Re: fill (3/7)
anonymous
March 17 2010, 05:30:45 UTC
--
“There’s a visitor, Mr. Jones.”
America’s blue eyes didn’t move from their gaze. He only nodded in silence. His hand held his cheek, elbow on a nearby desk, as he sat and stared at England. He had dozed off in this position a few hours ago, but weariness still gnawed at his mind. He wouldn’t fall asleep again, not until night. Then he might find a few hours for himself. Maybe. As he continued to watch the still body of Arthur Kirkland, he started to think that sleep wasn’t that important, and staying awake to make sure England was okay was his priority.
Footsteps stopped outside the door. A shadow of the person fell on the ground, and America’s eyes lazily drifted to the tile floor. Then, he looked back up to Arthur. His free hand stroked his beau’s cold cheek, and he wondered if he was dreaming anything. He wondered what was going through his mind, if there was anything at all.
But when the footsteps crept closer and the shadow became more defined, America’s blood chilled and his heart began to race. Sweat collected on his hand, now off his cheek, and his eyes darted to the side.
Beside him stood a disheveled Russia. The scarf seemed like it had been singed at the bottom; and the hair on his head looked burned as well. He looked exhausted, like he had been in a duel with his inner demons. His skin, naturally pale, was looking like ash. The violet eyes that America had hated so many years ago were faded in color, and it almost looked like he’d been crying. However, he still had that so-called pleasant smile on his face and a sunflower in his hands - but that was burned as well. “Ah,” he spoke with that childish tone, his head tilting at the sight of America, “Ivan did not know Alfred would be here!”
Those ‘friendly’ words were like nails on a chalkboard. How could that stupid man possibly expect him not to be here? America’s teeth grit and he had to try hard not to squeeze England’s hand harder, as he had been holding it. He let his hand go and gently placed his arm back down, then stood and turned to face Russia with malevolence in his eye. The world knew the power that America had when agitated or upset, and that power was so very visible in the personification of the nation. “Get out,” he growled through his teeth, his fists clenching and unclenching to try and control himself.
Deep inside him, he felt a rumbling, a growl; a monster wanting to leap out and rip at this intruder’s throat, and make him pay for what he’d done.
Russia looked a bit taken back, but his expression didn’t change. “I came to see England,” Russia explained while taking a few more steps. “Russia wants to see him okay.” But America had stepped in his path, his teeth bared and the glare still on his face. For a moment, Russia’s smile faded and he stared down at America with weariness and slight irritation. “America moves now, da?” he asked lowly. “Russia’s patience is not great today.”
Without warning, hands landed on Russia’s broad chest and he gave a rough shove, causing Russia to tumble backwards a few feet. America went with him, his hands digging into the brown coat covering a broad chest. He felt like his nails wanted to rip and claw at Russia’s heart; or maybe his hands wanted to slide up Ivan’s chest and get at his throat. Anything, anything to make him feel as much physical pain as England must have been in, and as much psychological pain as America was hiding. “I said GET OUT!” he yelled, shoving Russia against the wall and leaning up to him. They were face-to-face, and his steel blue eyes stared into violet orbs with hate burning the pages back to the Cold War. “Now,” he hissed. He gave one last shove and released Russia, took a step back and waited for him to leave.
Re: fill (3/7)
anonymous
March 17 2010, 05:33:43 UTC
The aura around Russia made goose bumps creep up and down America’s back, but he wouldn’t allow this person to stay in the same room with the very person he’d attacked. Ivan stared at America and took a slow step forward. America responded quickly, standing in the path to England’s bed once more. “America is making mistake,” Ivan slowly responded, a hand reaching and gripping America’s shoulder. “Is upsetting Ivan, da?” One rough squeeze, and he had shoved America to the side. He ignored the skidding of his boots on the tile and now loomed over England. His head canted to the side and his smile returned. “So peaceful,” he spoke, reaching a hand to touch the unconscious country.
Horror was stained on Alfred’s face. He knew Russia’s intent was anything but making sure England was fine. Either his boss had sent him there or he decided to finish the job - it didn’t matter what the excuse was. He wasn’t welcome, and America wouldn’t stand by and let him try to take England away again. The weariness he’d felt - the exhaustion, hunger, and gnawing worry - faded. Adrenaline pumped through his veins, and Alfred stood up and charged at the taller Nation.
He had to protect the one he loved, since he couldn’t protect himself.
America reached around and snatched Russia’s wrist and twisted back, ignoring the snap he heard in the appendage. Russia’s breath hitched, but America kept attacking. He yanked the larger country away from the smaller and, with a death grip on his injured wrist, sent a fist into Russia’s jaw. He hit him with such a force that Russia tumbled to the ground, taking America with him as well, still dealing blows and trying to destroy this demon of a man that had dared to attack England. Russia hit the tile so hard that America swore he saw a crack appear. He didn’t care. He held Russia down by his wrists, ignoring that he had sprained or broken one of them, and leaned his head forward to stare Russia in the eye.
“Stay away from him,” he spoke loudly, his voice wavering. His throat was running dry, and he could feel the urge to cry rising in him. “You’ve already… it’s your fault he’s like this!” He pointed blindly with one hand at the bed and returned to holding the nation down. His eyes were wide and tears were forming as his voice rose. “It’s all YOUR FAULT!” He grabbed onto Russia’s jacket and slammed him back into the ground, his eyes tightly closed. “Your … fault!”
“America!”
He didn’t even bother to look up to see who had called to him. He knew that voice. He let go of the Russian’s robes but took a hold of his wrists again, as tight as he had before. Instead, he felt two hands on his shoulders and heard a quiet but calming voice behind him. “America-san, let Russia-san go.” America started to shake, determined not to be moved from his spot. Japan’s hands gripped a little harder, but his voice remained as level as ever. “America-san.”
The first voice returned, and from the corner of his eye he saw Canada, kneeling at his side, a hand on one of his. “Please, Al,” Matthew begged, “let him go.” His voice was quivering as well. Maybe it was because Russia scared him, or maybe it was America who was frightening now. Perhaps it was the worry he had felt for his brother, the concern for his lack of self-care and reaction to all of this. He didn’t want to be seen as protecting Russia, but America attacking him wouldn’t do any good.
His grip tightened on Russia’s wrists at first. How could he, when this was the man that had sent England to the hospital in the first place? This was the man who had nearly torn England away from him, and they just expected him to let him off the hook.
Re: fill (5/7)
anonymous
March 17 2010, 05:35:16 UTC
America’s eyes opened in realization. England would have stopped the fray before it’d begun. He would have taken America aside and would have calmed him down - but he was basically comatose in the bed, unaware that all of this disarray was occurring. Still, the words hit home.
Jones slowly slackened his hold. Japan took his arms and coaxed him into a standing position, but America gently nudged his way out of Kiku’s grasp. He moved quietly back to England’s side, but never turned his back on Russia, who was getting up with the help of a reluctant Canadian. “I want him out,” he blurted again, still glaring at Russia and still very much ready to fight.
Canada moved to his brother. “America-”
“England would want him out, too!” he shouted, pointing an accusing hand at the tallest person in the room. “And you know it, so don’t be defending him!” His shaking hand fell, and America turned away. He collapsed in the chair beside England’s bed and hung his head. He took a hold of Arthur’s limp hand like he was searching for support from the country that backed him on most issues. How could he, however, when he couldn’t even stay awake? England might not have supported a fight, hypothetically, but America knew that any sane person would want their attacker out of their room.
Japan’s brown eyes narrowed. He cast his gaze to Russia and sighed quietly. “Russia-san. It would be better if you left.” He, like many other countries, was upset at Russia for what he had done, but he wasn’t as hostile and violent as America had expressed being. However, if he didn’t leave soon, he was willing to call someone to make him leave. Kiku glanced at Canada, who nodded in agreement, then looked back to the Russian before him. “Please.”
Ivan said nothing. He focused on his wrist, turning it and wincing slightly as he did so. He looked over at America with something similar to a glare, but he was too tired to do anything about it. Putting on his false smile, Russia nodded. “Da. Russia will be going now.” He moved quietly and with purpose, brushing by the stony-faced Japan and through the doorway. He didn’t even give a lasting ‘do svidaniya’ to bid them farewell.
He was gone almost as quickly as he had arrived, but America’s defenses were still up. He glanced over his shoulder at the door and looked back to England, then glanced to Canada and Japan, who only stood and watched him in waiting. His lip quavered, and he quickly turned his attention back to England. He trembled. His throat was dry again, his hands shaking and sweaty. He hadn’t been quick enough. He hadn’t been sharp enough. He almost let Russia get to England again; he would have hurt him again …
Canada’s hand on one of his shoulders made him look up to his brother. Matthew frowned. America looked so tired. He opened his mouth to talk, but realized that he had already said everything there was to say. What else could he do? He looked at England and noticed America slowly and gently pushing him away, like he was afraid that he would hurt the already injured country. “America,” Canada spoke with a hurt tone, “I wasn’t going to…” His shoulders sagged. “I wouldn’t hurt him, you - you know that.”
America swallowed thickly. He could feel Japan moving to his side as well. He covered his eyes with his hand, his other hand squeezing England’s desperately for a response. “How can I know?” he asked with a strained voice. His hunger and exhaustion were returning, adding to his cracking emotions, and how far that crack would split his mind was unknown to him. He swallowed again. “How can - how can I know that he’ll … he’ll be safe?” The hand over his eyes wiped at them, and he sniffled, his shoulders trembling and his heart sinking. “How can I trust anyone not to hurt him…?”
Re: fill (6/7)
anonymous
March 17 2010, 05:36:36 UTC
Japan was quiet for a moment. He thought to the people he, too, wanted to protect, and looked at the breaking American before him. “It is a risk everyone must make, whether they love someone or not. It is a risk of living.”
America bit his lip. He shook his head, inhaling a shaking breath. “I just want to protect him,” he whispered. In different circumstances, he would have cared about how weak he must have looked. He would have cared about crying in front of other nations. But now, he just didn’t.
Neither Matthew nor Kiku knew how to answer him. Canada knelt and put an arm around his brother, worry washing over his face. Japan put his hand on his friend’s shoulder in condolence. America wanted so badly to protect England from every danger on earth. He wanted to know that his dearest friend would be safe at all times, would be able to go to bed without worry for the safety of his country.
He was a hero. Surely, he could protect England from all the bad things in the world. That couldn’t be so hard, if he loved him as much as he did.
And he loved him so much that it hurt sometimes.
--
The fourth week was there, and America was beginning to think things he shouldn’t have been.
What if he never woke up? What if he woke up, but died after? What if he was already dead? The ‘what if’s’ were bothering Alfred. England was waking up less and less, and when he was awake he didn’t really realize what was going on. But even in the face of all this, America didn’t leave his side.
He couldn’t leave his side.
He was curled on the bed, his head in his arms. He sat in his seat, as he always had, and found himself finding a moment for a nap. He was becoming such a light sleeper, though, that just the footsteps outside the door roused him awake. He would check to make sure that England was still there and that they were alone then would curl back up and try to get some rest again. If he did manage to get the briefest sleep, it was a miracle. His thoughts were blocking him from falling too deep into slumber, if falling at all.
Russia had tried once again to get into the hospital room, a few days after the first try. This time, however, the nurse gave him a heads up, since she saw that their last encounter ‘didn’t go so well.’ America had left the room for two minutes and thirty seconds - he timed himself - to get Russia off of the hospital floor and out of range of England. He would have taken longer had he not lunged at the man and started ripping and yanking at his limbs to try and tear him into bits. Two doctors and a nurse had to restrain him, and Russia left soon after. The doctors almost called America out of the room, but with a few calls to prominent friends America was able to stay.
After that encounter, America was jumpy and aware of every noise, every presence. He nearly decked Prussia in the face when he tried to visit with Canada. He had been falling asleep and Prussia and Canada came into the room. America woke up in an instant and went to attack, but Canada managed to block his brother and wake him up in time to save a freaked out Gilbert. When China came to visit, just a touch on the shoulder and America jolted and stood to guard England. Hong Kong came with Yao on that visit and had stepped to protect his elder brother, but realized that America had come to his senses. The world began to worry more and more for America and not England. England was making no landmark progress, nor was he worsening. But America was slowly cracking. The saddest part, they all agreed on, was that this was out of his love for England.
Re: fill (7/8)
anonymous
March 17 2010, 05:37:20 UTC
America reflected on all this and found himself unable to sleep, as usual. He groggily stood and stretched, walking to the window. The blinds were opened a moment after, and he looked out over London at 0100 hours. The city was still recovering; buildings were still destroyed and rubble littered the streets. Cracks and holes in the road prevented travel in some parts, and sections of the city where the lights had been brightest no longer were lit in the night. He gazed up at the stars and the bright, full moon, and wondered if that same moon was what England saw roughly a month earlier, before his dear city was attacked. He noticed, however, that it was looking better with every passing day, slowly, surely, recovering.
He turned away from the window and looked at the man asleep in the bed. Alfred slowly walked over, his eyes filling with sadness as he approached. If the city and the people were healing, why wasn’t England waking up? Taking his seat at the side of his bed, he took a hold of one of his beau’s hands and lifted it up to his lips. “You’re stealing all my sleep, Arthur,” he spoke, his voice dry and filled with exhaustion. A sad smile cracked his lips, and he curled his arms back so his cheek rested on them. His hand still held onto England’s like it was a lifeline. “I wish you would wake up,” Alfred whispered in heartache.
America turned his head away to try and get some sleep. He didn’t get very far, because an odd feeling grabbed his attention. He lifted his head and looked at his hand with raised eyebrows. Maybe it was just his eyes, but he thought he had seen - and felt - England’s fingers moving. He narrowed his eyes and chalked it up to his eyes playing tricks on him, until he saw the older country’s fingertips twitching again. America straightened his slouch and looked at England’s face. Was his head always turned towards him? America bit his lower lip. ‘Please, Arthur,’ he thought helplessly, ‘please wake up…!’
And for the first time in a week, America saw green eyes open.
England’s eyes fluttered opened slowly. He blinked one eye and then the other, like his body was out of time. Within a few seconds, he corrected himself and tried to settle his fuzzy vision. The haze in his mind didn’t help, either, nor did the pain slowly creeping from all over his body. Arthur closed his eyes again and let out of quiet groan. He didn’t want to wake up yet. Just a few more hours … just a few more days …
“Arthur, are you with me?”
That voice rung out in England’s mind. He forced his eyes open again and tried to focus on the person beside him. The feeling of his hand, the shape of his body and the sound of his voice made him realize who it was, but he wanted to see him for himself; he needed to see him. England’s mouth opened, and his throat, dry as the Sahara, managed to croak out his name. “Am … America?”
He couldn’t contain himself. America swept the tired England gently into his arms, cradling his form in his embrace. He gently stroked his hair and rocked him back and forth, his face buried in his shoulder. He was grinning, but tears were promising to start spilling from the corners of his eyes. “You know it,” he replied quietly, nuzzling his lover as gently as he could. England knew he was there. That’s all America needed to know. He hesitantly pulled away, afraid the somewhat unresponsive England had fallen back into unconsciousness. But he saw instead that he was merely staring ahead at America, tears falling from his eyes. Arthur’s hand shook as he grasped America’s hand, and America showed his smile for the first time in months.
England knew he was there. He had spoken; he was awake; he was holding Alfred’s hand, and America missed that feeling so much. He knew, at that moment, that Arthur was going to be fine. He knew right then that everything would be okay.
Re: fill (8/8)
anonymous
March 17 2010, 05:38:05 UTC
--
It took another week for England to leave the hospital.
The night he woke up, America had the nurses come and check on him. Shortly after, he fell back asleep. It would have worried America, but England had curled close to the side of the bed that he was sitting near. He also continued to hold America’s hand throughout the night, and America finally got a few good hours of restful sleep.
The countries came and went in a week-long flow of congratulations. England found out that America had texted everyone when they both woke up, and word spread quickly. Arthur also found out that America had stayed with him the entire time he was at the hospital. America found it “retarded” that everyone was making such a huge deal out of his loyalty and protection of England. England, on the other hand, wasn’t so ready to let it pass him by like it was nothing. It worried him, learning how violent America had gotten during his unconsciousness. He was also upset at how stubborn Alfred had been about staying in the room and not eating or sleeping. Overshadowing all of that, however, was how touched he was at America’s dedication to him.
And he stayed there with him, just as he promised, until England left.
The sun was harsh on his eyes. He held a hand up as America pushed him in the wheelchair down the ramp and towards his car. He laughed, but found himself having to shield his eyes as well. “Sun too bright for ya, Sleeping Beauty?” he teased with a grin. England quickly reached to hit America, but Alfred leaned away with an innocent whistle. He’d turned his worries into teasing, as he always did, and hardly relented about his near comatose. He even went so far as to call himself the Prince that kissed the princess awake, a note that England didn’t enjoy, since he hadn’t been kissed awake - and he certainly wasn’t a princess.
“You’re one to talk, git,” England scoffed as they strolled along the grass and on the sidewalk. “You’ve been stuck in there as long as I’ve been, and you could have just as easily left.” He rolled his eyes, his arms folded slowly so not to reopen some of his more tender wounds. He was recovering well, but some particularly nasty injuries were still at risk of worsening.
America whined, “But I didn’t want to!” He stopped the wheelchair for a moment and walked around in front of England. “I wasn’t about to leave ya like that, y’know,” he spoke softly, a small smile on his face. He hunched over, hands on his knees, looking at England at an eye-to-eye angle. “But geez, you really scared me there!” One of his hands lifted to reach and stroke Arthur’s cheek, a gesture that made him blush. America’s smile grew slightly. He was looking great, the color returned to his cheeks and the warmth to his touch.
Arthur sighed. He looked past Texas and into America’s blue eyes. They had brightened over the last week, he noticed, and he was looking quite like himself again, a sign England was thankful for. “Do you think I intended to remain like that for as long as I had?” He took America’s hand and gently played with his fingers and traced a nail over his palm. “Just … if - if it ever happened again …” He frowned. He wanted to say, ‘don’t do it again’ but he didn’t like the idea of America not being there when he woke up, not being there to watch over and make sure that everything was well. Knowing that he had a guardian angel to stay by his side like that made his heart swell.
“I’ll take better care of myself, how ‘bout that?” he finished. America grinned. “’cause I’m not about to leave you behind!” Not like something like that would ever happen again. He was going to protect England, and he was going to make sure that he was safe from any nightmare like this. He leaned forward and their lips met in a chaste kiss. No matter how many times they had kissed since he had woken up, America couldn’t get over how wonderful it was to kiss him and get a response.
When they parted, England smiled. America walked back to his spot behind the chair and when they moved again, Arthur nodded. “I’ll keep you to it,” he spoke. He could feel America smiling, and he looked up at the sky and the sun. It was unusually sunny for London, and he took it as a good sign. He would make it through.
Not OP but I just discovered this story from the US/UK meme archive. I loved every bit of this, and just to let you know author!non, you totally made my night with this fic. There really needs to be more overprotective US fics especially if all of them are going to be as amazing of a read as your fill.
Anon here loved this. I had always wanted to see a story like this, and yours was everything I could have wished for. England waking up was such an emotional scene...!
I...actually cannot believe this was filled so fast! I hadn't checked on it in a long time and I saw it today in the updated us/uk archive and literally screamed!!
This was so, so beautiful. Really, I don't think you could've done a better job, and it just came out so wonderfully. America's anger was so, so vivid and real, and the scene with England waking up literally had me in tears ;_____;
Honestly, OP could not possibly be any happier. Author!Anon has made OP's life and thanks them immensely for doing all this <3<3<3 Really, cannot thank you enough.
“There’s a visitor, Mr. Jones.”
America’s blue eyes didn’t move from their gaze. He only nodded in silence. His hand held his cheek, elbow on a nearby desk, as he sat and stared at England. He had dozed off in this position a few hours ago, but weariness still gnawed at his mind. He wouldn’t fall asleep again, not until night. Then he might find a few hours for himself. Maybe. As he continued to watch the still body of Arthur Kirkland, he started to think that sleep wasn’t that important, and staying awake to make sure England was okay was his priority.
Footsteps stopped outside the door. A shadow of the person fell on the ground, and America’s eyes lazily drifted to the tile floor. Then, he looked back up to Arthur. His free hand stroked his beau’s cold cheek, and he wondered if he was dreaming anything. He wondered what was going through his mind, if there was anything at all.
But when the footsteps crept closer and the shadow became more defined, America’s blood chilled and his heart began to race. Sweat collected on his hand, now off his cheek, and his eyes darted to the side.
Beside him stood a disheveled Russia. The scarf seemed like it had been singed at the bottom; and the hair on his head looked burned as well. He looked exhausted, like he had been in a duel with his inner demons. His skin, naturally pale, was looking like ash. The violet eyes that America had hated so many years ago were faded in color, and it almost looked like he’d been crying. However, he still had that so-called pleasant smile on his face and a sunflower in his hands - but that was burned as well. “Ah,” he spoke with that childish tone, his head tilting at the sight of America, “Ivan did not know Alfred would be here!”
Those ‘friendly’ words were like nails on a chalkboard. How could that stupid man possibly expect him not to be here? America’s teeth grit and he had to try hard not to squeeze England’s hand harder, as he had been holding it. He let his hand go and gently placed his arm back down, then stood and turned to face Russia with malevolence in his eye. The world knew the power that America had when agitated or upset, and that power was so very visible in the personification of the nation. “Get out,” he growled through his teeth, his fists clenching and unclenching to try and control himself.
Deep inside him, he felt a rumbling, a growl; a monster wanting to leap out and rip at this intruder’s throat, and make him pay for what he’d done.
Russia looked a bit taken back, but his expression didn’t change. “I came to see England,” Russia explained while taking a few more steps. “Russia wants to see him okay.” But America had stepped in his path, his teeth bared and the glare still on his face. For a moment, Russia’s smile faded and he stared down at America with weariness and slight irritation. “America moves now, da?” he asked lowly. “Russia’s patience is not great today.”
Without warning, hands landed on Russia’s broad chest and he gave a rough shove, causing Russia to tumble backwards a few feet. America went with him, his hands digging into the brown coat covering a broad chest. He felt like his nails wanted to rip and claw at Russia’s heart; or maybe his hands wanted to slide up Ivan’s chest and get at his throat. Anything, anything to make him feel as much physical pain as England must have been in, and as much psychological pain as America was hiding. “I said GET OUT!” he yelled, shoving Russia against the wall and leaning up to him. They were face-to-face, and his steel blue eyes stared into violet orbs with hate burning the pages back to the Cold War. “Now,” he hissed. He gave one last shove and released Russia, took a step back and waited for him to leave.
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Horror was stained on Alfred’s face. He knew Russia’s intent was anything but making sure England was fine. Either his boss had sent him there or he decided to finish the job - it didn’t matter what the excuse was. He wasn’t welcome, and America wouldn’t stand by and let him try to take England away again. The weariness he’d felt - the exhaustion, hunger, and gnawing worry - faded. Adrenaline pumped through his veins, and Alfred stood up and charged at the taller Nation.
He had to protect the one he loved, since he couldn’t protect himself.
America reached around and snatched Russia’s wrist and twisted back, ignoring the snap he heard in the appendage. Russia’s breath hitched, but America kept attacking. He yanked the larger country away from the smaller and, with a death grip on his injured wrist, sent a fist into Russia’s jaw. He hit him with such a force that Russia tumbled to the ground, taking America with him as well, still dealing blows and trying to destroy this demon of a man that had dared to attack England. Russia hit the tile so hard that America swore he saw a crack appear. He didn’t care. He held Russia down by his wrists, ignoring that he had sprained or broken one of them, and leaned his head forward to stare Russia in the eye.
“Stay away from him,” he spoke loudly, his voice wavering. His throat was running dry, and he could feel the urge to cry rising in him. “You’ve already… it’s your fault he’s like this!” He pointed blindly with one hand at the bed and returned to holding the nation down. His eyes were wide and tears were forming as his voice rose. “It’s all YOUR FAULT!” He grabbed onto Russia’s jacket and slammed him back into the ground, his eyes tightly closed. “Your … fault!”
“America!”
He didn’t even bother to look up to see who had called to him. He knew that voice. He let go of the Russian’s robes but took a hold of his wrists again, as tight as he had before. Instead, he felt two hands on his shoulders and heard a quiet but calming voice behind him. “America-san, let Russia-san go.” America started to shake, determined not to be moved from his spot. Japan’s hands gripped a little harder, but his voice remained as level as ever. “America-san.”
The first voice returned, and from the corner of his eye he saw Canada, kneeling at his side, a hand on one of his. “Please, Al,” Matthew begged, “let him go.” His voice was quivering as well. Maybe it was because Russia scared him, or maybe it was America who was frightening now. Perhaps it was the worry he had felt for his brother, the concern for his lack of self-care and reaction to all of this. He didn’t want to be seen as protecting Russia, but America attacking him wouldn’t do any good.
His grip tightened on Russia’s wrists at first. How could he, when this was the man that had sent England to the hospital in the first place? This was the man who had nearly torn England away from him, and they just expected him to let him off the hook.
“Would England-san want you fighting like this?”
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Jones slowly slackened his hold. Japan took his arms and coaxed him into a standing position, but America gently nudged his way out of Kiku’s grasp. He moved quietly back to England’s side, but never turned his back on Russia, who was getting up with the help of a reluctant Canadian. “I want him out,” he blurted again, still glaring at Russia and still very much ready to fight.
Canada moved to his brother. “America-”
“England would want him out, too!” he shouted, pointing an accusing hand at the tallest person in the room. “And you know it, so don’t be defending him!” His shaking hand fell, and America turned away. He collapsed in the chair beside England’s bed and hung his head. He took a hold of Arthur’s limp hand like he was searching for support from the country that backed him on most issues. How could he, however, when he couldn’t even stay awake? England might not have supported a fight, hypothetically, but America knew that any sane person would want their attacker out of their room.
Japan’s brown eyes narrowed. He cast his gaze to Russia and sighed quietly. “Russia-san. It would be better if you left.” He, like many other countries, was upset at Russia for what he had done, but he wasn’t as hostile and violent as America had expressed being. However, if he didn’t leave soon, he was willing to call someone to make him leave. Kiku glanced at Canada, who nodded in agreement, then looked back to the Russian before him. “Please.”
Ivan said nothing. He focused on his wrist, turning it and wincing slightly as he did so. He looked over at America with something similar to a glare, but he was too tired to do anything about it. Putting on his false smile, Russia nodded. “Da. Russia will be going now.” He moved quietly and with purpose, brushing by the stony-faced Japan and through the doorway. He didn’t even give a lasting ‘do svidaniya’ to bid them farewell.
He was gone almost as quickly as he had arrived, but America’s defenses were still up. He glanced over his shoulder at the door and looked back to England, then glanced to Canada and Japan, who only stood and watched him in waiting. His lip quavered, and he quickly turned his attention back to England. He trembled. His throat was dry again, his hands shaking and sweaty. He hadn’t been quick enough. He hadn’t been sharp enough. He almost let Russia get to England again; he would have hurt him again …
Canada’s hand on one of his shoulders made him look up to his brother. Matthew frowned. America looked so tired. He opened his mouth to talk, but realized that he had already said everything there was to say. What else could he do? He looked at England and noticed America slowly and gently pushing him away, like he was afraid that he would hurt the already injured country. “America,” Canada spoke with a hurt tone, “I wasn’t going to…” His shoulders sagged. “I wouldn’t hurt him, you - you know that.”
America swallowed thickly. He could feel Japan moving to his side as well. He covered his eyes with his hand, his other hand squeezing England’s desperately for a response. “How can I know?” he asked with a strained voice. His hunger and exhaustion were returning, adding to his cracking emotions, and how far that crack would split his mind was unknown to him. He swallowed again. “How can - how can I know that he’ll … he’ll be safe?” The hand over his eyes wiped at them, and he sniffled, his shoulders trembling and his heart sinking. “How can I trust anyone not to hurt him…?”
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America bit his lip. He shook his head, inhaling a shaking breath. “I just want to protect him,” he whispered. In different circumstances, he would have cared about how weak he must have looked. He would have cared about crying in front of other nations. But now, he just didn’t.
Neither Matthew nor Kiku knew how to answer him. Canada knelt and put an arm around his brother, worry washing over his face. Japan put his hand on his friend’s shoulder in condolence. America wanted so badly to protect England from every danger on earth. He wanted to know that his dearest friend would be safe at all times, would be able to go to bed without worry for the safety of his country.
He was a hero. Surely, he could protect England from all the bad things in the world. That couldn’t be so hard, if he loved him as much as he did.
And he loved him so much that it hurt sometimes.
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The fourth week was there, and America was beginning to think things he shouldn’t have been.
What if he never woke up? What if he woke up, but died after? What if he was already dead? The ‘what if’s’ were bothering Alfred. England was waking up less and less, and when he was awake he didn’t really realize what was going on. But even in the face of all this, America didn’t leave his side.
He couldn’t leave his side.
He was curled on the bed, his head in his arms. He sat in his seat, as he always had, and found himself finding a moment for a nap. He was becoming such a light sleeper, though, that just the footsteps outside the door roused him awake. He would check to make sure that England was still there and that they were alone then would curl back up and try to get some rest again. If he did manage to get the briefest sleep, it was a miracle. His thoughts were blocking him from falling too deep into slumber, if falling at all.
Russia had tried once again to get into the hospital room, a few days after the first try. This time, however, the nurse gave him a heads up, since she saw that their last encounter ‘didn’t go so well.’ America had left the room for two minutes and thirty seconds - he timed himself - to get Russia off of the hospital floor and out of range of England. He would have taken longer had he not lunged at the man and started ripping and yanking at his limbs to try and tear him into bits. Two doctors and a nurse had to restrain him, and Russia left soon after. The doctors almost called America out of the room, but with a few calls to prominent friends America was able to stay.
After that encounter, America was jumpy and aware of every noise, every presence. He nearly decked Prussia in the face when he tried to visit with Canada. He had been falling asleep and Prussia and Canada came into the room. America woke up in an instant and went to attack, but Canada managed to block his brother and wake him up in time to save a freaked out Gilbert. When China came to visit, just a touch on the shoulder and America jolted and stood to guard England. Hong Kong came with Yao on that visit and had stepped to protect his elder brother, but realized that America had come to his senses. The world began to worry more and more for America and not England. England was making no landmark progress, nor was he worsening. But America was slowly cracking. The saddest part, they all agreed on, was that this was out of his love for England.
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He turned away from the window and looked at the man asleep in the bed. Alfred slowly walked over, his eyes filling with sadness as he approached. If the city and the people were healing, why wasn’t England waking up? Taking his seat at the side of his bed, he took a hold of one of his beau’s hands and lifted it up to his lips. “You’re stealing all my sleep, Arthur,” he spoke, his voice dry and filled with exhaustion. A sad smile cracked his lips, and he curled his arms back so his cheek rested on them. His hand still held onto England’s like it was a lifeline. “I wish you would wake up,” Alfred whispered in heartache.
America turned his head away to try and get some sleep. He didn’t get very far, because an odd feeling grabbed his attention. He lifted his head and looked at his hand with raised eyebrows. Maybe it was just his eyes, but he thought he had seen - and felt - England’s fingers moving. He narrowed his eyes and chalked it up to his eyes playing tricks on him, until he saw the older country’s fingertips twitching again. America straightened his slouch and looked at England’s face. Was his head always turned towards him? America bit his lower lip. ‘Please, Arthur,’ he thought helplessly, ‘please wake up…!’
And for the first time in a week, America saw green eyes open.
England’s eyes fluttered opened slowly. He blinked one eye and then the other, like his body was out of time. Within a few seconds, he corrected himself and tried to settle his fuzzy vision. The haze in his mind didn’t help, either, nor did the pain slowly creeping from all over his body. Arthur closed his eyes again and let out of quiet groan. He didn’t want to wake up yet. Just a few more hours … just a few more days …
“Arthur, are you with me?”
That voice rung out in England’s mind. He forced his eyes open again and tried to focus on the person beside him. The feeling of his hand, the shape of his body and the sound of his voice made him realize who it was, but he wanted to see him for himself; he needed to see him. England’s mouth opened, and his throat, dry as the Sahara, managed to croak out his name. “Am … America?”
He couldn’t contain himself. America swept the tired England gently into his arms, cradling his form in his embrace. He gently stroked his hair and rocked him back and forth, his face buried in his shoulder. He was grinning, but tears were promising to start spilling from the corners of his eyes. “You know it,” he replied quietly, nuzzling his lover as gently as he could. England knew he was there. That’s all America needed to know. He hesitantly pulled away, afraid the somewhat unresponsive England had fallen back into unconsciousness. But he saw instead that he was merely staring ahead at America, tears falling from his eyes. Arthur’s hand shook as he grasped America’s hand, and America showed his smile for the first time in months.
England knew he was there. He had spoken; he was awake; he was holding Alfred’s hand, and America missed that feeling so much. He knew, at that moment, that Arthur was going to be fine. He knew right then that everything would be okay.
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It took another week for England to leave the hospital.
The night he woke up, America had the nurses come and check on him. Shortly after, he fell back asleep. It would have worried America, but England had curled close to the side of the bed that he was sitting near. He also continued to hold America’s hand throughout the night, and America finally got a few good hours of restful sleep.
The countries came and went in a week-long flow of congratulations. England found out that America had texted everyone when they both woke up, and word spread quickly. Arthur also found out that America had stayed with him the entire time he was at the hospital. America found it “retarded” that everyone was making such a huge deal out of his loyalty and protection of England. England, on the other hand, wasn’t so ready to let it pass him by like it was nothing. It worried him, learning how violent America had gotten during his unconsciousness. He was also upset at how stubborn Alfred had been about staying in the room and not eating or sleeping. Overshadowing all of that, however, was how touched he was at America’s dedication to him.
And he stayed there with him, just as he promised, until England left.
The sun was harsh on his eyes. He held a hand up as America pushed him in the wheelchair down the ramp and towards his car. He laughed, but found himself having to shield his eyes as well. “Sun too bright for ya, Sleeping Beauty?” he teased with a grin. England quickly reached to hit America, but Alfred leaned away with an innocent whistle. He’d turned his worries into teasing, as he always did, and hardly relented about his near comatose. He even went so far as to call himself the Prince that kissed the princess awake, a note that England didn’t enjoy, since he hadn’t been kissed awake - and he certainly wasn’t a princess.
“You’re one to talk, git,” England scoffed as they strolled along the grass and on the sidewalk. “You’ve been stuck in there as long as I’ve been, and you could have just as easily left.” He rolled his eyes, his arms folded slowly so not to reopen some of his more tender wounds. He was recovering well, but some particularly nasty injuries were still at risk of worsening.
America whined, “But I didn’t want to!” He stopped the wheelchair for a moment and walked around in front of England. “I wasn’t about to leave ya like that, y’know,” he spoke softly, a small smile on his face. He hunched over, hands on his knees, looking at England at an eye-to-eye angle. “But geez, you really scared me there!” One of his hands lifted to reach and stroke Arthur’s cheek, a gesture that made him blush. America’s smile grew slightly. He was looking great, the color returned to his cheeks and the warmth to his touch.
Arthur sighed. He looked past Texas and into America’s blue eyes. They had brightened over the last week, he noticed, and he was looking quite like himself again, a sign England was thankful for. “Do you think I intended to remain like that for as long as I had?” He took America’s hand and gently played with his fingers and traced a nail over his palm. “Just … if - if it ever happened again …” He frowned. He wanted to say, ‘don’t do it again’ but he didn’t like the idea of America not being there when he woke up, not being there to watch over and make sure that everything was well. Knowing that he had a guardian angel to stay by his side like that made his heart swell.
“I’ll take better care of myself, how ‘bout that?” he finished. America grinned. “’cause I’m not about to leave you behind!” Not like something like that would ever happen again. He was going to protect England, and he was going to make sure that he was safe from any nightmare like this. He leaned forward and their lips met in a chaste kiss. No matter how many times they had kissed since he had woken up, America couldn’t get over how wonderful it was to kiss him and get a response.
When they parted, England smiled. America walked back to his spot behind the chair and when they moved again, Arthur nodded. “I’ll keep you to it,” he spoke. He could feel America smiling, and he looked up at the sky and the sun. It was unusually sunny for London, and he took it as a good sign. He would make it through.
And Alfred would be there every step of the way.
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This is so very bookmarked. <3
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Thank you so much author!anon <3
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This was so, so beautiful. Really, I don't think you could've done a better job, and it just came out so wonderfully. America's anger was so, so vivid and real, and the scene with England waking up literally had me in tears ;_____;
Honestly, OP could not possibly be any happier. Author!Anon has made OP's life and thanks them immensely for doing all this <3<3<3 Really, cannot thank you enough.
*hugs you like crazy*
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