|
Post by England on Oct 3, 2012 20:53:20 GMT -5
When he fell over, England instinctively curled up, ducking his head so that if anything exploded next to him, he could protect his head. Someone was right next to him, and England wanted to scream at him to duck as well, because the people around him were all painfully human. He was alone out there. France had surrendered, Spain was uninvolved, his brothers had no way to get to London, and even if they did, they wouldn't come, Canada was fighting in France, and America was systematically refusing to come to his help. He was alone, and he hated feeling so cornered.
He blinked, and reality came rushing back to him for a moment. America was next to him, judging by his voice, and Spain was, too, talking to him. He couldn't see any of them, blind as a bat in the overwhelming darkness, but he did shakily try to get back up, finding purchase on the bunk bed opposite to his. He was being ridiculous. Spain was right. It was zombies and lightning. Zombies and lightning. Not soldiers and bombs. Not the Luftwaffe and incendiaries. He was in 2150, not 1940.
If England was in the right mindset, he would've been able to take proper decisions no matter what he felt. Then again, caught halfway between reality and a traumatic memory wasn't exactly doing wonders for his mental stability. So when a loud bang echoed at the front door, followed by a roar that indicated the presence of what he'd mentally dubbed a Beta-Type zombie, England lost it. The delicate line between a zombie and a soldier was erased, and everything became a common thing: an enemy.
"NO!" he yelled loudly, successfully getting up on his feet though his knees were shaking. As if to answer him, another bang sounded on the door, and England jumped, stepping back. His calves collided with what he did not recognize as the kneeling form of America, and he stepped back again. Bodies.
"No!" Quickly losing sense of his surroundings, he backed up into his bunk bed, hitting his head against the wood that made the base for the upper bunk. Heart beating loudly, he lurched forward, running back into the bunk opposite to theirs, and took a shaky breath. Even the walls around him felt like they were constricting and choking him. Like a coffin: he couldn't get out. And he was a dead man: dead inside and out one too many times.
"No!" he cried again, backing up sideways and ending up running into Spain. At this point, he was just already gone, eyes hazy and lost in a century that wasn't his. Bodies, bodies everywhere lying broken and twisted and alight with the fire that plagued his entire city.
England shook his head and backed into his bunk again, clamping his hands over his ears as if to stop the noise of exploding bombs and screaming civilians in his head. He didn't want to hear it, any of it. "Stop!"
|
|
|
Post by America on Oct 4, 2012 8:31:27 GMT -5
America had leaned back upon Spain's word to give England some air, though his body was itching to grab England ask what was wrong. He knew Spain was right, knew they ought to give England some sort of space, but the concern was threatening to outweigh the rationality in his mind. He didn't want England to panic while he sat back and 'gave him space'. He just wanted to hold the other nation, to comfort him in whatever ways would be necessary, to assure him that no harm would ever come.
And when Spain mentioned a light, America was more than ready to be helpful, more than ready to get that light. A light would help. If it was the dark causing England's fear, all they would need was some sort of light to calm him down. He had a flashlight under his pillow, for those 'just in case' situations. All that needed to be done was to turn it on and perhaps England would feel better.
But then the loud bangs and roars of the zombies just outside reached their ears. Coupled with the sounds of the thunder, wind, and rains, with the flashes of light that came through the windows, it truly was dreadful. England had stood and began panicking even more so, body bumping with everything, even America himself. The superpower quickly stood when he heard England yell, heart racing.
What the hell could he do to calm England down?
Remembering the light, he quickly walked over to the bunk, to where England stood, and reached under the pillow for his flashlight, turning it on with shaky hands. "it's okay, England," he said, grabbing onto the wrist of the other nation in hopes to comfort him with some form of contact. "L-Look. We have light and you'll be fine, alright?"
Again, his eyes wandered over to Spain, fearful and confused. "What's wrong with him?" he asked, trying not to sound too hysterical. If he kept a calm voice and a soothing demeanor, perhaps it might be able to make England see where he was, see that he was perfectly safe.
|
|
|
Post by [x] Spain on Oct 4, 2012 14:51:28 GMT -5
Panic welled deep inside Spain while he pitifully watched England sway back and forth, trapped within his own nightmare. Luckily, he realized he could see England and calmed down, only to jump back up at the sharp BANG of the zombie outside, trying to fight its way inside.
This night couldn't get any fucking worse, could it?
Before England decided to throw himself off the edge of the catwalk, Spain grabbed his wavering figure and pulled him closer to the wall, trying to keep him there and keep him somewhat still.
His voice, usually so chipper and smooth was rough and dry, sparing no energy on false optimism and happiness that wouldn't do a thing to help their present situation. "England's having an 'attack' if you will." He knew from personal experience that this could only end horribly if not treated right. "Do you remember the London Blitz? He's reliving that right now. Only it's half and half. He's registering that there's something different about this, but chances are it's only increasing the power of the memory." Shaking his head, he motioned for America to keep close to the Brit, just in case he decided to bolt. "I've experienced this before - several times, in fact. The only way to stop it is to get rid of the trigger." Sadly, in their current situation this wasn't going to happen. "We have limited options here. We either attempt to destroy the zombie quickly and efficiently, or we wait it out. However, England needs as many people that are alive around him to keep him somewhat sane. Pero if we leave this and try and wait it out, it might only get worse." With a steeled gaze, Spain looked at America, knowing full well that although he was a bit of a brat and was seen as irresponsible, when push came to shove, he knew how to get his shit together and make the hard decisions. "I have no authority in this matter. He is your lover, after all. You know what's best for him or at least I pray to every divine being you do."
|
|
|
Post by England on Oct 4, 2012 17:49:04 GMT -5
Someone was touching him and holding his wrist. England briefly struggled out of pure instinct, before freezing in the face of light. The source of light was tiny, and not enough to alleviate his worries, though. The first thought that came to him was a rescue worker, taking him away to safety. But where was he? Marble Arch Underground? The House of Commons? How many other survivors were there? The rescue worker's light was suddenly an enemy as well. It would show him everyone that hadn't been as lucky as him. It would show him how yet again, he'd evaded death he'd deserved, contrarily to his innocent citizens. It would show him how powerless and helpless he'd been yet again.
England did not want to see how broken he really was.
"Let me go!" He demanded, horrified when another set of hands pushed him backwards. Why were they touching him? Why wouldn't they leave him be, amongst the rubble and the bodies? "Stop!" Struggling, he ignored the voices around him and concentrated on getting free. He wanted to run, from both the people trying to hold him back and the enemy literally knocking on their front door. Unfortunately, he was surrounded. His breathing quickened as he looked around for an esape, only finding all issues blocked by the faceless owners of the restraining hands. Something snapped inside of him when his back hit the wall, and he let out a dry sob, putting his hands back over his ears.
It didn't do much to protect him when a sudden flash of lightning from outside blinded him with sudden light, thunder exploding loudly to accompany it. Electricity coursed inside England's veins as if he'd been struck by the bolt himself, and even before the flash faded, he found himself sliding back to the ground, curled up on himself, and teetering on the edge.
As the violent, thunderous noise outside ebbed away, a new noise emerged, just as loud and piercing.
England was screaming.
|
|
|
Post by America on Oct 4, 2012 20:15:34 GMT -5
The London Blitz.
It was pretty difficult to forget that particular moment in time. Yes, many years had passed. Yes, many things have happened. But he clearly remembered the pictures, the stories, the actual sight upon the burning of London, and it was awful. He knew it would never escape England's memory, especially, but he didn't know that such things would trigger the memories to hit him at full force. He didn't even know England would ever have an 'attack', if what Spain said was true. He thought England would have pushed it out of his mind during situations of things that triggered these attacks.
He felt ashamed to admit that he hadn't even considered the possibility of the London Blitz.
How would he be able to help now? He should know what was best for England, and yet, as he watched his lover panic right in his grasp, his mind drew a blank. He couldn't think of what to do. He couldn't of how to calm him down. All he could do was stare in a state of alarm as England drew away from him, as England let out a sob, as England's back hit the wall. He felt useless and stupid and utterly helpless.
Once England started screaming, America snapped out of his blank stare and made his way to the island nation's side, placing one hand on England's cheek and trying to hide the concern in his gaze. "Look at me," he demanded, his voice rising to be heard over England's. "England, I'm here to help. No one's attacking you. You're safe. I'll protect you."
|
|
|
Post by England on Oct 4, 2012 23:18:56 GMT -5
"Nobody's here to help!" England shook his head violently, dispelling the hand on his cheek. "Nobody's going to protect me!" he didn't need anyone, no, no, he was lasting it out without the rest of the world, right? He was alright, he was alright, he would most definitely be alright. "Leave me alone, I can protect myself!" As if to back up his claim, England shied away from the person next to him, his hands never leaving the sides of his head, as if closing his ears would do much of a difference. "I'm fine." he muttered. "Leave me alone, I'm fine..."
He was shaking, that much he knew, because he could feel himself take shaky breaths, attempting to calm down. Something was off about the entire situation, and England felt misplaced, as if he didn't even belong in the setting he'd created for himself. Where were the fires lighting up his city? The cadavers caught under fallen buildings? All he could see was darkness, and he could hear the booming outside and the voice of the enemy. All of it sounded drowned out, though, as if England were listening to it through a glass wall.
And he felt so alone, stuck in a glass cage and surrounded by shadows.
Somehow, it occurred to him that perhaps he wasn't in 1940. He blinked, looking around, and though it was completely black all around him, his heart stopped thundering long enough for him to convince himself that he was not back during the Blitz. How to explain the blackout, then? The booming outside? The enemy pounding on their front door? The eerie silence that pervaded England's sanity? His body was slowly placing itself back into the right century, but his mind was not.
Suddenly turning his wild, terrified gaze to where he hypothesized his companion -America- was, he stared into the darkness like a deer in headlights.
Panic rose right back in his veins as England found himself stuck between a memory and reality, the line between the two blurring until it was no more.
|
|
|
Post by [x] Spain on Oct 11, 2012 18:03:39 GMT -5
Spain's blood ran cold when an inhumane noise exploded in the once quiet rest area.
England's scream.
At one point in history, the Spaniard could honestly say he wanted to hear his painful, agonizing scream in revenge for all the pain inflicted upon him.
But not now, not like this.
Never like this.
Spain jumped up just in time for America to grab a hold of the screaming man and try and calm him down, but that gave him little relief when he wasn't doing anything like he should. At the very least, his voice should bring him back.
Maybe there was something else he could try...
"Inglaterra." Spain's voice was stern and even, and he made sure to make his accent as recognizable as possible. If England could realize it was him, then maybe (just maybe), he could snap him back faster. "Listen to me, right now." Grabbing the flashlight, he pointing it first to America's face, then his own. "This is not 1940. This is not World War Two. America is here, I'm here. You're here, in a safe house in CANADA. I know what you're feeling but you have to come back to us."
He paused, deciding to take a risk and push him towards America, who (hopefully) would restrain him a bit and hold him. "America needs you to come back, England. Have you forgotten about your love for him?"
|
|
|
Post by America on Oct 12, 2012 10:25:50 GMT -5
America felt so weak. So weak and useless. He could conquer visible demons and ghosts, but not this. He could do no such thing about psychological ghosts, about old memories and fears. It was the internal suffering he couldn't defeat. He wanted to, goodness knows he did, but how could he? Was there any way to get through to England, to tell him that everything would be alright? He had half a mind to run outside and destroy the zombie, for it was the appearance of the zombie that brought all of this about. While he didn't know how to defeat the fear itself, he was sure that he could readily defeat the source of the fear.
However, he wasn't going to leave England's side, especially not when Spain pushed the smaller country towards him. Listening to Spain's voice might comfort England. His own hugs might comfort England. It might help somewhat, and they might just be able to calm him down, to show him that everything would be alright.
Ignoring the fact that Spain somehow knew about their relationship (America could worry about that later), the superpower pulled England into a hug, threading his fingers through the messy, blond hair. "Spain's right," he murmured calmly, trying to slow down his those quick beats his heart was giving out, trying to push down all the anxiety that was rising and dying for a release. "There's no war right now, okay? No bombs, no planes, no nothing. It's just thunder. I'm here, though. I've got you."
And, just for good measure, just for a push to get his words across England's panicked state of mind, he added, "I love you, England. Please come back to me."
|
|
|
Post by England on Oct 15, 2012 12:12:55 GMT -5
England was frozen in place, overwhelmed by all the new verbal and emotional information thrown at him. He was too confused to make anything out. He barely even remembered his companions. His mind was blacking out quickly, shutting down and plunging him even deeper into the darkness. Nevertheless, he pushed back, wanting to reach the light, needing to know what was going on, desiring to pick himself up from where he'd fallen so he would not look so weak anymore. England listened to Spain and America, erratically nodding, and sometimes shaking his head to dispel the fear bubbling up inside of him.
"I want to go home." he shakily whispered, leaning against America as he held him. "I want to leave before the lights come on again." he clarified, reaching up and taking America's hand in a trembling grip and bringing it down until it was set over his eyes, plunging him back into the darkness. England found he didn't mind it as much now that he was already so deep into it. What terrified him now was the light. Losing himself and his sanity in the dark sounded more appealing than having to face what would happen if the lights went on again.
"Don't turn the lights on." he whispered shakily, his eyes moving frantically behind America's hand and stopping in the general direction of where he'd heard Spain last. "I don't want to lose you, any of you. When the lights turn back on after a blackout, someone's always dead. Things that people sweat, bled, and fought for will be destroyed, gone." he wanted to live a lie, the lie that the terrifying darkness could offer him. "I don't want you to be dead." he was making less and less sense by the second. "I don't want anything we've struggled for to be dead." and a single tear ran down his cheek, rolling through the barrier of America's hand and sliding down his jaw before dripping into his lap.
|
|
|
Post by America on Oct 15, 2012 21:40:19 GMT -5
He stood still as England leaned up against him and expressed his wish to go home. He stood still as England grabbed his hand and gently placed it over his eyes. And he stood still when he noticed the tear roll from behind his hand and right down England's cheek.
Because, honestly, he wasn't sure what he could do anymore to make England feel better.
"Nothing will be dead," he whispered, keeping his hand steady over England's eyes. He didn't want to remove it and make England feel uncomfortable or scared. No, right now, he was going to do everything in his power to make this whole situation better, to make England understand that he had nothing to be afraid of. "The storm will pass and the zombie will go away, and everything will be alright. I'll be here and Spain will be here and you'll be here." He swallowed the helplessness down his throat, knowing that he couldn't fumble around like some useless idiot at this point. He had to step up and take matters into his own hands.
He offered England a swift kiss to the cheek, lingering for a second before pulling slightly back. "England, we'll stay here, Spain and I, and we're not going to let any harm come to you or the other nations. Please, don't worry." He was actually surprised he was remaining so calm, even after seeing that teardrop.
|
|