Time seemed to freeze for Arthur Kirkland, the personification of Great Britain.
Alfred's home was engulfed in orange and red flames, licking and destroying everything in it's path. Roaring with anger, the flames had made quick work of the American's house, bursting out of broken windows and incinerating any wooden object it touched. Grass and planets nearby were torched and burnt to pathetic cinders. Parts of the house was beginning to cave in on itself. It seemed impossible for any resident to survive the blaze.
"Alfred!" Arthur wailed, his emerald green eyes widening, tears stinging the back of his eyes and his throat tightening in emotional agony and disbelief. No. This was not happening. Not to his Alfred. Not to his hero. "Bloody hell..." he turned to one of the firemen yelling orders at his subordinates as they pounded water full force at the burning house. "There's someone inside!" the Englishman roared at him, tears continuing to well up painfully in his eyes. He was a former empire, the greatest pirate that ever lived! He did not cry. Stop flowing tears, stop bloody flowing.
The fireman looked to Arthur, demanding quickly, "There's someone inside that building?" he blinked a few times, quickly shaking his head as he continued to shout over the roar of the flames. "Impossible! There's no one inside!"
"Bloody gits!" Arthur screamed, sprinting towards the close to collapsing structure. He easily evaded the men that tried to grab him, ignoring their yells and demands for him to stop running; that it was too dangerous. England ignored them as he rammed against the door, which easily broke down under his weight.
Flames licked everything in sight, smoke billowing from everywhere. Arthur coughed slightly, taking out his handerchief and covering his nose and mouth with it as he began cautiously running towards where the fire was strongest and hottest. Knowing that his Alfred was in the center of all this destruction made his heart wrench up. No. He could not be weak now. He had to be strong for his hero.
"Alfred! Alfred answer me!" Arthur called weakly, coughing every few seconds. The smoke was blinding and stung his eyes. Realizing that it would be futile to attempt to see through it, the Englishman got to his knees and began crawling as he continued to call his American's name. "Alfred please answer me!"
England nearly froze as he heard the house groan, debris falling on and around his form. "Bloody..." he cursed under his breath. The house would fall at any second. This fueled his frantic search for the American. "America! ALFRED F. JONES!"
There was no response (like he really expected one though), but Arthur saw something up ahead, where the force of the blaze was the strongest. Setting his jaw, Arthur stood up slightly and approached it, hunched over to escape the smoke gathering up at the ceiling and most of the air around him. He knelt down next to it, and nearly cried right then and there.
It was Alfred, sprawled out on his stomach, most of his clothes burned away. There was the smell of burning flesh in the air, nearly causing Arthur to gag. Most of his body was covered in ashes, making Arthur unable to clearly see his features. But, his American was trapped. A large pillar from the ceiling was crushing his poor Alfred.
"Alfred..." Arthur whispered, wanting to touch him so badly, but was afraid he'd hurt the lad. The building groaned loudly again, making the Briton flinch visibly. Looking around, he noticed the flames spreading even more quickly and more debris showering around them. Arthur narrowed his eyes in determination, then pushed against the pillar, desperate to free the trapped American. "C'mon Alfred...just a little longer..." he heaved. "Hang in there..."
Arthur pushed with all his strength, and when he began to believe that he was too weak to save his hero, the pillar began to budge. Slowly and gradually, Arthr pushed the destructive object off of Alfred. Arthur gently brushed back his hair, feeling a wet and warm substance stain his hand. He whimpered softly, the house moaning louder, and he swore he felt it begin to shake. Shivering himself, Arthur gently and carefully scooped up the limp American. Removing the hankerchief from his own nose and mouth, Arthur gently laid it over America's own in a weak attempt to filter this disgusting garbage he believed his lover was breathing in.
"Don't worry Alfred..." Arthur murmured to him softly, running quickly towards the entrance, coughing heavily between words. "Arthur is here to protect you...to save you...you'll be alright now, ok? So just hang on. Everything will be ok..."
Suddenly Arthur felt a wave of confusion and incoherence, looking around frantically and skidding to a halt in the middle of the hallway. "What...? No. I just passed this door...! Bloody hell they all look the same! Where the bloody hell is the exit to this hell hole?" he had to get out of here quickly. For his Alfred's sake. Inhaling deeply, he continued running, everything beginning to look distorted in his vision. He was losing consciousness. No...!
"Alfred..." Arthur murmured to him, looking down at him as he felt himself begin to fall. Instead of hitting a burning hot hard surface, cold night air hit his slightly burnt skin. Soft and cool grass enveloped the outline of his body, Alfred slipping out of his grasp. Weakly Arthur called out to him, darkness surrounding him. Overcome with fatigue, Arthur had no choice but to succumb to the intimidating blackness of unconsciousness.
Arthur groaned loudly as the scent of medicine and other unidentifiable things clogged his nose, causing him to groan fairly loudly. His eyes fluttered open, and he blinked a few times in an attempt to focus on where he was. Exhaling loudly, he sat up slowly to find himself in a hospital room. A basic one, as if the hospital personel had just shoved him in there. Wait...what had happened to him? He didn't remember at all.
"Bloody hell..." Arthur groaned, rubbing his head carefully as he looked around the room. "What happened...?" instantly it all came back to him. Without hesitation he jumped out of the bed and sprinted out of the room, dodging the nurses and patients as he ran. "Alfred! Alfred!"
Arms suddenly grabbed him round his waist, and the Briton began to flail and struggle on instinct. "Bloody git! Let me go this instance!"
"Calm down!" a male voice ordered. "If you calm down and listen to me I will let you go!"
"No! I will not listen to you! Where is Alfred? Where is he?" Arthur was close to sobbing from grief, finally ceasing his struggles in the man's arms. "Where is my stupid bloody hamburger eating git..."
The doctor sighed softly, gently leading the hysterical Briton towards the waiting room. Seating him down in a chair, he tied his hospital gown better so it wouldn't fall off, then asked gently. "Sir, what is Alfred's last name? Maybe I can find out where he is for you."
Arthur took a deep breath, shaking slightly as he tried to remember what exactly happened. He had found Alfred and was trying to save him...yes...then...did he faint? That would explain the large gap in his memory. But he had to find his American...!
"Sir." the doctor gently shook his shoulder, snapping him back to reality. Arthur blinked a few times, then looked to the slightly irritated doctor. "Please. What is Alfred's last name?"
Arthur cleared his throat and answered in a slightly shaky voice (his pirate self would frown on him now. How dare he show nervousness in front of a mere mortal!) "J-Jones. His name is Alfred F. Jones."
The doctor suddenly appeared a bit crestfallen, causing Arthur's heart to break into a thousand pieces. Something was wrong with his Alfred. He knew it now. That head injury he must've recieved when the pillar fell on him...tears threatened to spill over again, but he held them in. He had to be strong. He was Arthur Kirkland! Former Pirate! T-This was nothing...
"Is he the one who just came in from the fire?" the doctor asked cautiously, and Arthur nodded slowly, biting his lip to hold down tears.
"Yes doctor..."
"Follow me."
Arthur swallowed, standing up and hesitantly following the doctor. He didn't even bother to attempt to fix the patient gown that was falling off his body. Too much was happening too quickly. How could this have happened to Alfred? He always was boasting that he was the hero, why did this have to happen to him? Was Alfred...dying? Arthur nearly smacked hismelf at that. He was losing it. Yeah, that's it. Losing it.
The doctor stopped outside of a room, Arthur nearly running into the man. But he stopped right in front of him, and looked up at the tall doctor nervously. "I-Is that...?"
The doctor merely nodded. "Yes. This is Alfred's room." he stepped inside the room. He returned with a fairly thick folder. Quicklky he skimmed a few of the papers, then closed the folder and looked to the near-hysterical Briton. Clearing his throat, he began:
"A piece of debris from the burning house lodged into the back of his skull, near the base of his neck, and spinal cord. Luckily it didn't appear to damage it, but he did fracture his skull and appeared to damage his occipital lobe and-"
"What, what the bloody hell is an 'occipital lobe'?" Arthur interuppted. "Is Alfred going to be alright?"
"Let me speak." the doctor demanded, and Arthur quickly shut up. Looking back down at the sheet of paper on top of the folder, he continued. "The occipital lobe controls sight, and it was very badly damaged by fragments of the skull. He was just in surgery to remove those pieces, and he is going to have a metal plate drilled into his head where the bone is missing."
"Hold on..." Arthur spoke slowly, carefully. Nervously. "Y-You said that that lobe that was damaged controls sight...so what does that mean...? That he won't be able to see that well anymore? He'll be color blind? Only see black and white? What?"
"What I mean is..." the doctor sighed slowly, meeting those frightened emerald green eyes. "That Alfred will most likely be completely blind."
Arthur's world began to crack from under him.
England ran his fingers through his blond hair, staring out the window of the bland hospital room. The flowers he had gotten to put in the room in an attempt to brigten up the room did not bring much color and happiness to the depressing place. He didn't know how many hours he had spent in this room, but it was too much. And the reason depressed him.
Arthur looked back at the pale American lying lifeless in the hospital bed. The scenario didn't suit his hero in the least. That large tube shoved down his throat (he both wanted it there, but wished for it to get out of Alfred's body. It allowed Alfred to breathe correctly and easier - though manually pumping air in his damaged lungs - but it appeared to hurt him and was uncomfortable.) and the thick gauze wrapped around his head... Couldn't Arthur have saved him? Yet he knew there was nothing he could do. As the doctor told many a time, Alfred needed time. He needed time to heal and awaken.
Yet Arthur didn't have time. He wanted his stupid hamburger eating, coke guzzling bloody git back to him. To insult his scones, to laugh at him when he did a mistake, to tease him about his eyebrows. To love him to no end.
Suddenly the heart monitor caught his attention. It was beeping quickly, wait...it only did that when the heart was racing...
"Alfred!" Arthur quickly whipped around to face the bed, his eyes wide in horror. Alfred's eyes were open, his chest twitching and heaving at an abnormally fast rate. Pure panic was written all over his face as he weakly tried to pull out the tube. Immediatly the Briton was at Alfred's side, stroking his face and whispering softly to America in an attempt to calm him down. He spoke in a low voice so Alfred would have to calm down and be quiet to listen to him.
"Alfred, shh sweetie, it's alright, calm down..." Arthur murmured, gently taking the hand that was pulling at the tube and holding in his own, finally stopping it's attempt at hurting it's owner. Rubbing circles on the back of his hand with his thumb, Arthur pressed foreheads with the shivering American. Alfred's eyes were darting around frantically, desperate to see anything, but they were fogged and glazed over.
"Shh...calm down lad...it's me...it's Artie..." the Englishman murmured, using Alfred's pet name for him. Three days. Three days he had waited for America to awaken. Was it worth it to see him in a complete panic? He looked at Alfred's pale pale face, and saw him beginning to bite down on the tube. Cupping his face, he contined to whisper to him. "No, no. Don't bite. You're breathing through that tube. And don't try to talk lad...I don't want you straining yourself...just calm down and relax. I'm here, I'm not going anywhere, I'm not leaving you."
Alfred weakly whimpered through the tube, his blank eyes staring straight ahead. Those beautiful cerulean blue eyes seemed dulled a bit, making Arthur's heart sink slightly. He absolutely adored America's eyes. They seemed to shine. How beautiful they were... Quickly he shaked it away, continuing to stroke America's face and hold his hand, occasionately kissing his nose. He knew that it made the taller male giggle. It always had. Even when he was just a small boy.
But Arthur recieved no response, making his heart break slightly. Never had he seen his love like this. What was it? Hopelessness? Depression? He couldn't describe it. And his eyes no longer were the windows to his soul and emotions. The Briton felt downfallen at this. Alfred's eyes...this blindless was quite a loss for both of them. That Arthur knew.
"Alfred..." England took a deep breath. America had a right to know what was wrong with him, and what had happened. "...y-you're blind...that fire, a piece of debris fractured your skull...pieces of the bone damaged your brain, and you can't see because of that...a metal plate is in the back of your head..." Arthur took a deep breath, glancing in America's face. Again he saw no emotion. "...Alfred...I'm so so sorry..."
A tear trickled down the side of America's face. England blinked, then quickly wiped it away. But more continued to fall, staining his lover's perfect face. The tears did not stop flowing, Arthur wiping away every one as he kissed Alfred's cheeks repeatedly. It didn't seem to be working, and Arthur panicked slightly himself. What could he do to calm down Alfred before he literally had a heart attack...?
"In sleep he sang to me..." Arthur began to sing softly, leaning close to Alfred's ear so he could hear him clearly. "In dreams he came..."
Alfred sniffled softly to indicate that he was listening.
"That voice which calls to me and speaks my name..."
The tears had begun to stop flowing. Only a few sniffles remained.
"And do I dream again for now I find...The Phantom of the Opera is there...Inside my mind..." Arthur kissed in between America's closed eyes, believing him to have fallen asleep from exhaustion. "Good night my love...please sleep well..." he murmured softly. "You need to bloody get back on your feet soon so I can yell at you for the stupid things you do...stupid American..." he kissed his nose one more time. "Artie will take good care of you until then..."
Thank you for reading, first of all.
Second, this was originally going to be a one-shot (a very long one at that), but with exams in two weeks, I decided to upload something and make this a two/three shot. So...yes. Consider this chapter one, part one, whatever.
Enjoy. Please review.