Thanks to OMGitsgreen, Tazzilicious, Korean Boron, ThE-faInTinG-faNGirl, HoshiUta and The Beatles Sherlock Holmes Fa for your wonderful reviews.
At the request of OMGitsgreen, who may also take massive credit for proof-reading this before its publication here.
It is, as you may guess, a very sombre piece, but the next three chapters will be upbeat.
How England and America may have reacted to 9/11.
Anything followed by a * has a note attached which can be seen at the end of the chapter.
America's Day of Terror
11th September 2001
Eastern Daylight Time
08:30am
America laughed loudly and boisterously in that bizarre mixture of a laugh that was somehow wonderfully endearing and frightfully irritating all at the same time. He couldn't help it. He was a naturally happy person most of the time anyway, but being surrounded by young Americans* such as the children around him did nothing besides dramatically increase this sensation of cheerfulness. America had always liked children: it was a nation thing, but being surrounded by them really brought it home just how much he enjoyed their company. He loved watching their little faces light up and their voices were like golden silk when they chuckled or giggled or snorted (unattractive as it sounds). Simply, he could sit there all day just listening to them.
They had, he observed briefly, a pretty amusing habit of asking seemingly silly questions almost all of the time. He'd told them point blank who, or rather, what he was and the questions hadn't stopped pouring in since the second the statement left his mouth. With the teacher in the room, the act of announcing his true status as the anthropomorphic personification of their country might have seemed like an incredibly stupid thing to do, but, truth be told, the teacher thought he was simply humouring the young children and that this was some 'role-play' thing that the buffs back in D.C. had concocted. Aside from that, the American people had a thing for role-playing people, like the George Washington at Mount Vernon*, for example (who was actually an inch or two too tall to be playing the man, but America kept quiet about that).
"Do you…" the child paused and finishing his sentence as though speaking a swear word, or very naughty word, added, "Pee?"
America threw his head back from the force of his laughter. Assured by this outburst, the entire class erupted into little waves of giggles and chuckles and, as previously mentioned, snorts. Even the teacher in the corner was forced to cover over her mouth to prevent tiny little snorts of uncontrollable laughter escaping her mouth, and America could have sworn that the two secret service guys in the corner were holding back sniggers beneath their cold, formal exterior. It took America at least twenty seconds to calm down, though this was entirely his own fault as his imagination had concocted a very vivid mental image of how horrified Britain's face would have been had the question been posed to him by a class of children. When he had finally calmed down (though this was a debatable state of being for the American), he clasped his hands very solemnly and leant forwards, as though about to tell a secret.
"Yeah," whispered America, cupping his mouth with his hands for effect, "'Cuz if I didn't, the Hoover Dam would burst!*"
The children gasped in horror at the very idea and America had to stop himself from laughing at their adorable little expressions of disbelief. He wasn't quite telling the truth, of course: if America forgot to go to the loo, the Hoover Dam wouldn't actually burst but if the Hoover Dam burst then… well, you get the idea. It was one of the downsides of being a nation, really. Any sort of overflowing river would directly impact on the personification in question and give them pretty bad bouts of incontinence, though once river levels returned to normal, so to would the incontinence disappear. So, truth be told, America exaggerated the facts a little bit, but that was only so he could smile inwardly at their adorable little faces – oh, how cute and innocent they were!
It was at times like this that America could completely forget about the begrudging acceptance he felt towards his current President. After all, Florida had ached for weeks after the Election scandal thing* and even now, America could feel the quiet but furious contempt of many Democrats* from various other states. President Bush wasn't a bad guy and, although America was still unsure of certain aspects of the President, he did appreciate the man's determination to introduce Education Reforms and stuff. Some Republicans were a bit pissed off*, but the man had readily declared that he was a 'compassionate conservative'*, what had they been expecting? Bush Jnr. was hardly a Ronald Reagan, and besides, the new incumbent President had allowed him to go into the school earlier to chat with the kids on his own! America could hardly grumble about that, being as he was enjoying it so much!
"Are you friends with Mr. Britain then?" asked a young girl, golden hair plaited.
"Most of the time," nodded America with a smile before quietly revealing more state secrets to the small audience, "But he's really grumpy all the time and his food is… yuck!"
Emphasising the 'yuck!' by gagging and pretending to throw up into his hands, America was greeted by loud, roaring laughter. He smirked and looked up at the teacher who was smiling warmly at her class. America grinned his trademark smile at her and watched her mouth a solemn and heartfelt 'thank you' before he returned his attention to the adorable, cute little crowd of children before him, who were still rolling around the floor laughing from the statement. Were Britain there, America was sure that he would have been greeted by a string of prolific and unholy words that, probably, would have mentally scarred the poor children for the rest of their long and happy lives. The two secret service guys at the back of the room, America noted, were sniggering quietly to themselves (having both met Britain, it was the miracle of training that enabled them to not roll about on the floor laughing their heads off).
"What about during the Revo… Revo…loo…tea…on…-"
It took all of America's English heritage to stop him gaping and issuing a loud 'aww! so cute!' right then and there. He had always known that children had a tough time pronouncing long, uncommon words, and he was pretty impressed that the child was continuing his struggle despite this difficulty. America could have died happy just listening to the sound of one of his children trying (and slowly succeeding) to give the name of the War of Independence. It was a feat really that the child was managing to pronounce 'revolutionary' so well, but given that the other option was 'independence', this was hardly all that surprising. America had to hand it to Britain, calling it the 'Seven Years' War' made it a hell of a lot easier for small children to pronounce it, even if it did sound completely ridiculous.
"-air…ee War?" finished the small child, beaming from his success.
"We didn't really talk a lot during the War," explained America, trying his best to keep it upbeat and funny, "Whenever we spoke, he was trying to tell me how to fight!"
America, upon seeing the curious light dancing in the children's eyes, leapt to his feet in order to better demonstrate the scenario. He parted his feet and held his hands as though to carry an imaginary bayonet. He then proceeded to stab at the air violently and slightly clumsily. The children watched, utterly fascinated by the display. America, as he was attacking the air (which itself was a bit perturbed by the sudden violence), was describing the scene as best he could. Explaining that it was on one of the few days when it didn't rain, and that the British looked absolutely ridiculous prancing (America specifically used the word 'prancing') about in their red uniforms, America had set the stage for his wonderful Britain impersonation to make a stunning appearance. Introducing himself with 'and then Britain ran up, started trying to hit me and said', America puffed up his chest, stood as straight as he was physically able and proclaimed:
"America! Th-hiss footwork iz ss-imp-lee un-ah-k-cep-tah-bull!" impersonated America with an admittedly very, very poor 'English' accent*, which, truthfully, sounded more like a mixture of Australian and Welsh than it did any 'English' accent, "Y-our lef-t foot iz all o-v-err th-er p-lace! K-eep y-our bah-ck s-t-ray-hut! Y-oo w-o-n't hit eh-knee-one like th-ah-t!"
The entire room was in hysterics by this point. Mostly due to the ridiculous-ness of America's story, but at least partly due to the bloody awful (and there were probably more severe words that would be more accurate) 'English' accent he had attempted. He smiled and laughed with them, before sitting down in his seat. He hadn't told them the entire truth, but that was because the Revolutionary War (proud as he was of it), wasn't all bubbles and laughter. Britain did spend several battles trying to tell America how to fight properly, but this was because Britain believed that America's troops were poorly trained. However, and this was where the truth-bending came in, Britain was only giving out this information in between 'kindly requesting' that there be a 'ceasefire' between them. If swearing prolifically and demanding that America 'come to his bloody senses' could be described as 'kindly requesting a ceasefire' anyway.
"Where do –"
Eastern Daylight Time
08:38am
America visibly changed. His face became a little drawn, a little bit distant, a little bit distracted. The teacher noticed it immediately, becoming slightly concerned, though this concern was veiled by an ignorant curiosity that came with disbelieving that the man before her truly was the personification of the United States of America. The two secret service guys responded immediately to the change. The first, taller by two inches, straightened visibly and turned to his colleague with a very concerned, and slightly panicked expression. The second was on the radio immediately, contacting someone higher up the pecking order who might have some idea of what was going on to cause such a dramatic and sudden change.
"-You live?"
America shook his head, looking down at the small child as a very distracted parent would. He observed no concern there, but instead a burning curiosity and a warming smile that almost melted his heart. He smiled nervously, having forgotten the question entirely thanks to the sudden and interruptive discomfort that had surged across his head. America didn't know the precise details, his country was too large and too vast for him to pinpoint such a tiny, tiny message amongst the sea of information he was constantly inundated with, so he needed to speak to Canada, who may have a slightly better idea of what was going on. After all, whatever it was that was happening, it was NORAD* that had been contacted, and NORAD was currently a tiny throbbing headache in both of their heads.
"Huh?" asked America, "Sorry, I didn't catch that."
"Where do you live?" repeated the child, unabashed by having to repeat his question.
"Oh, all over the place," replied America, his answer given in short segments, due to his distracted nature, "I have houses in every state, and territory!"
"Does that mean you have one here?" asked another.
"Yeah!" replied America, briefly distracted from his concerning headache, "Right next to Disneyworld!"
The children gasped in amazement, too caught up in their wonder to notice the two black-suited agents striding forwards from the back of the classroom. One of them walked over towards the teacher, hurriedly explaining something with a flurry of panicked hand gestures. The second crouched lightly beside America and whispered into his ear*. America turned sharply to him and shook his head, whispering something back in harsh and sharp tones. The agent simply frowned and doggedly shook his head, apparently refusing to listen to the nation. Glaring back, America dug around in his pocket and handed over a mobile phone. Showing the agent something on the phone, America promptly patted the man's arm and pointed him towards the door. Begrudgingly obeying the whispered orders, the agent paused at the door to inform his colleague before leaving the room.
America frowned as the man left the room. He liked David, he was a friendly, cheerful sort of guy when he wasn't following orders and being a jerk, but the best thing about him was that he was flexible. He'd told America that the higher-ups had ordered him to leave the room and head to a hospital, as a precautionary measure. America had told David that such a measure was absolutely ridiculous: a drawn face and minor headache did not equal massive catastrophe. David had tried to argue back, but America was having none of it. America had given David his mobile and told the man to ring Canada and find out what was up with NORAD, if it was something serious, America would leave immediately, if it wasn't, America would stay. There was no point making a mountain out of a molehill when they didn't even know if it was a molehill. Silly over-cautious officials, America sometimes wondered how they braved the idea of letting him out of his house.
Greenwich Mean Time
12:40pm
For lack of a better description, England (as he was so named in the borders of the United Kingdom) was pottering around the house. Parliament wasn't back from Summer Recess yet and would start up again in October, before officially beginning another session in November with the State Opening of Parliament*. England had to sigh in despair sometimes. Truthfully, his MPs had holidays and breaks longer than the school holidays* considered gratuitous by all but members of the teaching community. Whilst the vast majority of his MPs used this as an opportunity to do some constituency work, it would be a blatant lie to say they didn't spend at least some of the time not running the country. This was why England was stuck without anything to do. There weren't any meetings to attend and all his brothers were off doing their own 'things', as they had been frequently doing since their brand spanking new parliaments and assemblies opened*.
England couldn't actually describe how odd it felt for the entire country to be working, or at school, or at university, and for him to be wandering about his home with nothing all that constructive to be getting on with. There were, naturally, some documents which he ought to have been trifling through, and then there were those questionnaires Tony Blair had forced upon him, but, realistically, was England really going to bother when it was a Thursday? 'No' was the simple answer to that question, though there was, as always, a much longer and much more swear-word ridden response that could be posed to anyone stupid enough to actually ask said question. As such, England was left to wander around his home aimlessly, searching for something to do, though all too aware that even if he should find something, his motivational levels were probably far too depleted to actually enable him to do it anyway.
Were he not absolutely sure that the news would be nothing but negative, he might have bothered turning on the television, however, England was quite sure that the BBC (though ITV and Sky were at just as much fault) had never heard of an 'upbeat news story'. The only ones England had ever found were either the products of Newsround* or the BBC's website, and even then, there were more often than not hyperlinks to slightly more depressing news stories. It was as though his entire country had an obsession with the morbid or depressing, or was constantly convinced that the whole nation was in a downward spiral and was much better thirty years ago when everyone behaved properly. Though England would never admit it (as his people never would either), the country had been going 'to the dogs' since it had first formed and, quite frankly, the 'youth of today' were not all that different from the 'youth of the middle ages', not that anyone would ever admit this.
England slowly walked his way over to his study-office-library room, which, at times, even served to function as a music studio of sorts, so eclectic were the items which it contained. There wasn't necessarily anything to do in there, though, the longer he sat down on the comfy lounging arm chair in the centre of the room, the more the paperwork on the table seemed to glare furiously at him. There was his guitar, hanging off the wall and in desperate need of being played, but he'd snapped one of the strings and hadn't yet bothered to get off his arse and buy a replacement yet, so that plan was immediately thrown out of the window. Then of course there were his books and whilst they were the most appealing option, how he'd pick one to actually read was a task that didn't really attract him, due to the immense difficulty such a mission would entail. Thus England was left with nothing to do and whilst the next few minutes would change this situation, it was not a change that the Englishman would have asked for, or would ever care to have repeated.
Eastern Daylight Time
08:43am
"Hello?" almost-whispered the calm, soft voice from the other end of the line, "This is Canada speaking."
"Hello, Canada," began David, having absolutely no idea how else to address the northern nation, "This is David Jones calling on the behalf of the United States of America."
"Oh, okay," replied Canada, his voice softer than the snow his country often found itself covered from head to toe in, "What does he want?"
"It's about NORAD," explained David, inexplicably finding himself pacing the corridor and rubbing his thigh with his free hand, "Something's happened, but he can't pinpoint exactly what's wrong. He was hoping you'd have more luck."
"NORAD?" asked Canada, a slight tinge of concern seeping through the whispery layers of his soft, soft voice, "He doesn't know?"
"Know what?" asked David, finding his heart began to thrum faster in his chest from the terrifying scenarios his brain was already creating to try and explain the concern in Canada's voice, "What's happened?"
"American Airlines Flight 11 has been hijacked," replied Canada, "They're trying to scramble some jets as we speak. It's headed for…"
A terrifying deathly silence followed after the Canadian's softly spoken words. David Jones (though it would be a lie if he told you that this was his real name) would never ever forget that sound, that still void of nothingness which seemed to hang on the other end of the line for an eternity. David was not a stupid man, he wouldn't have the job he did if he were, and he was immediately able to work out that something very, very bad was going to happen and that it was probably going to happen very, very soon. A hijacked plane is never a good thing, but a hijacked plane headed for somewhere is almost definitely a million times worse if it's not the designated airport. David stopped his pacing immediately and peered in through the window of the classroom door. America seemed fine, for the moment, but what Canada was suggesting through his silence… David would be lying if he had told you that he wasn't scared beyond his wits.
"Canada?"
"Oh, maple… please… no…" Canada's voice was far too breathless for comfort, "Mr Jones?"
"Yes, Sir?"
"You need to call an ambulance now," explained Canada, "And you need to make sure my brother is okay. I might be wrong, and I hope with all my heart I am, but you will call an ambulance, right now. Do you understand me?"
Perhaps it was the threatening undertones in the last question. Perhaps it was the assertive, stubborn and sudden authority with which all the sentences had been spoken. David Jones wasn't sure what it was, but his entire body shivered and froze from those words. He'd always known that Canada and America were brothers, they'd fought (they often still did) and they argued, but they were close in more ways than simple geographical location. The last words spoken to him by Canada before the latter hung up did nothing but make this connection startlingly obvious. The threat in Canada's voice should David dare to not obey his orders was as clear as a recently polished diamond, and so David did not hesitate to immediately send the call out over his radio before staring intently at his nation through the small, hashed window of the classroom door. David had never been so scared in all his life.
Eastern Daylight Time
08:44am
"Well, yeah, I s'pose, a little," replied America, "But only a bit, 'cause I'm the hero!"
The little children seemed to find this outburst amusing and America noticed that even the teacher had to restrain a small smile from creeping up upon her face. It was a nice change, America mentally noted. Americans generally didn't seem particularly put off by the statement, generally agreeing with it and then attempting to list all the ways in which the U.S.A had been the hero of the 20th century, and, likely enough, would be in the 21st. However, had America repeated that statement anywhere else in the world (particularly and notably in the cynical British Isles), the laughter at the end would not have been anything short of mocking and ridiculing. At least with his own people he could be sure that their laughter wasn't, at least directly, malicious.
"Okay, class," announced the teacher, looking up from her watch, "We've only got time for one question, so make it a good one!"
Immediately hands flew up left, right and centre, as all the children were eager to ask their own question, and some, likely enough, just wanted to have the last word. Smiling at the passionate desire of the class to ask the last question, America deliberately, and kindly (because he's nice like that) picked one of the children who had not asked a single question the entire forty-five minutes he'd been there. Their patience and quietness should be rewarded, and America felt that the last question was an appropriate prize for their attentive ears and bright little eyes. Eyes falling on a nervous looking young boy situated at the back of the classroom, America pointed (patriotically and dramatically, of course) at him and declared loudly, probably louder than actually required, that he would be giving the last question. The little boy's face lit up visibly and America couldn't help but grin from ear to ear at the sight.
"Do you ever get scared?"
America frowned slightly. There was no particularly dominant reason for this reaction, it was just that he hadn't been expecting that question at all. He was surprised that no one had asked it before, and it seemed bizarre that it should come up so late in the session. It would normally be one of the first questions asked, so America found it quite odd that it should be the last on this particular day. In response to the question, America played serious. He drew his face into a serious, state-secret-giving expression and leant forwards onto his lap. Staring intently into that child's eyes alone, America was very sure that he must have seemed to have been the most serious adult in the world in those few short seconds. Seeing the myriad of fear and curiosity in those little green pools forced America to decide that he was going to tell the whole and entire truth to the little boy, not realising how poignant this moment would later prove to be.
"Yeah, even heroes get scared sometimes," replied America solemnly with a small smile, "Like, don't tell anyone, but I'm afraid of ghosts."
"Really?" whispered/asked the small boy.
"Oh yeah," assured America with an exaggerated nod of the head, "But, you know there's something that scares me even more than ghosts? And it's not Britain's cooking!"
The class giggled a bit at the latter sentence, before quickly silencing as America opened his mouth to speak again, a solemn and honest expression visible on his face.
"More than anything in the whole wide universe," began America, "I'm scared of losing you: my wonderful, cheery, patriotic, little people," a solemn, appreciative silence fell upon the room before America decided to break it, "So don't mess around in the road!"
The children smiled and nodded and proudly promised to never do anything stupid that would endanger their precious little souls. America smiled at that, loving the dedication and cheery disposition dancing upon their adorable little faces. Waving his goodbyes, and being dragged towards the door by his other secret service guy, Jerry Tomlinson, America was quite sure that this morning would put him in a good mood for the rest of the day. Once outside the door, America had a few seconds to observe the terrified expression on David's face and the sympathetic concern on Jerry's face before, in America's mind, literally all Hell broke loose.
Greenwich Mean Time
12:46pm
-M!
England leapt out of his seat and immediately patted himself down, expecting some surge of pain or twitch or stabbing sensation to alert him to the problem. When no such thing occurred, England frowned, furrowing his brows deeply as though that action alone would solve the problem. He glared at the floor, staring at it as though somehow it had caused the problem (this action, naturally, bemused the floor, as it hadn't done anything in particular to deserve this glowering). England looked around. He was sure he'd heard an explosion of some description. He was positive of it. He would, readily, have sworn his very life on the fact that he'd heard something somewhere explode. Yet, he couldn't put his finger on where, so it couldn't have been England, or even Wales, Northern Ireland or Scotland, as he'd have felt it for much, much longer. So, what on Earth had happened?
Feeling a nervous swirling sensation engulf his gut, England knew with an inexplicable certainty that something was wrong and that something had happened somewhere in the world. He paced almost immediately, stalking around his armchair as though it would blurt out the answers for him due to his intimidating strides. When had he felt sensations like that before? He was sure that that particular faded feeling of something being wrong was something he'd felt before, the question merely was when and who. He wracked his brains, before eventually coming across a distinctive memory that held the key, or at least, perhaps, a small segment of it. The last time he'd felt something like that, though the feeling was far stronger, was when Argentina had invaded the Falklands. So, had a territory been attacked?
"No," England asserted aloud, "It was weaker this time… maybe a former colony?"
That would make sense wouldn't it? When something happened to the United Kingdom, England felt (if inside his borders) a five second flash of whatever the brother in question was feeling. When something happened to a territory, he'd feel a two or three second flash of whatever his not-quite-independent-not-quite-colony felt. So, what was left? Ex-colonies made independent was what was left. Then again, that made no sense. He'd never felt anything before. Members of the Commonwealth had suffered attacks and economic issues before and he'd never felt anything besides sympathy, and that was after they'd told him what was wrong. England paced and bit his thumb in frustration. Something, somewhere had happened and of that much, he was sure, but the questions remained. Where had the 'something' happened? And why on Earth had England heard it?
Then again, maybe he was just being paranoid. Maybe his brain had simply been imagined the whole thing and nothing had actually happened. However, no matter what England told himself, the discomforting, swirling nervous anxiety in his stomach, in his gut, would not go away. He paced and he nibbled on his lip and he paced some more, but nothing he could do would take away the overall sensation that someone needed his attention and that something had happened. England folded his arms, clasping the sides of his arms as though they would fall off if he dared for a second to just let go. Regardless of whether something had happened or not, England decided doggedly, he ought to just see if anyone else had heard of anything happening. After all, it was better to be safe than sorry, right?
Eastern Daylight Time
08:48am
"ARGH!"
"Please, Sir, please! We need you to move! Please, you need to let us help you!"
"Why? Wha'? How? I don't understand."
David Jones felt as though his heart was shattering inside his chest. It was as though his intestines were bored full of gaping, endless holes. He had never been so distressed in all his life. He was sure that he never would be again. Nothing could compare to the sensations wracking his entire being in that moment. Nothing could compare to the look on his nation's face. David Jones was sure he would never be the same again. Helping his beloved nation had never been so painful. Being around his precious country had never scared him so much in all his life. He found himself wanting two things at the same time. David wanted to run away and hide in a corner, but he also wanted to be there to soothe the pain. He wanted to kill the bastard that had done this, but he wanted to save everyone in that doomed tower. He'd never truly known what helplessness was until that day.
"How could this happen? How did this happen? I just want it to stop!"
Another deafening wail tore through the small building. The children's distressed crying could be heard as a sympathetic echo to the distress of their nation. A symphony of pained near-screams, whimpers and mindless roars were quickly harmonised by terrified wailing, sympathetic whispers and heartfelt yelling. The chorus of tears that filled the building was utterly heart-wrenching and the sounds would return to haunt those that had heard the sad, sad symphony in nightmares and dreams long after the event.
Between the animalistic sounds echoing through the building, raw and instinctive and altogether more terrifying than any other sound to have ever escaped the mouth of a living creature, were sounds significantly more concerning. America's head would launch back violently and a silent scream would be followed by streams of thick black, toxic fumes of indescribable heat. Though the American's skin was as cold as ice from the personified shock of his people, his eyes reflected imaginary flames that engulfed everything, almost entirely swallowing up the shimmering sapphire orbs that would normally radiate joy. It was as though he was burning on the inside, suffocating on the smoke produced by flames no one could access, let alone extinguish.
Droplets of blood coated the floor of the building as the superpower was half-dragged to the entrance. Glistening like scattered rubies, the tiny pools of blood occasionally collected together to form tear shaped petals of crimson liquid in the wake of the hurting being. Beside these little garnets were little puddles of liquid diamond, sitting there as though mourning the precious red gems that had fallen beside them. The hallway would be cleaned later, but the twinkling crystals of pooled fluids would haunt the minds of those who saw them for evermore.
"America, Sir, you need to listen to us, Sir, we're going to get you help, we're going to-"
"Why is this happening? Why can't I save them? I don't understand!"
David and Jerry were having an incredibly hard time. America was not a particularly light nation, as Britain had repeatedly pointed out, but that wasn't what was causing the problem. The problem was that America was refusing to cooperate due to the incredible haze of pain which seemed to wrack every fibre of his being. They were dragging him along the floor, holding his arms as his feet had buckled underneath him and America had forgotten, in his blind fog of pain and confusion and hurt and terror, how to use them. The nation was trying to pull away from them at every moment, as though afraid they would worsen or cause additional pain, though, milliseconds later, he would lean into them, as though frantically yearning for the comfort and aid that they were trying ever so hard to provide.
Bzzz! Bzzz!
David frowned, though he was frowning anyway. Something was vibrating in his pocket. He tried to ignore it. They were almost by the entrance, the flashing lights could be seen pouring in through the glass panes, lighting the entire building with something that was far more profound and meaningful than something as simple and crude as medical aid. Those lights, swirling and flashing and snapping and glistening, meant so much more to the two secret service guys and infinitely more to the growling, grumbling, screaming, groaning, wailing casualty as the pain spiked and fell and spiked and fell like the stocks of a particularly controversial company. As they pulled America closer to the lights, they could feel the nation's arms stretch outwards, as though trying to capture those flashing saviours in his palms.
Bzzz! Bzzzzz!
Insisted the device in David's suit pocket. He tried to glare at it through his trousers, though this was ineffectual at best. He ignored it once more. The paramedics had already rushed inside and were waving bandages and torches and all sorts around whilst calmly whispering words of reassurance and assertive, but collected commands. In a few minutes, America was being strapped into the bed in the back of the ambulance that took no hesitation in roaring into life and firing off at, frankly unsafe speeds, towards the nearest hospital. All the while, America was sweating profusely, burning up at temperatures able to instigate flames, ignorantly allowing tears to cascade town the side of his face as he tore his head from side to side, as though trying to deny the tragedy its right to happen and nearly tearing his body apart in futile attempts to get the pain to cease and deter.
Bzzz! BZZZ!
David tore the device from his trouser pocket and glared at it ferociously, daring it to buzz again, daring the person on the other side to be stupid enough to persist. Needless to say, as soon as the pale white, flashing word 'Britain' was visible on the device, David realised that his attempts to shut the device up would be all but futile.
Greenwich Mean Time
12:50pm
Bbring! Bbring!
Pause.
Bbring! Bbring!
Pause.
Bbring! Bbring!
"Why the hell can't that stupid idiot learn to answer his bloody phone?"
Bbring! Bbri-
"WHAT?" roared the other line.
England, had he been sitting in a seat, would have leapt out of it. Firstly, the voice was unfamiliar and was definitely not America, and that, in itself, was immediately concerning. Secondly, the voice was furious beyond (in England's present mind) reason and roaring many, many decibels beyond what could be described as within the reasons of being acceptable. Aside from all that, it was the underlying, almost invisible tones within the voice that nearly sent England into a freezing cold fear right then and there. There was an abundance of worry and concern and protectiveness and fury in that voice that England hadn't heard for a fairly long time, and certainly never in relation to the incredibly powerful superpower that was England's former colony. Immediately, England knew that whatever that 'something bad' was, it had happened and it had happened to America.
"What's happened?" stated England, without hesitation.
"It's none of your business," hissed the other, "We're a little busy at the moment."
"Congratulations," replied England, his sarcasm venomous, "Pass me to America."
"Why the fuck should I?" growled the other threateningly, "We're busy and you're wasting my precious time right now."
"Listen to me, little man," spat England, his voice more terrifying in these words than it had been for a very long time, "I will tell you once. Pass me to America now, or I swear on all that's good and holy in this world that I will mercilessly track you down and beat you to death with the sharpest and bloodiest instrument I can find. Are we clear?"
Pause.
"I asked you a question."
"Yes, Sir."
The sarcastic venom loaded in that one monosyllabic word was almost incomprehensible. Did England care? No. America was hurt. Whoever had answered the phone could be the Lord God Jesus Christ and England wouldn't have taken back his threat. England didn't even particularly care if America wanted to talk to him or not. England was going to talk to America if he had to kill Russia to do it. There was nothing Heaven nor Earth nor Hell could do that would prevent England talking to his closest ally, arguably his closest friend. Had England not been so wrapped up in insuring himself a place in Hell for his merciless threats against certain religious figures, he would have realised that his behaviour was nothing short of being described as quintessentially parental.
"Why? Why am I so weak? Why couldn't I stop this? Why can't I save them?"
England gasped. His stomach twisted into a knot so tight and small that he was quite sure the organ would simply vanish altogether from his abdomen. His heart seemed to stop for a second, frozen in fear and in sympathy and in horror and in regret and there were soon so many emotions swirling around in his heart that it felt as though it might just explode inside his ribcage. Prickles of sharp, stinging swords were immediately present in his eyes, poking and stabbing away utterly mercilessly as they tried to persuade the tear ducts to give way and induce an onslaught of heart-wrenching, heart-broken, sympathetic sobs. It hurt him unimaginably painfully to hear those words in that tone leave his mouth. It was all England could do not to sink to the floor in despair almost instantaneously.
"It's Britain, he wants to talk to you."
"Britain?"
England's heart snapped in two but hearing him over the phone, you would never have imagined that he was anything but collected and motherly and soothing. The change was instantaneous in the ancient nation. No sooner had America's voice spoken directly down the phone than England's fear and pain and shock had gone. America did not need someone reciprocating and elevating his terror right now. He needed someone to soothe the pain he was feeling and to tell him that it was going to be okay, even though they all knew that it wasn't okay and that it wouldn't be okay for a long time and that there was even the possibility that it would never ever be okay ever again. England was there to lie, to be the wonderfully tempting voice of the devil that tempts you into believing things that are false, even when these false things are so beautiful and necessary. England was there to soothe, because he knew America would be too busy trying to suffer and recover and save what he could to remember to be soothed.
"Sssh," whispered England softly, pouring his heart down the phone, "Shush."
"Britain? Britain? It hurts, why, why did they do this? Why would someone do this? I'm supposed to be the hero, I'm supposed to be strong, I'm supposed to protect th-"
"~Hush, little baby, don't say a word, Papa's gonna buy you a mockingbird~*"
"Britain? What are you-"
"~And if that mockingbird don't sing, Papa's gonna buy you a diamond ring~"
"Bri-"
"And if that diamond ring turns brass, Papa's gonna buy you a looking glass~"
Eastern Daylight Time
08:53am
America frowned blearily at the mobile being held to his ear. Were he not absolutely and completely inundated by a million emotions and feelings and sensations at once, he'd have been able to question the Briton and his bizarre ways a bit more efficiently. America felt as though every nerve in his body was on fire, burning brightly and fiercely and erupting violently into spikes of pain whenever a life was brutally taken away from him. Then, at the same time, his entire body was covered in a cold sweat of disbelieving shock and horror and fear. A large part of him could just barely believe that any of it was really happening, though the other part of him was too preoccupied watching the disaster to try and work out whether or not it was some fantastic, and horrific illusion. America would be lying through his sparkling, picture perfect, white teeth if he'd said that the music made all the pain go away, because it didn't, but, equally, the quiet singing didn't do nothing at all either.
"~And if that looking glass gets broke, Papa's gonna buy you a billy goat~"
It was reassuring. Among the chaos and the pain and the outfight fear and shock, it was like a calm breeze, not really doing anything significant to help, but there as a constant presence all the same. America knew Britain, in all reality, couldn't do jack shit to help him (the Atlantic Ocean can have this effect on people) but the sound of his voice over the phone, quiet and almost silent amidst the hellish tragedy, was just there. It was, and would be, there the entire day, doing nothing but quietly singing familiar, American songs in a softer than usual British accent that would have made the man almost impossible to identify, had it not been for the occasional string of swear words that would flourish from the phone the instant it was moved an inch away from America's ear.
"~And if that billy goat don't pull, Papa's gonna buy you a cart and bull~"
America could easily have survived without the soothing, soft songs, but it was their near constant presence, and the influx of messages from other countries throughout the day, that assured him that people were ready and willing to support him in whatever way he might need. The countries of the world - bar one or two, whom Briton (amongst his singing) near-vowed to lamp one* - were united behind the superpower, regardless of previous disagreements with him. This was, and the day would later only confirm this, a human tragedy and, like all tragedies, the world would mourn its casualties and the continued damage it would bring until it gradually faded from living memory into a non-descript, but horrific event that would haunt the world forever from its memorials and history books and news archives. It was perhaps that support, perhaps, that helped America get through that day, though, without the shadow of a doubt, the resolve of his people was the primary reason he did.
"America, Sir?" queried the familiar, but cracked-by-worry voice of David Jones.
"~And if that cart and bull turn over, Papa's gonna buy you a dog named Rover~"
America looked up, grimacing from the muscular tissue pain which ached as he tilted his neck back to lock eyes with his long-standing bodyguard-friend. His hurt blue eyes were teared up and bloodshot and clearly far too much to look at for longer than a second or so. David immediately averted his eyes, choosing to stare at America's hairline rather than directly into those heart-wrenching sapphire pools. America almost-smiled a small smile of reassurance, though, with his pursed lips, this came out as more of a pained and suffering grimace than an attempt to reassure and calm. America knew he'd be okay, and maybe that made everything worse. He didn't want to ever forget those he'd lost, and those he didn't know he had yet to lose, but the truth was that he would live on; they wouldn't and he was their hero, their nation and he had failed them and couldn't do a thing to help them.
"~And if that dog named Rover won't bark, Papa's gonna buy you a horse and cart~"
"Sir? America?" explained/whispered David solemnly, "We're at the hospital, do you want me to take the mobile away?"
"Oh you fucking try it!" screamed the mobile viciously, "You bloody so much as think of daring and I will beat you half to death with a tossing toothbrush before throwing you into a cage full of fucking wolves."
Needless to say, the mobile phone was left by America's ear at all times after that, much to the distress of the hospital staff (who received significantly heightened threats when they tried to remove the phone without even asking).
Greenwich Mean Time
00:30am
"Firm… ~united let us be~, ra~llying round our li~berty.*"
"Britain?"
"As a ~band of brothers joined, peace and safety we shall~ find."
"What time is it over there?"
"~Immortal patriots, rise~ once ~more, defend you rights~ wait a minute… I can't sing that, it's insensitive… hmmm."
"Britain, you've killed that song," assured America, "What time is it?"
England looks over to the ancient clock ticking away on the mantelpiece. He glares at it furiously, unable to read it thanks to the rather large collection of sleepy-dust that's invaded his eyes. The TV's still muttering away to itself quite happily, apparently now relaying images of a press conference hosted by the President. England wasn't really listening, though a small part of him felt it was his duty to try. He, after realising that the time on the television would be a lot easier to read, observed that it was past midnight. That wouldn't have been a problem if he hadn't got up at around seven 'o' clock like the rest of the country thinking that he had some sort of work to do. Well, there was that, and then there was the stress he'd felt all day.
Truthfully, England felt insensitive as hell even thinking of suggesting that he was stressed that day. America had gone through pain and suffering that England couldn't imagine, and even if there was somewhere in his own history he could compare it to, to do so would be utterly heartless. England, like all nations, knew that a tragedy ought never to be compared to another because that seems to imply that one was worse than the other, which shows nothing except a heartless disregard of human life and an insensitivity that ought to be punishable by death. England was exhausted, but felt thoroughly as though he had no right to feel this way, despite his near-constant yawning, because, in his mind at least, he should be awake and there for America the whole day.
"Britain?"
"Hmm, it's just gone midnight here." stated England, voice crackling and croaky as it escaped his throat. Well that was a sodding lie. Just gone midnight? Since when does half an hour equate to 'just gone'? England swore that Northern Ireland was rubbing off on him.
"You should go to bed."
England smiled slightly. Silly child. How could England possibly go to bed, knowing that America was still awake? He'd seen the news. He'd seen the live footage of that second plane and of the Pentagon and of the shuddering, shattering, sodding chaos. How on Earth could he leave America, having seen all that? England was sure that, even if somehow he did manage to fall asleep, the cold, haunting image of that second plane would return in his dreams and replay itself over and over until he woke up. Seeing that plane* shattered England's mind and fractured his heart, and he was eternally grateful that his mouth continued to function and sing without him, because the silence would only have made things worse. If silence had prevailed in that moment, England was sure that America's shrill cry would have hurt so much more.
"Don't be silly." harrumphed England dismissively.
"Britain, you've been on the phone all day," the American's voice paused before it added with a small bright light of the former America, "Your phone bill is going to be fricking huge."
"Hmm," England almost chuckled, before adding, "I'm right here."
"I know."
"The Prime Minister's said the same," pausing England imitated his voice, "He said, 'we stand full square alongside the U.S'.* And the Queen as well: 'growing disbelief and shock'*, she said. And NATO, they've invoked Article 5* and Sweden's picked a side of the fence* and-"
"Britain, you're rambling," interrupted America, who sounded suddenly older and wiser than his barely-over-two-hundred-years, "Go to bed."
"Shut up," replied England, "I'm staying until you fall asleep."
"You'll run out of songs before I fall asleep."
"Oh, is that a challenge?" queried England, a victorious smirk making its way upon his face, "I know of one I haven't sung yet."
"And?"
"Keep an eye on our side of the pond in three days time, alright?*"
Eastern Daylight Time
08:32pm
America was bemused. Why? Was something happening in Britain on the fourteenth? Oh well, he'd likely enough be cooped up at home or the hospital for the next couple of weeks, so it wasn't exactly like he'd have anything better to do anyway.
"~Oh, say can you see, by the dawn's early light~"
America, rather fruitlessly it must be said, had been attempting to convince Britain to go to bed. After all, it was past midnight there and the man had been singing (except when he paused to swear and issue unnecessarily violent threats) nearly all day. The man really ought to go to bed, but, as usual, Britain was too stubborn for his own good. It was something America was sure he'd picked up off the Englishman. A stubborn streak that was almost impossible to win over? That was simply one of the many things the two countries shared in common (though, admittedly, almost all nations appeared to have the very same trait). America sighed, defeated, into the mobile.
"~What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming~"
He was, truthfully, exhausted. His entire body was aching, though intense waves of pain continued to flicker in and out of life in New York City and D.C. Coated in a thick layer of cold sweat, America couldn't remember the last time he'd ever felt quite so uncomfortable and quite so jumpy in his entire life. He'd heard his President promise to catch the bastards responsible, and America could feel an ignorant blind rage building up inside him. His entire being cried out for revenge, or vengeance, for the attack and a tiny part of America felt unadulterated fear. He was sure that this hatred was aimed only at the people responsible but, being such a large country, someone somewhere was likely to target the wrong people, the wrong minority. He sighed and lay back into his crimson-stained hospital bed. He needed rest, but was wary of nightmares and haunting images.
"~Whose broad stripes and bright stars through the perilous fight~"
Was that Britain singing…? No. It couldn't be. He'd never…
"~O'er the ramparts we watched, were so gallantly streaming?~"
America's eyelids began to flutter helplessly, dragged downwards by the heavy weight of exhaustion and by a willingness to drift off into a deep sleep. America could feel his body's pain echo away into a dull, but still very present, throbbing, significant but not enough so as to prevent the genuine decline of consciousness into sleep. He dragged his eyelids open to stare around the room, observing through the glass, hashed windows the concerned gazes of his two bodyguard-friends. He smiled weakly at them, watching proudly as the one solemnly held his hand over his heart and the other saluted, not caring how odd it would look within the confines of a medical institution.
"~And the rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting in the air~"
America could feel himself gently drift off, as the sounds around him dulled.
"~Gave proof through the night that your flag was still there~"
America smiled, having heard the addition of the letter 'y'.
"~Oh, see how that star-spangled banner yet waves~"
More changes to the American National Anthem? Oh Britain, you sneaky man.
"~O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave~"
All that could be heard over the phone the opposite side of the Atlantic was the gentle but regular breathing of the young man England once called his little brother.
9/11 was a shocking, utterly horrific tragedy and I can only pray that I have not insulted the memories of those who lost their lives.
*surrounded by young Americans: as George Bush was in a school in Florida on the day, I thought it would be appropriate for America to be as well
*like George Washington at Mount Vernon: at Mount Vernon (First President/War Hero George Washington's House) you can find a George Washington lookalike
*'cuz if I didn't, the Hoover Dam would burst: referring to the infamous Hoover Dam constructed in the 1930s which is in the Colorado River between Nevada and Arizona, not the one in Ohio
*the Election scandal thing: in 2000, there were a lot of problems in Florida with recounts galore and allegations of voters being turned away or stricken off the records, Wikipedia it if you want more info (this footnote would be the size of a small essay by the time I'd finished explaining it)
*quiet but furious contempt of many Democrats: understandably, the Democrats were unhappy with the 2000 General Election which gave Democratic candidate Al Gore a majority of the popular vote but not the presidency (blame the Electoral College)
*some Republicans were a bit pissed off: some of the more right-wing Republicans were annoyed by Bush because he was actually pretty liberal as far as politics goes
*he was a 'compassionate conservative': Bush advertised himself as such during the campaign, because he wanted to appeal to liberals whilst not losing the support of his own party
*very, very poor 'English' accent: the English frequently (and I mean frequently) laugh at American attempts to impersonate our accent as it is always horribly bad and ignorant of regional differences (e.g. we do not all sound like cockneys, who only occupy the East End of London)
*NORAD: North American Aerospace Defence Command (technically spelt 'Defense', but I'm British so I disregard this spelling)
*crouched lightly beside America and whispered into his ear: this is imitating a scene played out later in the day when Andrew Card (Chief of Staff) whispers the news into George Bush's ear
*State Opening of Parliament: is perhaps the most bizarre thing you will ever watch and is a tradition held every November and after every General Election, you need to watch it with a commentary just to have a clue as to what's going on
*MPs had holidays and breaks longer than the school holidays: the Summer Recess and Winter Recess of a Parliamentary Session are both longer than the matching school holidays by about a week or so
*since their brand spanking new parliaments and assemblies opened: the Scottish Parliament, Northern Irish Assembly and Welsh Assemblies all first came into session in 1999, a year after the relevant acts and treaties ordered their creation
*Newsround: a version of the news aimed at kids, usually with upbeat and funny stories from all over the world at the end, it's shown every day on CBBC (the Children's BBC)
*hush little baby: is a lullaby believed to be of American origin, though no one is actually sure where it came from (I'd argue that it must be American because I'm sure British lullaby/nursery rhymes aren't so grammatically incorrect)
*to lamp someone: to hit them round the head, e.g. I lamped him one, I'm gonna lamp that bitch one the next time I see her etc. (does not necessarily involve lamps in any way)
*firm… ~united let us be~, ra~llying round our li~berty: an extract of 'Hail, Columbia!' which was Wikipedia tells me, the unofficial national anthem before 'The Star-Spangled Banner' became the official anthem
*seeing that plane: I was too young at the time to remember, but watching that image in footage on Youtube or the BBC is blood-chilling, and I think that image curdled the blood of everyone who saw it, all over the world
*'we stand full square alongside the U.S': this is what Tony Blair said, though I'm sure he probably said a bit more than this (this is Tony Blair we're talking about here)
*'growing disbelief and shock': this is what the Queen said, and I think the entire world expressed much the same sentiment
*Article 5: for the first time in NATO's fifty-two year history, the group invoked Article 5 affirming that, 'an armed attack against one or more of them in Europe or North America shall be considered an attack against them all' and even pledged action, 'including the use of armed force'
*Sweden's picked a side of the fence: Sweden, like Switzerland, is a neutral country, normally with an allergy for one side of the fence or the other, however, one Swedish political scientist told Reuters that 'there has not been… a trace of hesitation of where we stand'
*keep an eye on our side of the pond in three days time: on the 14th September, for the first time in British history, the Queen ordered her troops to play 'The Star Spangled Banner' at the Changing of the Guard, it's an incredibly powerful thing to watch, even on Youtube