Eternal suffering.
Suffocating over and over again.
Can't feel any extremities. Can't feel my face.
Face? Do I have a face anymore?
I can't breathe.
…He's home…
Don't look
What was there even left of him? Not much. He had been emptied inside out. What was left was being constantly woven back together and then consumed, over and over. He was nothing more than a tree to pluck fruit off.
He's coming back
"Down here!"
The lights hurt
"Jesus christ!"
There's no god here.
"Call the coroner and forensics unit."
There's too many of them. You won't find them all.
…
"What do you think happened…"
Theres nothing left… of me…
…
"Shit!...it's breathing"
…
End this…please…
—- —-
"Hi, you've reached the number of ALFRED F. JONES. At the tone, please leave a message! SCRAW!"
Alfred groaned as he rolled over in bed. The damn answering machine wasn't muted again. He blindly grabbed for his glasses, squinting hard at the time displayed on the clock.
"4 in the morning?" he breathed, "who the fuck calls at four in the morning."
Alfred rubbed his face. If it's important, they'll leave a message. He rolled back over, intent to ignore the call.
"Hi Mr. Jones. This is the Landstuhl Regional Medical Center in Landstuhl, Germany; intensive care unit. We have a patient, Arthur Kirkland, who is in our care, and you have been listed as his primary contact. In the event that he-"
Alfred quickly whipped the covers off his bed and dove for the phone.
"Hi, this is Mr. Jones."
"Ah. Mr. Jones. I'm a part of the intensive care unit here in Landstuhl Regional Medical Center." The receptionist's accent was thickly german. "I'm sorry to have to make this call, but we've a patient here, Arthur Kirkland. You're listed as his primary contact."
Alfred squeezed his eyes shut. His half awake brain wasn't fully comprehending what was being told to him.
"He is currently in critical condition. Our doctors are administering lifesaving care, but in the event that he does not make it, you have also been listed as next of kin."
Next of kin?
Alfred slightly shook his head. "Hold up… I'm sorry. I just woke up. I need a moment."
"Of course."
Alfred took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Arthur Kirkland? He's dying? What happened?"
"That's currently under investigation." The receptionist said it so matter-of-fact.
Alfred huffed in disbelief. What the hell had Arthur done to land himself in a hospital with a pending investigation?
Actually, you know what. I don't want to know.
Arthur never bothered to check in on Alfred when he was feeling sick or was hurt or wounded. He didn't see now why Alfred should return the favor.
"If he passes, we will need you to sign release forms. We can do it virtually but it would be-"
"Yeah, I got it." Alfred interrupted. "Listen. I am in America right now, and this man doesn't mean anything to me. I am the wrong number to call."
There was a brief pause. "Is there anyone else we can contact?"
"Francis Bonnefay" Make it his problem. "He's in France. He can get there a lot quicker than I can anyway."
Alfred gave the nurse Francis' number, and then promptly hung up.
He threw the phone on the bedside table and flopped back into bed. The warmth of the blankets were more important to him than some asshole nation. Just as he got comfy, Alfred's personal phone started ringing.
"FUCK me!"
Alfred snatched his cell off his nightstand, not even bothering to see who was calling. "What!"
"I just got a call from the hospital! It's Arthur!"
Alfred groaned and flopped into his pillow. "Ugh. I know Francis. I told them to leave me alone."
"What?"
Alfred grumbled as he rolled over. "Francis, I don't care. Okay. He's an ass. And countries don't die. You know that. I'm going back to sleep."
"Alfred, wait!"
Alfred hung the phone up and put it on silent. It was too early for this bullshit.
—-—-
Alfred's head was pounding when his alarm went off at 8:00. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and instinctively grabbed his phone.
What the…
36 unread text messages and 7 missed calls from Francis.
What the hell…
Alfred leaned into his phone, brows pulling together.
"Alfred, why did you hang up on me"
"This is serious"
Alfred, answer the phone."
"I'm on my way to the hospital"
"It's going to take me a few hours to get there."
"Have you heard anything back from the hospital?"
"I'm almost there."
"I'm here.
"He's in the ICU unit."
"Alfred, this is serious."
"I need you here"
"Alfred, please pick up the phone."
"Alfred, they need documents signed. I can't sign them."
"Alfred, pick up the phone for god's sake"
"They won't let me see him, I need you here."
"Pick up the phone!"
Alfred felt his stomach churn as he read through the texts. He cared far more for Francis than he did Arthur, and now understanding how stressed Francis was, he began to feel bad about icing the other nation out. If Francis was this upset over the situation, it must mean that it's serious.
Alfred sucked in a shaky breath, reality starting to settle. The two had been estranged for quite some time, yet for some reason, Arthur had made Alfred his next of kin. Not Arthur's brothers, not Francis. Him. And now, Alfred was the only one who could deal with this problem, despite feeling it wasn't his problem at all.
He'd have left it alone if it wasn't for Francis.
Alfred gazed back over the texts, body hunched over his bed. He knew he should call, but he wasn't quite sure what to say. Instead he sent a single message to France.
"I'm on my way."
—-
Flying to Germany wasn't all that miserable when Alfred had access to international military flights. It made an 8 hour flight more like 6. Despite the shorter flight time, Alfred didn't get to the hospital until 10:30 pm.
The red glow of the EMERGENCY sign pooled around Alfred's feet like a bad omen. He stood in front of the ICU doors, frozen in time. He wasn't really sure what to expect, if he was honest. He knew Arthur was inside, but It was hard ignoring the gnawing feeling that Alfred was seeing the wrong person. A hospital in Germany? Why was he here now instead of two months ago?If he had the opportunity, he would have traded Gilbert for Arthur in a heartbeat.
No one said it, but everyone at the burial felt like it was partially their fault Gilbert died. At the very least, Alfred felt like he was partly to blame. He was a bad friend for not being there. What would life be like if it was Gilbert who was inside? Would Alfred have even shown up? Would Gilbert have made it? The guilt of desperately wishing he could do it over started to build. He has that opportunity with Arthur, but he felt like Arthur wasn't worth it.
He didn't want to go inside. Perhaps he was scared of what he'd find in the hospital.
Alfred tried to shake the thought. Francis was the only reason he was here. The Frenchman had been more of a brother to Alfred in his adult years than Arthur. When Alfred needed encouragement and strength, Francis had been there to offer it. He gave Alfred pride where Arthur gave him shame. Alfred owed it to him to show up and take care of the situation.
With a hesitant stride, Alfred entered through the ICU doors.
Check-in halls, late at night, always feel eerie. There aren't really people, and the patients don't come from the front. The only company was a nurse, smacking gum, behind a fluorescent lit desk. When Alfred approached, she didn't even lift her head.
"Willkommen im Landeskrankenhaus Landstuhl. Kann ich einen Namen bekommen?"
"Uh…." Alfred's German was good enough, but she spoke so fast he was caught off guard.
The receptionist lifted her head from her computer and looked Alfred up and down, "huh… American. Your name please?"
Alfred grew embarrassed. "Alfred F. Jones."
She nodded then looked back down as she scribbled his name on a sticker sheet. "Who are you trying to see today?"
"Arthur Kirkland."
"Alright, one moment please."
The click clack of her computer keys were deafening and the gum smacking didn't help. When she popped a bubble, it made Alfred jump. "He's on floor four. I'll notify the front desk that you're coming. Elevator is on the right. Keep your name tag on at all times. Doors will lock behind you."
Alfred took the sticker from the receptionist, then followed her instructions as he was told. Hospitals were always so matter of fact.
The waiting room on the fourth floor was a little warmer in decoration only. There were chairs, some tables, a vending machine, and small tvs. There were people as well, but Alfred would have preferred the check-in desk over the waiting room. The air was so cold here. Everyone looked so lost and worried and grey. It felt hopeless. Alfred tried not to stare as he approached the check-in desk. The receptionist was a little nicer, and Alfred was told a nurse would see him shortly to escort him to Arthurs room. For now, he just needed to sit and wait.
Alfred nodded his head, and turned towards a receding seating area. In the corner closest to the ICU doors stood Francis.
The man was pacing back and forth, his head bowing down into his phone. His frazzled blonde hair hung in uneven clumps as it fell out of his loose bun. He was muttering something to himself. Alfred was slow to approach. When he cleared his throat, Francis' face shot up, his eyes bloodshot.
The Frenchman stood, mouth slightly ajar, before quickly giving the young nation a weak hug. Alfred froze, taking in the sensation. Francis was cold and his heart was beating fast. It was so loud, he could hear it. After the initial shock was over, Alfred returned the hug. Francis' weight felt heavy in his arms. After a few moments, Francis took a deep breath and stood back up.
"I was worried you weren't going to make it." Francis pushed the hair out of his face. "Pardonne-moi… it's been a terrible day."
Alfred nodded in understanding. "I'm sorry I wasn't here sooner. And for ignoring you. You know who the old man is to me. I didn't realize it was this serious."
"Well…. I'm just glad you're here now."
"Have you seen him?" Alfred rolled his suitcase to the side and took a seat, Francis remained standing.
The Frenchman shook his head. "They won't let me. Patient confidentiality paired with these damn covid rules. They need next of kin to sign a release form for visitors."
"Oh" Alfred looked down at his hands in guilt. Covid had changed a lot of things. Sometimes he forgot how different it was around the rest of the world. "Did they at least tell you how he's doing?"
Francis wiped at his eyes. "Not really. They're very strict around here. I keep waiting for some nurse to come up and tell me 'I'm sorry.' It hasn't happened yet, but I just feel like it will and I…" Francis trailed off as he stared back at the ICU doors. Tears stains on Francis' cheek glistened under the cold blue lights..
It was clear Francis was struggling. Feeling guilty, Alfred got up, took France's hand in his own, and guided the older man to a chair. "When was the last time you ate Francis?"
Francis gave a weak shrug as he sat down. "Nations can go months without food, what is one day?"
Although Francis was right, hunger was still palpable to them. All Alfred had on him was a bag of chips, but it was better than nothing, so he offered it to Francis. The Frenchman refused at first, but gave in after Alfred waved the bag around.
Alfred leaned in while Francis nibbled the chips, carefully studying his face. Francis looked exhausted. There were dark circles under his bloodshot eyes, his lips were chapped and his skin was puffy and slightly red. Alfred wasn't a newcomer to alcoholism. He knew it when he saw it.
"Are ... .Francis, are you sober right now?"
France's head shot up, his brows furrowed together, clearly upset Alfred would insinuate he was an alcoholic.
"Yes. I am."
Alfred narrowed his eyes, "How long."
"..."
"Fracnics."
He sighed and slumped into the back of the chair. "...Since I got here…" Fracnis squeezed his eyes shut and dropped his head in shame. "It's disappointing, I know."
Alfred sat in silence as he let France's words set. He had never seen such a noble man crumble like this. Alfred reached out to comfort him, but was interrupted by a nurse calling from the ICU ward entrance.
"Alfred Jones."
Francis opened his eyes and looked into Alfred's, a small plea behind them. "Come back as fast as you can." He whispered.
Alfred nodded, slightly jolted by the desperation. He tried not to look back when he went to meet the nurse.
"Mr. Jones, this way please."
The nurse opened the door, his arms cradling a clipboard with a thick packet on it. Alfred hesitantly followed the nurse into the ward.
The ward was just as cold as the first floor, with the nurses station in the center of the wide hallway. Every door was closed, and every curtain drawn. There were no voices, only muffled monitors beeps, clacking computers, and rasping, expiring breaths.
The nurse led Alfred to a white door at the end of the hall. He hung the clipboard on the wall, then pushed open the door for Alfred. The American looked at the nurse hesitantly before going inside the room. When he saw Arthur, Alfred froze.
The surgeons had done their best to make Arthur presentable, if one could call it that. Arthur's caved, purple body lay rigid on a hospital bed, with multiple wires and tubes connected to machines. His arms, or what were left of them, rested by his sides and his head was propped on a pillow. Most of his body was hidden under either bandages, blankets, or machinery. Pathetic gasps paired with the weak beat of the heart monitor
The younger nation stood there in shock.
"I understand this is a lot to take in. I have paperwork when you're ready."
He couldn't believe what he was looking at. "Can… I have a moment please?"
"Just ring the buzzer when you are ready." The nurse dipped his head and left.
Alfred blinked the shock from his eyes. Wanting to get a closer look, he approached the bed.
Unfortunately, Arthur's appearance only grew worse the closer Alfred got. All that remained of Arthur's right arm was a bandaged nub at his bicep. His left arm was intact, but not by much. On his hand were just two swollen fingers, nothing else. IIrregular lines of black puffy stitches spidered up the remaining arm until it disappeared under the hospital gown. Half of Arthur's face was hidden behind bandages, the other half trapped under a ventilator. Alfred couldn't see much other than the blood that crusted the nation's swollen eye and crudely attached hairline. The only sign that Arthur was really alive was the beeping from the machines. Surely, whatever mess he found himself in wasn't as surface level as amputations and stitches. What was the blanket trying to hide?
The younger nation stared at Arthur's mangled body, emotions and memories starting to push to the surface.
Who had Arthur been to him these last few years? Nothing really. A long time ago, Arthur meant the world to Alfred. This would have broken his younger heart. Hell, maybe even a couple of decades ago, Alfred would have wept at the sight. But things were different now. The two had grown apart, and Alfred never truly let go of the anger he felt towards England for being so selfish.
Alfred crossed his arms as he looked down at Arthur, the shock having finally settled. He clicked his tongue, unsure of what to make of the situation. Arthur looked like he was dying. It was as plain as that. And yet…Alfred didn't feel pity, or sadness, or even empathy. As he stood over Arthur, he could only think of all the ways the Brit had let him down, disappointed him. Hurt him even. Every shortcoming bubbled to the surface, and it only relit the anger Alfred felt towards him.
Arthur didn't deserve to have Alfred here.
So, what of it then, this lifeless nation on the bed in front of him? He must come with a lot of problems. A lot of problems that were about to be Alfred's. And why was Alfred here instead of one of Arthur's actual brothers? Maybe they hated him more than Alfred did.
Family is complicated, or so he's heard.
Alfred stood, silently, for a few minutes more before ringing the nurse back in. He came back quickly, with documents to sign. Alfred didn't want to deal with it, so he only asked for the visitation release. He'd get to the rest of them tomorrow morning. Once Francis was authorized to enter, the nurse retrieved him.
Alfred slouched down into the chair at the other side of the room, biting back the bitterness he felt. He kept his gaze on Arthur as he wondered what the Brit had done to land himself in this hospital.
Whatever it was, he deserved it.
Alfred's eyes broke contact with Arthur when Francis entered the room. Francis had been crying again, his cheeks wet from the tears. His eyes were wide and pleading when they met with Alfreds. He knew that look. It was the same one he gave Francis several weeks ago at the funeral.
Alfred shrugged his shoulders with a small shake of his head. There was no reassurance to be found. Only acceptance of their new reality.
Francis inhaled sharply and set down his bags. Alfred's response was enough to put a rush in him, but he only got a few steps into the room before he stopped. Alfred only watched, with indifferent eyes, as Francis took in the scene, his shoulders shuddering and arms held tightly.
For a few minutes, only the weak beeps of the heart monitor and rasps of the ventilator could be heard. Everything else was quiet.
Francis slowly turned around to face Alfred. The tears were back, falling steadily down his cheeks and onto the floor. Alfred was taken aback by it. The whites of Francis' eyes shocked him so much. No one has ever looked at him with such helplessness before.
Francis wiped his nose, then tried to give Alfred a weak smile. "He's always been a fighter..." It was so weak Alfred almost missed it.
Francis took a deep breath, unfolded his arms, and quietly pulled the other chair next to Arthur's bed. After he sat down, the country gently rested his head on the bed rail and, very gingerly, picked up Arthur's bandaged hand. He paused for a moment before pressing a gentle kiss onto it.
The gesture was so artistic, it took Alfred's breath away. One moment Frances was shuddering with tears streaming down his face, then the next he was gently stroking Arthur's arm like it was just a bad dream.
Alfred leaned forward in his chair, intently watching.
Francis was so lost next to Arthur that it took a few minutes for him to finally look up and catch Alfred's stare.
"Oh…." the Frenchman closed his eyes, tears squeezing out when he did so. "...You're watching," he whispered.
Alfred breathed in, feeling like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "I…" he looked down at his hands, then over to Arthur's face. "Yes, I…was… You're a better sight than him."
Francis huffed a weak laugh and opened his eyes, "Don't be mean. He can probably hear us." His eyes panned over to England's mashed face. There was a type of love in Francis' gaze that Alfred always admired. The Frenchman loved so deeply, and so openly. He never hid it. Seeing that gaze softened the tension in the room.
Alfred rested his head into his hands. "You're selfless Francis."
The comment made France freeze. After a few seconds, he bowed his head down, almost as if in defeat, then scoffed. "Am I supposed to say thank you?"
"Perhaps not. You just are. That's all."
"hm…" Francis laid his head back on the railing, "...You know… I loved him for a long time." He was quiet. "I loved him fiercely, I loved him casually, I loved him while cities were crumbling and while flowers were blooming… I still love him… We have grown in and out of each other's paths, yet we always end up at the same place. It's funny, isn't it… Even when we grow apart, I love him.."
Alfred felt a knot of guilt tangle in his stomach. He looked down at his feet, ashamed that he wasn't like Francis, whilst also exhausted by the idea of caring that much.
"...do you think he'll live?" Alfred's voice was so low, it was almost a hum.
Francis was quiet for a moment. "I don't know," he replied, "If you had asked me in the fall… I would have said yes. But… I suppose it's different now."
Different….
The weight of the departed hung heavy in the air. It was hard ignoring it. Gilbert's passing had challenged what everyone knew about themselves. Suddenly, death was tangible.
Alfred picked at the nails on his hands. The silence was starting to make him fidget. He couldn't stand it. Every beep on the heart monitor made him feel more and more guilty for not wanting to be here.
"You were beheaded, right? You've technically died?" Alfred blurted it out without thinking.
Francis snorted at the comment before taking a deep sigh. "I have… yes…" His hand gently touched his neck where a scar had faded. Alfred had always suspected it, but it was the first time he had the balls to ask.
"What was it like?"
Francis closed his eyes as he tried to remember, his brows furrowing. "Scary. Trying to gasp but you can't breathe. You can't talk. You can only blink. I didn't know if I'd come back "
Alfred looked towards England. "Was it like this then?"
Francis huffed as he shook his head. "Our pains are a unique experience Alfred. You cannot compare, you can only acknowledge."
Alfred signed and slumped back into the chair. The silence was back, and Afred started tapping his feet. Francis was so protective over Arthur. What had Arthur done to deserve such devotion. And why was Alfred…jealous of it? It was annoying.
"Why do you like him anyway?"
France's head lifted up from the bed, and he sat up straight in the chair, jolted by the inquisitiveness. His brows pulled on his face as he looked at Alfred. The stare made Alfred feel small and stupid. It was too late now.
Francis started to open his mouth, paused, then took a deep breath in. He tried to rest his facial features, but it was clear the subject pushed his boundaries.
"When you have been alive for more than a millennium, you learn to find comradery. Not many others share our burdens. Arthur and I have watched mighty nations fall and impressive dynasties crumble. At times, we too have felt that heavy blow. Yet, over the centuries, we continued to build our nations. I have watched him grow up, and all things considered, he carries his burden well." Francis turned his head back toward Arthur, a longing in his eyes. "He's not all that bad when he lets down his guard. He has the heart of a child, a wild imagination. I admire his youthful spirit, even though he tries to hide it. To stay young is difficult when you get to be our age."
Francis reached up and gently stroked the blood soaked hair of the Brit, "You realise…that this is all you have… and you have to protect it, and nourish it."
Alfred was quiet. His lips twitched like he wanted to say something, but he could only watch with shame that he didn't share that bond. He always pushed everyone aside, so focused on himself. He never thought about who'd be standing there when he failed. Who would hold him until he could stand. It felt complicated. He wanted it to be Arthur. He missed that feeling when he was a kid. He missed Arthur holding him and telling him stories and promising that he'd always be there.
For the first time that day, Alfred started to cry.
He didn't realize that he had already lost what he wanted from Arthur a long time ago. He was never going to be loved like this by him. And Alfred wasn't sure if it was his fault or not. Maybe he didn't try enough? Or he wasn't good enough. And now that there was a very real chance that Arthur might not wake up, Alfred desperately wanted it all back. He wanted to be held by him again. He wanted Arthur to hold his hand again and hug him again. Alfred wanted Arthur to comfort him the way Francis was cradling Arthur. It was unfair. It was too late. It was gone. Alfred didn't know if he should be angry, or sad, or spiteful. He wasn't supposed to be the one just sitting on the chair and watching.
It was all too much. Alfred felt like he was choking. He abruptly stood from the chair, wiped his face, and left the room. He wasn't supposed to be there. He wasn't wanted. He was just there to sign papers and get back home. That's all there was to it.
Alfred broke into the hallway and gasped for air. He just needed this to be over. Please…
His timing was too convenient. One of Arthur's caregivers bumped right into Alfred. She looked up, wide eyed, before clearing her throat.
"There's a policeman here for you."
For god's sake…
Alfred quickly wiped away his tears. "For me?"
She looked at Alfreds name tag then nodded. "He's in the waiting room." The nurse then grabbed the charts on the side of the wall and went inside the room.
Did Alfred want to talk to another person at the moment? No, not really. Truthfully, he wanted to go back home. But home wasn't an option, and he was quickly realizing he'd need to stay in Germany for a lot longer than two days.
Figuring he didn't have much of a choice, Alfred took a deep breath and headed down the hallway. No one needed to see him cry over a man who didn't care about him. At the very least, maybe the officer could provide some answers. Either way, the next couple of days were going to be tough.
Arthur, whatever you did, it better have been worth it.
((I'll still be posting here as I update chapters, but Ao3 has artwork that is being uploaded to the earlier chapters. I'm very excited to be back on this project and hope to see the end of it with you all! thank you so much for sticking around 💜 ))