((NOTE TO SEE THE FLASH BACK CHAPTER GO TO CHAPTER SIX. I PUT THINGS IN ORDER, SORRY FOR THE CONFUSION!))

Aayla frowned deeply as she saw a group of men outside of her home pushing a poor, defenseless young man around, demanding money from him. She didn't know if they even knew him, but it made her feel sick to her stomach.

She ground her teeth together and opened her door, tired of watching through the window, only to catch sight of a blond head resting on her porch. She huffed, annoyed, not at the fact that he was here, but that he wasn't doing anything about the scene in front of him, just like all the others.

And it made her angry because she knew this one was different, special, in a way. He needed to act it. She glanced back up to the thugs; they had gotten their cash and were laughing as they walked away, having swiped the boy strangers watch and baseball cap. Aayla sighed sadly as the shaken teenager stumbled away and out of the neighborhood, head down.

Arthur noticed that there was someone behind him and he looked up shyly in the dark. The woman had a perplexed look on her face but she stood aside, keeping the door open and inviting him in.

The Brit stood, head cast down, ashamed. He knew she was disappointed that he had done nothing, but that scuffle was really none of his business. When he was a younger, better man, he ended things like that with no issue, happy to help his citizens and others in need. But now...how was he supposed to help someone when he couldn't even help himself?

Aayla closed the door with a small click and waited for Arthur to make his way into her home. He stood silently in the middle of her living room, looking around, studying the walls and stained wooden floor.

"Aayla."

"What?" Arthur turned, confused. His green eyes flitting over to hers as he faced the kind woman who had taken him into her home not once, but twice. "I'm sorry?"

"My name is Aayla." A smile crept onto Arthur's face as she finally introduced herself.

"It's a very lovely name."

"Yer a charmer, arnt'cha?" She chuckled. Her smile faded a bit as she looked him over. "You're all wet." Arthur's clothes clung to him like a second skin, and he shivered a bit, remembering how cold he was.

"I...yeah." He glanced at the floor, a few drops of water darkened the floorboards, as if they were joining the other random stains previous owners had left to set in. He suddenly felt self-conscience about his body, feeling too thin and scraggly. When he looked back up, the woman was gone.

"Aayla?" He searched the room with his eyes, not seeing any trace of her. He didn't want to just walk around her house to find her - that would be rude. But how she was able to walk around so quietly was a mystery to him. How had he not seen nor heard her? She wasn't a small person, to say the least.

He heard the stairs groan as she stepped down them, a bundle of clothes in her hands. She handed them to him, placing a towel on the top while smiling at him. "Go get dry. I'll dry yer clothes." Arthur nodded and looked around for a bathroom. Aayla pointed to a door by the stairs she had just come down and Arthur made his way back into the hall.

He twisted the knob and heard a loud grinding noise as the metal turned. He winced a bit at it - the door was busted - and when he turned the handle the latch didn't budge. It was jammed into the side of the door, instead of sticking out to lodge itself into the door frame. He quickly went into the small room and pulled the door closed.

He scanned his surroundings for a second and he felt pity for the old woman. There were urine stains on the walls and floors, words had been scratched and carved into the wall, old marker stains had been rubbed and smeared but would not erase, although Aayla had obviously tried.

Arthur frowned. He was certain this must have been an old crack house, and decided either way, it had nothing to do with him. It was better to ignore the sad state of Aayla's home and just get dressed.

He wasn't shocked to find the clothes were too tall for him, the hang around his clammy form loosely, and he had to roll up the sleeves and legs of his pants so that they wouldn't drag on the floor. Arthur took the rough towel and rubbed his head with it, trying to get rid of the drops that still clung to his hair.

When he was finished he looked into the mirror. It was obviously a medicine cabinet, and the whole thing jutted far out of the wall. The latch didn't seem to be working on it either and the mirror was busted; a few shards of it were completely gone, and the remaining spiderweb pattern made his face look like something you would see in a funhouse mirror. He looked like a freak, like a monster.

He hung his head and gripped the sink, feeling like puking. He swallowed the rising bile down and rinsed out his mouth before he snatched up his clothes and rammed the swollen door open with his shoulder.

Aayla was waiting in a reclining chair for him and stood up. She waltzed over to him and said to go into the kitchen. He did as he was told and suspected she went to put his wet clothes into the dryer.

Arthur took a seat once again at the place he had before, surprised to see another platter before him: fried chicken. His mind instantly drifted to Alfred, although the boy loved hamburgers no end, he was also very fond of this food. Arthur thought it was okay, but he hadn't ever really just went to a store to buy it or even cook it himself. Whenever he used to come to visit, if Alfred wanted to treat Arthur to something different, he would take him to KFC.

He felt his lip twitch up at the memories but it quickly disappeared when he remembered what had happened earlier that day. He scowled and dug the heels of his hands into his forehead, ashamed.

"Don' do tat," a voice warned him. "You'll give ya'self red marks."

"Sorry," he mumbled, sitting up straight.

Aayla took her own seat and stared at him. Arthur suddenly felt uncomfortable, and shame filled him again. He didn't know why he kept running back her to this woman. Maybe because she was the only who didn't know him enough to judge him. To hate him.

He glanced up shyly. "I... I fucked up big time tonight," he admitted. "I mean big, I don't think Alfred will like me anymore." He sounded so childish, so lost! It made Arthur want to punch himself. "I shouldn't have let him get to me like that, let him under my skin. I... I wasn't careful enough, I let my guard down."

Aayla was silent for a few moments, waiting for Arthur to say anything more, but he remained quiet. Her soft, strong voice rang out to his ears and he stared at the floral pattern on his plate as he listened.

"Some failure in life is inevitable. It is impossible ta live wit'out failing at sometin', unless ya live so cautiously tat ya might as well've lived at all-in which case, you fail by default."

Arthur looked back up, surprised by her words

"I don' tink yer livin' Arthur." She told him. "Tat's what chu failed at."

"But... I made a huge mistake, Aayla," Arthur was upset. He couldn't understand why this woman was so calm… so wise.

"One of ta biggest mistakes in life is when you don' want ta learn ta lesson from yer own mistakes." She replied, taking a sip of her red KoolAid, eyes closed. When she looked back up she asked, "Did ya learn from tis?"

"Well... yeah, but... I''m the worst, Aayla, I hurt him. I got my hopes up for a moment, then when I got disappointed for something that wasn't even his fault, I snapped at him. He's so hurt, Aayla, he won't even talk to me. I'm the worst. The absolute bloody worst. Words cannot express how much I hate myself."

"Has anyone told you tis?"

"Well... no. Not to my face, at least." Aayla shook her head, her earrings clanged together softly, making an almost musical note, like wind chimes.

"Just because you see yourself as ta worst doesn' mean tat everyone sees you tat way."

Arthur shook his head. There was no way that, as evil as he was, people had to hate him, and even if they didn't - which they do - hate him, he had enough hatred for himself to go around.

"I got hurt. Really hurt. And sometimes when that happens, something inside me shuts off." Arthur admitted, balling his hands into his hair as his elbows rested on the table. "I told him I was done, I didn't want him - want anybody - and that I couldn't take all this anymore. I couldn't take him trying to fix me when he couldn't even fix himself… that he was a failure and an idiot. It wasn't even his fault, he couldn't stop it, but I was hurt, I was mad and I snapped." Arthur almost sobbed, almost. "I yelled at him because he was raped! What kind of person am I?!"

Aayla wasn't expecting to hear that from the man before her, but she knew she had defuse this bomb of self-blame and hate. "Ta best way ta balance life is settin' yer boundaries an' learning ta say ENOUGH."

Her mind was racing, the boy was raped? What in the world was going on in this child's life?

"He wouldn't go, he wouldn't leave me alone all this time, and than he just... he does what he has to, and he gets beaten for it, and I'm mad, bloody snarling and snapping at his throat and he just takes it, he just let me beat him up about it! And I knew when I saw him, but I was scared, hurt. Oh, god, Aayla. I'm pathetic. Utterly worthless!" He shook his head, fingers still in his hair, lost in the shadows of his mind and guilt.

"He cares, Arthur. I saw you two. Out ta window tat night, he loves you."

"It hurts, it hurts so bad. You don't understand, Aayla, I can't tell you why I'm not allowed too, but I just CANNOT love him. And I don't want to, I'm scared, I'm scared of being hurt. Of being in pain. I can't take it again."

"It's completely impossible ta find someone who won' ever hurt chu, so go for someone who'll make ta pain worthwhile," Aayla said, placing a comforting hand on the sobbing mans arm. He was shaking so violently she feared he might fall to pieces and shatter on the floor.

"But I can't, I don't love him!"

"Often times, people deny what t'ey really feel inside. But how can someone deny it if their actions can show what t'ey try to hide?" She looked at him knowingly, and Arthur just sobbed harder.

"But I don't, I don't!" He repeated to himself, but he couldn't lie to himself anymore. He did feel something, not love maybe, but something. "Why would I ever be attracted to that idiot?!"

"Love is when you don' know why ya seem ta be attracted ta a person. Love has it's reason and ta reason is unknown." Arthur looked up at her, eyes sad and begging, begging for her to save him from his demons. But Aayla knew he had to do this alone, this was his fight and she couldn't live his life for him So instead of telling him what he should do, she patted his head and pulled him into a hug.

"Be strong, because it will get better. It may be stormy now, but it can't rain forever."

APHAPHAPHAPHAPHAPHAPHAPH

Matthew slid his finger over the screen, searching and looking at old pictures. Memories.

Him and Carlos at the bar. Him and Carlos in the car. Him and Carlos at the park, the beach, the movies, at a meeting, eating ice cream-kissing.

Canada could only sigh gruffly to himself, careful not to stir his brother who was draped over his body, clinging to him in his sleep. Matthew felt angry, very angry. What in the world had Alfred done to deserve this? Nothing!

He could feel the heat rise in his body as his hands trembled with the need to smash two peoples' heads in with his hockey stick. He took deep, calming breaths as he tried to relax again. Look at happy things, occupy your mind, he told himself.

Carlos and him in Paris, at London, in DC, him and Carlos in the mall, at a strip club, him and Carlos having sex. A particular picture of him giving head to he Cuban popped up and he blushed, thankful Alfred was asleep.

He continued looking through his phone. Him and Carlos stranded on the side of the road waiting for a pickup truck, him and Carlos at a bonfire, at the zoo, on the forth of July.

On his birthday.

Tears streaked down his face, his lip trembled and he felt so alone, even with Alfred cuddling with him, he was so alone. He sobbed quietly to himself, a bitter, scornful laugh escaped his choked-up throat.

"Just when you think you can move on, you'll remember all the reasons why you held on so long. Go figure."

"I hear that." Matthew's head jerked up and he gasped loudly, not having heard Arthur enter the room.

Said man was avoiding eye contact, finding a random corner to be the focus of his wandering eyes. He clicked the door shut and shifted his feet nervously. Matthew glared at him, still angry about what he had said to his brother when he had come home bloody and crying.

"What are you doing here?" He asked, not caring to hide the venom in his tone. "I thought you were 'done' with us, right? Why'd you come back?"

"Because..." Arthur didn't have an answer.

"Because." Matthew felt like yelling, like screaming and cussing and throwing things around the room. Instead he just scoffed, shaking his head and continued to look through his phone.

"Because you two are the only ones I have."

Violet eyes flickered up before looking back down to his cell. He didn't want to show Arthur how much that one sentence meant.

He continued to shuffle through his photos, but a message popped up.

CARLOS: Hey Matt. How are you? Good, I hope, look, I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I miss you so much. Please, at least call me and let me know that you're okay every once in a while.

Matthew ran a hand through his hair, breathing out tiredly. He was exhausted. But he couldn't just go to sleep when Alfred could wake up any moment, scared, and in need of his comfort.

He debated for a moment before he typed back.

MATTHEW: I miss you. I miss us. I miss having you to talk to whenever I wanted. But I know I have to move on, because its pointless. Don't text me anymore. I won't let you drag me in again. I hope you're okay and thank you for worrying about me, but leave me alone.

He received a message not even thirty seconds later, but he ignored it, instead tossing the phone onto the nightstand next to him. He glanced up and watched Arthur sink into a chair in the corner.

"Where were you?"

"Huh?" Arthur was slipping into sleep. The night had been too long, too stressful, and he had too many things to think about and straighten out. He'd do it in the morning.

"Arthur." Matthew whispered, a bit louder.

"What?" He was getting annoyed. Why wouldn't Matthew just leave him alone. He needed his rest, not to mention that risked waking up Alfred.

"You hurt him. A lot. He thinks you hate him."

"Well, maybe I do."

"God damn it, Arthur!" Matthew snarled. "What the fuck is wrong with you?! He sobbed his freaking heart out, saying, 'he hates me, oh, god, he hates me' over and over and over again! He loves you! And you tear his heart out when he needs you most!"

"He did the same to me!" Arthur yelled. Alfred jumped awake, clearly startled and scrambled away from the loud noise, eyes wide. He was trembling slightly. "In case you've forgotten, he left me! He left both of us! He went to war for his freedom! Well he got it! He proved that he doesn't need me!"

"Grow the fuck up!" Matthew yelled. "You're so PETTY! He was fucking RAPED!"

"Well maybe if he hadn't pissed them off, this wouldn't of happened! It's his own fault for not being able to keep it in his pants!"

"How could you SAY THAT?!"

"Matthew," Alfred whispered. It fell on deaf ears. Canada was just too busy screaming at England. "Matthew."

"-And not to mention-"

"You only care about yourself!"

"Matthew."

"I should have let Francis raised you! It would be better than having two traitors in the family!"

"So what, you're saying I was a mistake, that you wish you'd never had me?!"

"Matty-"

"YES!"

"Well fine! If you hate us so much, leave!"

"I don't hate you!"

"Really? Because its getting really hard to tell in here!"

"MATTHEW!"

Alfred sat huffing in the middle of the bed, tangled in the sheets, sweating and shaking. "Matty, stop. He doesn't mean it."

"He hurt you Al! He called me a mistake."

"He's hurting too!" America yelled back. "We're all hurting. Just... just leave him alone."

"Al..."

"I'm fine, Matty. I'm actually surprised its been so long since it's happened to me."

As sad as it was, nations were raped fairly regularly. During war, during invasions, just because… it was a sad, tragic truth. A reality they all had lived. They learned to deal with it, to get over it. But it didn't mean it was easy.

Matthew looked uncomfortable. "But that doesn't make it an excuse to hurt you like that."

"Be the better man."

"Alfred, I..." Arthur had so many things he wanted to say, yet no words for them.

"Have ya ever wondered what HURTS the most?" America asked, suddenly. "Saying somethin' and wishing ya hadn't, or saying somethin' and wishing ya had?"

"Yes, all the time," England's eyes begged for Alfred to understand, to hear the words he couldn't say. Alfred just nodded, opting not to say anything, waiting for Arthur to take hold of this chance that he'd been given.

"You... you always laugh." It felt like a strange, random thing to say. "You're always laughing and happy."

"Just because I laugh a lot, doesn't mean my life is easy. Just because I have a smile on my face doesn't mean that something's not bothering me. It's just that I choose to move on despite the negative in my life, and keep my head up, instead of dwelling on the past."

Arthur swallowed, nodding, Alfred made a good point, a bloody brilliant point, really. "You smile a lot, too. I can't do that anymore. And you never cry, either."

"People think I'm lying about being hurt because they see me laughing. Little do they know, I laugh to keep myself from crying, because it takes one smile to hide a million tears..."

His words were so poetic for the American, so heartfelt and true Arthur felt stupid, ridiculous. He was wasting everyone's time playing this stupid game, dancing around the problem.

"I'm... I'm broken." He choked out. "I can't fix myself. I've been trying, I really have, but, the old me is gone, Arthur is dead." He could feel his eyes sting, his tears betrayed the brave face he was trying to put on.

Alfred crawled off the bed clumsily, striding over to the shaken man before him. He stared down, looking over the man who hurt him, who took care of him, who taught him how to love, who was dying and shrivelling up inside. Alfred leaned forward, clutching his former brother to his chest, and it felt like a missing puzzle piece had fallen into place.

"You can't fix me, Alfred." Arthur allowed himself to call him that, just this once. "You can't."

"Maybe it's not always about trying to fix something that's broken. Maybe it's about starting over and creating something better."

Arthur didn't have anything to say about that, and neither did Matthew. The Canadian had opted to go take a shower and leave them alone for a bit, needing to clear his head.

"Arthur?" Alfred mumbled, his hot breath fluttering the blond strands on England's head.

"Yes?"

"I love you."

"This is unfair."

Alfred only sighed. He was quiet for a few seconds, then the seconds became a minute. He seemed to be mulling something over in his mind, and Arthur was okay being held, okay being needed for a moment; it was the least he could do after abandoning him in his time of need. America's voice suddenly filled the room with a noise other than Matthew, in the shower, absently singing his national anthem.

"Life is unfair." He concluded. "You put someone first who puts you second. You study your ass off for a final but you still get a 'B'. You give 110% in a relationship to someone when they only give you 40%. You're there for your best friend at 3 AM when they need you the most and the next day they won't pick up their phone. You care so much for someone who doesn't care enough about you to say 'hi' even once. You give someone your time and they give you, 'sorry, I'm busy'. It seems like you're giving everyone your everything and they're just walking away and giving you back NOTHING."

"Is that how life is for you?"

"Its exactly how life is for me."

"Since when do you take tests?"

"Hey, we all went to college," Alfred defended playfully. "I remember having a hard time passing math though..."

"You did pass, right?"

Silence.

"I don't remember. I think I did? Yeah, just barely. I did real good in science, though."

Alfred pulled back, staring at the ceiling in wonder. "I loved doing astronomy and learning about what's out there, ya'know?"

Arthur slid completely out of Alfred's arms, feeling a bit awkward now. Alfred seemed to sense it too and rubbed the back of his neck nervously.

"Arthur, I forgive you."

England's eyes shot up to meet his. "But I didn't apologize."

"Yes you did." Alfred pressed. "You came back. And that's good enough."

"One of these days I might not."

"So, what, you're planning on leaving and running away?"

"Someday." Arthur remarked. "If we continue fighting like this, I won't come back."

"You start most of them."

Arthur didn't even deny it. He couldn't, Alfred was right.

Arthur just sighed and began to shed his clothing, leaving himself in his boxers before crawling into the middle of the bed before thinking better of it, assuming Matt would rather sleep next to Alfred than him.

America joined him on the mattress and suddenly piped up, sprouting more thoughtful, random things.

"I don't understand how you can smile all day long but cry yourself to sleep at night. How pictures never change but the people in them do. How your best friend can become your worst enemy, or how strange it is when your worst enemy turns into your friend. How forever turns into a few short months that you'd do almost anything to get back. How you can let go of something you once said you couldn't live without. How even though you know something is best for you, it hurts just the same. How the people who once wanted to spend every second with you think a few minutes of their time is too much to spare. How people make promises despite knowing how common it is for promises to be broken. How people can erase you from their lives just because it's easier than working things out."

He kept listing the things on and on and on. And as Arthur began to drift to sleep, his mind thought about these things.

Alfred probably cried himself to sleep at night.

Switzerland and Austria had been friends but could hardly stand one another now.

America and Russia had seemingly gotten along lately, almost to the point of friends, even after their disputes.

How even though England said he could never let America go, he did.

How even though breaking up with Carlos was the best decision for Matthew, it still hurt.

How Prussia couldn't really get people he used to spend every day with to even talk to him anymore because he wasn't a nation, he wasn't important.

How Antonio would make promises to Lovino even though he knew they would be broken.

And how Arthur, himself, would rather erase people from his life than have to deal with them and his problems.

Alfred had been subtle about dropping hints about them and their friends, which shocked Arthur's sleepy mind.

And just as he began to fall back into the abyss, he heard Alfred's voice in his ear whispering,

"Wouldn't it be the perfect crime if I stole your heart, and you stole mine?"