The final bit! (with an sort of epilogue attached)
I just want to say here (and I'll repeat it at the bottom), a big thank you to everyone's who's favorited, reviewed, or followed this!
You guys are awesome, and thank you for your support!
He wakes… or does he sleep? Is he dreaming or is he awake?
I think, therefore I am.
But is he thinking?
Time is a nonexistent entity, and he waits as a mere ball of light in a darkness so profound that he does nothing to light it up.
But yet, at the same time, he sees a newspaper clipping and a pool of red and a clean white hospital room with flowers.
What is reality? Is it the hospital room? The empty street with a bleeding body? Or this dark sphere, where he is naught but a pinprick of light?
He hears things now.
It first came as a constant, rhythmic thump. Thump… thump… thump…
Then came a small and steady whoosh of air at the same time as the thumps.
And with each passing moment, he hears more. A steady beeping noise, clicks of a pair of heels, running footsteps and walking footsteps.
Once, he hears a voice.
A voice, speaking to him.
He tries to respond, but he is only a ball of light.
He tries.
But he cannot.
It has been a long time since he has been this little ball of light.
Or has it?
He feels now. Not emotions, no.
A smooth feeling under his fingers (sheets, something whispers).
A warm breeze wafting across somewhere.
A warm hand holding his sometimes (but the times he feels it are few and far between).
And his finger twitches.
The darkness is an in-between place. He can feel it…
But what should he do now? He has been waiting for far too long.
As if he had commanded it, a small chink of light appears.
He heads toward it.
Again, that same resistance, but this time he pushes against it.
It is a hard struggle, but he suddenly pushes past it and emerges.
The light is impossibly bright, shining on pupils adapted to the darkness behind his closed eyelids. He squints, trying to see his surroundings.
Everything is white; he cannot see anything, the light is too bright. It overwhelms him.
He feels a pressure on his hand and looks down as his vision clears.
A sleeping head of gold, large eyebrows…
Arthur has returned to him.
He twitches his hand away (or rather, tries), but the movement wakes Arthur up. For a moment, green eyes blink and stare around blearily before landing on blue ones.
"Alfred?"
After teary greetings and a checkup (he can leave in two days, the doctor says), Alfred is allowed to sit up in bed, two pillows propped up against the headboard.
"Didn't you get injured though, Artie?"
Green eyes look at him confusedly. "Alfred, are you okay? That night…"
A drive through a dark street on their way home from the restaurant.
"That was a good meal, though the waiter was rather slow."
"Oh, c'mon, Artie, you've got to complain about everything, don't you? Ow, don't whack me on the head!"
"I have the right to complain about the service all I want!"
Alfred grinned. "Still the same old –"
A dog ran across the street, barking. Alfred swerved (he always had a soft spot for dogs), the tires slipped, and the car spun out of control.
"Alfred!"
"Artie!"
Alfred hugged him, shielding him from the inevitable collision.
The car slammed into a tree and skidded a few hundred feet before stopping.
Arthur poked Alfred. "You can get off me now…"
Drops of red.
The ambulance could not come quickly enough.
"We're sorry, Mr. Kirkland, but Mr. Jones' state is very unstable at the moment and he may not live through this surgery."
Dry eyes, dry throat, the words echoing through his head.
"… may not live through this surgery… may not live through this surgery... may not live…"
"Please try your best, doctor."
The doctor nods before entering the operating room. Arthur can only watch as Alfred is rolled past on a gurney. The doors swing closed, and the sign above lights up.
"After they told me you survived the surgery but was in a coma…"
Alfred shook his head, not wanting to hear anymore, or see that haunted look in his green eyes.
"How long have I been out?"
"It's been two months."
Wordlessly, Alfred hugged Arthur.
And Arthur cried.
"Yo, people, miss me?"
Germany sighed. "Welcome back, America. Please sit down so we can start the meeting. You and England are both late today."
"Sorry, dude, we woke up late!"
England blushed a bright red at a whispered comment from France, and proceeded to strangle him. Japan was taking pictures, as was Hungary.
"Kesese, you manly woman, are you still collecting that shit?"
"Shut up." Frying pan of doom came out, and Prussia's consciousness flew away.
"If you guys be quiet, I'll give you candies!"
"We don't want your candies!"
"You should all become one with me, da?"
"What was that, you commie?"
Germany sighed and rubbed his temples.
"Ve, Germany, it's nice that everyone's back together again, right?"
"Stop talking to the potato bastard, you idiot!"
"Yeah, it's nice… eh."
Just to clarify, the whole part with Arthur dead was a dream that he had in his coma (for those people out there who know more about this, is it called a dream?)
Thank you again to all my reviewers, to all the people favorited or followed this, and to the artist for the doujinshi "Love Letters to Him" for inspiring this fic!
It's been a long journey (with that realllly long hiatus in the middle), but it's over now... and I think I might want to do some more like these.