AN: Sorry about that last chapter. But please review!
England lay there in utter disgrace, tears still streaming down his face. "Oh god, why…" Arthur thought as he tried to move the gag from between his lips and free his hands.
It wasn't a second later that Sherlock busted through the door with John, seeing the miserable nation laying broken on the floor.
"Oh God!" John cried as he quickly ran to England's aid, untying the poor man. "What happened?"
England slowly sat up as he pulled his clothing back on, tears still pouring down his face. "I…I'm sorry. I need a minute," the nation said as he stood. He went into the bathroom where he proceeded to lock the door and weep. He felt awful, he felt weak, and he felt…broken. His pride was smudged and his dignity was kicked aside like some lost dog.
He looked up at his reflection in the mirror, snarling with disgust. "Some man you are!" he shouted, punching the mirror as it shattered. The broken pieces of glass broke the flesh around his knuckles, blood dripping onto the white tile counter. Screaming, he leaned against the wall, sliding down to the floor in defeat, drawing his knees to his chest. "Oh god…" he whimpered. "Wh-Why that…" Sobs wracked his body as he gasped for air.
"Arthur!" Sherlock was banging on the other side of the door. "Open the door immediately!"
England cupped his face in his hands and continued to weep, unable to pull himself together. He had been through wars, trauma, death, but never something like this. It wasn't only the violation of his body that bothered him, but the fact he was terrified of this new nation. The fact he could swallow up anyone at any moment was horrifying. Nobody should have that much control of another person's life. Nobody.
"Arthur, please!" John chimed in, trying to coax him out. "Please."
England shook his head, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. "What the bloody hell is wrong with you, Arthur," he coughed to himself. "Pull yourself together." Sighing, he slowly forced himself off the bathroom floor and unlocked the door. "Sorry about that," he said as he forced himself to smile, trying to think of something else. "What did you chaps find out?"
Sherlock sighed, seeing right through Arthur's show. But he also knew they didn't have a lot of time. He quickly went into exact detail of everything that had taken place in the woods near the broken air craft.
"I see." England sighed, wiping his eye again. "So wait," he paused, "During that time that he talked to you, he was also able to go all the way to France, and then come here?"
"I found that odd as well," Sherlock retorted. "So either France was already in England, or he may have had somebody go there to take him."
England shuttered at the thought of a nation that was able to absorb others. Coughing, he paused as a sudden terrifying thought popped in his head. "Oh my god," he quickly started running for the door, "America is alone in the hospital!"
A figure sauntered down the corridor of the hospital, dragging his finger along the walls and humming casually. "And they sang bye bye, Miss American pie..." The man paused his singing as he stopped in front of a very specific room. Grabbing the handle, he slowly pushed the door open to see Alfred's body sleeping quietly. The man grinned as he continued again, "Singing this will be the day that you diiiiiiiiiiiie..."