Warning: This contains character death, AU-ness, terribly plotted out angst, and GAY MEN (ohno! ohYES!)
Disclaimer: I don't own the song Sleepyhead, it's by As Tall As Lions (great band, check them out, buy their music and make them rich, 'kay?). I don't own the Hetalia characters either, unfortunately.
Where I am's nowhere it seems, when thoughts of you get a hold of me.
To think. That everything can come crumbling down in one minute. In a second. Pain. Blinding pain. Thoughts scattered, images blurred. Voices melt and mold together. Sentences blend and form new. Nothing makes sense.
"He fell… car… hit and run… shot… mob hit… suicide… accident." Does anyone know what truly happened? Rumours swirl and grow out of proportion.
Names. A name. A certain name. "Alfred." A hoarse whisper. Close. It sounds so sad. It's his. He, Alfred, wants to reach out, but can't. Wipe away the tears that are landing on his cheeks.
"Arthur?" Pain, pain, pain. It hurts. A whimper, a moan. White. White everywhere, the ceiling, the walls. Pain subsides, unconsciousness claims.
I squint my eyes and try to see just where's the line between a coma and a dream.
"Coma… no pain… best for him." The doctor leaves the room. Silence, save for the beeping of the American's heart, and the crying of a blonde man. Loud and undisturbed. Nobody bothers to console. He's already pushed them away. He'd understood the doctor's words. What he needed now was Alfred. The dense blonde who loved to make home videos. Who would carry on about aliens existing and was terrified of ghosts. Who was energetic and intense about his inventions. His tongue would stick out of the corner of his mouth, and his glasses would slide down his nose as he would sketch out plans. The outgoing person that lay in a hospital bed, dead to the world. The sobs increase and a sad glance from a worried nurse is all that it receives.
Oh, sleepyhead, get out of bed.
Hours passed, but Arthur stayed right where he had sat down. A chair in the corner. Farthest away from the still figure, covered in tubes and bandages. He can't bare the sight of him. Helpless. Like a Damsel in Distress. Not the Hero he always blabbed about being. It wasn't right. Their places should be switched. It wasn't supposed to happen. Not this way, not ever.
Arthur glanced up, teary eyed. He needed to be strong. At least until Alfred woke up. He'd wake up… right? Yes. He'd wake up and they'd laugh at the near-death experience. Talk about what it was like to be in a coma. Receive stupid Hallmark cards wishing for Alfred's well-being. Play whatever silly game would pass the time. They'd leave and go on living a cliché happily ever after. Because every story with a hero in it has a good ending.
The sun is up and it's getting late, so shake those lazy bones awake.
He slowly stood up. His whole body was sore from sitting so long. He cracked his back as he stood straight. He walked, with a slight limp, towards Alfred, dragging his chair along with him. It might've been a bit heavy, but he wouldn't admit it. Strong, tough, unbreakable, British Arthur. The sarcastic boyfriend of Alfred's.
Setting the chair to the right of Alfred, wary of machines and plugs, he sat on the edge of the hospital bed. He was careful to make sure not to touch anything that looked injured. Bending down, he brushed away blonde bangs to place a gentle kiss to the un-bandaged part of the forehead.
"Stupid bloody American," he said under his breath, now smoothing the blonde hair straight. "Got yourself in a mess. Better be able to get yourself out." He paused, swallowing the lump in his throat. "You always do." He could feel the sobs crawling up his throat and tears tickled his eyes as he hunched over the broken body.
It was a long time before the crying subsided. When it did, Arthur felt tired and made his way to his chair. He curled his legs in and wrapped his arms around his knees. He sniffled a bit and wiped his eyes with the back of his sleeve.
"You're not supposed to make me this emotional." Arthur gazed up at the ceiling, not wanting to get himself going again by looking at Alfred. "You better wake up soon, it's much too quiet."
Arthur allowed his shoulders to slump and his eyes to close. Waiting. He'd wait forever if he had to. Remembering. Reliving fond memories of him and Alfred. Listening. The steady beep of Alfred's heart echoed in the tragically white room.
The rhythm of your heart beeps loud until it stops and robs the room of sound.
Thoughts of childish escapades, awkward dates, and firsts eventually morphed into dreams of the same. Anxiety distorted everything until it was one big tragic disaster.
Arthur woke in a panic, a long beep was resonating in the room and nurses were rushing in. He stood and got out of the way the best he could. He was barely awake and trying to figure out if what was happening was real. He looked around for the source of the sound.
"Al," his voice seemed so quiet, weak. He couldn't be weak. "Alfred! W-what's going on!?"
"Sir, step out of the room." A nurse turned to him and motioned at the door before turning back to her work. More people streamed in and Arthur left, not wanting to interfere with Alfred's safety.
The doctors filter in and out and try to act like they know what they're talking about.
"Did our best… nothing else… gone… funeral arrangements." Arthur just nodded. Not believing anything the doctor said. Heroes didn't die. They couldn't. Just couldn't. Even if they did, they came back to life. Alfred couldn't. He was fine. It was just a big prank and all the nurses would laugh at how he fell for it. Alfred would make fun of him for crying so much. Arthur wouldn't go easy on him. He'd punish him good. No mercy.
Standing up, he walked stiffly towards the room where Alfred would be. Grinning like an idiot and sitting up. The bandages would be off and he'd be perfectly fine. He'd probably set up some sort of secret video camera crew that had recorded the whole thing. He'd probably be on of those annoying reality TV show that Alfred would make fun of. Some prank show. Except, Alfred was just lying there.
Oh, sleepyhead, get out of bed.
It was a simple car accident. Nothing amazing. No epic Good Vs. Evil battle. They had been out for dinner with Alfred's brother Matthew and Matthew's boyfriend, Gilbert. Alfred had been openly sulky all evening because of his brother's choice of partner. They'd gone out to an expensive little restaurant and had an amazing dinner that Alfred raved over the rest of the night. Or, at least before the semi in front of them had hit a slick spot. It was so quick, Alfred didn't have time to react, Arthur barely had time to scream, "Watch out." How a car could be crushed like that, Arthur couldn't figure out.
The sun is up and it's getting late, so shake those lazy bones awake.
People die, it's expected, it's believed, it's known. Death is both feared and welcomed. It's a mystery to the smartest human being. Death isn't as simple as a bright light. It can't be. To live a life with as complicated a body as this, it'd just be a letdown.
Arthur mulled over these thoughts. Alfred was dead. It had been a year since the horrid day, and he was drowning himself in liquor. He didn't want to think, he didn't want to hurt anymore. He'd had enough of waking up in the middle of the night to a silence that choked him. Wrapped its cold hands around Arthur's throat, and held tight. There wasn't that familiar snoring that resounded in the black abyss of the night to remind Arthur that he was alive. No warm body to cast away the nightmares that haunted Arthur's nights and days, nor cold wandering feet to jolt Arthur awake from a pleasant dream.
Sighing heavily, Arthur picked up the bottle to pour himself another drink. He took a few quick glances between the empty glass and the nearly empty bottle before pushing away the glass and gulping it down, straight from the bottle.
The sun is up and it's getting late.
He couldn't stop himself from thinking back to that night. He thought the alcohol might help, but alas.
Arthur held his head in he arms. Tears managed to escape between his eyelids, despite how tight he squeezed them shut. He opened his eyes in an attempt to get a different view than the heartbreaking images that played continuously in the dark depression of his mind, like an old movie played too many times. He shut them tightly again, as the images only got more vivid. It didn't matter, it just kept getting more intense and real.
He was sobbing now. His body shook as the sobs overtook him. He struggled against the screams rising in his throat. Standing up, he threw the closest thing to him. Glass shattered and the sound rang through the house. It made his mind stop, but only for a moment.
Yeah, the sun is up and it's getting late.
His eyes trailed along the length of the floor until he spotted the shattered bottle.
"Fuck." The word is slurred and slow. Doesn't matter, no one is here to hear him. For a moment everything is silent. Arthur stumbled over to the mess and began to pick up the bigger pieces. Hissing in pain, Arthur withdrew his hand back to his chest. Pain shrieked its homecoming.
Visions of the night burned his fragile mentality. The already frayed knot that had slowly become unraveled over the years. First, just glowing with heat, then, slowly at first, but later the fire began to eat away at it. Scorching it and making it melt.
"Make it stop, make it stop, make it stop!" He screamed as the pictures continued to flood his mind. His throat felt as if it had been scraped with rocks. His voice was hoarse and his scream barely came out at all. A year later, and he still isn't safe. Not from the memories; the scars that are constant reminders of the day that Alfred ceased to exist.
Yeah, the sun is up, it's getting late.
"Babe."
Arthur turned, a smile broke the track of tears on his face. "Alfred?" No. It's only his mind. His mind. The word bounces around the inside of his head and he can't tell if it is really his mind anymore. Or, maybe Alfred really is there?
"C'mon, please don't be mad at me. Y'know I love you, right?"
Feeling the comforting presence of his one and only, Arthur sighed. "Alfred."
"Okay, I'm here. Don't worry, your hero's here, remember?"
Wrapping his arms around himself, Arthur walked calmly to the sofa and curled in a ball. Eyes closed, his mind at peace - for the moment -, a slideshow of Alfred snapshots passes beneath his lids. A home video to keep him safe. A home video which he'll slowly lose his sanity to, but it will allow him to keep the most important thing alive: Alfred. Even if it is only in his mind.
Where I am's nowhere it seems when thoughts of you get a hold of me.
Here is my hideously long AN because I'm a horrible person who tortures people like me who enjoy reading ANs. So there.
ANGSTANGSTANGST… Damn, I really need to stop being so depressing. AND I NEED TO BE ABLE TO WRITE ANGST BETTER, BUT THAT'S A DIFFERENT CHAPTER IN MY STORY OF MY DREAMSTHATWILLNEVERCOMETRUE Book..thing. -sob- ;_____;
I really wanted to try something different, so I went with a song!fic…. Besides, I felt sad and all the other stories I've started weren't angst-y enough for me (yes, all eight of the started one-shots and four of the started chapter fics weren't angst-y enough, despite the fact that five of the one-shots and one chapter fic are sad. "orz).
Finally got this out there, thankfully. First I couldn't figure how to end it; then I huddled in a corner being depressed because I hated it; then it took forever to get beta'd by my friend; THEN I had to change it; and last I didn't really want to put it out there, but said to hell with it and did.
Ugh, review please? Tell me how I can make my stories better! I don't like being a hater of my own (horrible) work. It's not awesome. I thought that it was much too action-y as it got closer to the end, but hey, beggars can't be choosers, right? Don't be afraid to yell at me that it sucks, 'kay? -gets tissues ready- Don't worry, little young me can handle the criticism. -unwraps bar of chocolate- Besides… now I'm prepared for the flood of hate.
Love,
ILL