White walls, white floors, white bed sheets, white uniforms, white faces, and white papers. Who knew a color as bright as white could be so depressing? Alfred tapped his foot rapidly as he sat on the hard chairs that sat outside the doors. Who knew that having to wait would be worse than the situation itself? Sitting there, not being able to have any idea of what was going on. He wasn't even sure if he knew what was going on. Everything was a blur for him, nothing really made sense anymore.

"Alfred Jones?"

His head snapped up and he sat straighter as the doctor came in front of him. White face, white coat, and white papers on his white clipboard. "Yes?" he managed to choke out, not sure if he really wanted to hear the news or not.

"You're an acquaintance of Arthur Kirkland, is that correct?" the doctor asked, pushing his glasses up his nose to look at the American clearly. All America did was give the smallest of nods. "Well he has been stabilized for now. He is responding to our medications rather well so far. But-"

There it was, that one word he had been trying to prepare himself.

"-with the condition he is in right now there is no way to tell if he'll make or not. He's lost a lot of blood, the drugs already running through his body is a step away from killing him, and he's not in the best shape physically and mentally. All you can do right now is hope he can make it through the trauma put on his body. Even if he does survive there will be difficulties with recovery since he is rather..." Al looked up as the man ran his fingers through his dark brown hair, "…unstable to say the least."

'I don't think your psychotic boyfriend will make it through the night. Nice helping you,' would have been a better way to put it in America's opinion. England was already small and, let's face it, frail person. With his short stature and scrawny limbs he looked more feminine than anything else. Arthur reminded the American of one of those leaves that turn colors during autumn. Bipolar, beautiful, yet so fragile that it will crumble with a single touch.

How that analogy came so true today.

"…may I see him?" he asked quietly, his voice for once barely above a whisper. None of the other countries would have ever guessed that he could be so monotone and serious, but tragedies did things to you. He would love to just stand up and laugh it all off, saying that this was all a misunderstanding and England was really faking it. Then he would run to the Englishman's room, pull him out of bed, and tease him at his complaining. Maybe even give him a kiss since he would be acting so cute with his face flushing in anger and him yelling like a little kid throwing a tantrum when he didn't get the toy he wanted from the store. After that they would go out to McDonald's and he would try to force Iggy to eat a burger, acting like nothing had even happened.

But that only happened in a fairytale. This was a reality, a painful one.

The doctor, Dr. Brown judging by his nametag, nodded and gestured towards room 26. "He isn't conscious though and we don't know when… or if… he'll wake up."

'Thanks for the lovely encouragement,' America thought as he got up, 'Maybe if he does die you can be my therapist. We'll have a grand time together. And then I can blame you for being such a lousy doctor and end you up in the hospital.' It was a dark thought, but what was he supposed to be thinking about? Unicorns and rainbows?

No, that reminded him too much of the Brit.

He slowly made his way down the hallway. White walls, white tile, white pill bottles. He felt like if there continued to be so much white he would go blind. The door stood in front of him with a twenty-six nailed on rather proudly on the right side. What should any room in this stupid hospital be so proud? Congratulations, you house an almost corpse. Yay.

Opening the door he looked inside with a raised eyebrow. "Arthur? You awake yet?" He waited a few moments for a response but got nothing. He went in closer and saw that the Brit was lying in the bed, eyes closed. He didn't even look alive, just a pale corpse. The only actual movement was his chest rising and falling, but even that looked forced.

America stuffed his hands in his pockets and gave a small smile, even though he knew that the Englishman wouldn't see. "Hey Iggy, I got your message," tears started to build in his eyes once again, "You are such a goddamn idiot."

After he said that though, he let out a laugh. He wasn't sure why, maybe he was just trying to make the best of the situation. "It feels so funny… those words coming out of my mouth… for once I can call you the idiot. How does it feel? I'm for once the intelligent one!" he waited for some kind of retort, "Oh come on England! You would never let me say I'm smarter than you without some sort of comment! Give me what you got! 'Well you git you have the brain of a rock' or 'shut up you twat I'll always be the intelligent one!' …well?! At least open your eyes to glare at me dammit! YELL AT ME FOR FUCKS SAKE!"

There was a loud crack as America kicked the wall. Due to his amazing strength, he had somehow managed to leave a dent in the thick block of wood. His breathing was ragged as something brewed inside of him, a confliction of feelings. Of course he wanted Arthur to live, he loved him. Even though all the Brit did anymore was hurl insults at him he still enjoyed being around him. There was something about him that no one ever saw since they didn't take the real time to look closely. But now, now he was desperate to get him to wake up. A life without England wasn't one worth living. He needed him more than anyone, this was the person who wasn't afraid to at least attempt to encourage. Those many times he would be crying himself to sleep, somehow the Englishman would know and give him a call…

"No… oh God please…" America tossed onto his side, "Just leave me alone! Get away! P-please! PLEASE! AH!"

He sat straight up, panting heavily as beads of sweat streamed down his forehead and sides. It was the same vision… those same nightmares that would make him break down. He whimpered and pulled his hands close to his chest, as if to check if his heart was still beating below his ribcage. It only took a few seconds before he collapsed into crying. He fell to his side and pulled his knees to his chest, curling up into a ball. It was all too real… choking on the smell of hair… the red streaming down the lifeless body… the strings of flesh barely hanging off a bone…

Finally he managed to tear apart from his horrific world and snap back into reality as the ever so familiar ringtone, "Hero" by Skillet. Somehow he managed to reach over and grab his smartphone. Sniffling in an attempt to calm himself down, he pressed the green icon without even bothering to check the caller ID.

"The hero is here!" he tried to say cheerfully with his classic laugh at the end, "Who is this?"

"Don't give me any of that shit Alfred Jones," a familiar British voice snapped, like he was scolding a child, "I know something's wrong with you and you better tell me what's going on, NOW." The American blinked a few times, attempting to register what England was talking about.

"Uh Iggy dude, are you at the pub again? I'm fine!" he gave another "hero" laugh, "Or did you just call me for some other reason?" He thought he was being rather convincing, but then heard a scowl from the other line.

"Alfred Foster Jones," America shivered as England said his full name with a terrifying sternness, "You know I have never like that lying habit of yours. There is something wrong with you. I expect you to tell me in the count of five." The American snorted in disbelief, he hadn't heard Arthur count down from five since he was ten years old.

"Haha very funny dude, you do realize I'm trying to get some sleep over here-?" he started to retort but the Brit cut him off.

"Five."

"Dude. Stop messing around I want to go to sleep."

"Four."

"I get the joke. Haha you're hilarious!"

"Three."

"…this isn't a joke, is it?"

"Two."

"Iggy!"

"One-"

"OKAY FINE! YOU WIN!" Alfred finally yelled. Maybe it was just because from child instincts, he always seemed to break before the Englishman got to zero. He could almost hear Arthur's smirk.

"I always do, don't I? Now be a good little boy and tell Artie what's wrong with my little Alfie," he cooed and America felt some sort of tingling in his northern regions. Goddammit… somehow England also managed to make him fell so awkward. He blushed, glad this was over the telephone, before talking back.

"Seriously though dude, I just had a bad day. That's all. I'll be fine, believe me?"

"Was it a nightmare? You can't sleep again? I told you to stop watching those stupid horror movies before bed! Honestly if I have to come over there and wash your sheets-" Arthur started ranting and Alfred's face flushed once again. He hadn't wet the bed since he was a teenager, and that was only because the stupid Brit had jumped out at him when it was already thundering that night.

"England! I didn't wet the bed! And even if I had, which I won't since heroes don't do that, I wouldn't tell you. I can change my own sheets thank you very much!" he added to make sure he made his point clear. Arthur gave a scowl and the American guessed he was rolling his eyes.

"I know you aren't sleeping well Alfred, tell me what happened," he voice softened, "I just want to help you." America squirmed in his bed, not sure if he should tell him about the horrible nightmare or not. Well he couldn't, heroes were their own hero. He didn't need Iggy to be babysitting him any longer. Especially if he was going to have the Englishman as his own one day, hopefully soon. Who would want to be dating some grown man who can't even get through his own imaginations?

"Hey, I'm sleeping fine!" he lied with a forced smile on his face, hoping it would make his voice sound more convincing.

"Then why did you answer your cellphone at 2:35am in the morning?" Arthur said dryly, "You are many things Alfred, and a light sleeper is not one of them." America cursed mentally, the stupid Brit knew him way too well. Maybe he should develop a double identity to confuse him.

"…okay I did have a nightmare…" he sniffled as the tears came back, "…it was the same one though. It won't stop coming to me whenever I close my eyes. Iggy I don't know what to do. I don't want it to keep haunting me… please don't you have some spell?"

There was a pause on the other line as Arthur thought to himself for a few moments. "America," he said as softly as possible, "I can't take memories away. It goes against the laws, and it could take other memories away you want to keep. I don't want to hurt you because of my lack of control. Now, why don't you turn the phone on speaker so you can lie down okay? I'll keep talking to you so you can fall back to sleep."

Al nodded, whimpering as he had flashes of the horrible nightmare run through his mind. He pressed the icon for the speaker and set the phone right by his head when he had laid his head back down. "Done…" he mumbled quietly, with his face buried in his pillow.

"Alfie… I know you would never hurt me like that… the dream is just a twisted turn on your… our past together. Forget that we had ever left each other; I'm right next to you. Pretend I'm close enough to touch you. I'll be doing whatever you think will comfort you the best… keep repeating that in your mind… I never left your house… I'm right here… you didn't hurt me… there's no red… the color doesn't exist anymore… you like blue right? Imagine everything is blue, not a single different color. Make me blue if you want, I don't mind being a smurf."

That made the American laugh and he peeked out at the phone, staring at England's picture on the phone. Yeah… right next to him… together…

That's how it was supposed to be.

"But you don't care anymore, do you?" America whispered as he sunk to the ground, "You might not even make it! What am I supposed to do?!" He grabbed the Brit's cold hand, it was still the same shape. The small slim fingers that managed to intertwine perfectly with his, the palm that fit just right into his. He remembered all those times Arthur laughed at him for having such "sausage fingers" and called him that for a whole week. Most people would yell or pout, but he enjoyed it. The yelling, the criticizing, and the anger. It made England who he was and even though people saw him as some old bastard, America saw him as the kindest person he had ever met. The Briton showed him a side that no one ever got to find.

But now Alfred looked down at only white. White hands, white sheets, white pillows, white face, white tubes, and white bandages. But he knew what color was really hidden under those gauze that wrapped around his friend's arms. Red.

Red cuts, red blood, red scrapes, red muscles that were torn, and deep underneath a red heart that was breaking. America rested his head on the hand he held.

"Artie," his voice cracked, "I know you probably can't hear me but I want you to know that I need you. Not just because like I'm your friend but because without you…" his throat tightened, "I don't have a purpose to live anymore. You have no idea how much you mean to me… it's important for me… you're that special someone in my life… and I… I love you. Not like that old crap we watch on those sitcoms… like the real love."

He lifted his head so he could look at the Brit. "R-remember those dumb plays you would make me watch? With that weird language that makes them sound like they were quoting random syllables? Well… one of them I actually kinda enjoyed. It was the one with that prince dude that fell in love with that chic… Juliet! Yeah Romeo and Juliet! I loved how much they cared for each other… when one died the other one killed himself or herself... I forgot how the order goes, sorry. Anyway, that's what I'm going to do. You… you're my Juliet. And if you die… well I'll meet you up in heaven okay? We can be together forever."

It wasn't fair of course. Not to either of them. Because of one… stupid and rather selfish decision Arthur could lose his life. What had he done that had been so wrong to let the Brit do something like this? Was this all his fault? A simple call could of saved Arthur, but once America had received that stupid text he knew it was too late.

2:34pm Mon, January 26

From : Iggybrows

America… I know I'm not the one who usually texts you… but this is really important. I just wanted to say that I'm sorry… I've been stupid… I've made a lot of mistakes and a lot of them I don't deserve a second chance… I also want to say I love you. I know I yell at you a lot… and I know I'm a bastard to you. But that doesn't mean I don't care. You mean a lot to me and I really am sorry for leaving you like this. While I text this message I have 36 pills going into my stomach and blood running down my wrists. Not sure which bridge I can jump off yet and I don't want you to find me… I need to say sorry one more time… sorry… goodbye Alfred.

Once receiving it, America had to read it over three times before processing what had just happened. But then he managed to get out the door and run as fast as he could. One thing that the Brit hadn't known was that Alfred had been staying at Scotland's place to be ready for the Allied meeting at England house taking place the next day. The drugs were slowly starting to take his mind over so he most likely forgot.

Everything else was just a blur. Finding the closest bridge and noticing a familiar crumpled body lying in the shallow bank. He was petrified of the nightmare that had lied before him. A few numbers were dialed, and before he knew it he was talking to someone without being able to string together a coherent thought. His voice trembling, he tried to explain what he had witnessed at the bottom of that bridge. Before he knew it, sirens filled the air, and saw a white ambulance with white beds and white blankets. Now, here he was in the hospital room. Staring blankly at the white walls. All alone with an almost corpse.

"Please…" America whispered as tears streamed down his cheeks, "Wake up. For me Artie, wake up." He whimpered, looking down at the hand that wasn't intertwined England's, noticing as he trembled. You're so loved and you have no idea how much I care… I think I know why you decided to cut yourself, to take those stupid pills, and jump… you thought that you were all alone in this world." His voice cracked as he looked down at Arthur's pale face. "But really… you're not. I'm right next to you and this time I promise I won't leave. Please…" America stared at him for a while, waiting for… for what? For his Artie to come back and tell him everything's okay?

There was silence in the room, besides the steady beeping of the heart monitor. Alfred tried to focus on the beeping, thinking about all the times he had failed England... Finally he broke and he collapsed to his knees, sobbing into his free hand. "I-I'm sorry!" he cried, not able the control it anymore. "I'm sorry I was a horrible friend! I'm sorry I wasn't there to help you! I just want to fix everything but it's too late! Why did I never listen?1 What is wrong with me?! Before you die can you at least try to forgive me?!" He reached for Arthur's other hand, laying his head onto Artie's chest and weeping uncontrollably.

As the American continued to cry, feeling helpless and alone, he didn't notice the hand he held slowly grip his own. "You are such a git…" a hoarse voice croaked out.

Alfred slowly lifted his head, his glasses smudged from tears but he could make out a pair of green eyes staring at him. His jaw dropped as he sat straight up and took his glasses off, wiping them and putting them back on his face just to make sure he was seeing what he thought he had seen. Yup, England was staring up at him with a small smile on his face. The same red cheeks, the same blonde messy hair, the same thick eyebrows, and the same guy he had known and... loved. "Hello Alfred…" the Englishman's smile widened ever so slightly, "Did you miss me?" America stared at him in awe, realizing the Brit had just heard him confess everything and his face went pale. He was utterly humiliated, but that was besides the point. England was awake. That's all that mattered.

America sat there for a few moments, staring at his friend before slugging him in the arm. "YOU JACKASS!" he screamed, balling his fists at his sides. He thought mad, but wasn't exactly sure what emotions he was feeling.

Arthur shrieked and clutching his forearm. "What the hell was that for you twat?!" he snapped, glaring up at America, "I'm already hurt enough at is! Bloody hell can't you be a little more careful?! Do you not see the fucking bandages?!" he pointed towards the blood crusted white wraps on his arms.

"And who's fault is that?!" Alfred yelled back, more bitterly than he intended. Even when the Brit opened his mouth to protest, he plowed right on. He was enraged. "Do you have any fucking idea how worried I was?! Don't ever pull that kind of shit with me Arthur Kirkland! I thought you were going to DIE! Do you understand?! D-I-E! As in never opening those eyes of yours ever again and being stuck in an eternal sleep!" As he ranted, England's eyes faltered and he seemed to shrink into his hospital bed. The American's breath staggered. "I was worried SICK!"

"I'm sorry… I know I was a bloody idiot…" Arthur mumbled. He felt almost embarrassed.

"-Not to mention-!" Al stopped and turned his head to look down at the Englishman with surprise in his eyes, "Wait a sec what did you just say?"

England's face flushed with a little bit of anger. "I shouldn't have to say it again," he scowled but then his features softened, "I said I was sorry and I admit that I… did not make the most intelligent decisions. I was what you would call a… an idiot."

"Yup," America nodded slightly, "A selfish, stupid, thoughtless, ignorant, idiot." The Brit glared at him and huffed, crossing his arms.

"Well thanks for the bloody support," he muttered, trying to hide his hurt and confusion. But of course, America wasn't done yet.

"And do you know what else you are?" the American smiled and leaned in to kiss the shorter blonde's forehead, "You're my selfish, stupid, thoughtless, ignorant, idiot~. And I swear if you do something like that ever again I will personally drive to your house and smack some sense into you. Got it young man?" He was of course joking around, partly. Arthur blushed as Alfred trapped him between his arms and gave the smallest of nods.

"Y-yes Mr. Jones."

America smiled and kissed England on the lips once more. "But please… never do that to me or yourself… I wouldn't be able to even bare living without you." He stared into England's eyes, his amazing, bright green eyes, looking for a sign of clarification. It was then that he realized how much he cared for that idiot of a Brit.

"I won't do it again," he held his pinky up, "I promise Alfred." The American stared at the pinky before he grinned and gripped it with his own.

This was one promise the two were definitely going to keep.

~TWO MONTHS LATER~

"Can you be any slower?!" England snapped, crossing his arms with a scowl set on his face. He tapped his foot as America slowly made his way down the stairs with large boxes under one arm while the other rested on his shoulder. They were marked, "clothes" and "books" which really showed how much weight the boxes had.

"It's not my fault your stuff is so heavy!" he whined, "Come on I know you're the woman of the relationship but at least try to help me out!"

"I AM NOT THE WOMAN!" Arthur immediately yelled and threw a pillow at his lover's head as his face flushed bright red. Alfred ducked with a wide grin on his face, winking at the shorter nation.

"Oh you know you are~" he cooed as he reached the bottom of the stairs, "Now stop being such a tsundere and help me out here. This is your shit I have to carry all around this house and you said we would do everything together." England crossed his arms, and glanced back at the taller blonde.

"…America?" he piped up, rather quiet now. The American looked up and raised an eyebrow, tilting his head to the side ever so slightly.

"Yeah Iggy?"

"…will you love me? Forever?" he asked, barely above a whisper. Alfred paused, setting the stuff down before letting out a small sigh. After two weeks in the hospital the Brit had finally been released and America hadn't wasted a moment before asking him out. The experience had shown him his true feelings, and he wasn't ready to let the Englishman out of his sight either. It was after they had finally gotten into bed together when they realized there was no going back on this decision. They had exposed the most secret parts of themselves to each other, stripped of any secrets that had originally had.

If that didn't show a real relationship, then what did?

Alfred was already protective of Arthur from the beginning, but he needed the Brit to stay close for safety. He didn't want to have that chance of England becoming depressed once again and make stupid decisions. So he suggested the whole move in to bring them closer as well. But ever since then the Briton continued to ask the same question. Will you love me? As always Al had the same answer.

When he reached Arthur, he grabbed the Englishman's chin, tilted it up gently, and gave him a soft kiss on his lips. "Listen to me… I love you okay? I'll never ever leave you. I made that promise and I will never, EVER break it. You are too important to me. Now, do you believe me?"

England pecked America's lips back and grasped his other hand. "Yes…" he mumbled but didn't have time to say anything else since their mouths kept meeting over and over again.

"You know…" Alfred licked his lover's lower lip, "We have some time. Everything doesn't have to be put away all at once. Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Arthur smiled and stood on the tips of his toes so he could reach America's ear.

"There is the couch…" he swooned, a smirk adorning his lips, "We can make it work. Love has no limits, I remember someone saying." Alfred raised an eyebrow, pretending to be oblivious to what the Brit was talking about.

"Oh really? And who would that genius of a man be?" he asked innocently, "He sounds rather handsome, intelligent, awesome, heroic, perfect-"

"Don't get a big head," Iggy snapped, glaring up at him slightly, "There won't be enough room for me on that couch with the ego of yours taking up all the room. Now can we skip all of your hero speech and get to the REAL fun? Standing here and listening to you rant about how amazing you are can get rather boring after a while." America chuckled and picked the Briton up bridal style.

"Okay, okay I get the message," he kissed him harder this time and lowered himself onto the couch, "You know you wouldn't be so pissy if I had let you keep that stupid dildo of yours. You know the one attached to you~?"

England bit Alfred's neck and laid on his chest. "Drop dead~"

The rest of that morning was self-explanatory. But as the two became one they remembered their promise.

Neither of them would ever have to be alone.

And that's how it was meant to be.

~The End