Chapter Seven: Hospital Facades and Runaways
Meanwhile, in an attempt to further urge roll you into a riot inflicted towards the author, three souls walks into the hospital unknowing of what could possibly be going on in that room. One is old, too old according to his counterparts, with thick eyebrows that could be classified as 'caterpillars'. His worn emerald eyes flicker with kindness, like an old projector that didn't quite work well. There is something wrong, for this is apparent in the way he holds himself. But to his two associates, mere children, they could not sense a sour mood. No, the wounds are hidden deep in his heart, far from what the eye could normal notice. This is something that will be explained in greater detail later on, because his heart is not the main focus at the moment. The foremost objective is to allow his two younger brothers, Canada and America, to see their ailing friend. His scars could wait until another time, another place. Retaining something as deep as what he's burdened himself with may come back to haunt him.
That's something that has yet to be foreseen.
"Engwand! Engwand gimme a dollar!" The boisterous blond demands, shaking his small fists at England to get the desired results. England chuckles to himself, quietly noting how adorable he looks like that. Fishing out the dollar, he dangles it just out of his reach, making the younger jump fruitlessly to retrieve it.
"Why do you want a dollar?" He pesters, raising it a little higher when he notices America is close to getting it.
With a huff, he stops, crossing his arms like a child would before they threw a fit, "I wanna get something from the vending machine!"
Accepting the answer, the older gives him the money. America runs for the nearest machine with his brother is tow, wrinkling his nose when they near the stench of chemicals that have tried to erase the evidence of Holy Rome's late night tryst.
"It smells awful!" He plugs his nose, edging away from the stench a little before he pushes the dollar in.
Like the children they are, the two brothers begin an argument.
"I wanna push the button." Canada states, extending his pale hand to smack the assortment of red buttons.
America quickly swats his hand away, "No I wanna do it! I put the dollar in!"
"Let me do it. You always get to do it!"
"No it's my dollar!"
"Engwand!" Canada sprints for the caretaker's leg, wrapping his rather feeble arms around the ligament, "Tell him it isn't fair!"
"It isn't fair America." England repeats, a smile from pure amusement gracing his lips.
"And, and, say that he needs to be nicer."
"You need to be nicer."
"And I should get to push the button."
"And Canada should get to push the button."
America stares at him, flabbergasted, before it all registered in his still developing mind, "Hey! You just repeated what he said!"
Now distracted by England who is unable to control his laughter, Canada runs and hits the first scarlet button he comes in contact with, making the machine rumble as it hurries to collect the correct beverage.
"Cheater!" America cries, pouting that rather adorable way that makes England give in.
He searches for another dollar and presents it to the boy so he could push his own 'special button'. Sticking his tongue at his victorious brother, he retrieves and drinks his Coca-Cola in silence, a permanent look of moue etched on his face. Patting the young child's head affectionately, England grins at him, receiving a similar reaction.
"Let's hurry up and go see your friend. I need to drop you off at Lithuania's so I can go to work." England urges them, guiding his younger brothers down the hallway he could only assume is the correct way.
Strangely enough, no one had been at the reception to answer his questions. He has to rely solely on seeing Hungary, whom he called prior to their arrival.
"Why does this place smell so bad?" Canada questions, taking a sip of his Mountain Dew.
"They probably made a mess is all. Watch where you step, it might be slick."
"What do you think they would spill?" America badgers further, peering up at England with curiosity shining brightly in his eyes.
"Well it could be an assortment of things. They transplant a lot of fluids throughout a hospital."
"Likeeeee?" Both brothers inquire simultaneously, tilting their heads in almost the exact same fashion as well. There is no doubt that they are biological brothers.
"They could transport medicine." England doesn't dare mention the other substance that could be in demand at the hospital.
"Medicine?" America glances up at him like it didn't make any sense.
"Like cough syrup!" Canada reasons, "I bet they give out loads of cough syrup."
"Ewww. Sucks for them. Especially if they get the kind England buys!"
"I buy a perfectly good brand!" Their caretaker defends, huffing indignantly.
At such a reaction, the boys start laughing, making England's mood soften.
Their laughter increases especially when America snorts up a bit of his soft drink, making him clutch his nose as he groans, "It burnnnnnns."
"That doesn't surprise me." England chuckles, preoccupied by peering into a few of the unguarded windows to see if there are any recognizable faces.
Glimpsing into one, he sees Hungary amongst a variety of very bright colors. She simply waves him on. It is the incorrect room. Feeling the buzz the caffeine did to the children's systems, they begin to get skittish, wanting nothing more to run about and scream to their hearts content; luckily, they refrain from doing so. They understand the importance of etiquette in a hospital, even if they have to put on a façade in order to refrain from disrupting the peace. Walking into an establishment such is this is nothing more than façade isn't it? You want to hide your emotion, not let them be seen. You attempt to not portray your fear or your sadness, or in this case excitement. Hospitals are a solemn place, where only solemn faces are accepted. You can hide a dastardly crime that way it seems. No one would know, just because of the solemn face you had as you walked in. They wouldn't go past the mask, fearing that maybe you were plagued with tragedy and that was the reason behind the face. Maybe that was a reason Russia moved in for a kill at such a time as this?
Finally, England deduces that he's approaching the correct room. It is obvious, for even the outside is directed by Hungary's need to keep her mind occupied. It makes the hallway…extremely flamboyant, and only fascinated the boys further as they poke at the balloons tied to the door. After such a long task of finding Holy Rome, they are fully prepared to have their visit with him. Before they can enter however…
"You can't go in there." A nurse cuts them off, her face serious and unmoving.
England sighs, finding the little dilemma unnecessary.
"We can. These two boys are Holy Rome's friends and would like to see him." He explains, putting a hand on top of each child's head to prove his point.
The nurse shakes her head, her blond bun coming undone, "Only one group of people at a time. We don't want to over work his emotions, and wish to keep that to a bare minimum. Doctor's orders."
England's eyebrows furrow together as he casts a glimpse into the room. He couldn't see anyone sitting in the chair designated for visitors, and he sure couldn't see Holy Rome with a wall's corner obscuring the view.
Who could possibly be in there? He wanders vaguely. I saw Hungary on the way here. So who would be in there…?
"I hope you don't mind me asking, but who is visiting Holy Rome?"
The nurse gives him a harsh glare, practically reprimanding him silently for such an inappropriate question.
He is quick to rephrase his question, "I mean I saw Hungary already, and I figured she would be with him. I was curious to know if maybe… it was his brother or something."
The last part is a lie. He knows Prussia was in prison, along with his other friends, and probably would remain there until a trial could ensue. His stomach ties itself into knots simply thinking about it. The nurse's gaze softens, only for a moment, before she purses her lips in thought. She deliberating with herself whether or not that information should be private. She finally comes to the agreement that it wouldn't hurt anyone, because either way they still weren't getting in until the man leaves.
She recounts to them the striking characteristics she took time to note, "He had purple eyes. Really pretty purple eyes actually. He wore a scarf although it wasn't cold outside… and oh, he had a red band on his arm like he was in a gang or something."
England's face drains of its color so quickly that he doesn't even realize it. He could imagine the truth behind those eyes, the strength behind those arms, and lethality tied to that red marking. It is Russia, the Soviet leader, in a room alone, with none other than the same boy that he may or may not have shot. Coincidental, no? The caretaker's eyes narrow, while his younger brothers slurp away at their beverages, as carefree as ever.
It only takes seconds for the green-eyed man to deduce the Bad Touch Trio was set up, and Russia was the true culprit. There is no other possible explanation for Russia 'visiting' the Holy Roman Empire.
"You need to get in there." England urges, but the nurse stands her ground, assuming the man is simply playing her to get inside. Stealthy, she casually slings her hand to her waist, successfully hitting a button on her carry round walkie-talkie in the process.
"No."
"Then let me." England understands what it is like to have a little brother. He has two prime examples right next to him. He would stop at nothing to protect them. He could fathom what Prussia goes through, and since he is incapable of caring for his younger brother at the moment, England's older brother instincts quickly kick in. Besides, who could possibly trust a psychopathic Russian in the same room with a little kid?
The nurse blocks the entrance, never before having dealt with such an assertive man. Couldn't he just understand he is not getting in? He has children with him for goodness sake! He has to at least be mature and set a good example for them! She prays the security she buzzed in gets there soon. At this rate she would need them.
"Can you guys hurry uppp?" America whines, finishing off his Coca-Cola, "I wanna see my buddy."
The two adults pay him no head. They are caught in a heated stare off, almost like they thought they could get the other opponent to back down. England can almost feel himself panicking, worrying for Holy Rome's safety like any brother would do. Giving the nurse a hard shove, he manages to get her off balance. As he reaches for the door, an iron grip incases his hand, twisting it behind his back so hard that a startled cry leaves his lips. Canada jumps at such a sound, spilling the remains of his Mountain Dew down the front of his shirt. Within seconds, the security men have England on the floor, frisking him for any weapons or drugs. Angrily, America punches one of them for being so unnecessarily rough. Surprisingly enough, the man is knocked off of England, only infuriating the veteran. England scrambles to get up, only to collect Canada and America into his arms to shield them from the advancing security. The nurse watches with a triumphant smirk as the culprit of her little argument is dealt with accordingly. Like they were trained to do, one leads the man away in handcuffs, and the other carries away the screaming children to be put in protective custody until it all could be sorted out.
She questions whether or not she should press charges for assault. After all, he did lay his hands on her and physically pushed her. Being a nurse wasn't making enough money as it is. She files it away for later consideration. Because she did not know the people, she hardly feels effected by what she just caused. It didn't have a direct effect to her life, so why should she bother with someone else's? She could possibly be the singlehanded reason Holy Rome makes it out of the hospital in nothing more than a body bag. She would never realize it though. She just goes about her day, proud that she handled such a minor situation that did not call for such a major justification. She never thought about how much of overkill it was to arrest a man that did nothing more than pushed her because he was impatient to get inside. He probably wouldn't have taken it any further than that. The moment she hit that button, the security team had to take every little insignificant thing serious. It is there job to do this. Just like it happens to Holy Rome, there is even repercussion for the humans that live in the countries they personify. Everyone is capable of receiving repercussion.
Slightly curious by the man's attitude towards getting in the room, she couldn't help but take a look herself. Grabbing a clipboard as her excuse, she naively enters the place of accommodations. After ten minutes, she does not come out again.
And she probably never will.
Hungary is on the edge of her ropes, her sanity literally dangling in front of her face by a thread. She wants to break down and let all those loose emotions free, but she just can't snap like that in front of Italy. So, like the good actress she is, Hungary puts on a façade to trick the Italian brothers into believing she is fine. The young girl easily falls for the deception, but Romano is not so deftly swayed. He simply nods his head and crosses his arms, watching as the woman he grew up with reveals little signs that lead to the condition her heart is in.
"I'm glad Holy Rome thinks that." Italy says, having just been told the message the young empire wanted to relay.
Had she took a much shorter time to deliver it, she could possibly been in his room right now.
"Me too." Hungary fusses over Italy's wrinkling dress, attempting to smooth it down with a few clean strokes.
After a moment of awkward silence, the younger girl decides to speak again, "Miss Hungary, can I go see Holy Rome?"
Hungary has to pause, asking herself the very same question. When she took him to see her, he did not break down as a result from Italy, only from the information on his brother. It probably wouldn't hurt, considering he did want to say thank you.
He should do it in person. She resolves, nodding her head in affirmative to Italy.
Happily, the young Italian rushes off to meet him, while Hungary staysbehind in order to apologize in the empire's place to Romano. Skipping merrily down the hallway—or as best as she could, although it looks more like a hobble—Italy manages to make it all the way to his room with no problem. With a smile firmly on her face, she opens the door and rushes into greet the healing Empire-
-Only to be struck on the head in the process.
"Lavender Blue's. Lavender Green's. When you are a King, I shall be Queen." A voice mockingly circles around Holy Rome's hazy vision.
Everything is one thick glob of colors running together, forming an abstract picture of a person standing over him. His breath hitches in his throat when something moves inside him, inching ever so slightly towards something vital. The painkillers transferring into his blood stream via IV manage to keep the pain at bay, but Holy Rome knows without a doubt that Russia is stabbing him. Once or twice, the Soviet's leader moves away from his sole block of vision, only to reappear again and grab the knife. Blood is rushing by the young empire's ears, making all the beeping machines fade away to an inaudible level. The blade puncturing his stomach moves again, this time drastically, forcing some of the pain through the medication blockade. He gasps silently at the assault, praying to anyone that would listen. He needs a chance to get up and run away. If he had the will, he could do it; he just needs a moment and clear vision to accomplish it.
Holy Rome never expected death to be so mocking, standing before him as a sign that he would die. Not soon, and not quickly, but drawn out and agonizingly painful. He has never considered during his entire life time that he would die in a hospital bed, not by the reason for his stay, but by someone stabbing the life from him. It is odd, and sickly ironic at the same time. If Prussia was not in jail, Holy Rome knows he would come to his rescue, just like he did at the Halloween Festival; just like he did so many times before. But now, he could not rely on the fail safe. His brother is incarcerated and it is all his fault, and as a result he now has a knife digging into his organs. It disgusts him, made him want to throw up. Maybe he would hit Russia if he did so. Breathing slowly, steadily, he attempts to focus his eyes, only to make the blurry world more incomprehensible. He wants to fight. It is his natural instinct to lash back, but with his body pumped so full of medication cocktails, it makes him feel as though something is pinning his ligaments to the bed. Just like solid blocks of steel, they do not budge; no matter how many times Holy Rome tries to move just a little bit.
He understands what he has to do, as much as he doesn't want to. He has to detach himself from his body, and escape the pain. Maybe that way, the machines would go haywire, alerting the staff. They could catch Russia in the act, and all would be well. First, he calms himself down, reassuring his mind that if he does this he will be saved. All he has to do is fall asleep. Easing himself into a forceful sleep, his body goes limp under the bite of the blade. He runs away from his body into a dreamless sleep.
He never even realizes that being a runaway makes it hard to get back home.
In other words, he would be asleep for a long, long time, trapped in an in-between state that he is unable to run away from. It is even possible that in this coma-like state, he will die. It all depends on if Russia can make that final blow…
Do you think he will?
-Soul Spirit-