Chapter 3

America and Gilbert were sitting on the couch in one of the front rooms when Arthur stumbled in.

Gilbert rose to his feet. "What on earth are you doing, being out that late?"

"Sorry, I was getting food. I was chased for it, and it took me a while to outrun him. Now please, get me a bath started," Arthur gasped as he pulled the bags out of his pockets. It was some American sweet, a fluffy cake of sorts, now that he had a chance to really look at what it was. This would not fill them up at all; he was almost angered with himself that he could have gotten seriously wounded or killed over a few bags of junk.

"Hey! I love those!" America spoke up from his spot on the couch.

Arthur looked over at him. "These? They are cakes! Fluff! They won't feed us!"

"But they are do good! I haven't seen one in years! How many did you get?" America asked, grinning.

"Four," Arthur said. He tossed one to the American. "Here, you can have one now, if you want."

"Really? Thanks!" America ripped open the packaging and pulled out the cake. Arthur crinkled his nose upon seeing it. The treat was God knows how old, but it was still in perfect condition.

"Leave it to the Americans to be able to survive the apocalypse with all those preservatives!" Gilbert clapped Arthur on the back.

"Yeah…" Arthur trailed off. "Well, I guess I'll go take a bath now."

Gilbert raised an eyebrow at him. "Do what? You know the water doesn't work well, and we have to do a lot to it to make sure it's not poisoned and ready for consumption. You could burn yourself trying to take a bath! Besides, you won't have enough to do that. There's barely enough water to keep us hydrated, much less clean. If you want to take a bath that bad, take some water from the kitchen and give yourself a sponge-bath."

"What-oh, right. I should have known. It's like that back in Europe too." Arthur sighed and limped into the kitchen. He found a sponge and a water bottle, then used that to wipe down his leg. His whole right side ached. I shouldn't have run like that, he thought. I should have only taken one and figured out a different way to get out of it. I should have known running would hurt me. I haven't been able to run in years, and for the first two months after the war I couldn't walk at all. I lost too much land and too many people, and I had used up the last of my magic, something that completely drained me and messed with my senses. Even after I regained most of my senses and could stand up, I would occasionally wake up with my eyes blurry or my ears ringing. He shook his head. Just if I waited, I could have come up with a better way to get food.

Arthur finished up wiping himself down and hobbled back into the living room where America was sitting alone on the couch. "Gilbert is in the basement getting dinner."

"Okay, do you want me to give him the other three cakes?" Arthur asked as he took a seat across from America. He pulled over an old foot stool and propped his leg up on it.

"Later, there's no use going down right now," America said. He leaned back and closed his eyes. Arthur followed suit, and soon, he found himself drifting off to sleep. It wasn't until Gilbert came back upstairs with several bags of dried vegetables, that Arthur woke up. The three of them sat around the coffee table and ate from the bags in silence. Behind him, Arthur could hear the old grandfather clock ticking. It was a bit slow; he could tell the clock would stop working soon, and he was surprised that it had lasted this long.

Boom! Outside, a loud crack of thunder jolted the three men out of their quiet stupor. The loud rumble shook the windows as a bright jet of lightning lit up the dim room. Rain began to slam against the windows.

America shook his head. "It's another big one. We'll have to keep watch tonight and be prepared."

"Why?" Arthur asked. His head whipped around to look outside and the raging storm that had formed seemingly in seconds. "It was so nice out when I went out earlier."

"That's even worse. These pop up storms get really bad. They don't happen very often- maybe once a week or so- but they cause a lot of damage and often cause tornadoes or flooding. We had to stay on the top floor last time. The water almost came up to the door. If it had rained much longer, we could have lost our home or at least all our food. Luckily, the basement is sealed really well. There was very little flooding. But this one looks like it my be worse. We'll have to watch it and check the basement often. Gilbert, could you pull out the radio and check for any weather alerts?" America rose from his seat, scowling when he tried to stand. "Dammit, I can't stand this."

"Then sit. We'll take care of it without you, right, Arthur?" Gilbert smirked.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Right. I'll go down to the basement." He rose to his feet begrudgingly; the pain in his side flamed as he put weight on his foot, and he cringed.

"You doing okay, Arthur?" Gilbert looked back when he heard the Brit groan. "You should really sit down with America."

"But-"

"I'll check the basement myself. You sit down," Gilbert cut him off, that same wide grin on his face. "Okay. Here's the radio. I'll go check the food. Be right back."

America took the radio from Gilbert. "Thanks."

"If you are living on the coast line, you need to watch out for severe flooding. The ocean levels are rising, and even though the temperature has dropped, it is predicted to rise again after the storm to dangerous levels. Please seek shelters high above ground or evacuate as soon as you can. I repeat, if you live on the coast-" The staticky voice garbled suddenly as America wound up the charger on the side of the green box, and, as quickly as it has begun, it stopped. Only a loud static was left behind to fill the quiet room.

"Did you lose signal?" Arthur asked.

America shook the radio. "I don't think so…" He held the radio to his ear. "If you listen closely, there are faint voices. I think the news castor is gone." He stared up at Arthur. "The radio station is really close."

"And?"

"The water might be hitting them now."

Arthur hesitated. "And- And what are we going to do about this, exactly?"

"We can't run, Arthur. We're stuck here."

"Do you think this is high enough above sea level?"

"Arthur, what even is the sea level anymore? It's always changing. The coast used to be ten miles away!" America shouted.

Gilbert ran back into the room. "I found water on the floor of the basement."

Rain pounded against the house even harder, sending shudders through the walls. The candles flickered. Thunder boomed right overhead, and the lightning lit up the house like the brightest day, but none of them had time to think about when their days had been that bright.

"We have to go upstairs," America warned. "There are rafts in my closet we can set up."

"Okay. Can you make it up there?" Gilbert looked back and forth between the two of them. America was the first to nod. "We have to: otherwise, we will die. Help Arthur."

Arthur shook his head. "No, I can manage on my own, thanks."

Gilbert opened his mouth to say something, but it was drowned out by another loud crack of thunder. Another wave of rain sliced at the windows. Wind pounded at the door, demanding to be let in, and it wouldn't be long before it knocked down the door. America and Arthur hoisted themselves up. Pain shot through Arthur, and he growled. "Blasted hip." But he moved forward one jerky step at a time. America did the same; he pulled himself up slowly and dragged each leg forward. Gilbert stayed between the two of them the whole way up, pulling them up each step when one of them tripped or stopped, short of breath.

"Come on! Stop being so unawesome and get up these stairs! You do it every day! I was dying and I walked up more steps than these!" Gilbert shouted at them. "Think of what your people have gone through! Think of the steps they have climbed! You can do it! You can make it here for your people!"

Arthur grabbed ahold of Gilbert's arm and let him drag the man over the top step, but when he looked back, America had stopped a few steps down.

"America, for God's sake, what are you doing?" Arthur shouted.

"It's my capital… It- It's under water. It's gone…" America choked. His knees buckled, and his body hit the staircase with a thud. At that same moment, a larger bang drowned out that of his body, and water rushed into the house. It sloshed against the bottom step, only a few inches high, but quickly filling the house.

"America, you bloody dolt, don't just sit there! Get up! You can do it! We did!" Arthur screamed. Gilbert ran down the few steps and grasped America's arms.

"Scheißkopf! You can't give up! Look at us! You're so young still! You can make it if we can! I'll carry you up these steps if I have to!" Gilbert screamed. He dragged the American up one step at a time. Arthur watched with horror from the top step as Gilbert raced the rising waters. Debris filled the bottom floor, and the murky water had risen another step, about to consume the third one.

Gilbert hauled America's body over the top step, breathless, and said to Arthur: "Watch him. I'm grabbing the rafts." And with that, Gilbert had disappeared around the corner.

"America?" Arthur asked.

No response.

"America!" Arthur reached out a hand and shook the American. His head lolled to the side, but a small breath escaped his lips. And another one slipped back in. Arthur sighed in relief; America was still alive, even if just.

Gilbert came back around the corner. "I have the rafts. I dragged them to the end of the hall by that huge window. When the water is high enough, we can open the window and slip out. I have some clothes for us to change into: the acidity levels of the rain is rising, so we don't want to risk getting burned." He tossed the Brit an odd looking suit and pulled down his own pants to slip on the oddly shiny suit. "There are only two, but there's a blanket. I'll cover America up with it and take him on my raft. Can you stand?"

A stabbing pain ripped through Arthur as if to answer, but he gritted his teeth and said, "I'll do what I have to in order to get through this."

Gilbert nodded. "Then I wish you luck. Be awesome out there." He flashed one last smirk and slung the American over his shoulder. Arthur struggled to his knees and crawled after the Prussian to the window. The storm was even louder here, and the only reason the window hadn't broken was because the wind was blowing in the other direction. Gilbert was lying American down in one raft, so Arthur crawled into the other. Inside, a life jacket and gas mask had been set against the side. He yanked them on and watched at Gilbert did the same for America. He gave the injured man his supplies and instead slipped a read bandana around his mouth.

"You ready, Arthur?" Gilbert asked. The water was rising higher, and they could hear it sloshing around just a few feet below.

"I'm ready," Arthur nodded, and positioned himself in the middle of the raft.

"Then all we're waiting for is the water," Gilbert said. The two former nations looked at each other.

"Should I have come here?" Arthur finally asked.

Gilbert shrugged. "You couldn't have stayed."

"But what about the people back there?"

"They're all dead, Arthur. We're the last ones left."

"But I can feel it. Some of them are alive. Like Francis."

"Arthur, I have to tell you something. When a nation says he or she is going into hiding, that means he or she is dying. Nations don't survive those kinds of things. It's like a cat: cats hide when they go to die. They don't want anyone to see them go. Nations are like that. It's painful to die. Its painful to lose your nationhood, but this is something else. I saw Mexico go, and Canada too. Alfred still believes Matthew is still alive, so I didn't want to tell him. He needed to live, so I couldn't tell him," Gilbert stared at the ground. "I didn't want him to go through losing a brother like I did. Knowing West was gone- that was hard. Mein Bruder, gone. He was younger than me, and I had lost my nationhood well before he did, but still, I lived longer than he did."

"But there's still a chance, isn't there?" Arthur snapped.

Gilbert huffed, "As much of a chance as there is of America living."

The wind howled again, and the waters splashed onto the top floor, spilling across the ground and toward the three men.

Three ex-nations.

Two rafts.

One window.

"Are you ready?" Gilbert asked.

"As ready as America is alive," Arthur replied. He turned and looked at the unconscious man. "You're the best brother anyone could have, I love you, Alfred."

And with that, the window flew open with a bang, and all hell was set loose.

Arthur couldn't really grasp what was happening, but one minute he was sitting upstairs in America's house, and the next he was gripping onto the raft for dear life as it flung him about in the gale. Several meters away, he could just make out the forms of Gilbert and America. A scream pierced the storm, and Arthur saw Gilbert bring his gloved hands over his bare head.

The rafts were spinning in separate directions now, and Arthur could not see the other men anymore. He squeezed his eyes shut and waited for this to be all over, for him to die and not be a part of this anymore. The world was falling apart, so why should he be here anymore. Obviously, his time was up, and it had lasted too long. He did not deserve this life. He had killed too many men, led them to their deaths. He had too much time to mess up relationships, and no one liked him anymore. He was the black sheep, the jerk, the…the… Well, he messed everything up, and it was his time to leave.

Arthur could almost feel the nothingness creep over him when a loud gasp hit him, and he opened his eyes. Gilbert was clambering over his side of the raft and pulling his dripping wet body onto the surface. His face burned bright red, even in the dark, and his clothes were sagging from the water.

"The raft…It tipped over… I lost America… I'm sorry…" Gilbert hissed.

Arthur could only stare at him. It was minutes before he could even let his mouth drop open, but even then, no words came out. just silence.

"I'm so sorry," Gilbert coughed.

Then the wave came.

Neither of them saw it, but it launched itself over the raft and engulfed it in the dark, toxic water, and the raft never resurfaced.