So, um, I don't think any of you guys deserved the cussing, so yeah... But I was happy to see that people still read it :D Hey, that makes me loads better! So I'm sorry to everyone *flails around*

Don't murder me...

By the way, I want to know who you think should be with America (can NOT be England; sorry USUK fans D:), cause right now, it's between Russia (might actually put him with China...) or Japan (or I could put him with China!)

Disclaim...

An Angel's Grace

Chapter 2

I'll Count These Tears

Alfred wanted to get away from the chilling presence next to him. He couldn't shake her off, no matter how many times he hid or ran. And frankly, he didn't want her to see him at his worst; sick. Just something he had a hunch about.

So why was it that he couldn't get up out of bed, feeling like all Hell was burning on him?

He couldn't see much, his vision was too blurred, but he was pretty sure that a woman was sitting next to his bed.

Alfred didn't know many women that would willingly take care of him.

Still, he couldn't think for too long. Drifting in and out of consciousness did that to him.

He was sick. I didn't like seeing any of them sick. It meant that something bad was going on in their physical lands.

I couldn't leave him. Believe me, I have tried. But it's like being handcuffed to a person and neither of you have the key; you can't get away.

So I found myself barely holding onto this wet rag, patting down America's face carefully. My joints creaked as I sighed, feeling the blood come bubbling up again. I didn't need air to survive, but it isn't a nice feeling when your oxygen is cut off.

I stood up and dipped the rag in cold water again, gently ringing it out.

My thoughts wondered over to the many countries. I knew America was deathly afraid of me, so maybe that's why he was sick. The others didn't really believe him, not until I had to speak. I was surprised they could hear me anyways. I always spoke to them, but I guess...

I grinned, an idea coming to mind. If I was to be this wretched creature forever, then I might as well help the countries get in love.

France yawned and walked into America's house. He was worried, since Alfred didn't answer any calls, and the absence of McDonald's wrappers intensified that worry. Then again, England was doing all of the worrying for him.

"Where is that bloody wanker?!" England yelled. He stomped around, even looking into the cabinets to search for the missing blonde.

"Don't worry so much; I'm sure he is completely fine." England promptly ignored France, still looking around before finally getting the bright idea to look into America's bedroom.

"Come on, you wanker, you better be okay..." Francis swung open the door, and both nations froze at the sight before their eyes.

There, attending to a sick America, was a beautiful young woman with long wavy brown hair clad in a long white dress. She moved with a small amount of grace, but that wasn't why they were in awe. On her back were two folded white wings, twitching every now and again.

"un ange..." Francis muttered, somewhat boggled at what he saw. At his whispered words, the woman turned, striking them with softened blue eyes. She smiled and set down a wet rag on top of America's forehead.

"Pouvez-vous me voir?" She asked. Her French was perfect, not holding a single lilt of another accent. Francis nodded, not really able to say anything to the creature in front of him. 'Still not amazing as the man beside me, though...' Francis thought, his mind now wandering aimlessly.

"What the bloody hell is going on?!" The woman - angel, Francis corrected himself - looked down at the poor Brit and smiled.

"I'm sorry, Britain, but I am stuck with America for a while." She tilted her head and asked another question before they could answer. "How do you see me?"

"I was hoping you could answer that." Britain growled. He watched as she twitched her eyes from him to the blonde next to him and giggled. It was a little scratchy at most, but it was still really pretty.

"Don't worry, I think I know the answer. But I can't tell you~" She put a slim finger over her mouth, signaling a secret between the three of them. "Please don't tell anyone else that you have seen me. Your lives might be in danger. Please," she knelt before them, holding one of each of their hands, seeming to plead for something more than a secret. "Swear to me you will not speak a word of this to anyone."

Lost for words, the men could only nod their heads in agreement.

A cough from the bed drew her attention to the sick nation. As soon as she stepped near him, she seemed to flicker back and forth from the beautiful angel to this horrible hag. They could only make out bubbling skin with gray warts growing bigger by the second and blood dripping from horrible places. Her wings, once a beautiful pure white, were now dragging across the ground as aging skin and disintegrating bone.

But it was only a few glimpses. The closer she got to America, the clearer her ugliness showed through. Francis wanted to puke his little heart out. Where was the beautiful angel from before, he asked himself. What happened to her?

Britain could only barely hold back the sickness rising in his throat at the moment. Even though she was a stranger, he couldn't help but feel pity rise in him, and then anger. Was this who she truly was, a hag that wanted to harm his younger brother?

"Get away from him, you ugly beast." He hissed, his anger and hatred slithering through the words. Her movements stopped, an old hand hovering over America's head with a fresh wet rag. She sighed and gently pressed the rag onto his head. Alfred sighed and settled down a little.

"A beast? Is that what I am?" Her voice seemed to creak and crack, making France wince at the harsh tone that ensued. "I do not wish to be. It is my punishment, my way to find redemption and go back home." She looked out the window, the wind gently caressing her hair, bringing what seemed to be peace to her face. This beautiful creature was back in the place of the hag. She looked over at them, blue eyes fading sadly. "Please, go back home. I will take care of him and he'll be back the day after tomorrow. I promise."

France almost cried. Her sadness seemed to surround him, suffocate him, and the pity he felt... He grabbed Britain's arm and left before the stuffy brit could protest.

She almost collapsed in relief; she couldn't stand the thought of being a monster, a demon, to these young (yeah, right) men and women. Her hands shook as she lifted them to her face. Warts, puss, and wrinkled skin kept slipping in and out of her vision. She knew the demon she was turned into, but she couldn't... She couldn't...

Hope you guys liked this one :)

It took me a while, but I finished this long before I actually published it, so be thankful ;)

C'mon guys, I have one follower! Please review or something :/