Races Chapter 4

"Alfred!" an accented, and quite exasperated, growl came in the middle of the night. "Wake up you bloody twit!" Arthur found himself in a place where he really didn't want to be, underneath a sleeping, pretty much dead to the world, American who was snoring and drooling all over his English counterpart.

"Hmm?" Alfred blinked himself awake as he heard Arthur's voice pull him out of his slumber. "Dammit, Iggs! Can't you let me sl-" he was getting ready to protest but realized that he was on top of the Englishman. He removed himself from England and rolled to his side of the bed. "Heh, sorry dude!" America sighed as he turned on the light that was on the end table by the bed.  He looked over to see a marvelous, beautiful image. There was Arthur, laying beside him in bed, flustered, hair a mess, cheeks red with frustration, and eyes tinted with annoyance. America couldn't help but smile dumbly at the English lad in his bed.

"What are you gawking at, Alfred?" Arthur hissed haughtily. How in the hell could he smile when he just drooled all over him? Oh wait, he's America, that's why. He growled and turned so that he wasn't looking at the American. There was a shy hint of a smile at his lips when he heard Alfred scoff, knowing that he was most likely doing that childish pout that he does.

"Aw, c'mon Britain! I was asleep, I can't control what I do," Alfred whined and moved his body so his head was lingering over Arthur's shoulder. He heard a snort of laughter come from the Brit.

"You can hardly control yourself while you're awake, so I guess that actually makes sense," he looked up at America, his voice dripping with mockery. England was prepared for an onslaught of half-hearted insults and bull-headed behavior from America, and turned completely so that he was on his back and staring him in the face. For once, Arthur wore the smug grin on his face.

"Can you ever, I don't know, not be a dick for one second?" Alfred rolled his eyes and positioned himself over top of the Englishman. He stared down into the emerald orbs that belonged to the man under him and lost any argument that he had prepared. "Christ," he grumbled before he leaned down to kiss Arthur gently on the lips. America felt the Brit relax as he sighed into the kiss.

"I really can't stand you," Arthur growled and pushed the American to his rightful side of the bed with a slight blush encroaching upon his cheeks. He hated how his ally could turn everything around in a matter of seconds. That was one of Alfred's specialties, it always has been, ever since he was a child. Arthur smiled at the thought for a moment, remembering how that pouted lip and those big blue eyes could win him over in a heartbeat. It was strange how drastically his affection towards the American had changed. He went from being a guardian to whatever it was that they were. Lovers? Who knew. All that Arthur knew was that when he opened his eyes, Alfred's gaze was practically burning into his body.

"Whatcha thinkin' about, Iggy?" Alfred shot one of his million dollar smirks as he looked upon the deep in thought Englishman. He watched with a smile as England shook his light blonde head and looked at Alfred, blush present on his cheeks.

"Nothing, you arse, now go back to sleep," he hissed defiantly and thought of everything he could to remove the blush from his cheeks. He turned his back to the American. He really wanted to tell him what he was thinking about and what they were talking about earlier. How they had fought so long ago, leaving each other alone after the fight.

"C'mon Iggs, talk to me," Alfred pressed gently. He wasn't ready to go back to sleep, not yet. He wanted to have a real conversation with Arthur, considering they haven't had once since they got on the plane and flew to Germany. Alfred reached out and pulled the Brit closer to him and heard a sigh escape British lips.

"Us..." he whispered and turned his body once more to face the American. "I was thinking about us. What were talking about earlier. The war, when you were little and how much that you've changed since," Arthur sighed and grabbed Alfred's hand, entwining their fingers. "Everything is just different."

"Yeah, well," America paused and smiled at Arthur, "I'm glad that it is, because if it was the same, I wouldn't get to do this." He pulled his hand away from England's, cupped his cheek and kissed him gently on the lips. America grinned as he backed away from Britain's lips. "You would just be my big brother, and I would be the troublesome, cocky underling," he scoffed and shook his head slightly against the pillow.

"You're still cocky and troublesome," Arthur pointed out with a smile. He sighed softly and locked eyes with the American. His bushy eyebrows crunched slightly inwards and his smile faded. "You know, I thought that it was the end for us," he admitted with defeat. "I thought that it was the last straw and you wouldn't want anything to do with me," Arthur scoffed as his voice cracked and his eyes closed. "When you left me there, I thought that it was the final goodbye. That you and I..." He couldn't finish. Even if he wanted to, Arthur's voice was disrupted by a tiny sob that prevented him from continuing.

"Hey, hey, Arthur," Alfred cooed gently as he rubbed away a pearly tear that was forming on England's eyelash. "You and I were never over," he smiled sympathetically when his partner opened his glossy green eyes. "When World War One happened, I hated that I had to sit back and watch you get hurt, so I sent over what I could to help. But my boss didn't want me to get involved. I begged and pleaded with him, but he said that we were not going to war without reason. Then, finally, you depicted the telegram Germany sent to Mexico asking if they would join the Central Powers and fight against us. My boss looked at me and gave me the go ahead," Alfred swallowed the lump that was forming in his throat and brushed Arthur's messy blonde locks out of his face.

"I just couldn't live with the thought of you being hurt. I got there as fast as I could," he paused as vivid flashes of memory came across his mind. "I remember dodging and weaving in the trenches. I remember the smell of death and the screams from the wounded in No Man's Land. And then there you and Francis were," Alfred brushed Arthur's cheek again and smiled. "You were so worn out, both of you were. And I couldn't let the Central Powers win. I covered my fear with false arrogance. I couldn't let you see me afraid, so I charged in."

Arthur blinked in surprise. Did America really just admit that he had been afraid during that war? He shook away whatever smart comments that he had and continued the memory. "You offered me your hand that day. I thought that I had finally went crazy. But I hadn't. You were there and I would never forget it. I took your hand," Arthur said as he placed his hand on top of Alfred's.

"You took my hand and I said, 'Let's do it.' After that the war was pretty much over. You and I were pretty indestructable," Alfred gave a soft chuckle and scooted to be completely eye-level with England. "The German's put up a bit of a fight, but in the end we broke through and we destroyed them," he kissed England's nose and shot the million dollar American smile that he had.

Arthur gave a singular breath of laughter and nodded. "And then World War Two happened," he began with a heavy sigh. "And Germany was an even bigger pain in the arse," he growled as he remembered that he was actually in Germany. "Francis gave up on everything within the first couple months and begged if his boss could work from my house."

"And you said yes," Alfred pointed out, "...because you're just so nice." A cocky smile had planted itself on the American's lips for a moment and then he let it slowly die. "I didn't wait as long that time...although none of my people wanted it...my boss and I did," he said in a low, serious voice.

"My country was almost demolished and I felt like giving up," Arthur admitted and swallowed, "but my boss wouldn't allow it." Winston Churchill, without that man, England would be nothing and both of them knew it.

"Speaking of him, didn't he once say something about us?" Alfred chuckled as he remembered how Churchill once gave a speech on how America and England have this 'special relationship' and an understanding of each other that was so present that it might as well be intimate. Which was a complete understatement. Ever since the end of the first World War, America and England have been on a level of intimacy that neither could deny or dare fight. They were apart of each other, through thick and thin, they were there for each other.

"Yes, and you know exactly what it is, so I'm not going to bother reciting," Arthur huffed in his heavily accented voice. He couldn't help but feel a bit surprised that America could remember such a thing, considering that the praise he receives goes straight to his head and he forgets everything thereafter. But he remembered this, a joint speech on how America and England were very much alike. Arthur could hear the words of his boss in his head, causing his heart to swell with pride for the American who had his hand on his face. He had raised a fine boy, lost a rebellious teenager, and gained an amazing man.

"Didn't it go something along the lines of I always have your back and you always have mine?" Alfred questioned gently and kissed the hand that was covering his. "No matter how much you bitch and whine, saying how you don't need me, I'll always have your back Arthur..."

Arthur didn't quite know how to respond and a small glaze of tears came to his eyes, "We should probably get back to sleep," he sputtered as he released his hand from Alfred's and turned his back to the American.

"I'm not tired now..." Alfred gave a pleading whine but then sighed. He knew that it was pointless to try and argue with Arthur once his mind was made up. "Okay," he cooed and pulled the Brit close to him, "we'll sleep, but tomorrow," he smiled as he breathed in the Englishman's scent, "we train...hard."

Even though he was half-asleep, Arthur could pick up on each and every innuendo. A soft blush appeared on his cheeks and an irritated sigh left his mouth as he snuggled in closer to the American. "Fine, Goodnight Alfred," he muttered as his eyes grew heavier.

"'Night, Artie..." Alfred whispered softly and placed a kiss on the back of Britain's banana blonde head before drifting back into sleep.


"Arthur! Arthur, where are you?" an American voice rang out among the noise of bombs and gunfire. He prayed to God that he wasn't too late, that his oldest ally and best friend wasn't gone. Alfred dove into one of the trenches to find corpses floating in the water that the night's rain had brought. He blocked out the smell of death and decay around him, he had to focus. "Arthur!" he cried out once more. Alfred felt himself breaking, his composure, his form, and his heart were shattering. He couldn't possibly go on without Arthur Kirkland. Regardless of their fights in the past, Artie was the only true ally that he had, and there was no way that he was going to give up on that.

"Alfred..!" an extremely worn out British voice called back. Alfred followed the direction of the voice, dodging and weaving between the shots and bodies. It seemed to take forever to get to where he was going but once he did, his world was changed. There he was. There was Arthur, on his last leg, so to speak, and rugged. His green eyes were fogged and bloodshot, his face was drawn and tired looking, and his body looked frail and defeated. Alfred's eyes clouded over with tears and he bent down on one knee, looking straight into the Englishman's eyes.

"We're getting through this. I promise you, I will get you out of here," he handed Arthur his canteen and watched as his ally drank. Alfred sighed in relief and brushed the tears from his eyes with the back of his gloved hand.

"Thank you, Al," Arthur breathed and handed the canteen back. Alfred nodded and placed the container back into its holder.

The American stood and outstretched his hand to the Englishman. The stare that they shared for just that moment struck awe in both of them. All of the resentment and broken peices from that one time 141 years prior just washed away and fixed themselves back into place.

"Let's do this," he smirked as Arthur took his hand and pulled himself up. Alfred pulled him into a hug, not caring who saw. His friend, no, his best friend was alive. He could feel the Brit go rigid in his arms just for a moment, but then he relaxed and wrapped his arms around the larger body.

"I didn't think that you would come..." Arthur's voice cracked and tears formed in his eyes. "I thought you had left me..." Alfred shook his head as he pulled away for a moment so he could look at Arthur and wipe his filthy cheeks. Then he pulled the British body back into his embrace.

Without realizing what he was doing, Alfred pulled Arthur even closer to him and whispered in his sleep the exact same words that he whispered the day he found him in the trenches;

"I will never leave you..."