London Bridge Is Falling Down, My Fair Lady

A USUK FANFIC

Note: Sorry for the very long delay! I have had some troubles with this chapter, and I don't like how it ended at all... There will hopefully be easier this time now that I have this chapter over and done with. (even though it sucks, sorry!) :( I hope you will somewhat enjoy it anyway somehow. Please review, it makes me very happy :) Also, you can also come up with ideas on what you would like to happen and such if you like. I'm all open for new ideas to make this story more interesting!

Ciao lovlies!~~

Chapter 3. Realization – A world in shock-

Part 2.

"England… is being attacked?"

The statement or question was uttered by no other than a startled Frenchman, who eyed the deflated Prussian with somewhat doubtful eyes as he glanced around his fellow nations for answers of some sort. The whole time America had stayed quite, but his eyes told a completely different story. First all you could see was confusion, but then the emotion had changed to a much more painful expression as the words started to sink into his conscious.

Suddenly a chuckle could be heard, and everybody's attention turned to the source of the noise. The one who had been laughing was no one other than America himself. No one said anything, as the sight in front of them was so out of the ordinary cheery American they all knew. America body was shaking ,as if he was in a tremendous cold, and then, suddenly he abruptly stood up from his seat, without any warning.

The chair he was sitting on hit harshly onto the ground, making a noise that cut through the tension filled room like a gunshot. His eyes, showing such vulnerability that no one ever allowed themselves to ever let any other nation witness, he then suddenly spoke.

"L-London… London is under attack you say?" he stammered out. "That can't be true" he stated. "No, how…how could that possibly ever be tru-" his voice was cut out mid-sentence, before he could finish his statement , by the push of a button, followed by a spark as a TV-screen lit up on the opposite wall of the round table they all were sitting at.

.

.

.

A handful of gasps and startled yells could be heard all throughout the room.

Japan stared with wide eyes at the scene on the TV, his kimono sleeve hiding his mouth in shock. The recent upset China now wore a sad expression on his child-like features. Beside him sat a very quiet Russia, whose child-like smile that always covered his lips was gone.

On the TV-screen, pictures and clips showed a destroyed and broken London, with several areas and buildings on fire, with thick smoke looming all over the city.

When the shaking camera showed the condition of the large tower that symbolized all that was England, a heart wrecking sob could be heard from America as he then fell to the floor, his legs no longer able to support his shaking form any longer.

A very pale Canada quickly hovered over his brother, who wouldn't stop shaking.

France had been awfully quiet, but his eyes showed a larger grief than you may think where ever possible. A painful and shaking sighed escaped his lips as he breathed out.

"Mon dieu" he muttered as he buried his face in his hands, rubbing his temples.

No one knew what to say and a silent that chilled the room like ice was currently surrounding the nations. A low voice broke the silence, after finally coming to his senses.

"Someone" he whispered out. "Someone needs to call England-san" a very much paralyzed Japan spoke, his eyes still glued to the TV screen and the pictures of the old clock tower, and various streets of London, that where bathing in angry orange flames.

France, upon hearing those words, snapped up from his daze and quickly grabbed his cellphone from his pocket, his fingers moving swiftly as he dialed the number he knew by heart since forever.

He panicked as several tones went by, and no one was answering. He paled when the call came to voicemail, and he slowly took his phone away from his ear, staring out into thin air, eyes wide.

"He doesn't answer." he said, as he turned his attention to the Northern brothers who was watching him with matching panic in their eyes.

A spark then suddenly lit in Canada's eyes and he turned to his brother, who he was kneeling beside.

"Alfred." he called out, trying to get his brothers attention. "Alfred you need to call Mr. Cameron!" he yelled out, panic and fear clearly slipping from his voice. It took a few seconds before America noticed that someone was talking to him, the voice only but a whisper in his mind before he snapped his eyes open, now hearing his brother shouting his name. He slowly turned to look at his twin, who's eyes where wet as if he was about to cry.

"Cameron…" he whispered to himself. The prime minister of Great Britain. England's boss. It all came to him in a flash and he reached into the pocket of his bomber jacket and fished up his phone, scrolling down his contacts until he found the number he was looking for.

Beads of sweat ran down his forehead as the tones from the phone went by, America restlessly dug his fingers into his pants, his nerves kicking in at full force. "Come on, Come on Come on pick up pick up!" he screamed in his head, and the seconds dragged by while the tones of the phone echoed through his head.

A click and a voice then spoke quickly as America woke from his daze.

"Mr. Jones, I'm awfully sorry but I don't have time to speak right now, as you already may know we are in the middle if an crisis and..."

"England!" the shaken American screamed into the phone, his voice echoing throughout the room.

His sudden outburst made the man on the other line silent, and at loss of words.

"You have to go to England.. he's he's." he stuttered out, as he struggled to continue talking. "He doesn't answer his phone! You need to check on him, or else he could be... he could be..."

The prime minister huffed and a strained sighed escaped his lips, and by the sound of it he was nearly running, as his voice was strained with exhaustion.

"Yes I know Mr. America , and I do not want to sound rude, but don't you think we have already tried to contact Arthur since we first found out about the attacks? We are currently only a few meters from his house, and I assure you that you do not have to worry, I'm sure he will be just fine."

The words barley managed to escape the prime ministers lips before Alfred could hear a faint sound of a door opening, followed by footsteps over wooden floor. Alfred was just about to argue with the ministers words when he froze in his tracks when he heard several screams of surprise followed by curses.

"Bloody hell-" Cameron whispered out in the phone as he watched the scene in front of him with wide eyes.

What he saw was nothing he was prepared for. The view he witnessed before him was like that out of a crime scene. The small kitchen, that normally was a light yellow color, was painted in a wild scarlet pool of blood. Some of the men that had accompanied Cameron to their nation's home covered their mouth and noses, trying to block out the smell and not to vomit at the sight. In the middle of the kitchen, in a big pool of his own blood lay their precious motherland.

America stopped in his steps and he became stiff. He could feel that something was very wrong from the way the prime ministers breathing suddenly turned heavy and how he seemed to curse under his breath.

"What is it?" America all but shouted, his voice demanding answers.

After a few seconds a low murmur then could be heard from the other line of the phone.

"Blood." it said. "So much blood.

A strained intake of breath then followed, and Cameron's voice came out in a whisper.

"I don't know if he will survive this America."

That sentence alone broke him.

He didn't know how, but somehow he had managed to hand his phone to Canada, who took it with questioning eyes. He could hear no more.

Eyes on the floor, the super power turned to the other nations in the meeting.

"They said that he may not make it." He declared in a unsteady voice, filled with sadness.

"There was blood." He then blurted out, reaching out for a nearby chair to keep himself standing. " He might… He might not" he continued to speak, even though his words came out slurred by tears that now were flowing down his cheeks. America covered half of his face with his hand and by a painful breath, he uttered his sorrow.

"England…"

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Note: I would like to point out a thing about how I chose to portray America in this chapter. My thoughts is that he gets really emotional in these kinds of situations, and some of you may think that it's very OCC for him, but this is just my thoughts.

I mean, the one he cares about more than life itself, the one who raised him since he was born, is in a lethal danger and could die any minute. I mean, how would you react to hearing that the love of your life is lying in a pool of blood?

Well well, this is just my own opinion. We're all intitle to have one, and this is mine.

Peace out, duckies!~~