Flames roiled around the blond haired man as he stood by the open door, wind whipping through the opening and threatening to pull him out. The heat from the fire scorched his back and made his head feel like it was on fire. Snow whirled around in front of him, even though the temperature behind him was enough to set his cloths on fire. Coughing and spluttering, he clung to the doorway for dear life, and looked at the shadowy abyss below him. The night sky's cold clarity was pierced by the smoke as it rose upwards to the heavens, blocking out the stars and causing emerald eyes to water. He was left with a very difficult decision.
Jump or burn to death.
Switzerland hadn't enough knowledge about the accident to know what exactly had happened, only that one moment it had been smooth flying to the World Conference, and the next his crew was dead and he was left without a parachute and uncharted territory stretching out below him. He was never one to panic, and as of now, he was quickly assessing his dire situation.
The flames were already beginning to creep towards him, and if he remained much longer, he would surely catch on fire and die. Even if the third degree burns didn't kill him, the inevitable crash from an altitude of twelve thousand feet would. Or, he could jump, and most likely fall to death. If the fall didn't kill him, the sub-zero temperatures would. He couldn't get to the cockpit to fly the plane to safety because it was on fire and he had no idea what had gone wrong. He had nowhere to turn but outwards.
Biting his lip, he looked between the flames and the ground. Nervously, he considered his options, one hand on the doorframe and the other holding his favourite gun. Did he regret anything? Yes, not staying at home to take care of his sick little sister, Lichtenstein. She would miss him, definitely, and in her terrible condition as well, but at least she wasn't on the plane with him. At least she was safe. Was there anything else? The only other thing the Swiss could think of was perhaps never making up with Austria, and never telling him that his feelings were everything but hatred. Jumping had the highest rate of survival; perhaps he could get out of this situation alive.
The end of his coat started smoking, and he made a snap decision. Clutching his gun to his chest like a lifeline, he leaped out the burning aircraft, entering freefall instantly. Snow whipped past him as plummeted, eyes scrunched shut against the windburn and gale howling in his ears. Trying not to cry, he let a yell as he fell, terrified. For what felt like an eternity, he hung there, tumbling to his inevitable doom. The storm continued like nothing was wrong, like the personification of Switzerland wasn't about to die.
Suddenly, he hit something, most likely a branch. This completely knocked the breath out of him, making is head start spinning and leaving him gasping for breath. He hit another, feeling something inside his chest give a gruesome snap. He landed on one of the offending branches leg first, feeling his right tibia snap. The next made his humorous give a horrible crunching sound. More hit him as he was beaten; hitting what felt like one thousand, even though it was only around seventeen, before he fell to the ground with a thud, pain raging through his body. The gun was still clutched limply in his hand, and it felt like all of his ribs were broken. They probably were.
The world went black around him as his laboured breathing slowed to a halt, his last thoughts being on his dear sister and ex-best friend.
A/N: Sorry Switzy D: You're not Russia, you can't survive a plane jump into trees B( I will continue this with character reactions if people ask me, but for now it's complete.