Things heat up.

Warning: Angst, tension, character deaths, death of certain famous figure, innuendo, and a dangerous situation.

Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN HETALIA. I have fun manipulating their characters, though

Scars

"Here we are!"

They all stopped in front of a small cabin.

"This is it?" Lovino asked incredulously, peeking around the side to see if there was another cabin attached to the one that stood before them.

Marge nodded. "I told you it wouldn't be much. But at least we'll be able to stay here for the night instead of sleeping outside. And it's a good thing too." She looked up to examine the slate-gray sky. "It looks like the sky's about to open up. C'mon." She pulled open the door and gestured for everyone to go inside before her.

"Ve~! It's so cute!"

"No, it's small, damn idiot."

Marge hurried in after them, water droplets littering her shoulders and brown hair from the sprinkling rain outside. "Whoo! Looks like it'll be a thunderstorm."

"Great we got here then, huh?" Alfred examined the room. "So… this is where you stayed with Danny and Dally?"

Marge nodded. "Yeah. But the rebels never found this cabin. We were already a mile or so away when they attacked. Right, Ruby Red?" The dog sat obediently at her side and barked in agreement.

"Where will you sleep, Marge?" Alfred asked. "I'll set up by you."

"Oh, over here by the window, I guess." Marge said, indicating the rest of the room with her hand. "Well, go on, find a spot!"

The cabin really was small, consisting only of a small family room/bedroom and a kitchen. Along with Spam, there was jerky, MRE's, various canned foods, water bottles, toilet paper, and a radio.

"Sweet!" Alfred said as he pulled the old radio out of a dusty and cobwebbed cabinet. "Finally, we have some way to communicate."

"Ve~what's this?" Feliciano had pulled out an MRE.

Marge quickly reached over and snatched the brown plastic bag up. "Trust me, you don't want to know."

"Is it food?" asked Lovino, who now had his full attention on them.

Alfred answered for her. "No. It's certainly edible… if you can get around the shitty taste and texture. Just eat the Spam, trust me, it's way better." He tossed the can to them and Feliciano reluctantly obeyed.

"I'll go hunting tomorrow morning when the rain has subsided." Marge said, glancing at Matthew. "Mattie, you wanna come with me?"

Matthew pondered for a moment. "Hmm, have you seen any herds of deer in this area?"

"Yep,"

"Are there… stags in the herds?"

"Definitely,"

"Well, count me in!" Matthew lay back on his sleeping bag, which was situated beside Alfred's. "Damn, I haven't shot a buck in a while. Even on my way to New York all I could find were rabbits and fish."

Marge frowned. "I thought Kumajirou would help you out with that. I'm not saying you're not an excellent hunter, you are, but that bear has a better nose than yours, don't you think?"

Matthew's face went from excited to saddened within seconds. "Yeah. He would have been dead useful now that I think about it."

"What happened to him, Mattie? I haven't seen him at all since you met me at that airport." Alfred asked, curious.

Matthew sat up and scratched the back of his head, looking at his lap where his polar bear should have been sitting. "Well… I lied to you. It wasn't just me who was heading for New York. Kumajirou was traveling with me, but we only just set out when we were attacked by some men camping out in the woods. Said they wanted our food. But I wasn't about to give them all I'd just packed. It was all I had, and I wasn't about to go into the city to get some more. Whatever was left, that is. So I shot past one of the man's ears too distract him and took off. I was hoping that at least one of them would be deaf so it would be harder to follow us. But they both charged after me anyway. Kumajirou was running along beside me and pretty soon they caught up with us. They were only a few yards away when they began firing. Of course, I couldn't. I was too scared to stop and turn around. I might get hit. Then I noticed Kumajirou wasn't running alongside me anymore. I stopped behind a tree and looked around and found out the men weren't chasing me anymore. They were standing beneath a tree and looking up. I looked up too and saw that Kuma had climbed up a tree. I yelled out for them to stop, but they shot him down out of the tree anyway. Then they turned on me. I had no choice but to run. So I ran and ran until I couldn't run anymore. I know they must have stopped chasing me hours before, but I wasn't about to stop and make sure." His throat became scratchy and he added, "They said they were going to eat him. Well… the damn bear didn't know who I was most of the time anyway, so I guess it shouldn't be too sad." He sniffed, but didn't cry. He wasn't going to.

Alfred bent down and put a hand on Matthew's shoulder. "I'm sorry, Mattie."

"Thanks, Al. But there's no need to be sorry. He would have eventually forgotten who I was and gotten lost anyway."

"What happened to Panda?" Gilbert asked Yao. "I always see you with that damn bear. Where is he?"

"Dead," said Yao, his voice indifferent, but his eyes hollow. "Shot. He was in my basket one moment, and next…" He shook his head. "Lots of blood." Then he looked up at Gilbert. "And where is Gilbird, Prussia?"

Gilbert shook his head. "I sent him to deliver a message to Roddy. He didn't return. I found out a couple of days later that Roderich and Eliza had been murdered and that they killed Gilbird to prevent him from delivering anymore messages."

Francis sighed. "That sounds like what happened to Pierre. Change the fact that I was trying to get in touch with Monaco and Luxembourg. Whoever killed them sent a bird back to me that told me they had shot Pierre. Thank Dieu they did, though. Or else I wouldn't have been alerted to the fact that they knew my location. I wasn't as careful with my letter as I should have been."

There was silence for a moment, then Arthur cleared his throat. "Er, why don't we have a listen at that radio?"

"Oh," Marge ran toward it, jumping over sleeping bags as she did so. "Here it is." She held it up to the fading light of the window, twiddling the knobs, only hearing static at first. Kiku, meanwhile, disappeared to the kitchen and brought out some canned food they could eat. They passed them around and were grateful that they could be easily accessed by pulled a tab. It wasn't much, but it was something. They all quieted when they heard a voice cut through the static.

"… have reported that D.C. has fallen. The governor has been found dead in his office, his death ruled by examiners as a suicide. The president is at the moment nowhere that we know of. But if we hear word of his current condition, we will tell you—"

"He's in Guam." Alfred muttered, as if reassuring himself that he was still alive.

"—immediately. Meanwhile, rebels have been wreaking havoc in the capital today. The sight of famous monuments toppling due to the constant hacking and vandalizing of the Resistance has been the view of those who have chosen to remain in the area. The said monuments destroyed are as follows: the Washington Monument, the Jefferson Memorial, the Lincoln Memorial, the World War II Memorial, the Capitol, the Supreme Court—"

Alfred winced as if hit. "Couldja please turn it to a different station? I don't want to hear anymore."

"Shh! Dad, we need to know what's left." Marge hissed, though it was evident that she was feeling the same way.

"—and various other memorials and monuments. The Smithsonian Museums have been ransacked and destroyed. The zoo, having been abandoned by employees, is dangerous to any citizen close to it. The animals, it has been reported, have escaped and are lingering around their enclosures but are getting reckless and desperate for food and it is predicted that they will soon take to the D.C. streets. Anyone close to the vicinity is advised to vacate their current residence and make for safer ground. The White House—"—Alfred gasped at this—"is under the protection of citizens still loyal to the old regime, but their numbers are dwindling. We assure all those wanting to help guard the house that the president has indeed vacated and we plead for all those still in the vicinity to leave immediately. The capital has been deemed dangerous and rebels have flocked from all over the country here to overthrow the government and kill all those who support it. Again, we advise all those still within the capital to leave and find a safe place to hide until this issue can be resolved."

Alfred laughed spitefully. "Like hell it will. Montie, turn the station, will ya? This is depressing."

Without saying a word, Marge twiddled the knobs again, her fingers shaking. Tears left wet trails on her cheeks.

There was static, wisps of voices, then: "… from all of us at the BBC, our hearts go out to those who still cling to the old government. Bless you."

Marge was about to turn the knob again, but Arthur lunged forward, snatching the radio from her. "No! Listen…"

Music sounded and a voice said, "Now for an update of the Uprising." The anchor's voice continued, "As you all well know by now, governments of the world are suffering violent revolts. We have therefore sent our remaining reporters to those major areas that are suffering most. We would like to once again to inform all who are tuning in that Downing Street is awash with rebels, but that the Prime Minister has been confirmed as safe in a secret location." Arthur breathed a sigh of relief. "Now, to Perkins reporting from London with breaking news. Perkins, can you hear me?"

There was static and then a meeker voice replied, "Yes, Michael, I can hear you loud and clear."

"Good. Tell us then what is happening in London at the moment."

"Well, from a hidden location I can see Buckingham Palace."

Arthur's breath hitched, and his grip tightened on the radio.

"The rebels have invaded the gardens and surrounded the Palace. The Royal Guards are down, I can't seem to see any that are still standing. Currently the rebels are attempting to break down the front doors."

The anchor was silent for a moment, then said, "Terrible! Perkins, you've been there for a few days now. What else have you seen? Was there any sight of the royal family?"

Arthur held his breath.

The reporter was silent for a long while before he choked out, obviously crying, "Y-yes, M-Michael. Yes, um… oh, goddamn them… ex-excuse me, Mike, I just can't seem…" There was a quivering sigh and a sniff.

Michael said almost hesitantly, "Yes, Perkins?"

There was another sniff before Perkins finally composed himself and said, "Yes, yes there has been activity. Yesterday the prince tried to send away the rebels from a balcony, but he was sh-shot down and… and h-h-hacked to p-p-pieces! I saw it all, the screaming, and the blood and everything. Damn th-them!"

Arthur threw the radio halfway across the room in horror, as if trying to destroy it would make untrue the fact that one of his royal family was dead. He had known the prince since he was a baby, and to think that just a few months ago, they had enjoyed the birth of the prince's son. Now that son would never know his father…"Oh my God, no…" he breathed and anxiously unbuttoned his blood-stained shirt, not minding that, at the moment, everyone was staring at him. He pulled down the collar of his grubby undershirt and stared down at a place on his chest—a place where a long, deep gash was now raked just below his heart, the one he had disregarded earlier. He stared at it, refusing to believe it, refusing the confirmation. "No… no, no, no! No, I just thought… when it happened… it was just… that I'd just…" He gave a heaving sob as he realized the finality of what had just been said. "Oh, God! No! No, it-it can't be… that goddamned idiot!" Arthur turned from mourning to violent as he picked up anything within reach and began throwing it across the room. Everyone had to duck to avoid the flying objects: a canteen, a spoon, a sweater, the dream catcher. "What did he think he was g-going to accomplish? Fucking idiot! Why? Why did you do it? Why did you leave them? No! No!" His eyes burned and he was angry. Not only was he angry with the prince for throwing away his life so stupidly, but at himself, for letting himself lose control.

Then, seemingly out of nowhere, Francis lunged forward and wrapped his arms around the back of the anguished Briton, pulling him tightly to him and holding his arms so that he could not throw anything or thrash. Immediately, Arthur let out an angry sob and tried to wrench himself free, kicked and wriggled until they lay on their sides. "G-get off of me, FUCKING FROG!"

"Shh, be still, cher." Francis crooned, holding Arthur's arms more securely. "Be still, be still…"

Eventually, Arthur stopped thrashing, reduced to soft whimpers. He turned his face, hiding it in his sleeping bag. Francis, meanwhile, kept his arms wrapped around Arthur, murmuring comforting words into his ear. But the Brit only shook his head, letting a choked sob slip here and there.

Alfred wanted to say something, but the words were caught in his throat. He cast a worried glance toward Matthew to see that the Canadian was shaking his head, a tear rolling down his cheek. Alfred was about to ask what he was so worked up about, when he remembered that Matthew was very close to the family as well and quickly shut his mouth.

After a while, when Arthur's sobs had subsided and he just lay there and sniffing stuffily, surprisingly tolerant of Francis still holding him from behind, Kiku stood, crossed the room to where the radio had been thrown against the wall and said quietly, "I do not think we should listen to the radio anymore." And he walked over to the kitchen, turning the radio off and placing it in the dusty cabinet. He then calmly returned to his sleeping bag, gracefully stepping over those whose sleeping bags lay in between him and his destination, laying down and turning his back to them, muttering a soft, "Goodnight."

After that single utterance from Kiku, the rest decided that it was best to slip off to sleep. The rain pounded on the roof and window outside, creating a seductive lullaby that eventually soothed most of them into slumber. Arthur, too exhausted to fight, fell asleep in Francis's arms. Feliciano had taken some convincing, as he too had started crying, but Ludwig ordered him to sleep (much to Lovino's displeasure) and he did. The rest had dropped off shortly after that. The only ones who remained awake were Alfred, Kiku (he feigned sleeping until he could hear that all the rest of his group had fallen asleep), and Ivan.

All of them had important things on their minds. Alfred's was of what he heard today on the radio, not only of Arthur's country, but of his own. Would he ever be able to restore order? How could he when his capital was nearly destroyed? How long would it be until his leader would be found dead somewhere, possibly also hacked to pieces, virtually unrecognizable?

Kiku's extended toward security. From what he heard today, it would be hard for any large group of people to get around unnoticed. He was trying to figure out ways to continue to conceal themselves without having to resort to living in the forest.

Ivan's mind stretched back to Russia, where his sisters lay dead in unmarked graves. When would he get back home? When would the world finally burn itself out and take it with him into the void from which new life sprang? He wanted it to be over, but he also wanted, now, for those who still clung to the old ways (as he had heard on the radio) to live, because he would do anything to help them. Sure, the old regime may be toppled, but that didn't mean he didn't care about the fate of his people. He had been wrong to think that he didn't matter anymore. It was hard to admit. But he needed to have faith in those still fighting—fighting for him. How could he have been so selfish? Hmpf, not as selfish as Amerika, at least. he mused as he drifted off to sleep, his arms folded, laying on his side, his ears still alert.

It seemed like he had been asleep for five minutes, before Ivan smelled something that made him sit bolt upright. He sniffed again, unsure of what he had smelled. Then his eyes rolled to the flash of orange light and heat coming from the kitchen.

"Пожар…" he muttered in disbelief. Then the realization hit him like a ton of bricks in the face. He stood, raising his voice. "Пожар! Fire! Fire!"

Kiku was already on his feet and rousing those next to him. "China-sama! Ludwig-san! Feliciano-chan!"

Arthur sat up when Ivan shook him. He peered groggily up at him, then his eyes widened at the sight of the bright red flames licking the walls just outside the kitchen. "Oh, shit!" He quickly got to his feet and looked around. Francis had crawled back over to his own sleeping bag and was just starting to wake up. "Get your arse moving, frogface, or it'll get burned!"

Francis got to his feet, casting a glance at the fire. "Merde, il ne peut pas être…"

Sadiq began to roll up his sleeping bag. "Don't just stare! Move!"

"Al?" Matthew was shaking his brother, but Alfred only shook off his hand and continued dozing on, not hearing or smelling a thing. The smoke was starting to get to him and panic seized him. "Dammit, Alfred, wake up! Wake up!"

Alfred finally rolled over. "Hmm, what? What's the big—?" He stared at the fire now moving to the ceiling. "Holy crap! When did that happen?"

"When you were so kindly ignoring my shouts." Ivan replied, hefting his backpack over his shoulder. He went to speak again, but his eyes suddenly burned and he coughed and couldn't catch his breath. Alfred and Matthew watched, horrified, as the Russian collapsed to the floor.

"Ru—Ivan, what the hell are you doing? We need to get the fuck out of here, man!" Alfred said, crawling over and shaking him.

Ivan caught him by the wrist and looked up at him. "I'm not finished yet, Alfred." Then he turned and shouted, "Everyone, get down on the floor! Do not breathe in the smoke!"

"Ve? Lu-Ludwig, I'm scared!"

"Hush, Feli, and get down!"

"Don't you tell my brother what to do, potato bastard!" There was a rough smack.

"You fucking dumbass!" came Gilbert's voice. "Why do you always have to start fights in the worst of situations. Come here, I'll help you."

But Lovino seemed frozen to the spot, watching the flames stretch out above them. "D-dammit… fuck…"

Gilbert huffed and pulled the Italian over to him. "Why do I always have to save your scrawny ass?"

Alfred suddenly sat up, frantically looking around. "Marge! Marge! Oh, my God! Baby, where are you? Answer me!" He felt around him, but her sleeping bag was no longer there.

Then Yao coughed and pointed, "L-look dumbass…"

The state had opened the door and was standing, a cloth over her face, eyes wet and burning as she beckoned them out. "Come on! Everybody out! It must have been the lightning from the storm! Move it!"

The first ones out were Feliciano and Ludwig as they made a run through the smoke, breaths held. Next came Lovino and Gilbert, the Prussian tugging Lovino along. Then it was Kiku, closely followed by Yao. Sadiq had a smug smile on his face as he exited after them (yes, he had defeated Yao at the bravery game!). Francis was pulling Arthur out with him, both casting anxious glances toward Matthew and Alfred, who still lay on the floor. Ruby Red rushed out behind them, tail between her legs and whining.

Alfred turned to Matthew as the fire began to burn across half of the room. "Mattie, go! Please go, I'll be right behind you!"

But Matthew remained rooted to the spot. "No, Al. I don't believe you. I know what you're going to do. I won't let you!" And he grabbed the front of his brother's clothes and began pulling him toward the door. Finally, they both reached the door, but Alfred pushed Matthew out before he could grab him again. "Al!" Matthew turned around, intending to plunge back into the cabin, but Marge grabbed him around the waist and pulled him toward the forest.

"No, Uncle Mattie, he'll be fine."

"No, he won't! He's such a dumbass! What is he doing? He'll be killed!"

"I trust him, Mattie." Marge said, looking at him. "Don't you?"

Matthew didn't answer as he stopped struggling to retreat and watch the cabin burn.

Inside the cabin, Alfred was now dashing toward the flames in the kitchen. The room was an inferno, and sweat rolled down his face as he opened each scalding cabinet with his gloved hands, searching for what he knew they needed. Even though the scalding wood and knobs were burning right through the leather, he continued looking until he found it.

He grabbed the object and stuffed it into his coat pocket moments before something grabbed him from behind. Alfred gave a startled yelp as he was dragged out of the kitchen and back into the living room, watching the roof of the kitchen cave in where he stood. But he couldn't thank his rescuer, he had no time to (plus, he was the hero, he didn't need rescuing), as the person dragging him by the underarms kicked open the front door and pulled him through it. Not until he was halfway to the safety of the trees, did Alfred catch a glimpse of who was holding him.

Violet eyes angrily bore into his. "не Вы есть мозг в голове, da? When there is a fire, you run, глупый свиньи!" And he dropped him harshly on the ground at Matthew's feet.

Alfred peered up. "Hey, Mattie."

Matthew appeared stony-faced. He reached down to help Alfred up, but instead of embracing him like Alfred thought he would, he slapped him. Alfred held his pulsing cheek. "Hey, bro, what's up? Chill out!"

"Chill out?!" Matthew growled, landing him another slap to the face. "You think I'll just 'chill out' after that stupid little stunt you just pulled?"

"Well… yeah." Alfred said with a lopsided smile.

Matthew slapped him again. "Dammit, Al, what is wrong with you? Were you dropped on your head or something when you were young? Because your instincts are fucked up!"

"He was not!" Arthur called from across the clearing. Then added, "But he did hurt himself a lot. Give him one from me, lad!"

"Gladly," Matthew slapped him again and Alfred had the sense to back away this time. "If Ivan hadn't decided to save your sorry, stupid ass, I doubt you'd still be here! Did you even think about your states? What they would go through if you died?"

Alfred at last appeared guilty and looked away. "No… dammit, I'm such a screw up."

"Sometimes, Al," Matthew said and Alfred winced, expecting a slap that never came. "But I know you always do something recklessly dangerous for a good reason. So, what did you get?"

Alfred smiled slightly and rummaged in his pocket, pulling out the object he had gone back for. "I got the radio, Mattie. We have to know what's going on in the world somehow."

"We'd better move on," Ivan said, studying the now flame-enveloped house. "That fire will surely spread."

"Right," Marge said, leading them into the forest. "Follow me. That fire will stretch miles before long."

Everyone followed her, running for a mile or two, before finally feeling it was safe enough to walk.

"Yep, I was right." Marge said, stopping to survey the sky against which a plume of smoke rose. "It's gotten closer. We shouldn't linger long here. I know a place that—" Her focus became directed to Alfred who was slumping against a tree and coughing. "Dad? You've been coughing ever since we left the cabin. Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yep," Alfred replied between coughs. "If—cough—Ivan can—cough—live, I—cough—will."

"I appreciate the reverence, Alfred." Ivan said. "But I have only just stopped coughing."

"What? I—cough—haven't heard—cough—you cough—cough—at all!"

"That's because I was trying not to disturb my other group members."

Arthur walked over to Alfred, arms folded. "Ivan, no offense, but you should tell someone when you're sick or hurting so we know that we need to treat you. Look at me, Alfred. Now open your mouth." Alfred did as he was told and Arthur sighed. "Your throat has turned a bit gray from the smoke. I suspect your lungs are in the same condition." He then flashed a glance at Matthew. "Matthew, have you anything to treat smoke inhalation?"

The Canadian swore. "No, Arthur. Only oxygen can help that."

"Damn, well, you'll just have to rest, then." He looked at Ivan. "And that means you too, Ivan. I don't suspect this is an extreme case, you'll live if anything. You just got lucky."

"He's too lucky." Ivan grumbled as he sat, back leaning against a tree and coughed aloud for the first time. "Perhaps I should have just let his ass burn in that cabin. Da, that would have taught him a lesson, would it not?"

Lovino suddenly groaned and slid down the trunk of the nearest tree, holding his injured shoulder. "Ah… I think that potato bastard tore something when he pulled me out of that cabin, dammit."

"Well sor-ree, princeling," Gilbert sneered. "I thought that a little pain in your arm was better than being burned alive. Excuse me and my awesome rescue skills."

"Oh, right," Ludwig said, walking over to him and kneeling down. "We still need to get that bullet out. Here, let me see—"

"No! Get your wurst hands off of me, bastard!"

"Lovino," Matthew sighed. "We need to get that bullet out of your shoulder. If it stays in there much longer, there might be a good chance that you could lose it."

"Lose it?" Lovino muttered fearfully. He didn't protest when Ludwig began poking around his shoulder and peeling off the bandage.

"Oh… Matthew, do you have a stitch kit and some tweezers? I think all that pulling my bruder did actually moved the bullet up through his shoulder a bit."

Gilbert laughed nearby. "Told you I was awesome, kesesese!"

Matthew handed him his needed supplies and leaned down to address Lovino. "Lovino, listen to me. This is going to hurt. And I'm sorry that it will, but you have to bear through it as quietly as possible. We don't know who might have seen that fire."

Lovino nodded, biting his lip. "Just… just get it over with, bastard. I'm tired of waiting."

"Okay, I'm starting now." Ludwig placed the tweezers at the wound in the Italian's shoulder. Lovino tensed in anticipation.

Lovino couldn't help it. He let out a yell, but then remembered he had to be quiet or worse things could happen and suppressed himself to pained whimpers. It felt like the bastard was attempting to sever his arm from the rest of his body by the shoulder. His eyes burned and tears streamed down his face. He ducked his head, wishing so much he could cry out, but then someone took his hand and squeezed. He looked up. "Fe-Feliciano?"

Feliciano nodded and squeezed his hand again. "I'm here for you, big brother. You can hold my hand as tight as you want. I won't mind."

Lovino did, and he hoped he was not crushing his brother's fingers, because that's what it felt like. He peered up for a moment, and saw Gilbert, a pitying look on his face as he watched his brother dig the bullet out of his flesh. This made Lovino angry and determined not to cry. He did not need that bastard's pity.

"It's out," Ludwig said. "Do you want to see?"

"No, dammit, I don't want to see the fucking thing." Lovino said through gritted teeth, still holding his brother's hand tightly. "Is it over? Can I go?"

"No," Ludwig said. "We still have to stitch up the wound or it might get infected. This will hurt too, Lovino. I'm sorry."

"Don't be, bastard, just do it."

The stitching seemed to take forever, the needle piercing his skin then the burning of the rough stitch going through seemed to reach his whole body and he started to tremble with the strain. He squeezed Feliciano's hand, and kept squeezing until Ludwig said, "Finished," and he got up, taking the kit along with him and leaving the two brothers together, Lovino still grasping Feliciano's hand in his.

Marge ran a hand through her shoulder-length brown hair and sighed. "All right. We'll have to camp here tonight. Someone's going to have to stay up to watch the sky to see if the smoke gets too close."

"What time is it?" Ludwig asked. "Has anyone got a watch?"

Arthur pulled up his sleeve and reported, "2:00 a.m. But, damn, it feels a lot later."

They all laid out their sleeping bags around the little clearing. All, that is, except Alfred, who kept constantly rummaging in his backpack in an anxious sort of way. Matthew sensed his unease and said, "Al? Is there something you forgot?"

Alfred swore and moved from his squatting position to sit cross-legged on the ground. "Damn right I did. I forgot my fucking sleeping bag!"

"Well, it's probably ashes right now, ami." Francis replied, smoothing out his sleeping bag in a jeering sort of way. "But you are most welcome to share with me, chéri." He winked.

Alfred grimaced. "Uh, thanks, but no. I'm not really privy to getting groped in the middle of night. Ya see, I'm more than a little tired."

"'Privy', wow, Alfred has learned a new word. I honestly never thought it possible since my departure." Arthur said as Alfred rolled his eyes. "And stop creeping, frog, or we'll make you sleep in those prickly bushes over there where the wolves can get you." Arthur nodded to a patch of thistles that lingered a few meters away from the camp. "Although I doubt they'd like you. With all the sexual diseases you may have…"

Francis immediately sprung up from his sleeping bag, a scowl on his face. "How dare you think that I am not careful! Despite what you all may think, I am not a common whore!"

Yao rolled his eyes. "No, you are everyone's whore."

Instead of growling at Yao like he should have, he looked creepily at him. "You're insulting me, amour? You should go through all that I might do to you if you dare speak my faults~"

Yao recoiled a bit.

As everyone settled down in their sleeping bags, Alfred cast desperate looks around. "Aw, c'mon! I'm sick,people! Have you no heart?" He made his infamous puppyface.

Arthur snorted as he stretched out in his sleeping bag, arms under his head. "We should probably let you sleep on the hard ground. That might bring down your ego a few notches."

Alfred frowned when he realized his pout wasn't working. "You're cruel, Artie."

"Not as cruel as you, no." Arthur said airily, studying his cuticles indifferently. "May I remind you that it was not I who ripped your heart out after you raised me. Quite the opposite."

There was a tense silence for a moment.

Alfred cast a pleading glance at his other, more merciful brother. "Mattie? I've slept with you a gazillion times before. Please?"

Matthew shook his head and Alfred's hopeful smile was instantly extinguished. "Sorry, Al. I've slept with you on many occasions, yes, but that doesn't mean I like to. As I so happen to know, you talk and thrash in your sleep. Going on that, no, I want my sleep, thanks."

"Dad?" Marge called from across the clearing. She'd felt guilty about pitching a tent that only she used, so she chose instead to lay out her sleeping bag beneath the trees. "You could share with me. I don't mind."

Alfred smiled, but shook his head. "No, baby, you sleep. You don't need me to keep you awake. I know how I am."

Arthur snorted. "Stupid git. Should have weeded that restlessness out of you when you used to climb into bed with me after having a nightmare."

Alfred turned to him, shouting, "No way, bro! I didn't have any nightmares!"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Whatever,"

Alfred then looked at the rest of them. "Please? I'll try not to disturb you."

At once, Lovino deadpanned, "No, bastard." And before Feliciano could open his mouth to respond, Lovino said, "And not Feli either. He's too ill, dammit, and so am I."

"Nein, Alfred." Ludwig replied. "I am sorry, but I must be ready to get up if I hear anything. And I cannot do that if you are also in my sleeping bag with me."

"Kesesese!" Gilbert chortled. "Hell no! There's only room for awesome me! Go fish! Kesesese!"

"No way," Sadiq shook his head, arms folded. "I don't swing that way, and I want to keep that as secure a fact as possible."

"No," Yao said. "Americans always living in luxury. Deserve to sleep on ground one night!"

"Mōshiwakearimasen, Alfred-san." Kiku dipped his head to avoid his friend's eyes. "But I go on what Ludwig-san said. I need to be ready…" His eyes darted to his sheathed katana that lay on the ground beside him.

"Ici, amour~!" Francis whistled and gave a slow, seductive wink. "My offer still stands if you will take it."

Alfred gave another grimace. "Uh, no. I thought I already made that clear."

"There is me, da."

Alfred turned, completely horrified to see Ivan raise his hand lazily and smirk. "I am willing to share. You are always saying how much I should be nice, da, Alfred?"

Alfred's eyes darted from Francis to Ivan and back again. So, what would it be? "Hmm, get groped and receive leers from Francis for the rest of this trip, or get strangled to death in the middle of the night? … I think I've made my choice." He got up, bringing his backpack with him and moving to sit by Ivan.

Francis pouted. "Are you sure, amour? You might actually like it~"

"Thanks, but no." Alfred refused to look at Ivan, who was now grinning creepily behind him. "But one thing, though. If you all wake up and find me dead, could you please at least bury me? And, you know, give some awesome speech about my heroicness and stuff…?"

Arthur scoffed and turned over in his sleeping bag. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. We'll be sure to do just that. Now go to sleep."

"Wait!" Marge said. "Who will take the first watch?"

"I will," Ivan volunteered.

Well, Alfred reasoned. At least he'll be out of the sleeping bag… But just then, Ivan dragged the sleeping bag to the edge of the clearing where the sky and smoke rising in the distance was clearly visible. "This should be good. I can see the sky from here." And he settled down in the sleeping bag. "You are getting in, Alfred, da." It wasn't a question.

Anxiety pricked at his fingers. "Ya know what? I-I could just keep watch…"

"Nyet," Ivan said airily, though there was an underlying dictating tone. "I will do that. You sleep." And he beckoned with his fingers.

Alfred swallowed dryly, slipped off his shoes and clambered in, wanting to remain fully clothed when sleeping beside the Russian. At first, he thought he wouldn't fit (Ivan already took up most of the bag), but he found a spot wedged closely to Ivan's back. He shivered when he felt Ivan's naked torso brush up against him, his freezing skin reaching through his clothes to his own flesh.

Ivan had obviously noticed, as he chuckled. "Goodnight, Alfred~"

Alfred didn't respond, but held his breath as Marge turned off the flashlight, hoping against hope that she wouldn't see him bloodied and unconscious the following morning. Karma, Alfred scoffed as he wriggled a bit to get comfortable. He took off his glasses and placed them by his backpack. This is what I get for pissing him off so much. Figures…

Translations:

Пожар-Fire

Merde, il ne peut pas être-Shit, this cannot be.

не Вы есть мозг в голове-You do not have a brain in your head.

глупый свиньи-Stupid pig

Mōshiwakearimasen-I am sorry

A Word From the Writer: Ohoho, yes, I didn't just make America lose his sleeping bag so he could be annoying. Oh no. All the tension has been leading up to this, folks. Lemon, next chapter.

Until then, you'll be thinking about it, won't you?