Chapter Text
Arthur isn’t sure how Alfred managed to get his record player to work - or even how he managed to get the damned old thing running on some open circuit composed of jumper cables, severed wires, something from behind his television, and a car battery - but he’s not about to question it.
“Your priorities during an apocalypse are completely out of line, but I don’t disagree with your song choice,” clicks England with momentary annoyance. “Terribly unfitting for the occasion, however.”
Alfred rolls his eyes and laughs, albeit unsteadily. “I’ve always got great taste, sweetheart.”
After fiddling with the setup a bit longer and sending a few sparks flying doing god knows what, the bespectacled man huffs, getting onto his knees and wiping off a sheen of nonexistent dust from his pants - and looking rather proud of himself, Arthur might add.
“How are you feeling?” he asks, sliding the vinyl smoothly out of its practically untouched covering.
“Quite … “ From his chair across the room, Arthur uncrosses his arms. “ … normal, actually.”
America snorts. “And you say I act weirdly during an apocalypse.”
“We were nations, Ame—Alfred.” He catches himself at the last second. “We were practically conditioned to handle death, so feeling indifferent before experiencing it once more isn’t quite as strange as choosing to dance to some wartime song from the late 1940’s as their number one priority.”
The sunny blond pops the record on, blowing off a bit more dust. “You’re right - we were nations.” After slipping the spindle on, he doesn’t wait a crackle before galloping across the floor and sweeping the once-island-nation onto his feet. “And you were always going on about how humans were off doing naive, crazy things, so why not?”
Feeling everything but saying nothing, Arthur allows himself to be manhandled into standing a breath away from the American, a hand on his waist and the other falling through his fingers. The song begins to play, and he allows himself a smile as he slides his palm over Alfred’s shoulder and leans just a little bit forward as they begin to sway to the beat.
They could be human, if only for a while.
“She was one of your girls, wasn’t she?” Alfred inquires thoughtfully, a careful concentration evident in his voice as he attempts to avoid stepping on Arthur’s toes at all costs. “I couldn’t go a week on one of your fronts without hearing about her at some point.”
“Margaret was a great lady, I’ll have you know.” His chide is effortless, with the same punch Alfred’s gotten use to over the decades. “Fantastic singer, made many men and women happy - or, as closest to it as they could’ve gotten.”
“Hey I’m a pretty good singer myself.” Alfred waggles his eyebrows suggestively, eliciting an eye roll from his partner. He gasps on mock shock, feigning offense. As to prove his point, he breaks into song - swinging Arthur along with equal enthusiasm. “With love that’s true, I’ll wait for you. Au—“
“Wrong song, love,” interrupts Arthur, one part to point out the fact, and ninety-nine parts because the sunny blond’s - rather loud - vocals didn’t do the song currently playing any justice. “I do believe that it’s the next track, however.” He glances out the window over the other’s shoulder. “Not that we’ll have time for it.”
A flash of sadness contorts onto Arthur’s expression at that, but it’s quickly stifled.
“—on’t be long. They’ll be happy to know, that as you saw me go, I was singing this song.”
The soft baritone of Alfred’s voice beside his ear startles the him. It’s slightly off-key, Arthur notes, and slightly forced as Alfred’s voice toes the barrier between one of a tenor and one of an actual baritone. But none of that matters as the other continues, singing softly into his ear with a gentleness that seemed unbecoming of the young man.
“Keep smiling through, just like you always do.”
And Arthur does smile as he buries his head into the other’s shoulder, swaying lightly. Beyond Alfred’s singing, he could hear the faint patter of rain stringing onto his roof, and the American pulling closer, rubbing circles into his back. Seems like he still hasn’t lost all connections with his land.
They continue to dance for several moments, holding each other close as Alfred sings quietly into Arthur’s ear, cracked glasses nudging against his dirty blond hair. The sun colors the room a dimming orange, and Arthur watches Alfred’s hair turn a bronzen gold in the fading sunlight, fading until the last sliver of sunset sinks below the horizon.
“Till the blue skies drive the dark clouds far away.”
Arthur collapses first. Alfred feels the shock shoot through his system before he too gives way.
They fall into each other - from toes to knees to their chests beating against Arthur’s hardwood floor, twitching fingers still locked loosely together. The sun is completely out now, extinguishing the warmth from the planet beneath it.
Arthur feels the Alfred's free hand brush shakily against the corner of his eye, and only then does he register the tears running down his face.
He feels the burning pain claw away at his feet, crawling up his calves and eating him away to nothingness - and he feels it all being eaten up from him, every second, minute, century of his existence, every sharpened arrow and forest-bound escape, every war and fight that’s lead him onto his knees, pleading, begging for it to all just disappear—
This was all that was left.
“I love you.”
(“I don’t want to die.”)
The sentence is a choked sob, yet Alfred still looks back at him, soft, breathless.
“I love you too.”
(“I know.”)
The room is still, empty save for the swirling motion of a disc being spun somewhere far above their heads. Both of them crack a mangled smile at the other, bleeding themselves white as vinyl scratched out the last line left unsung.
“But I know we’ll meet again some sunny day.”