Hold Me Close [2/?]
anonymous
May 3 2009, 20:37:12 UTC
“England, what's wrong?” America asks, but England looks at him, he's terrified like a corner animal, and France walks in. His hand is on America's shoulder and he shakes his head; “Let me take over, America.” The younger blond nods and stands, moving to the doorway.
“What's your name?” France asks, standing and gazing down on England. He says something, but France hears a mumble of words, and re-asses his question.
“D-Don't know... Said I don't have one...” France narrows his eyes. So Russia's gone as far as to leave England completely name-less, “Do you know who I am? Or that guy over there?” England shakes his head.
“... Do you remember what they did to you?” France asks, and England flinches. His eyes hit the ground and a stream of explanations leave his mouth, but they are so slow and fast that France can't understand a single thing, and neither can America.
England's voice gradually grew louder, “They told me I wasn't who I was, I'm worthless, they'd come in here everyday with sharp objects and guns and they were loud and I was bleeding and then they'd grab my shirt and pants,” he clutches his head and his eyes grow wide and he can't stop the memories and France nearly topples over when America shoves him aside and dives to England's side.
“And they're coming, you're one of them aren't you? You're going to come here and you're going to beat me and do those horrible things and I'm going to die and--”
“England, stop! We're not here to hurt you! Calm down!” America shouts with a voice coated in worry, distress... pain, France notes. His hands are on England's bare shoulders, and his ramblings come to a miserable end, and America narrows his eyes. Without another thought about it, he pulls England into an embrace; “I'm so sorry...” he whispers, but England looks hysterical again, and shoves him away.
America falls back and looks at England with shock. “They're broken him completely.” France explains, his brow furrowing. Even if England has always been his rival, he can't help, but feel pity. He's always been a very head strong person and brave and now look at him.
His body is scarred all over, and his mind is even worse off if England can't even handle a little human contact. “Did they... rape him?” America asks as England still trembles, and France nods; “Probably. They've probably done it... in the crueler way, if he's left like this.”
The blond, young Nation looks down. As America, he's always had days where he just wants to beat himself up. The feeling is strong now, and all he wants to do is find Russia and kill him until he's dead and never gonna rise again, and drag the bastard down to hell for doing this... Doing this to England, damn that fucking bastard, he's going to kill him, he's going to kill him that Russia's going to regret ever doing this, and before he knows it, he's walking out of the jail cell with France's pistol in hand.
Russia, damn it, you're going to get this, I'm not letting you go, I'm going to make sure-- “America!” France grabs his shoulder, and America's broken out of his thoughts and all he sees is France's face, and, “Russia can wait for later. For now, I need you to help me get England out of here.”
America pauses; as much as he just wants to find Russia and give him Hell, no, no, worse then Hell, he can't now. His priority needs to lie with England.
“... All right, but... how? He doesn't even want us near him, but I don't think he can walk on his own...” America replies, and France nods; “Exactly, and in his mental state, convincing may just make things worse... so, America, I want you to knock him out. A hit to the back of the neck should leave him unconscious.”
“Knock him out?! You can't be serious, France!” America answers in defiance, but France shakes his head, “It's the only way for now. I don't know if anyone else is in here, and if there is, we're lucky no one's caught us yet. If he makes a fuss, we might get into some trouble.” He explains, and America turns his face to England.
So vulnerable and so weak... It breaks America's heart. I... I have to. I can't leave him here... America thinks, and walks over to England. He grasps his wrist and England can remember.
“What's your name?” France asks, standing and gazing down on England. He says something, but France hears a mumble of words, and re-asses his question.
“D-Don't know... Said I don't have one...” France narrows his eyes. So Russia's gone as far as to leave England completely name-less, “Do you know who I am? Or that guy over there?” England shakes his head.
“... Do you remember what they did to you?” France asks, and England flinches. His eyes hit the ground and a stream of explanations leave his mouth, but they are so slow and fast that France can't understand a single thing, and neither can America.
England's voice gradually grew louder, “They told me I wasn't who I was, I'm worthless, they'd come in here everyday with sharp objects and guns and they were loud and I was bleeding and then they'd grab my shirt and pants,” he clutches his head and his eyes grow wide and he can't stop the memories and France nearly topples over when America shoves him aside and dives to England's side.
“And they're coming, you're one of them aren't you? You're going to come here and you're going to beat me and do those horrible things and I'm going to die and--”
“England, stop! We're not here to hurt you! Calm down!” America shouts with a voice coated in worry, distress... pain, France notes. His hands are on England's bare shoulders, and his ramblings come to a miserable end, and America narrows his eyes. Without another thought about it, he pulls England into an embrace; “I'm so sorry...” he whispers, but England looks hysterical again, and shoves him away.
America falls back and looks at England with shock. “They're broken him completely.” France explains, his brow furrowing. Even if England has always been his rival, he can't help, but feel pity. He's always been a very head strong person and brave and now look at him.
His body is scarred all over, and his mind is even worse off if England can't even handle a little human contact. “Did they... rape him?” America asks as England still trembles, and France nods; “Probably. They've probably done it... in the crueler way, if he's left like this.”
The blond, young Nation looks down. As America, he's always had days where he just wants to beat himself up. The feeling is strong now, and all he wants to do is find Russia and kill him until he's dead and never gonna rise again, and drag the bastard down to hell for doing this... Doing this to England, damn that fucking bastard, he's going to kill him, he's going to kill him that Russia's going to regret ever doing this, and before he knows it, he's walking out of the jail cell with France's pistol in hand.
Russia, damn it, you're going to get this, I'm not letting you go, I'm going to make sure-- “America!” France grabs his shoulder, and America's broken out of his thoughts and all he sees is France's face, and, “Russia can wait for later. For now, I need you to help me get England out of here.”
America pauses; as much as he just wants to find Russia and give him Hell, no, no, worse then Hell, he can't now. His priority needs to lie with England.
“... All right, but... how? He doesn't even want us near him, but I don't think he can walk on his own...” America replies, and France nods; “Exactly, and in his mental state, convincing may just make things worse... so, America, I want you to knock him out. A hit to the back of the neck should leave him unconscious.”
“Knock him out?! You can't be serious, France!” America answers in defiance, but France shakes his head, “It's the only way for now. I don't know if anyone else is in here, and if there is, we're lucky no one's caught us yet. If he makes a fuss, we might get into some trouble.” He explains, and America turns his face to England.
So vulnerable and so weak... It breaks America's heart. I... I have to. I can't leave him here... America thinks, and walks over to England. He grasps his wrist and England can remember.
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