9. The Panicking Chapter
…in which England doesn't enjoy the silence
Sealand was sent running to the tenth line to tell everyone about the acquired break. Everyone – especially their medics – met the news with a sort of relief that eased everyone's burden. Some of the injured also noted that their chances of getting back to fight rose when everyone had more time to take care of them. Especially Lithuania, Sweden and Romano; they all had nearly secured chances of being able to return to the front, even though the latter wasn't so inspired. Then again, they could already tell that Hong Kong, Netherlands and Austria wouldn't heal enough to fight anymore. Iceland and Spain were both a completely different case; no one knew would they wake up at all, let alone be able to fight. Belgium had problems moving her right arm, and Finland had warned her earlier that if she even tried to crawl on the ground, the wounds would probably open again. America was more than ready to go, but no one agreed since he couldn't even lift anything that was too heavy properly.
"I see," Norway nodded upon hearing the news. He had come out of the room for the first time during the day. "Good," he glanced at the unconscious Finland and the injured Swede beside him before letting his gaze wander around all the injured present. "I'll do my best."
"Would it be possible for us to lend Estonia to the fighting cause and leave someone else with you? As in, someone with only mild injuries?" Germany asked, he too glancing around to point out someone appropriate.
But Norway shook his head. "Tha' would be problematic. Estonia knows what we're doing and I wouldn't enjoy explaining it anew."
"I agree," Estonia noted. "Not that I doubt anyone's abilities or don't want to help you to fight, but I genuinely think I can help you better if I'm here."
"Makes sense." France patted Estonia's shoulder. "These two here means less time there for us, Germany. Let them have their way."
The German nodded and agreed with the point. Then, he decided it was time to go and search out a new grocery store for their food supplies. The home hut was really getting cramped, after all. Out of all four rooms, one room was for Norway and Estonia, the one beside it for the seriously injured and the last smaller room for food, ammo and other such required items. This meant that the largest room was filled with the injured and the medics. It was neither comfortable, ergonomic nor healthy. The expedition leaving consisted Germany, England, France, Japan, Turkey and of course the over-excited American, who finally got something to do. Hungary, who arrived back from the trenches together with Sealand and Denmark, announced later that she would also come, representing the back-up group.
"So you won't do anything stupid," she added after her announcement.
When they were planning on leaving, their ally came to them, telling them that she would leave for her country, so they wouldn't be meeting for a while. Before that, she had to call back her assistant, who seemed to be quite shocked and dazed after discussing things with Korea, but he was able to walk so it was evidently nothing serious. At least Korea was happy, telling them to come chat with him again anytime. He was one of the nations that would definitely make it back to the frontline before the end, at least according to the speed that he dashed from one place to another.
An hour or so after Germany had first announced that they should go, they finally took their leave. Their advance was slower than it would have normally been because of America, who they tried not to tire too much, but it didn't really matter since they'd all been in a hurry for the past few days; it did them good to relax for a while.
"You should have seen Belgium's face when she saw Netherlands," America explained eagerly, sharing some of his information from the other side of the war. "I swear her jaw nearly dropped to the floor. And she even laughed a little when she came to help him inside. The poor guy really didn't appreciate it. He still can't sit by the way. He tried once though and then jumped up so quickly they had to patch the wound up again afterwards," America snickered.
England sighed. "That's not actually a laughing matter, you know."
"Oh come on. Seriously dude, you've gotta laugh at something when it's already so moody." America nudged the older nation. "Chill out for a moment when you still have a chance."
England huffed, but relaxed, massaging the area America had been poking. "Germany, what exactly are we looking for?" he asked from the back of the line.
"Anything goes," the German answered, "as long as it's not too far away and is well sheltered. There should be other huts around here as well, right?" He took a map from his back, scanning it briefly. "A few, yes. We'll check them first."
The first one of their targets had nothing special in it; it was almost like the one they currently used, only it was a bit smaller. The issue was that it wasn't just a 'bit' dirtier, and one of the windows was broken. It looked like some animals had used it as their nest. Germany suggested that they look up the other options as well before making a hasty decision. Turkey noted that he really didn't think their food would last so long in that hut unguarded.
"Do we have enough people to have someone guard this place?" he asked slightly sarcastically after pointing that out.
"I don't think so," Germany admitted, and shook his head. "You've got a point. We can't really afford to lose our supplies."
"So we must be sure the place is safe," England summarized. "This place certainly isn't. We can, of course, transfer only ammo and guns and keep the food closer."
Hungary nodded. "That'd be easier, and the medicine we must keep at Home anyway."
"Home?" Germany raised his eyebrows.
"That's what the permanent medics started calling our little hut," Hungary explained, smiling. "Liechtenstein came up with it. It probably feels comfortable to tell the injured that they're Home."
"Sounds like Liechtenstein." Germany smiled back. "Shall we continue?"
The second hut they came across was very close by, but it was partially collapsed, and thus they departed for the next one almost immediately. They were starting to get too far from the Home by that point, and Germany decided that they would change direction towards the north-west after reaching the next blackened spot on the map. America was doing well thus far, but it seemed as though he'd had problems being quiet around the ill people, so now he was taking it all back. He had found a talkative soul mate in Turkey; together they managed to make England blow a fuse once already. It wasn't a bad blow-up, but it still happened. France was also happy to join the conversation after he saw how frustrated England grew when the talk started running along forbidden trails, much to Hungary's delight. Germany refused to join the conversation and, unlike England, he succeeded. Even Japan joined the conversation. Once. After that, no one asked him again.
"There it is," Germany stopped France's speech suddenly. "But it seems this one's more like a shed or hay storage."
"Shall we take a look?" England managed to escape the others and join their commander at the front. "It looks rather spacious."
"Let's." America came beside them. "There might even be a buried treasure in there."
"In your dreams," England scoffed.
"Well, there is one for sure if we don't take a look, so come on," America answered, already going towards the hut.
The others followed, sighing. How typical of America. Upon coming closer, they noticed that the shed had only one big room with old and partially decayed walls and no door. It indeed had been some kind of storage house in its good old days. Right now, it looked like the second floor would collapse if someone sneezed.
"Perfectly not what we need." Germany didn't bother to go further in, pulling the map out again while pushing Turkey back behind him. "The next one shouldn't be far if we continue towards the north for a while. There's some kind of a stream on a way… I wonder if it's big enough to cause us to have some travel problems. Hungary, come here for a sec!" he called out.
Not listening to him, America stood in the centre of the high storage room, glancing from one corner to another. "This is like a place some unfortunate travellers use as a shelter in a sudden storm! Don't you agree, England?"
England hummed a dull response, knocking the rotten wall absentmindedly.
"I mean," America continued. "I'm sure the roof leaks when it rains… A strong wind will make the whole building shake, and this thing looks like it'll be perfect for a ghost story anyway."
"You two! We're leaving!" Germany called from outside.
"Coming!" America shouted back and went to the door. "You're coming or not?"
"Yeah, I'll be there in a minute," England answered, inspecting some of the old stuff leaning against the wall.
"What are you doing?"
"Trying to find out what kind of storage place this was, and wondering if there's something useful here," the Englishman told him, lifting up a pitchfork and swinging like it was a weapon. "What do you think?"
America laughed. "I'll ask Germany if he needs a pitchfork in his protection plans." He exited the hut. "Germany! England found you a new weapon!"
Inside the hut, England grunted at his choice of words and proceeded to investigate the pile of boards in the corner.
"What?" Germany raised his gaze from the map, looking suspicious of what to expect.
"A pitchfork. I'm sure there's a rake or two as well, if you want," America grinned.
England didn't hear this part of the conversation anymore. After moving a few boards to look what was below and behind them he stumbled backwards, absolute terror written in his face, raising his hands to cover himself. One reached his eye level, the other one only his chest, and his mouth opened to shout a warning - but his voice was drowned out by a louder noise before he could form any words whatsoever.
Outside the hut, before Germany could sigh and reject America's offer, the whole expedition stumbled to take cover from what had just occurred. Everyone except America, who stood paralyzed when the shed exploded behind him, throwing shredded boards outwards. The shockwave ruffled his hair, and the sound of an explosion filled everyone's ears for a moment. It wasn't a big explosion; it only had enough power to make the whole storage house collapse down into a pile of wood. The expedition further away wasn't in a real danger, and only America had gotten a scratch from a piece of wood on his head.
But America couldn't have cared less about the warm blood staining in the back of his head. His eyes were wide as he turned slowly around to look at the still collapsing building. He watched it until it had completely been destroyed. Among the demolished walls and roof, a few weak fires tried to break out, not succeeding in catching on the rotten wood: it was still a bit wet from the hard rain a few days ago. America stared in horror for a second, before screaming over the last echoes of the explosion: "England!"
"Merde!" France cursed, slipping back to his own language for a moment, and stumbled up from the moss. He ran to the ruins, America joining him as soon as he got his legs moving.
"France! America!" Germany tried to stop them. "It could be dangerous, you–!" he cut his sentence short when Japan rose up beside him and sprinted after the two. "Shit!" he swore and hopped up. "Turkey!" he roared behind him to the man who had stood up only moments before. "Run back to headquarters! Tell everyone what happened and bring us help!"
The masked man didn't need to be told twice: he had started running even before Germany had finished his sentence. At the piles of destroyed wooden boards, France, America, Japan and Hungary were frantically searching for the missing member of their little group.
"England!" America shouted, turning his head around in vain. "Answer me! England!"
France climbed up onto a pile of boards, hands moving any pieces of wood he could out of the way, his eyes searching rapidly for any sign of the Englishman. "Merde," he swore again, inhaling deeply, trying to keep his calm. "What on Earth was that?"
"We'll think about that later, just search!" Germany waved Japan to join everyone in digging and moving the boards. "We have to find him."
"Fuck!" America hit his fist on a slightly burnt pile of wood. "Fuck!"
It was silent and dark. England laid on his back, staring into the darkness above him, knowing the same darkness loomed on his both sides, behind his head and also below his body. He couldn't turn his head or eyes, nor move anything else: he could just lay on his back on seemingly nothing at all. There was no feeling, no smell and only silence. He couldn't think clearly.
What had happened?
He tried to remember. The pitchfork. A mouse running away as he reached the corner. The sound of wood hitting itself when he moved them. The thing hidden behind the pile of boards. That was it. The bomb had exploded right in front of him.
Was he okay?
He didn't feel any pain. His limbs were too heavy for him to move them. Or, he thought, they were the same as before and he just didn't have the strength to.
Where was he?
The silence was heavy around him. England tried to gather his strength to sit up, or even just move his hand, but the silence made him choke on the darkness around him. It felt awful, but there was no real pain. And he still couldn't move.
Why?
He tried to bend his fingers, the muscles still refusing to co-operate. If he had been able to, he probably would have clenched his teeth in frustration, but the darkness was too obsessive and the muscles in his head refused to move as well. Forcefully, he tried to make his body listen to his commands, but the answer he got was silence and a slowly deepening darkness.
"Still nothing?" Germany asked everyone, looking around from one seeker to another. "How hard is it to find one man?"
Hungary threw a piece of wood angrily over her shoulder and bent down to look between the boards that were too heavy for her to move. Germany huffed and followed her example, advancing a bit forwards. On the other side of the pile where he couldn't see, he heard America still cursing.
"HERE!" France screamed suddenly, catching everyone's attention. He was kneeling on a stronger, unbroken board, and he'd pushed aside some others. His panicking gaze was focused on something below him. Just in sight underneath the rubble and showing between the boards was a frail, unmoving hand. France reached towards it desperately. "England…"
Why wouldn't it move? England asked himself over and over again. The darkness was choking him. Was he even breathing? He didn't know. He needed to feel something. He needed something, anything to just escape the silence. He–
France's fingers finally reached the hand and wrapped around it desperately, everyone gathering around him, anxiously waiting for any sign of life. "England? England!" He called out, so terrified that his voice didn't shake; it rang with fear, and only fear.
Suddenly it changed. His right hand was warm again. England imagined how warming light spread around his fingers and palm, pushing the darkness away. First only the hand, then it reached up his arm to his elbow. He still wasn't able to move, but the darkness was beginning to go away.
"France, don't let go of him," Germany ordered and gestured for Hungary to help him with a bigger rafter.
"America, you're standing on his legs," France warned when he slowly started seeing more of the Englishman below the destroyed building. The American moved quickly, cursing his injured shoulder, because of which he couldn't help move anything but the small pieces of rubble. It was already throbbing with pure discomfort. France reached deeper into the hole as soon as there was more space.
The darkness slowly lost its effect. The sounds still didn't appear, and his muscles didn't listen to him, but at least the heavy, intimidating blackness was backing off. England felt almost relaxed. The warm light reached his chest.
Germany pulled the final large board away.
France's eyes grew wide. Japan gasped behind him upon seeing the same.
"Oh my God…"
Suddenly it was over. That light, like a false start to make him believe otherwise, was all over him now, and at the same time, his physical feeling returned. He felt the blood running down his face, chest and legs. His left hand and left eye felt like they were on fire. The darkness wasn't because he was somewhere with no light: he just couldn't see.
England wanted to cry out loud, scream out his pain. Nothing came. He was still stuck in silence. No muscles moved. He still felt the warmth: the warmth of the blood running down his skin. He could taste it on his tongue. The pain was excruciating, tearing apart the last parts of his sanity.
'No!' He screamed silently, panicking all alone in the darkness. 'Don't leave me here! Don't leave me!'
The last pieces of wood were tossed away and Germany and France pulled the bleeding England out from the remaining rubble. They quickly carried him away from the destroyed storage hut. When the two Europeans set the injured male down, America shoved the German out of his way and grabbed England. He cradled the Brit in his arms protectively, but France had never let go of the hand he had been holding from the beginning.
England was covered in fresh, still running blood. It was flowing from the left side of his face, where the skin was almost thoroughly torn off or burnt. Both of his arms and his chest were in a similar state, and his right thigh was bleeding dangerously. Germany hurriedly pressed his jacket against the wound, while Japan reached forward beside France, trying to do the same to the wounds on England's chest.
France gripped England's hand tighter and quietly set his free hand on the side of his friend's bleeding face. "England… Hang in there."
"Turkey will come back soon," Germany promised, grimacing. "He'll come back and bring you help."
America held the limp Englishman steady in his arms and his head lowered, teeth clenching in frustration and fear. He opened his mouth as if he were trying to say something, but he didn't manage to utter a word.
Hungary dropped to her knees onto the ground behind Germany and covered her eyes, shoulders drooped down along with her head. "Shit," she whispered behind her hands.
A/N: This might be the most dramatic piece of text I've ever done. It really was hard to explain what I meant. And I'm announcing now that we're pretty soon going to have a short break. Now, I hope this cliffhanger is okay. Next some notes:
merde = (approximately) shit. French.
"...slipping back to his own language..." = In my mind the nations speak some kind of a "common language" or something along those words so they understand each other, because it wouldn't make sense that they all can speak same level English etc. without any problems. They definitely would have had some in history if not now.
cat'akai: How can you have a nosebleed for someone being badass? And "refreshing" is certainly a new word to describe this story.
ScoutingForGuys: So is "unique". (look above)
Sacchan-desuu: Of course I dare XD That's kind of my job as a writer: doesn't it make things more interesting? Thank you for the compliment, and you made a wonderful review. But I fail to see, why am I cool.
Thank you for all your support again. I'll keep on writing.
Scott, you've been out of contact for a while, I hope you're okay. Please write when you have time again.