Remembering back to the first time he had died, the first few times actually, England had been younger than even Alfred had been now. No one had been there for him back then... not that anyone had been there for him since then, either.
The Brit absently recalled a list of things that he must have kept stored, somewhere in his mind, the steps of how it felt when you were dying, a slow death at least. You denied it for a while, and then you started to feel numb. Then you felt cold, and everything got bright before it faded out into blackness... but he had always felt so alone. He refused to let Alfred feel that way.
"Come on, idiot." Arthur said without any venom in his voice in reply, gently reaching out and doing his best to lead the American over to one of the lesser damaged buildings.
Alfred stood there, next to the other nation silently and shifted slightly at the awkward feeling that had filled the air. It was almost a relief when Arthur finally spoke up to insult him, and the teen turned his head to glance at the man, checking to make sure that there would be no more statements of death forth coming, before following as requested.
Kicking down a door, Arthur led the injured soldier into the room, bringing him over to an, admittedly ratty, sofa. "Come on," the island nation coaxed again. "Will you please sit down?" He asked, attempting to handle the situation delicately, now that he understood the circumstance.
When Arthur finally stop, the teen spared enough energy to lift his head only to glare at the sofa before him, like it was some sort of enemy. He wasn't weak, he could fuckin' stand and even fight if he had to... Hell, didn't he just save Arthur a minute ago? He tense slightly, waiting for the Englishman to try and convince him to sit down so that he could argue with him, but luckily, the Brit followed it up with an excuse good enough for Alfred to finally give in.
"You're not going to stop bleeding by standing up..."
That meant he wasn't being weak, he was just doing what needed to be done to survive.
Nodding his agreement, America managed to stumble along on his own well enough for the first part of their short trip, but before they had even managed to crossed the heavily damaged room, over to where the couch was, the younger solider had been forced to lean heavily on Arthur's shoulder for support, depending almost fully on the smaller man to carry him the last few feet as he panted heavily, whatever blood he was unable to swallow slowly dripping down the side of his mouth in a small stream.