This was never supposed to happen.

It was just supposed to be something to pass the time; Italy had promised it'd be fun.

England had never assumed that things could possible turn out like this, with him and all of his friends stuck in some god-forsaken mansion, with a damned monster picking them off one by one.

They fought. They fought so hard. And they were winning. But when that thing got stronger, the countries had a hard time keeping up, and found themselves falling behind, and struggling harder to survive than before.

France was the first one with a major injury. He had a long gash stretching from his kneecap to the top of his thigh, and it was bleeding heavily before Germany tied a tourniquet around it. He would probably lose his leg, but he was alive.

The seriousness of the situation they were all thrown into had hit them as hard as a train after France was injured. They began to fear for their lives, and the lives of the one they held dear.

It wasn't like the nations were unfamiliar of danger, no, danger was constant for them. They were at risk every second, of every day. The pain was something they had to live with, but the pain they felt on the battlefield, was nothing compared to the pain of watching the people you wanted to save all huddled together in a room, sitting ducks.

England was acquainted with many types of pain. Over a long period of time, he's been through so many wars, each one leaving a very distinct scar somewhere on his body. The physical pain went away after awhile; fading into history, but the scars always remained. What didn't leave scars was the emotional pain England had faced over his lifetime.

The American Revolution had left a scar right over England's heart, it didn't bother him anymore, but the emotional pain crippled him occasionally still to this day. America had been England's sun, brightening his day every time he saw him. The young colony had warmed the older nation's heart, and England found himself loving the boy he treated as his son. But America wanted to be more than a colony, and his revolution had shattered England, as he was not expecting this act of betrayal.

Over time, the pain became something England could push to the back of his mind, with it only resurfacing with a reminder of something tragic. And it was back at full force now, and England was in the most pain he'd ever been in his whole life.

His green orbs bore into formerly sky blue ones, but were now dimming at an impressive rate.

England didn't ask for the American to help him. He sure didn't ask for America to shield him with his body while he was downed.

Every fiber of England's being screamed when one second all he could see was the Thing approaching him, and the next his face was pressed into the fur of America's bomber jacket. England hadn't seen anything, but he could feel the blood seeping through America's clothes after he had flinched massively and let out a small choke.

England's eyes widened at the wetness at his fingertips, and tried to push America off him to assess the severity of his wound, but America held tight, and refused to let England up off the ground.

His sight was blocked off, but England could easily hear some of his fellow countries battling their hardest, and the Thing fighting back just as hard. America's ragged breathing blew against England's ear, and it frightened him to hear just how hard it seemed for America to get out the breaths.

With a final roar, the room turned silent, with the exception of everyone's heavy breathing.

"America?" a timid voice spoke first, drawing everyone's attention to it.

The said nation shifted slightly on top of England, and after a rush of feet, was removed entirely.

England sat up and stared at his former colony laying on the floor next to him, his brother looking over him with eyes full of worry.

America blinked slowly, and met his brother's gaze, "I'm fine, bro."

Canada narrowed his eyes, "Bullshit."

England slid closer to America, and the metallic scent hanging in the air burning his nostrils only grew stronger.

"My god," England gasped, his eyes grazing over the growing pool of crimson liquid. "America, why?"

America turned his head slightly to look at his former caretaker, "Why what?"

"Why did you save me, you git? I could have handled it myself!"

The blonde just smiled softly and returned his eyes to the ceiling, "You know me, Iggy… I always have to be the hero."

England shook his head and motioned for Germany to come closer, so he could try and bandage the deep wounds on America's back.

Germany approached, gauzes in hand, but America lifted one of his hands slightly and waved it, clearly dismissing the German.

"Don't waste them, dude… Save 'em for someone else."

Canada took his brother's hand and forced him to look at him, "America, if we don't get these bandaged—"

"Yeah. I know."

Canada and England's mouths both opened to protest when the door slammed open.

"West!"

"Vhat is it?" Germany's voice appeared somewhat strained.

Prussia stared at America lying on the ground, with everyone in the room surrounding him, "Oh fuck…" he paused, and his fists curled into balls, "Italy and Japan's group is under attack, they need back-up." Prussia said through clenched teeth. His normally pure silver hair was blemished by specks of blood.

Germany glanced at America, who smiled slightly at him, "'m okay guys. Go help Italy…"

England and Canada exchanged worried looks, and Germany sighed.

"Ja, okay. Canada, England, you two stay here. America… let them bandage you." Germany tossed the roll of gauzes down beside England, and he ran out of the room, followed by Russia and China.

England picked up the gauzes and stared down at America, "Come on America, let us help you."

"Don't ask him," Canada said, taking the roll from England's hand, "just do."

He tried turning America onto his stomach, but the second his hands touched his sides America winced violently, startling them all.

The superpower smiled at his northern neighbor, "Sorry, bro. No can do." He crossed his arms over his stomach lightly, "What a fitting way for the hero to go out… Sorry I couldn't stick around longer to help, guys." America said apologetically, his smile faltering a bit.

England bit the inside of his lip, "Stop talking like you're bloody dying. You're perfectly fine." The Englishman said that, but he looked so ghastly pale…

America stared into nothingness for a while before replying, "I guess this hero stuff wasn't for nothing after all, huh?" his small smile turned into more of a smirk, "And you said it was stupid and a waste of time, Iggy… Guess it makes sense that you're the person I saved… Sort of."

England shook his head, "You can still prove to me that you're a hero, all you need to do is help us all get out of here safely."

"You're a hero, Al." Canada said softly, tears leaving glistening streaks on his face, his grip on his brother's hand tightened, "You've always been a hero," His voice caught in his throat, "Y-You're my hero."

England felt a burning sensation at the back of his eyes, and he tilted his head up and blinked back the tears that threatened to fall. He was determined not to cry, because that would mean that he'd given up hope in saving his former charge.

He could feel America staring at him, waiting.

"Please, America. Try and roll onto your stomach. I can't do this if you don't move."

"England—"

"You should be fine once I get these bandages on, we're wasting time. Germany's waiting on us."

"England—"

"Quiet, lad. Once we get you fixed up we need to go see if Italy needs help, you know how he is. He's probably worried sick about you right now. And after we figure out how to get out of this damn place, I'll take you to—"

"Arthur."

England's babbling ceased when America used his human name. He finally met his gaze, and his stomach tied into knots at the sadness in his eyes.

America should never have to feel sad, it wasn't like him. He rarely ever dropped his smile, England had noticed long ago. The boy was always happy.

Seeing his normally bright eyes filled with joy, now a dull color clouded with pain and sadness, broke England's heart.

America spoke quietly, "Stop. It's over." As if on cue, he began coughing. It sounded very wet, and with each sound, England found himself shaking. America removed his hand from his mouth, and there was a smudge of red trailing behind.

The tears clouded England's vision, and when he blinked they started falling, leaving trails on his face, dripping onto America's stained uniform.

"Don't cry." America wrapped his hand around England's, "P-Please." Canada wiped his brother's face, removing the droplets of water that England hadn't noticed before. America gave a shaky laugh, "I'm trying to be brave, but it's n-not working."

"You're so brave, Alfred." England brushed the hair out of the man he loves' face. How ironic, after all these years he'd finally come to terms with his feelings, just in time for the end. He leaned down, and pressed his lips to America's, for only a second, before pulling away. The metallic taste of blood was left on his lips.

America's crying only got worse, it was more silent sobs now, not a whimper escaping him, but his body still shook, "A-Artie. I'm scared." He whispered, "I don't want to die. I don't want to leave you." He looked both England and Canada in the eye, "I thought I had so much time, that I had forever to care for you, Mattie. I was supposed to take care of you forever."

Matthew's shoulders shook, and he was biting his lip to keep from sobbing, but if you listened closely you could hear the small whimpers escaping his mouth. He spoke through clenched teeth, "Don't be scared. Everything'll be okay soon."

America's grip on England's hand got tighter as he stared into his eyes, "I thought I had an eternity to love you, Artie. But I don't, I have n-now. I h-have a few more minutes." It was impossible to not sense the urgency in his voice, with his tone and the way it shook.

England clenched his eyes shut for a second before taking a deep breath and looking back up at the ceiling, "This just isn't fair…" He shook his head and looked back into America's face. He could feel the hand he was holding getting colder. "I'm sorry, Alfred, if I wasn't so damn stubborn, we could have been happy long ago. We might not even be here right now; we could have been doing something else while everyone went to the mansion."

"'s not you fault, Arthur." America's grip loosened slightly, "We woulda come anyways." He chuckled softly, "It's strange, being in this position. I remember this one time loop where I couldn't save either of you guys, and I died all alone, h-holding onto you guys just like t-this." His smile was pained, "Time repeats itself in the strangest of ways."

"You aren't alone, Al," Canada smiled through his tears, "We're here."

England nodded slowly, and America's smile grew slightly, "I love you, bro." he said weakly, his grip slackening even more.

Canada let out a muffled "I love you, too." from where he buried his face in Kumajiro's fur.

America slid his hand out of his brother's and brought it up to his face, carefully removing Texas, and placing them in his brother's still outstretched hand. "Keep 'em safe for me…" he muttered, and Canada gave him a shaky nod, his grip closing around the glasses in his palm.

Lifting his free hand, America pointed across the room with a wavering hand, and England turned his gaze to where America was directing his attention, "Take my jacket, Artie."

England stared at the bomber jacket lying crumpled on the floor from where America had discarded it before the battle, not wishing for it to get dirtied. He pushed himself to his feet, taking a moment to steady himself before crossing the room in a few strides and taking the jacket in his hands, running the pads of his fingers over the soft leather, noting just how much it smelled like America.

He held it tightly in his hands, thankful he kept his nails short, because if he hadn't he was positive that they would pierce through the leather. He returned to the side of the man lying on the ground, seeming much smaller than he usually was.

He kissed America again, lingering longer this time, storing every second in his memory, to never be forgotten. The salty taste from their combined tears mixed with the metallic one of the blood, creating somewhat of a bittersweet taste for England, making it all that much harder to pull away.

"I love you." He whispered to the American.

"…I love you, too." America's shoulders slumped from their previously tense position, "Don't forget about me…"

England's emotions took control of him, and he let out a choked sob before bawling, and burying his face into America's chest, grabbing fistfuls of his uniform, cursing the universe.

America weakly ran his hand along England's back, "Shh, it's okay… It'll be fine…" The rubbing ceased, and England raised his head fast enough to watch the last light drain out of his lovers eyes, his hand limply falling off England's back and onto the ground.

His cries kicked up a notch, and he could barely register the sobbing Canadian beside him.

How things would ever be okay for him again, he had no clue.

First HetaOni fic, I didn't make it was sad as I wanted to.

I don't know why, but I love fics where America dies. Is that strange? He is my favorite character, so normally people liking it when their favorite character dies is strange.

Eh, I dunno, did I do okay? Btw, FF's goin all sorts of crazy, so if there's anything random in this chapter, like random lines or anything, it's FF's fault, not mine.