Hey guys and gals! I'm sorry if this story seems weird and out of place, I'm trying a new genre and getting back into the swing of writing. I hope you like it to any degree
Arthur released a pained groan as his body jerked in one direction. The left, he reasoned. Something soft touched his fingers before his whole body rested against it. His blonde head rested against the soft surface angled toward the right, where a bright light shined in his dazed eyes and caused him to wince and try to turn his head away.
"Sir, don't move." The voice was somewhere above him. "You were just in a car accident and we can't afford you to move around too much because more damage can occur to you." Suddenly England felt his body being jerked upwards, causing another groan. "We're taking you to St. Hetalia Hospital."
England tried to look around and find America. "What about my partner?" He waited as he felt himself being wheeled towards – what he assumed – the ambulance. "Please! What about Alfred?!" Another jerk and more bright lights shined down onto him.
"His BP is elevated slightly," a voice to his left said, "seems his collarbone may be broken, and he's bleeding from his head. We need to stabilize the headwound."
"God save the Queen!" England screamed. "I am the personification of the United Kingdom and Northern Ireland! I have been through far worse! Now," breathed the irritated Brit, "where is my husband, the personification of the United States, Alfred?"
The EMT working on England looked at the nation and blinked, not knowing how to phrase it. "Your condition is our top concern and you are bleeding profusely from your head." The EMT pressed gauze against England's temple. "Your partner was sent to the hospital in the first ambulance, so I do not know what his condition is." The pressure against England's head caused him to yelp in pain. However, he felt a small pinprick of pain in his arm. Then, everything blurred out before going completely black.
The sounds of beeping machines echoed against England's ear drums, causing him give a small huff in irritation. He cracked his eyes opens and saw that everything was white. "A hospital," England concluded after seeing all the equipment, "Alfred!" England jerked up and jumped out of his bed, a small wince from the pain. Noting a white sheet separating the room England assumed that just maybe America might be behind it. He pushed himself to walk around his bed, jerking the white cloth away.
There lay America, unconscious. A bruise was flowered on his right temple and spread down to his cheek. His breathing seemed stable and he had no respirator strapped to his face. "Thank god," England breathed quietly. He stood by America's side and touched his lover's face gently. "You're not lost, my love." Pale lips graced slightly tanned skin of America's forehead. Emerald eyes took in America's face, but then the hairs on the back of England's hair began to stir. Something wasn't right. The Englishmen's eyes wandered down to America's midsection and his heart stuttered. "No . . ."
Where there was a healthy size bump for a seven-month old pregnant male there was nothing. It was almost completely flat, besides the slight swelling of tissue that had yet to recede and be exercised off. England's hand touched the swollen flesh and hoped to feel a kick that wouldn't come.
"Sir, you shouldn't be up yet," said a feminine voice. Slight tapping made its way to England's stature, then warm hands touched his arm. "Please go back to bed and rest."
England shook his head, despite it hurting. "No," England ground out, "th-the baby. Where is he?" He felt the nurse pulling him back to his bed gently. There wasn't any fight in him. She pushed him down onto his bed. "Please . . . Where is Charlie?" England looked into her eyes, tears threatening to spill.
The nurse stood back and looked down. Not a good sign. "I'm sorry, but your baby didn't survive the crash. When the doctor performed an emergency c-section it was already too late." She looked truly sad, and England hated it. The pity of she was giving to him hurt. "Would you like to hold him?" England paused for a few moments, then nodded. "I'll go get him, but can you please stay in your bed?" Another dull nod was given. She left quietly and England, keeping to his promise, pulled himself back underneath his thin sheets. He waited quietly, emeralds peered at America's sleeping form for a long period of time. Then, the nurse appeared holding a small bundle in her arms. "Here," she said quietly as she walked over and placed the bundle into England's arms, "He was a beautiful baby."
That word: was. It tore England's heart up because he had to face the reality that their baby was dead. He looked down and saw a healthy thatch of silvery blonde tresses. His fingers began to trace to the outline of his baby boy's face; memorizing every contour and divet. England could tell that Charlie would have had America's plump lips, and probably his daddy's dimples. "My baby boy," England whispered, "I'm sorry." He raised the cool infant to his lips and kissed his forehead. "You'll never be forgotten Charlie, never." England situated the deceased against his chest and held him as if he were alive, a hand caressing against the light blonde locks.
"Iggy?" a drowsy voice breathed out. "Where are we?" Emeralds turned and saw America turning slightly, a hand rested against its owner's forehead. Cerulean eyes appeared against drowsy laced eyelids, they began searching until they landed on England. "I-Iggy?" Seeing a small bundle against England's chest woke America up. The American sat up slowly, eyes never leaving the bundle. Then, they darted to look into England's, where tears began to slip free.
"I'm sorry," England whispered.
That was all it took for America to realize what had happened to their baby. Those tanned lids shut over the cerulean hues in a form of – England was hoping – acceptance after living for over 240 years of life.
"Why did this happen? Why is life unfair?" Tears trailed America's face as he looked down at his lap.
England coughed to get the nurse's attention and offered the bundle to her. She took the baby and walked over to America, who nearly cried out as he reached to hold his baby. This made England feel horrible as he watched his lover hugging their dead son tightly to his chest.
"I'm sorry."
"Why?" America said quietly, "Everything is my fault."