"What the hell…" Vash groaned, opening one eye slowly, followed by the second. Ever so slowly, the world drifted into focus, as did a pair of sky-blue eyes. The officer frowned suddenly. He knew those eyes. A mirror image to Williams'. Alfred. Vash sat up quickly, ignoring the colourful spots that swam around his vision, and groped for any one of the guns at his waist, only to find them gone.

"Hey, are you okay? That was a pretty nasty crash."

Ignoring the man, Vash continued to look for his guns, finding them on the nightstand beside him. He grabbed the first one he could reach, and in half a second, it was loaded, cocked, and pointed straight between the man's eyes, which widened considerably at the sight. "Are you Alfred Jones?" He growled, head still pounding.

"Not at all!" The younger man yelped, holding his hands up in surrender. "You must be thinking of my brother! We're twins after all, I could show you a picture and-" He stopped as the gun was pressed to his forehead. If it were possible, his eyes widened even further in terror.

The man was sharp, pulling out the twin card. Anyone else may have fallen for it. However… "Unfortunately for you, I work with Matthew Williams." Vash murmured darkly, ready to end this man's life. The only thing holding him back was the faint whispering in his head that he felt he should remember. Maybe it was Matthew? Someone telling him that Alfred had been framed? Either way, something was holding his finger back, almost physically.

The realization that he couldn't pull the trigger because part of him believed this man was innocent hit him like a ton of bricks. "Sorry. I was confused." He said lamely, putting the gun aside.

"C-confused?"

"I can't do it. I have orders to kill you but… I just can't believe that you could've killed all those people. Call it conscience or whatever, but I can't."

Alfred still looked too nervous to be relieved. Slowly, he backed up a few steps, just in case Vash decided to kill him anyway. "So… are we good?"

"Yes, I'm sorry."

He let out the massive breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. "Let's start over, okay? I'm Alfred F. Jones." He held out a hand, though the suspicion was still alight in his eyes. He was clearly ready to bolt again, should Vash show any sign that he'd been trying to fool him. "You are?"

There was a moment's pause before the hand was accepted. "Vash Zwingli."

"Like a cow?" He winced as the glare returned. "No, really! My brother's a language nut, and he used to call me a 'stupide vache' when he was mad, and eventually I Googled it, and it means 'stupid cow', please don't kill me!"

Vash hadn't even realized that his hand was inching back towards the gun. "I won't. You can take away the guns if you don't believe me."

Alfred did just that, gingerly taking the weapons from the nightstand, and leaving the room. Vash noted that he was looking at the guns like they were some sort of dead animal, furthering his belief that this man was innocent.

Now that the fiasco had passed, he could get a better idea of where he was. Likely the cabin he'd been travelling to the night before, at least, he thought it had only been the night before. Who knew how long he'd been out? He assumed this was the master bedroom, lying on a queen-sized bed with a dark green comforter, and white frame.

Everything in the room was painted white as well. The nightstand, a small table and chair set by a large window, a bookshelf that looked oddly empty, as did the vanity on the wall opposite to his current position.

In the chipped mirror on the vanity, he could see his own reflection. There were several rust-brown spots in his hair, which should come out easily, and a white bandage had been wrapped several times around his head. It wasn't the best-dressed wound, but it would do. He briefly considered the thought of a concussion, but seeing as he hadn't gotten sick yet, it was unlikely.

Alfred returned, hands now empty, and Vash turned his attentive gaze on the American, to get an idea of the state the escaped convict was in. His blond hair was a bit longer than in the photo, but other than that, he looked pretty much the same. Same lanky, but muscular form, under dark jeans, and a graphic t-shirt, probably hidden somewhere for him to find after he'd escaped. The silver-rimmed glasses were slightly beaten, but they were also the same.

"How did you get out?" He asked suddenly.

Alfred hemmed and hawed for a moment before answering. "Ever seen the movie 'Shawshank Redemption'?"

Vash groaned. "You did not…" When he opened his eyes, he saw that Alfred was grinning.

"Nope! But it's a great movie, I was just saying."

The officer wanted to beat himself unconscious again at just how much like Gilbert this man was. Life just wasn't fair for him.

"Anyway, I can't tell you anything without giving up anyone. I might still get caught after all this anyway, right?"

"Right." He hadn't thought about that. Honestly, he was just curious about everything. He wasn't sure if he cared about his task anymore.

No. That wasn't true. He hadn't lost all sight of what he was supposed to do. If he didn't kill the man who had just saved him, he'd have to return empty-handed. Roderich would be annoyed, and Gilbert would laugh. He'd be reprimanded, but as long as no one knew that he'd met with Jones, he could keep his job. Lily would probably worry.

The thought of his sister completely changed his train of thought. How long had he said he'd be? A week, if he remembered correctly. "I have to get back."

Alfred jumped a little bit, and looked at the man curiously. "Back?"

"Yeah. You know, home. My sister will have a panic attack if I don't get there within the week, or at least get a hold of her."

"You just crashed here last night. You really think it won't look suspicious if you give up and go back?"

"Couldn't I use the accident as a reason to return?"

"You could I suppose. But it'll still look kind of off. I say you stay here until I work out where I'm headed next. I'll drop you off in town, you can call your boss or whatever, and I can promise we'll never cross paths again."

Vash thought about it for a moment, before nodding slowly, also making a mental note to never admit to agreeing to a supposed serial killer's plan.

Suddenly, Alfred was all smiles, like Vash had just agreed to take him to Disney World or something. "Hey, you must be hungry. You want some breakfast?"

"How did you get food out here?"

The American bit his lip, as if debating whether or not to tell him. "Promise you won't tell anyone?"

"I'm keeping the location of an escaped convict a secret, you really think I'd tell anyone who's giving you supplies?"

"Yeah… right." He chuckled a bit at the incredulous look Vash was giving him. "Well, Mattie stocked the kitchen with stuff as soon as he found out I'd escaped. He left me money too."

He faintly recalled Williams taking a few days off immediately after his brother's escape. No one knew about Jones at the time, so it didn't seem strange to anyone. It was so hard to keep track of the man anyway. He could go unnoticed so easily.

Under the watchful blue gaze, Vash swung his legs over the side of the bed, and got up to follow Alfred into the kitchen. He noted that he was still wearing the dark jeans and sweater he'd changed into before leaving. They were torn in a few places, nothing he couldn't repair. He hated the idea of throwing out clothes because of his carelessness.

From the bedroom, the walked down a short hallway, into an open living room, with a large window taking up most of one wall, with a beautiful view of the glassy lake. There were two couches, one a faded green with odd floral patterns, and the other, a solid dark maroon. There was an old TV in the far corner, one that still used an antenna. In fact, everything about the cabin was outdated. Like nothing had changed in thirty years or so.

"So, Fruit Loops, Frosted Flakes, or Corn Pops?" Alfred asked, holding up a tray of miniature cereal boxes.

"Whichever." He was mildly surprised that he'd have food normally reserved for kids, but decided not to question it.

When he sat down, the bandage around his head shifted, and he paused. He was now indebted to the man sitting across from him. If it weren't for Alfred, he would've bled out in the middle of nowhere.

"Thank you." He mumbled, quickly eating a spoonful of Corn Pops so he wouldn't have to answer anything right away.

Clearly, Alfred didn't need any prompting. "It was no big deal. Besides, you could've killed me, and didn't, so I think we're pretty even."

That was the last time either of them mentioned their initial encounter.

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Thanks for reading~!

I hope to finish up the other stories I have on the go so that I can devote more time to the new stuff, like this one, so waits will be shorter soon. Where am I going with this…? Ah yes, review?

(And I totally wouldn't say no to arts if anyone out there thinks it's good enough for a scribble. In fact, I'd love them forever; print them out, and hang them on my wall.)

I do not own Disney World, any of those delicious Kellogg's cereals, or Hetalia. Although… I've figured that Hetalia was born of my childhood happiness as it was torn from my being, (the web comic started just weeks after my life went to shit) so I guess it's kind of mine?