Disclaimer: The priviledge of owning Hetalia Axis Poers and all related copyrighted things, goes to Hidekaz Himaruya. I own this story. So if I find this on the web without this disclaimer and credit to me, you better bet we are gonna have some legal issues...
I lied. This is a sequel (sort of) to my earlier story, Bad Influence. This one, however, is not reader insert. I was kind of surprised that many people who reviewed Bad Influence, had to ask me who had died. (Ok not that surprising. I like to leave things open ended for the readers.)
But as before,
please read,
please review,
I enjoy feedback,
and I'll try to get back to you!
Laid out on the hospital bed, Alfred could only see the blinding bright ceiling light. The heart monitor beeped softly in the gray just beyond his vision. The nurse had left the light on as he'd asked, but she'd made sure he was once again strapped down to the bed and he knew there was a person outside the room keeping watch. Suicide watch was always like that.
He groaned and closed his eyes, preferring to see the light through the red inside of his eyelids than without his glasses. Where were his glasses? They were twisted and crushed somewhere in the wreckage. They were in the wreckage with His body. "Oh God, why?" He mumbled, feeling tears slide down his face.
He knew somewhere in the back of his mind that it was his fault. Everyone else blamed him. No one had come to visit while he was here. Alfred knew they were right. Who would want to visit him? He'd caused his baby brother's death. The one person he'd promised his parents to protect. They had left, and he'd done what he could. But he hadn't seen the warning signs. The others had tried to tell him what was happening. Why hadn't he listened?
A smiling blonde face flashed behind his eyelids. Alfred screamed and opened his eyes, trying in vain to sit up. Breathing heavily, he relaxed into the mattress. He saw his brother's face every time he closed his eyes. Every dream he had transported him to the site of the crash. He hated it. And he hated himself. How could he let this happen?
As the nurse looked in, Alfred cried, "Why, why? Why not me? God take me and give him back!" He beat his fists uselessly against the bed and subsided into a mess of tears. The nurse ducked out to get something to help the patient sleep. As she left, she flicked off the light.
Alfred didn't care. In the darkness he wasn't reminded of his brother half as much. No fluorescent light to make him think of soft blonde, and no bright color to remind him of his smile. And he didn't have to remember the awful cherry red of blood splashed on that hair and those teeth.
But after the woman had given him a sedative and left, Alfred still couldn't sleep. There seemed to be more light in the room than the glow of the monitors around his bed. He opened his eyes and frowned. The overhead light was on, half as bright as before, but getting brighter by the moment.
When it got too blinding to see, he squeezed his eyes shut again. And the light vanished. A warm pressure on his hand told Alfred someone was there, holding him like a delicate bird. But now his eyes wouldn't open. "Brother." A voice said soothingly.
And Alfred knew that voice! He knew the boyish tenor of it, so like his own, but more gentle and innocent. "Matthew? But you're…." He trailed off, unable to say it. How could he say to his own brother that he was dead, and Alfred hadn't protected him like he should have?
"I know. I'm sorry, Alfred." The voice soothed him. Tears flowed freely from Alfred's closed eyes. "No, Mattie! It's not your fault! I should have done something! I should have stopped this from happening! It's my fault!" He gripped his brother's hand.
But another set of gentle fingers brushed his tears away. "It's not your fault. I wanted to prove myself. I made this happen, not you." The voice was calm and sorrowful and it was almost like Alfred was a child listening to their parents again. "You can't blame yourself for my death, Brother. Don't give up on life like I did."
Alfred laid there in silence for a while, soaking in the words and the presence of his brother. The little brother who now spoke like a father to a son. The little brother who was now dead, but still sat at his bedside when he needed comforting. Even knowing that Matthew was dead, Alfred couldn't doubt that he was there. Doubting would mean denying his brother. And he couldn't do that.
"Mattie?" Alfred asked after what seemed like an eternity, but could only have been a few minutes. His hand was reassuringly gripped and his brother's voice asked, "Yes, Alfred?"
"Please forgive me?" Was all he said. He couldn't bring himself to ask anything more. There was a beat in which Alfred could only imagine Matthew was smiling down at him. "I forgive you. But it's time for me to go now. Goodbye, Alfred."
And with those words, the feeling of warmth around his hand vanished, as did the feeling that his brother was still with him. Alfred opened his eyes to see the sun rising out the window. How long had his eyes closed? Had he slept and dreamed that Matthew had returned to him? No. He knew Matthew had been in the room.
The nurses scratched their heads with confusion when they came into the room. The orderly outside had sworn that no one had come or gone through the night. But the patient was untied from his bed. And he was sitting up, cradling a bouquet of white roses, bundled together with a red ribbon.