China clawed around in the drawer of the bedside table. "Dragon? Dragon! Where'd my stuff go?"
"I threw it out," said Dragon sternly. "You're getting off the opium now."
"What?"
"Your people need you, and they need you to be sober."
"No! No, you can't, I need that!" China half-jumped, half-fell out of bed and grabbed frantically at Dragon's forelimb. "Come on, where'd you hide it?"
"I poured the solution out and snapped the needle, and you ran out of the smokable stuff months ago. I'm not letting you put that shit into yourself again!"
"No, you can't! You can't do this to me!" China's fists battered weakly at Dragon's coils. In the peak of health China could punch through a brick wall, and could have caused even a dragon some pain, but in his current state he could barely move his arms. He sagged onto the floor, shaking. "You can't make me do this again!"
Dragon stroked his hair with a claw, looking down at him sadly. "China, you can't hide forever. Your humans have already started calling me to tell me you're acting oddly, and they need you to be around more often than you have been. I'll help you every step of the way, but you're coming off that stuff."
"I hate you," China choked out.
"Fine, hate me. Just let me help you anyway." Dragon gently lifted the unresisting China up and placed him back in his bed. China curled up facing the wall, pulling a tiny stuffed panda out from under the pillow and hugging it. Dragon had already seen him at his lowest, there was no need to be ashamed of a stuffed toy. He no longer had the energy or will to move, and attacking Dragon wouldn't help; all he could do was wait for the withdrawal symptoms. The sooner they started, the sooner they'd be over. He'd already gone through them when trying to kick the habit in the 1850s; he could do it again, little as he relished the thought. He tried to put it out of his mind, and soon fell asleep again. He would need his strength for the coming ordeal.
In a swirl of smoke, Dragon took on his human shape. This was a job that needed hands, not claws.
China woke again late in the afternoon, tense and sweating. "Boss?" he groaned. "I think it's starting ..." He curled in on himself, clutching his stomach, and gasped. Dragon settled in the chair beside the bed, and prepared for the worst.
As he technically didn't need to eat, China had been forgetting to do so long enough that his stomach was empty. Dragon ensured he drank enough water; bringing it up hurt, but was less damaging than dry-heaving. Dragon ignored China's angry ranting and threats, soothed him when he wept, changed the sheets without a word when China lost control of his bodily functions or missed the sick-basin.
In his delirium, China no longer recognised Dragon. He screamed at Dragon, or at imaginary figures, threatening or begging, promising riches and power and his land's unconditional surrender if whoever it was would only stop touching him, then changing his tune and offering all manner of lewd favours in exchange for getting his drugs. Sometimes he screamed Japan's name, cursing him and all his people, then crying and begging forgiveness. Once he thrashed and fought so violently Dragon had to tie China to the bedposts with his own belt in order to get water down his throat; China could normally have broken free in seconds, but now he was too weak.
It took a week, but finally China was lucid again. He sprawled limply across the sweat-soaked sheets, breathing slowly.
Dragon resumed his normal form and shook himself. The human body was desperately uncomfortable, like wearing clothes several sizes too small, and staying in it for most of a week had been starting to hurt. He coiled around China, who clung to him like a lifeline.
"Dragon?" China mumbled. "I don't really hate you. And thanks."
"I know."
"Am I weak?"
"No! You're one of the strongest nations - one of the strongest people I know. You survived this long, didn't you?"
"I mean with this. Going back to the opium." China rubbed at the marks on his wrists. "Here I am, the oldest nation on Earth, brought down by something so stupid. What am I, mortal?"
Dragon nudged him gently. "Kid, everyone has their weak moments. It doesn't mean you can't ever be strong again."
Over the next few weeks, China started to eat and sleep normally again. As his strength returned, he practised with sword and gun again, returning to his previous standards far faster than a human could. Four thousand years of practice couldn't be erased by one year out of commission. He no longer suffered from uncontrolled crying jags or fits of rage; of course the feelings still lurked in his mind, but he was now learning to put them aside. He took out his simmering anger during weaponry practice, several hours a day. One day, when that wasn't enough, he went hunting, shot a boar, and butchered it bare-handed. He carried the carcass home, flushed and grinning with pride. Soon he'd be ready to face the battlefield again, and this time he'd have better luck.
Later, as they shared the cooked pig, Dragon noticed China was looking distressed again. Quiet, staring into his bowl, toying with the noodles and meat chunks. "Are you okay?"
"Just thinking about Japan. I keep thinking, was it really his boss's fault he said he didn't remember? Maybe he changed his mind? Wouldn't be the first time he betrayed me, abandoned me ..." China's voice trailed into an angry hiss, and he stabbed a piece of pork with his chopsticks.
"If he was consciously lying, I think he'd have at least tried to come up with something more convincing than 'it didn't happen'. Backstabber he might be, but he's not stupid," Dragon said, as reassuringly as he could.
"Heh, I guess you're right. Besides, he really did sound surprised. Eh, I guess there's no point worrying about it now. I'll deal with it next time I run into him." China shrugged, and finished his soup.
The next day, he set off for the Allies' secret headquarters, still not feeling perfectly well, but much more prepared to face them than he had been the first time. He was able to smile for real again, no longer found himself stewing on everything that was wrong whenever England or America annoyed him again, and could finally actually concentrate on his work.
After yet another dull meeting, France took China aside and whispered "So are you ... better?"
China showed off his trackmark-free arms. "Not perfect, but better than I was." He turned to leave, then glanced back. "And, uh ... I'm sorry, and thanks for everything."
France smiled and nodded.
Timeline changed from the original posted on the meme because it was too quick even for someone with accelerated healing. Speaking of timeline, the next part that I've got actually written has to take place in 1944 and so far the story's only got up to early 1940 - I don't want to skip the intervening time, but I'm a tad stuck on what to put in the middle. Anyone got any suggestions? I know it needs stuff from Japan's point of view, but not sure what could happen. Maybe their time on That Fucking Island.
