WARNING: Gore and sexual references.

*YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED*

Alfred smiled up at Ivan, reaching up briefly to rub his fingertip along his lover's chin. Ivan flashed his white teeth briefly, his eyes a warm violet. Alfred moved his hand to gently tug at the pinkish scarf still wrapped around the Russian's neck.

"Why'd you keep it on? You should wash it…" Ivan's hand joined Alfred's on the scarf.

"It's not dirty, да?" Alfred noticed he was right; somehow, the scarf had been kept clean of the cum slickening the sheets.

"You're crazy." The blond nation reached up with both hands to wrap his arms around Ivan's neck. He gently pulled his lover down into the bed, snuggling closer to his warm body. Ivan smiled again, stroking Alfred's spine lightly. The American closed his eyes happily, wriggling slightly. This was just like being with England again…

Ivan continued smiling down at him until he was sure the younger nation had fallen asleep, then turned his head to stare out the window. It was early, incredibly early. But he had something to do. He had to keep alert…

The newly risen sun struck Alfred's cheek, bringing with the light a warmth that sent his nerves tingling and awareness shooting back to his sleeping brain. The American didn't open his eyes when he awoke. He heard people talking, their voices carrying through the open window. The sheets were warm, though… and comfortable… Alfred groaned and turned over, pulling the cloth into his body.

The voices began to rise, become clearer. "…Awful…can't believe he's still… What did…?"

Alfred opened his eyes. It sounded like something bad had happened… He tossed the dirty sheets aside, scowling. After a few moments of beating around for some suitable clothes, he began pulling on a pair of jeans. As he struggled with rearranging a shirt he'd found inside-out on the floor, he heard something suddenly, clearly.

It was Mattie crying.

Alfred dropped the shirt and rushed over to the door, slamming it open and dashing across the campground, ignoring the little bits of gravel digging into his bare feet. For a dizzying second, his legs wouldn't support him, then he caught his balance again. He saw the nations gathered around the trailer emblazoned with the Canadian flag and the CART logo. They were the ones who had been talking, but all he heard now was the sobbing of his brother.

He reached the trailer, shoving the other nations aside to angry hisses, ignoring China's "America, get away-aru!" He leapt up the stairs, yelling Matthew's name. Then he saw the inside of the trailer.

Canada raised his head to stare helplessly at his brother through teary glasses, his eyes dark. Germany looked at the two pityingly, even though the look in his eyes was as pained as Matthew's expression. Alfred shook his head, his lips forming the word no even though he knew not even he could help this. The hero backed away, still shaking his head and silently whispering "No…."

He turned, running out the door and staggering to the back of the trailer, where he bent over and was suddenly violently sick. This was horrible… it reminded him awfully of wartime… too much… but it was peacetime! And such a horrible thing had occurred anyways!

Alfred heard Mattie's crying start up again, and he automatically turned to go and comfort him. But then the thought of facing that again… He shook his head. This was no way for a hero to act. He needed to confront the horror…

Prussia had been lying spread-eagled on the coffee table, his wrists tied to the legs. He had been stripped naked from the waist up, and his underpants had been so torn up (the Prussian eagle on the left side had been completely ripped away, leaving only the shred of a wing on his thigh) that Alfred wasn't sure if he should call him completely unclothed. The glass in the coffee table was cracked somewhat, and shards of it had left gashes on Prussia's—Gilbert's—limbs. His torso was a mass of bruises and cuts that completely ruined his sculpted figure that he was always so careful to maintain and sure to flaunt. Alfred was sure now that he had seen a piece of broken rib showing through the torn skin. And the blood. Oh God, the blood.

The blood had been everywhere. On the bits of broken glass, on the wood, on Gilbert's entire body, in Germany's hair where he had run his fingers desperately through it, soaking through the carpet…

Alfred shuddered and wiped his mouth. He'd seen blood before, he told himself. Why is it such a problem now?

It's the blood of a nation at peace, he realized. At wartime, we don't care, we're too busy fighting. We see the wounds later, we see the damage and the photos, but then we think it's all behind us. But when a nation tortures another nation, when they're both at peace…

He shook himself. Be the hero…

When he entered the trailer again, this time he was able to look upon Gilbert's mangled body without cringing in revulsion. But it made a sudden twisting sensation in his stomach, and Alfred tried not to stare too long at it. As he turned away, he nearly stepped on something small and fluffy. He turned to look at it and felt his innards lurch once more.

Gilbert's bird.

A letter opener had been flung at it, leaving its entire chest region ripped away. The red blood clashed horribly with its gold feathers.

Alfred bit his white lips, then bent down and carefully lifted it. With a few careful steps, he placed its dead body next to Gilbert's head.

Germany and Matthew bowed their heads. Alfred felt his eyes fill with tears again. As he bent his head, he thought he caught a flutter of movement. His stomach jumped violently.

"H-he's still alive? How is that possible?" Germany looked sadly at him.

"He is an ex-nation, remember…" The recollection seemed to cause the European pain. Alfred's heart was suddenly wrenched, recalling Gilbert's bitterness on that subject during their encounter only a few days ago. He stared at the far wall. Even that wall was speckled with blood. Alfred jerked, remembering why Gilbert had spoken to him that night.

"You guys do know who did this, right?" he snapped. They both looked at him sympathetically, and ignored the question. Alfred twitched at their unheeding mien. "Why aren't you doing something to help? He's survived worse!"

Germany slammed a fist down on the table, narrowly missing his brother, and shouted, "HE HAS NOT 'SURVIVED WORSE'! ZE LAST TIME HE HAD INJURIES LIKE ZIS, YOU ALLIES DISSOLVED HIM!" Alfred stared at the German, wide-eyed. He opened his mouth to protest, but Germany wasn't finished yet. "And don't even think zat I don't vant to hurt ze one who hurt mien Bruder! I vish I could, but you know vhat he's like!" His eyebrow twitched, and then he dove down to seize something from Gilbert's body. He picked it up, and brandished it in front of Alfred. It was an Iron Cross, hewn roughly in half.

"He's always wanted to break zese," Germany said softly, his voice shaking. "Never has he succeeded—until now." His face distorted in rage, he flung the bloody Cross to the floor. "He's stronger now—ve can't hurt him. None of us can."

Alfred's cheeks were cool again. "You're wrong. I can hurt him." And without saying any more, he turned and was out the door, brushing past China, who was yelling at him again, hearing things ringing in his ears—Ivan saying "I love you", Mattie crying, Germany almost sobbing in rage. He walked through the campground again, finding his way to his camper.

He spent a few minutes inside finding sneakers and putting them on, and when he came out, he was zipping his aviator's jacket securely over his bare chest.

America looked toward the indistinct glow from the Canadian town, the blood of a German ex-nation on his jeans, who had been hurt by his lover, Russia.

His nuclear power crackled beneath his skin, again pleading to be freed.

Taking a deep breath, Alfred began striding towards the distant lights of the town.

mien Bruder- my brother (German)

I'm so proud of myself, for managing to keep this fanfic going, and that people actually seem to like it... (^_#) Couldn't do it without you guys telling me that you love it (my writing's that good? I was wondering if my teachers were right...{you never know, I have this thing with not trusting teachers o_O}), so thanks a bunch! I am also suffering from some tiny head chickens at the moment, so I'm glad I was able to write this. Thank you, again!