Chapter 2

The meeting was lagging on, just boring without America sitting right beside him. How come he moved all the way over by Cuba? Britain was sure he hadn't hurt him with his insults. He usually bantered ba-

Oh wait. That was Canada. Of course. He knew that.

So where was he?

"Hey," he whispered to France, who was laughing a little at his phone for some stupid frog reason, "Frog. Do you know where America went?"

"Oui?" the other nation turned to him.

"So you have?"

"I have what?"

Britain sighed, "Do you know where America went?"

"Isn't that him over by Cuba – oh wait, that is my mon ami~"

He rolled his eyes. Like a French frog would know anything. "Well where is America? He should be here."

France waved his head, "I do not know. He's your ex-colony, not mine."

"And Canada's yours, but apparently you didn't know that was him over there." Not that he knew either – but he wasn't about to tell his rival that.

"I'm sure he'll show up later. We are supposed to be having a delicious dinner. He wouldn't miss that."

"True. But I'm getting bored with the speaker already," The brat talking always annoyed him with his 'That was invented in South Korea!' and such, "At least with America here, I could ignore that one."

"Oui, mon cher~"

He looked around again. Oh wait! There was America! Right by Cu- no. That was Canada again. Nevermind.

/

It was not until seven o'clock when they were finally done with all the speakers and protocol. Germany had made them stay an hour over to make up for the delayed start.

"Damn that America. Even when he's not here, he's annoying," Britain sighed, grabbing his briefcase and coat. He looked over to America's seat. The other's briefcase was still there, "Why would he leave it?" He reached over, gathering the papers and placing them inside, thinking, 'I guess I'll take it back to him. Dumb burger brain.'

He grabbed it, started towards the exit, and pushed his way through the slow moving crowd. Once out in the hall, he breathed, "Thank goodness."

However, it was even worse trying to making it back to the hotel. Apparently some of the other nations had the same idea of getting cleaned up before eating. Though, it really wasn't necessary, considering they'd just spent a couple of hours sitting down, bored out of their minds.

In the hotel's elevator, Britain was squeezed between Turkey and Greece, who were trying to show one another up in front of Japan and seemingly Seychelles as well. He was just thankful that Turkey stopped wearing that ridiculous turban he once had years ago.

Finally, finally, he made it to the floor America was staying on. He usually didn't know – honestly – where the buffoon stayed during these meetings. It wasn't like he needed to keep tabs on him. Luckily, though, he knew this time. Coming to the door, he was glad to be getting rid of the extra baggage. Who knew that a lazy person like America could have so much paperwork to weigh down a briefcase? It must have been filled with treats or games . . . or both.

Britain decided not to waste any more time, and knocked firmly on the door.

. . .

Well? Wasn't that buffoon coming out?

. . .

Britain sighed inwardly, knocking again.

. . .

He knocked again.

. . .

And again

. . .

And again.

. . .

AGAIN!

. . .

Britain was knocking so hard the door shook violently, and so loud the sound vibrated throughout the floor. Two rooms away, China flung open his door, "Quit that banging right now or I'll hit you with my wok!"

Britain stopped, looked at him, "Sorry!" and stomped away, throwing down America's briefcase.

Just seconds later, he stomped back and grabbed the case, feeling too guilty and responsible to leave it there.

"Whatever. That jerk wants to ignore everyone, he can," he huffed all the way to his room. Even at dinner that night, his anger still soared.

/

/

That morning brought nothing but a giant headache for Britain. It seemed that he had been drinking, due to the anger that formed when he tried to help America out. He ignored the feeling though, opting to get ready for the day instead.

He was in and out of the shower in record time, already dressed before the clock hit eight. He gathered his papers, neatly stacked them in his briefcase and snapped it shut. As he grabbed his phone, he saw America's own case still on the office desk. He figured he should take it . . .

He started to reach for it, but had second thoughts. If that bird brain decided to skip again, then he'd have to lug it around all day. No thank you. He would just have America come back here for it. . . Jerk.

With that last thought, Britain walked out the door, slamming it shut.

He moved through the crowds, somehow getting stuck between Turkey and Greece once again. Not only in the elevator, though, but in the café line as well. With the suffering event over, he quickly finished off his croissant and hot tea, and headed for the meeting hall. Once there he took his seat and waited for the blasted conference to start.

As far as that went, there wasn't much to say. Nations came it, took their seats. Some moved around, talking to their friends – or rivals if you count the bickering between Turkey and Greece. Seriously! Did those two ever rest! They were worse than him and France! (And that's saying a lot, considering . . .)

His attention moved towards France, who had just arrived. The man looked as if he'd just been threatened within an inch of his life – he must have pissed of Switzerland.

"What'd you do this time, Frog?" Britain asked, chin resting on his knuckles, "Asked Liechtenstein on a date in front of her brother?"

"Why!" his adversary started, "I never would do such a thing!"

He rolled his eyes, turning his chair to face France head on, "Even I know that. You're not such a pervert to do anything rash to her."

"I am not a pervert, you sheep. I am an advocate for love!"

His eyes rolled again, "Of course you are. And America doesn't weigh as much as a whale."

Not even France could keep from laughing at that one, even if he did get insulted as well. "What even happened to the boy? I did not see him at dinner last night."

Britain shrugged, "how would I know. I tried to return his briefcase, but couldn't find him anywhere." Not that he even looked in more than one place. "I'm sure he'll show up late again. Hopefully Germany will start without him."

"Oui~ Maybe we'll be so lucky if he shows up during lunch. Or better yet, dinner~"

"Or maybe never again," Britain grinned. He didn't mean it though. Just another harmless joke with a bite to it.

But a few minutes after arguing with France about who made the better Earl Grey tea, there was still no America to count. Even as Germany took the podium and searched the crowd for him. Though Canada was mistaken for him, again. How could that boy look so like his brother, but act so differently?

Britain shook off the thought, as he settled in for another boring meeting.

/

/

All day and they had made no real progress on anything. America wasn't there, thank goodness. But nevertheless, a fight broke out between Turkey and Greece about something Britain found really stupid. Evidently Greece had borrowed Turkey's camera to take a picture of Japan being angry, and hadn't returned it yet. Both stories were muddled with compromising details. Thankfully Germany was able to break it up, threatening both of them with no dinner or "Japan time" if they would not act like real adults. Japan, though not too keen on having his time be a prize for good behavior, did appreciate the fact that they both settled down afterwards.

Now, however, was at the end of the meeting. America never showed up for any one bit of it, not even the lunch break. That bloody wanker was going to get a stern talking to when Britain found out where he was.

"That git is probably moping in his room, because he didn't get here on time yesterday," he sighed.

"Or maybe because McDonalds ran out of their breakfast burgers before he could get one~" France chimed in.

"I wouldn't put it past him."

Britain picked up his suit jacket and briefcase, slowly moving with the crowd towards the exit.

Outside in the hall, a young woman seemed to be trying to find someone. Looking at her clean cut uniform, she appeared to work at the center, or at least the hotel next door. He saw Denmark stop to talk to her.

"Can I help you?" He asked, a giant and goofy smile already plastered on his face.

"Y-yes, sir. Do you know a Mr. Williams?" She sounded exasperated. What was wrong?

"A Mr. Williams, huh?" The nation placed his index finger and thumb on his chin, trying to think of who that was, "I don't . . ."

Britain sighed, coming up behind them, "That's Matthew's last name, Mathias." Seriously, did no one know who he was?

Denmark smiled, snapping his fingers, "Oh yeah! Of course!"

Britain looked around, finding his target, "Oi! Matthew!"

Canada, who was talking to a few other nations, turned, smiled, and walked over, "Yes Br-" he saw the woman, "Arthur?"

Britain, glad that Canada didn't blurt out anything he shouldn't have, motioned to the woman with his palm – much better than pointing, and much more gentleman like – and said, "This young lady has asked for you?"

A kind smile forming on his face made the woman blush slightly, almost forgetting what she had come here to say, "Yes, miss?"

"M-Mr. Williams?"

"Yes?"

"There was a call earlier. I wanted to tell you, but your meeting was marked as private, and I could not get in at all."

"That's alright. I'm here now." As patient as ever, that young man.

She nodded, spilling out all the words she had held in, "Yes. There was a call for you. They had found this hotel and center's number in his pocket, and called, saying it was urgent. I had called the hotel, asking for his room number, and your name popped up on his contact list. And that's when I found out you were also attending the meeting. And, as I've said before, I couldn't contact you personally because of that. Though, I did try to call your personal cell, and – and –"

He grabbed her shoulders lightly, "Whoa. Wait. It's okay. Just breathe."

The woman, who was now shaking a bit, followed his instructions and breathed slowly, "I – I apologize. It's just-"she drew in air once again, trying to calm herself, "It's just I had seen him only yesterday. And he was just fine then."

Canada, along with Britain, Denmark, and other nations who had stopped to overhear what the woman was talking about, did not understand who she was referring t–

"Wait," Canada held her still, leaning down a bit, staring straight into her eyes, "What was his name?"

It couldn't be. Could it? He hadn't shown up, but that didn't mean anything. Right?

It appeared to Britain that Canada had figured out who the woman was speaking of before he did, which irritated him just a little for some reason. (He was older! He should know more than him!)

"Mr. Jones," the woman started, "Mr. Jones is in the hospital. He was in an accident earlier yesterday."

It was as if a spell had been put on every single nation in hearing range. Everyone had stopped moving.

Mr. Jones?

America?

In the hospital?

But – but how?

He shouldn't be.

Could he really?

No.

That was impossible.

Right?

Canada was the first to snap out of it, determination glinting in his eyes, "Which hospital is it?"

"The one on Third Street. Just past the river. It's Miss Mercy Hospital."

Before the woman could say more, Canada was already running past the rest of the nations. He ran down the stairs in record time, sprinting out of the center. The others didn't even realize until he was outside flagging down a cab.

"Miss," Britain asked, "where is the hospital again?"

The woman told him, bewildered that the other man who was just in front of her had seemingly vanished.

The European rushed down the hallway, taking the elevator to the first floor, with France following, "Germany said to keep him updated on what was happening. He told the rest of the nations to go to dinner for now."

He nodded, acknowledging the other.

There was no banter, no insults thrown. There was no time for that. All he was thinking about was the thought of America in a hospital.

It was probably a bad, horrible, unfunny joke. America was the king of unfunny jokes – well, next to Prussia and Denmark, of course. Though, if this was a joke, then he was for sure going to kill that boy. This was certainly not funny.

Besides, a nation really never needed a hospital. Even if something terrible happened, it would usually take a bullet to the skull to land them in intensive care. And even then, they were in no fear of dying. As long as the nation they personified stood, so would they.

He and France were able to hail a cab within minutes, and rode their way to the hospital. It was a silent drive, but there wasn't really anything to talk about.

But as the cab pulled up to the emergency entrance, France spoke up, "Do you think he's alright?"

"Hmm," Britain paid the driver and exited, the other right behind him, "He should be."

The older, taller man – seriously, why did he have to be taller than Britain? – pouted a little, "Oui . . . but he isn't invincible."

He just snorted, walking to the check in station. He put on his sweetest smile, which really wasn't bad-looking at all, "Excuse me, Nurse? I would like to know where Alfred Jones is, if you will."

The nurse, a plump, older lady, did not even look up to acknowledge him, as she typed away on her computer.

"Miss?"

She kept typing, the stern grunt on her face not wavering.

"Oh, Miss?"

Nothing. Just nothing from this infuriating woman! Britain's patience was running thin – very thin!

"Miss!" He huffed out, "Can you please help me?"

She finally looked up, "Excuse me, honey? You need to wait your turn. I have a butt load of sick people in this ER, and I do not have time for you. You just need to sit your bushy brows down over there. "

"Excuse me?! Look I'm here for my friend who is injured!"

"So. You can still wait your turn, Caterpillar. As you can see I'm busy. Besides you wouldn't be able to get back there unless your family, and only if he's not in surgery. And another thing-"

Before a more intense yelling match broke out between the nation and woman – or even worse, a fist fight – France stepped in, smiling as widely and beautifully as he could, "Mademoiselle, forgive my friend for his rude behavior~" He grabbed her hand, as if he were introducing himself to a young queen, "He is just worried for his friend. He does not know what he is doing~ Please help us~" he kissed her hand lightly, "Pretty please~"

The nurse was dumbstruck from France's small speech, hearts forming in her eyes, "Y-y-yes sir!" She typed faster on her computer, grabbed a notepad and wrote down the room number.

All the while, Britain's large eyebrows were furrowing into a long caterpillar on his face. France being in charm mode was one of his biggest pet peeves in the world.

She handed France the paper, "He's in there, sweetie. Just be careful, okay? He's past the double doors, and to the left, all the way down on the right."

"Merci beaucoup~" He pulled Britain along with him. As the nurse pushed the button behind her desk to open the double doors, France blew her a kiss. To say nevertheless, she giggled like a schoolgirl.

They walked down the hall, Britain snatching the room number, sighing "Wanker," under his breath.

Taking no offense, France just smiled.

At the corner, they turned; but stopped short when they saw the sign hanging from the ceiling. It read in big bold letters

"Intensive Care Unit," Britain whispered.

America was in ICU.

But-but why?

He shouldn't.

Even a bullet to the brain . . .

They walked grimly down the hall, unspeakable thoughts growing in their minds. The further they went, the more their fear grew. But neither said a thing. This seriously must have been a bad joke.

Canada, who was sitting on a bench with his leg shaking nervously, was not aware of the two nations, who had just stopped in front of him. He was so focused on a dingy spot on the floor that he did not hear France say his name. The older one placed a hand on his shoulder, making him jump.

"Papa?" he asked, surprised.

"Mon ami. Have you gone in to see him?"

His mouth clamped shut, small tears welling up at the corners of his eyes. He shook his head side to side, "No, Papa. They said he was still passed out. They're stabilizing him again."

France took him into his arms, "Ah, my child. It is going to be alright. He will be fine."

Canada held onto his father, "But he is so hurt. Th-they said that a truck hit him at such a high speed that– that–"

"Shh, mon ami," sitting down, France pulled the younger into a hug.

Britain couldn't say anything. He wasn't the best at comforting others, especially a former colony. He had tried at times, but the pain of them leaving him . . . how could he comfort someone else, if he could not comfort himself in their presence?"

He had no time to think about this as the doctor and two nurses came out of the room. The nurses went one way; the doctor came up to the three of them.

"Would you be Mr. Jones' relatives?"

"Yes, we are," Britain held out his hand, "I'm Mr. Kirkland."

"Dr. Smith," the man took his hand, shaking firmly, "we received Mr. Jones around noon yesterday. He isn't too bad at the moment – he actually has recovered a great deal since being admitted. It's nearly a miracle to say the least."

'Not a miracle. He's a nation, not a human.' Britain thought, more for himself than anything.

"But he is still unconscious."

"Oh . . . might you tell us what happened? If you know, that is."

The doctor played with his short, stubby mess of a beard, "From what I've heard, it seems that a semi truck had tried to stop when seeing him in the crosswalk. Sadly, Mr. Jones was hit with full force."

Canada whimpered.

"But as I said, he is recovering exponentially. And it's only been a little more than half a day."

"When can we see him?" France asked.

"You can right now. But you must not startle him if he wakes up."

He nodded, "Oui."

France helped Canada stand, and they made their way past the doctor, into the room. Britain was about to follow them, when a hand grabbed his shoulder.

"Mr. Kirkland?"

"Yes, doctor?"

"I have to tell you something about his condition."

He faced him, "What is it?"

"Well . . . considering what has happened, and the severity of his wounds, he might have some trouble when he comes to."

"I see."

"He might not understand everything you say."

Britain's brows furrowed again, "What do you mean?"

/

Canada shivered, looking at his brother's body lying limp on the rigid bed. There seemed to be so many machines around him, so many hooked up to his head, arms, chest. The heart monitor beeped slowly, showing the pulse that was buried under all the tubes. America, his own brother, was turning into a cyborg, leaving his humanity behind with him and his papa and father. America would probably have loved to see that. But not like this.

It took his own papa to gently push him forward, in order to move his own body again. "It'll be okay," the other comforted, "He is a nation after all."

His head nodded stiffly, "O-oui, Papa. I know."

It still took all his strength to lean over his other half, the tears flowing instantly when he caught sight of the bruises and bandages that covered the man. His brother, his twin, his best friend, his comforter, his strength, his protector, his hero . . . His other half was this one man. There was no explaining it to anyone else. They just didn't understand. America and Canada were part of the same person, the same land. They didn't have many memories before they were found by the whole of Europe, but they had spent their lives growing up together. Though they were torn apart by their fathers, they were able to reunite and rebuild their friendship and companionship once again.

Canada was the timid half, who was frightened at the slightest movement. America was the courageous half, who did not fear anything that stood in his way. Together or apart, one influenced how the other acted. If Canada was too afraid, then America would be there to give him a brave push forward. If America was too reckless, then Canada would be there to hold him back and calm him down.

Canada, who was very scared for his brother, tried to conjure up that bravery – that heroism. He shook a little, sitting in the wheeled stool that was right by the bed. "Alfred," tears fell, and he gently took the man's hand, "Alfred. I – I know you're not dead. I know you're only sleeping – recovering. But. . ." his breath caught in his throat, "but please wake up soon. You're scaring me. And you know I don't like being scared," he slowly bowed his head, as if in prayer, and kissed the cold hand, "You can do this. Please do this."

.

France tried not to tear up as he witnessed his own son forcing himself not to breakdown. A child should never have to fight so hard.

He did not have a chance to say anything, as Britain entered the room. He heard a sharp intake of air, a sign that the other had taken in the picture before them.

"So," he started, trying to snap the both of them back to reality, "What did the doctor say?"

There was no response.

France looked down, "Britain?"

The stern look on the Englishman did not help his nerves. Although Britain looked like that most of the time, this one seemed harsher.

"Britain?"

He saw as the other's chest slowly rose and fell. "He told me there might be some complications when Alfred wakes up."

/

/

/

I hoped you enjoyed this chapter. I really love this story. ^_^ And thank you to those who're following this story. Even though I don't always get reviews, I know that people still love reading my work. I appreciate it so much!