I know there are probably already tons of these 9/11 America stories, but I really want to make one of my own. And yes, I did do some research on the times. So yeah. Enjoy!

He was at the meeting when it happened.

America was half paying attention to everyone's ideas. The other half of his mind was thinking about what he was going to eat for lunch.

Then he got a sinking feeling, the way your stomach does flips on one of his rollercoasters or driving with Italy.

He looked at his watch. 8:46. He really wanted to go home now. But this dumb meeting lasted until 10:30. Figures.

Japan was midway through his typical, "Sou desu ne," when America suddenly felt an itch on his arms. He looked down to find deep slashes on his left arm, dripping blood all over his pants, the chair he was sitting on, and the floor.

United Airlines Flight 11 had just crashed into the North Tower of the World Trade Center.

America saw it. He saw the plane being hijacked, the passengers praying, please please please, he saw the malicious expressions on the terrorists' faces, the plane hitting floors 93-99, immediately killing everyone on board and hundreds in the building.

America eyes widened. No. No. No no no nononononononononono! He felt some bile rising up his throat, but swallowed it. It wouldn't do to throw up at the meeting. Fortunately, his arms were hidden under the table.

America glanced down at his watch. 9:03. The feeling in his gut was getting worse. Then-

United Airlines Flight 175 had crashed into the South Tower of the World Trade Center.

America felt it. It was the same as the previous crash, but that only made it worse. He felt the panic of the passengers, the heat of the flames, the shock of his citizens as they realized that this was no accident.

Of course wasn't an accident, what were they thinking!? You can't just mess up the controls and 'oops, I crashed into one of the tallest buildings in America'!

Slashes criss-crossed on his right arm. He was beginning to feel dizzy from the blood loss. This wasn't good.

America really shouldn't have been trying to hide this. Now he had no more strength to lift his arms, or yell. Someone better notice soon. Either that or the meeting better end. 9:37. He still had about one hour left. Please, someone help me, please, please, help-

The slashes now covered up his back. The blood soaked through his bomber jacket in less than a second. The only part of him that wasn't covered in the warm, red liquid was his face and his hair.

United Airlines Flight 77 had crashed into the southern façade of the Pentagon.

America heard it. He heard the screams. 125 military and civilian personnel were killed. 5 passengers survived.

Had he done something wrong? Did he do anything to deserve this? America didn't understand. Blame it on the blood loss. When he gets better, he's going to put better security in his airports. If he gets better.

Wait. How was he gonna get home? He can't just sit and wait for it to get better! That's something you're only supposed to do at home!

"America, it's your turn to share."

He'd just wait. 9:59, only thirty more minutes-

"America, you bloody git, are you listening?"

The South Tower collapsed.

America's eyes are no longer sky blue, but grey, the color of the smoke and rubble coming from what was left of his beloved buildings.

Coughs rack America's body as he puts a hand over his mouth as a reflex, but showing his arms doing so. When he removed his hand, it was warm with blood. Or was his hand already bloody before. He couldn't remember.

"America what-"

America glances at his watch. 10:07.

At least England noticed. America was never more grateful for coughing blood. He never thought he would be grateful for coughing blood, but he never thought he would get attacked either so-

United Airlines Flight 93 into a field in Somerset County, Pennsylvania.

America didn't have to sense anything this time. He just knew it. The passengers decided to fight back against the hijackers. The plane was supposed to crash into the Capitol Building. The passengers called their families, told them how much they loved them. They all died.

America smiled, despite all that had just happened.

The one plane that didn't make its target. An act of heroism just took place on that plane.

'England looks pretty worried,' America thought. 'And his eyebrows look funny scrunching together like that. Oh… Canadia… didn't see you there…'

'Why is he putting me on the floor? Is he going to do a magical spell? No, he's just taking of my bomber jacket and shirt to check me out. Hehe… Oh noooooooo, now the carpet's all red… and I wanted to see some magic… I could really use some… and so could the carpet...'

England looked at his watch. America caught a glimpse. 10:28.

"Okay, you wankers can go home now. Meeting's over."

"But we still have two more minutes-"

"NOW."

"But-"

America didn't hear the rest of their argument.

The North Tower collapsed.

Blood was pouring out through his eyes, ears, nose and mouth. America wanted to scream, but only more blood came out.

He could only see the smoke, hear the screams, smell the corpses, taste the ash, feel the flames. It was horrible.

And so he passed out, but he never escaped from the reality haunting his mind.

When he woke up, he was in his house, in his room, in his bed. Thank God.

England and Canada were both by his side. They both looked like they were crying. England's eyebrows were still funny.

Canada noticed he was awake. Or at least that his eyes were open. America didn't consider himself 'awake' yet.

"How are you feeling?" Canad asked in his soft voice, but if you paid enough attention, you could hear some anger mixed in with his concern.

America only had enough strength for one word answers. "Hurts."

"What happened?" England said, getting straight to the point. He forgot America could only do one word answers.

"Attack," America slurred.

Canada and England looked even madder now. Did America do something wrong?

"How many people died during this attack?" England asked.

"Yeah, it looked like a pretty bad attack. There was a lot of blood…" Canada trailed of. "It had to be more than a hundred," he concluded.

America felt a pit in his stomach. He really didn't feel like saying such a big number. His mouth just didn't feel like forming all those syllables.

England seemed to notice this and put a can of coke to his lips. America blinked at him in gratitude.

America took a breath. "T-two thousand nine-hundred and ninety-six." (2,996)

"EH!" Canada fainted.

"Bloody hell…" England put a hand on the wall next to nim to keep him from ending up on the floor like Canada.

"It hurts," America repeated. The caffeine in the coke was helping his mouth function. "The World Trade Center was two of my tallest structures. You would see the silhouette in the distance and think, 'That's New York.'"

England frowned. He knew how much America loved New York.

"And the Pentagon- it's been around for such a long time, I couldn't even imagine this happening to it-" America babbled on.

England was scared now. America wasn't supposed to be like this. Sure, he talked a lot, but now he just sounded dead.

He'd just wait for America to get better, like a good elder brother would. In the meantime, he'd need to buy some more coke for America. At least that hasn't changed.

I'm SO SORRY for the weird time thing. I wanted the times to be accurate, but I didn't want to write out what happened during 10-20 minute time gaps. I would just think that time would be all funky when you're bleeding out. Plus, I'M LAAAAAZZZZZYYY.

But still. Tell me how to make it better FOR A FUTURE REFERENCE, I am not going to rewrite this story.

And no flames. America doesn't need anymore of those. Please.