Disclaimer: not mine.

Summary: Sometimes time zones intersect. Features Alfred F. Jones in the past. Sort of.

Warnings: Cursing, dark themes, descriptions of horrific deaths, crimes, history (as accurate as I can possibly be), and American- Awesome-ness.

Flashbacks

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Prologue:

Already Gone

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Winter held the city in an iron fist, as buildings were covered in huge quantities of snow and ice. Citizens and visitors alike retreated to the warmth of their shelters hoping to wait out the buzzard, yet among the white powder one person was not inside. Huddling within the small confines of a weak blue winter coat that seemed to do little to rid its wearer of the blustering weather, Alfred F. Jones tried his best to ignore the chill.

His hands were shaking, and the tips of his fingers seemed to be a very slight shade of blue no matter how much he tried to warm them. He'd rubbed them together but that proved to be useless and the effort was draining what little excess energy he had so he stopped after while, hoping the blue would vanish after he returned to his lodging. His legs though were considerably better even as they pushed him through the mounds of snow on the sidewalk, aches and pains aside. For some reason, the cold had always had this affect on him—the ability to make his old wounds, old scars burn with pain…

He chuckled coldly to himself, as he adjusted his scarf (a long wool addition baring the United States flag).

He was used to pain.

Both figuratively and metaphorically.

After all nothing compared to the wounds he received from the Civil War or from being hated for the two-thousand nine recession.

Alfred felt the buzzard was easier to face then the cold shoulder he was receiving from many of the nations. Many of whom were not in good moods since the shock numbers were released.

"What the bloody hell were you thinking?!"

"This is irresponsible. I can't believe Amérique could—"

"I can't believe you were so stupid—"

"Irresponsible, aru—"

"Perhaps comrade Amerika is not ready for such power—"

Alfred sank further into the comfort of his coat trying hard to keep the cold from entering his body. He wasn't good with winter, never had been and standing here amidst the snowflakes; he could feel the fear and pain creeping up. Not just of his allies' words but of that time, that horrible time…

The deep darkness and the feeling of panic, of no one hearing him…

The weightless darkness, of reaching for nothing…

No one is coming…

No one—

Alfred snapped himself from his thoughts. He couldn't afford to think about that. Not now. Right now he needed to concentrate on getting back to the hotel quickly before any of the other nations saw him. He really didn't feel up to hearing more reasons why they hated him.

Digging his hands deeper in to his coat pockets, Alfred sped up, running almost as he passed the Hilton Hotel—the place where the other nations were staying, and taking a back alley to another place. His lodging were at another hotel, something of a coincidence, and at this point a blessing in disguise. Being anywhere near the others was just asking for problems (and yelling) he didn't need.

He'd had enough yelling for one day.

Particularly from his family members—

"Stupid."

"Idiot."

"It your fault!"

"Your fault—!"

A loud ringing interrupted his thoughts; he jumped before he shifted remembering in fact that, that unusual sound was from his new phone. He fumbled for a second trying to grab the device before glancing at the caller ID.

If it was one of the nation—he was not going to pick up.

He refused to…but it wasn't.

It was Tony.

"Hello?"

'Where are you?'

Alfred blinked, and glanced around looking for something distinctive to help him figure out where he was. Within the United States, he needn't have bothered but the fact that he was currently in Russia made it necessary. Tentive friendship or not the cold climate was against him in every single way possible. He'd be lucky if he could make out anything in the white swirls—

Catching sight of a street sign Alfred responded.

"Arbat Street, middle of Moscow…why?"

'Some strange spatial shifts seemed to be originating from that area. I am unable to understand why. I would suggest that you—" Static blocked out the rest.

"Tony? Can you repeat that I didn't get that?"

"…be careful…zzst…trouble…"

"What?! Tony?! Can you hear me?!" His grasping the phone tighter, shifting his grip. Maybe he adjusted his fingers the signal would return—

"….."

"Tony?!"

The line went dead.

"Dammit. What was that about?" Alfred said taking the phone from his ear, and glancing at the screen. The little signal sign in the corner of the phone display blinked before vanishing.

There was no signal.

Alfred cursed.

What exactly did spatial shift have to do with anything?

And why did he need to be careful?

Nothing made any sense.

"Stupid phone." He whispered slipping it back into his coat pocket. Useless phone or not, he'd get rid of it later—

He sneezed.

Right now though, he needed to get back to his room before he turned into a popsicle. Squaring his shoulders, he marched on, trying hard to see through the endless streams of snow now coming down in large amounts making seeing anything difficult.

Not that walking was any different.

Upon the ground the snow was up to his knees, freezing him, and wetting his jeans as the snow melted into the cloth. He shivered, limbs going a little numb as he forced himself to go further.

The last thing he needed was to die in this snow storm—Ivan would never let him hear the end of it, if he did.

Stupid cold.

And people wondered why he never wanted to leave his house during the winter?

"Because it's too friggin' cold." He muttered to himself.

He winched a little as his leg scratched something in the snow. No doubt he was going to have a sizable cut when he got back to his room—

He blinked.

"What the hell is that?" He said watching as a strange purple swirling vertex of something floated in a few feet away. Snowflakes and random bits of trash floated into it causing ripple effects across its surface.

He didn't know what it was—

Unless it was what Tony was talking about…?

Whatever.

Alfred preferred not to mess with strange vertexes when he was half frozen. He made to turn to his left when everything was shot to hell.

The vertex grew in depth encompassing the entirely of the street sucking large piece of trash and debris. Alfred grabbed on to a nearby phone post using every bit of strength he had.

But still…

He was slipping!

"Seriously, haven't I suffered enough today?!" He yelled scribbling for a better hold on the metal pole.

He missed fingers unable to hold his weight as frostbitten as they were. He tried to reach for something else—anything to hold him because the vacuum of air was too powerful and anything that would have likely held him was far, far away.

He cursed, looking back as he entered the swirling vertex.

He hated his life.

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Preview:

Alfred blinked, unable to believe his eyes.

"Arthur?" He whispered.

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Author's Note: Forgive me! My wrist is a bit better now…though writer's block is a bit annoying. I know what direction I want to go for some of the other fanfictions… it's just trying to get there… Hopefully this prologue wasn't as short and pathetic as I think…

Please Read and Review!

Alfred needs GPS to find out where the hell he is…