Chapter 3

His feet were about a quarter of meter above floor, where was lying knocked down stool. His eyes widened almost just like theirs, when they've saw him. France ran to Spain, caught his legs and supported him, while Prussia's eyes found leaned on the wall axe. Gilbert wasn't hesitating even a second, he took it and with one smooth move cut off the rope, which Antonio was hung on. Francis put their friend on the floor and started to loosening the loop.

Romano was observing it all with horror. He couldn't even move from his spot. Everything was like in slow motion or like a pretty realistic nightmare. But it wasn't a dream. He was really standing here and Antonio really was trying to kill himself. Romano wanted to do something, to be useful, but the whole situation was scaring him so much that he didn't know what to do.

"Romano." France turned to him. South Italy only gazed at Frenchman. "Call the ambulance."

The shock quickly abandoned him. He drew out from his pocket a cell phone and called to hospital. Without problems, he instructed the ambulance, what happened and where they had to go. Meanwhile Francis took the loop off from Antonio, whose eyelids were barely open. Gilbert checked the pulse. It was weak, but it seemed that Spain was still alive. France began the resuscitation mouth to mouth, while Prussia was helping him by pushing Spain's breastbone. South Italy hung up the phone and sat beside France to look what was happening.

"Come on, buddy. "Gilbert kept saying. "Bad Touch Trio can't become Bad Touch Duet."

There was something uncharacteristic in his voice. Something, which was making it cracking with sadness, restlessness and fear. All three of them – Francis, Gilbert and Romano – were scared that it might be too late, but also they still couldn't believe that it was really happening.

While they were doing it, the music was still playing. The song was slowly coming to the end, when three men tried desperately to save their friend. Antonio, however, didn't know what was happening to him right now. He knew only two things: that they suddenly ran to the room about half a minute after he kicked the stool, and that he couldn't breathe. He was hearing their worried voices like a distant calls. Soon his lungs started to work, even if he still hadn't opened his eyes.

"He's breathing!" France said with relief.

He and Prussia stopped the resuscitation and moved back. All three nations were observing with tension their friend. Antonio's eyelids rose a bit and with quiet, weak voice he finally spoke to them:

"You're too late. I don't want your help, anymore."

Then he closed his eyes once again and everything went black in sweet slumber.


The hospital room, where Antonio had been located, was small and painted white. There was one bed, standing at the wall on the right side; single chair and nightstand at the window that was in the middle of the room. Spain was peacefully sleeping in bed. Doctor said that he was really lucky – his brain wasn't damaged because of lack of air and it seemed that physically he was fine. However, due to situation, doctor recommended to leave him on psychological observation or just send him on therapy. For now Francis, Gilbert and Romano couldn't decide which one to do.

Next to Antonio's bed Romano was sitting on the chair and holding his former caretakers hand, observing with worry Antonio's calm face. However, the Italian couldn't erase from his head vision of Spain hung on the lump. France and Prussia couldn't either. From the moment, when they arrived to hospital after ambulance, they rarely spoke to each other.

"I wouldn't expect something like that from Spain of all people." Francis whispered, finally breaking the silence. Gilbert and Romano looked at him, but then Italian's eyes returned to Antonio.

Then South Italy spotted something weird on Spain's wrist, something thin and red. Romano slowly pulled down sleeping man's sleeve, revealing covered with cuts arm. All three men's eyes widened with shock. Romano tightened his grip on Antonio's hand. The face of South Italy were now expressing odd mix of anger and sadness.

"Spain, you idiot. You damn idiot." He whispered. In his eyes flashed scene, when Spain was nervously rubbing the same arm on World Meeting.

"So much for Spanish Optimism." Prussia commented.

"Why he hadn't said anything?" France asked. "We would help him."

Gilbert's eyes snapped open when sudden realization came to his head. He saw Antonio, who said to him: "Gilbert, I have to tell you something…", his eyes sad, his tone serious. And then he remembered how he – Gilbert Beilschmidt – cut him out, not wanting to listen what the other man tried to say. Prussia turned to the wall and started to bumping his head on it, turning the attention of other two men on himself.

"How could I be so stupid?"

"What do you mean?" France asked. Prussia stopped the hitting and looked at him.

"On last World Meeting we've met in the hallway. He wanted to tell me something, but I didn't listen, because I wanted back my cash. Damn it, I'm so stupid."

"Yeah, you certainly are." South Italy commented, but then his expression softened. He looked at Gilbert. "Do you have any idea what was that he wanted to tell you?" Then he turned at Spain. "One thing that I am sure – it wasn't because of crisis. He can perfectly deal with poverty and financial problems."

"I honestly don't know, but our ami had to be in depression for months. Some of those scars on his arm are quite old."

"But he was happy as always!" Prussia almost exclaimed. "He was smiling, laughing and drinking like there was nothing wrong."

Antonio's eyes opened a bit. For a moment his vision was blurry, but then it cleared up. He realized that his hand was held by Romano and that Gilbert and Francis was talking in silent voices. And then the memory of his failed suicide attempt hit him. He was still alive, probably in hospital (the smell and sounds on the hallway wasn't fooling him) and three men, whose help he didn't want, was now with him, waiting for his awaking.

Spain freed himself from South Italy's grip with one harsh move. The Italian looked at him with surprise, alongside with France and Prussia. Then their expressions changed from surprised to happy and relieved. But he was observing them with emotionless face, not knowing what to say or even think. One part of him was deeply touched that they came to his house, saved him and took to hospital. The other part was angry with them – for coming in nearly last moment, for interrupting his suicide, when he so desperately wanted to die, for finally realizing his pain, when he tried to kill himself. And this wrath, directed at his three most precious persons (did they were still them after all of this?), was stronger than melting mood. Because he still wanted to die.

He sat in bed, but he had done it so fast that he felt dizzy for a moment. He rolled his gaze from Romano, to Francis and Gilbert. They expressions became sad, filled with worry. Spain's eyes moved to the wall, like he didn't want to see them, which was partly true. He waited for one of them to ask this question. Someone had to say it.

"Why you did it?" France was the one, who broke the silence.

Spain looked at him. His gaze changed from neutral to cold. He clenched his fists. Now they wanted to know? After months of ignoring him those bastards was asking, why he wanted to commit suicide? His blood was boiling with anger. He couldn't take it anymore.

"Why?" He started with quiet, but cool voice. "You really want to know?"

"Well, yeah." Was Prussia's answer. "Our friend was cutting himself and tried to commit suicide. It's obvious, we want to know what's wrong with you."

Spain's lips twitched in angry grimace. He pulled up his cover and stood on the cold floor, leaning on the bold of bed. They could easily see that he wasn't in the best mood.

"You had the chance to ask what was wrong with me during whole this time, when I was sulking in depression." At first his voice was quiet, but then he changed his tone into harsher and angrier. "But you were too busy with flirting, demanding money from me or ordering me around! I knew, I can't tell you what was bothering me! After all you are just immature, selfish bastards!"

"Hey, wait a second, dude…" Prussia wanted to say something, but he had been immediately interrupted by France's hand. He looked with surprise at Frenchman.

"Let him speak." His eyes was serious.

"All this time you couldn't see that I wasn't as cheerful as always; that I was hiding something; that my smiles were fake! I was hoping that you will see it, but it never happened! You never even realized that something was wrong with me! And who is now dense idiot?"

The gazes of them all dropped down with shame, but he didn't stop.

"When I tried to say something, you didn't want to listen! Of course! How could I expect any comfort from guys, who think only about their libido, 'awesomeness' and stomach? How could I ever expect that you will bother to cheer me up? That you will ever do something for me?"

Antonio was near to cry, but he just sighed deeply and looked at them. For a moment none of four men in the room spoke. Maybe Spain was hoping for any denial from them, but – on the other hand – he didn't want to listen it. He sat on the bed and looked down.

"Why you even saved me?" His voice was silent. They all looked at him with surprise. "I wanted to die. You don't even know, how much. My life lost its sense long time ago."

"Idiot!" Romano finally spoke after being silent for so long, and stood up. "Don't you dare to talk like that, or I will…"

"Or you will kill me?" Antonio put up his sad gaze on his former charge, who twitched with shock. "Come on, do it. I don't care, how I will die. I just want to end this all."

"Stop saying this bullshit, tomato bastard. I won't let you die."

"You won't let me die, Romano?" Spain chuckled ironically. "You don't even like me."

"Stop it!" South Italy screamed, catching Spain's shirt and pulling him closer. "How can you say all those things about us? Just because we hadn't realized that you're depressed earlier, it doesn't mean, we don't care about you." There was something sad, nearly desperate in his eyes and voice. And Antonio saw it. "Now, when we know that you are suicidal, we will do everything to make you back to normal. We are your friends, tomato bastard."

"And you are ours." Francis added with smile. "We won't leave you like that."

Antonio pushed Romano back, making him releasing his grip, and once again looked at the floor.

"I said, I don't want your help." His voice was still silent, but there was some hesitation in it.

"Well then, you will have to take it." Gilbert smirked, but then he became serious. "Because there's no way we are going to let our friend die."

"Now, go to sleep, Antonio. You have to rest." France was still smiling. He took his hand on Prussia's shoulder and said to South Italy: "Come on, guys, leave him alone. He missed his siesta." The last sentence had been said by him with mocking smirk.

All three of them went to the door's direction.

"Wait." Antonio started. They turned to him. "Aren't you scared that I will kill myself, when you'll leave me?"

Francis' smile widened.

"Do you really think that hospital's personnel would locate you in place with any tool you could use to commit suicide?"

Spain looked around. Damn it! There really wasn't anything useful. No glass, no sharp things, the window had bars, so there is no way he could jump off. If he wanted to die, it wasn't possible in this place.

Romano, Francis and Gilbert left him alone. But once they came on the hallway, France stopped them and with serious expression said:

"We can't screw it up."


Honestly, there are parts in this chapter, I don't like, but I'm really proud of Prussia's line about Bad Touch Trio becoming Bad Touch Duet.

Don't forget to review. I'm counting on you!