A/N: So, things are finally getting started! Sorry for the shortness of the last chapter, I had to study my butt off for several tests last week and didn't have any time to type until the weekend came along. So yes, back on topic.
Arthur is being shown a side of Alfred that no one knows! Plus he's also struggling to figure out what exactly he feels for the 'hamburger idiot'. ^^ Ah, the joys of USUK. ^^ (Enjoy this chapter! Also, don't kill me!)
The package was sent without a hustle, and while Arthur was glad to see it go (Alfred was noticeably more cheerful with it gone), it didn't make his thoughts leave. Why had Alfred kept some old suits? Did Alfred still miss him, or was he 'too old' for his older brother figure? Was Arthur even worth considering Alfred's older brother anymore? Certainly America didn't really need anyone to watch out for him… But Arthur couldn't help but think that; maybe, Alfred was worried for Arthur for Arthur, and not for an ally. Well, he probably did. After all, allies didn't usually take in the other's pet.
Of course, nations usually didn't get turned into pets and become stuck with one of the most annoying nations on the planet, so the week wasn't exactly your typical week. Which didn't make Arthur feel any better, come to think of it.
Three weeks passed; more than enough time for Norway to get the suits and find that Arthur the dog was actually a nation and needed a counter spell. However, on the Friday of the third week, Alfred received a rather distressing e-mail. Distressing to the American. Depressing to a certain border collie.
"What does he mean he can't find England using the suit? It's not that old! Ok, maybe it's kind of old, but still. It's not like I could have contaminated the smell or anything… Or whatever the heck Norway is telling me here." Sitting on Alfred's bed rather attentively, Arthur was doing his best to read the e-mail without making it too obvious. Alfred looked like he wouldn't notice a train going through his bedroom at this point, though, so Arthur wasn't too worried.
The e-mail, to put it simply, explained that Arthur's scent was too weak and Alfred's scent too strong on the suits, meaning that any tracking spell would just find Alfred instead. Norway continued on to mention how he'd go over to England and find something there himself, since it seemed that America was (here the part was hidden by Alfred's shoulder, but Arthur had no doubt it was a cleverly hidden insult). All it really meant for Arthur was that he'd be spending more time as a dog, and more time with Alfred.
In all honesty it wasn't that bad. Alfred played with him daily, which kept him entertained, and seeing things from a dog's point of view was still rather interesting. And while he really disliked going to the bathroom, and dog food was quickly becoming his least favorite food (beating both French cuisine and American hamburgers), at least he didn't have fleas. Yet. With the way things were going, Arthur wouldn't be surprised if he learned he had a tapeworm or some really rare dog disease. After all, it looked like the world was out to get him.
"Oh well… I guess that means we'll just have to wait together!" Alfred said, turning around in his chair to look at Arthur. "I don't suppose we could go see a movie, which kinda sucks… But we can always head to a park, or go on a hike!" Instantly cheered up at the thought of spending some time doing some ridiculous outdoors thing, Alfred stood up and started taking his T-shirt off. "I can't go hiking in this stuff, so you'll have to give me a moment to get ready," he said, voice muffled.
Arthur would be lying to say his face wasn't going beat-red (well, as much as a dog could blush) from the sight of Alfred stripping. While there were several rumors about Alfred's actual fitness state, it was generally agreed on that he wasn't actually that fat. In fact, being the strongest nation out there, one could make a good case for him being quite fit. And while Alfred was never going to be able to go onto a bodybuilding show, he certainly wasn't unattractive. Well, as far as Arthur was concerned.
I suppose a hike wouldn't be too bad. After all, it's much better then listening to the idiot play his bloody video games all bloody day… Arthur sighed, jumping off the bed to go out to the living room. Besides, some fresh air would probably be good for me.
Days passed, turning into weeks. Arthur and Alfred had settled into a somewhat-familiar pattern. Alfred would wake up at seven, let Arthur out to go to the bathroom, and make breakfast for the two of them. Alfred would go to the office for three hours, bringing Arthur along with him. While Alfred did his paperwork and complained (with the occasional important meeting thrown in), Arthur would mope around at his feet. At lunchtime the two would go out, Alfred eating a hamburger at the local McDonald's and getting some water for Arthur (being a dog, Arthur only needed to eat twice a day). Then they'd go back to the office and be there until five or six, occasionally later if something important came up.
"Mattie… I really miss him, y'know? I know, I know, it's stupid… But what if he's hurt? What if he's in trouble, waiting for a hero to save him? I feel so useless! How can I just sit around and not worry? What kind of friend would I be, if I did that? Yeah, ok. Tell Francis he's a perverted idiot, but he should keep a lookout for Artie." Alfred sighed, closing his phone with a snap. He looked down at Arthur, giving the 'dog' a painful smile before reaching down to rub his ears. "Sorry, just talking to my bro about your owner… We can't find him, but nothing has happened to England… It's killing me, the waiting. I just want to know if he's ok…"
Arthur would be lying if he said it didn't feel good to hear that Alfred was worried about him. Alfred F. Jones, the personification of America, who couldn't read the atmosphere if it came up and slapped him in the face, was worried about him. So, while it felt nice to be missed, there was one thing that constantly bothered Arthur.
It had been nearly a month since the spell backfired. What if it never wore off?
Eventually, Mathew had to go back to his own country, and stop hopping across the border every day. With him gone, Alfred's mood plummeted. He still looked fine, of course. He still ate like an animal, consuming more calories then bears going into hibernation. He still played his bloody videos games more often then he did his paperwork. He still played catch with Arthur and went on long walks through the nearby forest with him. But it was the smaller things that caught Arthur's eyes, because the island nation was still as sharp as a sword, and he knew Alfred.
During a storm, the larger nation would curl up with Arthur, holding onto him like a child holds onto their blanket. It was often uncomfortable, but Arthur never had to the heart to pull away, especially after he heard 'England' and 'Iggy' being muttered in America's sleep.
That didn't make it any easier on the nation-turned-dog, as he was currently wide awake, jumping at every bolt of lightning. Now, usually, Arthur was quite fine with storms. After all, he had gone through many in the middle of forests, back when he was a young nation, to be scared of them now. No, the only reason the old-ish nation was still awake and jumping was because of a younger nation, clutching onto the dog like his life depended on it.
If it weren't for the fact that his ribs were being crushed, England might have liked it. As it was, he was going to have to tell the boy off. Honestly, he was so clingy.
"You still can't find him? Oh, ok. Keep trying, all right! We need to get Iggy back!" A pause. "No, it's not because I miss him. I mean, I just don't have anyone to bother right now." Shouting from the other end of the phone. "What do you mean, I sound like a little kid? Oh, don't give me that, France. Oh God no, I do not need this conversation with you. For the last time, I haven't kidnapped England! I wouldn't do that to him!" The next part, Arthur could hear.
"What would you do, cher, for him?" Surprisingly, America hung up without a second thought. The look on his face was one England hadn't seen since the Revolutionary War, and the nation could only guess at what it meant.
England was almost certain that the world was out to get him. The curse had been around so long that it didn't feel strange when he sniffed the ground before relieving himself, and curling his tail around himself as he watched Alfred play video games was a normal motion now. He was even starting to forget what it felt like, to speak and to eat like a human being. He was miserable.
"What's wrong, boy? Was it something you ate?" Alfred F. Jones, the self-proclaimed hero, was not helping. Arthur was torn between attacking his friend and just doing nothing. Sitting under the bed, he could just see America's bright blue eyes, tinged with worry. "Do I need to call the vet?" He asked. England didn't do anything, just blinked and turned a little, so he could no longer see Alfred.
Needless to say, the island nation found himself being examined by a vet. The diagnosis was simple. Arthur was just loosing the will to live.