God… It hurts…

"…Arthur…?"

It really hurts…

"…Mr... Arthur…?"

Please… Make the pain stop-

"…Mr. Arthur…?"

The English nation slowly awakened from his sleep as the small voice called out his name. "W-who is it?" he choked out, tears threatening to make their way down his bloodstained cheek once again. He half-opened his eyes to see a small blue fairy, hovering just slightly above his nose. He faked a slight smile, "H-hello there…"

"Why are you crying?" she asked innocently.

Normally, the nation would neglect a statement like this, being too stubborn to admit his outright display of weakness, and then make a comeback to the other by a cocky retort or insult; but seeing as it was just his magical friend with him in his room, and not another nation, no comeback was needed.

"It hurts…" he murmured, stuffing his face into his pillow.

"What hurts?"

What hurt? That was a good question. Initially, the Brit would've said the consistent number of wounds he'd been sustaining every day since this bloody thing had started; all the bombs dropped, all the buildings that were being blown to bits, all the history of his nation, gone in a second.

Not to mention all of the blood that he was losing. Each bomb dropped felt like a gunshot right to his chest. If you took away the massive amounts of bandages he had, it probably looked just like it, too.

But was that what really hurt?

Sure, the pain he'd been inflicted was awful, treacherous, even.

But he'd been through all that before.

This… this was different. It wasn't just his buildings being destroyed, the relics of his history, now crumbling beneath his feet. No…

It was his people.

All the innocent lives being lost, all the mothers… all the children…

They had done nothing, absolutely nothing! But- but they were the ones being hurt. They were the ones being killed- And it was tearing him apart.

Every single innocent live lost, every death sustained- had him feeling like he'd died himself, had him wishing that he'd been the one to die. Just not them… Never them...

But it wasn't that easy, he was a nation, they didn't die. Not easily, anyway.

So then… what was it that really hurt?

"My heart."

And that's it! I hope you liked it~ Or at least, y'know, didn't puke at my awful working-on-being-developed writing skills. Seeing as this is my very first fanfic EVER! (At least, the first one I've dared to ever put up on the internet xP) I also realize that there may have been a few sentences that were a bit… how do you say… 'off'? Or at least a bit awkward or something. I tried my best to fix them, I promise~ But this story was driving me insane, and I wanted to get it up on here before I died a bit on the inside, so here it is!

Pleaaaaase review, and tell me what I can work on and get better at to develop my writing skills! :3 Love you all~

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Hetalia or any of it's characters! All credits go to Hidekaz Himaruya.