Dro: Wooh, another chapter. Maybe FF won't have another error that makes it randomly inaccessible after several hours. -twitch- Anyway, have at it! It's not nearly as violent as the last chapter.

Chapter Summary: Al struggles to cope with everything that's happened so far.

Warnings: Past Violence; Language

Disclaimer: Too sleepy to think of something witty today. Just pretend I made something clever up.

The doctors had been horrified at Arthur's insistence to leave, but they had eventually let him go. Al watched him the entire time as they redressed his wounds, despite the nurse's attempt to make him wait outside. Arthur didn't seem to care if Al saw him naked or not, not that that was surprising. They may have been parallel worlds, but their relationships were still the same. He was still Alfred and Arthur was still Arthur. He knew Arthur's body like the back of his hand. Every dip and curve of his muscles. Every freckle every scar. It was the same body. The same mind. The same soul. Just from a slightly different reality.

Al waited for the nurse to leave before he approached Arthur again. He'd bought the poor man some clothing to wear from a nearby store. Arthur slipped his shirt on first, no doubt feeling self-conscious about his wounds. They were covered by gauze now, but Al knew what it was like to have a massive wound mar his body. He'd experienced a nuclear strike, after all. It had made him feel weak and vulnerable. He had felt the incessant need to cover the wounds with everything possible, to hide them from every speck of light.

"Are you going to be okay?" He finally asked. He already knew what Arthur's answer would be. He knew Arthur far too well.

"That has absolutely no bearings on the situation. Whether I'm okay or not, I'm still going to fight."

And, of course, he'd hit the nail on the head. Oh, Arthur, you never change, do you? "Just because we need you to fight doesn't mean you can't take some time to recover first."

"Last I checked, we didn't have much time."

Al shook his head. "Arthur, the last thing we need is for you to fall apart in the middle of this battle. If you need some time, take it. End of discussion."

Weary green eyes glared at him. "If I feel the need to, I may sit some of this fight out. Possibly."

Al smiled inwardly and shook his head again. "That's all I ask of you."

Arthur stood in front of the mirror, checking his clothing and making sure his bandages weren't visible. There was one on his head too, where, Al had learned, Ivan had repeatedly slammed his head into the floor, but that was one injury that looked normal. Al hadn't even bothered to suggest that Arthur let someone else see the message on his back. It was out of the question. There'd been enough trauma already. The last thing Arthur needed now was for his friends and allies to look at him with horror and disgust. Not aimed at him, of course, but they would be looking at him all the same.

The only problem Al had with this idea of Arthur hiding his wounds was how he would hide the pain. His back was practically in shreds. If would hurt to receive a hug—as Al knew Alfred would immediately do upon seeing him—to lay down and sleep, to stretch and bend over and fight. And once it started healing, if Arthur moved too much, he would reopen his cuts. He knew Arthur was probably thinking over these same things. The man's eyes were distant and glazed. Al figured he needed a distraction.

"Are you hungry?"

Arthur groaned under his breath. "Slightly."

"There's a restaurant just down the street." He checked the time. He still had about forty-five minutes before he'd told his own lover he'd return. "We can grab something quick."

Arthur nodded absently. "Sure."

They walked to the restaurant, Al sticking close to Arthur. Arthur didn't seem to mind the proximity, and Al could see the thinly veiled anxiety on the man's face. He was probably going to have nightmares about this incident for years. Al wished there was someway he could comfort this Arthur, but he figured he would have to leave it to his alternate self. He'd already made the mistake of believing this man was his own Arthur once. He blushed at the memory of making out with him on the plane. He didn't want to cross that line again, not with something as emotionally confusing as parallel doubles.

"By the way," Arthur started, "how's your leg?" He eyed the injured limb. Al's gait had a slight limp to it.

He shrugged. "It's not too bad." That was a lie. Even with the pain medication, his leg was still throbbing.

Arthur caught him red-handed. "And here you are talking about me taking time to recover. You try to fight with that leg and you'll up dying from something stupid like falling down stairs."

Al laughed dryly. "Yeah. Probably."

They ate well. Arthur picked a lot at his food, but he managed to get a decent amount in him, and that satisfied Al. Arthur needed his strength, especially now. Their meal was mostly silent, with Al watching Arthur's reactions. His moods seemed to be shifting wildly. One moment he looked almost scared. The next he was calm again. He's replaying it in his mind. What Ivan did to him. Al knew that feeling well. How many times had he watched the D.C. explode now? He'd lost count after about the hundredth night he'd woken up screaming in terror, back when he'd still been burned and blinded by the initial blast. It had taken a whole team of doctors and surgeons working day and night to save his life. He shook his head, refusing to replay that scene again.

He jumped as a loud ringing filled the air. Then he realized it was his cell phone. He pulled it from his pocket. It was his own Arthur calling. He tapped the screen and held it to his ear, Arthur eying him with interest. "Alfred, where are you?"

He smirked. "I'm Al, remember, Artie?"

He could picture the scowl in his mind. "Yes. Whatever. Anyway, answer my question. Where are you?"

"Eating dinner. I'll be back by 7:00, just like I said."

"Eating dinner? What, at a restaurant? With this going on? What the hell is wrong with you?"

Well, there was little point in keeping up the weapons ruse anymore. "Arthur needed it."

"Well, wh— Wait, what did you say? Arthur? You mean the other me? He's there?"

"Yeah…About that. I kind of lied to you about the weapons thing."

"Well, I figured that, but I couldn't, for the life of me, figure out what you were actually up to."

He sighed. "Yao sent me a message telling me where Ivan had dropped off Arthur."

"And you thought it was fine to go by yourself? It could have been a trap, you git!"

"I know that. But it wasn't."

Artie's voice suddenly dropped to a whisper. "Is…Is he okay?"

Al bit his lip. "To a degree."

"And what does that mean?"

"It means he'll recover. Look, we'll be at the airport by 7:00, okay? Just tell everyone that Arthur is alive and well."

"…Alfred, what did Ivan do to him?"

Al knew very well that that information was not his to give out. "It's not my place to say. And I'm leaving it at that. Just tell the other me that his Arthur is okay, and we'll be there soon."

Artie sighed deeply into the receiver. "Very well. I'll see you later then?"

"Yeah."

"Okay….love you."

Al's heart skipped, and he smiled bitterly. "I love you too, Arthur. I really do."

"I know. Goodbye."

"Bye." He sat his phone on the table and pushed the end call button.

Arthur was staring at him with interest. "Trouble in paradise?" He rolled his eyes.

Al shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Isn't there always?"

"Seems like it nowadays."

The trip to the airport was, thankfully, uneventful. Al helped Arthur out of the cab and guided him through the crowd toward the private terminal where his plane was waiting. He'd put his men on call so they'd be ready at all times. Arthur didn't seem to mind having his hand held, and Al peered back at him several times, watching those unfocused green eyes with worry. Arthur's pain medication had started to wear off about twenty minutes ago, and he'd taken some of the pills that had been given to him at the hospital. They had apparently started to take effect.

He rounded the corner and caught sight of the group of nations standing in the distance, all of them obviously nervous. It was Artie that caught sight of them first. He rushed over to them and nearly barreled into Al, who released Arthur's hand to embrace his lover back. It was odd for his own Arthur to show this much public affection, and there was a feeling tickling his brain that something wasn't quite right. But he brushed it away. Nothing was quite right at this point. It only made sense that their emotions would be screwed to hell too.

Alfred almost knocked Arthur over at the pace he was running, and before Al could stop him, he was hugging his lover tightly. Al pushed away Artie and wrenched Alfred away from Arthur, who was now whimpering.

"Whoa! Hold it! He's injured!" He chided his double.

Alfred's eyes went wide, and he stared at Arthur. "Oh…I…Holy shit, Arthur! I'm so sorry!"

Arthur grumbled. "S'alright, Alfred. S'alright."

"Uh…what's wrong with him?" Alfred glared at him accusingly.

Al rolled his eyes dismissively. "He's on pain meds. He was in the hospital."

"Wait, you took him to the hospital or…" Artie asked hesitantly.

"No, that's where Ivan and Yao left him."

Alfred looked suspicious. "Why would they take him the hospital after hurting him?"

So we would find him and "get the message." He thought sourly. But all he could without revealing the extent of Arthur's humiliation was shrug. "No idea."

Alfred and Artie exchanged glances, and Al knew he'd be facing a lot more questioning later. But, thankfully, for now they just met back up with the rest of the group, Alfred guiding a drowsy Arthur the rest of the way. Apparently, the group had decided to go to Germany, much to the chagrin of Feliciano and Ludwig, who were afraid that the other Italy would find out and try to meet up with them (Ludwig more so than Feliciano, who seemed to think his parallel self was a complete idiot). But according to logic, Ivan would no doubt try to reclaim his homeland, and it was better for them to be right on his tail than too far behind. If they allowed him to regain control of Russia, they would be in serious trouble. So Germany it was.

They were half an hour from their descent into the airport. The entire trip had been almost totally silent, most of the nations still reeling from the revelation that their defeated enemy was back and ready for revenge. Al stared out the window, not looking at anything particular in the night sky but letting his thoughts consume him. There was so much he needed to ask, so much he still needed to know. He still didn't even know how Russia had come back to life. He hadn't had the time to really ask Artie about it, an he got the distinct impression that his lover didn't want him to know. He glanced at their interlocked hands. It was supposed to be a sign of affection, but something about it felt…fake.

He was steadily getting more worried about his lover's behavior. Something just didn't seem right about him. He wondered if the torture Artie had endured had…had left some lasting damage. He hoped this odd coldness would fade over time and the fire of their relationship would rekindle, but he was nervous that some kind of irreparable damage had been done to his lover's mind. He wasn't sure he could take it if…if their relationship…He pressed his head against the window. He loved his Arthur, loved him more than he'd ever loved anyone. Matt was his brother, and he had an unbreakable bond with him (one that had strengthened over the last three years as they had repaired their relationship after…), but his relationship with Arthur was something else.

He quickly look over Artie's face and followed his line of sight. He was staring at Alfred. He broke his gaze. What had happened between them that he didn't know about? There was obviously something that was different. Whatever had happened when they'd escaped from Yao's based had drastically changed them and their relationship. Alfred and Artie had been good friends before, sure, but now there was…something else there. Al didn't want to admit that it might be romantic, but he couldn't think of too many other options. Had some kind of affair developed between them in the mere day or two they'd been alone together? It seemed so unlikely. Something else had to be at work here. But what?

He was determined to find out the answer. He didn't care how hard he had to prod Artie or Alfred. He would find out just what the hell was going on here. He groaned inwardly. He wanted to beat his head against the window. He really did. This was all too much. He had Russia to worry about. He had the world to worry about. And now he had his lover to worry about. What next? What could possibly happen next?

It was about the time he saw Berlin on fire that he realized he really hadn't wanted to know the answer to that.

Dro: Ominous ending is ominous.

Next Chapter: The nations are rushed to a safe location by the German authorities, Ludwig's world is shattered by Gilbert's news, and Artie struggles to keep it together as he constantly blames himself for everything that's happening.