February 1, 1951

Another new year had passed, leaving in its wake a new fall of snow, and new resolutions for the coming spring.

Alfred, for his part, was so tired of being inside the house, that he braved the cold to take a walk through his frozen garden, reasoning that he could at least follow the path with cane and a hand to the near frozen shrubberies. Thus, it was, that in the late afternoon that he gave his ever hovering brother and former guardian the slip (And they thought just because he was blind, he couldn't be sneaky- they should really have known better by now-) heading out of the back door in a heavy overcoat and boots, while the pair of them were busy in the library.

It was a nice change, to be on his own, away from the constant presence of people who wished him well- but in a way that sometimes left Alfred wanting to scream.

But the cold.

Halfway down the garden path, Alfred considered giving up- the frigid winter air was starting to pierce through his coat, and he was starting to loose a bit of feeling in his hands. But he wouldn't—couldn't- it was like a mission to prove himself. He could make it to the bottom of the garden and back again, and just casually laugh about it with the others when he returned, chilly, but having gotten some exercise. He'd nearly forgotten what it was like to be on his own.

Alfred had also forgotten about one of the things that made winter so unpleasant, rediscovering it as he started to turn around at the end of the path to make his triumphant return.

Ice.

He yelped suddenly, as he lost his footing, wobbled, and then fell- the cane falling loose from his frozen grip. The clattering of the wood was lost in the sound of his own scuffling footsteps and the hard impact with frozen earth. It took him a full minute to recover his breath, only to have it stolen away again by the cold.

"Fuck." Alfred wheezed, trying to orientate himself. "Fuck-"

The wind picked up, sending a chill along his left leg, exacerbating the realization of an icy burn along the limb. One probing hand found a tear, and a possible damp spot- it was too cold to tell if he had actually skinned his knee, or just torn his trousers. Frowning, Alfred braced himself against the cold earth, pushing cautiously to see if he could stand- if he could stand, maybe he could find the guiding shrubbery, and if he could find the shrubs, he could get back into the warmth of the house that he swore he wouldn't leave this time.

"It's too cold-" he murmured to the wind, which only seemed to laugh at him when his leg slipped out again, sending the knee crashing to the solid surface. "Fuck-"

You should have asked one of the others to go with you- or told them where you were going- a little voice nagged at him, But no, weak little America had to go out alone. Should have given up and died and given Matthew a chance. At least Canada can take care of himself.

"Shut up." He told the voices, trying to fight the tears that he knew would come. His knee hurt. His hands hurt. He was cold- "I'm not weak. I'm not giving up-"

Weak.

Alfred growled, and inched his way along the ice patch, until he could feel a place that wasn't slippery. He had to stand, and once he could stand, he could start working on finding his way back to the house.

However, once he stood, the wind pushed at him, making him stagger- and find more ice.

With another cry, he found himself falling once again.

A sharp crack and lance of pain through his head announced the sudden silencing of his world.

The house was silent.

Far too silent.

Arthur glanced up from his book to where Matthew had dozed off on the settee, and frowned.

He had known his former colonies for a very long time- and even if they had both changed so drastically since- well. Arthur had never known Alfred to be so quiet for this long- even since they'd been reacquainted. And... there was this nagging horrible feeling that he was getting.

"Matthew," Arthur set his book aside, and stood. "Where did Alfred say he was going?"

"To find his radio, I think."

"It shouldn't have taken him this long." Arthur frowned, "He should know where it is by now-"

"He should have been back by now." Matthew agreed with a frown. "But you know how he is-"

"I'm going to go find out what's taking him." The growing sense of urgency had taken root in a knot just below Arthur's stomach.

Matthew paled visibly before Arthur could turn to the door.

"Matthew-"

"Fucking idiot- he-" A visible wince. "He's unconscious. And cold-"

"He went outside? In this weather?" Arthur could feel his voice rise a couple of octaves. "The garden."

Matthew winced, but nodded.

Arthur didn't even wait for him to get up- didn't bother to do more than grab a blanket from the sofa, and a jacket from the coat rack near the door that led to the garden.

Winter's biting chill almost pushed him back into the house.

"That idiot-" Arthur forced himself out the door, and down the treacherous path that had only gained an inch of snow since the last time he'd looked at it. A faded set of footprints showed the way that someone had walked from the house- cautiously staying close to the hedges...

Alfred.

There was no return set.

Arthur picked his way through the dusk lit path, following the footprints to the end. He nearly tripped over the wooden cane that had somehow been tossed aside- nearly slipped on the ice, but for the obvious way in which it had been cleared, and the wind had yet to cover up the place where someone had crawled away from it. Or to cover the far too still form with more than a light dusting of snow.

"Alfred!" Arthur stumbled to his knees, hastily snagged blanket catching the wind and spreading as he reached to touch the pale cold face. "Alfred!"

There was no response.

All Arthur could do, was wrap the blanket around the boy's body, and carefully lift him.

Matthew was only a few steps behind with another blanket, and an expression of utter panic that reminded Arthur of days when the boys were colonies, and Alfred had gotten them into trouble again-

"Inside, Arthur." Matthew steadied his arm, his walk, so that the ice would not claim any more victims this night. "We've got to get him warm. He might be a Nation, but-"

"I know all too well." Arthur murmured into the mop of blond hair against his shoulder, the weight in his arms suddenly feeling far too light- "It means he'll recover, not that he's immune to harm."

And God knows, America didn't need any more harm to come to him.

The battlefield was a mess- icy cold rain soaking everything, and making dark mud that turned the soldier's whites to browns and grays.

Arthur- England would hate it, just as he hated the messes that Alfred had brought into the house where he'd been-

But this wasn't the time to think of that. He had Arth- England on his knees, maybe he would surrender. It was about time- Alfred didn't know if he could take much more of this fighting- Everything hurt, and A—England wasn't in much better shape.

"England, I'm not your baby brother-" And he wasn't, Alfred hadn't been a baby for a long while, and then there was that whole issue with the word 'brother'- "From now on, I'm independent!"

Art—England's eyes were searching his face, focusing through obvious exhaustion. This would be over soon, and he could rest. They could both rest, and –

"England, I chose liberty. Acknowledge it-"

A spark of something crossed the familiar green, but before Alfred- America- could do more than block the oncoming bayonet with his musket, Arthur charged.

A twist, and America's rifle was wrenched out of his hands, making his wrists ache with the force.

He stared down the barrel of England's gun, wondering how he's misjudged the other's strength and will- Would Arthur kill America now? Alfred was certain the fear was showing on his face- but he couldn't look away. Wouldn't look away.

Would the man who had raised him, held his hand to him now kill him?

"You fool. So naieve..." There were vague orders being yelled behind him, and from the woods behind England. "Idiot... There's... there's no point in firing, is there?"

Arthur fell to his knees before Alfred, and- was he crying, or was that merely the rain?

Was the warmth from Alfred's own eyes tears at seeing Arthur defeated and crying the one who had always filled his world, had always-

"England-" Yes, that was a sob. He'd made Arthur cry- that wasn't – he didn't- But he had to continue. Alfred swallowed hard, "You-"

A sharp crack had no time to echo before something hit him in the eyes- and there was only red tinged darkness and painpainpain. He was falling, or was he standing? Alfred couldn't tell with the dizzy loss of vision, loss of – it hurt, and he was-

Arms wrapped around him, familiar and comforting, and warm. Softly the denials came into his ear with so much heartbreak- but Alfred hurt- it hurt hurt hurt-

"You used to be so big-" Alfred managed to murmur, before it all swam away into a darkness blacker than before.

It was hot- so hot that he was shivering, and Alfred's head throbbed in memory and in the red-tinged darkness that had been his world for so long. His head hurt, his body hurt-

"Alfred?" England's voice was close, "Come on, love, wake up for a moment-"

A hand was in his own, another on his cheek- he couldn't decide if it was hot or cold, but in all, Alfred decided, in the end, it was England, it was Arthur, so it was nice either way.

"Arth- arthur..." His mouth was so dry, and his throat-

"Shh, here's some water, try and drink some- it will help." Hands moving, the hand in Alfred's own was removed. Center of gravity moving, unsteady- but the cool touch of liquid spilling over his lips and into his mouth- heaven. He drank greedily, trying to put off breathing in favor of more water.

"It's all right, love, take your time. Keep breathing." Arthur's voice was calm, soothing- but there was that same undertone of concern. Alfred tried to think about why, and how- and only spun in his darkness, with a calm silence beckoning. "It's all right, Alfred, we'll be here when you wake."

"Alfred, where are you? It's time to stop playing this stupid game- You have to tell your people-" There was anger in that voice- betrayal, hurt. "They have to stop trying to take me in order to get to England. There's no way-"

"Mattie?" The smell of winter, of cold and maple- "Mattie, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, they wouldn't listen, and they kept going, and I couldn't make them stop, and it hurt- and I'm sure it hurt you too, but they wouldn't- I couldn't-"

"Shh, Al." Cool and strong arms found him in his cold corner, tugged at him, "You can tell me the rest of this later. Right now- you're hurt. Didn't they take care of you?"

"I should be able to take care of myself, Mattie." The dry sobs were catching in his throat. He hadn't felt this helpless since Washington had died. "I'm a Nation, I shouldn't need anyone, right? And you're still England's colony, so I'm not supposed to trust you, but- I- Maybe I should have-"

"Enough, Al." a firm voice, "I won't be a colony for much longer. That's why I was away so long. I should have told you, told them. Maybe they wouldn't have used you like this. I'm sorry."

"I want to be strong, Mattie, I have to be strong. But it's so hard-"

"Al," The sound of a heart breaking, "You don't have to be strong in the same ways as before- use your head. You've... got to be clever. You might not be able to see, or push back as you did before, but you can use your brain, and be smarter than any of them. I'm leaving England- and I'll be your strength. Work on the ideas, and I'll help you. All you have to do is ask. Right now, I'm taking you to my house, and we're going to get you back on your feet. After that, we can work on anything..."

Al could only nod against his brother's chest, the tension of the last decade finally seeping away, and leaving him limp, drawing him into unconsciousness.

The picture of Arthur crying in the rain lingered.

Would England be hurt again? That wasn't what he-

Silence embraced him.

"Al?" Matthew's voice this time, and a hand touched his cheek. Hot. Cold. The world was still spinning in his gray and red darkness. "C'mon, buddy. You can wake up for a little bit- I have soup for you. The doctor said you needed something besides water."

"Nmm." Alfred said intelligently, not sure if he could form words. A bit of warmth touched his lips- when had he been moved to a seated position? There was a flavor of chicken, and mild spices-

"There you go." Mattie's voice told him encouragingly. "Just a little more, and you can sleep again."

"Arthur..." Al managed to murmur when his mouth was empty once again. "I..."

"He's resting. You're a real handful sometimes, bro." A humorless chuckle. "C'mon one more bite."

Alfred barely managed to swallow before the silence was returning to claim him.

Sounds passed him by. Images of his imagination, images of the past. He was floating on half-heard conversations.

"I want to go see what the stars are made of!" Al declared, as he and Arthur watched the evening fall, and the points of light dance in the heavens. "I'll do that, and come back, and tell you all about it."

"I'm sure you will," Arthur was laughing as he ruffled Alfred's hair.

"I will!" Alfred started to pout, "I'll show you, and I'll bring you one-"

…

Explosions hitting all around- the smell of London in the air, but a London that was burning- and Arthur- he'd just left the pub. Alfred shook Matthew's arm frantically.

"Mattie, he couldn't have made it to shelter- we've got to go find him-"

"I'll go look, Al, you stay under cover-"

But he couldn't...

Arthur's sleeping face was troubled. Alfred could feel it as he gently stroked the furrowed brow, listened to the soft sounds of a nightmare.

"I didn't mean for this to happen-" Slurred with sleep, the voice made Al want to cry. If he could see Arthur's face, he knew the expression. It was the last one he'd seen- "I didn't want this-"

"I know," Alfred couldn't help but answer, "I understand."

Somewhere, Arthur had heard him, and the furrows lightened, and the flicker of consciousness seemed to be returning- but the Nation should rest while he could. The city was still burning, and Alfred would spare him at least a little of that, if he could.

"Rest now." He told England, still brushing soothing fingertips along the warm cheek.

Matthew returned for Alfred at dawn, and he was unceremoniously led onto a plane, listening as Matthew warned the Pilot not to let Al talk him into anything again.

He was going home, whether he wanted to or not.

The weight of a hand within his own, and a head on his shoulder awakened him.

Pain had receded, taking with it the unsettling swimming sensation.

A soft sleepy noise sounded from the head that was so close to his own, and Alfred found himself smiling faintly. Arthur.

His limbs felt clumsy as he reached with the free hand to touch the mop of hair that was tickling his chin. Definitely Arthur- Mattie's hair was as soft as his own, but Arthur's was different. But in a good way. Alfred loved to touch it-

"Alfred?" Matthew's voice came from afar. The doorway, maybe. "How are you feeling?"

"M'okay." Alfred answered quietly, still wondering about the sleeping Arthur, and if maybe that fairy he'd confided in had told the older Nation something. "What happened?"

"You don't remember?"

"I-" Al frowned, "I went for a walk, and..."

"You didn't tell us you were going out." Matthew's tone grew closer, a note of aggravation in it. A weight settled on the opposite side of the bed that Alfred now realized he was laying in. "If Arthur hadn't realized you were gone, and woke me up-"

"I slipped." Alfred realized, "On the ice-"

"You hit your head awfully hard, and laying in the snow like that- You've been in and out of it for days." Matthew's hand found his shoulder. "England carried you in, and he's been with you almost every day."

"I remember... a little." Alfred let his fingers card through Arthur's hair one more time before reaching for Matthew. "I'm sorry. I just wanted-"

"I know, Al." Alfred's hand was captured, squeezed. "Freedom was always important to you, but-"

"But I can't have it." Al let his eyes drift closed, changing the gray and red to black once again. "I know, but-"

"Don't-"

"I wanted to do so many things- but-"

"It's all right, Al, to need someone." Matthew sounded like he was choking up himself, "I need you, you know. Not for the same things, but I still need you. You're like a part of me. And Eng- Arthur- I think he would fall apart without you."

"But we hadn't talked for years, and Arthur was-"

"And you were miserable because of it. And from what Francis says, so was Arthur. He cares about you, Al." A squeeze to the hand, "And so do I. Maybe someday we'll find a way to give you a little more of that personal freedom you want- but you've got to be patient."

"Patience was never my strong point." Alfred tried to laugh. "but I'll … try."

"Do." Arthur's voice rumbled from his shoulder, "I'm too old to have to run around in a blizzard because you were being stubborn."

"A-arthur." Alfred could feel his face heating, and he turned his face towards the other man. Gray-red-gray-black. "You-"

"Silly boy." the weight was moved from his shoulder, and the imaginary shadows in the gray-black world went with it. The tone wasn't angry, more fond- "I do... care about you. For you. Alfred, you don't have to prove anything, you don't have to bring me a star- I would rather have you, any day."

Mattie's grip on his hand loosened.

"Arthur-"

"I'll leave you two alone for a bit- if you're up to it, Al, I'll make pancakes for you."

"Y-yeah-"

The sound of a door closing broke the sudden, almost awkward silence.

"Did Bluebell-" Alfred started, then stopped.

"The fairies have been surprisingly good about not saying anything this time." Arthur's tone was wry, "And no, I didn't ask them- You've been rambling a bit in your sleep."

"Oh..." The awkwardness returned. "I- uh."

"The answer is yes."

"But I didn't ask you a question."

"Your face is asking it, dearest." Arthur's voice came closer, bringing the shadow with his voice. Lips brushed against Alfred's cheek. "I do love you."

Alfred closed his eyes, the smile almost hurting his face.

"Why are you crying?" Concern, and gentle fingers wiping away the tears from the corners of his eyes. "Alfred, are you all right?"

Alfred could only respond, at first by throwing his tired arms around the figure that was leaning over him, and pulling him down into a hug.

"I'm happy," Alfred said, at last, "Just... so very happy."