Dro: First chapter! Great turnout for the prologue, guys! I'm proud of you! Keep it up! I hope you really like this one. I'm working really hard to make the plot, like, mind blowing. So, read and review, the normal drill!

Chapter Summary: Four years have passed since the war with Russia ended. Arthur has become comfortable in his new life. He spends his time contemplating the world around him and the recovery. Then he wakes up to a nightmare.

Warnings: Violence, Language

Disclaimer: Sadly, despite my wishes, I have not magically altered the world to make myself the creator or owner of Hetalia. Though I am still trying.

Arthur sat at his new desk. Or should he say old desk? He ran his hand across the oak again. It had been the only salvageable thing from his old home. He'd had it searched a few days ago as the rebuilding hit his former neighborhood, and low and behold, they'd found his favorite old desk just sitting there in the rubble, nearly untouched. It had a few new scratches, sure, but it had had many before that, many from ages long past. The new ones were just the marks of another major event in history that it had witnessed like so many before this. He sighed happily. His new house was finally a home now. At first, he'd been restless when he'd moved into this place. It was larger than his old home, more lavish (unnecessarily so in Arthur's opinion, but his new government leaders had insisted), and far too empty.

Empty partially because most of his belongings had been destroyed. He'd accumulated very few personal belongings during the war with Russia, and anything he'd had before that had been lost to the destruction of London. So at first, this house had felt cold and foreign. During the first year, he'd avoided the house as much as possible. Sleeping in his cramped government office felt familiar to him. It was what he had done for most of the war. Sleeping in cramped, messy spaces. He'd only come to his home to takes showers and change his clothes. During the second year, he'd finally started to settle down into a new routine. The house had become more familiar as the memories of the war began to blur into just another part of his past. During the third year, he'd finally started living in like a normal person.

Three days ago marked the fourth year.

Four years since they'd defeated Russia and taken down the Soviet regime. Four years of rebuilding and recovery. London was coming closer to whole every day. Most of the city had been reborn from its ashes. The people had finally returned to their heart, and the city was once more a flourishing commercial and cultural center. Granted, the atmosphere of the city was still much different than he remembered. He was sure it would be that way for quite a while longer. The memory may have begun to blur, but it was still fresh enough to affect the personalities of the people. Four years was not long enough to raise a new generation. The ones who had been hurt most by the war were the ones who were still living in this recovering world. Their fears still fed into the country's sentiment. Their solemn mix of happiness and sorrow was still subduing them. They'd all lost so much, and most were just beginning to regain all of those things.

It would still be a while longer before everyone had a home, before everyone had jobs, before everyone could have a comfortable, safe living again. But they were getting there, day by day. Arthur couldn't wait for that day to arrive. He let his eyes drift to the photograph on his desk. Alfred and Matthew beamed back up at him, matching smiles on their nearly identical faces. He couldn't help but let his own lips tug upward. He hadn't been able to see either boy recently, but they were scheduled to have a world meeting next week, the third since the war had ended. Most of Europe met often, as they were organizing efforts together to rebuild all the broken countries. But on the other side of the ocean, America and Canada were working more with South America and Mexico. The barrier of the ocean was keeping them apart.

He shook his head. He saw Alfred enough, and he knew that the day the world could finally say it had completely recovered would be the day he could see Alfred whenever he wanted. There would be no more rigid duties for them then. He chuckled dryly. And he'd thought he'd had a hard time seeing the boys before the war. But now, almost every nation was intimately wrapped up in his and her own country's reconstruction and recovery. They had very little personal time to chat with and visit one another.

Arthur glanced at his phone and then at his clock. It was too late to call Alfred now. He would be asleep across the ocean now, and if Alfred was as tired as he typically sounded, then it would be best to let him have his rest. It had been comparatively simple to rebuild England when compared to the United States. Much of the land on the main continent was still too radioactive to live on, and it would be many, many years before any of habitable again. Alfred was working mostly in the Midwest and northwestern states that had been largely spared from the nuclear attack. Since most of the population centers there hadn't been destroyed (rather, occupied by Soviet forces in order to attack Canada), the people there were having a much easier time picking up normal life again. But compared to Britain, America was very fragmented. It's landmass was proving difficult to complete a massive rebuilding plan even with the reduced area.

But Alfred would make it work. Somehow, he always did.

He picked up his cup and sipped his piping hot tea, flipping open his new spell book. He'd only been doing simple spells lately. He hadn't had enough time for anything complex. Maybe he should go for something harder? He'd finished his work for the day, so he had enough time. He found himself yawning. Or, alternatively, he could take a much deserved nap. He pouted. He could hear Alfred's "old man" jab clearly in his head, but he rolled his eyes and decided to head down to his bedroom. He slipped off his coat and shirt and hung them up, remembering he had a dinner and meeting with some members of new Parliament later that day. He set his mobile to wake him up in three hours. Then he let himself fall on his bed. He pulled a blanket over himself and rolled over, letting his eyelids fall.

The moment he woke up, he knew something was very, very wrong. Firstly, it was night. Night had been many hours away when he'd settled down for his nap. Secondly, his alarm should have woken him up from said nap. And he wasn't a heavy enough sleeper to not hear it. He always woke up to his alarm. The battery certainly hadn't been running out. He'd charged his phone earlier that day. So, why hadn't he woken up?

And lastly, he got the very distinct feeling that someone else was in the room with him. He made absolutely no movement, feigning sleep, listening carefully for any sound of movement. Then he caught it. So close to completely silent that he almost missed it. The sound was more a shifting of air than actual noise, but Arthur had honed in on what he was searching for. Whoever it was inched closer to his bed with every step. Arthur could almost imagine a knife in the assailant's hand, poised to stab him to death or slit his throat in a split second.

But Arthur was ready for him. Even now, four years later, he was still too paranoid—still had too many nightmares, that is—to sleep without a weapon nearby. Before the assailant could react, Arthur whipped a gun out from under his pillow, aiming it straight the man's face. The man froze. Arthur couldn't see his face. He was garbed all in black, nothing but his eyes visible in the darkness. He was some kind of hired professional.

"Who the hell are you?" He demanded.

The man said nothing, and Arthur was about to raise his voice higher when he caught the flash of movement behind him from within his mirror. He ducked just in time to avoid what could have been a brutal blow to the head, and he rolled off his bed as the first assailant lunged at him. A second later, he had heaved his bedroom door open and was charging down the hall. If he could get out into the street, he could alert his neighbors and gain more ground to fight on. Damn. Should have grabbed my phone. Could called backup. He was halfway down the stairs when he spotted another black shadowing rushing from his kitchen. How many are there? What was this? Who had sent multiple assassins after him?

He leapt over the banister of the staircase, landing on top of the third assailant, who crumpled to the floor. Then he made for the door. He was reaching for the handle when he the pain shot through his back. He cried out, falling into the door and dropping his gun. The other two assailants had caught up to him, and one had thrown a knife into his back. He regained his balance and managed haul the door open…

…Only to come face to face with a sour-faced Yao Wang, backed up by six more masked men. Arthur was so shocked, he didn't remember to move until it was too late. The two pursuing assailants caught up to him and grabbed him from behind, of them wrapped his hand firmly around the handle of the knife in Arthur's back. He twisted it slightly, warning Arthur not to try anything. Arthur gasped in pain and was forced to allow the men to drag him backward into his house.

Yao and the other masked men followed them inside, and one of the men closed the door behind him. The group stopped in Arthur's living room. Yao's mildly irritated expression didn't change, not even when he started talking. "Arthur. Is has been quite a while, yes?"

Of course it had. Yao wasn't really allowed to do much of anything these days, not on the international scale anyway. He had basically been forced to remain in his own country and concern himself only with China's affairs. The only reason Yao wasn't in prison indefinitely for his loyalty to Russia was because he'd given them all so much aid in rebuilding. But that did nothing to forgive his crimes. Yao had been the scourge of Asia during the war. The number of countries he'd ruined was enormous. They had let him off easy, so why was he here? Why would attack now? What did he have to gain?

"What do you want? If you wish to assassinate me," he said through clenched teeth, "then get on with it."

Yao's expression finally changed. His mouth curled up at one end into a vicious smirk. "I will not be the one that kills you." He looked Arthur over. "Unfortunately for you." He added.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Yao didn't answer him. Instead, he ordered the masked men to do something in Chinese. They took off up the stairs. Arthur glared. "What are you up to?" He was hyper-aware of the knife in his back, but he was either going to die her or…worse, so he figured tempting fate wouldn't hurt in this case.

"You will find out soon enough." Yao rolled his eyes thoughtfully. He twirled a single lock of the long hair hanging freely behind his shoulders. "Though I do have a question for you. The connection with the other world is still open, right?"

Arthur felt his blood run cold. "What?"

"The connection to the parallel world where our might war heroes came from. It's still there, correct?" Yao's eyes narrowed as his grin widened. "Because you sent Italy there."

Arthur's mouth dried out. How could Yao possibly know about that?

"I see from your expression that I am right." He sighed peacefully. "Good. That makes this so much easier. I was quite afraid I was mistaken. That would have ruined everything."

"Ruined what?" He growled. "What are you planning? Are you going to invade those people?"

Yao's eyebrow went up, and he broke out into a fit of laughter. "I am not a fool, Arthur. I know my limits. No. I will accomplish something greater and more achievable all at once." At this, the masked men returned from upstairs with two of Arthur's spell books clutched in their hands. One contained a page on which Arthur had written out an improved version of the parallel universal spell. The other was a book on…Arthur felt all the blood drain from his face.

"Just…just what exactly are you plotting, Yao? You can't honestly be doing what it looks like." Arthur was on the verge of begging now. Yao couldn't possibly think that that was a good idea.

Yao frowned at him. "You have destroyed my chances at being great in this world. I only seek to renew those chances." He lifted Arthur's chin with his hand, forcing Arthur to look him in the eye. "I will regain what I have lost. And you will lose all you have gained at my expense. I will make sure of that. I do apologize if you find this unfair, Arthur, but that is the nature of war, no?"

"The war is over, Yao!"

"The war is never over. Your first mistake was believing it to be so. You last mistake was letting yourself become comfortable again. You are paranoid now but not prepared. Not prepared for what I have in store for you." He turned away and headed back toward the door. "You will be taking a trip with me now. To a place where we will not be disturbed. After I have completed the next two stages of my plan, you will be removed from my care."

"You call this care?" Though Arthur was a lot more concerned about who's care he would be put into after Yao's.

"I have not broken your bones and heinously tortured you, have I? You can still speak and breath and think. The knife in your back was an unfortunate repercussion of your pathetic escape attempt. I will make sure you are patched up correctly once we reach our destination. Until then, I am sure the magnificent England can handle something like a simple stab wound. You have, after all, survived so much worse." He nodded his head, and the men began to drag him back toward his front door. He thrashed, trying to get out of their hold, but all he received for his efforts was another twist of the knife. He let himself go limp after that, the men basically carrying him to Yao's awaiting car. He thought of calling out for help, but he didn't want any innocent civilians to end up dead because of this.

Once he was in the car, seated at a uncomfortable angle due to the knife, he craned his neck to look up at Yao, spitting in the man's face. Yao scowled and backhanded him. "Insolent fool. Learn your place for once." His eyes narrowed, a malicious gleam flashing through them for a brief moment. "Fine. Have it your way." He looked back at the single man who hadn't entered the vehicle or vanished into the night. "The house. Burn it down."

"No!" Arthur tried to get up, but the men quickly restrained him, tying his hands and feet roughly. He ignored the knife and the bindings, trying his hardest to get free. But it was to no avail. His house. His new home. His desk. No. No. No. He had just reclaimed his home. Not again. Not all his belongings. All the pictures. All his memories. No. No. No. Not again.

But he couldn't do anything to stop them. Just like last time. Just like the bombings. As they began to drive away, Arthur caught one last glimpse of his new home.

Going up in flames.

Dro: Emo beginning? Of course. What else did you expect?

Next Chapter: Canada and Russia enjoy a quiet night together. Then China stops by for a visit...