Out of the frying pan and into the fire.

Warning: Sadness, angst, threats some RusAme fluff.

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

A Can of Worms

When Alfred woke the next morning, opening his eyes and squinting at the sunlight that was streaming through the tent material, he felt shaken but renewed.

He didn't want to get up. Not yet. That nightmare he'd had about Marge getting shot and dying was still fresh in his mind. And him beating that man to a pulp… Alfred rolled over, and looked across the tent.

Then it all came flooding back to him.

His gloves… they were there and they were bloody. His skin felt dry and itchy with blood and tears. But he was too scared to go any farther in his assumptions, fearing that what he believed to be his nightmare was reality. Instead, he turned back over and shook Ivan's shoulder.

The Russian grumbled a bit in annoyance, shirking away from him before finally cracking his eyes open. Ivan exhaled and asked groggily, "What is it, Alfred?"

Alfred could feel his chest grow heavy with his suspicion and dread. He blinked at Ivan for a few moments before muttering, almost too afraid to say it, lest it be proved true, "Is she gone?"

Ivan's eyes opened wider and a sad look settled on his features. When he placed a hand on Alfred's arm, rubbing it gently, the American knew what was coming and tears stung his eyes. "Da, Alfred. I am sorry."

Alfred bit his lip and looked away, trying to hold in sobs as tears rolled down his face. His fingers clenched the sleeping bag and tore through the material, struggling to cope with his grief.

Ivan felt so awkward lying beside Alfred—in the same sleeping bag, no less—and watching him break down. In previous years, Alfred would have never even given him the chance to see him like this. But in another sense, Ivan felt that this was strangely intimate, that Alfred trusted him enough to cry in front of him and for Ivan not to ridicule him because of it. Ivan's chest swelled from that, but he also felt empathetic and saddened by the display.

Ivan wrapped an arm around Alfred and drew him in close to his chest. To his surprise, Alfred buried his face in his chest, whimpering and clawing into the skin. Ivan did not mind the pain. "Alfred, everything will be okay. Do not cry."

"D-don't tell me what to d-do, bastard."

Ivan was certainly caught off guard by the statement, but he continued holding Alfred nonetheless. "I know that you are hurting, and I know that you feel upset, but you do not need to be violent. She is in a better place now, da? You should be happy for her."

Alfred glared at him and pushed away. "Happy that she's dead?" His voice escalated with his anger. "Happy that she never got to live her life out?"

Ivan sighed. "Alfred, she would have never survived for much longer with that wound. It was best for her to pass."

Alfred shook his head, trying to appear stoic with tears still running down his cheeks. "But I let her go to that town when I knew I shouldn't have. Dammit…"

"We have already been through this, Alfred. None of this is your fault. Fate has its way indefinitely. She died because it was her time, not because of you." Honestly, it was like consoling a child.

Alfred shook his head, not wanting to believe that she was gone, but knowing it was true. He wriggled out of the sleeping bag and sat up, pulling his knees to him and trying to calm himself. Eventually, he took a deep breath and shakily withdrew it.

"I only wish I could have had her for a little while longer."

Ivan sighed and moved to sit behind Alfred, wrapping his arms around the smaller man and saying, "I know, Alfred."

Ivan didn't quite know why he was acting this way toward Alfred. Perhaps it was because of the times they were in that made him feel as if his time to be with Alfred this way—which he had been wanting for a long while, he had to admit—was limited. Though he hated to think it, he knew that not all of them would survive this Uprising and that Alfred may very well be one of those who would perish during the conflict.

Alfred seemed to sense the oddness about their position and he moved out of Ivan's arms, standing and scooping his clothes off the floor. He looked down at the ground as he slipped on his shirt, his face red and blank.

Ivan watched him mill around with concern. The American was looking more solemn and moving with less enthusiasm than he expected. He settled then that he would watch Alfred closely from then on just in case one of his mood swings resulted in the harm of others or of himself. He knew from yesterday what Alfred could do when he was blinded by rage.

There was a scuffing of feet outside and Arthur's voice said, "Alfred? Are you up?"

"Yeah,"

Arthur paused, taking in the hollowness in Alfred's tone, but continuing nonetheless. "Alfred, I'm sorry, but we need to leave from here. Those rebels will be back at any time."

"How do you know?" Alfred's voice was cold.

"Because," Arthur said with exasperation, then sighed, "Look, just get dressed and come outside. I'll get everyone else up so I can tell them how I know."

Alfred huffed and unzipped the flap, ducking under it. Ivan threw on a shirt and followed him out into the clearing where the others were emerging from their respective tents.

Francis was already there, having been woken by Arthur since they shared the same tent. He looked nervous and weary, staring at the ground with a sort of detached interest. Ever the punctual nation, Ludwig emerged along with Gilbert, who had decided to stay in his brother's tent to allow the Italies to comfort one another. Matthew eventually came out, helping Sadiq hobble over to a nearby tree where he could sit with his back against the trunk. Matthew then sat down beside him, drawing his knees up—much in the same way Alfred had—and hiding his head in his arms. Yao and Kiku quickly followed, both men looking grimly straight-faced. The last to come out were the Italy brothers. Lovino led the way, coaxing his brother out by the hand and coming to stand in the ring of nations that surrounded Arthur. Feliciano's eyes were puffy and red from crying, perhaps crying himself to sleep, and a few more tears sprung to his eyes as he glanced at Marge's grave. Lovino tugged on his brother's hand to get him to look away, his own face pale and empty.

Arthur clapped his hands together when they were all gathered.

"The main mission this morning is to move camp. Now I know you all are shaken and would rather stay and rest up, but we must leave before the rebels show up. I know they will and that they are planning for an all-out attack that could kill us all. So unless you want to be a victim," Arthur's throat tightened and his eyes darted over to Marge's grave. "then you will do well to listen to me."

"And why should we?"

It was Lovino who asked, glaring directly at Arthur, still holding his brother's hand. "My fratello is ill and on top of that, he is also very overwhelmed by what has just happened. So tell me, why in the hell should we leave this place on your assumptions?"

"I was just getting to that." Arthur's voice was calm as he explained, "I expect all of you know that I use magic every now and then and it so happens that I brought my spell book with me. I decided last night to scry the rebels since I couldn't sleep—"

"What the hell is scrying?" Gilbert asked and Arthur was surprised when it wasn't Alfred who had asked. The American was currently staring off into the forest with his eyes unfocused, only half listening.

"Seeing current events through water. Now, I know you all are exhausted, and I am as well, but you must heed my warning: I overheard the rebels saying that tonight they will attack us while we sleep and take us captive as well as our supplies. They will interrogate us about our views of government and if we give the wrong answers, they will kill us. As for Alfred," Arthur eyed the American who had stiffened at his name, but otherwise remained how he had been since Arthur had started. "This 'Organization Coup' seems to have a bounty on his head. The rebels alluded to the fact that the reason they want him is to keep him from reforming the country 'the deceptive way.' The only way to do so, however, is to execute him." Arthur swallowed and then looked at Alfred.

"Alfred? Are you listening?"

"Yeah," Alfred said instantly, surprising the Brit. He turned to face him, something igniting behind his eyes. "You guys can go. I have business to take care of in town."

Arthur's heart began to race. "Alfred, no. You can't go around being reckless. Gordon will get his comeuppance in due time, but I won't let you run headlong into something that could kill you." That was it. Arthur was going to keep Alfred alive and safe, and if that meant resulting to violence then that's what he would do.

Ivan decided to forget others' opinions about his concern and said, "Da, Alfred. You cannot go back there. Is too dangerous. We are not as strong as we used to be… we are no longer nations, so we are susceptible to human physical violence."

Arthur blinked. "I had never thought of that. All the more reason for Alfred not to go."

But Alfred stood firm on his decision. "I don't care. Just because I'm not as strong as I used to be doesn't mean I can't handle myself. In fact, I'm glad I get to face the rebels with equal strength; when I win over them, it'll give me the satisfaction of knowing I beat their asses at their level."

Arthur began, "Alfred—" but he was cut off.

"Al, we can't afford to lose you." Matthew said, looking at his brother with a forlorn expression. "Your states can't lose you. I can't lose you. You know that. It's too much of a risk."

Alfred was quiet for a few moments and said, "I know, Mattie, but I need to do this." He took a deep breath and exhaled shakily. "The bastard needs to pay, and I'm not just gonna let him get away with what he's done or let him do it to anyone else. The world would be a hell of a lot better without people like him. It's just one rebel down on our way to restoring order."

"Alfred," Arthur said firmly. "If you still refuse to stay here, then I will have no choice but to keep you here against your will."

Alfred scowled. "Go ahead and try! I guarantee you that I'll follow up on my word one way or another. I promised my daughter I would!"

"Please, Al," Matthew insisted, but Alfred acted as if he hadn't heard him.

Arthur sighed and said, "Fine. Ludwig, Ivan, hold him for me."

"What?" Alfred spun around, now alert, as Ludwig grabbed one of his arms and Ivan the other. Alfred looked up at the Russian with hurt in his eyes and Ivan wanted to reassure him that this was the right thing and that their relationship was not a fluke, but Ivan knew it would only cause a scene.

Alfred fought and kicked and yelled, but when he couldn't get away, he ceased struggling and growled, "What do you plan to do with me, then?"

Arthur reemerged from his tent, a few coils of ropes in his arms. "I plan to bind you, Alfred."

"That sounds like something we should say."

All the nations stiffened as men leaped down from the trees armed with guns and handcuffs.

No translations

A Word From the Writer: I know what you're thinking: "Damn, they CANNOT stay out of trouble, can they?" Well, nope! Are you kidding? I'm not giving them a break just because someone died, big whoop. It only makes the plot better anyway, so here we go again!

See you next week (hopefully). I may post on Sunday or somewhere around there depending on when I get back. Please be sure to check out my juicy BDSM fic Enjoying the Fireworks. (I'll post as soon as I get the chance, hopefully on the 4th)