America, Part 4.

Hey guys! I'm not going to be updating next week so I thought I'd give you another chapter early! So here's America, Part 4... June 2010. Previously ended up in Pennsylvania, where he left Canada behind in an abandoned chapel. Later, returned to New York… months later, ended up here…

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"I see skies of blue… clouds of white…"

I wander through the abandoned, destroyed street, listening to my own voice echo, lonely, off the buildings barely standing on either side of me.

"Bright blessed day, dark sacred night…"

There's no one here. I've been looking for weeks. It's the same everywhere- every city. No one. Ruins- abandoned besides the dead. There aren't any groups or riots anymore. Just a surreal silence. It's hard to tell what's real anymore. I can't think. The sun scorches my skin, my eyes, my mind- when was the last time I had a drink? Or ate? I thought if I tried to find somewhere overseas, things would be different. But it's the same.

"…and I think to myself… what a wonderful world."

The road is dusty. It reminds me of the days I spent in Texas a few years back. I'd enjoy myself now if it wasn't for the heavy burden weighing everything I know down. All my thoughts, my movements… lifeless and heavy. A constant reminder of what I've done. It's been 3 months. I've lost track of exactly how many days- since Matthew died. Since Russia died. I'm still numb from it. I recognise the shellshock, cold and harsh from head to toe- gripping me like a ghost.

…At times I see them. Staring at me.

Watching.

I wake up screaming from it, with the little sleep I find. They won't leave me alone. It doesn't matter how many times beg and scream to be left at peace- it doesn't matter how many times I apologise. They still follow me.

I gaze around, too tired and weak to call out. So I continue to sing.

"I see trees of green… red roses too… I see them bloom, for me and for you…"

I glance up as a lone plane flies by. I don't try to get it's attention, and simply continue to wander.

"… and I think to myself… what a wonderful wor-"

All of a sudden, the air is knocked out of me. I'm pushed down to the ground- the weight on top of me makes me panic, fumbling frantically for my gun. When I grasp it, it's snatched out of my hand, and that arm is wrenched behind my back. Craning my neck, I find myself glowering up at the silhouette of a man, face shadowed by the sun behind him. The gun is shoved roughly into my temple as the attacker yells,

"WHAT'S 2+2?"

"…what?" I squint, still glaring, and cough as I inhale the dust from the ground I'm pleasantly being shoved in.

"ANSWER THE FUCKING QUESTION!"

"FOUR- Jesus christ-!"

They step off of me. Immediately I push myself up, wiping my mouth. They still have my gun, eyes and gunpoint always on me. I raise my hand dully, showing I don't mean to be a threat. The last thing I want is to be shot- in a way, I deserve worse. The man is shorter than me, and looks strangely familiar.

"What? Don't you recognise me, burger-bastard?"

In the incoherent thoughts of my mind, it clicks. "… Romano."

"At least you remember my name. You look like shit." He snorts, still holding my gun.

I narrow my eyes, "You can give that back now."

"Like hell am I doing that- I don't trust you, you bastard."

Unable to argue against that, I shrug.

For a moment, there's a tense silence as Romano studies me from a safe distance, still having me at gunpoint.

"What happened to you." He asks cautiously, his face turning suspiciously to the side, giving me a sideward scowl.

"If you think I'm like those mobs- I'm not."

"That's exactly what I'm thinking."

"Then don't." I growl in irritation.

He snorts again, "If you're not like them- then where the fuck did that blood come from. It's not yours."

I haven't changed clothes since that day. I'm sure I've added more to it travelling here- there have been a few times when I've had to go to extreme boundaries to survive- especially when I travelled to New York. Only adding to my track record of kills, I guess. It doesn't even phase me anymore. I've accepted that I'm a killer.

"Y'know…" A strangely serene smile crosses my lips, "… I'm not too sure anymore."

"-and you seriously think I'm going to give you this back after you've said that?" Romano exclaims, waving the in my direction. Behind the anger, he's becoming nervous.

"I'm not going to kill you."

"So you KILLED people?"

"To survive." My expression becomes a little dark, "I had to. The mobs of those people were attacking us, and me."

He relaxes a little, but remains untrusting towards me.

After a pause, I ask, "Can you tell me where I am?"

"Madrid. How the hell did you get here?"

"Plane. It crashed a few miles back."

"So you can't get back to your place?"

I rub my face of dust, increasingly close to collapsing. I'm dehydrated and starving.

"I don't think I want to."

"… you look like shit." He says again, exposing some concern. He lowers the gun, "I don't trust you, but if you don't try to kill me I'll take you to Spain's. It's near by."

"Spain's alive?"

Romano, who had turned to begin walking, stops and glancing back, "…why would he be dead?"

I shrug. Narrowing his gold-brown eyes at me, he continues walking. When I'm still stood where I am, he calls in annoyance, "Are you coming or not?"

I follow him. He leads me down a few alleyways, sometimes glancing back- as if to make sure I'm not sneaking up on him or anything. I simply keep silent with a dull expression as I look ahead, not wanting to make conversation. Unlike me, Romano doesn't like the silence.

"How bad is it where you were."

"My government's dead." I mutter matter-of-factly, "My own people killed them all."

"That's too bad." He replies wryly, "I'm surprised Russia didn't get to them first."

I tense and say nothing. He laughs at his own comment, then glances back when he realises I didn't join him. There's an awkward pause, "… you okay, burger-bastard?"

"I'm fine." I manage, staring at the ground. I want to forget what he said and just brush it off. I don't need questions being aimed at me right now. He appears to get that message; the rest of the journey is in silence. Soon we reach what I can only guess is Spain's house. Romano stops outside it, and points the gun at me again, "Move, and I'll blow your balls off."

I blink passively. He walks up to the door and knocks 5 times rapidly. I stay where I am like he ordered.

The sound of the door unlocking tells me they must have a codeword to get in. It must be dangerous around here, in that case. I'm lucky Romano was the one to attack me, although I would've much preferred to remain wandering the streets by myself. I've been used to be alone the last few weeks.

Romano sticks his head inside the door and calls in, "OI, SPAIN! No luck finding your cat but I found America."

The sound of two separate exclamations comes from somewhere in the house. The southern Italian gestures for me to approach the door, again at gunpoint, and I walk up the path. Spain and Italy soon appear into the hallway with wide eyes, staring at me in amazement.

"A-America? Is it really you?"

"Yeah." Unlike their joy, my tone of voice is lifeless, "It's good to see you."

Romano rolls his eyes and thumbs at me, " I found him wandering down the street, singing to himself."

"I knew you'd visit!" Italy chirps, squeezing passed Spain to get closer to me. I don't react when he suddenly yelps and backs up, hiding behind his brother, "B-Blood-! "

"He's not one of them." Romano assures, although he doesn't seem to trust his own words completely.

"Are you okay, mi amigo?" Spain asks with obvious concern, green eyes wide.

I shrug. I'm going to wear out my shoulders doing that.

"You're not having this back until we're sure." The older Italian tilts the gun a little to emphasise, glaring at me. Italy gives me a scared look from behind him. I simply let my gaze fall to my feet.

"Por favour, Alfred-" I look back up to Spain at the use of my first name, "We need to sort you out. You look in bad shape-" He leads me inside, and takes me upstairs. Romano protests feebly from the door that I might kill him, and he only smiles stupidly back, "Don't be silly, Lovino!"

I stay silent. As I look at the normality of the house, I start to feel out of place. It's too normal.

"What happened to you?" The Spaniard asks. I don't acknowledge his question as I stare into one of the bedrooms, "… America?"

I look at him blankly. His expression grows with anxiety, "… you should take a shower. This way."

Spain takes me to the bathroom and gestures to the shower, leaving to find me some fresh clothes that'll fit. Alone again, I give the room a wary look, before half heartedly opening the shower door to turn it on.

Spain returns with a shirt and some pants, "Hopefully these will fit- they're too big for me, anyway- America?"

I look at him and give him a ghost of a smile, "Thanks…"

He places them on the tile side, then leaves to give me privacy.

…leaving the room quiet besides the gentle pattering of water.

For a brief moment I shut my eyes and rest my head against the shower glass, gazing in to look at the water falling. Steam begins to rise and fogs up the window. Weakly, I step away and shed myself of blood-stained clothes. Even my bomber jacket is patched with darker fabric from it. I let them fall in a crumpled heap before catching my reflection in the mirror. I gaze at myself passively. I'm paler, despite the sun; dark circles make me look almost like a ghost. My cropped blonde locks are in tangles, kept together by dirt, my cowlick not as prominent as before but limp. I'm almost a little alarmed at how many ribs I can count. I run my weak finger tips across them, frowning. How did I become so thin?

When I realise I'm trembling, I force myself to look away. I step into the hot, running water of the shower, and allow myself to relax my aching muscles. I rest my head against the cooler tile wall as the water runs down my back, gradually washing away the blood that had stained my skin through the clothes. I watch it circle the drain. I wonder how much of it is Russia's? Or Canada's…

An icy shiver travels through me at the thought. Suddenly I'm almost scared to let it go- it's the last remains of Canada that I have- disappearing…

I freeze when I see something move in the corner of my eye. Very slowly, I turn my head and stare through the misted glass of the shower- my eyes widening. On the other side, a man as tall as me stands, bare skin white, eyes purple, blood bright across his neck.

"America, why didn't you save me?"

"N-no, I-"

"You're letting me go… you'll forget me." Through the fogged up glass I see his expression twist into anger, "How could you-"

"I won't forget- I- I just need to be clean- I didn't mean to make you angry-"

"Alfred, why…"

"L-Leave me alone- I told you- I didn't realise-"

"You let me down- I'm dead because of you-"

"GO AWAY-"

"Alfred? Are you okay?"

I'm ripped out of my panic at Spain's voice in the doorway. I stare at him for a moment, then glance back fearfully at the glass. My reflection stares back at me, and I realise I had been talking to myself- what I had thought was Matthew was myself- blood still staining my neck. With blank, wide eyes, I rub the blood away as I look back to Spain.

"I-I'm okay…" I murmur, feeling numb again. He hesitates to question that, before coming into the room and sitting on the tile counter.

"Um…" I frown at him, feeling a little uncomfortable in the shower with him sat a metre away. He simply smiles reassuringly at me.

"I think you need some company, when you've been alone for so long."

I blink a few times before sighing miserably, too disheartened to begin washing beyond letting the water run over me. Spain notes this.

"You need to have a good wash, Alfred. Please- trust me, you'll feel better."

I shrug and do as he says, attempting to untangle my hair and wash it of dirt and God knows what else. The next time I glance to Spain, he's gazing thoughtfully at the opposite wall, looking anxious. I don't comment on it but feel his angst for a moment before looking back to the floor.

It had been a while since I had hallucinated, until just now. It scares me when I see them. Both of them. When I see Russia… that's when I'm most terrified. He haunts me at night- in my dreams, standing over me when I open my eyes, eyes full of blood thirst- all I see is that twisted grin, that look of manic fear- why had he suddenly changed into something so desperate, so guilty, just at the moment I was to meet my death along with my brother? What had changed him? Why had Russia chosen someone so innocent to die? Why…

For the first time in months, I feel an overwhelming wave of grief. Recently I had developed a state of emotional limbo, once I'd accepted I was alone. But being around other nations so suddenly- it's gotten to me. I realise now how much I have to hide. I doubt that I can keep it under the surface. Maybe I'm better off alone, like I was before. I don't want the others to find out. They can't. They'd turn away from me. They'd find out I'm a murderer. I'm a murderer…

"America?"

Spain has jumped off of the side and stands by the shower door. I hadn't realise I'd started crying. I try to hide my tears but my sobs are too strong, making me turn away from him. I don't glance back when the doors open and I'm gently brought out into a warm towel.

"It's okay…" The older nation comforts, wrapping the fabric around my shoulders. Every time a tear falls down my cheeks and rubs it away and gives me a reassuring smile, telling me it's alright.

"Spain… I couldn't save them. I couldn't save any of them." I whisper, voice cracked.

He meets my eye, looking saddened, "Sometimes you can't."

"But… it's my fault, I-"

"It's never your fault. Don't blame yourself. Be thankful you're still alive, mi amigo."

2 nations are dead because of me.

My head falls against his shoulder. He hugs me back.

"Are you seriously okay? What happened?"

"I can't say. I- he… he'll be angry if I do."

"Who'll be angry?"

I stare at him fearfully for a split second, before we're both interrupted by a startled Italian stood by the door.

"What the hell are you two doing?" Romano exclaims, red faced. It's enough to make Spain laugh, and he swats a hand towards him.

"Don't worry- go find Italy."

"No- seriously." The younger of the two eyes us suspiciously.

"I'm having a mental breakdown- fuck off." I manage to say in a dull tone. Romano opens his mouth to retort but can't argue with that, so he walks away mutter to himself.

Spain turns to me, "Sorry, he does that-"

I right myself, wrapping the towel around my waist, "It's okay."

"Are you…?"

"Yeah." I smile a little, "I feel a bit better."

He smiles back in relief, "That's good. You should get some rest."

I nod, and admit, "I'm ready to collapse."

Spain leads me to a bedroom with a single bed, "You can sleep here as long as you want, mi amigo. I won't let Romano disturb you."

I smile again, still not yet alive enough to laugh, and say my thanks before he leaves. I gaze tiredly at the room and fall onto the bed, gazing up at the ceiling. It's still light outside, so I shouldn't find that much trouble falling asleep this time. The encounter from just now has left me paranoid, but from previous experience, I won't see him for at least a few hours yet…

My eyes almost feel bruised- they can barely stay open and it aches to do so. The crying didn't help.

I can't keep living like this. I need to be there for those that are still alive. I need to make up for what I've done. For Matthew, and-

-and Ivan.

I need to be forgiven even by you.

I can protect everyone, and I'll make up to you, to all of you.

I promise.

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