Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.

No, no, no, please God no, he'd thought this was over, it was so long ago, he didn't even remember, he hadn't done it, they'd said it wasn't him, it wasn't his fault; but their bodies were everywhere, God they were everywhere, even when he closed his eyes he could still see them lying there so pale and bloody, eyes staring sightlessly, mouths gaping open, all dead, dead; they'd been innocent, so innocent and there were so many of them, so many oh God and he was covered in their blood, blood was everywhere, on everything and all over him and in the air and on his skin and he could smell it and taste it and it crawled on his skin and it was all his fault all his fault he could hear them screaming and he was covered in their blood and he couldn't get it out and he'd killed them, they were dead and he'd killed them and Matthew, Matthew, he'd never meant to kill Matthew, hadn't meant to kill any of them but Matthew was covered in blood and he'd killed him, he'd killed Matthew, innocent Matthew, Matthew's blood was on his hands Matthew's blood and-

"Ludwig." Gold and blue filled his vision and he latched onto it, part of him calming, because Alfred was here, Alfred would know what to do, Alfred always knew what to do, Alfred could save them, save Matthew, save them like he'd saved him. Alfred would know what to do. Alfred could save everyone.

"Ludwig," came Alfred's voice, warm and gentle, and something warm touched his cheek, reassuring, "Ludwig, what happened? What's wrong?"

"I," he forced the words out through a throat tight with horror and guilt, "I, I killed them. They're dead, they're...they're all dead. I, I killed Matthew."

"Matthew's alive, Ludwig." Alfred's voice is filled with quiet surety, just like it was back then, when Alfred stood in between him and all those men, and he hears the echo of Alfred's voice then, "It'll be alright, I won't let them hurt you." and he can trust that voice, Alfred would never lie to him, has never lied to him. "Nobody's dead. You haven't killed anybody."

Alfred's wrapping around him, his body firm and warm around him, supporting his weight as he melts back against the golden body, making him feel safe, he's safe now, he's protected, they can't get him, they can't come for him, Alfred won't let them; and relief is pouring over him because nobody's dead, it wasn't his fault, he didn't kill them, Alfred said so, and Alfred wouldn't lie to him, ever, Alfred always tells the truth. Ludwig settles back against Alfred, letting his hands fall back into his lap, and his eyes widen, panic rising, because they're covered in blood but that's not possible because Alfred said, Alfred said-

"Ludwig?" The voice, filled with warm concern, vibrates against his back and side where he's pressed against the golden body, and fills his ears, and his heart is racing as he tries to press down the panic but there's blood on his hands, and he turns wide eyes on Alfred, Alfred can fix this, and shows Alfred the blood on his hands.

"There's blood," he quavers, terror swelling inside his chest because no matter where he goes it follows him and he can't get away, and "it, it won't come off." He bites back a sob.

"Let me see," and Ludwig holds them up 'cause Alfred can fix this, Alfred can save him, Alfred always saves him, and Alfred lowers his head to Ludwig's hands. "It's just your blood, Ludwig." Alfred tells him, knowing, understanding the source of his fear, "You've been injured. But it'll be alright now, I promise. We'll take care of you." and Ludwig's terror subsides, because Alfred wouldn't lie to him and if it's his blood than it's not anyone elses', not Matthew's, and he didn't do it, Matthew's alive, it wasn't his fault, they couldn't come for him, because Alfred wouldn't let them, and neither would Matthew.

He watches as Alfred's tongue lathes across his palms and fingers, warm and wet. "There." Alfred says, lifting his head, and nuzzles his cheek, reassuring. "It's all gone. They're clean now." Ludwig looks at his hands. Alfred's right, the blood is gone. His hands are clean.

No-one is dead. Matthew's not dead. Matthew's okay.

Alfred saved them. Alfred always saves them.

He closed his eyes, leaning against the solid warmth surrounding him. He heard voices in the background, someone talking to Alfred, but it didn't matter, wasn't important because everyone's safe now, and he was so tired, and Alfred would keep him safe.

"Ludwig," came Alfred's voice, low and gentle, "the doctor says we need to get you in bed."

"...tired." So tired.

"I know you are," Alfred soothes, "I'm tired too. But this floor is cold, Ludwig, and I want to sleep in the bed where it's warm. Can we move to the bed, Ludwig? Please?"

Alfred's cold, and Alfred wants to sleep in the bed, and he's so tired but he owes everything to Alfred, so he'll do anything Alfred asks of him, anything. Ludwig struggled to his feet, not noticing Alfred supporting him, taking almost all of his weight as they moved to the bed, and Ludwig barely registered arms and paws and a muzzle settling him down into bed, or a warm body curling around him, a thick tail draping over him; and the last thing he was even vaguely conscious of before the darkness took him was turning into the heat of Alfred, burying his face in thick fur, wrapping his arm as far as it would go around the furry neck, and knowing that he was completely, utterly safe.

AN: It's short, and you may find it a bit difficult to read.