Alfred awoke.

His head pounded, but the pain was lost to him. He was numb and lying on Arthur's kitchen floor, clutching the dragon's high class whiskey. He hadn't been sober since the funeral. He didn't know why he did it. He didn't know why he drank, it never made him feel any better, it just made him feel anything. He was scared, he was scared of not feeling anything, but pain for the rest of his life. He couldn't count the times Elizaveta had called him, he couldn't count the times he had turned off his phone.

His glasses lay cracked a little way away. He had thrown them in a fit of drunken rage because he knew how much Arthur loved his glasses. And he was angry. He couldn't describe how angry he was. He was angry at Arthur, for him abandoning him, for only giving him a few weeks when everyone else got centuries, he was angry because he was so sad. He was so sad it made it hard to breath, he was so insanely sad, but he couldn't express it. His tears had run dry and all that was left was a hallow husk of alcoholism and fear. In his dreams he heard Arthur's war cry and while he was awake he would see him reading beside the fire, always seeking warmth.

The funeral had been a somber affair. The ground had been drenched tears. Alfred had gone back to England with Roma and Francis, but they were one car in a convoy. A convoy off grievance. Too much sadness, a great dark cloud moving across Europe, to attend a funeral nobody thought would ever happen.

There hadn't been a body so there was no grave, but there was still a monument of his parting. A gravestone of the finest marble next to five others. Each of the Kirkland brothers together at last. On each a dragon perched of the exact likeness of their owner. They had stood by the gravestone with no grave while the funeral had commenced.

All of the people of the castle had attended, all the families, all the children, all except Ivan. He had been to ashamed, to ashamed that it was his father to take Arthur's life. Both sisters came, glad in black, their eyes downcast, their expressions somber. Yao had given the eulogy, it would of been Francis, but he hadn't spoken a word since that afternoon. He had only cried, barely eating anything, forcing himself to sleep like he thought if he just went to sleep this nightmare would end. It never did. He had sobbed quietly during the funeral, muttering only inaudible things about his dead mon lapin. He was staying with Roma and Old Man Fritz now, somewhere in Germany with all their boys, old and young. He had tried to jump off Arthur's roost the day of his death. He would of fallen to his death had Vash not stepped in to hold him back. Francis had cried in his arms and a surprising gentleness had come over the Swiss man, the same type that came out when he comforted his younger sister. He had embraced Francis and held him while he wailed.

Yao blamed himself, he blamed himself more than anyone else. He had let Arthur go into battle alone, he had broke whatever promise he had made and it was his fault Arthur was dead. While he had spoken of Arthur's life he had called Arthur a name. Huǒ rén or something like that, people had gasped when they had heard it and a new flurry of tears from the adults had hit the ground, much to the confusion of the already weeping children in their laps. Nobody had stuck around for long after the funeral ended.

Too sad.

Instead they had clung to their children for comfort while the young ones asked where uncle Arthur had gone. It had been Roma and old man Fritz to tell them. They had gathered the children the night of Arthur's death and told them that uncle Arthur had gone away and he wasn't coming back. Only the older ones really understood, Francis and Gilbert and such.

After the funeral Alfred he gone back to Arthur's house full of books and drunk himself stupid. Roma had said that he could have the house and everything in it, he said its what Arthur would of wanted. Roderich had given him compensation for his death, Alfred suspected he would of given the money to someone else, but nobody else needed it. He would be able to live off that for a little while. As for the rest of Arthur and his brother's processions nobody had touched them. The greed of humans was lost on them. Technically it all went to Peter and Francis, but neither of them wanted it. Neither of them wanted the money of a dead man they both held so dear.

Alfred raised his head a little, the hangover not even fazing him. I want to die, he thought, I don't wanna be alive anymore. The man I love is dead, why should I keep on living if he's not living with me?

"Kiku told me I should visit you" he said to the gravestone, to Arthur's dragon. "So here I am" he smelt, his hair was unbrushed and wild, his glasses were still cracked and askew. He looked like shit and it was spitting rain, but here he was.

Drops of rain fell into his hair and dripped down his forehead. He could barely breath, he was hurt too bad. His abilities to stay a person were falling by the minute.

"I hope… I hope that they will put me next to you. I hope that they will treat me like your husband even though you don't even know I love you" he lowered his head, his eyes cast down at his feet. He wanted to cry and he wanted to lose himself in his grief, but he couldn't. He was numb and he was empty and he was incapable of expressing his hurt beyond drunken behaviour.

"Why… why, Arthur? W-why did you leave me? Why weren't you p-paying attention?" His knees almost buckled, he almost fell knowing he wouldn't get back up, but somehow he remainder standing. He was still wearing the suit Roma had brought him for the funeral, he couldn't remember the last time he had eaten, he couldn't remember the last time he wasn't in pain. He felt dead. He felt so blank that he doubted death would affect him. It would only make his body match his mind.

"I want to follow you" he was on the verge of tears now, but he knew they wouldn't come. "Without you I don't want to be alive anymore. I don't know who I am, I don't know what I'm doing. I just… I just wish you were here" he raised his head to the sky, staring up at the crying sky. Droplet of water came down on him, but he didn't open them. His heart beat painfully in his chest.

"Well I'm here love. What are your next two wishes?" Alfred eyes widened, but then they snapped shut again.

"It's not really him" he whispered to himself, his hands twitched by his sides, so tempted to turn around, to face his own subconscious.

"Alfie?"

Slowly Alfred turned around, his eyes wide, his heart hammering in his chest. Arthur looked different from his dreams. Very different from his dreams. He didn't look pristine, or glowing. He wasn't sipping tea, but there was one big difference that made all the others seem insignificant.

This Arthur was alive and his dream Arthur was not.

He wore a long tan coat with a shirt and tie underneath, black dress pants protruding out of the long coat. He had a long scarf wrapped around his neck failing to hide the bandages on his neck. His right eye was covered by a black eye patch, hiding a figured dragon eye. His hands were bandaged and he had a patch on his cheek. His neck from the neck down was bruised and discoloured. He held an union jack umbrella, resting on his shoulder, keeping his wild hair dry. A bouquet of bright red roses and a book in his arm. His face was sad, or maybe annoyed at having to stand in the rain.

Alfred's breath left him. He opened his mouth searching for words that wouldn't come. One of his knees buckled and his arms went out to steady himself, but his eyes never left green eyes and they never left him. Arthur reached out to him in surprise, taking a nervous step towards him. He seemed on edge.

It seemed it was then that something inside Alfred snapped. He hadn't even know there was something inside of him that could be snapped anymore, but apparently there was. He ran forward and Arthur had no time to dart out of the way.

Warmth, he was always so warm.

He buried his nose into the crook of Arthur neck, feeling bandages instead of skin. His arms wrapped around Arthur's thin waist and brought him as close and he could get. Taking in deep breaths, taking in Arthur's wonderful scent mixed in with roses. A smell he had missed so much.

"Alfie" Arthur's voice was disapproving and slightly pained. It wasn't good for him to be tackled, he was still weak. Still he wrapped his arms around his American as he felt hot tears fall from sapphire eyes onto his shoulder.

Alfred pushed his cheek to Arthur's chest and listened, tears streaming down his face. There came a steady heartbeat, a heartbeat that had been so missing from his life. The heartbeat he had drunk so much to forget.

He straightened and held Arthur to his chest. His face was wet and he couldn't tell whether it was rain or tears or both.

"Thank you" he spluttered, his body shaking violently with sobs. "Thank you for giving him back" his thanks were never ending, but the weeping heavens never replied. He didn't know how long they stood there, holding each other in relief and thankfulness, but after a while Alfred drew back, his hands moving to cup his cheeks, he wanted to see the face of the one he loved.

"Artie" he whispered.

"Yes?" God, he had missed that accent. He was in England, he was surrounded by that way of talking, but Arthur was the only one it was meant for.

"I love you" Arthur lifted his face to Alfred's at the sound of the words he so craved to hear. Tentatively he let their lips brush. His lips were chapped and dry, but he didn't care, because he was madly in love with the man who loved him.

"I love you" he whispered, eyes half lidded with exhaustion and relief. Alfred brought his lips back down to Arthur's lips, his eyes closing as tingles went out in shock waves from his lips to his toes. Arthur was docile, opening his mouth to Alfred without thought, letting his tongue explore beyond his lips. He gasped dazedly when Alfred pressed down on him, desperation in his stance, like he was afraid Arthur was going to disappear again.

They drew back, breaking the kiss, the need for air becoming to much. A string of saliva confected them, both panting slightly, cheeks red and eyes still somewhat wet. Alfred pressed his forehead against Arthur's.

"Will you stay with me please? Will you stay with me forever?" His hopes in a sentence. He wasn't satisfied with just Arthur's breathing, he was selfish. He wanted Arthur to breath with him. He didn't want jewels or gold or women or a castle, he just wanted Arthur. He wanted Arthur to be his, or the other way round, it didn't matter.

"Of course, love"

Quiet, cold and clear, he lies, his eyes open. Early morning sun on his face, barely awake. Staring at the celling, even though it was just the same as it had been before. He feels a hand stroke the line of his jaw and he lets out a little coo of thanks. A hand holds tightly on his opposite shoulder, and a cheek is pressed against his collarbone. Deep breathing and a loving stare.

"I drank all your whiskey" a voice states. His eyes widen, his face morphing from calm to shock.

"Alfie, you didn't" he looks down at the American.

"I'm sorry" Alfred mumbles into skin. Arthur's shirt is discarded somewhere across his bedroom. For the record, they didn't have sex. Alfred's hands had tried to explore, but Arthur was still too weak. He was wounded and back from the dead. Alfred had demanded to see the extent of his injuries, which had lead to Arthur shirt being taken off. He wasn't too badly hurt, bad enough to want to sleep a lot. He refuses to speak a word of how he returned, naming it dragon's business.

"Tell me you didn't get into the basement" Arthur begs, already feeling like he should of stayed dead.

"You have a basement?"

"Oh thank god" Arthur mutters, closing his eyes in relief. "I have one of the best bottles of vodka ever made in there. Ivan gave it to me last christmas" There is a shuffle and then Alfred looms above him, his hands sinking into the mattress. Sapphire eyes bore down at him, his glasses abandoned on the bedside table. His mouth is a tight frown.

"Artie" he mutters, lowering his head, searching for lips. He's never wanted to kiss someone so badly. Especially someone so damn beautiful.

"Alfie, what's up?" As always Arthur is dense.

"Wanna kiss" and with that Alfred pressed their lips together, pantingly desperate to get into this man's pants. Arthur responds immediately, dazed once again working its way into his mind. "So beautiful" Arthur tastes like smoke. Alfred's kisses trail down his neck, bandaged or other wise.

Whisperings of I love you. Slow and sensual. Careful and impatient. Days spent in sun and many more tears. Children continuing with Arthur's nap time like he had simply gone on holiday. An insistent clinging came from Francis, weeping and words he had kept trapped for weeks. So much happiness, so much relief, so much confusion, so much disarray. So much not really that dead after all. So much sorry it took me so long. So much I'm sorry I made you sad. So much it was never your fault. So much I'm sorry.

So much we're so glad you're back.

Author's final notes:

Hello and welcome to the last chapter. It has been an honour writing this and thank you to anyone who followed and favourited, a special thanks to ClearAsCrystal269, Furrfurr2001, and I've-Got-All-The-Homo all of whom reviewed. I am way too much of a softie to let Arthur stay dead, I felt to bad. I really hope you liked the ending and farewell until another story.

Much love,

Clementine

P.s if anyone has any requests for specific pairings, I am totally willing to start up a new story. I just got rid of this one and I'm going to be bored as hell.