Hi everyone… I assume some people must still be following the story, so I'm uploading again. I'd still , just in case. And again, this is the chapter with Iggy in it. And if anyone wants to reach me, PM me. I wouldn't mind at all, non, not at all! And if you can't reach me there, email me at
Also when Arthur says things about the Bismarck and The Prince of Wales and The Hood, those are actual battle cruisers from World War II. More information in the next chapter if you people want it, but the article actually teared me up when I read it. Inspiration can be misery, after all…
Thank you for even reading this! *puts on sunglasses* Come forth, Iggy!

England rolled over in bed to slam a sturdy hand on his alarm clock, positioned on his nightstand, which he had managed to ignore for the past few minutes. The radio alarm clock was supposed to wake him up at 7 AM each mornign with rock music (Iggy's favorite), but somehow America had reprogrammed the alarm to record his voice, and so Arthur had risen from his slumber to a disturbing shout of: "Hamburgers and coffee—I'm the hero—yeah man! America America America America—" omitting from his clock in the place of British rock.

The "song", as Alfred called it, had gone on for a while with Arthur's little brother screaming tunelessly into the recording, "AMERICA AMERICA AMERICA—HERO!—AMERICA AMERICA…" and had shown no sign of ceasing its restless chant.

"What the bloody hell—he can reprogram my alarm clock to say abominable things..." Arthur pulled the blankets over his head, thankful for the sudden silence. "… But he can't even find Europe's location on a map."

Just as Arthur had begun to manage to relax, his cell phone suddenly erupted into a flow of endless ringing.

"WHAT THE BLOODY—" Arthur snatched the phone up from the nightstand, sat up, cleared his throat, and pressed "talk". "Good day, this is Arthur Kirkland, may I be of any service to you?"

"You can be of service to me," replied a deep voice, "by holding your temper long enough to hear me out."

"Germany!" Arthur scowled as he slammed an angry fist on the stand by his bedside, causing the reading lamp on it to wobble dangerously. "How dare you call me, you imbecile! I still haven't forgiven you for sinking and injuring my battle cruisers! The Prince of Wales was hit badly, you damaged her so much, and The Hood was completely destroyed! You bloody bastard, I will never, ever, forgive you for—"

"Arthur!" yelled Ludwig on the other end, unable to wait out Arthur's ranting any longer. "World War II is years past! Why don't you worry more about the present and forget what happened?"

"..Uh huh… Hold on a moment, why am I even speaking to a bloody murderer like you?" questioned the thick-eyebrowed nation.

"… I assume it's because I called you?" guessed Ludwig, then cleared his head and said, "Arthur, I truly don't have the time to play your little games. The reason I called you in the first place is because—"

"Because you wanted to remind me of the fucking things you did during the war?"

"No! Verdammt, Arthur, I'm not kidding with you anymore! I called you because I need your help!" shouted the blonde, singking into his office chair as he spoke the words. He gazed tearfully at the spot where he'd last seen his brother, the faint reminder of the night before. Even now he hoped it had all been a dream. "Arthur, I don't care if you hate me, I don't care if we've had grudges years before, and I called you because now I need your help. So please, Arthur, find your humanity!"

"… You know that as nations, we never really were humans, right, Ludwig?" asked Arthur, frowning at the thought of even mingling with the humans. "This must be bad then, if you're even getting the humans involved."

"I know, it's just a saying," mumbled Ludwig. "But please, Arthur, this is far more important to me than my own country."

"All right, but hurry up. I don't have the time for these melancholy tales, and I'm losing my patience with you."

"I'm losing mine with you, too," Ludwig informed him. "Why are you always in such a gloomy mood, Arthur? You'd be able to work more easily if you weren't so stressed out like this."

Arthur scoffed skeptically, running his fingers unconciously through his layered hair. "I could say the same for you, kraut bastard. You sound exhausted, what did you do, stay up the whole night peeling your potatoes?"

"… Arthur, have you been spending time around Lovino? You seem to enjoy tormenting me even more than he does."

"No, I have been in contact with the Vargases for some time, actually. But I'll inform you of something; you know why I'm stressed out? America has come over to stay for the week to discuss our alliance and all he's truly done is wreak havoc in my house. The other Allies are coming this afternoon and he hasn't even gotten out of bed yet, much less help me to prepare. I have so much work on my shoulders," said Arthur, gritting his teeth menacingly, "and it simply isn't helping either to have an idiotic potato bastard ordering me around on the phone at seven in the morning! You stupid oaf, you don't understand how much pressure I'm under nowadays! I bet you're sitting around, slacking off without a care in the world!"

"Arthur, you know that isn't really true! You have no idea what just happened to me—"

"Political struggles!" yelled the other man. "Weakening government! No conquers lately and on top of all that the humans are getting into matters! It's all aching my body; I can hardly get to sleep at night! Do you understand, there is nothing worse than what I am dealing with at this moment! Do you read me, potato bastard?"

For a short moment there was nothing but silence on the other line, and Arthur began to wonder if the German had abruptly hung up on him while he had been rambling on, and speculated whether he should also hang up when Ludwig whispered hoarsely, "You really enjoy hurting me, don't you?"

"L-Ludwig…" stammered Arthur; he had been jarred by the unexpected answer, and a wave of guilt overwhelming him. He really hadn't thought that Ludwig would feel hurt, just that he would shout a few curses at the Britishman and then hang up, but this was beyond imagination. "Y—you know that I didn't really mean it, right? I mean, I—I'm just under a lot of pressure right now, I—"

"Nothing," shouted Ludwig, a dry sob escaping from his lips, "that has happened to you could ever compare to what's happened to me! And not just me—" He began to cry freely, the teardrops landing on his desk, which he had not left since dawn. "Tell me, Arthur—how would you feel if something had happened to your brother?"

"France? That idiot? You know I don't give a single damn for that weakling and his flashy clothe—"

"No! Verdammt, not Francis! I'm talking about America!" cried Ludwig, burying his face in his hands at an attempt to keep in all the tears as Arthur suddenly stiffened at the mention of his little brother.

"D—did you say America?" muttered Arthur, staring at the wall on the other side of the room, dazed at Ludwig's question. "A—Alfred? I—if something happened to… Alfred?"

"Ja! What would you do, how far would you go to save him is something happened to him? If he were dying?"

"No… no, not Alfred… I mean, he may be an imbecile and a—an idiot, but… I'd do anything for him. I'd even come begging to Russia-san to help me save him if—if he were dying… w—wait…" A wave of reality instantly washed over the British gentleman. "You think Gilbert… is in danger? He's your brother, right? The one who was killed in 1947? But if he's dead already, why are you calling me then?"

"Because he… I n—need to know… what's—what's happened to him… he's… oh Gott!" Ludwig burst into another fresh splash of tears as he recalled Gilbert, staring helplessly into his eyes as he was pulled back into the world of pain and misery he had come from.

"L—Ludwig!" Arthur sat up in bed in shock. "Are—are you actually crying? Ludwig, please, I—"

"Goodbye, England! I don't need your help anymore! So you can forget all about this conversation!"

"Ludwig, wait!" But Arthur was too late, the latter had hung up. "Oh, dammit!" screamed Arthur, hurling his cell across the room into the bedroom wall, where it shattered from the deadly force of the angered nation, also leaving a good-sized dent in the wall and cracking the light-green paint.

Without hesitation, Arthur threw his blankets off, and without even a thought of changing into some appropriate wear, he stormed from the room, still clad in a light gray set of pajamas.

"Hey, hey England!" greeted a disheveled American, also dressed in a pair of rumpled blue PJs, his glasses crooked. Wow, this is cool, that's the first time I've ever seen you in your sleep wear! Is it some kind of special day?"

"No!" barked Arthur, pushing past him and into the hall. "I'm busy! Go away, Alfred!"

"Huh?" The clueless blonde stopped in his tracks. "What are you…? England…" A determined expression frlashed onto his face, and Alfred slipped into Arthur's room; Arthur reasoned that the boy was probably going to rifle around in his drawers to see if he had left any loose change around. And he didn't care.

As Arthur entered the living room, he glanced at the granfather clock standing at the far wall. Good, Ivan, Yao, and Francis won't be here for a few hours, he thought, snatching up the electronic home phone and pressing the numbers with a rather murderous look and his usually calm face.

"E—England… what is this?" cried Alfred, stumbling, stunned, into the grand room with shards and bits of what used to be Arthur's cell phone, which had bits of paint from the wall clinging to it, in his hand. "Your cell phone! It's totally busted!"

"I don't care," replied Arthur, holding the phone to his ear. "It doesn't matter to me anymore. There are more important things."

After hanging up, Ludwig bit his lip and brought his legs up onto the swivel chair to hug his knees the way he used to as a child. He could remember those days that had once been over and done, the days that Prussia had been there for him, had been there as his older brother.

England had objectively refused to help him, now how was he going to help Gilbert? Slowly Ludwig lowered his forehead onto his knees and began to cry silently; his arms stung from the cold, exposed by his sleeveless black tanktop, but he could hardly feel it. All that mattered was Gilbert, and Gilbert was gone.

And then Japan opened the door, solemnly humming his national anthem as he cradled a stack of paperwork that looked much too large for such a small nation to be carrying. When he spotted his ally in tears, Kiku set the pile of papers on the German's office desk and mumured softly, "Ludwig… did Arthur say no?"

Even before Ludwig nodded, he knew the answer. "It's alright, Ludwig," said the quiet country, stepping around the furniture to place a hand on the other's shoulder. "We can get through this. We have until the next full moon to figure out a way to aid Gilbert."

"I know," sobbed Ludwig somberly, "B—but… who else but Arthur knows these things?"

"… I don't know," shrugged Kiku, leaving Ludwig's side to stare thougthfully out the window and down into his colleague's front yard. "But we can only hope to find someone, if not Arthur Kirkland. A month is a long time, Ludwig, we may find out more. Don't lose hope."

Ludwig gulped, trying to get his throat, which felt sore and dry, to work correctly. "I…I just don't know," sighed the blonde, lowering his feet back down on the floor and resting his arms on the chair. "Arthur… well, he was really my last and only hope. There was never anyone else like England."

For a moment, the two nations remained still, gazing off into space. Ludwig was so deep in thought that he nearly toppled out of the chair when the phone rang. Kiku continued to face the window with glazed eyes, and so the blonde sighed and picked up. "He—Hello?"

He was even more shocked to hear Arthur's voice shout, "LUDWIG BEILSCHIMDT! Get over to my place at ten and precisely ten and I'll help you out, you hear? One minute later than that and I'm locking you out! Got it?" boomed the voice of the British man.

The reciever slammed, and Ludwig sat, bewildered, the phone still pressed against his ear.

"What was that?" inquired the curious and nearly inaudible voice of Honda Kiku. "Who called?"

"K—Kiku… I—Arthur Kirkland. He's agreed to help us. To help Gilbert."

Arthur sighed, satisfied, and began to retreat back to his bedroom. "Well, that's done," he murmured.

"Hey—what was that all about?" demanded Alfred, straightening his glasses and hurrying after his friend. "Are you and Germany in some kind of evil league now like in Person of Interest where—"

"No," interrupted Arthur, slowing his pace to let the boy catch up. "I'm helping him out with something."

"You? Helping that square out with something?" Alfred scratched his head, confused. "I thought you hated him."

"Well, I changed my mind." Arthur explained, or at least, he tried to. (With America it's a bit hard to get anything across.) "It's a bit complicated, but… perhaps it's time to put the past and World War II behind us and start fresh."

"Well, what the FRUK made you change your mind?" wondered Alfred, pulling a hamburger from nowhere to chomp on.

Arthur groaned and replied, "If you must know. Well, let me put it this way—what would you do if something happened to your brother… um, let me see, what's his name… Cuba… Candice… Cana—that's right, Canada. What would you do if something happened to your little brother Canada?"

"Canada?" Alfred scrunched up his eyebrows in thought. "… Oh… you must mean Matthew, right?"

"Fine, then, Matthew. So? What would you do if Cana—I mean, Matthew—were in trouble? Or dying?" asked Arthur, turning to peer curiously at Alfred, interested in the nation's answer.

"I'd… eat a hamburger and have a cup of coffee like I always do…and then be the hero?" guessed Alfred, giving Arthur a hopeful thumbs-up. "Did I pass the test or what?"

And our dear little Iggy sighed and slammed his bedroom door in Alfred's jovial face.

All right, there you guys go… originally I planned for this to be three times as long, but then I changed my mind cuz I really want the next part on its own. No Gilbert appearance in this one, but in the next chapter, coincidently the rest of the Allies show up. Some cursing, angst, and torture scenes are involved, sorry. Gilbert's in that one. *smile* Any suggestions? Review or email please!