Alfred stared at the ceiling, not really seeing it. He could smell the blood in the room, and could hear Toris's gasping, trembling breaths, but he didn't really know what to do. He had never actually gotten the hang of comforting people. The pain, also, clouded his thinking, turning his thoughts into a blurry, distracted swirl.

He heard a distant screech from downstairs. The American turned his head, wincing as the dried blood on his neck cracked. The scream was cut short swiftly, and was followed by the soft, muffled noise of boots clacking up stairs. Toris's whimpers grew louder and more spasmodic. Alfred knew without looking that the Baltic was rocking back and forth, clutching his stomach—he had seen the Lithuanian in similar stressful situations. A sardonic smile twitched his lips for a moment… When had they ever been in a situation quite like this? The smile faded, and someone paused outside the door.

Alfred could hear him taking deep breaths, the occasional quiet hiss of a silent scream. He closed his eyes, feeling the tears pressing on the back of his lids. He released a quick prayer from his lips. He didn't want to die like this. The door handle clicked. It was all over…

Ivan stopped just before the door, sucking in the cool air. The chill soothed his throat, raw from screaming. He couldn't speak. He extended a hand to open the door, but noticed the strange shade of black on his glove… He looked closer. Blood. Blood, shining in the glow from his eyes…

"Нет," he whispered. I can't do this. Comforting others was not one of his strong suits—he'd never understood their problems, and so had no idea how to fix them. He closed his eyes. When he opened them again, the blood was flowing, warm, dripping down to the floor, staining his boots. The world swirled—emeralds and swords and roses flashed in his vision. His head exploded in pain, and a horrible, cold, clenching feeling raced from his chest to down his spine. He knew he was screaming, but he couldn't hear anything over the memory of his own, crazed "Kolkolkol…"

When a superpower goes insane, the danger is unmatched.

Russia managed to get back in control of his senses and leaned against the door again. Alfred was in there—his dear Alfred. He had to see him again, had to… apologize…

He pressed down on the door handle. He felt Alfred and Toris's fear behind the door—no. It wasn't fear anymore, at least for Alfred. A sort of determination echoed in his head. Well, that's good, isn't it—he's not scared of me. Ivan managed to twist his lips into a brief smile, and opened the door.

Alfred lay as Ivan had left him, on the bed, his shirt ripped off and torso bruised. His glasses were cracked and dotted with blood. Ivan sucked in a breath—he hated himself. Hated himself with a passion and rage that was only notable in that it lasted for a mere second, as his sanity surfaced fully for a moment. His self-loathing was quickly submersed; a little voice in his head, so tiny, suggested for a second that this—the whole horrible, twisted thing—was funny. He should laugh. It was funny…

Ivan dispelled the horrible thoughts with a shake of his head and a step forward. He held himself still, staring down at Alfred's body. His muscular chest—the same lovely figure—was still rising and falling, and Ivan took heart in that for a second. But then Alfred realized Ivan wasn't hurting him, and opened his eyes.

The first thing that the Russian saw in his lover's eyes was beauty. The irises were burning a flaming azure with barely suppressed nuclear power. The light burned through Ivan's mind, silencing the little whispering voices and their sociopathic suggestions, clearing the hatred of himself from the hidden recesses of his sanity. There was someone in this world who didn't fear him, who didn't think him a complete monster… Then he saw the reproach.

The blame. The sorrow. The reproach in Alfred's eyes hurt his heart, made the whispering voices hiss in anger, made Ivan bow his head, hating himself again. "I'm…" he began, but the American shook his head.

"You won't mean it. Not with all of you," Alfred managed to rasp—an eerie echo of Ivan's own, scream-ragged voice. The little voiced began to laugh, a giggle that he had heard time and time again. Ivan shook his head.

Tears were washing the blood from Alfred's cheeks now. He reached out, his hand trembling weakly. His voice was strong, though, and it cut to Ivan's heart. "Ivan…I have something I need you to know." The Russian nodded. He knew what Alfred was about to say—he could hear it in his head, hear it already. His breath was catching already, and he pressed his lips together to keep the sobs down.

"I'm… I'm breaking up with you." The casual, cliché line, spoken with such emotion and in such a place, was like a knife blade slicing through Ivan and lightning striking him all at the same time. He felt weak, like he was about to fall, yet only a single tear escaped from his faintly glowing eyes. His heart was suddenly jerked, and he heard the little voice laughing in his head.

Alfred half-closed his eyes as he spoke this certainly fatal sentence, and Toris's cries stopped in shock and fear. He waited for the blow that would send his consciousness from his body again.

Nothing happened.

Ivan stood there. A tear ran down his pale cheek, and the glow in his eyes dimmed. He just stood there. As Alfred watched, the eerie light faded and darkened, leaving his irises dull amethysts.

It seemed like hours until Alfred's brother and Ivan's older sister rushed into the room. The American could only stare at the unmoving statue that had been both his closest lover and his worst enemy, even as Matthew shouted in his ears and Ukraine sobbed quietly at his shoulder. Alfred felt the familiar feeling of being dragged out, and he said, even though the world was blurring, "I'm fine, Mattie… Can walk by myself…" He shoved them aside, trying not to think about anything. Especially not that still figure with the tears in its eyes.

He succeeded, too, until he got home. Then he saw the roses and the sunflowers. And the small bloodstain on the wall.

Okay. First I would like to offer a MASSIVE apology for the wait for a new chapter! Seriously, I almost hate myself for this. It was caused by a combination of (1) computer problems, (2) my discovery of Tumblr and Doctor Who, and (3) my own despicable laziness. I am on my knees, BEGGING forgiveness. So please don't hate me- I'm guilty enough without it. (_ _) T.T

However, I am anticipating a new chapter up relatively soon since I'm "alive" to the Internet now. And probably some more fanfics, probably Doctor Who-related. (Hopefully some of you will appreciate that, since one of the Unwritten Laws of TV Shows I have found dictates that if you are a Sherlockian, then you are probably a Whovian. No offense to those to which this law does not apply.)

Again, I am very sorry for not uploading this chapter earlier!