"Wow…" Alfred murmured to himself. He was standing over Arthur's bed, watching the man sleep. Now that the other was calm and at ease, Alfred was able to get a better look at him. The feature that stuck out the most to the American was the smaller's rather large, bushy eyebrows. They reminded him of caterpillars almost. Oddly, he found them to be quite attractive and…absolutely delicious. Another thing that differed from the American's appearance was the other's build. He was petite and quite thin. His small shoulders barely filled the jacket's full width. They did, however, have some similarities. Both of them were blonde and both of them were males who fought in the military.

"Excuse me?" Alfred was immediately drug back to reality, losing all current thoughts and daydreams. "What's the guy's injury and name?" the doctor asked. He looked fairly amateur and bored with his job. Unprepared for the question, Alfred hesitated before answering.

"Oh, uh…His name's Arthur and he was shot in the leg." Was this guy blind or something? Anyone could tell that Arthur's leg was wounded. Blood was slowly leaking out of the wound and engulfing his pant leg.

"Okay, move out of the way, kid." Man, this doctor was pushy. Alfred did what he was told and stepped aside. Worried, he did hover, however. "Hey, I said to move outta the way!"

"Sorry!" Alfred squeaked. Not wanting to anger the doctor any further, he left the tent. He knew that Arthur would be in there for a while, and he couldn't just leave him there. So, he decided to wait.

The surrounding area provided little entertainment. Looking around, Alfred spotted a few muskets laying on the ground. Some target practice sounded like fun, but he didn't want to alarm the other soldiers. He scanned the area once more for something interesting. Still nothing. Sure, he could go talk to the other Americans that fought with him against the British, but he wasn't in the mood. His mind was clouded with thoughts of Arthur. Would he be ok?

Back in the tent, the doctor removed Arthur's pants, cleaned the wound some, and started stitching up his leg. Unfortunately, the Brit hadn't been given any sort of painkillers and bolted upright, screaming in agony as the needle pierced his pale skin. Hearing the shrieks clearly through the fabric walls, Alfred immediately darted inside and over to Arthur. He was only away for a few minutes and something had already gone wrong! Two other men were hovering over the Brit, holding him down in an attempt to keep him still. The doctor was hurriedly sewing the wound, connecting flesh with flesh.

"Hold still, boy, and just be glad your entire leg isn't being amputated!" The doctor hollered, finishing the last stitch and tying it up

"There's still a chance of that, though," Alfred murmured. The American had friends who, like Arthur, suffered from gunshot wounds that were treated, only to become infected, and later amputated in a rather crude fashion. He winced at the thought.

"Get away, get away!" Arthur flailed, squirming out of the men's grasp and sitting up. "Give me back my pants!" Happy to oblige, Alfred picked the other's tattered pants off the floor and handed them over. Arthur eagerly slipped them on and glared at anyone and everyone looking. "What?" He hissed and hopped off the cot. Unfortunately, his temper got the best of him, and he didn't even think about his leg or being able to stand. A sharp new pain shot through the Brit's leg as it started to give out. Luckily, his new American hero was there to save him, gently putting an arm around him for support. Instead of using to offered arm, he, once again, flung his arms around the American's waist and clung to him for dear life.

"…Again, Artie? You must like hugs or something. That's cool and all, but can we hug later?"

"Shut up and take me home."

The two stood like that for a while as Alfred processed the idea. He could take Arthur home, nurse him back to health, and then the guy could maybe get a place nearby and the two could be friends. That sounded pretty cool…heroic, too! Agreeing, Alfred told the other all about his home, but that they wouldn't be back for a good bit of time. Obviously, they'd need to get back on foot, horse, or wagon. Officers of higher ranks were generally the ones who rode horses, but riding a horse probably wasn't a good idea for Arthur, anyway. The few wagons that were there contained supplies, however, and Arthur would constantly get bumped around in there. Also not a good idea.

"Looks like I'll have to carry you home!"

"…What?" Arthur was horrified at the idea of letting some hulking American carry him miles to where ever the stranger lived. "No. Absolutely not. I can walk on my own just fine."

"Then, uh…why're you still holding on?" A childish grin spread across the taller's face as the question was asked. He knew he was right. There was no way Arthur was walking in his current state.

"B-Because! I'm tired, that's why! It's not my leg, if that's what you think!" His cheeks burned with discomfort as his words stumbled out, not sounding too convincing. This was the second time he'd humiliated himself, and he didn't plan to try for a third. "Let's…Just go already!"

"We can't. At least not yet. We all have to go together, and that means waiting for orders."

"…Fine."