Normal people relax and have an awesome time getting a tan and lying on the beach or whatever when they go on holiday, and then there's me...enjoy! I don't own anything, please Read and Review! It keeps me writing!
Canada's pov
He knocked on the door.
No one answered.
He knocked again.
Still nothing
"America?!...America are you there?"
Silence replied. A note of panic in his voice now he tried on last time.
"America, it's your brother...this isn't funny any more! Stop playing games!"
Nothing. He started to shake, his knees knocking together and a cold sweat running down his back. He's out, he told himself, he's just went out early or stayed late at some one else's. He couldn't stop shaking.
He opened the door.
The first thing that hit was the metallic tang of blood. He walked into the front room and saw him.
"OH MY GOD AMERICA!"
He ran to his side tears running down his cheeks now and knelt down next him. America was lying on the floor, phone a few inches away from his outstretched fingers, his face staring at the ceiling with dead eyes. His mouth was open in an eternal scream, blood dripping down between his teeth. Canada, breathing quickly, put his hands to his twins neck.
"please don't let him be dead, oh god please don't let him be dead"
Americas skin was dead cold. There was no pulse.
"no! NO! NOT MY BROTHER h-he was the only thing I had left damn it! Oh god it's my fault, he called and i didn't care. I let him die I LET HIM OH GOD I'M SO SORRY!"
Canada was crying hysterically, with his arms wrapped around his dead twin, kneeling in his sticky blood.
"Brother I'm so sorry"
He could hardly talk now through the tears.
"I'm so sorry, this is all my fault, I-I could of stopped it, this is all my fault, this is all my fault!"
He lay down next to America, ignoring the fact that his favourite jumper was being stained by scarlet blood, still hysterical. He held his brothers hand and just lay there, staring and the ceiling, crying and thinking about his twin.
~the awesome time-skip was brought to you by Prussia, ruining the moment like a prussian~
He didn't know how long he'd been lying there, all he knew was that he never wanted to leave. It has been his fault that he had died. America, the hero, the one that was always strong for everyone else, the one that was always smiling, always cracking a joke, always trying to make everyone else happy, his own twin brother, his flesh and blood, the one he was always mistaken as, was dead.
Another wave of grief washed over him as he realised that never again he would be called America. He knew he should move, he should go tell someone, call England or something but he couldn't bring himself to do it. If he called someone then he would have to accept that his brother was really dead, and that it was his fault.
In the end he decided he would have to call England. He dragged himself up, soaked in sticky blood and walked blindly over to the kitchen to get the other phone.
