"GYAH!" America tried to sit up in a spasm but couldn't go all the way as his arms and legs had been chained with more professional chains. His head fell back onto the mattress and soon his breathing started to quicken and his movements sporadic. Someone in a lab coat lit a light in his eye, blinding him temporarily.
"What the fuck." America tried to break the chains but, incredibly, no luck. He was too freaked out.
He stopped struggling but his sporadic breathing didn't stop nor did the chaos in his mind. A life he had forgotten, one that he was forced away from, had come back to him. He felt tears running down his eyes as memories flooded back to him; his mother, his life, and the damned invaders. He thought about the last time he saw his true mother and then realized something.
"ENGLAND! FRANCE! YOU MOTHER FUCKERS!" He shouted over and over as the fire of those memories engulfed him.
The chain started to warp so the medics came back in and stuck another needle into him, his nerves slowing. The warden looked over him, a smug smile creeping up on his face.
"Not so tough now, huh?" He patted America on the forehead and turned around.
"You know, I'm starting to like you America. Good friends if I may, and as good friends that means we can trust each other with secrets."
"Fuck you"
"Oh, don't be that way America. I just want to know where you put all the goodies. I'll sweeten the deal. If you tell us, I'll spring for a nice "mental health" trip. How does that sound? These days you can blame anything on mental health."
"Don't mock mental health you piece of trash. I hate people like you who refuse to believe that things that don't involve you don't exist. You're the reason this world is going to shit. Now, shut the fuck up and get out of my face before I punch it out." America faced away from him and refused to speak another word.
"I'll give you one last chance you little shit. Tell us."
No answer.
"Alright then. Maybe your friends can loosen your tongue this time around, but if not then it's all in my hands, and I don't think you really want that." He took out a pen and started fiddling with it, the metal part that would have held it against the pocket jiggling off the pen. This caught America's attention.
"Hey warden. You want to know something?" America whispered.
"Hmmm?"
"Come closer." The warden was still twiddling his pen as he came close to America's face.
Bad move. America head butted him and before the warden fell back America used his head to hit the warden's hand, the silver piece of the pen coming off. In a flash second America shot like a cobra and grabbed the metal bit and hid it under his tongue, the entire scene happening in seconds.
The warden fell on his butt, rubbing his head and glaring at America. "You little shit." He got back up and smacked America in the face over and over until his cheeks were strawberry red.
"Good. You almost don't look like shit. You should thank me." The warden went to pick up his pen and clumsily placed it back into his pants pocket.
"Send in the others. I want to see this boy squirm." The door shut behind him.
A part of the white brick wall came out and up to reveal a one way window. America looked at himself in the mirror, disgusted at what he looked like. His hair was matted and crazed, his face red and dreary with heavy bags under his eyes.
The door opened once more and in came a frazzled England who had just spent the night sleeping in a bunker with the rest of the group. The door shut behind them and England took a step towards him. He then sat down criss cross applesauce, trying not to stare at the chains that barred America down. He looked away and then to America.
"Why?" He asked.
"who?" America replied.
"Wait, what?" England retorted.
America snickered. "Where and when"
"Oh shut up. I'm trying to have a serious conversation with you, you, you heathen!"
"Oh that's real rich coming from someone like you."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing, nothing. How about this. We can have a normal conversation if you bring ol' Francy Pants in."
England blushed but America kept it up. "Come on what's it going to do. It's not like I can move. Come on bring him in."
England looked to the mirror and then the door opened for him to come out for discussion. During that time America gave a fake cough to allow the pin bit to fall next to his hand. He grabbed it and stuck it into the key hole that kept the clasp around his wrist together.
The door opened again and this time both of them came in, France trying to keep a cool posterior despite not having his long blue cloak to cover his goofy clothes. The door shut behind them, and they stepped to America who ceased his fiddling.
"Look, we're all friends here." America looked to the two. "I just want-"
SLAP. France hit him across the face.
"What is wrong with you?" France shouted.
America smiled. It was working and he didn't even instigate it yet.
"What do you mean what's wrong with me. What's wrong with you? Are you just going to stand there like a chicken and just stare at me?" America was taunting him, trying to raise the voices in the room.
France went off on him, screaming about the paintings and how America was a killer and soon enough England joined in, but America simply smiled. The loud voices covered the sound of his pin fiddling with the lock, a skill he had learned in one of the bunkers when he had to open an old fallen comrade's box to make sure all his belongings were there and ready to go back to his wife.
Click.
"Hey England" America's voice, though hushed, was spine tingling.
"What? What is it?" He asked.
America, revealing one unlocked hand, lifted his shirt to reveal his torso. "When my Mom shot you, did you bleed a lot? Or do you even bleed?"
He pointed at England. "Come on, show me the scar, you heathen."
(I do not own Hetalia. Also, thank you very much for the reviews. I appreciate it very much *loves* Have a lovely day)