CHAPTER ONE

The clock was driving him nuts. The constant tick, tick, tick, was making his eye twitch, and he was afraid that it would get so bad that his curl would become knotted. Lovino gripped the sides of his chair until his knuckles become white and his fingers throbbed in protest.

Why the hell did America have to have such a loud wrist watch? SERIOUSLY! It was ridiculous, although no one else seemed to mind or notice it. For once his seat wasn't near that annoying Spaniard - thank god - but now he was stuck sitting between the Hamburger Bastard and what's-his-face, the one who slept all day. Cat-Man Bastard? Lovino didn't know, nor did he care. All he knew was that America's stupid watch was louder than the sleeping man's snores.

It was driving him insane!

He wanted to just turn to him and slap the stupid tick out of that clock. How was no one else noticing it?! He knew if he said something about it he would just be told that he was annoyed that he wasn't near Spain - which WASN'T TRUE! He didn't need that stupid Tomato Bastard. He could do just fine sitting between these two idiots, if only that incessant TICKING would stop!

Romano twisted around quickly to glare at the man next to him but the American didn't seem to notice, his attention was else where, his face serious and a frown covering his features. Lovino followed his gaze to see what was so damn important that he couldn't realise his wrist watch was tick-tocking a hole in the Italian's skull.

His eyes fell upon England. The Tea Bastard was staring down at the paper before him, his expression far away, like he wasn't mentally there. Romano gave an annoyed huff; the stupid Hamburger Bastard needed to get his mind straight and shut that stupid watch off. Just when he was going to open his mouth to hiss the words out, England stood, slowly stumbling out of his chair, like he was unstable and had no energy. Romano could see the twitch of America's lips as his frown deepened and his eyebrows slightly creased together.

America and Romano weren't the only ones who noticed England's obvious effort to move across the room to the podium to speak; many other nations gave worried glances at the Brit as he cleared his throat. The noise was dry and raspy, like he hadn't opened his mouth to speak for a very long time.

"As the representation of the UK, I am here to discuss the recent trade alliances between mine and America's country. We have been told to strengthen the bond and will proceed to do that after this meeting." Some quick glances fell upon the American. His face hadn't changed from the concerned look he'd had when England had first stood up, and it was apparent it wasn't going to go away any time soon. Silent questions filled the room at England's words.

He was going to have to sleep with England? Was that a good idea?

Lovino couldn't really give a shit about those two sleeping together. It was none of his business really, and it didn't have anything to do with him or his country so he didn't give it any thought.

He could see France, who was sitting directly across from him, flinch and stare down at the table. Every since those two had failed to finish the business between their countries, they had been avoiding each other to the point that France would recoil from England whenever they even passed each other, and would practically bolt out of a room when he had the chance.

Romano didn't know what had happened between them, but ever since then, England had become even MORE distant and resistant to being around other people. The Italian didn't see what was up with that but, again, it didn't concern him at all. If the Tea Bastard didn't want to be socialable, so what? People were stupid anyway, quite frankly. Romano didn't blame him, but the Englishman didn't need to be such an ass to everybody. And despite how much he and France didn't get along, Romano couldn't think of anything he did to deserve whatever pain England had given him to make the 'country of love' so spiteful and hateful to the very THOUGHT of 'l'amour', or whatever stupid word the French man used to describe love.

"So anybody who has a problem with this arrangement needs to speak now." Needless to say, nobody raised their hands to display their displeasure to this act, but one voice did ring out.

"Are you sure that is a good idea, Arthur-san?"

"Why would you ask that?" Kiku began to get flustered and looked around for support. The looks he got drove on his words, despite his obvious discomfort to speaking, aloud if his violent blush was anything to go by.

"W-well, you see, you haven't been very...WELL as of late. You look very fatigued, and it seems as if you can barely stand."

"Yes, aru." China butted in, his voice was soft, yet loud enough to carry his words. "You have been very distant, physically and emotionally, from everyone else. Do you really think it wise to be doing such things in such condition?"

"My CONDITION is no business of yours, China." England's voice was sharp and spiteful, as if he was angry that the two Asians had even had the gall to talk to him, let alone in such a familiar way. "Thank you both for your concern, but I am perfectly capable of making my own decisions. Even if I DIDN'T want to do this - which I don't! I wouldn't be able to stop it anyway. It was an order from not only mine boss, but America's boss as well. We have no choice but to do this; you all know how this works. Don't think just because I refuse to be in any of your presence, I can avoid my duties as a nation"

"Why are you acting so cold towards us? We are just worried for you." China's voice was still soft and calm, but the tone behind it showed his authority. England may be one of the eldest countries in the room, but his lifespan might as well have been a fleeting glance in comparison to China's vast history, and it showed in his voice. He would not raise it, but the power flowed through his words. He would NOT be talked down to.

Arthur's voice was loud and angry, his words building and constructing an even more tense environment from everyone in the room. "You have NO reason to worry for me! My business is mine, and mine alone! So stay out of it! If I don't want to spend time with any of you gits, I don't have to! SO LEAVE ME THE BLOODY HELL ALONE! -"

"We, as your friends Arthur-san, feel as if you are throwing your life away." Kiku said, he was slowly rising, to show how true and passionate he was being about his response. "We don't want you to fade away." Japans face was concerned, and hurt was etched into his expression due to Arthur's harsh words. "You know it is possible! You may not physically disappear, but you as a person will! Don't do this to yourself! We are here for you Arthur-san-"

"Don't call me that."

The words caught Kiku off guard, and he managed to give a choked out, "What?" before the feeling of ice began to pour through his veins.

"Don't call me Arthur."

"But-but why?"

His words were cold, vile, and they made Japan sick. They made everyone sick. Names were special; the human names were used between family and any friends that didn't consist of human company. The fact that Arthur was denying Kiku the right to call him his name was as if he was disowning him as not only a friend, but as a person as well. Basically, it meant Arthur had told him he was dead to him.

"I'm no longer your friend. I'm not 'Arthur' to any of you. None of you are welcomed to call me in such a familiar way." The room was dead silent as a feeling of dread overcame the entire world. "And you are no longer Kiku. Just as France is no longer Francis."

Then it made sense to Romano. Why France was so...dead around the man, because he literally was. England had took not only his name from France, but thrown his name back in his own face. And not only to him, but the whole world now! Was England really doing this? It had to be a joke, it had to be, but it wasn't. And Lovino knew it.

He saw tears fall from Francis' eyes, his shoulders shaking violently in a weak attempt to keep himself from sobbing. Despite their shock, Spain and Prussia were flocked around him protectively, as if Art…England's words were a physical enemy and they were going to protect France from them. Then, for some reason, he noticed that the stupid ticking had fallen silent.

America had crushed the watch between his fingers, blood gushing from his hand to (and dripping on instead of 'to'?) the table, staining it dark red. Lovino slowly edged his chair away from the American, as if to avoid the blood, but he couldn't really care less about that. He was more worried he would end being like that watch.

The American was gritting his teeth together, and Romano highly doubted it was from the pain in his hand. The blond looked like was wanted to puke, he looked...hurt- ah. Romano understood it then.

He couldn't help but feel a pang of pity for the Hamburger Bastard. It wasn't really a secret that he and England were close… well, they used to be; they had that 'special relationship' didn't they? Having been inseparable then hateful, then close only to be so far away all at once. After all those two had been through, Alfred had still cared for England, although whether or not his feelings were brotherly was unknown to him. Well, it obviously meant nothing to the Brit anymore, but Alfred looked in agony.

Romano looked down at the shards of broken glass and stainless steel, and suddenly remembered that he recognised where the American had gotten that watch. He was there when he'd received it as a gift for his birthday eight years ago, despite it being a week or two after his party. It was from England. Alfred had told the Brit it wasn't the type he liked, but he still wore the stupid thing around with pride, and he wouldn't let the Brit see how bright his smile was when he had actually set the time on it.

Romano only remembered it because Spain had helped the Englishman purchase the present, and dragged him along so he could see what he did for himself.

But now he looked at the sad, red tinted clockwork shattered gears on the floor and desk and frowned. America was dead to England. Alfred was dead to him. And the boy didn't know how to handle it. Lovino wasn't one for kind words or comforting touches, so he didn't do either of them. He just sat there and watched as the world seemed to crumble around the American and blow away with the wind of pain.

"What ze hell did ve ever do to you?!" Prussia yelled out, obviously angry with the blond. "You're being TOTALLY unawesome! I don't give a shit if you hate ze vorld or vhatever, but you can't just go und hate US as PEOPLE for no reason!"

"Yes, I can." Arthur's voice was dark, dead, and the whole room seemed to shiver with his quiet, almost whispered words. "And I will."

The Brit silently stalked away from the podium and made his way back to the table. Everyone in the room besides the few who were too shocked to stand and were frozen on their feet, only movingwhen the icy aura around the blond began to approach them, quickly jumping out of the way to avoid his touch.

He snatched his papers and briefcase from his place at the table and, before they knew it, there was a quick click of the doors, and even though he didn't slam it in his calm retreat, the noise seemed deafening in the silent room.

And then…

Chaos broke out.

And Romano could STILL hear the faint ticking of that stupid watch ringing through his head. He searched. He searched and searched and searched. England was nowhere to be found.

Alfred gave a thick, tight sigh of frustration and ran a hand through his wheat-like hair. The strands gave way to his fingers and softly rubbed his skin. The American had been through hell in that conference room after Arthur had left. He was yelled at, blamed, given pity, he was even asked questions, and was finally told to leave before Arthur decided to run out of the country.

As the host of the meeting, and a certified hero, he really had no choice but to try and find the Englishman, despite wanting nothing more than to avoid him at all costs. He wasn't running away from the problem, Arthur just needed some space right now...yeah...and he would get plenty of it. He had just isolated himself from the entire world.

Alfred stopped in mid-walk, standing eerily still for someone of his age and maturity, but especially with his personality and background of barely being able to contain and still himself for more than a few moments at a time.

Blue eyes were hidden by his hair as he stared mutely at the ground below him. People continued to walk around beside him, always in a rush. Always in a hurry because life came and went too fast for them. Not for nations. Never for them. They had no need to rush, they lived for decades and wouldn't seem to age a day. Life went on. And on and on and on...and it continued. As long as the humans continued to rush and live their short lives, Alfred's kind could continue to live a still one. One that was so slow, only death seemed to speed it up.

No one cared about the man standing in the middle of a wide New York sidewalk; they wouldn't notice him even if he had spoken directly to him. They had no time for him; their own country. Because they didn't know. They didn't and couldn't know who he was. They felt a strange connection to him, yes, one that made them gather 'round and even fight over him at times, but now, with the warning of a storm so strong it could ground the airlines, they had no time to care or squabble. And he was glad for it.

He really didn't want to be fussed over by a nice citizen at a time like this. He couldn't be bothered by it, not that the attention was very bothersome. In fact, he loved it. He adored for and loved his people more than he did anyone else; they were a part of him, they WERE him, and he owed them so much. They were his children, and he would protect them through all he could,with all he had. He would die trying for them. And it takes a lot to kill a nation.

Sadly, he had a mission, and with the way his emotions were running amuck inside of him, helping spew the storm on more, he realised being distracted was not an option this time. He needed to find the Brit. Before he ended up flooding the entire city with his personal rain cloud.

America began to walk again. Thunder was crashing rumbling like crazy through the sky, birds cawing in panic and flying to safety whilst the people around him charged and shoved, pushing and bumping into others to try and break free of the crowd and make it to a dry, safe haven before the storm REALLY hit. He felt a buzz in his pocket and before he could reject the call, a familiar ring came out of it.

Although a bit annoyed at the rotten timing, he was slightly surprised by the caller. He was a dear friend, and one he would go and visit when he wanted a few drinks on the house.

He knew where he was headed.

Black Cavens Bar.

And he was sure he was going to find a drunken nation there, for sure. So, with a quick step and new determination, he slid through the people, effortlessly making his way through the crowd and managing to not injure anyone with his tremendous strength.

He knew he was getting close. He could feel that icy hate fill the air. He pulled the collar of his jacket up higher and tucked his head down, shoving his hands in his pockets as he made his journey to the bar. The rain was almost as loud as his heart beat as he thought of what he and Arthur still had to do this night, despite his new found hatred. Alfred bit his lip, hoping he wouldn't be too late.

After a few hours of trudging through the streets blindly in the dark and rain, he was there. The smell of booze and warm, greasy foods invaded his nostrils as he stood before the door. The orange tinted windows streaked with water that had slipped underneath the black and gold tarp that hovered above the pub. The black bricks cold and wet, seeming to absorb the muffled music and voices from inside.

He could faintly see Ted at the bar, as he was trying to pry away bottles of wine and other alcoholic drinks from his former caretaker's arms as the blond cradled them to himself, protectively curling over them as if they were a child, or the only thing keeping him together.

Alfred heaved an exasperated sigh and wrapped his fingers around the golden door handle, gripping it loosely as he pulled it open and stepped inside.

The ring of the bell made the curly haired man pop up, a look of relief poured over the man, immediately evident as soon as he laid his eyes over the secret nation who was slowly laying his coat on an abandoned booth.

"WHERE have'ya BEEN? I called you two HOURS AGO!" Ted wasn't mad. In fact, he was smiling, his freckles crinkling upwards with his cheeks. His green eyes sparkled when he saw the blond trying in vain to ring out his soaking wet shirt.

"Yeah, well, the streets are flooded."

"I could tell." Ted let out a chuckle and quickly began to try and pull another bottle out of Arthur's mouth as he took a huge swig from the green glass. "Let go-" he sighed, "he's been like this every since he got here."

"And when was that?" Alfred began to trudge over to the struggling men fighting over the bottle of booze and stood before them, watching with a sad expression. Arthur was drunk. Again, and he was in such bad shape he couldn't even fight off a human. That was dangerous. It's not like he wanted the human to get hurt - in fact, he would probably knock the Brit out with a car if he did - but his weak, slow movements didn't bode well.

Maybe Kiku and Yao were right. He WAS fading away. And if a nation couldn't even protect themselves, who knows what could befall them and their people?

Alfred frowned and quickly yanked the bottle from both of them, causing the two to stumble and blink up at him in mild confusion and shock. Arthur began to trip over himself as he recognised the face in front of him. His expression quickly turned into hatred and fury, and also something else, but Alfred wasn't sure what. He grabbed the man and pulled him into his arms as he sat on a stool, plucking the bottles easily from the blond's trembling hands.

Ted quickly recovered though, standing up straight - almost as tall as the nation before him - and dusting himself off. He smiled warmly at the American, his southern accent thick as he spoke.

"About four or five hours ago, I'm not sure, but he's drinkin' us outta our bar! He was pickin' fights and yellin' 'bout some o' the people you be tellin' me about all the time when you comin' fer a drink'er two." Arthur had stopped his weak struggling and decided to weakly lean back, too drunk and tired to do much more than rest. Alfred's eyes flicked up and watched the curly red head before him, his tall lanky form taking the bottles back from the American and placing them back in their original places on the shelves.

"Who exactly?" America was curious. Ted only knew his friends human names, so the only way he would be able to tell if England was talking about them was if he used the very names he banned himself from using earlier.

"Oh, he was talkin' about Francis 'n Matthew, even Kiku 'n some of the others like Ivan or whatever. But once he was tellin' weird assed stories 'n callin' 'em country name's like Russia and Canada 'n shit like that, I decided he 'ad enough. He wanted more though and kept sneakin' 'em from me."

"Did he talk about me?"

"Oh, he talked about YOU plenty. Wouldn't shut up about cha, that's how I know I shoulda called you." Of course. England always talked about him when he was drunk. It was always sorrowful and bitter, spewing hateful words. "He was callin' you America 'n sayin' that you never shoulda left 'im in the Revolutionary war 'n shit. I began to think he was crazy, ya know? Even drunk people don' talk like that."

America couldn't help but feel a rush of relief when he heard that. England could have messed up the order of things. Most people wouldn't believe him, but the secret HAD gotten out before and they had been threatened by terrorists. They had been wiped out instantly though. No one threatened the life of EVERY person in a nation like that and got away with it.

No one.

But that didn't change the fact that it was still INSANELY dangerous and risky if anyone over-heard the true nature of the personifications of nations. That's why they had human names in public to begin with. Was England REALLY that stupid? There's was no way the Brit could just go around and call them by their titles. It would put not only him and HIS people in jeopardy, but every other being in the entire WORLD for god's sake!

As the hero, America couldn't allow this. He had to do his job as the super power of the earth. He had to lead and protect. That was one of the main reasons he was yelled at so vehemently after Arthur had left the building. If anything was wrong, it was always somehow his fault. It didn't matter how much good he did, or how many people he helped - there was always someone who wasn't pleased, who didn't get what they wanted out of life and figured he was the cause of all their misfortune. It pained him. And angered him. He wasn't the hero they wanted him to be. In fact, he might as well not be a hero at all if all they did was treat him like a villain.

But he couldn't give up, he wouldn't. It was imperative he kept his facade of childish contentment and joy; if not, they may think they were actually getting the upper hand, and that was something he could NOT let slide.

America was in charge of the world and he wanted them all to be his friends too, but he wouldn't let them run all over them. No siree.

Alfred gave him a reassuring but tight smile. "Ah, he's like that, ya know? Don't worry about it, he's not crazy, just...a little...CONFUSED when drunk. He's goin' through a tough time, depression or some other shit like that."

"Hey Al," Ted's voice fell quiet and he looked a little nervous to ask, but did it anyway. "I know ya seem to be really fond of 'im an' all, the way ya talk abou' 'im when you're a little buzzed..." America stared at him, wondering where this was going. "But he...he said you where 'is little brother. That true?"

Alfred jerked a bit at the question, and looked a little panicked. He had a slight crush on the Brit during the second World War, but he thought he had out grown it. But seeing as how Ted would always tell him about the things he would say about Arthur when he was drunk...

He didn't know how to respond. Ted was quick to put his arms up in defence, shaking his head faster than he should have. The boy was going to get whip lash. "I don't care if you're brothers, it ain't no o' MY business, 'ts jus'...I don' want ya to get 'urt, ya see, cuz, uh...I don't know...Yer my friend an' all, but...I jus' FEEL like I should protect ya from it, thats all-god, I don' know, I sound all weird'n gay now, haha."

Ted gave a nervous laugh and rubbed the back of his neck. Alfred was still silent. He looked torn, gripping the Brit to him tighter as he looked down at the ground, searching for the answers. "He...used to be...I left."

"Why?"

"...I don't know."

As Alfred trudged through the rain, his shoes and clothes made wet squashing and squishing sounds. Ted had offered him his umbrella, but he declined. He didn't want to let the young man walk around in this weather without an umbrella; it wasn't healthy, and he didn't want the boy to get sick.

Alfred had taken the Brit and slipped the wet bomber jacket onto his shoulders. The idiot only had a white dress shirt on to cover his upper body with. He would catch a cold if Alfred let him out like that. He placed the Englishman on his shoulders and let the bar.

By now, the man had passed out. He would wake up and begin to sob uncontrollably, one time to the point where he threw up all over the American's back and then just cried harder, the depression and alcohol wrecking his nerves. Alfred had set them both down and cradled the man on the abandoned street, the rain and flood water rushing around them, hiding the tears… but they were still there.

Eventually, they made it to his hotel room. Alfred held England in his arms with one hand, opening the door with the other. He kicked the door shut as he re-adjusted the Brit in his arms. The damp man let out a sleepy groan and a sniffle, gripping the wet, dark blue material of America's shirt that clung to his body like a second skin. Alfred pet the man's wet bedraggled hair and continued his way to the twin sized bed.

Gently, slowly, he lowered the male onto the bed. He quietly went into the bathroom and retrieved a soft, white towel and began to mop at the nation's hair and face. Trying to calm his beating heart as he peeled the wet clothes from the others body, America began to pat him dry as quickly and softly as he could, being careful to not jostle the man from his drunken slumber.

Only once the man was stripped down to his Union Jack boxers did Alfred leave him alone. He wanted to continue - to see the man in the nude before him - but he resisted the temptation. Instead, he decided to take off his own clothes and made his way over to the pearly white shower and began to wash rain water and smell of booze from himself. He stood in the shower, his forearm against the wall and his head resting upon it. The water poured down his body and face as he stared down at the swirling water around his feet. Then taking a deep, strained breathe, he began to try and figure out what he should do next.

England had single handledly sent the whole world into a minor panic and anger, and it didn't look good. Not only that, but he and America were supposed to sleep together this night. Alfred knew, with a deep twisting in the pit of his stomach, that he wouldn't be sleeping with the man for some time to come. And then some. He just couldn't do it. He felt something for England, maybe even loved him, but he didn't like this man he had become. They may have had the same body, but they were very different.

Arthur was rude, quick to anger and annoy, but also very caring and loving in his own way. England was spiteful, cold and full of hate. Arthur was quick to judge, but extremely loyal. England was untrustworthy and didn't believe in helping others. Arthur was a bad cook, but loved to try anyway. England didn't cook and never ate. Arthur always got sleep and talked to his fairy friends. England didn't get a wink of rest and didn't speak with the fae. Arthur cared for America. England didn't. There were different, yet the same, two halves of one whole, and it scared him.

America didn't want England, he wanted the man who had first loved and cared for him. The man who had taken him home and told him stories, held him during thunder storms, and changed his wet sheets when he had an accident. Not the man he had in his bed now. He didn't know this man, and he didn't like him. He wanted him gone. And he was going to make sure it happened.

Alfred dried his own body off, slipped on his own pair of boxers and crawled into the bed as well. The smaller body jumped in his sleep at the cold skin of the bed's new occupant, but he was quickly warmed up again, taking its normal, hot temperature. He delicately rubbed Arthur's body, warming the sleeping man in his dreams and soothing his drunken worries.

He had been in the shower for so long, the water had been frozen by the time he'd got out, but as the smaller form cuddled up to him, he couldn't help but grow hot again. Soon he was wishing for that cold shower again. But the more he thought about Arthur fading away and becoming the mean man he had recently started to corrupt into, the less aroused Alfred felt; in fact, he felt physically sick.

America gritted his teeth and pulled the man closer to him so he wouldn't fall off the bed, careful not to crush the weakened body beneath him. He had to fix this… he didn't know how, but he would. He would make sure of it. He was the hero dammit, he couldn't let the person he cared for fade away, he wouldn't have it! No...he would fix this...he had to.

It was the only thing he could think of before he FINALLY let himself drift off into a dreamless slumber.

((Phew, holy crap guys, this took a while to write, and it is really slow right now but it'll pick up, I promise. I was stuck on the meeting part where Iggy says he can and will for a while but eventually, I got it done. I hope you like it, guys. I really do. Next chapter has Al's first day of Iggy in his care. It will take a while to get up, but I have all break for it, so Merry Christmas everybody!))