It was some time later while England was trying desperately to listen to the news and ignore the sounds coming from his downstairs that he finally noticed things were silent. He leaned forward in his seated position on the bed, trying very hard to hear something-anything as a sign it was all over. The news had been on loud but Arthur was lost in his own world all the while battles were breaking out across his former colony's homeland. There was a creak on the floorboards down the hall and Arthur stiffened as he realized America was coming upstairs. The younger nation passed the master bedroom without a word. England popped his head out the door after America passed, ready to speak, but the other man had already turned on the light to the guest bathroom at the opposite end of the hallway. The door closed and Arthur heard the loud rushing sound of the shower being turned on. He was unsure what to do at this point. Glancing at the news, he noticed there were headlines and live reports from the battle front that United States won against the Confederacy-or did it say they had only retreated? He could not be sure; everything was happening so fast. It said nothing of Russia so that crazed man must still be on the move to take control of America. Arthur would have to start talking to his boss about setting troops and warn France-

There was a sudden yelp and a crash that came from the bathroom. Arthur looked into the hall again but the door was still closed and he still heard the water running. Slowly, England made his way towards the door to check the other was not hurt. He raised his knuckles to gently knock but before he moved he heard soft weeping.

"America...?" He called softly. There was the sound of a little hiccup and a sniff then the other man's answer from inside the bathroom,

"D-don't come in. Everything is fine. I'm fine. Slipped on...some...tea bags..."

England rolled his eyes and took a deep breath. America did not want help. He never wanted help. He thought he could handle everything on his own and fix everyone and make things better all by himself. But he was wrong and by God, England wanted to prove he was not alone.

"America, I-" When England opened the door, what he saw tore his heart into shreds. There was the ever proud and always positive America sitting on the tiled floor, half naked with splattered blood on his smooth tanned skin. He was curled up in a ball, head buried in his arms which were wrapped around his knees. The shower curtain looked like it had been torn off the rack and was hanging haphazardly while water sprayed out and hit the boy, dampening him. America's body shivered slightly, giving away the soft sobs he was trying so hard to hide.

England had stopped in the doorway and for the first time he did not see America as the small, innocent colony he wanted so dearly to protect or the strong nation that fought for everything it believed but at this moment, he only saw a young boy on the cusp on manhood who was slowly falling apart. He saw a child that carried the weight of the world on his shoulders who had gone through hell and back after being subjected to so much pain and torment and who was still asked to continue pushing. He was not a country at this moment but just a young kid who should never ever have to experience so much agony.

"Alfred..." Arthur whispered. He turned the shower water off and grabbed a towel to wrap around the boy's shoulders then sat beside him. Arthur pulled Alfred close to him, cradling him in his arms and smoothed out his tousled, damp hair. Alfred let himself be dragged against Arthur's chest burying his face into the shirt and let out a heart wrenching cry.

"Hush, lad," Arthur soothed and laid his chin on the top of Alfred's hair. He had never heard Alfred cry so hard and with so much pain and wished with all his heart to never hear the sound again. Arthur swore he would rather die than ever listen to Alfred sobbing this way that simply crushed his heart.

It seemed like ages before Alfred's sobs died down into small sniffling and his shoulders shook slightly against Arthur's body. The warm mist that fogged the bathroom from the running shower had died down and the temperature of the small guest bathroom dropped. Arthur noticed the young man in his arms was starting to form goosebumps along the exposed skin. The poor boy must be freezing and exhausted from everything that had transpired in the last 48 hours. He sat up, noting the look of surprise from his companion's lifted eyebrows. It was terrible seeing those beautiful blue eyes staring at him so red and puffy and pitiful.

"Come," Arthur spoke gently with an outstretched hand letting Alfred use it to pull himself to his feet. He noted how America's knees wobbled upon standing just like a new born foal. Arthur led him to his own master bedroom which was much larger than the guest room Alfred was accustomed to. It had old paintings upon the wall that depicted gorgeous lush landscapes with cattle grazing; violent waves crashing against a large ship with lighting crackling the sky; ancient monarchs wearing regal robes of jewels and gold; men on horseback leaping through fields across vast meadows. There was even, America briefly noted, a very familiar painting of a man standing at the stern of a row boat wearing a blue coat that carried a large number of ordinary civilian men and a tall flag that was very clearly not a British one that stood prominent and proud.

Alfred felt his chest swell up and couldn't help but smile slightly upon seeing such an image he held so near and dear to his heart.

The rest of the room was a mixture of old and new styles; gold embellishments along the crown of the walls with a large canopy bed and a coat of arms hanging on the wall above the headboard. There was an old fireplace across from the bed but there was also a flat screen right above the mantle and old, plush furniture placed beside a large window that allowed one to see out towards the landscape. England certainly knew how to decorate.

As America was taking in the feeling of a warm soft carpet beneath his feet, Arthur gently guided him to sit at the edge of the bed. Alfred swiftly lifted his head to stare in silent horror at his former care-taker who merely shook his head.

"Don't be afraid," he soothed lovingly, "I won't hurt you. Wait here."

Alfred's body immediately stiffened as Arthur disappeared behind the double doors of the bathroom and listened curiously when he heard the bath water running. Arthur appeared after several minutes with a gentle smile and once again took America's hand in his and led him into the bathroom.

The bathroom was also extremely lovely that matched England's tastes in the bedroom. But America did not feel as if he could completely relax once he saw that the older man drew him a bubble bath.

"Oh…" He shook his head swiftly from side to side, fearful of what was to come.

As if hearing his thoughts, England took Alfred's bruised and bloodied hand and kissed it gently. "No, no. Trust me. I just want you to relax. Get in the water and I promise not to hurt you."

Reluctant and feeling very self conscious, Alfred began taking off the remainder of his garments and watched as Arthur kept his gaze politely averted which helped ease his mind. He stepped into the warm, steaming water and immediately felt his muscles loosen. Something smelled delicious which calmed his nerves as he closed his eyes and he felt perfectly at ease, almost forgetting Arthur who kneeled just beside the claw-foot tub, smiling lovingly. America was not one to take bubble baths or let himself be pampered in such a fashion as he usually preferred mind numbing cartoons or violent video games and stuffing his face with greasy and fried foods, but this felt so soothing. Almost like a warm hug from a long time friend.

There was suddenly the sound of splashing water and something soft touched his shoulder and Alfred instinctively flinched away from the action.

"I'm sorry," came Arthur's gentle accented voice that reminded him of simple times when the other country used to sing him lullabies to help him sleep.

"W-what are you doing?" Alfred questioned suspiciously, glancing down at the wash cloth Arthur held in his hand.

Arthur's smile faded and he licked his lips slowly before looking away at the smooth tiled floor. "I know…we don't share the same feelings for each other. I know I can not rush you into anything. God knows you are far too stubborn for me to rush you into anything. But…I want to help you, Alfred. I don't…" He took a deep breath and his eyebrows furrowed together in concentration. "I don't want to ever see you this hurt, again. I want to help you however I can."

Alfred sunk more into the bubbles so his chin was just beneath the water. "I don't need any help…"

There was a swift slap to the back of his head and Alfred let out an "ouch!" while rubbing the sore as Arthur snapped, "Of course you do, you bloody idiot. You need more help than you will ever admit."

Alfred opened his mouth to argue but Arthur spoke first, "But we are going to start by getting you cleaned up and giving you a good nights rest. Can the goddamn hero let me at least do that?"

Alfred mumbled something but nodded curtly and did not stop Arthur as he began soaking the wash cloth in warm water and caressing it against his bruised and scratched back.

A/N: Wow! Thanks to those who stopped by to read! I was not expecting that honestly; thanks! I'd like to continue this and I'm having lots of fun writing it so I'm glad people are reading it!

Also, if I didn't do a decent enough job describing the painting (or if you aren't familiar), its called Washington Crossing the Delaware by Emanual Leutze. Why does Arthur have it? To be morbidly nostalgic? Because he loves art? Or because in WW2 is was destroyed by British air force and feels a little bad about it? Find out next time~!