The blaring lights and piercing siren calls parted traffic, two ambulances racing down the crowded street as if pursued by the devil himself. Following them strangely enough was a caravan of bright yellow taxicabs, now waving international flags on the trunks of the cars as they sped right along with the ambulances.

Turning the corner, the medic currently driving raised the hospital on his radio. "This is Squad 7 en route with Squad 9, bringing in three live ones. Saving Grace, please respond."

A moment of static met his ears before another man's voice answered him. "We read you loud and clear Squad 7. This is Saving Grace Medical Hospital, Emergency Room, Dr. Roberts speaking. I've heard through the initial call what happened, but can you update me on your status?"

"Three currently live victims. One is male, mid-twenties, with a slashed up abdomen; it looks like it had been bandaged, but it came open again and is bleeding profusely. He's currently receiving a blood transfusion from his older brother. The other is also male, mid-twenties – the first victim's older brother. Both have severe bruising and abrasions, but are in no immediate danger. They are riding with us."

"And the other?"

"Female, mid-twenties. Sorry to be the bearer of bad news…but you've got a long day ahead of you doc."

~:~:~

Behind the driver the secondary technician was currently removing a needle from Arthur's arm. "There. Feel dizzy at all?" he asked as he pressed a piece of gauze with iodine over the minute cut in the skin.

The dirty blonde shook his head, rather instead looking over to where his brother lay deathly still on the stretcher opposite him. His chest rose evenly up and down, his breathing deep. "No, I'm fine," he answered him quietly. "How's Alfred?"

The technician turned on his little stool to his other patient. He checked his vital signs quickly, nodding to himself. "His blood pressure has already been stabilized, and his heartbeat is as strong as ever," he told him, patting him on the arm. "He's a strong guy; after a little bit of rest he'll be just fine." The man reached over him and grabbed a large band aid and placed it over the gauze on Arthur's arm. "Now, as for you, as soon as we get to the hospital and get you checked out, you should go and eat something. You'll have plenty of time before your younger brother wakes up."

Arthur cringed at the recent memory. Poor Alfred… he thought to himself. "Excuse me, but…"

"Yes?" the man asked, looking down into his face.

"About the woman…the one in the other ambulance?"

The man's face darkened. "They'll do all they can," he promised, his face set in a grimace. Turning to Alfred, he added softly, "But you should be prepared for the worst, just in case."

~:~:~

"Incoming!" a nurse in a blue scrub set yelled from behind the counter, startling everyone into action in the direct vicinity. "Three live ones! Two stable males, one critical female! Dr. Roberts, you're on!" she called behind her, grabbing yet another chart from the never-ending slot system in front of her.

"Coming!" an older gentleman with graying hair called, shuffling forward in his white lab coat. "What's our time on them?"

"About one minute. We should be hearing the sirens any moment now. I've cleared Trauma 1 and 2 for the stables and Trauma 5 for the critical. X-ray and CT are on standby, and there is an OR open and ready for you just in case."

"Thanks Sally," he told her gratefully. "What would I do without you?" he called, running forward towards the sliding doors as he began to hear the sirens.

"Who knows? But I still want a pay raise!" she called after him, laughing.

A set of double doors was blasted open as the first of the emergency technicians came walking in with a gurney. "Who's our first contestant today?" Dr. Roberts asked them, greeting them and then ushering them back down the hallway.

"I told you I'm bloody well fine! Let me up!" a young man in a green uniform demanded as he struggled to get up. "Where did you put Alfred? Where are the rest of those damned gits?!"

"Calm down sir," the technician told him with a sigh, as if he had been doing it for a while. "He's right behind us, like I told you, and the rest of your friends are on their way."

Dr. Roberts smiled. "Trauma 1 – he'll be fine. Who's next?" he called, the man wheeling Arthur down the hall as he vehemently continued to protest.

"His brother," another technician called as he wheeled in a second gurney through the set of double doors. The blonde young man was unconscious, a leather bomber jacket, brown coat, and white dress shirt open to reveal several bloody bandages beneath it. However, he was covered in more blood than had come from him; especially his bare hands which were covered in the red, sticky substance.

"Not his then, I assume?" Dr. Roberts asked the technician, nodding his head towards the man's hands.

"No – it's from the woman," the emergency technician confirmed. "I'll take this guy from here – they're going to need your assistance immediately," he added with a dark look.

"Alright – Trauma 2 is yours. Where is she?"

"Right here!" a woman's voice called, tinged with urgency. Dr. Roberts turned around to see three people wheeling another gurney towards him. One was holding up a red bag over her right arm, the woman wheeling the gurney, and another pumping a large plastic bubble that covered her mouth and nose. "Female, mid-twenties, full side impact by car resulting in human rollover. Right leg is smashed to pieces, right hip is at least cracked, no less than five broken ribs, her left arm broken clean in two, various deep cuts all over thanks to the shattered glass from the windshield, and one deep contusion to the right side of her forehead. It's pulled back the skin a bit, and really concerns me considering how close to the eye it is. Also has acute head trauma from hitting the concrete first after the car finished with her. Internal damage is unknown; there must be some because of blood in the oral and nasal cavities."

"What was the driver going, fifty?!" he exclaimed as they entered the fifth trauma room.

"No – it was only thirty, but the driver hit a slick patch of ice which accelerated his speed and proceeded to lock his brakes on him. So he was going at least forty or forty-five when he struck her."

"And she still managed to push the other two out of the way?" he sighed, propping open eyelids and shining a flashlight into them. No dilation of the blank emerald pupils.

"Yeah, complete strangers," the woman confirmed.

"Well what do you know? I guess there are still some good people left in this world. Name?" he asked.

"Hope," a different voice suddenly said softly. The doctor, nurses, and emergency technicians looked up towards the door to see a young man in a white coat lined with faux fur and goggles on his head looking at them sadly. "Her name is Hope."

Dr. Roberts smiled at him. "Well then Hope," he said, leaning down and speaking a little more loudly, "let's make sure you live up to your namesake then, alright?"

~:~:~

"I said let me see him, damn you! Let me up from this bed at once!" Arthur Kirkland thundered with the full power of the country of England behind it.

"Sir, please calm down. Your brother is fine – his stomach is just being re-bandaged and his small wounds treated just like yours are. You will be able to see him in a few minutes if you would just hold still," the nurse told him through clenched teeth. She was currently inserting several stitches into his forearm. He had been adamant the entire time, through inserting the needle with the numbing liquid to putting in the actual stitches themselves. "There – just let me place a bandage over it to protect the stitches themselves and you can go see him."

"About bloody time," he mumbled, crossing his arms as she rolled her stool away from him over to a small table behind her. Arthur's white dress shirt was pulled up to his elbow, his green jacket tossed behind him on the small hospital bed. There was a small red stain within the folded cloth, as well as a little on his jacket which now sported a torn spot. His eyes continued to dart towards the open doorway, watching the influx of nurses and doctors walking back and forth across it. He could still hear a large commotion coming from down the hall, peoples shouting orders back and forth; he could only guess it was the staff working on Hope.

He shuddered, thinking back to only thirty minutes before…

~:~:~

He was dreaming, his mind running the scene over and over again like an antique projector. The film was in black and white, save for the bleak scarlet contrast covering most of the images…but this was no dream. It was a nightmare.

It took Alfred a moment to regain his senses after being pushed away and tossed like a rag doll, untangling himself from Arthur as he wobbled unsteadily to his feet. His stomach was shooting pains at him again for having landed on it, but he didn't care. He looked around the scene of the accident as if time had frozen in place.

The black car had screeched to a halt thirty feet to his left, where the brakes had finally taken after the ice disappeared. The windshield was cracked; the roof dented a minute amount from the impact.

The bodily impact of a normal human who had pushed him out of the way at the last second. He looked around for it, straining his still slightly blurred vision. Far behind the car, on the other side of the crosswalk, a body lay particularly still in a facedown position.

He walked slowly over to it, sinking to his knees. He had heard her shout at him just before she had shoved him out of the way. How was she supposed to know that he would have been just fine? Whereas she…she…

Alfred carefully turned her over onto her back, carefully watching her left arm, which was bent at an unnatural angle. Blood poured profusely from a deep gash on her forehead as well as cuts littered all over her body from the collision with the windshield. Her right side was a mess; her coat and shirt torn into tattered pieces from where the car had initially hit her, causing her to fly up over the hood, the windshield, and the roof only to hit the sidewalk with a sickening crunch before rolling to a stop more than twenty feet away. She was bleeding out over the sidewalk, a small puddle beginning to form around them as it stained his clothes anew.

"Why?" he murmured, lifting her head up. He cradled her limp form in his arms as he rocked her, tears falling from his eyes as he held her head to his chest. "Why?" he demanded in a hoarse voice.

A gurgled noise suddenly erupted near his ear. He quickly turned his head and looked down to see her blinking her eyes at him. "Forgot…" she managed to whisper, her right hand trying desperately to give him something. "Forgot…gloves…" she told him with a smile, as a small trickle of blood leaked out from the side of her mouth.

"You stupid idiot," he told her, unable to control the sob that escaped. "They're just gloves."

The woman chuckled, or as much as she could. Blood continued to flow from her head and side, her life slowly ebbing away. Alfred could feel her fading; as one of his people, he could always feel when one of them died. "Come on, you've got to stay awake," he told her, forcing himself to smile, as he patted her cheek with his right hand, his left holding her up.

She smiled at him, but her eyes were slowly losing their sparkle. "Can't," she whispered to him. "Tired…" Her eyes continued to close until her lids greeted each other and she stirred no more.

"Hey," Alfred told her, nudging her. "Wake up!" he cried at her, shaking her. She didn't move.

"No…"

"Alfred…"

Her blood…it was everywhere…

His hands were stained with it, soiled with it, as if he had been the one driving.

"Alfred, wake up!" the voice demanded as it shook his shoulder.

"No!" he screamed, jumping up in the bed, his heart monitor to beeping wildly at his racing pace. Several pairs of calming hands were on him immediately, talking gently to him.

"Alfred, it's alright, you're safe now," a rough voice said from his right.

Alfred was at the point of hyperventilation; he was breathing quickly but too shallowly to take any proper oxygen into his body. His hands were clenched around the blanket covering him, his knuckles white. His eyes stared forward, unable to see anything but blood.

"Alfred, breathe," a voice to his left instructed him, placing a hand over his and trying to gently uncurl his fist.

"Oui, mon petite, listen to us. You are in the hospital. We are all here – Matthew, Arthur, and I. Please, just look at us?"

Alfred swallowed, taking one giant deep gulp of air. That did the trick; his body slowly began to loosen and he could begin to breathe normally again. He blinked. Through his blurred vision he managed to make out several human-shaped objects standing around the bed he was lying on. "F-Francis?" he murmured, turning to his right.

"Oui, oh oui!" he exclaimed, grasping his right hand carefully.

"And…Arthur?" he said, turning farther to his right.

"I'm here, m'boy, don't you fret," Arthur told him, squeezing his shoulder.

"Matthew," he whispered, turning to his left.

"Alfred," his brother whispered back, smiling as he gripped his left hand tighter.

"Where…?" he murmured, looking down at his hands. He wiggled the fingers on his right hand as Francis let him go, feeling the spot where the needle rested underneath the skin. The hospital staff had removed his bomber coat and brown uniform jacket as well as his shoes, leaving him in his white dress shirt and pants.

"Saving Grace Medical Hospital, on the east side of the city, in the emergency ward," Matthew told him.

Alfred closed his eyes, his shoulders sagging. Matthew helped to ease him back against the back of the bed. "How are you feeling?" Arthur asked him carefully, leaning on the railing of the bed.

"…tired," he told them after a moment, "and sore." He bit his lip, remembering his dream, which had not been a dream but reality. "How…how is she?" he asked them in a broken voice, closing his eyes.

The three Nations looked at each other, silent. Matthew was the first to break the silence, continuing to keep his hold on his brother's needle-free hand. "We still don't know yet," he began, watching his brother for any reaction. "When we arrived they took you and Arthur away and bandaged you both back up, putting you in your own rooms. The Francis and I were allowed to see you shortly after that, but you've been sleeping this entire time. What we do know is that when they brought her in, the doctors did the basic emergency type procedures on her before performing an assortment of different of tests. Alfred…they took her into the operating room less than an hour later and have been in there since."

Alfred swallowed loudly. "How long?" he whispered to his twin, squeezing his hand like a lifeline.

"It's seven o'clock now…so about five hours," he told him quietly.

America was silent at this piece of information. He turned his gaze away from his brothers, choosing instead to stare at the foot of the hospital bed. He pulled his hand away from Matthew and allowed it to rest on his stomach. The room was silent as the rest of the hospital continued at a rapid pace around them, the small room forgotten in the larger scheme of the universe.

After a few minutes of uncomfortable silence, England reached out towards him. "Alfred –" he began.

"Please go," he told them softly.

He pulled back in surprise, looking over to an equally surprised France.

"But Alfred –" Matthew began, looking worriedly over to his older brothers.

"I just…have some things to think over right now," he told them in a quiet but calm voice, still not meeting their confused gazes.

"But –" Arthur started to say this time, before he was stopped by a hand on his shoulder.

"Non, Arthur. Ve vill go." He pulled England along with him, turning around silently and walking the two of them out the door. Before leaving, he added, "Ve vill be back later, when you are ready to be released. Please rest for now Alfred."

"You too," Alfred told Matthew as France and England disappeared.

"But Alf-"

"Mattie, go."

Canada looked at this twin with a pitying gaze before dipping his head in acknowledgement. "I'll be back with Francis and Arthur in a little while. Come on Kumajirou," he said as he knelt down and beckoned towards the foot of Alfred's bed. Suddenly a miniature white polar bear came into view, waddling towards Matthew's waiting arms. Scooping him up, he turned around and quickly strode out of the room, a hurt look on his face.

Alfred closed his eyes in defeat, exhaling a large shaky breath he didn't know he had been holding in. I…I froze…I was afraid…

~:~:~

The sky was dark and the twinkling stars were hidden by the cloudy night. It had been three hours since Arthur had been officially released from the hospital, while Alfred still was to be under observation for the next hour. The taxis full of the other Nations had arrived shortly after the ambulances, but only Matthew and Francis had been allowed into the emergency department while the rest had to remain outside in a special waiting room set up for them by the government agents who had accompanied them in the secondary Air Force One.

"Vending machine quality, but hot," Francis said dryly as he handed his brother a steaming paper cup.

"Thank you," Arthur sighed, taking the small cup. He took a sip, and then grimaced. "I do not know how these people can claim this as a proper tea," he said with disgust, but forced the scalding concoction down his throat anyway.

The two of them sat in silence drinking their tea. The other Nations were currently talking, watching television, or getting back in touch with their respective countries and notifying other countries of the situation with America.

"How vas comrade America?" Russia asked them, his large feet taking up most of the coffee table as he reclined. The three of them had sat down together after they had returned from America's room in the emergency department. There had been great sighs of relief all around, but none had ventured forth to visit the young Nation as of yet…after hearing about the secondary situation concerning the woman.

"Surprisingly quiet," Arthur sighed, slouching in his chair for once. The great and proud Nation of England shook his head wearily. "I can only assume he thinks it is our fault that this has happened."

"Well…" Russia began, holding up a hand.

"Of course it is!" he snapped, interrupting him. Russia backed down, his steely gaze meeting Arthur's. "Sorry," he suddenly said, sighing again.

"Ve only vanted vat vas best for him," Francis added, sipping his tea. "Being his older brothers, ve have gone through zis situation before."

"But vich situation?" Russia asked him. "The massacre at the military base, or falling in love? He has been in many battles before," he pointed out.

"The latter, of course," Francis said, indignant. "Mon petit frère is no weakling! That is nothing to him! But…"

"But he's never had the chance to get to know any women before," Arthur said quietly, staring into space. "He stayed at her apartment as she took care of him, was kind to him, bandaged his wounds, and conversed with him. Even meeting her for that short period of time, I could even tell she was a very nice person. He was smitten with her; you should have seen him," he told Russia, smiling wistfully as other memories unwillingly floated to the surface. "They were so comfortable with each other, understood each other so well…if he had been a normal human, I'm sure they could have lived happily together."

"He asked about her after vaking up then, I presume?" Russia asked him.

"Almost immediately," Francis answered for him. "I could see that it vas hurting him, to have been the cause of her pain. He is probably thinking that it is his fault besides ours that zis has happened."

"You should tell him then…and Matthew too," a deep voice spoke up from behind them.

"Ludwig," Arthur greeted him. "Tell them what?"

"About the unwritten rules that we have come to live by," he told them, coming around the chairs to face them. "They have been old enough for a while now to become aware of the delicate interactions between ourselves and our people." Francis, Arthur, and even Ivan lowered their heads. "Come now, you cannot coddle them forever," the tall German scolded them.

England flinched. "I know," he snapped back at him.

"We are mortal, we are 'human,' we all make mistakes," a soft voice added. Japan strode up quietly behind Germany. "We have fallen in love before, and have paid the price for it. We only wish to see that they do not go through that same heartache."

"Love?" a much younger voice questioned them. The Nations spun around to see Canada standing there with Kumajirou in his arms, tilting his head in a confused manner. "Is that what this is all about?"

"Matthew!" France and England sputtered, standing up quickly.

The young Nation walked forward to stand next to Japan and Germany. "If this is what you think Alfred is being quiet over, I'm afraid you are all mistaken."

"What do you mean?!" Francis asked him, shocked.

"Of course Alfred is in love with Hope! That is as plain as day," Matthew stated. "But I thought you all knew Alfred better than that."

"Why won't he talk to us then? For once, I don't know whether he's angry, or sad, or…or something!" Arthur said, exasperated as he threw his hands up in the air.

"It's because she is a true hero. Well, heroine."

The Nations present sat there looking like fish out of water. "A hero?!" Arthur said indignantly, standing up. "He's at this hero business again?!"

"No, no. Not like that," Matthew said, pushing gently on Arthur's shoulder so the two of them sat down on the small sofa. "Alfred is obsessed with being a hero, correct?"

"Well, yes, but…"

"And what do heroes do?"

"Well, they make sure that ze bad guys go to prison, wear capes, protect people," Russia began listing off on his fingers.

"Alfred idolizes heroes, doesn't he? He is always trying to be one," Matthew prompted them. "One of the reasons why he didn't tell us he was sick before he came here," he added.

"Well that was just silly though!" Francis pouted. "If he vasn't feeling well, he could have told us. Ve vould have understood; he doesn't have to be…" Francis trailed off, realization dawning on his face. "He doesn't have to be strong all the time."

"He thinks he does," Arthur added, also suddenly realizing what Francis meant. "Alfred thinks he has to be strong for the rest of us. To keep us from worrying, to protect us. He never told anyone because he didn't want us unnecessarily worrying over him when almost all of us have bigger things to worry about. But his silence makes us worry all the more," he added sullenly.

"Exactly. And this woman was both sides of the coin; she put aside everything in her life to care for him, yet she never once complained. He wants to be like her: to be strong and not have to rely on anyone. However, because she fell in love with him, she began to rely on him. Now Alfred has reciprocated that in his mind to mean that because she let herself slip and rely on him, that it was the reason she pushed him out of the way of that car. He thinks that because she fell in love with him, allowing herself to be momentarily weakened, that it might kill her. He is her kryptonite, figuratively speaking." The Nations digested this new piece of information, mulling over it in their minds. Matthew continued. "Alfred thinks now that if shows any sign of weakness to anyone that something bad will happen. He feels he has to be strong for all of us; if the United States of America fell, who would protect us then?"

The Nations bowed their heads in shame. When had it come to this? Were they all so fragile and senile in their old age that they would allow one of the last childlike Nations to put all of this weight on his own shoulders?

Arthur stood up. The other Nations looked up at him, seeing his determined expression. "I think it's about time we set him straight, agreed?"

~:~:~

The United States of America was sitting in the corner of the common room, staring blankly out of the large picture window. The lights of the buildings in the distance twinkled merrily, and a light snowfall had begun. Contrasting greatly with his current mood, he felt empty and listless. He hadn't spoken a word to anyone since the hospital had released him, and had only followed his brothers to where the other Nations had congregated. Although they had all crowded around with happiness at finding him well and in one piece, they had quickly noticed his morose and distant behavior and given him room.

While Francis and Arthur dealt with the other Nations, Alfred had wandered around the large room and ended up in this corner where he sat himself down and had not moved in a long while. All he could think about was Hope. She was still alive; that he knew, at least. Even so, she was so faint in his mind that he could barely sense her presence within the millions of others inside of him.

Each Nation was connected to its people; Nations knew when their people were born, when they died, and many other things in between. However, because the Nation's existence was such a mystery in and of itself, they had to be extremely careful when dealing with normal humans. At times it was not safe, practically dangerous to be around them; their unnatural strength, their scent, even their presence altered and warped normal human's perceptions whenever they were near. Of course, not in a bad way; the eye tended to…slip over them, as if they were not even there.

Several times during history, Nations have intervened to prevent tragedy within their own country. However, in doing so, they ultimately hurt their own people to do so. One such time for Alfred had been the Civil War…but he shook his head slowly. He wasn't going to think back to that now. Right now there was a young woman up in surgery, fighting for her life because he had been selfish.

Alfred watched the snow fall outside of the window gently, reflecting in a pair of empty metal frames sitting on the coffee table in front of him. Arthur had taught him when he was little that each snowflake was different, that no two were ever the same. His arms gripped his knees closer to his chest. He was like an eternal snowflake; how can a snowflake that is able to live in all four seasons ever be with a snowflake that will melt once it lands on your hand?

"Alfred?" a voice called to him.

Alfred continued leaning against the window, his right temple cold, barely aware of the world around him.

"Alfred," the voice called again, shaking him gently.

"I told you – he's been like this since we came back," another voice said, blending into the first.

"I see. Well, let's try this then."

Alfred felt the air around him move and a face swam into view in his left peripheral vision. Two hands suddenly grabbed the sides of his face and forced him to look at whoever it was in the eyes. "Alfred, look at me. There's something we have to discuss."

Alfred moved his eyes sluggishly to blink at an older gentleman's face.

"Hope is out of surgery."

Alfred didn't answer. He barely acknowledged this wonderful news. He just stared blankly into the other man's face.

"Hmm. Strange."

"Strange? Vat are you talking about? Vat's wrong with him?" another voice pleaded. "This isn't like him at all!"

"Well, I have a guess. You said he felt guilty? That he feels like this is his fault?" he voice asked, never once breaking eye contact with Alfred. He noticed that Alfred slowly resumed staring out the window.

"Yes," a soft voice answered.

"Well Alfred. For one thing, none of this is your fault. Hope did this all of her own free will. And she will get a stern talking to about jumping in front of speeding cars when she wakes up," the voice added as he continued to look at Alfred. "But right now she is still in critical condition. Stable, but critical, and I think right now what she needs most is a person she cares about to be with her. Her family has been contacted, but they won't be able to be here for a while yet. Would you please go and sit with her until they do?" the man asked him.

He paused, waiting for Alfred to respond. The young man stared out of the window, no indication of having heard anything the man said. However, he did do something: although his gaze was turned, mirrored in the reflection of the window there was one small tear trickling out of the side of his right eye.

"Ah, I see," the man said, and let go of Alfred's face in order to stand up straight again.

"What?" Arthur asked him in earnest, his gaze switching between the doctor and Alfred.

"He doesn't think he's good enough to go and visit her. He thinks it is his fault that she is up there, and that she is too good to have a person like him visit her. Nonsense, I would say, but he seems to be a very thick-headed person."

"Dr. Roberts, what can we do?" Matthew asked him in his quiet voice. "Why has he closed himself off from us?"

Dr. Roberts shrugged. "People deal with tragedy in many forms. Facing it head on and dealing with it outright, crying until they pass out, ignoring it, or running away from it like a coward." He suddenly noticed a slight twitch in the corner from where Alfred was seated. He sidled over to where Alfred's brothers stood. "What is he like?" he whispered to them. "What is his personality like?"

"Well," Matthew began, "he's always been very protective of us, and always makes sure that we're safe and well taken care of. He likes to be the hero," he added with a smile.

"Aha!" he said to them with a smile. "I know just the cure."

"Vat is it? Can you help him?" Francis begged him.

"Of course – but stand back a little. He doesn't get mad easily, does he?" he called over his shoulder as he walked back to where Alfred sat.

"Not usually," Arthur called, slightly worried.

"Good." Dr. Roberts planted his feet in front of Alfred. "Now listen here you good for nothing. You self righteous ego maniac, how dare you call yourself that woman's friend!" he shouted at Alfred, startling all of the Nations in the room, especially England, France, and Canada who were several feet behind him.

Alfred made no move to defend himself.

"Fine! Sit there! Who needs a washed up hero anyway?" Dr. Roberts taunted him. "If you couldn't save her, how could you ever possibly save your own family? You are weak. You are selfish. You want all the attention yet never want the blame. You couldn't protect yourself, you couldn't protect your older brother, and you couldn't protect her! You want to protect everyone, but you can't! You are just a wannabe. YOU ARE NOT A HE–" he began to shout.

But he never finished that sentence. As Dr. Roberts had been taunting Alfred, a smoldering fire began to burn within his eyes. After several words his grip loosened on his legs and they slowly drew to the floor. However, at what was to be the doctor's final sentence, he jumped up from his chair, grabbed him by the collar of his lab coat, and shoved him up against the wall with such force that the plaster cracked behind him.

He held up the doctor with ease, as if he weighed no more than a feather. His face was scrunched into a fearsome snarl while one lowly echoed from his mouth. "Shut up, you idiotic, senile excuse for a doctor," he growled at him.

"Alfred, stop this at once!" Arthur exclaimed in shock, running up and grabbing his shoulder.

"Lay off, you old geezer," he said in a low voice as he let go of the doctor with his right hand and used it to shove Arthur away. Poor England flew backwards through the air but was luckily caught by Russia, who had come running with China when the shouting had begun.

England cried out in pain, gripping his arm. A small amount of new blood showed on his jacket, informing him that he had ripped the stitches the nurse had put in.

"Alfred, calm yourself," Dr. Roberts told him a composed voice. "You've hurt your brother."

Alfred blinked, the menacing look suddenly gone from his face only to be replaced by a look of utter confusion. "W-what?" he stuttered as he gently lowered the doctor from the wall.

"Turn around," he told him, shaking himself off and fixing his rumpled coat.

Alfred turned around to see several people looking at him with fear in their eyes. Francis and Matthew were on either side of Arthur, while Russia and China were standing in front of them to block anything Alfred might do. The two communist Nations eyed him with a sense of unease. However, what drew Alfred's attention down was the hand that was gripped tightly over Arthur's arm, a red blossom forming around it.

"What…what have I done…?" Alfred whispered as he fell to his knees. He covered his face with his hands, trying to hide his shame as his shoulders shook. "Arthur…Arthur, I'm so sorry," he managed to say in a choked voice.

Dr. Roberts walked passed the five men. "He's fine now – just needed a little help snapping out of it. I'll be back in a few minutes to escort you up to Hope's room in the ICU." He nodded to them and continued on his way.

It was silent in the large waiting room as the Nations held their breath, waiting to see what would happen. However, it was Arthur who made the first move. "Let me up," he told Matthew and Francis.

"But Arthur –"

"I'm fine," he insisted as the two pairs of hands let him go. He stumbled up to his feet and took several shaky steps forward. Ivan and Yao let him pass, and he walked to where Alfred was kneeling as he cried. He knelt down in front of Alfred. "Alfred," he said in a stern voice. "Look at me."

Alfred shook his head. "I'm such a child. You were right, Arthur – I should have never become –"

"Will you just shut up already?" Arthur asked him as he grabbed his hands and drew them away from his face suddenly.

Alfred opened his eyes to see Arthur looking at him, an understanding smile on his face. "B-but…you're arm…"

"Will heal, as will we all – including Hope," he added.

Alfred could only cry harder, and Arthur enveloped him with his good right arm. "There now, don't worry. Everything will work out for the best, you'll see. Now, I think it's high time that we played the hero role, don't you think?" he told Alfred as he hugged him close. "This time let me protect you Alfred."

"And me," a quiet voice added, kneeling down beside the two of them.

"Me trois!" yet another voice told him from his other side.

"Alfred, you don't have to protect us all of the time," Arthur continued in a quiet voice. "You don't have to be strong and brave when you don't feel like it. Talk to us – you worry us even more when you don't say anything, and let us protect you for once. Will you let us?"

"Let us help you!" Francis added. "Please forgive us for being so blindingly stupid. You should not have to keep all of the world's problems on your shoulders. You are the United States of America, but you aren't perfect. No one is."

"Ve have all made mistakes in past," Ivan said as well, coming forward. "Ve only wanted to protect you and Matthew from what we have suffered from. That is why the three of us decided to try and keep the two of you apart. Ve did not want you to feel how it was to have loved and lost, I believe the phrase is."

"She was – is – a hero, in every way that you think Alfred. Yes, she put aside her own life for a day or two to care for you. She even pushed you out of the way of that car. But like every hero, she is mortal. Unlike you. Although it would have hurt, you would have easily survived a hit from a car going at that speed. Hope…" Arthur trailed off. "Listen to me Alfred. Hope will heal from these injuries; she is resilient, like her Nation is."

"And stubborn," added Matthew with a smile.

"I allowed myself to get close to her…closer than I should be with any of my people. Hope felt obligated to protect me," Alfred protested mutedly. "I should have made her leave me in that alley. I should never have allowed myself to…to…" he said, feeling his face heat up. Alfred was glad that Arthur still had him tight in his grasp.

"To like her?" Matthew supplied. "But Alfred, we all do!"

"The only problem is that the two of you have begun to grow to something beyond that," Arthur told him gently, "and that is what put the two of you in danger."

"Danger?" Alfred repeated, tasting the word on his tongue.

"Of making the same mistakes we have, that put our countries at great risk."

He blinked.

Arthur sighed, reiterating his point. "None of us mind if you and that woman stay acquaintances Alfred. She is a very sweet girl. We just don't want to see you get hurt. You've never experienced the pain of watching the people closest to you grow up…grow old…even die while you remained unchanged." Alfred heard a weariness in Arthur's voice as he spoke. "Trust us: you do not want to experience that."

Alfred finally pulled away from his older brother, noting his expression. His eyebrows were crossed in an intense look of concern, but his usually bright green eyes bore a heavy weight of sadness behind them. They're trying to cheer me up, but also looking out for my best interests, he thought to himself. But it isn't as easy as they think…to forgive and forget. He sighed softly. "Thank you," he told them in a quiet but firm voice.

Arthur smiled at his younger brother. Well, it's a start, he admitted to himself. "Now, I believe that I have an appointment with that lovely nurse from the emergency department again, and you have an appointment to keep with Dr. Roberts. Shall we?"

~:~:~

"Now, as I've said, she is still in critical condition," Dr. Roberts reminded Alfred and Matthew as a soft ding rang out, and a green arrow appeared in an upward direction over the door to their left. Dr. Roberts held out his arm, indicating for the two of them to enter. The twin Nations walked in slowly, with Matthew leading Alfred by the arm; since Texas had broken in his initial fall, the poor Nation was still without clear vision – although he could see mostly everything around him, although slightly blurred.

Dr. Roberts walked in behind them, the doors automatically closing. He pressed the button for the fifth floor, the top floor of that wing of the hospital. "As I was saying," he continued, turning to face them as the elevator suddenly lurched upwards. "She is in critical condition, but stable. We are pumping her body with the blood and nutrients necessary to fight off infection and to begin assisting in healing her numerous injuries." He paused, taking a moment to give Alfred a long glance. "Are you sure you are ready young man?" he asked him. "You are going to see many machines, tubes, wires, and other contraptions hooked up to your friend – many keeping her alive. Just give the word, and you can leave."

"I'll be fine," Alfred told him in a quiet voice. "I've…seen worse."

Dr. Roberts nodded, assuming that Alfred had meant the accident – not hundreds of years of bloody wars.

Matthew, on the other hand, understood perfectly. "Will she wake up anytime soon?" he asked hopefully.

Dr. Roberts shook his head uncertainly. "She's still out from the anesthetic we used during surgery, and beyond that her body is going to be extremely weak. It's highly doubtful that she will be waking up anytime today or tonight."

"Oh." Matthew's hopeful gaze fell. He knew that the Nations wouldn't be able to stay at the hospital passed morning. As it was, several had left, necessity calling them back to their own countries.

"That is all right," Alfred told him. A sudden ding and another lurching sensation told them that they had arrived at the fifth floor. The doors opened, revealing a large set of double doors to their left, rimmed with warning signs and large letters over the top that read ICU – INTENSIVE CARE UNIT: USE CAUTION WHEN ENTERING.

"Please follow me," Dr. Roberts told them as he stepped out, walking a few feet before turning around to face them. "You'll need to wear some protective facial coverings, but other than that just please refrain from touching anything unless myself or one of the nurses say that it's alright." Nodding, he turned around and walked over to the wall closest to the doors and pressed a large round button. The doors swung open silently, each door moving in the opposite direction, and they entered.

The ICU wing of the hospital had the same kind of layout as the other wings, save for the fact that the rooms were larger to accommodate the life saving equipment within them. The nurses or doctors were making their rounds, just like the other floors, considering the three of them only saw the one lonely nurse on duty at the front desk as they entered.

"Evening," Dr. Roberts called to the nurse, making her look up in surprise.

"Dr. Roberts! Back so soon?" she asked, standing up to reveal festive looking scrubs with rainbow smiley faces all over them.

"These are the gentlemen I was telling you about," he told her, leaning on the edge of the circular desk.

The nurse's eyes widened. "They…oh my," she finished, closing her gaping mouth.

"The masks?" Dr. Roberts reminded her gently.

"Oh, sorry sir," she said, fumbling around the desk until she produced three cotton surgical masks. "Her bandages have just been checked and changed, so she is not due for a checkup for another hour," the nurse told him, handing him the masks.

"Thank you," he told her, turning around and holding out two of the masks for Matthew and Alfred. "Put these on – the straps go over your ears."

Matthew grabbed them, quickly putting the one on himself and assisting Alfred with his. He felt his brother's hands shaking slightly and when finished squeezed his shoulder in a small gesture of reassurance. Alfred smiled at his brother, nodding to him. "We're ready," he told Dr. Roberts.

The doctor smiled, seeing at how close the two of them were. "Alright – please follow me." He turned and walked towards yet another set of glass double doors; this time, however, the nurse typed in a combination at her computer that set off a loud beeping noise. The doors opened with a futuristic whoosh, the sealed atmosphere within the wing equalizing with the small area the nurse's desk was located in.

The first sets of doors on either side of them were either bathrooms or storage closets. Going a bit farther, the twins could see the number 302 on their left and a small sign on the corner to their right. It pointed out that rooms 302 through 310 were on the immediate left, and rooms 312 to 320 were on the right. Dr. Roberts continued down the right hallway.

The rooms only had one long glass panel and one glass door, so staff could easily look in on their patients if need be. Voices were heard as the three of them passed by several slightly opened doors, most with curtains drawn across them. Some were doctors and nurses spouting off medical information to each other, still more were families visiting with critically ill loved ones.

Alfred hated hospitals. He hated them with a passion. Whether it was the sterile antiseptic smell lingering over everything, or the permeating sense of sadness and dread, he couldn't tell. Unconsciously he drew closer to Matthew, his fingers gripping the arm closest to him.

Matthew gave his brother a pitying look. As a Nation they were all subject to many injuries and wounds, which means time in hospitals or at the least the sterile smell of peroxide and alcohol – now, at least. Matthew wrinkled his nose in remembrance of Arthur's poultices when they were just children; they worked, of course, but made them smell for days on end.

"312…314…316…ah-ha!" Dr. Roberts said quietly to himself. He stopped outside of the glass door and glanced down at the information under the door number:

Patient #02468

Name: Hope Richardson

Age: 24

Status: Critical But Stable

Physician: Dr. Larry Roberts

Restrictions: STRICT STERILIZATION

"Here we are," Dr. Roberts told them, turning around. "I don't really care how long either of you stay, but please do not touch any of the equipment. If…something should happen, and the nurses or I need to work, please vacate the room and this floor immediately. We'll come get you. Is that clear?"

"Yes doctor," the two mean replied in chorus.

"May…may we see her now?" Alfred asked him in a nervous tone.

Dr. Roberts nodded, turning around to face the door. The bottom half of the door was solid metal, while the top half of the door was glass; there was a curtain separating the bed and the machines from onlookers, so no one could not immediately see what or who was inside. Dr. Roberts pressed the rectangular button on the middle right side of the door. It whooshed open quietly, and the three of them walked in.

The door closed just as quietly, leaving them in the dark, silent room. Well, except for the slow but steady beep beep beep of the heart monitor hidden behind the curtain. Dr. Roberts walked forward and with practiced ease drew the curtain from the right all the way to the left, revealing the gruesome and pitiable scene before them.

Hope lay on the hospital bed, small and fragile. Tubes and wires poked out from numerous places on her body. Alfred slowly moved forward; he couldn't help but stare at all of her injuries.

Her right leg was raised about half a foot off of the bed thanks to a strange metal contraption surround it. A bleached white cast ran the full length of her leg from the top of her thigh to her ankle, as well as a lower body cast that covered from the top of her thighs to the middle of her stomach. Her left arm was encased in a cast as well, from the base of her fingers to just below her armpit. One couldn't see it, but from the top of her abdominal cast to under her arms her broken ribs were tightly wrapped so she could not move them. There were numerous bandages along her exposed arms and legs from where the glass had cut into her. There was a large amount of gauze bandages wrapped around her head, and half of it wrapping down and around her right eye, obscuring it from view. She had dual nose tube, one protruding out of each nostril, as well as an oxygen mask around her mouth.

She was deathly pale, her once fierce curly hair lying limp around her pallid face. Every breath she took was shallow, fogging up the oxygen mask very little. The IV stand next to her bed held three plastic containers: one clear, one slightly cloudy, and one holding the unmistakable crimson color of blood. They trailed down into her right hand, infusing her body with much needed fluids to assist in healing her wounds.

"Hope…" Alfred whispered softly, walking up to stand next to the bed. Matthew stayed just behind him, shaking his head.

Dr. Roberts turned. "I will be just down the hall if you need anything," he told them quietly.

"Thank you," Matthew called to him. The doctor nodded before pressing the button on the inside of the door, then quickly walking out and closing it behind him, leaving the brothers in silence.

Matthew turned around, seeing Alfred's large frozen frame. He walked over to the corner and pulled out one of the chairs and brought it up next to him. "Alfred," he said softly, pulling his brother to sit down.

Alfred followed him blindly, sitting down in the chair. "She looks…so fragile," he whispered. He raised his hand, as if to touch her, but immediately pulled it back. "Hope…I'm sorry…" he whispered in an agonized voice.

She didn't reply, but took another shaky breath.

"Alfred, this wasn't your fault," Matthew told him, standing on his left side. He placed a hand on his shoulder. "She did it of her own free will. One of the best liberties of your people and your country, don't you agree?"

Alfred nodded slowly. "Why did she do it though? Why did she push us out of the way? She…Matthew, she knew I was different. And she probably assumed that the four of you were different too. She didn't have to push us out of the way, yet she still did. Why?" he asked in a bitter voice. He continued on when Matthew didn't reply, talking to Hope this time. "You know, you're a hero. You took care of me and never once asked for anything in return. You pushed Arthur and I out of the way of a speeding car although you knew you were going to get hurt, just to give me my gloves back. You never think about yourself! You're selfless, even to the point of feeling guilty if anyone even tries to take care of you!"

Alfred paused. "But do you know something? It's those qualities I admire the most about you. You are who I wanted to be; the hero, someone who can protect everyone without having to rely on everyone and make them worry about you. I wanted to be the person that everyone could turn to, but also the person who wouldn't have to trouble anyone else. And look at me." He stared down at the band aid on the back of his hand, feeling the fresh bandages across his stomach. "Two hundred and thirty years later and I'm no more independent than when I started."

Silence greeted Alfred's statements. Well, almost silence. Matthew was looking down at his twin with a sad smile; he was finally venting out his frustrations from this matter in a positive way. He leaned down and wrapped his arms around his brother, who shakily gripped his arm.

"Hope, what am I supposed to do?" he told her, bending forward in Canada's embrace, his shoulders shaking. "I…I don't know. I just don't know anymore." He started crying silently, tears running down his face. "What right do I have to take my seat next to my brothers and sisters, to stand proudly next to those who have stood for centuries, when I couldn't even save just one of my people? I allowed myself to get close to you, to actually get to know you, and you're paying the ultimate price for it. Arthur and Francis were right…they were trying to protect me; not from you, but from myself. Me, the wannabe hero…and you, the everyday hero."