He was sitting at the desk, trying to concentrate on the meeting he was in the middle of. He knew it was important but he just couldn't focus. There had been several threats recently but no one believed anything would happen.
Suddenly a blinding pain shot through his eye and he clutched it as he spilled backwards out of his chair.
"Sir?!" the men around him called frantically. "Sir, are you okay?!"
He could feel blood slipping down the side of his face and out between his fingers and he bit his lip harshly to keep from screaming.
"What is it?!" a man demanded, kneeling next to him and trying to move his hands away from his face. "What happened?!"
"There's blood!" another man called, pointing to his face.
"Sir?! Show us your face! Show us what happened!"
A messenger burst into the room, panting.
"Th-There's been an attack!"
All the men quickly looked up at him.
"What?! Where?!"
"Two planes were hijacked and have crashed into the Twin Towers!"
The men gasped before looking back at their leader.
"Sir! We're going to get you help!"
He was already unconscious, the pain being too much, too sudden.
Three men carefully picked him up and carried him out of the room as another dialed for a doctor.
"Another plane was hijacked and it's heading this way! And another is heading for the Capitol!"
The men's heads all snapped to their leader.
"Get him out of here!" one shouted. "Get him somewhere safe!"
He was raced out of the room and brought to a waiting ambulance.
It tore away from the building, hopefully taking their leader away from more destruction and pain.
When he blinked his eye open, he saw the distorted image of three people.
One had his face buried in another's chest, the second rubbing his back gently as the first shook with the force of his tears.
The last one was angrily pacing around the room.
"Angleterre," the second one called. "Calm down. He will wake up soon."
The third one turned on the spot, mid-pace and clenched his fists to keep his tears in his eyes.
"You don't know that!" he yelled. "He might never wake up again!" The tears started to run down his face. "W-What would I do th-then?!"
The second man took his hand and pulled him close, letting him cry into his shoulder.
"He is strong, mon cher. Just as strong as you are. He would never let this stop him. Do not worry."
The man turned to look down at him.
"But he's my boy Francis…how can I not worry?"
Francis held him close and rubbed his back.
"Je sais, mon cher. Je sais."
He moved a little and the three men at his bedside looked down instantly.
"Alfred!" the Canadian called as he hugged him tightly. Alfred groaned in pain as his injuries were squeezed together. "Sorry!" the boy cried as he released him quickly. "I-I didn't mean to!"
"I-I know."
Alfred reached up and gently touched his eye but his hand was stopped by a thick layer of gauze. Sighing, he closed his eye and let his body lay limp.
"I-I'm so sorry Alfred," the Englishman said. "Th-This is all my fault."
Alfred shook his head, eyes still closed.
"No it isn't, Arthur. It was mine. We knew they were going to attack. They made it more than clear but we didn't believe them. We could have prevented this but we didn't."
He opened his eye again and tried to sit up before Francis carefully pushed him down.
"Do not. You might hurt yourself further."
Alfred nodded and put his hand over his heart, feeling more gauze under his palm.
"They attacked my heart…"
Canada sat down next to Alfred and took his hand.
"They could have done worse if they had succeeded completely. There was going to be another hit to your heart but it failed." He placed his hand on Alfred's shoulder. "They crashed before they could hit your heart for the second time."
"Why do I hurt so badly everywhere?"
"Quite a few people died, mon petit. Their pain is etched into you."
Alfred looked up at him, sadness clear in his eyes.
"I wish I had listened. Then none of this would have happened."
All three stared at him in shock.
When Alfred was released from the hospital Arthur took him to England with him, Francis and Matthew coming also.
He needed a lot of help to get used to his lost eyesight and all three were there to help him every step of the way.
Sadly, Alfred started having nightmares and needed at least one person to sit next to him until he fell asleep and for a short time afterward though none of them left him alone at night. They took turns watching over him but Arthur offered to do it most. He couldn't stand the sight of the boy he raised from infancy in so much pain and vowed not to let him get hurt anymore, often keeping himself awake for days straight until Francis dragged him to bed and laid with him until he also fell asleep; Matthew sitting with his brother.
It was heartbreaking to all three of them to watch their loved one stumble around as he tried to get used to his loss of sight.
He didn't want help and to respect his wishes, the other three would keep a few feet away, ready to jump in whenever he needed it.
Depth perception was completely lost on the American and he often walked into walls or fell to the ground when he tried to sit down. He was unable to catch himself due to his hurt shoulder and they would run to his side and help him stand before backing away and letting him brush himself off and try again.
Francis usually changed his gauze around his eyes and chest, having the most experience with injuries and how to take care of them, and also helped him exercise his shoulder to regain his strength.
All three of them wanted to get back at Iraq, Afghanistan, and several other Middle Eastern countries but they knew they couldn't. None of them had been attacked and if they did anything it could start another world war.
Instead, they focused all their attention on Alfred and getting him back to the way he was. It was the only thing they could do.
AN: Just something I wrote for 9/11 and my two year anniversary on dA (even though it's tomorrow).
Okay so explanation? I was convinced that New York was one of America's eyes and so when the Twin Towers were attacked it was like an attack to his eye. And the third plane that crashed into the Pentagon (where he was at the time) was like an attack to his heart, or D.C. And the final plane that was headed for the Capitol crashed in Pennsylvania when the passengers tried to take the plane back and that was like his shoulder.
So...yeah...I hope it wasn't too depressing. My roommate said it made her cry (she likes Hetalia too) but I didn't think it was that bad. This was just a story about getting over what happened with England, France, and Canada's help so it shouldn't be too bad.