Chapter 7

"...Please forgive me, America"

He slowly moves it to a better and different position and pulls it.

A loud bang was made as he pulled the trigger. Even with the cities uproar, the bang was able to fit in and overpower the noise. The bullet pierced through the window, thus breaking it instantly. It then went through its target, instantly making a red circle around it. He shot his shoulder, dangerously close to his heart. The man fell hard on the floor, his eyes wide open with fear and confusion. His consciousness was starting to fail. On the other hand, his brother went down on his knees to check his condition.

"H-hey! You alright!?" he said quickly and put two fingers on his neck to check his pulse. It was rapid beating.

He heard sirens from the shattered window, the ambulance was coming. Thank you random person that called 911. Looking at the window, he sees a small head on the rooftop near them. It quickly disappeared. He must be the one who did this. Looking back at his poor brother, he checks again. His breathing was heavy and starting to grow shallow.

"Stay with me! The ambulance should be here soon..." he told him. He felt a hand hold on to his.

"...Thanks" He smiles and slowly closes his eyes.

The room started to feel quiet, minus the city background. He started to shake his brother a little.

He slowly set his head on top of his stomach. He held on to his hand and on the wound that had blood slowly spreading. He swore he heard his heart beat, but his mind was off somewhere to pay attention.

"Bro...?" He shook again, but harder.

"Bro...!?" Harder.

"Matthew...!?" Sniffle.

"Canada...!?" Tear.

"CANADA!"

He heard it from afar, the cry of sadness.

Finland continued to look ahead, covering his face from the crowd. He quickly walked towards a car and opens the side door. Putting the his bag in the back seat, he goes to sit in the front.

"How did it go?" the driver was looking through the window, then at the short Finn.

He didn't reply and was on the verge of tears. "...Okay... It went okay Iceland"

He nods and drives off. It was silent in the car, but was cut off by a small sob. Glancing at the Finn, he was trying to hold back a cry.

"I know how you feel..." he sighs, "I don't understand why Denmark wants you to do this"

Finland sniffs. "...I'm fine actually, but it's sad to see America and Canada like that..."

Another moment of silence comes in, which was the last. They reached their destination, a runway. The got out of the car and went into a small jet that was waiting for them.

"Hey Iceland" Finland finally said, looking down at a gift from an old friend. It was a cross of some sort.

"Yes?"

"How do you think Sweden is doing?"

He looked away. There was something Iceland knew that he didn't.

"...What's wrong?"

"...Sweden... He's..."

"He's what...?"

Iceland quickly takes out a photo from his bag underneath his seat and hands it to him.

"There happened to be a Finnish guard to take this picture" he said, not making eye contact with him.

Finland slowly takes it, scared of what the picture holds and even more slowly examines it.

Iceland swore he saw him tremble.

Place: Hospital - Albany, New York

Alfred sat nervously in the waiting room as he waits for his brother's condition. He covered his face with his hands to hide his muffled sobs. The clock was ticking away, but the sound mocked him. The ticking noise was making him wait endlessly, like an hourglass pouring a large unknown amount of sand. The sand on top not moving an inch, but it still poured. Finally, right when the final grain of sand reached the bottom just like the rest, the surgeon came out.

"How is he...?" Alfred said and looked up to meet his gaze.

He said heavily, which sounded like a bad thing to Alfred. "Well... He lost conscious due to his blood loss. Luckily, we were able to stop it before he lost more. Don't worry... But..."

There it goes, his hope goes down the drain. "But...?"

"He won't be able to get out of the hospital for at least a maximum of 2 weeks. He needs to rest and recover. If he quickly recovers, he can be out of here in a week"

Alfred sighed with relief. "Thanks... Can I visit him now?"

The man thought about it. "He's asleep right now. You can't come into the room yet but you can look through the door window. But you may visit him later today."

He nodded and thanked him again. Walking towards the door his brother was in, he saw him.

Matthew was on the bed, his glasses next to him (somehow unharmed) and his shoulder was wrapped in bandage. After many years of war and battles, he was used to seeing things like this. The problem being that this was his brother, he wasn't used to it at all. Standing there for a few more moments, he dialed up France.

Place: Paris, France

Francis was enjoying his time eating dinner. No news from England, nor America. He was about to take a sip from his wine when his phone vibrated on the table. Startled and carefully held his glass before it spilled on his clothes, he answered it.

"Bonjour! How are you Alfred?" he said cheerfully.

"Francis... Fly to New York, please" Alfred replied, the tone of his voice made Francis worried.

"Huh? What happened?"

"It's Matthew. He's... He's...-"

Francis immediately stood up and walked quickly to his room. Then stopped to go get his wine and drank it.

"I'm on my way, I'll be taking the fastest jet I can find" he said and hung up, off to pack his clothes for his flight to New York.

8 hours later...

Place: Hospital - Albany, New York

Francis sat next to the sleeping Canadian along with Alfred, who was standing on the other side of the bed. The beeping noises from the machine showed his heart beat. It showed and sounded normal, which was good. Alfred felt bad for the Frenchmen, who was staring at his brother. As if he was heavily thinking about something.

"Who did this to him Al...?" Francis finally said, looking up slightly to the American boy.

He didn't know how to answer. "I don't know... We were just having a little conversation and this guy was on the roof and..."

"Did you see who are what he looked like?" He interrupted him, wanting to get to the point.

The beeping noises from the machine echoed a pattern throughout the room, as Alfred thought about it for a quick while. "N-no... I don't have any idea"

Francis sighed heavily and glanced at the Canadian in bed. "I'm staying here with him until he recovers or when the shooter is revealed," He looked back at Alfred. "Mind if... I stay at your place?"

The American nods. "I'll be going then..." he started to walk towards to door.

"Hey Alfred"

He stopped and turned his head slightly. "Yeah?"

"Find out who shot Matthew and let me know as soon as possible"

He nods again and opens the door slowly. Ever more slowly, he closes the door which barely made a sound.

Eeyup, I fooled you (most of you at least). It was Canada that got shot, not America .w.