Hi guys! I hope that was quick enough :)
I'm sorry about the length of this chapter, but I thought it would be appropriate to end it where I ended it... I promise the next chapter will be much longer!
Enjoy! ;)
"Hey! Japan!"
America raps at the door of Japan's little, one-story cottage with one hand, clutching an enormous bag of celebratory McDonald's burgers in the other. "Hey, Japan! Open up! Dude, I just completely pwned you in World War Two, so, seriously, you should at least let me in."
To Alfred's annoyance, no raven-haired nation comes to answer the door. "Japan!" Irritated, he grabs at the door handle and is surprised to find that the wooden door swings open easily. "Japan, you left your door unlocked! That's stupid..."
The interior of Japan's house is completely bathed in darkness and silence. America crinkles up his nose as a pungent, metallic scent wafts out through the door. "Jeez, Japan, don't you ever clean your house? Well, I suppose I'll invite myself inside..." Feeling oddly nervous, America steps up into the dark living room, simultaneously pulling a burger from his bag and beginning to munch. He fumbles for the light switch, and flicks it upwards, but nothing happens. 'What's up with that? Does he not pay his electric company? Well, it's a good thing I brought my flashlight.' Reaching deep into his hamburger bag, America yanks out a small, handheld flashlight (along with a few french fries), wipes it on his pants, and flicks it on.
"Wow," America says, with a low whistle. "You really need to do some kind of a house cleaning, don't you, Japan?" He moves his flashlight here and there through the small living room, surveying the crumbling walls and cracked floors with distaste. "Seriously, even though you are definitely not hero material, I expected you to be a bit cleaner-"
The small, yellow pool of light from his flashlight stops, hovering over a small, red puddle on the ground. America frowns, a slight sense of foreboding washing over him for the first time. "Eww... what is that thing?" Cautiously, he pulls out a fry from his to-go bag and dips it in the sticky liquid. He brings it up to his face, and finds that it has the same, metallic smell the permeates Japan's house, except that about ten times stronger. Grimacing, he drops the french fry. He sure as heck doesn't want to eat that any more. Not after it's been in...
Suddenly, Alfred's feels a chill run through him. Is that... blood? "Erm... Japan? What's up with this? Is this some kind of a prank?" Feeling understandably jittery, America uses his old, unfailing method to easing his nerves: talking excessively. "Anyways, I'm here to rub it in your face that I'm the hero and I epically beat you in World War II! I mean, it was the perfect plan! The air raids helped, and then boom! The twin bombs-"
America freezes as the circle of light -which has been waving randomly around as he talked -falls on a still form on the ground. "K-Kiku?"
Hugging his hamburger bag tightly to his chest, Alfred slowly inches closer to the form. Yes, it is Japan, and he seems to be lying face-down on the wooden floor, his usually neat hair sticking up wildly in every direction. His usual, white uniform is covered in dirt and -my god, is that blood? -and is torn in various places. But the most harrowing portion of the scene is Kiku's shoulder, where a rip in the cloth reveals a large, bloody wound that America can only guess is a burn.
The hamburgers go flying. "Holy crap! Japan! Are you... are you dead?"
Japan lifts his head slightly, and, with great effort, manages the words, "A... America-san... this is... not a good time..."
America drops to his knees beside the nation (conveniently ignoring the fact that Japan obviously wants him to leave), feeling extremely flustered. He laughs nervously. "You're faking, aren't you? There's no way..." Reaching out a finger, Alfred pokes Japan's shoulder, and is met with a scream of agony as Kiku shrinks away from his extended hand. America frowns and laughs nervously as he watches Japan's blood drip off of his finger, feeling a bit lightheaded. "Shit... you really aren't faking, aren't you? Um..."
"Please... America-san... leave..." America is startled to see a desperate, even resigned look in Japan's eyes. With it, a lingering hate.
"I can't just leave you bleeding all over the floor! I'm a hero, remember? Anyways, what in the name of McDonald's happened to you?" Kiku grimaces, his fingers clawing at the floor as he struggles to keep his head above the ground. Then, with a sigh, he lets it drop.
"H-hiroshima," Japan gasps finally, and America feels his blood run cold.