Italy watched America with uncertainty, now standing in the doorway, hesitant eyes filled with tears. He didn't want to leave; he was absolutely petrified, and the look America had on his face, even as he reassured him he would be out in a moment, worried Italy to no end. He watched as America nodded his head, blonde and brown and blue all one big blurry mess from Italy's view.
"I want to stay with them...until my last moment," America said in a unwavering and confident voice that made Italy jealous. "..because they're both very important to me." Italy's eyes flickered to the two motionless figures laying on the pure white sheets on what seemed to be beds; watched as red soaked through the clean linen and dirtied it. "Go for it, Italy. I believe in 'ya." Italy looked up again to see America's warm, wide grin directed his way, sniffling softly, before taking a reluctant step to the door, eyes finally pulling away from the sight and dashing out into the silent hallways, footsteps echoing.

America relaxed faintly, his knees wobbly and unsteady in his half-sitting, half-standing position propped up againest the edge of the second bed. With a soft grunt, he sank heavily to his knees between the two beds, gingerly pressing his hand over the deep gash in his own stomach, watching the blood run from Canada's hand, which was tilted towards the side of the bed, and drip with a steady but gentle 'plhp' noise. He turned himself shakily, crawling over so he sat directly between each reddened bed, reaching and gripping onto his twin's limp hand, gripping firmly, not surprised that he didn't feel a warm squeeze back, not even a faint one; but even so, he felt a heavy stone set in his chest, sinking lower, lower. His voice came out hoarse and more weak than he actually intended. "Canada, man, you seriously should see yourself right now.. you're drenched in blood, dude." A small smile formed on his lips, a sad one; whispering the words. "Thanks, man. Thanks f'everything, really.." With that, he reached to fumble for England's own hand; grasping onto his tightly whenever he finally found it.

To his dismay, his hand was still subtly warm. A lump seemed to catch in America's throat. Slowly, he leaned his side againest the bed, a sudden wave of dizziness hitting him. The soft dripping noise seemed louder to his ears. "Hey there, Iggy.." He murmured, unable to look directly at his face. He couldn't bring himself to do it, for more reasons than one. His head felt like lead, and he had to lay it againest his own arm. His hands seemed almost somewhat glued to their hands; his own hands were coated with blood as well, but he had no intention of letting go of their hands, so it was all good. "S'lotta things I wish I could tell 'ya... but no regrets, huh, you guys?" America realized that his vision was slowly starting to dim and go gray around the edges in his line of sight - must not be a good sign. It was getting real hard to speak now, and he figured that wasn't such a good thing, either. Momentarily, his thoughts flickered to Italy, whom he imagined was still running about the halls in a hurry to get to the safest room in this whole house. He let his head lean more againest his arm, voice sounding airy. "He'll b'kay, right?" He weakly squeezed Matthew and Arthur's hands, as if for reassurance, before letting his eyes slide closed.

Somewhere, Italy heard a clock chime.