Warnings: (Human names used); A very heroic Alfred and concerns current events, as well as implied pairings.

Author's Note: The moment I found out about the high-scale earthquake and tsunami that struck Japan, my heart broke. I just hope that no more people must suffer, henceforth. This little thing just came out when I read their government asked for our (US') help, and felt inspired. Feedback/criticism is always loved~.

Blond hair clung to a damp forehead, as the owner of such fine locks shot straight up from his bed. His breaths had, from his hellish sleep to his awakening, transpired from shallow to heavy and forced pants. Holding one hand to his heart and the other quickly plucking Texas off the counter and onto his nose, the blond stared blankly at his sheet-tangled limbs; confounded. The dream—the nightmare—he had just awoken from had been far from what he had previously been fantasizing about.

He remembered being at a carnival, going onto the Tilt-a-Whirl with his brother, Matt, for about the eleventh time. He remembered them both still screaming from mild anxiety before it was replaced with thrill; how he had begun to excitedly laugh aloud as the ride climaxed. He remembered how he had to help Matthew to the trash bin—he had told him not to eat—and had fatefully encountered a few acquaintances from work. He remembered chatting with a sheepish Antonio and annoyed Roderich as Lovino and Gilbert joined his brother to vomit. Everything really had been going swell; this, Alfred knew for sure.

However, he also reluctantly recalled sighting a rather lassitude Kiku.

Truly, the island-nation was gaunt to begin with; but there was something horribly off about his appearance that literally took Alfred's breath away.

Just as his was now, Kiku's hair was horribly disheveled and damp, clinging to his face in some areas whilst spiking out oddly in others. His skin lacked the usual luster it was praised for; rather than a healthy, radiant ivory, his flesh was a sickly pale that was visibly bruised in clustered spots. His clothes were torn at the edges, ripped pieces fluttering in a dead breeze; his hakama (what was left of it) shown to be partially burned.

Needless to say, the sight was bewitching enough to hold Alfred in a morbid fascination, that he turned back to his companions to tell them of the hurt nation. His mind laughed how, if England were there, he probably would have called him a ghost of sorts. Yet, when America tried explaining this—none of the other nations seemed capable of spotting their hurt ally. Bewildered and confused, Alfred trudged on and attempted to prove to them Kiku was right there, slouched obscenely (for someone like him); clearly distraught and hurt and in pain. Yet they insisted that they couldn't see Japan where he was swearing he was; causing him to grow more flustered and frustrated when they asked if he had spun a bit too much.

Taking matters into his own hands, he raced over to the side of a concession stand the island-nation reclined against. Tentatively, with a hesitance ever rarely practiced, America tried reaching his hand out to aid the Japanese entity—but much to his utter mortification, Japan merely smiled a wry smile, shaking his head. He didn't want his help; was not asking for it, so what was America going out of his way for?

Alfred had tried shouting—screaming, pleading; even crying out—but found that no sounds hence left his mouth. Entirely frightened, he attempted coughing a possible obstacle from his esophagus, but nothing came out. Not a sound, not a blockage.

Immediately flitting his cornflower-blue gaze back up, his face fell completely when he saw the thick sheen of cold sweat upon the island-nation. His heart was breaking; his ally—his friend—was hurting, badly, and damnit, why couldn't he do anything to help?

"Don't worry, America-san..." Kiku croaked softly, another weak smile perverting his clammy features. "I'll be okay... on my own..."

But Alfred knew otherwise. Somewhere, deep in his being, he knew that Japan was not all right—a feeling similar to that he felt previous to any disaster. And it pained him, more than he could ever hope to describe, knowing that he couldn't do a single thing to save his obviously deteriorating friend. It was tearing Alfred to shreds, he swore it was.

Then, he had started from his nightmare.

Absently, the blond shook his head; muttering how Japan was okay, he had to be okay; he was a superpower, too!

Notwithstanding, the heavy, hauntingly deep ache in his chest forced him to consider otherwise. What if Kiku was truly hurt? What if it had been a sign (premonition?) that the island-nation was suffering?

Alfred didn't get the chance to think too much on it; his cell phone vibrating violently alive with a vivacious ring tone accompanying.

Not bothering to check the ID, he immediately accepted the call and answered with a cheery "Hello?"

The silence on the other end frightened him greatly; a trepidation he hadn't felt forever threatening his façade. However, he persevered and tried again.

"Hellooo? Anyone there? It's rude to call people at 3AM and not bother—"

His smile fell from his face as a familiar apology was ushered from the opposing speaker.

"Sorry, America-san. I… well, I…"

Alfred was impatiently waiting for Japan to say something, anything, so he could confirm his dream being just a dream. But the island-nation hesitated too long, much too long than usual; and so he took it upon himself to reach his own verdict.

"Kiku! Hey! Are you okay?"

Alfred felt hurt when the line went dead-quite. Maybe Japan was okay, and he was simply confusing him?


"—do you think you could help me? There was an earthquake earlier, and despite its strength we presumed it to be alright; but then, a tsunami soon followed, and well… half of Tokyo is in ruins—"

America had already slid on his pants and was currently attempting to pull on his bomber jacket without use of one hand, before he cut in; "Don't worry, Japan! I'll be right there, okay? Don't move, the Hero is on his way!"

Kiku softly smiled, despite the pain throbbing all along his body; he knew there had always been a reason he couldn't stay away from the peppy, air-headed blond.

"Thank you, Alfred."