Everything was dark. Everything. England groaned as the metallic taste in his mouth threatened to make him throw up. But there wasn't only the metallic taste in his mouth.
W-What is this...in my mouth...plastic?!
The Brit opened his eyes very laboriously, to his extreme surprise.
Why is it so hard to open my eyes? And...Why can't I move?
England looked up, seeing this...this...clear plastic thing...apparently coming from his mouth!
A tube? What for?
He rolled his head to the left, and all was revealed. He was in a hospital. The stark white of the hospital walls seemed to pop out at him, telling him that he was trapped within these walls. With great difficulty, he turned his head to the right, expecting to see a white-washed door, and perhaps a couple medical machines. But all he saw was blue. A deep, cerulean blue. But they were unclear. Something was covering them. His gaze shifted down, trying to find where the blue came from. His eyes shifted down, and he nearly choked on the tube in his mouth in recognition.
The stubble on the chin, the purple cloak…France.
Of course. He came to taunt me. Wait. Why am I here anyways? And…wait a minute…is France…crying?
The Brit blinked once, twice, to make sure that the image that he saw before him was real. The normally-stylish Frenchman had disheveled hair, wrinkled clothes, and a somber, tear-stained expression on his face.
What the heck? Something really serious must have happened…
But as England opened his mouth to speak, a sharp pain stabbed at his throat, forcing him to close his mouth, and cause tears to gather in his eyes. He gasped at the pain, blinking rapidly to avoid the tears that were sure to come soon.
G-gah. W-why does it hurt…so bad?
"A-Angleterre?" The Brit blinked once, twice, to make sure that the image that he saw before him was real. The normally-stylish Frenchman had disheveled hair, wrinkled clothes, and a somber, tear-stained expression on his face.
What the heck? Something really serious must have happened…
But as England opened his mouth to speak, a sharp pain stabbed at his throat, forcing him to close his mouth, and cause tears to gather in his eyes. He gasped at the pain, blinking rapidly to avoid the tears that were sure to come soon.
"A-Angleterre? How are you doing?" France stuttered, his voice catching in his throat. He had noticed the tears pricking at England's eyes, and moved to brush away a strand of hair from his face. He watched as the Englishman opened his mouth to protest, but quickly shut it again, as new tears leaked out from the corners of his eyes. "Don't move, mon ami, you'll only make it worse."
I'm so sorry, Angleterre. I came too late. If only I had come sooner…
You didn't mean to do that to yourself, right?
It was only the rum speaking, right?
Right?
But you've never done this before...I wish you could tell me why you're doing it now.
Why?
Why was everything on the floor?
Why were you crying?
Why were all of those picture frames you cherished so, broken?
Please tell me why.
America was angry. No, not angry. Fuming.
Someone had hurt England. Who? Whoever it was, boy, are they in trouble…
His feet pounded against the white tiles of the hospital ignoring the reprimanding that his brain was giving him for running such a great distance.
Room 420, room 421, room 422, ah! Room 423!
He barged into the room, seemingly unaware of the Frenchman's presence, and darted to England's bed.
"BRITAIN! ARE YOU OKAY?!"
The American watched as the Brit slowly opened his eyes, then squeezed them shut again when he saw America.
W-What? Britain doesn't want to see me? Did I do something wrong?
Assuming that the British man obviously couldn't talk, and was signaling him to come closer, the American moved forward, and took England's hand in his own.
"What happened? Who did this to you?" His voice shook with anger. No matter how grumpy he thought Britain was, America was still the hero, and he had failed to protect him.
But instead of looking at America and smiling at him, as the nation had expected, England's eyes only seemed to squeeze tighter, and he shook his head ever so tightly. The American felt somewhat hurt at this. Why couldn't Britain give a signal, or even look at him?
What did I do?
That damned frog…helping me in my weak state like that…I bet he wants something back! That wanker!
The Brit's eyes fluttered open, then closed again as the blinding white lights practically bore out his eyeballs.
Bloody lights…it's like they want to make me blind!
However, in his current "blind" state, England had failed to notice the loud slamming of the door, and the panicked footsteps of a certain American.
"BRITIAN! ARE YOU OKAY?!"
That voice…why can't he just feckin' leave me alone?! Bloody feck, on the one day that I'm trying to stay as far away from him, he comes to me!
The Englishman flinched as he felt something warm in his hand. He tried to yank his hand away, but he couldn't seem to move. He grimaced as the thing held onto his hand tighter, almost too tight.
Wait…
The sudden realization hit him hard. Here he was, in a hospital, because he had tried to drink out the horrible memories of this guy, and here he was, tightening his grip on his hand by the second. England wanted to yell, to scream at him to let go, but he couldn't.
Why? Why on this one day; why can't he just leave me…alone? Why can't they all leave me alone?! I just want to be by myself…I'm only worth that much…
All England could do was to squeeze his eyes shut, and shake his head to stop the tears from flowing.