HETALIA: AXIS POWERS IS NOT MINE. Sometimes I wish it was though, but doesn't every fangirl? :3

Human names used

The Political leaders used in this fanfiction do not correspond to any real life leaders! They are all fictional!

Scribble, scribble, scribble... A young man sat at a desk, papers piled up around him, signing away at multiple different ones. He would pick one up and either grimace or smile at what he read then set it down and sign it. After a while of the same routine, the man set down his pen and leaned back, stretching out his arms above his head, soon getting up to push his chair in.

"Arthur, what are you doing?" the man turned around to find the British Prime Minister standing behind him.

"Taking a break – I'm going to go crazy reading all these political documents without some break here and there. One-thousand years of it can get pretty tiring."

The Prime Minister smiled back at him. "Understood, sir!" He laughed as he walked past Arthur, firmly grabbing his shoulder in a friendly, joking manner. Arthur walked with him, talking and joking around with each other as they made their way to a small kitchen.

"You're going to need to schedule a meeting with America sometime soon."

"Hem?" Arthur glanced up from his kitchen work, or more like his failed attempt to make something edible, "Why?"

"The President and I need to sign this new treaty we have been discussing."

'One, Twenty-one Guns.

Lay down your heart. Give up the fight.

One, Twenty-one guns.

Throw up your arms into the sky.'

The sudden music made Arthur jump; not realizing it was his cell phone until he noticed the song.

"Speak of the devil..." Arthur said, reaching in his pocket for his phone. He pulled it out to answer, taking a few extra seconds to glance at the stupid picture Alfred had taken of himself the last time they had seen each other.

"Hey~! Iggy!" A loud shout came from the speakers, causing Arthur to quickly pull the phone away from his ear. After the yelling calmed down, he sighed and brought the phone back to his ear, ready to pull it away again if he had to. The Prime Minister watched, looking as amused as ever, but somewhat disgusted at the other country's scream that could be heard half way across the room.

"What do you want, Alfred?" Arthur sighed.

"Awww..." Alfred whined, "How did you know it was me?"

"First off, you are the only person who calls me Iggy. Second, your voice is bloody annoying."

He could just imagine Alfred's face now, pouting, lip out and blank faced because he was insulted.

After a few second of silence Alfred chirped up again, "So! Anyways, my boss wants to meet with yours sometime soon. Would next Wednesday work for you?"

"May-"

"Great! Wednesday it is! At one! That good?"

"I-"

"Ok! So I'll see you then!" Click! Bzzzzz...

Arthur stood stunned, taking a moment to realize what just happened, stood glaring at the wall in front of him in annoyance. Sighing again, he turned back to the Prime Minister.

"Apparently," Arthur began, noticeably annoyed, "the meetings next Wednesday at one. I'm guessing at the White House."

"Well then, I guess we have no choice but to go." the Prime Minister smiled as he began walking out of the room. "Let our secretary know we need plane tickets to Washington D.C on Tuesday."

Wednesday came around in no time and Arthur spent his morning walking around the D.C Park, mumbling to himself as he viewed all the memorials Alfred had set up here for so many different people in his history. American history made his stomach turn. It reminded him of the past, which he really never wanted to think about, though his mind always wondered and ended up thinking about it anyways. It was just one of those things that he couldn't erase, and even though it had been almost two-hundred fifty years, the feeling still stuck with him.

Soon enough it was noon and Arthur rushed himself back to his hotel room, changed and made his way to the White House. Luckily he got there in time, and as usual, Alfred hadn't shown up yet. He was probably off stuffing his face somewhere.

Arthur took his seat next to the Prime Minister, who was having a friendly chat with the President.

"Hello, Mr. Kirkland." the President said when he noticed Arthur.

"Hello." He responded with a nod. "I see Alfred isn't here yet..."

"I always plan on waiting at least ten minutes for a meeting he has to attend." The President laughed, completely used to Alfred after two years.

"Well," Arthur let out an annoyed laugh, "isn't that just like Alfred? You would think he would be a little more considerate when it came to his own boss."

"Mr. Jones... can be very interesting at times."

At that moment the meeting room door shot open, Alfred waltzing in, happy as can be. He was humming to himself some tune that sounded like Dynamite by Tiao Cruz as he made his way over to his seat by the President. When he sat down he placed his hands on the table and glanced around the room, grinning like an idiot.

"What'd I miss?" He asked cheerfully. Arthur sighed.

"Just waiting on you, Mr. Jones." the President replied.

"Great! Let's get started then."

At least an hour of discussion passed, fights between Arthur and Alfred breaking out every couple minutes, which took quite a bit of time for their bosses to calm down. Eventually though, things became serious enough for at least a few things to get done.

Arthur stood up and pushed his chair in.

"I'll be back."

"Where you goin'?" Alfred asked.

"If a man has to take care of his business, why is it another's duty to know?"

Alfred stuck his lip out and squinted his eyes in an innocent manner. He was only asking what he was doing, so he didn't have to use a complicated sentence to state he was going to the bathroom.

"Come back quickly," the Prime Minister said, "We still have quite a bit to finish."

"Yes sir."

Arthur walked out of the room, thinking to himself how rude Alfred could be sometimes. He decided he'd take his time, even though his boss said to hurry up. It just made since to him that he should be able to take his time, why did he need to hurry?

Maybe it had been five minutes, maybe ten, Arthur didn't know. He never timed himself while going to the bathroom, there was no point in it. When he opened the meeting room door he was expecting Alfred to whine annoyingly at him, as usual, about him taking so long, but what he found instead puzzled him.

"Alfred?" Arthur asked, eyebrow raised and fully confused as to why Alfred was standing in the middle of the room, alone, the President and Prime Minister nowhere to be found. Maybe they had walked out for a moment, but why would they? There wouldn't really have been a reason for that. "Alfred," Arthur repeated, "What are you doing? Where is everyone?"

Alfred didn't respond, he only stood there, almost as if he was some type of doll. He didn't move, he didn't whine as he normally would, or laugh hysterically as if he was trying to fool him for a few seconds, but still just stood there.

Arthur repeated himself again, walking farther into the room, not bothering to close the door behind. "Alfred, where is everyone? Why are you not answering me?"

With that, Alfred began to slowly turn his head. It scared Arthur somewhat as he did so, even though he didn't believe in zombies, Alfred was acting like one, slowly turning his head like that. Arthur stopped walking and watched Alfred turn his head towards him, wondering why he was taking so long to look at him. When he could finally see the right side of Alfred's face, Arthur stood dumbfounded, shaking from shock.

Only one thought raced through his head.

'What the bloody hell just happened here? Why is Alfred face full of blood?'

"Ar... thur..." Alfred managed to say, slow and monotone, right before his body gave out and he crashed to the ground, his head hitting the desk beside him and his glasses shattering from the impact.

"Alfred!" Arthur screamed, rushing over to him, but something else caught his eye as he bent down to help him. The President and Prime Minister, or at least who he thought was them, laid on the ground, mutilated, unrecognizable, blood all over their faces and pools of their own blood on the ground beneath them. It looked as if it had been the work of guns for a moment, but then the sight of deep wounds and cuts looked like the doing of knifes. He didn't know what to think; only short questions ran through his mind.

'Was it guns? Knives? Both? A different kind of weapon? Who did it? Why was Alfred the only one left standing? When did it happen? Why? Why did it happen? How could it have happened? Why did it happen while I was gone? What if I was here? Could I have prevented it? Why wasn't I here?'

By this time Arthur was shaking from rage and fear, unable to grasp the fact that this had all taken place in the small amount of time he was gone. He took hold of Alfred shoulder and turned him on his back, moving his head away from the desk and picking up his glasses. Arthur set the glasses beside him, and held Alfred's head up with both his hands, biting his lip. He wasn't going to cry, not here. Why would he?

The pain that he felt when he watched Alfred fall hit him. He didn't notice it before because of shock, but now, now he could feel it. Arthur felt sick, nauseated, his stomach turning at every little thing he did, his heart felt heavy, heavy enough to beat out of his chest, and the pain jarred him almost unconscious.

He didn't want to see his once-colony like this. He loved Alfred, and no matter what he told himself, no matter how many fights they got in, no matter how often he told Alfred he hated him, he never could. He could never hate him, and he knew that. Arthur had never wanted to see Alfred, the one who called himself a 'hero', the kid he raised himself, laying on the ground unconscious, and blood all over him.

After Arthur called 911, the police came in almost minutes, pulling Alfred up onto a stretcher, and covering the bodies of the President and Prime Minister. Arthur rode in the ambulance with Alfred on the way to the hospital, still trying his hardest to keep himself together. He didn't want to cry in front of these people, he didn't want to cry at all, he wasn't meant to cry, but Alfred was hurt, and he couldn't hold himself there forever, not letting himself go, not letting himself cry. Once they got somewhere he could have some privacy, he would take it. Maybe cry, maybe just for the silence, but he needed some time alone.

When they made it to the hospital, Arthur followed them to the emergency room, sitting just outside the doors, waiting for information on Alfred's condition. Finally, after hours of anxious waiting, a nurse came out and informed him.

"Mr. Kirkland?" She asked, standing in front of him

Arthur looked up; his hands clasped together and arms resting on his knees, holding back tears. "Yes? That's me."

His strong British accent surprised her, "Oh, um... Mr. Jones..."

"What about him? Is he hurt badly? When will he recover? How long will he be here? Is he awake yet?"

"Whoa, hold up." She gave a small smile, "One at a time please."

"Sorry, I'm just anxious..."

"I understand. Everyone is in times like these."

"So, how bad is he hurt?"

"He isn't hurt too badly. His physical injuries should heal within a few weeks."

Arthur let out a relieved sigh, "And how long will he be here then?"

"That's the thing... We don't know. He hasn't woken up yet, and we don't know when he will..."

"What?"

"He's in a coma. So we don't know when he'll wake up."

Arthur's eyes widened. Alfred? In a coma? Comas were serious! Serious, damn it! How could Alfred be in a coma?

"Oh…" Arthur dropped his eyes to the ground.

"We're bringing him up to his room right now; I'll come and get you if you want to visit when we're ready."

"Yes, I'd like that. Thank you."

As Arthur sat in Alfred's hospital room, watching him anxiously as he slept, waiting for something to happen, for him to open his eyes even though he knew that wouldn't happen anytime soon, he couldn't help but wonder how this happened. If it was only because of the assassinations, he would be in the same situation, so it couldn't have been. Did his wounds contribute to it? Though, all the wounds he had seen on Alfred didn't seem to be enough to cause him to go into a coma.

Kneeling at his bed side, Arthur took hold of Alfred's limp hand, wrapping both his hands around Alfred's, setting his forehead lightly on his own clasped hands. The feelings Arthur had kept hidden from everyone since the very beginning of all this reached their peak. He couldn't hold them down any longer, the thought and sight of Alfred, his little brother, in a coma caused all the guilt he felt for leaving him, for leaving all of them, to make him sick, sicker than he had ever been.

Small tears swelled up in his eyes, blurring his vision, eventually even unable to keep himself together at all, he burst out in tears, wailing at even the a slightest thought of Alfred sleeping in front of him. Doctors and nurses rushed in and tried to calm him down, but they couldn't do anything, he just kept crying, unable to stop. How could he have let this happen to his precious little brother?

Time passed slowly, much too slowly for Arthur, who waiting right beside Alfred, anxiously awaiting his recovery. Even though he knew Alfred wouldn't wake up anytime soon, he still waited, still hoped, that his little brother would wake up and laugh at him, saying something like 'You feel for it, Iggy!' But he wouldn't, and it scared him. It scared him that there was no telling when Alfred would open his eyes again, no telling when he would laugh with his stupid, obnoxious voice again, no telling how long it would be till he would even smile again. How long would it be?

Days passed and Arthur only left the hospital when he had to, mostly at night after visiting hours, but he came straight back in the morning only to sit next to Alfred yet again. Once in a while Arthur would watch as some of the other countries came to visit Alfred, apologizing to him about what had happened. One of the most noticeable people being Francis Bonnefoy.

Francis walked into the room with his usual gracefulness, though definitely much more serious. He, too, seemed to be quite worried about Alfred, or maybe it was the fact that he could imagine how bad Arthur felt by thinking of Mathew in the same situation. No matter what the reason was, he still seemed to care.

He made his way over to Alfred, standing at the end of his bed, gazing at him with grieving eyes.

"Angleterre…" Francis said, glancing over at Arthur who sat in the guest chair.

He looked up at him, his eyes weak in sorrow. "What?"

"Il va se reveiller un jour. Ne vous blamez pas pour ce.*" Arthur stared at him with a blank expression on his face, he still couldn't speak French that well. Francis sighed.

"He'll wake up, so don't blame yourself for this."

"I know…" Arthur looked down at his feet, resting his arms on his knees, "But if I was there... I could have done something to prevent this…" He felt the light placing of a hand on his back and shot his eyes up to see Francis's face.

"Vieil ami*… What's done is done. You can't change the past, you can only live with it, and Amérique will wake up."

Arthur couldn't think of anything to say in reply, all he could do was sit and think about what Francis had said, and he knew it was all true, but he didn't want to accept that fact that he couldn't change anything. He wanted to change it, but no matter if he tired, it wouldn't change anything, because you really can't change the past. But what if he could? What could he have prevented?

Francis slowly moved his way across the room to the other side of Alfred's bed, his head bent down in sadness, wishing he could do something to make Arthur feel better.

"Revielle soudemaine, ami.*" He mumbled to Alfred as he walked out of the room.

Within the next few days after Francis's visit, Arthur had gotten a phone call from his government asking him to come home so he could take care of things there. He didn't want to leave, but he didn't have much of a choice. England was in a bit of a predicament with the assassination of the Prime Minister, so he had to go back and fix things, though that would mean he would have to leave Alfred alone. After a while he decided it was for the best to see to things in England, so he got ready to leave, saying goodbye to Alfred, but he swore to himself that he would come back and check on him every chance he got. Arthur wasn't going to leave him alone the whole time while he was in a coma. There was no way he would do that.

So, what do you think? This will be getting pretty bloody later on, and there will be no yaoi. Just major brotherly love(there will be nothing romantic going on between these two in this fic). France will make his appearance again in later chapters.

Translation notes:

Il va se reveiller un jour. Ne vous blamez pas pour ce. - He'll wake up sometime. Don't blame yourself for this.

Vieil ami - Old friend

Revielle soudemaine ami - Wake up soon, friend