White Lies

Chapter 4

Notes: This one took quite long as well, I'm sorry.

Anyway, thanks to everybody who voted on this, and a very, very special thanks to those who commented, I have no words to express how much I appreciate your feedback. <3

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Chapter Four

There was no space for any thought in Alfred's mind, no space for rationality. With the blood roaring in his ears, the only thing he could concentrate on was Cuba's horrified features. He wasn't even truly seeing them – all he could see was Matthew's pasty face, the dark bruise decorating his cheekbone, the way his eyelids fluttered over his unfocused eyes, struggling to stay open. And all that damage had been caused by the man that stood in front of him, paralyzed.

Alfred wanted to see him bleed. He wanted to feel his flesh bruise under his fists, he wanted to see Cuba collapse on his knees, begging for mercy, moaning in pain until the sound would make Alfred forget Matthew's agonized whimpers. He heard a sharp cry somewhere but didn't pay any heed to it, already projected in the anticipation of his fist hitting Cuba's face.

It never happened.

Something crashed against Alfred's side, knocking the wind out of him. He found himself on the floor, pinned down by a heavier body, staring at Germany's stern face.

"What do you think you're doing, America?!" Germany growled.

Alfred didn't answer, his eyes roaming behind Germany's frame until they fell on Cuba's figure. The coward was motionless, frozen in the same place he had been before, pale and wide-eyed. Alfred hated that. He utterly despised that lost expression, Cuba had no right to feel confused, not when Alfred's little brother was lying on a bed because of him, in so much pain that he could barely breathe.

"Let me go!" he snarled, trying to squirm, but Germany's hold on his arms was too strong and the rest of his heavy body was expertly positioned to hold him in place.

Alfred mentally cursed the lack of attention that had resulted in that predicament.

Germany's frown deepened.

"If you think I'm going to let you hurt anybody you're wrong, America. This kind of conduct is inexcusable. I want an explanation, right. Now."

America gritted his teeth.

"I'm going to give you all the explanations you want," he hissed, "After you've let me go and murder that fucking son of a bitch!"

His words were accompanied by some thrashing, but Germany tightened his hold, his muscles tensing with the effort.

Cuba had yet to move, he was staring at the void with unfocused his eyes, like a deer caught in the headlights.

"You're not murdering anybody," retorted Germany.

Drops of perspiration started blossoming on his face as he struggled to restrain Alfred's strength.

At that point, the targets of Alfred's rage became two. He had nothing against Germany, but the other nation was keeping him from his objective, and Alfred had no more restraint. There was only one thought that occupied his mind, he could hear Matthew's pained whimpers in tune with his thundering heart, his brother's bruised skin was imprinted in front of his eyes. All he could think about was revenge.

Narrowing his eyes, Alfred tried to calculate his odds. His arms and legs were effectively pinned, and Germany's strength perfectly matched his, but his head was free. Would head-butting Germany make him loosen his hold? He had nothing to lose....