A/N: Just a short thing. Probably a one-shot.
"Marry me."
It wasn't a question.
"Marry me, right now, please, please, please." It wasn't a beg, or a plead. "Please, Matthew, marry me."
America was gripping Canada by the upper arms, tears streaming down his face and eyes searching Canada's stunned expression, like he was an addict looking for his fix in the soft violet eyes. A fear so obvious in America's eyes that Canada could see it, see it in the way America's bottom lip trembled, the way his fingertips pressed into Canada's arms.
"Please, Mattie, I- I- I need, I need to know that-" America said, his voice splintering.
Canada didn't wait for his brain to find the words, couldn't wait for his voice to finally sound out.
He kissed America so forcefully that the nurses around them made to seperate them. One hand dug into America's scalp and pushed their lips harder while the other hand batted away a mousy-haired nurse.
Their noses squished against each others as Canada's hands both clutched America's hair, running through it like he'd never gotten to touch America before, like he's forgotten what America's lips tasted like or how his skin smelled. How America's freckles looked up close, how long his eyelashes were, or how his forehead felt when resting against his own.
Canada could, however, live without the taste of America's salty tears left lingering on his lips.
"Yes- yes," Canada said, rubbing fresh tears from America's cheeks with his thumbs.
This man isn't human, the dumbfounded doctor thought as he collapsed in his arm chair. No one, no one normal at least should be able to wake up from a week-long coma like it was a 20-minute nap. Muscle loss, memory loss, basic motor skills, nothing should be working right for this man and yet... and yet...
Part of the doctor wanted to call up the National Medical Association and tell them he's found a medical marvel, to write a report and get published in medical journals around the world, relish in his discovery. Another part of him wanted to march himself straight down to the psych ward and admit himself.
But right there, in front of the doctor and three nurses (All four of which would find themselves in the Bahama's later, paid to keep their traps shut by the government), still in his hospital gown, the personification of America kissed his future husband.
"You're never riding that motorcycle ever again, ever, eh." Canada said. His emotions were flashing faster than a broken neon light.
At the hospital it had started with relief when he'd seen America's eyes open for the first time in a week. Then it was happiness when they kissed and then overwhelmed with tears as he walked them both to the car in the parking lot.
Now it was anger. Anger at that metal death bullet currently in their garage, still fragmented after colliding with a semi-truck. Anger that he allowed America to buy the stupid thing in the first place, matched with the anger from the fact that he couldn't get to the hospital within the hour that America woke up from his house.
America's house was less then 20 minutes away from the hospital, but no, no, Canada just had to go to his own house and get his things on the one day America recovered. He was mentally kicking his ass so hard he wouldn't be surprised if he woke up later with actual bruises.
"The others will be here soon, but not in under 12 hours. I called Arthur and Francis as I drove to the hospital, so I'm sure at least all of Europe and half of Asia knows by now." Canada said, digging into the steering wheels with his fingernails as he swerved into America's driveway.
"Mattie, I-" America started, cut off by how fast Canada managed to hop out of the driver's seat. His own passenger side door was opened moments later and Canada had his hand out, waiting for America.
"I want to get you inside, get you out of those nasty hospital clothes." Canada said as he helped America out of the car.
"Mattie, I want to-" America tried again, letting himself be pulled up the porch steps with Canada's arm around his waist.
"Anything you want, anything at all." Canada once more interrupted. He was scared now, nervous. Like the butterflies in his stomach were trying to claw their way out. "But not another motorcycle, ever."
The front door clicked open and America was lead inside carefully, one of Canada's hands on his cheeks and a soft smile from the Canadian. "I, I got you something. A gift."
"Matthew, I really need to-" For the third time America was silenced, and Canada showed him the living room.
A large, wrapped box was in the middle of the room, longer than it was wide. Red, white, and blue wrapping paper engulfed it, a huge, floppy ribbon right on top. America couldn't have given less of a crap about it. Presents, especially ones from Canada usually sent him through the roof, ripping into them the second he saw them.
"I didn't get you this for the longest time because I thought that it was stupid but I was so scared that you weren't going to c-come h-home, Al, and I, I, I..." Canada whispered, stepping away from America, hands covering his face.
He wiped some of his stray tears from his eyes with his sweatshirt sleeve. Tears that hadn't quite gone over the brim of his eye yet but had blurred his vision, stretching out all the colors around them.
America couldn't draw his eyes away from the present. He couldn't bring himself to look at Canada, his breathing faster and mouth dry. "Matthew, do you love me?"
Turning slowly, Canada looked at America, covering his face with the sleeve still. "...What?"
"I- I had a dream, a, uh, nightmare more like while I was under." America said in a quiet voice. Canada went to say something but America held his hand up to stop him.
"I, I dreamt that I didn't wake up. Not within the week, or a month, or a year. A f-f," America's voice caught in his throat and he let out a shuddering breath, like he was holding back tears, just barely. "A few years."
"It was like I was a ghost, and you couldn't see me, no one could. I yelled and yelled but n-no one, no one heard. And I followed you. You mourned me for months and I wanted to be there right next to you so badly, to tell you I was okay but-"
He stopped and grabbed his gut like he was going to throw up. Canada didn't move.
"Y-you m-m-moved on after a y-year or so," America bit his lips so hard it left white spots when he let go, and somewhere above them the house settled. "You went on a date...a date with- w-with Prussia. You l-loved it. God you had so much fun and I-I-"
America made a sobbing noise, but took a step back when Canada reached out for him.
"You were s-so happy and I, I could j-just watch from afar. My he-art broke when you kissed h-him for the first time- I'm so in love with you and I couldn't- it wasn't even a w-week before you slept with him."
His voice was octaves higher now than when he started, leaning against a wall for support as he covered his eyes.
Canada wanted to hold him but god- oh, god- he flinched every time Canada got close to him.
"I saw it a-all. You t-two moving in together, Y-our anniversary, Y-your, your, y-your-" America had started hyperventilating. "Y-our w-w-wedding."
"I-I couldn't tell if it w-was real or n-n-ot, it was so v-vivid and I-I-I-"
America sank against the ground, but this, this time he didn't flinch when Canada touched him, collapsed on him, sank between his knees and hugged America so close that he could feel his heartbeat.
Didn't curve away when Canada wrapped his arms around him. Silence, with the exception of America's sobs.
"Matthew- I can't liv-live without you right next to me. I love you so much- s-so much." America gasped out. "I want-wanted to die the moment you said 'I do' to someone other than m-me. I-I love y-you."
"A-Alfred, Al, Alfie," Canada said, his voice soft. He wanted to lean back and look America in the eyes, to kiss him. To tell him that he was right here, that he wasn't going anywhere unless they dragged his cold, dead body away. "It's only ever been you."
America's arms were pulling Canada to him, squeezing Canada's back to the point of pain, muffled by Canada's sweater.
"From the very second I saw you, Alfred, I knew I'd be with you forever. Even when you rebelled," America grabbed tighter and a particularly large sob escaped, ", Or when you got tangled up in all those wars, I knew. When-"
Canada took a deep breath and prayed to every god he could think of that this wouldn't upset America even more. "When you had your civil war, I was terrified. I was so scared that I'd lose you, that you would be lost and someone else would show up to take your place. I cried every night when I didn't know where you were or if you were still alive, because I only just got you back after the revolution and I-I-"
"Alfred...I fell in love with you in 1692. Do you remember? We were just children, and I saw you, and you smiled at me. You smiled at me and my whole world was different. I told Papa about it, and he told me that I'd love many people, so many people, but he was wrong."
"In almost 400 years, Alfred, I've never loved anyone as much, or how I love you."
"I've wanted to marry you since the day I was old enough to know what it was." America's hands relaxed and slid down to Canada's waist, allowing Canada to stop kneeling and sit down. He brought his hands to America's neck and gently, so gently, lifted America's face up and looked into his eyes. They were red and puffy, but Canada bet that his face wasn't looking much better. "Did you know you were my first kiss, Alfie?"
"That day, right after you won the civil war and you were so happy, dancing in the streets and you kissed me under the fireworks?" Canada smiled, "That was my first kiss. And I remember it every time I look at you. I remember you, happy, laughing, and the way you smiled like you were back on top of the world. I dream about that kiss, or that first smile and I'm happy. God, I'm happy when I think of all that times that I knew, when I knew I was in love with you."
"400 years my heart has beat faster every time I thought of you, even after we first had sex, or our first date. 400 years of me loving you, only you, even when you didn't know it or you thought you didn't deserve it. 400 years, and you think I'd get over you in one?"
The ends of America's lips curved up in the smallest of smiles.
"Alfred F. Jones, my Alfie," Canada nudged his face closer to America's so that the tips of their noses were brushing. "I love you. Only you. Only ever you. It took me over 370 years to finally get that to you through that thick skull of yours."
America smiled and sniffled lightly.
"And later, after you get some rest, I can show you just how much I love you."Canada said, closing the space between their lips.
"Mattie?" America asked, muttering into Canada's mouth between their kissing gasps.
Canada hummed into his lips as a reply, and looked up from under his long eyelashes.
"I think that I've gotten enough rest recently, to be honest."
Canada pulled back and looked at America's lips. "Eh? Alright, well only if you feel up for it. I don't wanna hurt you. I don't ever want you scaring me like that again."
America beamed and practically dove in for another kiss, stopped only by Canada's fingertips against his lips. "But maybe open your big present first."
A few hours later saw America curled up in his bed, nestled up against Canada's chest. His breathing was steady and even, and Canada could feel his heart beat once again.
Thump, thump, thump. He'd gone a week without feeling the reassuring rhythm. A whole week, which he was now thankful that it had only been a week. Thump, thump, thump.
"Mmm..." America groaned in his sleep, and Canada brushed some hair out of America's face. "...Mattie..."
"Yes, Al?" Canada whispered into America's ear, landing a quick kiss on the sleeping American.
"...Mattie..." America said again, shuffling around so he was pressed against Canada evenly, their legs entwined. "...I've always..."
Canada held his breath for a moment.
"...loved you too..."
Laughing softly, Canada buried his face in America's hair, staying there until he joined America in dreamless sleep.
He wanted to make sure he was right there when America woke up.