Sorry for changing this story on you guys. I just didn't like how childish it was. Hate me or not, but I changed it. I will update a new chapter some time later, but this is the beginning of the updated story. Peace.
Coldness. That was the first thing Arthur felt. It took but a moment, but his senses crawled back to his mind at a snail's pace. He felt cold, but also heavy, like he was buried under feet of snow. Why was he so cold? He couldn't waste time with that thought, as his sense of smell returned to him. Why was he in a place reeking of antiseptic? Was he in a hospital? Then came the sobbing. His hearing slowly started to function as he heard a quiet, choked sounding sobbing voice. It was at that point that he realized he needed to open his eyes. The voice terrified him and sounded an awful lot like his idiotic Alfred's voice. He cracked one eye open a peek and immediately sealed them shut once more.
Why was it so damn bright...
Because of his failed efforts however, he made a discomforted noise which silenced the sobbing voice in the room. It was in that long stretch of silence that he heard many thing. It had to have been morning, because he could hear the morning birds chirping. Not only that, but he heart a soft beeping by his left ear. Was that a heart monitor?
At that point, he was almost certain he was in a hospital. However, he couldn't remember why.
He quickly proceeded to go through all the options in his head. Was there a war? Well, he'd likely not have forgotten something so important as a war, so unlikely. Next, did he drink so much he somehow injured himself enough to go to a hospital. Again unlikely due to his immortal state of being. Something serious had to have happened in order to have put him in the hospital, but he couldn't recall what it was. The last thing he remembered was being in a world meeting shouting at France about something he couldn't recall anymore.
Did it even matter? It likely wasn't long after that that I went to the hospital, but why?
However, his thoughts were cut short by the barely audible, "Artie?". The voice that was most definitely Alfred's cracked at the "ie" of his name. The raw pain in his voice sent a sharp throbbing deep in his heart. Alfred...
Suddenly however, he found himself releasing a pained moan. Following the foreign pained sounds he was making came a burning pain that managed to allude his senses since he woke up. Either the morphine ran out or he just fully woke up. Either way, he couldn't coherently ask Alfred what happened or why he was here. The pain took over his thoughts, and he could no longer focus on any of his senses. Everything became static and hurt. He was just glad that, whatever was happening, Alfred was here.
It was only a few moments of painful agony until he heard the rush of doctors entering his room and Alfred begging them to do something. Was it really that bad?
Blissfully, he fell into the sleep that came with the doctors presence.
Alfred sobbed as he watched the doctors wheel Arthur out for the emergency surgery that came with Arthur's body catching up with the happenings in his country.
London blazed.
Alfred tried not to stare at the breaking news on the television in the waiting room; what the hell was wrong with these doctors anyways? Don't add stress to the already stressed out relatives waiting on their loved ones to return alive. It didn't even work as a glared at the offending piece of technology, but didn't move to turn it off. He needed to watch.
What he saw on the television was precisely the reason why England was suffering so much. Even if the country was immortal, he could still brush close to death and feel pain ten times worse than death itself. He thought back to Arthur. When Arthur first stirred, he didn't know what to do. The country had been out for days, and the doctors didn't know what to do until yesterday. So, when he saw that the country finally'd woken up, he stood in shock for minutes. Of course, that relief didn't, no, couldn't last. He sniffled and growled once more at the gruesome situation in London exhibited like some sick, messed up show.
London blazed on, and there was nothing Alfred could do about it.
