A/N: Thanks for all the faves, watches and alerts, guys! :) It makes me happy to know that at least some people like this. :) And I finally figured out how to put in line breaks. DX I fail at life.

This is a kind of short chapter. Some funniness at first, then it gets serious again. Enjoy! ^^

Also, the majority of the first part is all dialogue, since Arthur refuses to open his eyes, and he's relying on sound and touch.

"Well, good morning!" said a vaguely familiar voice, much too loudly.

Raising a hand to his throbbing head, Arthur opened his eyes, immediately regretting it. He shut them tightly. The light was like bullets to his eyes- bullets! Something about bullets, and dogs?

"Where- where am I? Who are you?" Arthur's voice came out like a whisper. Am I being tortured? Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose. If he was being tortured, they were doing a very good job.

"The guy who saved your life twice yesterday." The smug voice was still too loud. Oh yes, that irritating Yank on the… bridge?

"Shut up… bloody American…" Something about a wall, the American came back at the wall? Ugh, I don't want to think… it hurts too much…

"It's Alfred. You know, I've always wondered why-"Arthur stopped paying attention. Why was he so loud? Arthur tried to roll over on the bed or couch or whatever he was lying on, but fell off and onto the floor.

"Bloody hell…" Arthur felt like just lying on the floor, but it was cold and hard and he had to go to the loo but he felt like he would die if he moved and his stomach was about to release its contents and the light wouldn't go away and the stupid American wouldn't shut up!

"… And that's how come I like the color green. Whoa, why are you on the floor?"

"Toilet- I need a toilet," groaned Arthur, his body curled into the fetal position.

"Alfred! What are you doing?" Arthur winced at the sudden noise. Matthew? "Oh, sorry," the voice whispered gently to Arthur. "My brother is an idiot sometimes." Yes, definitely Matthew. Not torture then. "Stop antagonizing him!" Matthew hissed. "Seriously! The poor man is hung over, and he tried to kill himself twice yesterday! The least you could do is let him rest!" I tried to kill myself twice yesterday? "Here, you said you had to use the toilet, right?" Matthew grabbed his arm, and started to pull him up.

"No… leave me alo-" Arthur's stomach churned and he felt acid in his mouth. "Yes! Yes, I need a toilet! Or a wastebasket." He felt himself dragged to his feet, a hand on his side.

"Wow, you're heavy!" Arthur winced again at the loud voice. "Whoops, sorry!" Matthew whispered in apology as he helped Arthur limp out of the room. "How did you carry him back here?" he called back to his brother.

The American- Albert or something- laughed, causing Arthur to go weak at the knees, Matthew struggling to keep him up. "Shut up… please, shut up…"' he groaned.

"I help, da?" The Russian, Ivan? He felt himself picked up again, bridal style, just like in the rain… Why had he been in the rain?

"Uh, how about, no, commie?"

Matthew sighed. "He's not a communist, Alfred. I already explained this to you."

"Yeah, sure, whatever. Here, I'll carry him."

"If you say so." Arthur almost fell, but was caught.

"Be careful- Don't drop him!" Matthew again.

A grunt. "How did I carry you here?"

"Toilet… hurry." Arthur felt something come up his throat. "Too late-"

And he vomited.

Then he passed out.

When Arthur woke up, he felt a bit better. Not great, he still had a headache and the very thought of food made him queasy, but he could open his eyes and it didn't hurt to move quite so much. He felt almost naked for some reason, but not cold, since he was covered in blankets. He blinked a few times to adjust to the light, sat up in the bed, pulled back the covers, then looked down at himself. He was wearing just the black and green boxers he had put on the day before. What happened? The last thing he remembered was throwing up everywhere. He glanced around the room. It looked like he was in his room at Yellow House. He had no idea what time it was.

He put his feet down gingerly on the floor. He flinched at how cold the floor was, but he was able to stand up. He walked over to the dresser, supporting himself with one hand, and opened a drawer. He rifled through it, looking for a t-shirt or a sweater of some kind- it was freezing in the room. He found a navy pullover and some pajama bottoms and slipped them on. He opened the top drawer, looking for socks, preferably thick woolen ones. Suddenly his hand brushed against something smooth and cold. He pulled it out of the drawer. A gun.

Everything came back to him. The wall, the drinking, the bridge. Francis. Arthur forgot his headache, forgot how cold it was, and stared at the gun. It was just like the one he had used to kill Francis. Arthur picked it up, examining it. He brought it slowly to his eyes, then, as if in a trance, brought the barrel to his mouth, surrounding the barrel with his lips. Third time's the-

A bang. But not the gun- The door.

The American- Al something- bounced in, holding a tray. "Mattie said you might like some tea, so- Oh no you don't!"

There was a crash of breaking china and the rattling of a falling metal tray, then Arthur found himself on the floor, his arms pinned down above his head by the American. The gun spun on the floor, knocked from his hand. He stared up in shock.

"I'm not going to let you kill yourself now! I risked my life to save you, and no way in hell are you going to just die on me!" Al-whatever glared at him, his mouth set in a scowl.

Arthur simply stared. He heard footsteps, running. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Matthew and Ivan. "What happened?" he heard Matthew ask. Matthew's brother did not reply, but instead, continued to glower at Arthur, never breaking eye contact, his breath slightly shaky.

Arthur blinked at the man who had him pinned. Who is he?

A/N 2: I've never had a hangover before (I don't drink), so I'm unsure it Arthur's sounded convincing. I hope you liked it either way. :) Please review, and thank you for reading!