Sorry for the delay. I went to a con this last weekend. (Naka-Kon! Woot!) This next chapter is a little shorter than the other two, but I think it fits, and leaves some room for. . .. a good story. ^_^

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Chapter 3

"Deaf?"

"Yes."

"Or blind?"

"Yes."

"Or-"

"Or anything like that. Yes. Just as I've told you."

France took a deep breath. It was a lot to take in. The thought of America being impaired . . . it made him speechless. Shocked.

"But . . ." He tried to keep his voice down – he did not want Canada to overhear, "He's a nation. Do you think any of that would actually happen to him?"

Britain shrugged, "I don't know. It's hard to tell."

He thought back to his own time in war. There had been so many of his own men injured or killed, not to mention the damage to his capital during the Blitzkrieg, that he had problems with some internal bleeding. Yet, that was a direct link to his people's suffering. On the less serious side, he was, as any other nation, still able to catch colds or come down with a fever because of how he took care of his own body – or if his economy was suffering, but that rarely happened to him. The body of a nation was part immortal, part mortal. They were not just a nation, a personification, but a living creature who needed nourishment and care. They were just as susceptible to their emotions and the environment around them as any human. Every nation knew this. It was like an unspoken law of the universe. But that law became muddled at times . . .

"Should we tell him, mon lapin?"

Britain snapped back to the present moment, "Who?"

"Matthew . . . should we tell him that his brother might . . . well," France gestured over to the bed, not wanting to speak about the possibilities again.

Britain looked closely at them both. Canada had calmed down since first seeing his brother. He now had his head laying right beside America's arm, having removed the side rack of the bed. Their hands were still clasped together – it reminded Britain of when they were younger. If one of them were sick, the other would stay by their side, holding hands as if to ward away any boogie man that might scare the other.

They were the best of friends at one point . . . and then those wars happened. Not only were the two separated during the American Revolutionary War, but their whole relationship was torn apart in 1812. Britain was to blame. If he hadn't been so arrogant when it came to giving the child his freedom, then maybe those two would still have a good –

"Arthur?"

"Huh?" Britain's eyes focused on the hand that was waving right in front of them.

"I asked you if we should tell Matthew," France looked down at the shorter nation, worried, "you did not respond."

"Oh," He shook away the thoughts that were still swirling in his head, "No. We don't know if he'll be that way or not. Best thing to do right now is to wait and see."

His adversary nodded, "Oui," he paused, and then took his phone from his pocket, "I'll call Germany to update him on Alfred's condition."

/

Germany sat there, unconsciously playing with his baked potato as France explained the situation that had unfolded yesterday. His brother and Italy were watching him, noticing how quiet he had gotten after yelling at the both of them for yelling too loud. Usually he would huff and puff like the Big Bad Wolf after something like that . . . but not this time. Something must be wrong.

After another moment of silence, Germany spoke, "Alright. Keep me in the ze loop if anything occurs," he took the phone away from his ear, punch the red button on the screen, sat it down, and started to eat his mashed baked potato. The other two nations – err, one nation and one ex-nation – watched him closely, waiting for him to speak about what he just heard. A moment passed by, and then he sighed, "I'm not telling you, so back off."

"Yeesh West!" Prussia exclaimed, "It's not like we're attacking you or anything! We haven't even asked you a question!"

"Oh, so you weren't about to badger me on how America is doing."

Prussia looked away from his brother's cold stare, "Of course not! I was just wondering if you're going to eat that sour cream you have on the side."

Germany looked down at his plate, then at his brother's, "You'd have sour cream with bratwurst?"

Prussia shrugged, "Bratwurst goes with anything."

He sighed. His brother was right . . . for the most part.

"Germany? What's wrong? How's America?" He looked down to see Italy tugging at his shirt. The smaller man looked more like a child in need of a hug from his father.

He pushed the thought away, turning back to his food, "I'll tell you when I tell everyone else. Right before we reconvene the second part of the meeting."

Italy pouted, along with Prussia. "Awwww," they said in unison.

"No 'awwww's, just eat," He stuffed his mouth with mashed up potato, not saying another word.

/

France pressed the 'end' button, sighing. For a moment, he just stared at the pale floor of the hallway. It was hard to explain the situation to Germany, when he himself did not quite understand it.

America being ran over by a truck? A semi-truck? How could he not be watching the lights? How could he forget he was walking in the middle of a road – a road in his country? It did not make sense at all. Even if he was not paying attention, his other senses would have caught it. It was the same senses that told a nation he was being under sieged, watched from a distance, had a weapon pointed at them; even some times when another nation was talking about them. This sense fired up, especially when it came to being in his own home. He knew who all of his citizens were and how well their moral was doing. If the physical nation suffered, the personification did as well.

And if a truck was driving down a road towards him, then said nation would know about it instantly. No ifs, ands or buts.

But for America, one of the toughest, strongest nations on earth, to not sense a truck driving towards him . . . it just seemed unreal to the European.

France's thoughts were interrupted when he heard Canada shout from the room. He ran in, "What is wrong!"

He ran over to Britain and Canada, who were on either side of America. Canada had his arms around his brother's neck, crying. Britain smiled down at them.

France walked over to the head of the bed, "Mathieu?"

Canada seemed to be pre-occupied with holding his brother. Instead, Britain spoke, "He woke up. America woke up."

.

The overwhelming scent of ammonia infiltrated his nostrils as his eyes blinked to adjust to the burning illumination of the lighted room. He squirmed a little, one of his sides being held down by a strong force. As if something heavy had been placed on it.

But as he moved his arm, grunting, another great force rushed to enclose around his neck.

"Alfred! America!" A voice shouted, before the harsh lights were shaded by locks of hair, "Brother! You're alright!"

He did not know what to do. Whatever it was, it was not letting go. He stilled himself, trying to figure out how to get loose. Before he could think of anything, though, as another figure engulfed his limited sight. A touch of something warm enveloped his other hand as the person looked down on him. He could not tell who it was though.

.

Both Britain and France looked curiously down at America. It seemed his vision still worked – he was squinting from the lights – or was he just partially blind?

France placed a hand on either side of Canada's shoulders. "Mon cher, I believe you are squishing him. He can't breathe well . . ."

"Oh!" Canada let go, hands flying up to his mouth, "I'm sorry!"

.

The shadow blocking part of his view flew up, letting more light penetrate his vision. He shut his eyes, trying to block the rest out with his arms – but he could not move them.

.

They noticed he was struggling against the bands strapped around his hands to keep him from tearing any of the tubes or cords away from him.

"Matthew. Boy," Britain started, "Go flag down the doctor. He should be aware Alfred is awake."

"But– " Canada looked between his former caretakers and his brother; he was hesitant to leave the bedside.

"Go on, mon garcon," France smiled, "he is not going to disappear."

The younger was still reluctant – looking at America once more – before running out into the hall.

Once gone, Britain spoke up, "Help me set him up. I think the direct light is hurting his eyes a bit."

"Oui."

France held onto America, pulling him upward, as Britain pushed the button to lean the bed up. The smaller made sure the cords and tubes stayed in placed as the bed slowly inclined.

He grunted a little, as he was held by the other. It was not from pain, though, but from the warmth he felt. It was nice, especially since his body felt cold, frozen even.

Britain placed the small pillow up on the bed as France laid America back down.

He sighed when the warmth slipped away. But, he felt better than what he did. He noticed how the light was not right in his eyes, even enough to let him see clearly.

"Do you think that helped?"

"I'm sure. . ."

"Huh?" bubbled up from his throat. Were they talking to him?

Britain's eyes brightened at the sound of America's voice, "So you can hear us. That is good to know." He tried to keep up a smile; he didn't want the boy to get scared.

"Wh-what . . ." Said boy tried to talk, but his mouth was so dry.

"Oh! I know!" France walked into the personal bathroom, grabbed a small plastic cup from the side of the sink, and filled it with water. Even if it was tap, it was better than nothing. He came back in the main room and held the cup up to America's mouth, "Here. You're probably thirsty."

He drank the water that was tilted to his mouth, gladly taking in the sweet nourishment.

France placed the cup to the side once America was done, his attention never leaving the other.

He was able to breathe easier, for which he was thankful. He looked up at the others, eyes slowly shifting back and forth.

"Are you feeling better?" Britain smiled down, something France rarely saw in these modern times.

He nodded.

"Good," another sweet smile – did not even seem like a fake one – "Once you're completely healed, we'll be able to leave. Maybe we can even grab a burger."

"Um . . ." he spoke in a soft voice.

"Yes?"

"Wh-who are you? Do I . . . do I know you?"

The two froze in place.

Canada and the doctor entered the room.

"Do I know you?"