[fanfiction]: The Three D's (Alfred, Kiku)
He had been alive, but barely, when America hooked him up to life support. Grimacing, gasping, blood gurgling in his lungs, and yet trying to make a sucking chest wound look inconsequential, Japan knew he was best at such activities. What was worse, to him, yet, was that he was now separated from the friends he held dear, cherished, in his own right; their tripartite was dissolved. It was over.
It was tears of desperation over this realization, rather than humiliation that began to fall as America made quick work of oxygen lines and tubing, hooking it deftly over Japan’s ears, brushing his cornsilk hair backwards in the process, and into his nostrils. America did not seem to notice, or if he did, he didn’t mind; the way his mind worked, he was either completely oblivious, or was trying to give Japan some manly emotional space.
“O--kay, and that looks good!” America pronounced, stepping back to examine his handiwork; the sucking chest wound was a bit alarming to look at, but he had done his best to make sure nothing spilled out. He wondered vaguely how Japan’s internal organs weren’t burned to a crisp, and then shrugged off the thought. Being a country of pure pioneering spirit, he often treated severe wounds as a problem of determination; it all boiled down to how much you wanted to recover from a sucking chest wound. Right?
“Right?” He insisted to Japan, who, having momentarily closed his eyes to gather more strength, regard America with a small amount of resentment (something, no doubt, totally missed by the younger, and brutally stronger country), and more desperation. America patted the frail, bloodied shoulder of Japan.
Japan, who had been about to respond, instead regurgitated a healthy gobbet of blood with the forcefulness of the pat. America immediately stepped back, raising his hands in the way one does when afraid they have just broken a fragile and priceless object. Almost immediately after this, however, Japan reopened his eyes (a testament to the tenacity that kept Japan alive, despite his frail body, no doubt), speaking through gritted, blood-stained teeth.
“I kind of hate you.” America only reacted as if this were minorly troublesome.
“Hm.” He said, lips pursing and brow furrowing, as if Japan had remarked the weather were cloudy, and treated the statement as such, moving along as if he hadn’t heard anything.
“Well, you won’t be needing this anymore.” With this, he lifted the heavy war-sword in the corner of the room, hefting it and eying its length with appreciation. “Nice. I wouldn’t think someone as small as you would be able to handle such a big sword.”
From Japan, there was no outward response; his lips pursed, his eyes closed, and he turned his head away from the youth exuberantly swinging his precious sword about. Possibly contrary to what America was thinking, this moment was an extremely emotional one to Japan, which was possibly why it was so startling to America to turn and find Japan’s face wet with tears.
“What else?” America paused, resting the tip of the sword against the ground upon hearing the huskiness of Japan’s voice. “What else shall you take from me?”
“Hmmm.” He seemed to consider this, gently flexing the blade as he leaned on it. “Nothing else, really… Maybe I should do something about those guys in charge right now, though… Oh, and now that we’re not fighting anymore, you can say anything you want, just not about me. Hmmm.” He contemplated this a while longer, before holding up a finger in epiphany. “Ah, right!” Stepping closer to the bed, he removed a document from his inner jacket pocket.
“I made you a new Constitution, since your old one was what got you into so much trouble in the first place. Isn’t that great?” Japan, who had not yet really thought one way or another about such a thing in a very long time, could only be shocked.
“W-wait just a minute!” Japan, as fragile as he was, still managed to bristle at the offending piece of legislature passed unwillingly upon him; and though he generally agreed the old Constitution was, indeed, what had gotten him into trouble in the first place, he had not reached that point where he had realized it.
Alfred took some time to rearrange tubing that had worked its way loose in Kiku’s frantic writhing, and when everything was to his satisfaction, he resumed as if the other nation had said nothing to the contrary.
“I hope you like it. Cause even if you don’t, you’ll have to accept it anyway. My boss says so.” America smiled blithely, as if not even anticipating Japan’s ill-will towards the situation. The document disappeared back into the now-beaten bomber jacket. “But maybe not right now.” And suddenly, there was a sort of gripping tenderness in the youth’s eyes that made Japan wonder if America had known all along. He reached forward and took one of Japan’s small, birdlike hands between his own.
“You know, Japan, I’m really happy. We get to be friends again, just like in the old days.” And he climbed, with a gentleness and adroitness that Japan would not have granted such a rambunctious, muscle-bound youth, into the bed beside Japan, lacing an arm behind Japan’s head. “I’ll be here for you, okay? You’re going to be okay.”
And with America’s warm breath whispering against his brow (even with a youth beside him who smelled of steel and oil, even with the sensation that he was losing something irretrievably and forever), Kiku felt, for the first time in a long time, that it would be.