Hello, and welcome to my first story, this is just an idea I have have, and I'll update as I can. You may find typos or grammatical mistakes, but I am writing this on my phone, so don't act lilt they're there just to annoy you.
WARNINGS, This story contains Dark/ Insane England, and Broken America, there is blood, and possibly future gore as the story continuous.
I do not own Hetalia...
The clank of chains resounded the small room from large metal cuffs, the inside coated in blood, from where he had rubbed them raw trying to escape, a latch ditch effort for his people, for his men.
No luck came, he couldn't free himself, too weak from hunger, and blood loss. The poor man couldn't even see, eyes wrapped by white bandages, that left him in the dark.
The terrifying dark.
His head lolled to the side, just as the door across the room squeaked open, the all too familiar sound of heavy foot steps resounding.
Despite every word to exist in the english language, he couldn't describe how he hoped it wasn't one man, a man he hated to his very core, The United Kingdom.
Just as fate was, with its ever going turns, and cruel jests to ones life, even to the battered American's life, it was him. It was the only person it could be.
Silence fell like a veil, but that left Alfred on edge. He knew they where here, watching him, in his pitiful state.
Why couldn't Arthur had pulled the trigger, when that barrel had already stabbed his left eye?
Suddenly, he could feel the warmth of hands of his filth covered face, gently running over his cheek, before dipping upwards to the bandage.
The pressure released, and it all fell away, giving way to blinding light that made Alfred squint at the white walls of the room.
"Oh, you're awake," the voice didn't sound surprised, as it did distant. Like a doctor to its patient, and not brother to brother.
Oh, but woe for the colony
They weren't brothers, no longer did they share the same, it was broken, shattered to fragments by himself.
Arthur's body seemed to lean farther over his own, trying to see his face, or more specifically, his eye, the one he has stabbed, perhaps without meaning too.
The dried blood didn't allow Alfred to open his eye, it was sealed, and he didn't have will nor strength to pry it open.
Delicately Arthur's hand returned, a finger going on his bottom eye lid, and another on his top. Slowly, the other eased the eye open, not only causing Alfred to go rigid from pain, but to find he had began to cause it to bleed once more.
"Bullocks..." He hissed, seeming to be disgusted by such acts.
He turned away, rustling into a bag he had brought with him.
Pulling out a moist cloth, and a roll of bandages, he set to work on cleaning the circumference of the eye, before wrapping the bandages around the others wound.
He paid no mind to the glare he got as he worked, not until it was fully wrapped, and he could see pink bleed through.
Alfred was watching, glaring at him with the force of an army.
Even like this, bloodied and beaten, he didn't accept his defeat.
"Well then," he smiled, a sick grin of amusement, "it's good to have you back, my dear colony." The smile grew wider as the chains rattled again.