the jeep's rear end to bounce.
Matthew gasped, then swore, when the map went sailing out of his grip with the force of that jump. The Canadian twisted in his seat to track its fall. "Arthur, stop the jeep. I dropped the map."
"Oh for God's sake." Arthur uttered sourly. He slowed to a stop on the other side of the bridge, parking it alongside the bank.
Alfred strained in an effort to see where the map landed, swinging a hand up to roughly smack his brother's arm. "Great work, genius!"
"It's not like I meant to do it!" The Canadian wailed sheepishly as he rubbed at his sore shoulder. "I'll go get it, okay?"
"No, Matthew. You won't be able to get down the embankment in your condition." Arthur said, sighing as he unlatched his belt. "You boys wait here. I'll go grab it, then be right back."
Ivan finally turned his attention away from those distant plumes, frowning as he noticed that Arthur had climbed out of the vehicle. He blinked as he saw the Englishman already picking his way carefully down the embankment. "What is England doing?"
"Trying to get the map back. Canada dropped it, like an idiot." Alfred said dryly.
"It was an accident!"
The Russian boy stood up on his seat to see over the top of Matthew's head. Arthur had reached the surface of the frozen river. He was sliding his feet carefully over the ice to avoid slipping, arms out for balance as the Englishman scowled in his search for the map. Alfred saw Arthur bend down to pluck something up. The Englishman straightened, holding up the map in a fist, as he called back to them. "Got it!"
With sudden haste, Ivan climbed over Alfred's lap, pushing the nation deeper into his seat as he scrambled to get out of the jeep. The American snarled. "What the hell? That hurt!"
Ivan was ignoring him, though, swearing in Russian as he found his shorter limbs getting tangled up with the American's, as he shouted desperately towards the river. "Get off the ice, England! It's not safe!"
Matthew's head whipped around at Ivan's warning to look back at where Arthur was making his way over the ice. That was when he heard – and saw – the very same thing that the Russian boy had already sensed. A sound not unlike a branch breaking, as a spidery thread of white cracks spread out from under the pressure of the Englishman's feet. Arthur went perfectly still, looking down at his feet as he recognized his sudden peril.
Ivan practically fell out of the side of the jeep, landing clumsily in the snow. He powered up onto his feet to push in the direction of the embankment. Alfred was close behind him, the American's longer limbs accomplishing the steady grace that the boy's did not. Matthew already knew, though, that before they'd even finished getting out of the vehicle, that they were too late to prevent what was about to happen.
One second Arthur was swinging his arm to fling the map towards safer ground. The next instant, the ice had given way beneath his weight and they could only watch as he dropped down into that freezing water. In the wake of his fall, the gaping hole exposed the river flowing by at astonishing speed.
"Arthur!" Alfred screamed the name with such force that it tore at his throat. The Englishman surfaced from the gap, arms waving desperately in the air as he tried to find something to take hold of. The ice around the hole just broke away under the pressure of that straining grasp, increasing the size of it. Alfred went leaping down the embankment, intent on rescuing the other man.
What he didn't expect was for Ivan to barrel into his hip with enough force to knock him back into the rocks on the embankment. His eyes were practically murderous towards the Russian. "You fucking bastard! I need to save him!"
"You're too heavy! You'll just fall in too!" Russia yelled back roughly. The boy was unwinding his scarf from around his neck. He whipped it at the American with a growled warning. "Do not lose that. Canada, keep him back!"
They were both insane, surely. Alfred could only make that assumption when he felt Matthew's hands pulling at him with surprising force to drag him back away from the river. He could see Arthur's hand flag up over the surface of the water. It was lucky that the Englishman was such a capable swimmer.
Ivan raced over the ice, sliding onto his knees to skid the last little bit. He caught hold of Arthur's hand before it disappeared back under the surface of the water. The pull of the river's current and the weight of the bigger nation nearly hauled him in too. Ivan grunted as he fought against the strain. His other arm sank deep into the freezing water until he felt the leather of the Englishman's belt. Using that as his handhold, the Russian boy hauled up with as much strength as he could muster.
He wasn't as strong as he used to be, so it wasn't easy. A few times he nearly lost his grip on the other nation when his arms tried to give up the fight. It didn't help that Arthur had become dead weight, his limp limbs offering no assistance to Ivan's efforts. Ivan knew that it was very likely the Englishman had gone unconscious by now for as long as he had been exposed to the frozen waters. He'd probably gone into shock already.
Alfred strained against his brother's grip, though Matthew had wound his arms underneath his brother's armpits, legs locked around the American's waist in a disabling hold. They watched as Ivan levered Arthur up from out of the water, the Englishman folding limply over the side of the ice. Ivan got hold of the bigger man around his middle, grunting with each step as he inched them back towards the brothers. "Help – help me, America!"
Matthew released his brother as soon as Russia asked for him. He numbly clenched Russia's scarf in his hands, having it thrust at him by Alfred as the American hurried down to take hold of Arthur. Alfred hauled the Englishman up off the ice, supporting him under his back and beneath his knees. Arthur hung limply in the American's arms as Alfred fought his way up the embankment towards the jeep. Matthew could only look at the pair and feel anguished that this had all been his fault. He retrieved the map from some nearby branches with tears in his eyes.
As he wiped quickly at his face, Ivan stopped beside him. The boy looked up at the other nation. He took his scarf back from the Canadian, shivering as he wrapped it around his neck. That shivering subsided and the Russian patted him gently on the forearm. "This wasn't your fault, Canada. Now is not the time for blame. We need to make England better."
"Yeah. Yeah… you're right." They climbed back up to the jeep.
Alfred was beside himself. The American's panic had not decreased. He had lain Arthur down across the backseat of the jeep, feeling for a pulse in the other nation's neck. It was still faintly there, fluttering weakly under the surface of Arthur's cold skin. The Englishman was clammy and cold, even his lips had tinged blue from the exposure to the elements. Alfred patted at his cheeks to try and bring him around. "Arthur? Arthur! Wake up."
Matthew came up to the side of the jeep, looking in to judge Arthur's condition. "You need to get him warmed up. He's probably gone into shock. We need to get him out of those wet clothes first, dress him in some dry ones before hypothermia sets in." He noticed that his brother was not even really listening to him. Matthew's hand reached over to pinch the back of Alfred's hand as hard as he could.
The pain got through that panicked glint in Alfred's blue eyes. He had a wild expression on his face. Matthew repeated his orders before adding, more gently, "You need to keep a cool head right now, Alfred. He needs you."
"Okay." Alfred blew out a shuddering breath as he looked back down at the Englishman. He needed to use his head. He needed to be stronger than his impulses, stronger than these violent emotions. "Ivan – grab my bag and get some of my clothes out. I don't care what ones, just whatever will be warm for him. And get one of the bedrolls. Matthew – hand me your knife. I don't want to jostle him around too much."
While the other two went about filling the directives he'd assigned, Alfred stared worriedly down at Arthur's face. He brushed back the wet blond hair away from the Englishman's face, seeing how pale the other nation had become. Alfred pressed both of his large hands to Arthur's cheeks, rubbing the warmth of them against that icy flesh. His lips were chapped – he'd probably torn them when he was screaming, if the pain was any indication – yet he did not think that Arthur was in any condition to mind them. The American rubbed his own lips over those blue ones, covering them and feeling the miniscule trembles.
He pulled back away to watch the fluttering motions of Arthur's eyelids. His attention was drawn away when Matthew cleared his throat, the Canadian offering his brother the handle of his knife. Matthew's face was bland, though there was a strange light in his eyes. Alfred knew that he'd probably seen what he'd just done. He couldn't bring himself to care what his brother thought about it. Alfred took the knife and began to slice at the Englishman's wet, frozen garments.
"Should we try to drive back to the cabin?" Matthew asked quietly while his brother worked.
"It's too far back." Ivan said with a shake of his head. He draped a pile of clothes over the driver's seat, tossing the bedroll down beside them. "There is a town further ahead. I don't know if it is safe, but it is the closest location. We need to get England somewhere warm. For now, America will have to get his temperature up."
"I'll drive us." Matthew decided. He moved the pile of clothes and bedroll over into the passenger's seat in order to climb into the space. "Let me know when you're done cutting him free of those clothes, Alfred. I don't want to risk you slicing him open while we drive."
Alfred grunted; his forehead creased in concentration. "Almost done. Just another minute."
He peeled Arthur free of his coat and sweater, the Englishman's body already too cold to register the extra chill. If conscious, Arthur probably would never have allowed for such immodesty in front of present company (not while sober, anyway – staggering drunk, they'd seen it all by now). Alfred figured that he could complain about it later when he was awake again. He toweled the man's body off to dry off the excess water, shaking his hair free of the freezing droplets.
Gathering up the clothes that Ivan had brought him, he sorted through them quickly in order to find a shirt. First, he wrapped the old T-shirt around the top of Arthur's head to help dry the wet hair and to try and keep the heat in. Then he pulled another on over the Englishman, smoothing it into place over his torso. He followed that by sliding on a long-sleeved shirt, fingers trembling as he worked the buttons closed.
Alfred took up the knife again to cut Arthur's pants off. He had enough foresight to at least force the belt off first – Arthur would have killed him for leaving him without one. Alfred yanked the boots off with haste, tossing them onto the floor of the jeep without bothering to see where they landed. Then he paused and frowned towards the other nations. "Um. You guys might want to turn around. I doubt that Arthur would approve of you seeing… you know. It's not him stripping his clothes off in a drunken binge, after all."
Ivan rolled his eyes, arms folding against his chest as he turned away. Matthew's face flushed scarlet as he turned back in his seat to provide a little more privacy. Alfred made sure that neither of them looked as he finished with his work. He didn't have any undergarments that were going to fit Arthur, so he simply struggled to get an old faded pair of his denim jeans up onto the Englishman. Once he had Arthur all buttoned up and decent, Alfred mumbled to the others. "Okay. Got him changed."
"Now you need to keep him warm. The heat of your body will help to stabilize his temperature." Ivan informed him, as the boy climbed into the passenger seat. He stood on it, helping Alfred to maneuver the bedroll around the limp Englishman.
Alfred gave him an unsure frown. "How should I do that?"
"Lay on him. Or rest him on you. As much contact as you can provide him would be best. He is going to start to shiver badly – that will be a good sign."
"Okay. Sure." Alfred handed the knife back over to Matthew. "Start driving. I'll get settled back here with him."
Matthew nodded as he sheathed it, buckling himself in as he forced the jeep into gear. He spun the wheel around in order to race them towards the town Ivan had suggested, his foot pushing the pedal down to the floor. The sudden burst of speed nearly caused Alfred to fall over in the backseat, though he succeeded in catching himself to prevent it, turning his attention towards his task of warming Arthur back up.
New York was unseasonably cold when his ship pulled into the harbor. There was a threat of a storm looming on the horizon, so commerce in the area had seen a desperate surge as merchants tried to beat the more dangerous weather in order to deliver their shipments. It impressed Arthur to see so many ships sailing in and out to sea; he could understand their desire for haste. He himself had been forced to push this trip up earlier than intended in order to avoid the foul conditions.
It was lucky that he'd brought his winter coat to wear. The crimson fabric was thick enough that the elements weren't too intolerable. When the ruffles of his cravat threatened to pull loose in the force of the wind, he smoothed them all back into place with a hand, feeling how cold the linen was from the frigid air. He had probably overdressed for the occasion; still, Arthur preferred to arrive looking as immaculate as when he'd left. And he was already running late for his arrival time.
Reaching into the pocket of his waistcoat, he withdrew his pocket watch to check on the time. Nearly thirty minutes overdue. Worry began to furrow his eyebrows together as he clicked it shut with an unhappy sigh. He had someone waiting for him. Had the boys been waiting long in this kind of weather? Arthur strolled across the deck with impatient steps, green eyes casting out over the piers as he tried to locate some sign of the pair amongst the throngs of people waiting for passengers, supplies, or other trade goods.
He nearly looked right over the top of them. It wasn't until he spied the small figure of America jumping up onto the railing that he managed to locate the pair. Arthur felt some panic for the young colony's apparent carefree attitude while positioned so precariously on the edge. America was waving his arms in the air and swaying enough that Arthur feared he'd topple right into the water. The boy really could get too excited at times.
Canada had a little more sense than his brother. Arthur saw the mild-mannered youth take hold of America in order to yank the other boy off the top of the railing to a safer spot. Thank God for little Canada, Arthur thought to himself as he let out a long breath of relief. His ship was near enough now that he could see their faces more clearly; America's face was practically radiant with joy. Something about it was infectious, as Arthur found himself smiling in response.
America had begun to flag his arms in a wave, ignoring the adults that were glaring at him for bumping into them. Arthur checked around him on the deck. His crew was occupied preparing for the ship to dock; none of them were paying him any notice. He brought his hand up to return a smaller wave, hand swinging back and forth just in front of his chest, cheeks staining with a flush of pink as he sacrificed his commanding façade to return the greeting. Just a few years ago, he'd have been sneering and flashing a less wholesome gesture towards the masses as his ship pulled into port. Now he was embarrassed just to be waving. France would have laughed in his face.
The ship had barely settled against the pier when Arthur twisted to locate his first mate, schooling his face into a cool mask. "Mister Hanford, I leave her in your capable hands for now. Set the crew on their business – we sail in a week."
"Aye, Captain." The seasoned sailor saluted him crisply as he settled into barking orders at the crewmen.
Nodding, Arthur hurried down as soon as they'd settled the plank into place, his boots clacking loudly on the aged wood. He pushed the broad brim of his hat back from his face as he made his way up the pier. The crowd was parting out of his way, his style of dress and the unmistakable sight of that red coat causing them to automatically defer to him. Arthur took no stock of these faceless American subjects. He looked around as the crowd thinned, yet while he was distracted in his search, the boys found him instead.
Arthur took measure of the two boys as they stood nearby. America had shot up at least another inch in his absence. He was restless as he waited, having received a stern lecture the last time Arthur had arrived, when the boy had practically tackled him in view of the entire public. Arthur was forced to stress to the youth the importance of proper behavior in such a forum. Canada was quickly becoming a sylph in comparison to his brother; the smaller boy had not yet begun to fill out, still all thin, petite limbs. The arms that clutched that tiny bear to his chest were scrawny in comparison to his more robust sibling.
In the time that he took to get a good look at them, America was starting to shift from one foot to the other as if to silently stress the amount of restraint it took for him to behave himself. Arthur sighed. There really was no helping it. He smirked faintly and bent down so that one knee brushed the aged, wet wood of the pier beneath them. "All right, I give up. Come here before you burst at the seams, silly boy."
His arms spread open just in time to receive the bundle that raced into them. He gasped at the force of America's collision with his frame, laughing a little in his surprise as he immediately gathered the boy up. America had wound his slender limbs around the older man's neck as if trying to display his strength with a firm squeeze. "Eng—Arthur! You're finally back home." He'd managed to catch himself that time, at least. "I have missed you terribly!"
Arthur winced at the sheer volume of that voice shouting in his ear. "Gently, little one. Gently. You're going to force my head from my shoulders if you persist."
The boy loosened his hold at Arthur's words, shifting so that one arm rested comfortably across the breadth of the bigger man's shoulders. He had turned his body, leaning back against the support of Arthur as he waved Canada over towards them. The smaller boy was still adjusting to the changes of his sovereignty; America had reported in his letters to Arthur that he'd been trying to teach his brother their shared language. It would take some time.
Canada approached them with faltering steps, not sure if he belonged in their reunion. His wide eyes still held traces of fear towards Arthur. It was perfectly understandable, given that the boy had been witness to the British Empire gloating in the bruised face of his former French father. Arthur was not going to risk frightening the youth by embracing him as he had done with America. He compromised by placing a gentle hand on Canada's slim shoulder. "Good to see you as well. You appear to be in healthier spirits."
"I am… 'appy to see you." Canada's accent was still thickly French. Arthur tried not to let it irk him, despite the fact that he'd just left another battle against his bitter enemy and that particular accent set his teeth on edge. "I 'ave learnt many things."
"Have you? That's wonderful." Arthur told him with sincere pride. He glanced over to America, seeing that the boy was plucking idly at the intricate gold lacing of his jacket, fingers pale against the backdrop of all that crimson. Arthur looped his arm tighter around the boy and rose from his kneeling position, hefting America up in that arm with a quiet grunt. "My, you've gotten heavy. Why don't you boys tell me all about your progress with language on the carriage ride home?"
America settled into his arm with natural ease, giggling at the comment about his weight. Arthur offered his empty hand to Canada, who slipped his tiny hand into that larger one without any comment. The boy shifted his grasp on his bear, folding it more solidly against his chest as he walked alongside Arthur. Without waiting any longer, intent on getting out of the chilly weather and into the comfort of his house, Arthur went straight to the carriage that was waiting for them. He lifted Canada into the coach, having to struggle to get America untangled from around his neck, as the boy seemed determined not to let go. Once he'd pried the youth free and pushed him inside, Arthur stepped in after them with a hard clap on the side of the carriage that sent them wheeling on their way home.
The week flew by without warning. Time passed too quickly, especially when Arthur wanted nothing more than to stop it. He commanded the seas, and he could have probably controlled the elements with the right incantations, yet time was the one elusive enemy that Arthur could not tame. So it happened again that he was forced to attempt a late night escape from the haven of the home he shared with America, gathering his things in relative silence to avoid waking the boy. Leaving his home here was hard enough without the added guilt of bringing tears to those trusting blue eyes.
Arthur handed his things to the coachman so that the man could finish loading the carriage. The Englishman took his time as he finished dressing for the cold, sliding on the thick weight of his crimson long coat. As he was securing it over his clothes, he idly noticed a few specks of blood along the trim of the collar. Arthur's nose wrinkled in distaste at it, wondering what nationality had left its mark on his favorite jacket. Odds were good that it was French. It was a marvel that he hadn't discovered it earlier. Then again, he had selected an appropriate color as his banner; stains hardly ever showed.
He took his hat down from its peg in order to tuck it securely under his arm, while his attention was focused on those spots. Arthur stepped out of the house and let the steward close it quietly behind him. It was another cold night out. He might have felt it press on him sooner, yet Arthur was too preoccupied with scraping his thumbnail over the fabric of his coat to flake off the offending stains.
"You're sneaking out again?"
Arthur's head shot up from where he'd been observing his work. His eyes widened with astonishment as he found America standing at the base of the porch stairs. The boy had managed to appear out of nowhere! He certainly hadn't come through the door or else Arthur would have seen it. "How did you…?"
"I climbed down from my window. The tree's branches are long enough that I can get down from the second floor." America explained, though his words were still laced with cool accusation. The boy had braced both hands on his hips as he glared up at the escaping nation. Arthur could see that he had dressed in haste: The boy's shirt wasn't tucked in, the buttons of his vest were done up incorrectly so that the whole thing was crooked, and more telltale than that was the fact that he was wearing two boots of entirely different colors. "Were you not even going to say good-bye?"
"There was a letter that I'd left for you in the parlor. I thought it would be easier on you to wake and find me gone, rather than go through the pain of our parting." Arthur felt humbled. Here he was feeling chided – chided! – by a mere boy. Perhaps if he hadn't been sneaking out like an unfaithful husband, it would have been easier not to feel such remorse.
Arthur shook his head to clear it. He was the bloody British Empire! It wouldn't do at all to stand idle being lectured by his colony. Arthur drew himself up out of his slump, mouth thinning as he regarded America. "That's neither here nor there. It is past your bedtime, young man. And I am shocked that you would do something so uncouth as to climb down a tree as though you were some savage. Now back to bed with you." He pointed to the door of the home as he ordered the boy inside.
"No!" America refused, raising his voice. His youthful features twisted up in anger and he stepped up in front of Arthur, the hands that had been clenched at his hips were now swatting at the Englishman. The boy's slapping hands could reach no higher than Arthur's chest, yet that did not mean that his blows didn't carry some clout to them. America was a strong little colony.
Arthur flinched as he found himself coming under this pseudo-attack from the boy, though he could tell that America had no true fire with his attacks, slapping half-heartedly to vent his displeasure more than in an attempt to injure the older man. Snatching hold of the boy by his wrists, Arthur hissed at him in exasperation. "Stop that right now! You're acting like a little buffoon, America."
"I don't care! You're supposed to stay with me, England! You promised that you'd stay!" America was already dissolving into tears, shifting the energy of his anger into the hiccupping sobs that started to pour out of him and knife straight into Arthur's heart. "You always break your promise."
Those tears inflicted more harm than those slapping hands. Arthur felt America yanking at the grip he had on the boy's wrists. With a melancholy sigh, Arthur released the boy long enough to catch him in a broader hold, enfolding the youth into a tight embrace as he crouched down on the porch. America tried to squirm out of it at first, until his intentions wavered and he ended up throwing his arms around Arthur's neck in a desperate clutch. Arthur felt the hot warmth of America's tears seeping into the collar of his jacket while he let his fingers slip soothingly through the boy's hair. "It was never my intention to mislead you with my promise. Someday I will come back home to you, little one, and it will be for all time. That day will only be possible when the world is safe enough for the both of us. I am working very, very hard to make that happen, America, but you must grant me just a little more patience."
America's face drew back from his shoulder, cheeks wet with tears and his nose red from his crying. His blue eyes searched Arthur's face carefully to try to divine something from it. "R-really? You're not just… just saying that because you want to go visit your other colonies or… or because you want to be back at your real home?"
Arthur smiled tenderly to him, the lace of his cuff brushing against America's face as he wiped those tear tracks away with the backs of his knuckles. "It's the truth, little one. There is often no happiness to be had within my own borders, as much as it comes under attack from within and without. I honestly find no greater joy to be had than when I find myself returning to your shores, America. One day soon I will come back and you will never again have to go to bed fearing that I will be gone on the morrow."
That gave the boy the reassurance that he needed. America nodded solemnly, sniffling as he recovered himself from the last of his tears. "Okay, England. I will… I will try my best to be patient."
"Thank you." Arthur was relieved to hear it. His smile stretched as he squeezed the boy into another tight embrace. He kissed America's round cheek and buried his face against the youth's neck for one lingering moment longer, drawing the scent of the boy deep into his lungs; Arthur dwelled in the smell of untamed wilderness that radiated from his colony, then forced himself to withdraw so that he could lock eyes with the boy. "All right, America. I am running behind schedule as it is. Promise me that you will be a good lad. Look after Canada for me and continue to help him like a good brother should. Be brave and be strong."
When his carriage rolled away minutes later, Arthur kept himself straining to keep sight of America from the window. The boy was left standing on the porch, his figure receding into the shadows as Arthur got too far away to see him clearly. Eventually the house itself had disappeared behind the darkened foliage of the wilderness around it. Arthur slumped heavily back into his seat, allowing the carriage's rocky motions to jostle him as he stared listlessly towards the floor. He had gone through this routine nearly a hundred times by now. He was still waiting for the day when it would get any easier.
Arthur surfaced out of distant memories and was immersed in a scent both familiar and strange. It smelled of grass and wheat and clear summer skies. He inhaled deeply, nose lifting until it made contact with smooth, warm flesh. The scent only got stronger. Wasn't this how America smelled?
The tip of his nose rubbed against that spot until he felt the warmth beneath him start to squirm. Arthur's eyes cracked open as he heard Alfred emit a quiet giggle, though it sounded far away. "Arthur, you're tickling me here. Are you finally waking up?"
Arthur wanted to tell him that was the case. His body just didn't seem to want to obey him. He managed to roll his head, feeling the pressure of an arm against the back of it, in order to peer silently at Alfred's face where it rested beside his. The American lay beneath him, and all that lovely warmth was radiating from his body, and Arthur was quite comfortably nestled upon it. He should have felt mortified to find himself in such a manner, resting as intimately as he was between Alfred's thighs. His brain recalled what had led up to it, however, and Arthur did not feel so embarrassed.
Alfred noticed his gaze. The American smiled brightly at him. "Hey there. It's about time that you came around."
There was a bedroll draped over the both of them. Arthur could feel its soft weight against his back. Alfred was carefully adjusting it around their bodies now that the Englishman was shifting his position. His limbs felt like lead weights. Nothing wanted to work properly. Alfred murmured down to him, "Don't move around too much. I just got you unfrozen. You need to take it easy for a while."
There was probably sound logic to back up Alfred's warning. Arthur was just too stubborn of an individual to obey him like that. He wanted his head up, throat working soundlessly as the Englishman tried to look around them. Arthur didn't hear the sound of the jeep. They must have stopped somewhere after the incident with the river. He wasn't completely lucid. His brain felt like it was swimming through some murky waters. When he finally did manage to speak, it came out as a dull slur. "Where're we?"
"Camped outside of a small town. We were going to try and stay there, but Ivan said that he thought some military might have stationed in it. Since you weren't conscious, we decided that it would be better to play it safe than sorry. How do you feel?"
"Tired. Weak. Drunk."
"No surprise there. You were an icicle for a while. It was lucky for you that Ivan managed to pull you out in time." Alfred's smile faltered. He looked very serious as his eyes traced over Arthur's face. "We nearly lost you."
"Too stubborn to die." Arthur mumbled. The crook of Alfred's throat was warm. It smelled so inviting. He tightened the grip of his arms around the American's neck and nuzzled his face down into it. There might have been once or twice that he'd imagined this sort of scenario: At rest in the American's arms, comfortable and at peace, as if they'd been doing it for a lifetime. Of course, none of his imagined fantasies had involved a near-death experience prior to this close embrace.
Alfred's hands had been tracing lazy patterns on his back until Arthur began to nuzzle his throat. The American tightened his grip on the Englishman, fingers digging in as he tensed again. "S-stop that. It tickles."
At the protest from the American, Arthur relented on his ministrations. He felt like he'd been drinking – surely that made his behavior excusable? Arthur's body trembled with a shiver that cut deep into his bones; the force of it rattled a breath through his teeth. "Ivan? Matthew?"
"Out hunting. With the military so close, they thought it would be better to go as a pair. That, and I think Ivan was concerned with Matthew blaming himself over what happened. Russia really acts like someone's old grandpa sometimes."
Arthur shook his head. Matthew would have been a fool to blame himself over the event. While he'd been the cause of the circumstances, he'd certainly not been the catalyst for the outcome. It was Arthur that had erred; in his irritation, he had not used proper judgment towards the safety of his environment. He should have known that the ice wasn't going to hold him. His eyes fluttered, straining to keep them focused on Alfred's face. "And you?"
"I wouldn't forgive myself if anything happened to you out here." Alfred said quietly.
"Help me to sit." Arthur told him, finding his body pliant in the care of the other nation. He was brought upright against Alfred's chest, the American keeping him steady with those hands on his back. Arthur slumped down on his knees once his weight had balanced itself. Struggling against the lethargy in his system, he tried to fix Alfred with his most impressive look of disapproval.
"Now listen up, America. I decided to come along – my mistakes are my own, got it? You're not allowed to take credit for my failures or my achievements. Stop thinking that you're so damned special. You're not. You're not!" He slid a hand down from where it had been locked around Alfred's neck, poking at his chest with his index finger. "You need to understand that you aren't the only one causing ripples in the pool." Arthur blinked, his head lolling to the left as his train of thought derailed. Giving the other nation a lecture on responsibility in this condition was harder than he'd imagined it would be. "Where… was I?"
Alfred's expression transformed from chagrined to amused with a wry smile. "…My ripples in some pool?"
"Don't patronize me with that smirk of yours. My brain's all gone to pot right now." Arthur warned him darkly. His mind plucked at the first loose thread it could find that would lead him forward in the conversation. "I wasn't honest there. You are special, aren't you? Everyone thinks so – whether they like the fact or not. It's different for us, isn't it – you and I? Don't mistake me in thinking that means I think you are special. You're a rude, senseless git who only exists to annoy me and make my life difficult. Are you listening to me, boy?"
"Listening, sure. Understanding? Sketchy." Alfred's eyebrows had lifted high on his forehead, rather impressed by the patchy nonsense that was spewing out of the Englishman's mouth. That was normally what he did – ramble on until the concept made sense. "I think that you're trying to insult me. Is that the point?"
Arthur shook his head, instantly regretting it. He had to rest his forehead down on Alfred's shoulder when dizziness spelled through him, his ranting dropped lower to a dull mumbling. "Absolutely not. Are you even paying attention to a word that I've said?" His fingers curled in the fabric of Alfred's shirt, bunching it up. "You aren't special to me. You were special to me. You were so very special, Alfred, do you know that? Tamed the heart of a pirate and broke the heart of an empire – that's what you did. Now you think you can just toss your weight around like the cock of the walk, but that really isn't fair, is it? Is it?"
Alfred searched the area around him nervously. "Are you just… ranting to get stuff off your chest, or are you really yelling at me right now about all this?"
"Shut up! Let me get a word in edgewise, you American prick." Arthur muttered. He wasn't about to let the other nation interrupt him. Everything that he had to say would never get out if he did. Arthur waited until he was sure that the American was going to stay silent. It gave him time for his brain to find something else to bring up while he had Alfred's undivided attention. "I'm… I understand that I am not making much sense right now. This probably wasn't the best time for me to have this conversation with you – but you get it now, right? Don't you?"
His hold tightened on Alfred's shirt, winding the fabric in his fist as he tried to shake the American. "I mean that I'm sorry, all right? You wanted an apology from me because I was always such a manipulative prick – ask France, ask Spain, they'd agree – but I will never apologize to them since they have never meant anything to me while you, you will always mean the world to me. Not because I think you are special – I am the one who decided what I should feel, got it? Me."
"Was that…? Arthur, is that your version of an apology?" Alfred was incredulous.
"I never said that it would be good, did I? I make it a habit of never apologizing. Not for anything." Arthur peered hard into those blue eyes, cheeks flushed. "If you tell anyone that I did so, I'll deny it. They won't believe you."
"I'm not going to tell anyone." Alfred shook his head. This was probably the worst version of an apology that he'd ever received. Still, coming from the gruff England, there wasn't much more that he could expect. "Thanks. I mean it, Arthur. Thank you. Strange how it takes you nearly drowning and then almost freezing to death to put you in the mood to admit that you're sorry."
Arthur frowned. "It wasn't just that. I was dreaming just now…" He cut off his words, not wanting to even begin trying to explain his motivations to the American. Arthur let go of Alfred's shirt and took hold of the one that had been put on him while he was unconscious. It was much too large for him, the cuffs nearly swallowed up his hands.
Alfred looked on as the Englishman checked himself over. "Ah. I had to cut your clothes off. These are mine. You can change into some of your own when we get to another shelter. We weren't really selective on what went on you."
"No, this is fine." Arthur brought the bunched cuff up to his face, delicately sniffing the fabric. It smelled like Alfred. The American had been wearing it that day in Geneva, hadn't he? A fresh wave of lethargy passed through him, zapping the reserves of energy he'd just used up. Arthur rested heavily forward against Alfred's chest, arm falling limply down to rest atop the other man's. "I'm too tired for this. I think I need to sleep some more."
"That's probably a good idea. We need you to get your strength back up." Alfred told him. He eased backwards slowly, carrying Arthur with him so that the Englishman sprawled back out upon his chest. Having Arthur complacent instead of that usual stiff-backed manner was a welcomed change. His mind was replaying the Englishman's rant in a loop, stuck on repeat, like it were trying to clue him in on some important tidbit of information that he'd missed in all that chaos. Alfred was slow to catch on. "Hey, Arthur? Were you just trying to tell me that you-?"
There was a quiet snore near his chest. So much for asking Arthur what he'd meant. "Um. Never mind."
Booted feet came crunching through the snow a few minutes later. Ivan and Matthew must have been returning to camp. Alfred tried not to shake Arthur around too much as he turned his head, a bright smile in place. "Hey guys! He finally woke up!"
He blinked a few times, then his face twisted with annoyance. Did he really need this now? His good mood deflated completely as Alfred looked dully up the length of the rifle that was now leveled right into his face. The Russian soldier on the end of it did not look happy to see him. The feeling was entirely mutual. Alfred scowled up at the man, saying the first thing that popped into his mind. "Fuck."