I'm sorry about this whole chapter…It's just one giant block of dialogue really. But, there's a lot that needs to be said.

Anyway, go easy on the critizm. I'm not very comfortable with uploading this chapter as it is. Dialogue is a very raw sort of writing.

Songs

'Asphyxiated'- by Muse

'Liar'- by Taking Back Sunday

'Love me Dead'- by Ludo

'As You Cry'- by The Hush Sound

"Can he walk yet?" A deeply concerned voice asked urgently, using that language that only nations knew, so all signs of an accent were gone.

"The wound was deep, and across his chest and stomach, and his left leg was crushed on impact, and some ligaments were torn. The healing will all depend on his body's ability to recover. For a human it would be months, but he'll probably take a few days..."

"I doubt that."

"He's in my hospital. It could be days before he even wakes up, if you don't want to wait, then you should leave and come back later…"

"I'm not waiting days for the bloody fool to wake up, and he knows it!"

People moved about the hospital room. It was all heard in a swirling echo in Alfred's half-conscious mind. There was a sharp slap of a hand against skin. "Don't touch him. He'll wake you when he's ready, yes?"

"Don't touch me, frog!"

"Please don't start fighting you two…something might get knocked over, or someone might get hurt," the first voice said, laughing a little.

"Seriously, you guys! You might push something over onto him. If he doesn't wake up soon, I'll never get my money back, aru!"

The door slammed open. "I heard America was hurt!"

"Denmark? Why the hell are you here?"

Alfred couldn't get his eyes open yet, but he was acutely aware of someone gripping his hands and sobbing. "No! You can't die! You still owe me money! Ack! Fuck! Norge~ don't hit me!"

"He's not dying idiot."

"Norway? Why are you here? You were just attacked; you should be resting at home…"

"M' fine," the small man said calmly. He looked tired and had a bandage wrapped around his head, but he didn't show any sign of pain.

"What happened to him?" a new voice inquired.

"He crashed a F-39 into the ground…bloody idiot."

"So then it's his own damn fault! Why the hell did you bring me here you fucking tomato bastard?"

"Aren't you worried about America, Lovi?"

"If he's stupid enough to drive a jet into the ground, then no, I'm not wasting my precious time on worrying. He's going to get himself killed no matter what I think of it."

"But-"

"We're leaving!"

"I think it would be a good idea if everyone went home actually…"

"Even me?"

"Even you, England. It would be best for his health if he woke up in a quiet room…no need to raise his blood pressure when there's a massive hole in his chest…"

"Wow, you're actually being serious, Francis?" Denmark said.

"Yes, I'm very serious. Clear the room out!"

Footsteps shuffled out quietly, without much protest. No one wanted to be held responsible if America's healing was slowed in any way.

Francis sighed and rubbed his temple as he closed the door behind Arthur who was still trying to convince the Frenchman that he should stay. The frog turned back around and leaned against the door.

"Ivan?"

The Russian had taken the seat next to Alfred's bed and folded his hands in his lap. "Yes?"

"You don't want to go home?"

Ivan just smiled. "No," he replied sweetly, still speaking that country-language that everyone liked to converse in when they all met in one place.

Francis hesitated. "Um…if you don't mind my asking…why not?"

"My sister broke into my home. That's the only reason why I found America. I tried to find him in his capital, but he wasn't there, so I was flown to Iraq and he hadn't returned to the Air Force base. They sent out a search party when I told them how important it was to find him."

"And you brought him to me because…?" Francis wondered.

Ivan smiled, "You have the best healthcare."

The Frenchman straightened a bit and grinned cockily. "You have good taste~"

"It's just medical care," Ivan deadpanned, still smiling.

France frowned. "Well, fine then. Be that way. You know you'd love me to give you a check up~"

Ivan ignored France's fake-advance and leaned over to touch the American's hand. "What you said about Arthur…was that true?" Ivan demanded suddenly, turning to the Frenchman.

"Angleterre? Ah…well that's…"

"Is it?"

"I don't want to say in front of America…"

"Yes or no?"

"It is…" Francis said finally. "But, Alfred is too thick to realize, let alone return it. So, I get to claim Arthur for now…"

Ivan just nodded, staring down at the American intensely. Alfred could never know that Ivan was wrong…or at least the American couldn't know that he felt that he was. The Russian couldn't stand to apologize. It simply wouldn't happen. But...he didn't want to stay angry at him for telling a little lie just to make him jealous.

Instead, he stretched his fingers to brush against the Americans and grip them carefully. He laced their finger together comfortably. He didn't mind the Frenchman's eyes on his back, until Alfred's heart monitor beeped faster, maybe due to the sudden cold hands on his, or because he'd subconsciously realized that Ivan was holding his hand.

Whatever the cause, America's brain was clicked on. Alfred's eyes were finally opening. They faltered a moment, adjusting to the starched artificial light. He took in his surroundings, the heart monitor beeping to his right, the bleached walls and floor tiles, the dividing curtain that was currently pulled back from the middle of the room, the window leading out to the street below. His vision was a bit blurry without the 28th state over his eyes.

"Why are you holding my hand?" he sighed, reaching with his free one for his glasses. His arm was bandaged up, and the blankets shucked under his movement.

"Why did you fly an F-39 straight onto the desert ground?" Russia countered.

"Why are we speaking country language?"

Ivan shrugged. "It's easier to understand."

Alfred plopped his head back into his pillow. "Where am I?" he wondered. "And what kinda drugs am I on? The room is fucking swirling."

"You are in France, love. Russia found you in Iraq, and brought you here. And, as for the medication, you're still on the anesthesia from the surgery." Francis was leaning against the window.

Alfred sighed again, agitated, turning his gaze back on Russia. "Why where you looking for me," he said accusingly. He wasn't ready to forgive Ivan for his manhandling him. He didn't take those sorts of things lightly anymore.

Ivan knotted his eyebrows, twisting the American's wrist back roughly. Alfred couldn't feel it anyway. "My sister broke down my front door, I had to escape out the back, she followed me to China, and I caught a jet to your capital. You weren't home, so I went to Iraq to find you."

"What? To blame me?"

"Of course," Ivan lied. He really had no idea why he wanted to run to America. He at least felt safe around Alfred… "You're boss let her free, yes? If you had just put her in a prison or something, we wouldn't have this issue…"

"She's a country, I can't put her in prison just because you can't tell her to leave you alone," Alfred spat. Ivan twisted his hand back further. The American just laughed while Francis looked on with horror, but there wasn't much he could do to get in between these two. "I can't feel a fucking thing, bastard!" Alfred laughed.

Ivan smiled pleasantly, "But you will~"

America ripped his hand away and finally looked down at himself to see just how bad the damage was. He was under a hospital blanket, and his foot was suspended up in a splint over his head. He could feel a cast over his chest and some tight wrapping constricting his breathing. His arms had bandages, and his neck was wrapped. Some of the wrappings were stained through with blood.

Alfred kicked his right foot off the side of the bed, hooking it onto the side of the cot and pulling his splinted leg off. He sat up. His left leg stuck straight out off the side of the bed at an awkward ninety-degree angle. It felt like a giant brick was attached to his hip instead of a leg, but he could imagine that was just the numbing shots.

Francis was waving at some girls walking past the window two floors below, but he turned suddenly when he heard the bed creak. "You shouldn't move yet, America!" he cried, moving to the bed and trying to push Alfred back on it.

America just laughed, "Knock it off, France! I'm fine!" He stood up and put a hand on his hip. He stood for a minute, but accidentally put too much pressure on the splinted leg, and he fell back. His leg bent just a fraction and it felt like his bones were breaking all over again. He must've torn some nerves up... "Damn…" he muttered.

"He told you not to stand…" Ivan pointed out smugly.

"I don't need your input!" Alfred snapped. He braced himself against his I.V. and used it as a crutch to stay upright. He sent a glare to the Russian and slowly moved his balance to his good leg. "I'm perfectly fine…" he growled.

Ivan just smiled, muttering to himself how he would stab Alfred later, speaking Russian so no one understood anything but a stream of 'kols'.

"You're such a freak," Alfred said outright. The air felt tense, as if the two might try to strangle one another, and that was the last thing America needed at the moment. "I asked Ukraine what that 'kol' thing meant. And, go ahead and stab me! It doesn't fucking hurt! You already broke my wrist I think!" The American held his hand up. It was bent the wrong direction still.

Ivan folded his arms over his chest. "It doesn't mean 'stab'. It means 'stake'. You must have misunderstood, as is expected of you. To put it in simple terms for you, it has the connotation of claiming or counting off your property."

Alfred tried to ball up his fist, but his hands were wrapped up too tightly. Russia was such a creep. It's not like America would allow him to claim countries again, and directly insulting his intelligence was just a dick move. "If I could bend my fingers, I'd throw something at you," Alfred said, grinning angrily. "Something sharp…" he looked around the room for something good.

Francis had backed up in a corner, just in case Alfred really did find a way to make this a brawl.

"Hm? At least you're being honest, that's a new concept for you~!" Ivan replied, smiling back.

"Being a liar is the most honest way to live; at least you know you are one."

Ivan's smile twitched, "I can't believe we were almost friends…"

France was still trying to stay out of this, but hearing them move so progressively in the wrong direction was frustrating for the country of love. Francis pouted, "What happened to you two?" he said dramatically. "Last time I saw you, I could've sworn I saw a spark of something good…this is just reverting back to normal!"

"Normal?" Ivan muttered? Just what about his relationship with Alfred was 'normal'?

France's lips thinned, "Well, normal for you two. You have two versions of fighting, and they both scare the shit out of everyone else who watches…"

Alfred sent him an incredulous look, "What are you talking about?"

Francis rubbed his temple. "You two bicker like a married couple! But, it's scary! You can feel the tension in the air, thick as butter! You two will argue while smiling creepily, with those crooked smiles and dark expressions as if you might cut the other's throats any second. Then you can also fight for real, with fists and teeth, clawing, scratching, screaming…and it freaks everyone out. It's like you forget that the world is there watching you!"

"Just…butt out of it France," Alfred said calmly.

Ivan stood from the seat beside the American's bed. He moved to Francis and lifted him by the collar off the ground. "I want to have a word with Америка," he said, smiling. He held the Frenchman up with one arm and carried him to the door, setting him in the hallway and closing him out. Francis protested and kicked the entire way, thrashing in the Russian's grip. He pounded on the door, but Ivan just smiled and locked him out, placing an armchair securely under the handle.

Alfred just watched with a quirked eyebrow. To any normal person, Ivan's behavior would be deplorable and…unsettling. America could've laughed. He smirked at the Russian. "So, by 'talk' you mean…?"

Ivan just smiled, "The others wouldn't understand."

Alfred shrugged, "Naturally. I've got a few things I wanted to say to you in particular."

"Oh, really? How interesting," Ivan said. They were feigning civility, just as they used to. Though, the scale seemed much smaller.

There was a time when their fist fights would've never ended if they'd begun. Alfred wasn't sure how far they'd receded after that fight over Arthur, but at least that fight had proven that they could be ripped off each other now if things got ugly. He didn't want to kill Ivan anymore, but he sure as hell wouldn't be pushed around by him.

"If I had to chance a guess…" Ivan muttered, "You want to talk about Iraq. More specifically, you want to talk about my contract to sell them weapons…"

Alfred leaned against the window, folding his arms over his casted chest. It felt awkward to hold his arms out so far to fold them, but at least it was a hard cast and he could prop them up. "That's it exactly."

Ivan smirked with fake sympathy, "You can't honestly be mad at me for that?"

"Who else should I be pissed off at for your actions?"

"Maybe yourself," Ivan suggested, stepping around the hospital bed so he could lower his voice a notch. Alfred was piercing him with his dark blue stare. "I specifically told you to stop sending the Middle East technology."

Alfred glared at him, "If you're blaming me for the measures I took for my own defense, then you really are dumber than you try to make me look…"

"For your own defense!" Ivan shouted, frustrated. "For your own defense? What, did you think they'd thank you for selling them jets and missiles? They still hated you! What did you think they'd use them for? Launching a campaign against communism?"

"If you didn't notice, they were sort of in the middle of the gulf war at the time!"

"Oh, so they were just an easy customer?" Ivan said lividly, his voice rising for some reason. He couldn't understand how this was riling him up so badly. "Are you stupid, Alfred? They were my ally at the time! And even I was telling you not to sell to them!"

"I'm not stupid!" America spat. "I sold them, had them used in the Gulf War, and the UN went back to destroy what was left of them!"

"And how is that at all 'heroic' or 'just'? Hm? You sold them weapons, and went back and destroyed them once you'd collected your money! It sounds underhanded and greedy if you ask me."

"You think you were in any position to lecture me on being underhanded and greedy? You built a Eastern empire, killed millions of your people, and claimed countries' governments. You ruined lives…took them…"

"And what are you doing now?" Ivan demanded. "You think I haven't noticed you building your little Western powers and NATO growing every year? If it's not imperialism, then it's at least expansion. And how do you think that makes me feel?" He stepped closer so the two were almost chest to chest.

"It's different," Alfred rebutted.

"How?"

"I'm not killing anyone!" America spat.

Ivan laughed earnestly. That was a good joke. America- not killing anyone. The two things just hadn't gone together since the Vietnam war. Even today, the weapons that the United States had sold on a global scale were being used to kill, especially in the Middle East and Africa. Many were still a threat to America himself.

"You might not be killing with your very hands at the moment, but isn't that what I had to retrieve you from when I found you in the desert, crashed in a fighter jet?"

Alfred had nothing to say to that. "What's the real reason you came looking for me?" he demanded, trying to divert the argument away from that. "Your sister might've been part of it, but you wouldn't come to me for something like that,"

Ivan just smiled. The circumstances were perfect. He could expose Alfred's lies while ratting out England. "I learned something important…about your 'friend' Arthur."

The intensity of Alfred's expression faded. "Artie?"

Ivan nodded, grinning like a child that was bad at keeping secrets. "Yes. The two of you haven't slept together in fifty years."

Alfred's expression went bored. He rolled his eyes. "Wow, nice job Sherlock. Just realizing this?"

"And he's still completely in love with you."

Alfred knit his eyebrows. That just didn't add up. Sure, England was always trying to get his attention, and they'd been best friends since the fifties, but Artie would've given up on having such a relationship by now. It wasn't even like he'd want one. But still, Ivan seemed pretty sure of this information, so the best thing to do would be to play along. "And you're still completely in love with China," he snapped.

"Don't bring Yao into the conversation. This isn't about him."

"Right, it's about my lie. But, what's the big deal? I don't like Artie like that, okay? Not a big deal," he shrugged.

Ivan gripped the American's jaw and jerked it up roughly. America didn't defend himself, he didn't even move. Alfred was injured, so the Russian could have the upper hand with no resistance. "I hate people with lying eyes."

Alfred laughed, contemplating spitting in Ivan's face. The Russian kept inching too close-for-comfort. He apparently didn't understand the concept of personal space. "If you hate me so much, why didn't you just leave me in the desert?"

"I want my heart back," Ivan said naturally.

"I think I lost it," Alfred grinned.

That tore it, the Russian gripped America's neck and pushed him flush against the wall. "I'm sick of this game!" he shouted. "Don't lie to my face!"

"Maybe I don't want to give it back!" Alfred shouted.

Ivan's eyebrows furrowed in confusion, but he didn't back off. "Why?"

Alfred didn't have a reason. Not a logical one anyway. So, he didn't answer. But, he couldn't have Ivan's face this close to his. It was unsettling. He could feel the Russian's breath on his cheek. Eleven years ago, the young Russian Federation had stood on his doorstep. He rang the bell and tried to convince America not to sell any technology to Iraq. Alfred didn't want listen. A year later: the World Trade Center fell, killing thousands of workers, and leaving New York City in a cloud of ash and dust. "Why did you warn me about Iraq?" he wondered suddenly.

"Because you were going to get yourself killed!"

"Wouldn't that have been helpful for you?" Alfred demanded. This was becoming more and more confusing with each retort.

"It's not like I wanted you attacking my ally!"

"Oh, so it was just for your own weapons-selling gain?"

Ivan smirked. "Did you expect something else?"

Alfred just grinned darkly. "It's not like you'd be worried about me."

Ivan moved his grip from the American's neck. "Of course not. You're a fat, greedy, hypocrite."

America's eyes narrowed angrily, "And you're a controlling, manipulative, phony!"

"Lying, skinless, self-righteous, covetous, pompous…" Ivan snarled, leaning forward so far that Alfred's head beat back into the wall just to avoid clashing noses. "Bigoted, predictable-"

"Fugly, big-nosed, over-sized, stiff!" Alfred countered, leaning up on his leg-brace and raising himself an extra inch to be eye-level with the Russian and scream right in his face.

"Fraudulent, shoddy, stupid-" Ivan's face inched closer furiously so Alfred could taste his warm breath as he spat insults in his face. "When will you ever lear-?"

America's breath halted. He saw it coming, but he was still hyper-aware of Ivan's lips just barely grazing his. He pulled back quickly, eyes wide. "D-Did you just…?" he said slowly, trying to control his heartbeat that was beating erratically on the annoying monitor.

Ivan stepped back, his eyes wide and dark. "I didn't!" he snapped.

Alfred covered his mouth and laughed hysterically. Somehow this whole ordeal seemed extremely amusing, like something out of a crappy Spanish soap opera that he could only understand half of. He shuffled back to his bed and slipped down onto it carefully. His cast gripped at his skin uncomfortably. He chuckled quietly. "What have we been reduced to?" he wondered aloud.

Ivan backed up to the wall, wiping his mouth clean. "The frog is right about us…" he said bitterly.

Alfred caught his breath and sighed. "No, we're worse than a married couple bickering… We're enemies acting like the past still matters."

Ivan rubbed his temple. Enemies again? "What ever happened to the days where the hatred was real? We used to hold so much over each other… The world used to tremble at our feet in fear of what we might do to each other. You were dangerous. You were more fun to be around…."

Alfred cocked his head to the side, "I'm sorry I'm trying to be civil. I know…trust me, I know. It feels like I've been extinguished against my will… I'm so much more productive when I've got a good reason to be." Ivan nodded, leaning against the wall and folding his arms over his chest. "I mean…the last century was probably the best time of my life- even with all the paranoia and the Red Scare."

Ivan smiled. It was still sort of flattering to hear every time Alfred admitted that he'd feared the Soviet Union. It was reassuring that he wasn't the only one who was afraid during the Cold War. "Yes, it should have been a good time for you, new technologies, the information era, civil rights movements, the baby boom, rise of the automobile, being five times more wealthy than Europe- and five times as lazy. But, none of it would've happened without me…"

Alfred quirked an eyebrow and glared up at the Russian.

Ivan just smiled down at him softly like he was a child. "If you weren't constantly trying to be the exact opposite of what I was, you wouldn't have bothered, would you?"

"Well…"Alfred had nothing to say to that either. It was completely true after all. The civil rights movement was spurred on by the individualist attitude of Americans. Alfred was obsessed with being an individualist as long as Ivan was a socialist. The only reason he'd gone to the moon was just to show up the Reds. He'd pumped so much effort into being better than the USSR…it had inadvertently made him happier somehow.

Alfred averted his eyes. It was sort of depressing that he was so happy with material things. He'd been so content to hate the first person who tried to be his friend…but it wasn't like Ivan hadn't started it.

"It would be so much easier if I still had to hate you," he muttered. "At least I wouldn't have to make up my own mind."

Ivan frowned. Alfred had figured it out before he could. That was the reason why they were so unsure and tense about this whole thing. Over the last century, they'd been forced to hate each other, as communism and capitalism can never get along. Now: they had to choose what to feel. And that wasn't easy.

"I always want to be one for optimism…though it doesn't usually work out," Ivan muttered. "As you know…"

America nodded. "And I only tend to be optimistic when things are going well for me…" And, they really weren't. Not with the economy, and definitely not with Russia.

"I've noticed," Ivan said calmly, taking a seat on the bed next to the American.

"So…"

Russia nodded. "So," he agreed.

Alfred sighed and leaned against the headboard. It was difficult to sit up with this stiff wrapping around his chest. "What now? Do I really have to decide whether or not to hate you?"

Ivan rolled his eyes impatiently. "You don't decide anything Alfred. Our people usually do so for us."

"But, I wanna know," Alfred muttered to no one in particular. "What do I think of Russia?"

Whoopsies, I think two people just kissed by accident.

There was soooo much dialogue in this one. I like writing dialogue, but tell me if I went overboard…? That conversation seemed in-character to me, but they were mostly just talking politics…Tell me if their character seemed off.

It takes you seconds to write a review, but they make me a happy writer, which may lead to less angst and more fluff.

So review plz.