Yo, Hikou no Kokoro here with a new chapter! This chapter took a bit, and it ended up a little shorter than normal. Nevertheless, it's pivotal, and I hope you guys enjoy it!

Special thanks to my reviewers: crazeENness and Fei! You guys are why I keep writing! Thank you very much!

Now, enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own Axis Powers: Hetalia. It rightfully belongs to Himaruya Hidekaz. I merely own the AU plot.

To Create Perfection

"The past can't see you, but the future is listening."
—Terri Guillemets

"Law 10: Don't Stop"

Francis and Arthur both went home after the incident. They were supposed to complete other tasks before calling it a day, but Francis requested Gilbert and Ludwig to find some other people to complete the jobs. Gilbert denied the request at first. He said that Arthur needed to toughen up and that Arthur needed to get in touch with reality rather than his dreams. Ludwig gave Francis the pardon, luckily, saying that Francis and Arthur would take on some tasks from those who were taking over for them. The deal was fair, so Francis took it.

On the way to home, Arthur didn't say anything. His eyes were aimed at his feet the whole time, watching how seemingly foreign legs were making the ground streak by. He did a lot of thinking during the time; Francis allowed him the luxury, saying not a word except when Arthur wasn't paying attention to where he was going. Unfortunately, by the time they reached the front entrance of home, Arthur wondered what he was thinking. He either couldn't remember at the instance Francis inserted the key, as if the snap of clicks wiped away everything, or he didn't produce a single coherent idea.

"Come on, we're home. Let's get some rest," Francis said. One hand was pressed to Arthur's back as he pushed Arthur in.

Alistair didn't expect them by then. He was sitting on the couch before a blank television set in the living room, and he snapped around when the door opened. When he realised the "intruders" were only Francis and Arthur, his shoulders visibly drooped. "You're here early," he said, grabbing his crutches and getting up.

"Yeah. We encountered a minor… problem, so we got today off," Francis explained, kicking his shoes off. He left Arthur's side, peering around the wall at Alistair. "Are you hungry? Did you eat the lunch I made for you?"

"No. It's still in the refrigerator." Alistair leaned against his crutches and began to leave the room, following Francis.

"Perfect. We'll eat lunch together then. It'll be great!"

Alistair sighed. He rolled his eyes. "Of course…" he muttered. He turned towards Francis, but he stopped. His green eyes trained on Arthur, who was looking at his feet and slowly plucking his shoes off to lie beside the door. "What's wrong with you?" he asked.

"Go away. I don't want to talk about it," Arthur responded. He clapped his hands to get rid of whatever dust was on his hands. Then he walked past Alistair.

His redhead brother scowled, following after Arthur to the kitchen with Francis. "I didn't tell you to talk about anything," he snapped. "I just asked what's wrong with you."

"Don't bother him, Alistair." Francis spoke from around the refrigerator, bent over to take out preserved items and a few complementary ingredients. "Arthur's had a rough day. He's a bit out of it."

The other rolled his eyes, casting Arthur a contemptuous glare before looking at Francis. "That's him every day. I'm just asking what's wrong, not if he's being a stupid pussy like he always is."

Francis sighed, straightening up and resting a hand on the top of the refrigerator door. "Alistair, that's practically the s—"

"I'm thinking of quitting BCWD."

The words sent a tremor through the air. Both Francis and Alistair stopped in their movements, but each in different ways. Francis paused, shifting his gaze towards Arthur, and then continued on his way of setting up food on the counter. His expression was still painfully neutral, as if he didn't care whether or not Arthur quit. He was going to let Arthur go without a fuss—no commentary and no questions. But Alistair was completely different. He didn't pause; he froze. His expression didn't change: the open-mouthed scowl remained in place, and his green eyes didn't widen in shock. The hands gripping the crutches turned white though, like opaque ice. Then the ice disappeared.

"You're thinking what?"

"I'm planning to quit BCWD. Tomorrow I'll go to Beilschmidt and ask for a resignation form," Arthur explained, rubbing his thumb over the sides of his forefingers.

"No, you fucking aren't." Alistair growled. He paced up to Arthur and gripped the collar of Arthur's shirt. "You worked too hard to get here! We're in financial debt because you decided to run to this trash island to make your bloody fortune! What are you planning to do after you quit? Find a few jobs? You'll only gather more debt!"

Arthur looked away. "I'll just work for Yao. He promised a raise and other necessities."

Alistair punched Arthur. A crack resounded through the room. Francis jumped, dropping food onto the tiled floor. Alistair leaned against his crutches and heaved furious gasps. A red mark developed on Arthur's right cheek. Arthur was looking at the ground, but slowly those green eyes turned up at Alistair, narrowing in the same rage radiating from Alistair.

Arthur straightened up, fists clenched at his side. He spoke through gritted teeth, "You're nothing but a leech on my side. You can't make your own demands."

"I don't care. I don't give a rat's fat ass about why or whatever the shit reason you want to whine about—you aren't quitting."

"See? This is why you're nothing but parasitic scum! Because you don't understand what I have to do! The only thing you ever do is sit here waiting for me to come home with money and food! You do nothing while I have to suffer!"

Alistair grabbed Arthur's collar and slammed his back into the counter. Arthur's head rebounded off the surface with a crack. His green eyes blinked. Pain shot from the bottom of his spine to the back of his head. Arthur tried to fight Alistair off, biting a hand, but Alistair grabbed his crutch, letting one of them fall, and slammed Arthur down. They were shouting. Arthur was demanding Alistair to get off; Alistair was screaming, fists raised in the air.

"You bloody wanker! BCWD was your dream! Now you're running away like some little wussy! Get your empty head together and grow some bloody balls!"

Francis scrambled around the counter and pulled Alistair from Arthur, holding the fighting redhead from under the armpits. Alistair was screaming and shouting, kicking his one good leg, his green eyes crimson and bloodshot with outrage. Then Francis let go. Alistair lost his balance and fell backwards. Silence finally followed.

Arthur lifted himself from the counter, panting. His shoulders and arms trembled, and his green eyes were wide and watery. He stared down on Alistair for a moment. Then he turned, stepped over Alistair, and walked into the living room. Not a single word was spoken; the only sounds came from the rustling of moving fabric, padding footsteps, and gasps or breathing. Even that disappeared within a few moments.

Alistair stared up at the ceiling, spread-eagled with his fists still clenched. Francis recovered himself and walked over Alistair, holding out his hands to help the redhead up. But instead of taking the offered help, Alistair only scowled, sneering at Francis, before he sat up. His arm rested on his one knee; he stopped there, as if hesitating. Furtive eyes stared at the crutches until, finally, Alistair grabbed them and pulled himself up, as if Francis wasn't there. Francis followed Alistair, opening his mouth to speak. Only then did Alistair acknowledge Francis. He whirled around and pointed an accusing finger.

"I don't want to see either your bloody face or Arthur's for the rest of the day. Don't bother me."

"But Alistair—"

"Say one more word and I will tear every limb from your body."

Francis shut his mouth, watching despairingly as Alistair hobbled from the kitchen and went upstairs to his bedroom. The door was slammed shut; Francis flinched. The door used to be Jeanne's, but if Alistair always treated it like that, then there wouldn't be any door. However, Francis didn't bother to mention any of that—he could only hope that Alistair would sleep on it, even though the sun was still shining at its zenith; instead, he turned on the balls of his feet and slowly shuffled in the direction Arthur had walked off.

He found Arthur sitting on the couch, crossed legs propped against the table between the seat and the TV. Arthur's hands rested on his laps. They were folded like simple origami, and he was staring at them.

Francis looked around briefly. The room was the way Alistair probably had left it: plain, unmoving, and unlit except for the sun rays streaming from windows. Even the books on the shelves to the right were untouched. Francis wondered if that was all Alistair did every day—sitting around, waiting for somebody to come back home, and doing absolutely nothing except trekking through forgettable thoughts running through his head. That must be a terrible life; Francis would hate being alone in his own home, and he was always glad to be doing something instead of waiting for the front door to open.

"Alistair has always been like that…" Arthur whispered, jerking Francis from observations and thoughts and back into the events at hand. "A stupid, violent fool."

Francis took a seat beside Arthur, not even bothering to ask in fear that Arthur would tell him no. He opened his mouth to say something, but hesitated. Disagreement was hanging on thread on his tongue; he so desperately wanted to tell Arthur that Alistair was simply angry, that Alistair had meant well, that Alistair was trying to help, but came off on the wrong note.

"I see…" Francis said. "How so?"

Arthur's hands clenched tighter. "He used to always yell at me and beat me up when I was little. 'Wimp,' 'coward,' 'pathetic,' 'useless,' he would say, and then he would kick me around." He tapped his two forefingers against the backs of his hands. A fire suddenly appeared within the green eyes, as if they were seeing more things than before. His voice rose from its murmur. "But look at him! He's such a hypocrite! Every day, he lounges around, watching television, smoking cigarettes and drinking bottles of whisky."

He stopped, turning his head to look at Francis. His voice continued to rise, and his words came out in a more fluid stream. "And you'd think that wasn't so before the war, since a legless invalid can't do much anyway nowadays in the World Domain, not without a degree. But he was worse back then. He smoked more, drank until the wine cellar was empty, studied nothing, and spent more money than he could bring home."

Arthur swallowed something, and then continued. "I have a total of one other brother, a sister, and two cousins who lived with me. I didn't really have to have somebody coming to the World Domain with me, but if I had to choose, then I would have chosen any one of them; they're all equally capable. Instead, I got stuck with Alistair, out of all of them. Do you know why?"

Francis didn't respond, squeezing his own hands in anticipation.

"Because he's a drain on everybody. He can't provide for anybody, even himself. Dylan and Emma, my siblings, went to college, and are probably making a living for themselves. But no, Alistair stayed. He couldn't even complete high school, so he just dropped out. And… And he had a hard time finding a job too; no sane employer wanted a rotten drop-out, especially with his smoking and drinking habits. Even the World Domain military almost rejected him. Did you know what they told him a few years back? 'If you don't shape up your behaviour, we'll leave you to die in Canada.' D-don't you see? Nobody wants him; he was just thrown on my boat because I would be able to obtain a substantial salary in BCWD, and the money wouldn't get drained because of him. And-And—"

Francis stopped Arthur, peering at Arthur with sad, sad eyes and drooping eyebrows. "Are you hearing what you're saying?"

"Y-yeah." Arthur gulped, blinking.

"Do you really hate your own brother that much?"

Arthur sucked in a deep breath, squeezing his eyes shut. Then he breathed out. His shoulders sagged, and he began to blink more.

"Let me tell you a story."