A/N: Oh. My. God. This thing... I have no words. Me and my friend started writing this on Halloween... And it just kept going. Finally finished editing it at 2:00AM, so yeah... if it's a bit choppy, it's because I was fed up with smoothing over two different writing styles DX. We had some fun coming up with a title though ("Casket Built for Two"? XD)
But seriously, Kai is awesome and made this story even more awesome by drawing some art for it. Links are on my profile :)

Disclaimer: I do not own Alfred, Arthur, or Hetalia: Axis Powers in general. Also, moderate(?) language warning.

I Need You More Than You Need You

They would have been just fine... moments ago they had been safe, or at least, they had fooled themselves into thinking they were safe. Alfred Jones and Arthur Kirkland had found a nice, warm barn to take shelter in for the night. However, that plan had quickly gone awry…

At one point, when the infection had first started, Alfred thought had thought that survival would be simple. He had played through enough video games to know every trick in the book. But time passed, and as the number of survivors went down, the numbers of undead grew. Now it was just a terrified Alfred, trying his very best to be brave, and, as far as Alfred could reason, an equally frightened Arthur, attempting to stay reasonable and cool headed.

There was only one chance of escape... up. All the exits were blocked by the hoards of the undead that surrounded them on all sides; the only place they had to go was to the loft above them. Alfred had allowed the older gentleman to start the climb first, covering him with the last round of bullets in the gun that had gotten them this far. He kept looking from Arthur to the zombies, back and forth, a knot tightening in his chest as he realized that they might not make it.

"Hurry up old man!" he barked angrily, aiming as carefully as he could to conserve as much ammo as possible. He had one foot and one hand on the bottom of the ladder, ready to bolt up once there was room to do so.

Arthur nearly balked at the insult thrown his way, but that would only waste time they didn't have... Instead he chose to focus his attention on the old, rotting ladder that he had been forced into climbing first. Sure, it only made sense that he would go up first, as he was lighter, but the fact still remained that Alfred probably would have been up to the top by now...

There were only a few rungs left, and Alfred had begun to climb after him, still firing off shots at any creature that got too close. There was no chance of any civilian casualties at this point - everyone and everything was already undead.

As his chest poked through the opening in the loft floor, Arthur was abruptly shoved forward, sprawling face first into the dust. Alfred scrambled up the last rungs moments later, almost slipping in his haste to get up. Together they pulled the ladder onto the loft, ensuring the creatures below would be unable to reach them.

" 'Hurry up, old man?' Yes, yes, throwing insults at me is guaranteed to improve the situation." he shot wryly at Alfred, the bite of his words a bit sharper than intended from exhaustion and fear. They'd been on the run from these monsters for over 30 hours now without respite...

Alfred was out of breath... he had never been this active for this long. It wasn't that he was out of shape: his stamina had just depleted to the point where he was running off sheer adrenalin. Once he gathered his composure he looked up at Arthur, his big, blue eyes narrowed in irritation. Still he chuckled, a cocky grin pasted on his face in spite of the situation they were in - and despite how utterly terrified the young man was actually feeling.

"Well, at least I know your hearing hasn't gone to shit like your strength." he prodded arrogantly, slumping backwards so that he could relax his body, if even a little.

Arthur chose to ignore the jibe, unsure of whether he had heard him properly or not. Now that the adrenaline from the chase was wearing off, it was hard to concentrate on anything further than breathing in and out. Still, even with how tired he was, sleep was beyond his grasp... Every time he closed his eyes, the faces of the people he'd known… the faces of the people he'd let die would flash in front of his eyes.

Knowing they were gone from their bodies had given him the ability to shoot them then, but they haunted even his waking moments now.

Alfred frowned. They had seen a lot of good people die... A lot of those people had been friends. Some of them had gone off on their own, but a few remained with the two until the very end... and Alfred had been forced to let them go. It was like a painful lesson that came with growing up... except this one involved zombies. Normally, Alfred would have laughed at the thought, but this time it only upset him further. He glanced over the edge of the loft at the creatures below them. So many faces... it pained Alfred to think that at one time they had been just as human as he or Arthur.

"Fuckers..." he hissed, pushing himself away from the edge, unable to look down at the hoard any more. It made him sick to his stomach... which was bad enough without him being starving on top of it. "So what do we do... just sit around and wait for them to give up?" he asked, staring at the other man, waiting for a brilliant plan that would undoubtedly get them to safety.

Alfred's voice somehow made its way through the haze of Arthur's thoughts. Annoyed, he glared up at Alfred, who was looking at him with eyes full of hope, and that bloody perma-grin plastered on his face. It occurred to Arthur that the younger man expected some glorious idea from him of all people. 'He must be desperate if he wants ME to be the hero instead...' Staring at the wall in front of them, these were only words he could find: "We wait... and we pray."

It took Alfred a few moments to wrap his head around what Arthur had said, but when he had he found himself standing over Arthur, his face desperate. "That's not an answer!" Alfred said, unable to hide the terror in his voice. "That's a cop out! You can't just..." His voice died off as he realized he didn't know what they were going to do either. And as much as he wanted to, it wasn't fair for him to lean on Arthur... especially not now.

He sighed, sitting back down on the rickety wood. "There has to be something..." Alfred grumbled, unable to accept defeat. He wrapped his arms around his knees and curled up into the fetal position like a small, angry child. His eyebrows furrowed and he looked as though he was lost in thought, which was a strange place for Alfred to be. He was still holding his gun in his right hand, rubbing the handle with his thumb as though the useless weapon could still save them.

"Fuck..." he muttered, bowing his head and closing his eyes. He was too tired to think, and too hungry to care. Arthur was right: they'd just have to wait it out.

The shock of being screamed at by Alfred shook the older man from his reverie, but it was too late. By the time Arthur realized what he had said, Alfred was already huddled against the wall cradling his spent gun like it was his last refuge. Arthur sighed, wishing he could find something to say, something that would ease his despair... He picked himself up off the floor and moved stiffly over to the window, where even more zombies could be seen outside, wandering aimlessly. 'There's just too many of them,' he thought hopelessly, leaning heavily against the wall to stay standing. 'But...'

"We'll... we'll make it through," he said quietly, not quite believing what he was saying. His knees threatened to buckle beneath him, and he half-slid down the wall, landing awkwardly with his knees up higher than his shoulders. Scoffing angrily at his weakness, Arthur crossed his legs out in front of him, too tired to do more than create a semi-decent sprawl. He let his head fall forward on his chest and closed his eyes.

Alfred sat there in silence, only half hearing Arthur's spiritless excuse for a hopeful statement. The older gentleman was nearly drowned out by the groaning sounds that confined them. Alfred tried to think loudly in an attempt to ignore the lifeless moaning, tried to think of songs that he hated or old movies that he had seen enough to memorize, reciting the lines to them over and over in his head, but nothing worked. It was like having a constant humming in his ears that would not go away.

Finally he looked up, resting his chin on his knees, his blue eyes watching the only companion he had left. "You okay?" he asked, his voice surprisingly concerned. To be completely honest, he had been worried about Arthur for some time. The man was not as strong as Alfred, and he didn't have the stamina or the strength... He was older than Alfred so he didn't have the fighting spirit that the younger man had yet to outgrow. He was cocky, Alfred would give him that. But there was a difference between spunk and drive – spunk ran thin very quickly.

Arthur jerked his head up, glaring blearily at Alfred. "Bloody toss-pot... Am I not allowed to sleep?" His tone softened when he realized that Alfred had been genuinely worried about him. "...I'm not dead, Alfred. I'm just... tired." 'Exhausted is more like it,' his mind supplied helpfully. He shut his eyes again in hopes of getting some sleep.

Alfred smiled and nodded, even though he knew that Arthur couldn't see him past his heavy, closed eyelids. He needed his sleep, and Alfred needed it too. His eyes were dry and sore, and it was all he could do to keep them open. He allowed himself to slump sideways, still hugging his knees. It wasn't comfortable, not one bit, but Alfred hadn't had a comfortable night's rest in a very long time so it didn't bother him anymore. Eventually, the low groaning lulled him into a restless, nervous night's rest.

Arthur couldn't recall actually falling asleep, but he knew he must have: one minute he had been surrounded by groans and darkness, and the next he was listening to groans with sunlight in his face. Maybe the groaning had lessened a little, but it was still annoying as hell and, tired as he was, he knew there was no chance he would fall back asleep.

Shifting into a more comfortable position was no easy task: his neck and back ached desperately from sleeping so awkwardly, and he didn't want to wake Alfred. Eventually he got himself situated lying on his stomach in the square of sunlight, his head resting on his arm as he looked over at Alfred.

The younger man seemed to have fallen asleep in the same fetal position he had been in while awake... except now he was lying precariously on his side. Arthur was surprised that Alfred hadn't woken up when he fell... He twitched every so often, making Arthur want to go and comfort him, or at least make him more comfortable. Of course, this action was blocked by both not wanting to wake him and not wanting to move his own aching body. He figured he was close enough to act if Alfred's twitches grew violent enough to injure himself.

He sighed, twisting his neck around in a futile effort to crack it. 'Why me? Why was I the one to survive with Alfred? Kiku would have been of more help to him. Even Ivan would have been a better alternative to me, provided that they managed not to kill each other...' He stared at the floorboards, willing himself not to think such grim, unhelpful thoughts. 'Maybe he wouldn't be in this death trap if things had turned out differently.'

Alfred moaned rather loudly in his sleep as a pain ran down his spine from his neck. He slowly released his grab grip on his knees and straightened out his body, his eyes fluttering open. For a moment, he thought he must have been dreaming, but then he realized that wasn't the first time he had thought this. He wasn't sure how many times this possibility crossed his mind, but it was verging on dozens. Dozens of mornings spent wishing it had all just been a terrible nightmare...

He was still drowsy, but he forced his body into a sitting up position, stretching as best as he could without straining his sore body. The groaning from all sides was still buzzing in his ears like an annoying bug, but he pretended not to notice, turning to look at Arthur. "You're awake..." he said, not sure why he had… it was quite obvious. That was probably the reason behind his statement though. He wanted clarity. Anything he could cling to that was normal provided some sense of safety in him. Arthur was awake, he was there. Alfred wasn't alone. That, on its own, gave him the drive to keep living.

Arthur smiled to himself at the sound of Alfred's voice. It was easier to keep those nagging thoughts at bay when he wasn't alone.

"Yes, yes, I'm awake," he grumbled mildly. "Tired as hell and my body's gone to shit, but hey, I'm awake."

He rolled onto his side before pushing himself up into a sitting position as he tried to work out the kinks in his back. After several minutes of his body groaning in protest with no result, he went back to lying on the floor, laughing ruefully to himself.

Alfred smiled weakly at his friend. His heart ached to see the man in so much pain. He was sure that he himself looked no better, but he couldn't watch himself struggle. He could, however, watch Arthur, though he wished he couldn't.

He didn't know what to do. He didn't want to just sit there and do nothing, but on the other hand, he didn't want to cause Arthur any further stress, which always seemed to happen whenever Alfred did anything around the gentleman.

"That's good," he muttered, as it was the only thing he could think of. He thought about adding 'I was worried' but was afraid Arthur might think he was looking down on him, so instead he added, "I'm glad..." before rolling to the edge of the loft again to look down at the mob that was keeping them trapped.

"Fuckers..." he spat as his heart sank. The night before Arthur had said all they could do was wait and pray, but Alfred's prayers had only been answered by an increase in the numbers of the undead. "There are more of them now..." he growled, biting his lip in frustration. "They just don't fucking know when to quit, do they?"

Arthur lowered his head to the floorboards at Alfred's observation. He had had time to look earlier, but truthfully, he hadn't wanted to know. It had been easier to hope that way. 'It's like they know... like they're waiting for us to join them.' He shuddered at the thought and turned his face away towards the wall.

"They're brainless zombies, Alfred..." he muttered, trying to make light of the situation, "how could they possibly know how to do anything?" He knew it was a bad joke, but if it distracted Alfred from their situation, it would be worth the ridicule he would endure; but for perhaps the first time in his life, Alfred failed to find the humor in the situation... in fact... Arthur's words hit him so hard in the pride that it stunned him temporarily. He made a face... almost a wince before staring holes in the old wooden floor.

"Yeah... I guess so..." he said softly, his face so hopeless and lost it was pathetic.

Alfred's failure to laugh at or mock him sent a chill down Arthur's spine, and he sat up abruptly to look at him. What he saw had him springing quickly to his feet. 'Shit - he looks fit to break any moment...'

He was still holding his gun, his finger continuing to cradle the handle as though it were a small animal or a child, but suddenly, just as Arthur predicted, his face changed, his eyebrows narrowing, and his usually soft eyes growing dark and angry. He stared at his useless weapon and cursed, standing up, and pitching it over the side of the loft with brutal strength.

Arthur stiffened in alarm as the gun was violently lobbed across the barn. It spun through the air, hitting a zombie between the eyes, blood splattering from its cold, mushy face. The creature tumbled backwards into a few other zombies... but all in all, did absolutely nothing to their numbers.

"GOD DAMN IT!" Alfred shouted, crumpling into a heap, slamming his fists on the wood, shaking the loft slightly. "FUCK! Why the fuck did this have to happen! What the fuck did we do!" He continued to swear, his eyes clouding over like an angry child before a quiet moan escaped his lips and his shoulders heaved painfully.

Arthur barely registered the sickening crunch of the weapon meeting its target as he walked with some trepidation towards the other. Kneeling on the floor next to Alfred, he tried to think of something he could do to calm him down.

"You- you didn't do anything wrong. It's not your fault... It's going to be okay..." He almost laughed at the absurdity of his last statement. "...hell, it's not okay. I dunno if it will ever be okay... But you and me, we're okay." He reached out apprehensively to grip his arm. 'And you've got to stay okay... Because I don't think I can be okay alone.'

Alfred's already sunken heart seemed to dip further into his stomach. He felt like vomiting, but there wasn't anything for him to vomit, so he just made a sickening sobbing sound before taking a deep breath. For a moment, he sat there, crumpled on the floor like a discarded toy, before he finally breathed out. The breath was followed by a string of smaller sobs that sounded more like winded gasps than anything.

He slowly raised one hand to his own arm, resting it on top of Arthur's. It took a moment before he could muster up the courage to look the other man in the eyes. He wanted to be sure his own eyes had not lost hope. He knew how horrible that would be for the other to see, so he forced a strong face and turned, a pathetic smile glowing dimly at Arthur.

"Haha... S-sorry... I just... I needed to get that out of my system..." he chuckled, patting Arthur's hand in a very "everything-will-be-fine" fashion. "Y-you're right... we're okay…"

Arthur flinched away from Alfred's gaze, for once not feeling comforted in the slightest by his smile. Everything about this once lively boy seemed to be fading away, leaving nothing but an empty shell. Even his body was slowly wasting away from stress and malnutrition. He was nearly the size Arthur himself had been before this whole ordeal began.

Arthur's head fell forward, his forehead coming to rest against Alfred's shoulder as he tried to block out the nightmare they found themselves in, but the still-shaking body beside him seemed to mock his efforts. He could feel Alfred's scapula pressing against his forehead, most of the muscle having wasted away. He sighed and squeezed his eyes shut, his thumb unconsciously rubbing Alfred's other shoulder as he wished desperately for the words to keep him from falling apart.

Alfred laughed feebly, taking the hand he had placed on Arthur's and moving it to the back of the man's head, tousling his hair gently.

"We're okay..." he repeated, his eyes dipping downwards, closing before they could get to the wooden planks. He didn't want to think about the creatures that were under them... not then. If there was going to be any convincing Arthur, he'd have to convince himself first.

He moved his shoulders, giving the other a gentle, playful toss. "Don't get all depressed now. We made it this far, right?" he said as brightly as he could manage.

'I'm not being depressed, I'm being realistic... unfortunately, reality is depressing,' Arthur thought, shaking his head against his shoulder, keeping his eyes shut. "I-idiot... isn't that what I was just saying to you?" He kept his face hidden, not really wanting Alfred to see it before he was able to put on an expression better than "crestfallen".

Alfred sniffed, rubbing his swollen eyes with the back of his hand. "I guess you did, huh?" he chuckled, sighing as looking around the loft for the first time.

It was old... then again, everything now looked old... It was amazing how rotten everything got without people there to inhabit it. The wood was cracking and splintering everywhere, causing gaps and holes in the walls. Through the gaps Alfred could see the world outside... The sky was clear and bright... and the area around them was free of the horrible creatures that had boxed them in. It was like they had all holed up in one spot right below them...

It was amazing how close freedom was... and how impossible it was for them to get there.

Arthur sighed in frustration and tried to stand up. His body didn't really cooperate, so he ended up pulling himself to his feet using Alfred's shoulder as support. The weakness he felt in his legs just vexed him further, and he angrily pushed off of his shoulder to pace about the loft.

As he walked, his gaze kept flickering back and forth between Alfred and the bits of the world he could see through the walls, trying to think of a way he could put the two together.

Alfred watched as the other paced, his face still warm and smiling... trying to make light of the situation as best as he could. He decided it would be best to stand as well. If he didn't exercise his legs now, he wouldn't be able to stand on them later.

He pulled a knee under him and used it to boost himself onto his feet... only to be greeted by a painful pulse that shook his whole body. His head suddenly seemed to weigh far too much for him to support. His knees turned to jelly and he toppled forward onto his face. His entire body felt cold... and he couldn't move... he could just lay there in a spinning room.

'Why do they call it light headed...?' was all he could think, unable to grasp any logical thought. 'My head feels heavier... not lighter...' Normally, he would laugh at the thought, right out loud for the world to hear, but all he could do was lay there, his blue eyes staring blankly at nothing as he tried to regain feeling in his limbs.

Arthur had nearly walked a full circle around the loft, sticking close to the walls in case his legs gave out, but even this small victory was enough to bring a smile to his face. He turned to face Alfred; the small joy he felt changing swiftly to dread as he saw the other man collapse.

"A-Alfred? Alfred?" He abandoned the wall in favor of the shortest route to his friend. In his haste he stumbled over the end of the ladder, nearly falling on top of him. "Christ! If that doesn't beat all... Alfred, what the hell..." Arthur shook his shoulder before turning him over, cradling his head in his lap.

Relief briefly flooded him as he saw Alfred's chest moving, but was quickly replaced by panic at his empty staring eyes. "Damn it, Alfred, you can't die on me now! Don't-" his voice cracked suddenly, and he swallowed dryly before continuing on in a ragged whisper, "don't you dare leave me! I won't let you..."

Alfred stared up... momentarily looking at the ceiling before his gaze focused Arthur. He let his eyelids close, but he smiled, laughing quietly. "Chill out..." he said, opening one eye. "I just... got dizzy, is all." He craned his back, trying to sit himself upright... but instantly flopped back down into the other's lap. He laughed again, covering his face with his hands. "Damn it..." he said softly, tucking his chin to his chest. "I'm not even hungry any more... I'm just... fucking exhausted..."

He continued to laugh in between words, his chest and shoulders heaving violently as his breath came in horrible, hiccupping gulps. Eventually it started to hurt him, his diaphragm sending waves of pain through his entire body, but he couldn't stop. It was a good minute or so before Alfred finally realized that he wasn't laughing at all. He was crying… crying without tears, but still crying.

He gripped the front of Arthur's shirt, leaning towards him, burying his face against Arthur's chest. "I... don't want... to die... Arthur... This... wasn't... this wasn't how it was supposed to go! I was supposed to be... the hero... We were... supposed to survive..." His sobbing grew more and more panicked with each second as horrible realization set it. "I don't... want us to die!" he shouted again... this time pleading. Pleading to Arthur. Pleading to God. Pleading to anyone that would listen to him. "I don't want us to die!"

Arthur pulled Alfred up so that he was sitting, leaning against Arthur's chest. He wrapped his arms around Alfred's chest, gripping his own arms tightly so that the other man wouldn't slip. Slowly he began to rock him back and forth, trying to bring him down from his hysterics.

"Sshhh... You're not... gonna die..." he whispered, trying to calm his own breathing down. "We're not dead... We- we survived..." His arms began to hurt from holding Alfred up, but he couldn't let go, not then... The rocking picked up pace again, and he rested his head on top of Alfred's. "You know..." he said softly, "you were always my hero... from the very beginning..."

Arthur would've liked to have held his hand reassuringly, but he couldn't seem to unlock his arms. He settled for rubbing his forehead against the top of Alfred's head, absently humming to himself as he closed his eyes.

Alfred moaned miserably, letting a good amount of his weight rest against Arthur, his arms placed over the other's so that his hands were seated on Arthur's shoulder's, squeezing them tightly... or what would have been tightly at one point or another... but Alfred's usual firm grip had left him somewhere.

Slowly, his violent episode came to a calm. His chest stopped heaving and he could breath normally again... or as normally as he could without his throat screaming in pain. For a while, he let Arthur hold him, resting against the man like he had when he was younger, the other's softness providing Alfred with the only comfort he had felt in a long while. He pressed his face against the man's chest, breathing deeply, hoping to calm himself.

"You smell bad..." he said, his voice muffled by Arthur's shirt. "And you're cold..."

Arthur hadn't really thought about it before he mentioned it, but he was feeling a bit chilled. Nodding his head absently, he shivered slightly before suppressing it. "No, 'm not cold... You're just..." he searched fervently for the right word, "warmer... than me." His head jerked up in remembrance. "And I do not bloody smell... git..." He let his head fall back against Alfred's.

His chest felt heavier, almost tight... But that was probably because the other was leaning on it. And he couldn't very well kick him off... He breathed less deeply in an effort to control the pain. Moaning quietly in the back of his throat, he tried to distract himself. "...besides, you don't... smell that great... either..." he panted.

Alfred chuckled in his chest, his laugh sounding more like a cough because of his raspy throat. "Yeah right..." he said, shifting his weight so that he sat taller than Arthur, leaning his head gently on the other's shoulder. "I smell like a fucking hero... you smell like an old man that hasn't showered in over a week."

He smiled, his eyes closing again, taking a moment to truly appreciated Arthur's company... He was glad to have him there in that moment. If he had been alone... no... it didn't matter if he was alone or not. Even if he had been in the company of someone else, it wouldn't have been as comfortable or as easy for him.

He was going to die. No matter what Arthur said or what Alfred tried to tell himself, it was unavoidable... He and Arthur were going to live out their last minutes in that loft... His stomach clenched at the thought and he felt as though someone was ripping his heart out of his body, but it was an idea he had to learn to accept. They had come a long way... working together, they had survived longer than anyone else in their traveling party, and Alfred was grateful to Arthur for that.

"Hey..." he said quietly. "Do you just want to... wait it out up here like this then..." His eyes opened, but his gaze dropped so that he was looking at the floor behind Arthur. "I mean... I like the idea of going out like a hero... bustin' up zombies with the last of my strength... but if you want to... have it like this... I'm cool with that too..."

Arthur's heart seemed to stop at Alfred's words, and he looked up at him in shock. "Wh-what? No... No! We're not going to die!" A sudden surge of adrenaline ran through him as he pushed Alfred away. He wrapped his arms around his knees, shaking.

"You can't just... Why?" he moaned, the pain in his chest making every heavy breath an agony. "Why? Why would we have... gone through all this? All this suffering... and we don't even get to live?" He pulled at his hair, trying not to cry. "If that's the case... why didn't I just shoot myself? Why go through it at all?"

Arthur felt his body shivering, probably from the lack of body heat. "You, you're the hero... I-I held myself together... for you..." He felt like he was crying, but no tears came. "And now, now you're... You can't give up! Please... don't give up... don't give up on me..." Exhaustion hit him like a wave, and he slumped over, hugging his knees to his chest. He knew he was shaking pitifully, but he couldn't bring himself to try and stop it. "...you were... I wanted you to live..."

Alfred looked at the other... Arthur had always been so big and strong... even when Alfred grew up and surpassed Arthur's height and strength, he had never been able to look down on the man. He was the adult, and Alfred was the child. That was the way it went... but now...

He took a big breath, preparing himself as he tucked his knees under him for a second time and pushed himself upward, slowly this time, to prevent himself from losing balance again. He stumbled slightly, but managed to sit up on his knees, slowly moving towards the other, his arms held out in front of him in order to maintain balance, and possibly to protect himself if Arthur took a swing at him.

He managed to move himself off to the side of the other, placing his arms around Arthur's neck, resting his forehead on the top of the other man's head. He ruffled his hair lightly, still smiling sadly.

"No, you're wrong," he said, his voice frighteningly serious, the corners of his lips tugging his smile downward. "I can't always be the hero... and you can't always be there for me." He felt a stabbing pain in his chest as he said these words, a lump forming in his throat. "And... I guess... life's not always like it is in comics and movies... sometimes... we just don't win."

It hurt... it hurt more than he could begin to describe. Everything he had lived for, every truth he held dear, and every fact that had motivated him through his lifetime... all of them were being shattered right before him, and the worst part was, it was all his own doing.

"But," Alfred said, trying to swallow the lump that was tugging at his voice, "that doesn't mean it was a waste. We gave it are all, right? We tried our best... but..." his voice faded. He couldn't talk any more. The sobs of anguish that he was holding in wouldn't let him. Every time he opened his mouth, they crept closer to escaping, so he pursed his lips together, biting down to keep them shut.

He was still holding Arthur's head, petting it softly as he had done with his pistol, holding onto the one thing that was the most important to his survival at that point… but Arthur wasn't something he could just throw away. He really needed him there... they needed each other. They were all that they had. "We just have to deal with it..." he finally said after a long period of silence, before he dropped his head, letting it rest on top of the other man's.

The sound of Alfred's voice made Arthur feel like he had personally ripped the other's heart out. Initially, he had cringed away from the other's touch, not wanting to hear anything from the crazed, death-happy man... But his voice, so serious and broken, compelled him to listen. It cut through the paper-thin walls of denial and settled in his heart, bringing about another round of agonizing sobs...

He felt a strange sense of relief... It was like a burden had suddenly been lifted off him, because, "...I know... dammit..." he breathed, his eyes downcast. "I... I knew it... all along..."

He tugged on Alfred's arm, drawing it away from his neck. Holding him loosely by his wrist, he rested his own arm against his knee, Alfred's hand hanging about a foot away from his face. For a while, he simply stared at it, lost in thought.

Gradually his sobs faded away, leaving him with a headache and the occasional painful hitch in his breath. He cleared his throat. "But, even if... we're dying..." he began, tracing the outline of Alfred's hand with a finger, "I'll always be there for you." He laughed lightly to himself. "Even a hero... needs back-up..."

Alfred laughed again. Arthur was speaking in a way he usually wouldn't... he was acting differently, and that frightened Alfred, so he did his best to comfort himself, inventing a reason for the man's behavior. "You're tired..." he said resting his forehead against Arthur's. He used his free hand to brush the side of Arthur's hair, gently rubbing his temple. "You should hear yourself talk. You'd make fun of me if it was the other way 'round."

He winced, pain pulsing through his body, but he ignored it. He had to if he wanted to keep the situation calm. He didn't want to deal with the emotional stress any more. He just wanted to wait it out and act like nothing was wrong... even though in reality, nothing was right. He pulled Arthur's head closer to his chest and sighed, lacing the fingers of his other hand around Arthur's.

He was tired too...

It was ridiculous... Despite the fact that they'd only been awake for a couple hours, Arthur was feeling an overwhelming urge to sleep.

"Wanker..." he muttered, pulling a small grin, "...when did I ever make fun of you-" He nearly bit off his tongue as his body shuddered suddenly. He clenched Alfred's hand tightly, barely breathing as he tried to fight of the panic building in his chest. The attack quickly subsided, and Arthur bit the inside of his mouth to keep himself from making any noise. His head fell against Alfred's chest, and he squeezed his hand in what he hoped was a reassuring way.

"I th-think... I'm gonna sleep... now," he mumbled into his shirt before passing out.

His heart jumped a beat as Arthur fell into him, a moment of terror freezing his entire body. He knew that Arthur must have been exhausted... Alfred sure was... but still, to have him just keel over like that. He just couldn't help but panic. He looked the man over, making sure that his chest was still rising and falling in good time. Of course his breath was raspy, but again, so was Alfred's. He cradled the other gently, moving him so that he could hold him in a more comfortable fashion.

For a while he sat there, the other pressed against him, rocking him slightly, as if he was a child that needed the comforting movement to stay asleep, but eventually he felt himself drifting off too... At first he leaned forward, using Arthur's shoulder as a pillow... but he realized that wouldn't work if he did actually fall asleep. It would be too uncomfortable for the two to stay like that, so Alfred slowly scooted back, holding Arthur so not to drop him. He managed to sit down properly, before leaning back, resting the sleeping man's head on his chest. His head was still pressed against the hard wood of the floor, but he didn't mind. Arthur could just owe him the next time they went to sleep. He smiled at the thought and closed his eyes, playing with the other man's hair as he lay there... living on the hope of tomorrow, rather than the hope of forever.

Arthur woke up slowly, not really wanting to move. His head was killing him, he didn't really have anywhere to be, and it was quite comfortable here on the bed... Except beds don't breathe...

Startled, he pushed himself quickly off of Alfred's chest. A wave of nausea nearly had him falling back on top of him, but he really didn't want to puke on him. He stumbled over to the edge of the loft on him hands and knees, collapsing on the edge as his stomach began to throw up what little he had left in his stomach. It was mostly just stomach acid - he hadn't exactly eaten recently. His stomach soon ran out of things to bring up, but his body continued to heave, making it difficult to catch his breath.

After what felt like hours (but was probably less than 10 minutes) it finally stopped. "G-god..." Arthur gasped. 'As if I wasn't dying fast enough,' he thought, trying to breathe normally again. His already dry throat burned from the acid, and his mouth tasted of bitterness and copper.

He looked back over at Alfred's still form, hoping he had woken him. The sun hadn't even set yet, so it couldn't have been more than a couple hours since they'd fallen asleep. Arthur began dragging his body over to him, not really trusting his limbs to support his weight. It was slow going, but eventually he made it back to his side. He settled his head on Alfred's stomach and let his eyes fall shut as he tried to fall back asleep.

Alfred stirred uncomfortably as he felt a weight lift off of his chest. For a moment, he had to think about where he was, as he couldn't coax himself to open his eyes. When he realized that the missing weight was Arthur he held his breath, worried that the other might not be okay... his fears were only answered by the horrible retching noises that followed.

He winced, still not able to fully wake himself, but completely capable of hearing and understanding everything that was happening around him, even with closed eyes. He bit his lip, trying to pretend he couldn't hear Arthur's heaving, at the same time wishing there was something he could do to comfort him... Still, he knew there was nothing. He couldn't even get his eyes to open, let alone stand and be with Arthur... He hated himself for it... he really did.

Finally the noises stopped, and he felt Arthur make his way back over to rest his head on Alfred's stomach. He let out his breath quietly and leaned slightly, placing a hand on the other's back, rubbing it tenderly, wishing there was more that he could do.

Arthur's heart skipped a beat when he felt a hand on his back. "Sorry..." he croaked, "didn't mean to wake you..." He wasn't really sure if Alfred had woken up or if it was just a reflexive movement, but he felt the need to apologize anyways.

Alfred smiled the very best he could, but his lips were cracking and his face was starting to feel like mush under all of the dirt and grime that covered it. "No... it's fine..." he said quietly, his voice mostly just a scratchy whisper at that point. His eyes were still closed, and his body was as still as it was when asleep, but his brain was just as awake as ever... he never really fully went to sleep... not since the whole ordeal began.

Even back when it had been more than the two of them, Alfred had slept on edge. He didn't want to die after all, so he'd made sure he was ready to fight at any time. At this point, since death was expected, he just wanted to make sure he died on his own, without being ripped apart by zombies. Of course, the odds of the zombies getting to them from this height were little to none, but he was still ready. Even if it took the rest of his strength he wasn't going to become one of them, and he wasn't going to hand Arthur over either.

It was a stupid question, he knew that before he asked it... but he couldn't stop himself. "Are you okay?" he asked.

Arthur chuckled morosely. Using Alfred's shoulder, he pulled himself up higher on his torso so that he could lay his head on his chest. He squeezed his shoulder gently as he swallowed, trying to find enough moisture to say something. "I'm okay..." he whispered back. He could feel Alfred's heart beating, and his head moved up and down with each breath Alfred took.

He blindly reached his hand up towards Alfred's head, too lazy to open his eyes… his hand landed on his ear. Moving his hand a little further up, Arthur was able to tousle his hair affectionately. "How 'bout you?"

Alfred couldn't help but laugh in spite of himself. Hearing someone else ask made him feel even more foolish for asking in the first place. "Fan-fuckin-tastic..." he said with a laugh, leaning in towards Arthur so that their bodies were pressed comfortably together.

Arthur shook his head. "Language, Alfred," his eyes crinkled with mirth even as he rebuked him. "Always with the language..." A shiver ran down his spine as he pressed himself closer to Alfred, and he buried his face in the warmth at the base of his neck.

Arthur was still cold... that was never a good sign. Of course it meant that the he wasn't sick with fever or anything like that, but still... the air wasn't cold enough to make him feel this chilled.

Alfred cursed himself for ditching his jacket long ago. At the time, he needed to shed the extra weight, but now...

He sighed, pulling the man closer, hoping to at least share a bit of body heat. He didn't know how much good it would do, but it calmed his nerves at least a tiny bit.

Arthur's fingertips brushed against Alfred's forehead, and he frowned. He ran his hand underneath his bangs, his face seeming unnaturally warm to Arthur's hands. He rubbed his face worriedly, trying to decide whether it was worth it to bring it up. After all, even if Alfred was running a fever, there wasn't much he could do about it... It probably wasn't even worth bringing up at this point.

Chuckling again, Alfred placed a hand on top of Arthur's, moving the others chilly fingers against his cheek, holding them there like an ice-pack. It wasn't particularly warm outside, still, the coolness felt refreshing.

Alfred sat enjoying the moment, before he bowed his head slightly, a twinge of guilt jabbing him in the gut, along with all of the other terrible pain presenting itself. "Yeah... Sorry..." he said quietly, though there was something in his tone of voice that said that his apology went much deeper than just his foul language...

He raised his shoulders slightly, clenching his teeth together, trying hard to swallow his pride and to gather the courage to be wrong for a moment... "You know... for a lot of stuff..." he finally managed to say. His eyes were still closed, but if they had been open, he would be glancing as far away as humanly possible. He knew that he wasn't going to like the reaction from the other man, but Alfred felt it was something he really needed to say, right then and there.

Arthur locked his teeth together, shocked that Alfred would bring that up with everything else going on. They did not talk about... that. It was always better to just leave the past alone, especially when they'd known each other as long as they had. Except, now...

His body stilled with understanding. Now, they were dying. And he would be damned if he didn't take this opportunity to make things right with at least one person before he left this earth... Still, old habits die hard, and he had to fight his tongue to not let loose a volley of curses towards Alfred for bringing the whole mess up.

"You g-git..." he choked out at last. "You bloody wanker... You think you can just apologize... after so long? You t-tore out my heart..." His chest heaved painfully as the torrent of emotions burst out. This wasn't what he'd wanted to say at all... It wasn't even how he felt anymore. He pressed his lips together and breathed in, trying to stop the deluge.

"But... I don't- I don't hate you..." He wrapped his arms around Alfred's neck, hiding his face. "I... I forgave you... a long time ago..." Arthur pressed his face further into Alfred's neck, mumbling his next words into his shirt. "...and 'm sorry too... I was such a prick..." The words seemed to come easier as he went along. "...such a fucking arse. I'm so sorry... I should have told you that... from the beginning..." Arthur's voice cracked and faded off, and he could only hope he'd said enough.

Alfred felt the horrible lump from earlier tug at his throat. He could feel his body temperature rising, and if there was any color left in him, it all rushed to his face. It took some coaxing, but he bit his lip and opened his eyes, looking down at the smaller man, the corners of his mouth trembling slightly.

'No... damn it. No!' his brain shouted at him, refusing to allow him to lose control again. He had done his crying. It wasn't as though he was some kid that was getting scolded by a parent. And he wasn't a little baby that got sentimental over something like the past. And even if he was... even if he wanted to cry and just let everything he had inside out, he wouldn't. Not when he knew it would hurt Arthur more.

So he smiled, placing his hands on the back of Arthur's head, looping stands of hair around his fingers. "Language... Arthur," he teased, burying his face against the top of Arthur's head. "Always the language..."

Arthur shook his head against his chest. He couldn't bear to look at Alfred. Ever since they had resigned themselves to their miserable fates, he hadn't been able to look at Alfred's face. His eyes had seemed to lose all life at that moment, and it hurt too much to see him like that.

Never, in all the time Arthur had known Alfred, had his eyes been without some spark of hope. Even when he was filled with resignation, even when a situation was desperately bleak, they had always had a fire within them. It had annoyed Arthur to no end... Only now did he realize how much he had depended on it always being there.

Alfred sighed, rubbing Arthur's head gently. Arthur was starting to lose himself... and at the same time Alfred was losing himself for the same reasons. Even if Alfred had never been able to solve a problem, he had never given up on finding a way... even if the way was terribly impractical, and even foolishly so, he always had something... But now, there wasn't anything, or at least nothing he could convince himself to believe in.

"I'm sorry... he said again, his voice even more hopeless, if that was at all possible.

Arthur pulled himself away from his neck, planting his hands on Alfred's shoulders to keep himself upright. "Stop that," he whispered. Pushing himself up on shaking arms, he brought his face up to the same level as Alfred's, smiling wanly at him. "It's not your fault..."

He pressed his lips to Alfred's forehead, reminiscent of how he used to when Alfred was younger. He could feel himself slipping, and he sagged back down in Alfred's lap. "I'm glad it was you... here with me, at the end of everything..."

Alfred felt his cheeks warm up again and immediately dropped his gaze, his lips pressed firmly together. He wasn't embarrassed... but still, the tension between the two always made him feel slightly uncomfortable. Still, it wasn't a feeling he was averse to having... in fact, it was the most comforting discomfort he had felt in a very long time.

"Sh-shut up..." he blushed, pressing his face against the top of Arthur's head so that he wouldn't see him. "You... you don't need to be talking like that yet. We're still alive, right?"

"Yeah..." Arthur breathed, looking down at the floor. 'For now...' He felt so tired... His heart clenched in fear, fear that if he slept now, he wouldn't wake up. "You wanna... walk around for a bit?" he asked, hoping Alfred would be able to read what he really was asking.

Alfred looked at him for a moment, a sickening feeling of understanding sweeping over him. He was never very good at putting two and two together, or reading the mood, but he could tell what Arthur was feeling... at least to some extent. He ran a quick mental diagnostic on his body. His legs felt as though they weren't there and his upper torso was horribly sore... His head was heavy and he was shaking slightly. 'Yeah, I should run a marathon while I'm at it' he thought bitterly, but still... he knew how Arthur must be feeling, so he nodded.

Gently he separated himself from Arthur, trying to focus all of his energy to his legs and arms. He pushed himself into a kneeling position as he had before and very painfully lifted himself to his feet.

He wobbled where he stood for a moment, his head threatening to black out due to the sudden movement, but he wouldn't let himself. He crouched slightly, as much as he could without falling over again, and held out a helping hand to Arthur, hoping to God that he had the strength to pull the man to his feet.

Relief washed through him when Alfred extended a hand towards him. Arthur shuffled closer to him on his hands and knees, his entire body shuddering. 'Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all...' he thought; his heavy breathing was making his chest heave painfully.

He forced the thought out of his mind, concentrating on moving towards a sitting position. The change in position caused the edges of his vision to go blurry, and he flailed wildly, praying that he didn't fall over. As his head started to clear, he pulled one of his legs out from underneath himself cautiously. Grasping Alfred's arm at the wrist, he pressed his other hand against his knee, pushing himself upright while using Alfred's arm as a counterbalance to keep from falling.

Panting, he leaned heavily against the other man, willing himself not to pass out. But even as he stood there shaking, a smile broke out over his face. He felt so... alive.

"Easy old man," Alfred said, his tone still playful, but carrying a hint of worry in it. He didn't want Arthur to push himself, especially not when he was in this kind of shape. Alfred wasn't much better, but he knew that he'd had to help pull Arthur through everything. After all, even if he had nothing more to live for, he still had Arthur.

"You sure you're okay to walk?" he asked, the worry in his voice more predominant now. He knew that Arthur wanted to walk around to feel normal again, but Alfred couldn't help but feel that it was a terrible idea. "You shouldn't push yourself too hard..."

Arthur shook his head slowly, not wanting to upset his tenuous balance. The last thing he wanted right then was to be allowed to sit down; instead he gripped Alfred's arm tighter as he fought to keep his legs steady. He wanted desperately to start moving, but he knew that if he moved away from Alfred now, he'd probably end up face-first on the ground. And, to Arthur, the ground equaled certain death.

"No, no, I'm fine," Arthur lied. He could hear the concern in Alfred's voice as loud as day, but nothing was going to get him sitting down again. "Can we start walking now?"

Alfred smiled to the other, admiring the strength he managed to show in such a desperate time. He nodded, reaching his arm across Arthur, lacing it under the other's arm so that he was acting as a human crutch in a way. It threw his own balance off, but he didn't mind it too much. He was there for Arthur, and that was enough to keep him moving.

Slowly, he moved on foot, taking a cautious step, careful to keep steady. He wobbled slightly, but moved the other foot to prevent himself from toppling over. The loft wasn't huge, but there was plenty of room for the two to move about. At least this way they were active... and it was a way to pass the time, not just sitting there, thinking about their slowly approaching deaths. He shook his head slightly, not so much as to disturb the other's concentration, ridding himself of the thought. Now wasn't the time for that.

"How you doin'?" he asked to Arthur, smiling brightly.

Arthur was panting, and probably leaning on Alfred a bit too heavily. But he was standing, damn it, and he was walking. Yeah, he was shaking and his head was reeling and he could barely keep his eyes open, but he was still alive. That fact alone made him feel almost insanely happy, like he was spitting in the face of death.

He cracked a grin and turned to look at Alfred. "Amazing," he breathed, "simply incredible..."

Alfred couldn't help but laugh at the man. Not in spite of him, or in the usual mocking way he did, but out of real, honest to goodness happiness. He hadn't seen Arthur smile that honestly in a very long time. It was as if the joy of just being alive was contagious. They were alive, weren't they? After everything they had gone through, they really were alive. The thought alone was enough to fill Alfred with enough strength to keep going. After all, it was that faith in survival that had gotten him that far.

"Yeah." he said in response, turning to look around the barn again, still beaming hopefully. "Me too."

Alfred's face was beaming, and his eyes... Well, his eyes were alive again. Arthur didn't know how it had happened, but somehow the other man had found something to believe in again. He squeezed his shoulder lightly, and moved his arm to ruffle Alfred's hair. It was at that moment that his legs decided to give out on him.

The happiness Arthur felt dissolved into panic as he found himself sprawled on the floor. "No," he whispered, his heart beating frantically, "No. No, no, no, no..."

The fire in Alfred's eyes was snuffed out almost instantly as terror surged through his body. The moment Arthur fell to the ground Alfred lost his footing, sending him toppling down right after him. He quickly turned his body, knowing that if he tried to catch himself, he'd only hurt himself further. Instead, he landed on his side with a thump, landing next to Arthur so that their exhausted bodies formed an "L" shape.

He winced, taking only a second to worry about himself, before all of his attention was turned to Arthur. He groaned in pain as he rolled over onto his hands and knees, crawling over to the other man's side, calling to him, praying to god the older man was okay.

Arthur struggled in vain to get back to his feet. If he was laying down, it was only that much easier for death to claim him. His body was quitting on him, making every move a chore, but he managed to get himself into a half-sitting position.

He looked up at Alfred, trying to hide the panic bubbling up in his chest. "Sorry..." he said shakily, grabbing on to Alfred's arm in an effort to pull himself up further. "Help m-me up, would you?"

Relief swept across Alfred like a wave, and he laughed in spite of himself, bowing his head for a moment in order to catch his breath. He forced himself to swallow, hoping to clear his throat enough to breath normally again. He took a hand and placed it over Arthur's, trying to pull them both back to their feet, but his knee refused to lift them. It just sat firmly on the ground, as though it were glued there.

He laughed again... but it had changed back into a tension breaking laugh... a laugh that really only showed how hopeless Alfred had become. "I can't... stand up..." he said weakly, his knee quivering desperately under him as he tried to force it to move.

But it wouldn't... no matter what he did, it just wouldn't.

"I-it's okay, Alfred..." he murmured. But it wasn't okay... He was dying! He couldn't even fight it anymore... He was running out of options. "It's getting dark anyways..." He sighed, knowing it would be even harder to fight his fatigue in the dim light.

Arthur slowly lowered himself to the floor, then patted his chest. "C'mon, let's... go to sleep..." He looked away from Alfred. "...you can try again later."

Alfred looked to Arthur with sad eyes, guilt gripping at his chest. He had failed... for the umpteenth time, Alfred had failed to help Arthur... failed to help anyone for that matter. The lump in his throat moved upward and he felt his face burning. If he had an ounce of water left in his body, he would have teared up... so in a way, he was grateful to be dying for a moment... at least, he thought, he wouldn't look like a total wimp.

He more or less let himself fall to the ground, not caring how much it hurt him anymore. He just lay there, flat, furious, devastated, and dying. He wanted to apologize again... he wanted to apologize a hundred times over... but he knew that nothing good would come of it. It wouldn't make him or Arthur feel any better after all... So he didn't say anything at all. He just lay there...

Arthur sighed. He'd never been much good at comforting people... and he could tell Alfred was beating himself up about something. Probably something he had no control over in the first place.

Somehow he turned himself over on his side, facing Alfred. "You git," he muttered. He reached his arm across Alfred's midsection. "How am I supposed to use you as a blanket like that?" He tugged on his waist, trying - and failing - to pull himself closer to the other man's warmth.

Alfred smirked... only because he couldn't help it. Though he wasn't feeling any more assured, any safer, or any more hopeful, he couldn't help but smile a little at the older man. "Sorry..." he chuckled, pushing his body over to the other so that neither of them would have to move too far. He wrapped an arm around the other, nuzzling his head into Arthur's chest.

"Me too," Arthur sighed, resting his head against Alfred's. The warmth was like an unwelcome reprieve, pulling him closer and closer to unconsciousness. He dug his nails into his palm, hoping the pain would keep him with Alfred for a little longer.

"Promise me... you won't do anything stupid," he mumbled into Alfred's hair. "You said... you said you'd stay up here..."

Alfred's eyes snapped up, as he didn't have the strength to move his head. What the hell was he talking about? Why was he suddenly so worried about Alfred? He understood that it was only natural for Arthur to be concerned for him... but why the sudden seriousness? It was obvious at this point that he couldn't leave the loft as he had thought of doing earlier, he didn't have the strength, so if Arthur was still worried about it... something must have been very wrong.

"Yeah..." he said quietly, gripping the front of Arthur's shirt, as though he wanted to pull himself closer, but he was as close as he was going to get. "I will... I'm not going anywhere..." he said, curling up into a tighter ball on the floor.

Arthur's tongue seemed dead in his mouth so he just nodded faintly before letting his head fall on Alfred's arm. His entire body felt like it was made of lead; his chest was filled with it, he was sure, for every breath was painful and heavy. Maybe if he breathed less, the pain would go away? Something nagged at him that this was the wrong idea, but it was hard to make out through the fatigue clouding his mind. It certainly felt right... he felt the pain less and less. Suddenly there was an explosive pain in his chest, and then, there was no pain at all.

Alfred lay silently, his head still pressed against the other, before he felt a horrible quiver rattle through Arthur's body. Terror welled up in his stomach and stopped him from breathing as he felt the gentle rise and fall of Arthur's chest slow to a stop. For a moment, he simply sat there... fully prepared to start breathing again as soon as Arthur did... but the breaths wouldn't come, and Alfred's body forced him to inhale again when his lungs threatened to collapse.

He forced himself up with trembling arms, Arthur's head rolling lifelessly without Alfred's there to support it.

"Hey..." he managed to say, his voice less than a whisper. He reached out, placing a hand on Arthur's shoulder, shaking him gently at first. "You shouldn't... go to sleep yet..."

But Arthur didn't respond. He didn't make any noise, and his body lay still. Slowly, the fear coursing through Alfred's veins took control over his body, and the gentle shaking of Arthur's shoulder turned almost violent with panic. His whisper grew louder... trying desperately to wake Arthur from his sleep...

"Damn it!" he shouted, "Don't you fucking do this to me, you son of a bitch!" Alfred's body threatened to crumble at any second, but he wouldn't let it. "Get up! God damn it Arthur! Get the fuck up!"

He could feel his throat closing up, his body aching, his voice sobbing, and then came the tears. They stung his eyes and face, and seemed to make his insides twist up in the most uncomfortable way they could, but it didn't matter. All he could do was cry and shout with the very last bit of his strength.

His tears dried quickly... there wasn't enough water left in his body for them to continue for too long... and eventually, he felt his shaking body begin to give in to fatigue. He fell to his hands and knees, choking, vomiting the very last contents of his stomach, trying to breathe... and failing. His body shifted forward and his arms gave out from under him, dropping him on the floor next to Arthur's lifeless body.

His chest heaved terribly, but he couldn't move any more. He had exhausted himself, and as much as he wanted to separate himself from Arthur, he couldn't bring himself to leave him behind. He rolled onto his side, reaching his hand for Arthur's, grabbing for it desperately.

He ran his thumb across Arthur's palm, fighting off another sob. The man's skin was already so cold... so lifeless. He couldn't stand it. Slowly, his vision started to blur and his thoughts began to haze over and he slipped off into a horrible, nightmarish sleep.

Alfred woke up with a start, his body covered in cold sweat. Again, he had to gather his thoughts, sifting through reality and nightmare. At first he thought he was alright, but then he felt Arthur's cold hand, still grasped tightly in his own.

The sobs started almost instantly, and for the first time since everything started, Alfred wished he hadn't woken up. The hero wasn't supposed to be the one left at the end. He was supposed to be the one that saved the day, and if someone was going to die, it should have been him.

"You greedy fucker..." he hissed, his throat too sore and dry to really speak. How could he? How could he just leave him alone like that? He realized that death was a sweet escape from the hell they were living, and, for a while, the both of them had wanted it to take them, but their will to survive had been too strong. Now, there was no more for Alfred to fight for... and death just wouldn't come. No matter what happened, Alfred always seemed to come out the loser. It was as if death was teasing him... or perhaps humbling him. Neither idea provided Alfred with any comfort.

He lay there for what felt like days, though he knew there was no way it could have been more than a few hours... Time was all strung together... just like Alfred's thoughts. He thought about his options, but realized he didn't have any. He could just wait for death to claim him.

He never let go of Arthur's hand... not even when his body started to lock up, or when it became painful to hold on... He wished he could move closer... but he had no more physical strength left over from his fit last night.

Finally, his chest gave a painful retch, sending a wave of heat through his whole body. He leaned his head forward, smiling lightly, accepting defeat more willingly than he had ever been able to. It wasn't all a loss; after all... he had made it all the way to the end. He gave Arthur's hand one last squeeze, before his grip loosened, and he let death have him.

A/N2: TT-TT I'm so sorry we killed them... It took me forever to finally write down Arthur's death DX

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