A silent groan escaped from his lips. He opened his eyes, looking around. Battlefield was now muddy, but there wasn't any bodies. Only he and England were there. The sun was peaking through the grey clouds.
"Love is a weakness."
America groaned again, grimacing when he sat up. He felt dull pain in his chest, but he ignored it. The wound would heal in matter of minutes, or even in seconds, if it was made by a human being. His red and white leather armor was bloody and muddy. His sword was somewhere nearby. Where he even was? Only thing America remembered was running, shooting and then jumping through something... And now he was here.
"It was your fault."
Suddenly, the superpower coughed vehemently and something red and sticky splattered on the ground. It was blood, America realized to his horror. What had happened to him? His hands traveled to his chest, and he found the wound. It was a bullet hole.
Now the young nation remembered. He'd been shot. Then, a thought crossed his mind. How he was going to get it out? He didn't have first aid kit with him, because someone had lost it. Maybe him. Or England. He wasn't going to get the wound infected by trying to dig it out with a knife.
"England, are you alright?" His own voice felt too loud in this silence, when he looked up and noticed the older nation.
The Brit was on his knees opposite him. England looked at the sky, but his eyes were closed. Tears made light lines on his dirty face. His grey, red and white leather armor was not as bloody as his. America guessed that he himself looked as weathered and dirty as England.
The younger nation was going to say something, even comfort him if needed, although he knew the British nation had been powerful empire once. Then England opened his eyes, looking down on America.
America's blood froze. His usually bright green eyes were now glinting with insanity. He noticed the dagger in the older nation's hand.
"E-England?" Is everything ok? The dirty blonde haired man wanted to ask, but he couldn't even open his mouth. He knew well that everything wasn't ok. Nothing had ever been ok with them.
"I'm sorry, Alfred." America startled at the use of his human name. England never used it, and vice versa.
"I... Need to fix this." The sandy blonde haired man said again, then started stumbling towards Alfred.
"Hey, what're you doing?" The younger nation asked, a lump of fear rising to his throat.
England didn't answer, just lunged forwards and jabbed at America. America backed off and grabbed at the Brit's hand where the dagger was. The American knew he was stronger than the Brit, but then he was caught by surprise when the green eyed man managed to get out of his grab.
America grunted, when he felt sharp pain at his throat. He lifted his hands to touch his throat and when he looked at his fingers, they were bloody.
"England... Why?" The superpower croaked, his vision turning blurry slowly. Luckily, the wound didn't felt too deep. He should survive from this.
"I have to do this... To get us out." The British nation said hoarsely, his voice almost cracking. He turned the blade towards his own chest.
America understood too late what he was going to do. His eyes widened.
"No!" He shouted, reaching out for England, but he fell on the ground miserably. America coughed and more blood dripped from his mouth. He looked up only to see England thrusting his dagger into his chest. It happened like in slow motion, when his green eyes widened slightly in pain, and when he coughed, blood coloring his chin. He collapsed on the ground and didn't move anymore.
"Doesn't that blood look so beautiful on his face?"
The superpower's vision finally darkened and he felt no more.
A drabble. That's the only thing I have to say about this.
And I may or may not continue this.