Save Me from Myself [ UsUk/ UkUs ]

"No... It can't be."

Alfred was back in his hell. Every time he closed his eyes, he would be there again. Back when he messed up the spell. When everything went wrong because of him. He still can't forgive himself and it pains him to see Arthur the way he is now.

It was all his fault. Everything. Each time he returned to his nightmare, he would try to do it right. Try to fix his mistakes. He read the paper in his hands and tried to block out Arthur's screaming. Alfred was coming close to the point where he stepped into the darkness. His heart sped up even though he knew what was coming.

A hand reached out and grabbed his ankle. He kept reading without hesitation. The only thing that stopped him was being jerked to the ground. The shadows reached out and began pulling him into the darkness, except it was different this time. There were only two hands and they weren't coming from the shadows.They were coming from Arthur's direction.

Alfred glanced behind him in horror to see who had a hold of him.

"Hello poppet."

Alfred woke up screaming. He thrashed his arms in every direction, not caring what or who he hit. He felt a pair of hands grab his wrists and pin them against the bed. He opened his eyes and saw the silhouette of Arthur looming over him. 

"N-No! Stay away from me!" Alfred screamed weakly while trying to escape Arthur's grasp. 

"Alfred calm down! I'm trying to help." Arthur loosened his grip on the American's wrists. 

"P-Please leave me alone! Just s-stay away!" Alfred yelled as tears began forming in his blue eyes. 

Arthur could see the fear in his friend and decided to let him go. Almost instantly, Alfred jumped off the bed and backed away from thr Brit until he was stopped by the wall. 

Arthur stared at him with a painful expression. He turned to leave the room without a single word, too shocked to say anything. What happened to make him act this way?

Alfred sank to the floor and pulled his knees to his chest, rocking back and forth. "It was just a dream." He repeated to himself while staring blankly at the floor. The image of the 'Arthur' in his dream was implanted in his head. Those cold, light blue eyes staring at him with blood-lust. 

The moment Arthur stepped out into the hallway, he cringed his nose at the burning smell that littered the house. Fear hit him like a speeding bullet and he ran towards the source of the awful smell. He found himself in the kitchen, where a small fire was burning something over the stove. On closer look, Arthur could see it was a piece of clothing.

Alfred's bomber jacket.

The Brit frantically searched for the fire extinguisher but couldn't seem to find it. He grabbed a broom and began to beat the fire until it finally vanished. He stared at the American's beloved jacket. Or at least what was left of it.

Alfred curiously peeked his head out into the hall when he heard commotion coming from the kitchen. He slowly walked down the hallway and was greeted by a worried looking Arthur.

"I'm so sorry, Alfred. I don't know what happened. There was just-" Arthur was cut off by the American.

"Dude, calm down. What happened?"

Arthur sighed and nodded towards the kitchen, trying to avoid Alfred's gave. 

The American noticed the pity in Arthur's face and nervously stepped into the kitchen. He gasped at the sight that laid before him. "No... It can't be." He mumbled to himself as he ran up to the remains of his jacket. Even though there were only a few pieces of cloth lying on the stove, he instantly recognized them. 

A shock-wave of guilt jolted through Arthur as he watched his friend fall to his knees, screaming and crying. He timidly set a hand on Alfred's back and spoke to him softly, "It's alright. We can just buy you a new one. It won't be that bad. Besides, that blasted old thing could use a replacement." He said, trying to lighten up the mood. 

"SHUT UP! I DON'T WANT YOUR HELP!" Alfred thundered before shoving Arthur aside and storming into his room, slamming the door behind him. 

Arthur sat up and stared at the ashes. I should probably clean that up so Alfred won't have to see it any longer. Just as the Brit stood up, he noticed something that he had missed before. He stared, eyes wide, at the plate beside the stove. An arrangement of brightly colored cupcakes sat on the counter. Although, this wasn't what worried Arthur. It was what was written on the cabinet's above the tray. In pink icing, three words that would haunt Arthur for the rest of his life were smeared across the wood: With Love, Oliver.