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Post by America on Jul 30, 2013 9:49:49 GMT -5
If nothing was on him, then how come the searing pain in his legs wouldn't go away? It was tearing at him, wounding him to the very core, and he couldn't seem to make it stop. Still, all of his friends were around him, and they would be able to tell if a zombie was on him, wouldn't they? Yes, yes, they would certain keep him safe, he knew that. They wouldn't let anything get him. With that thought in his mind, he nodded his head, though he was unable to stop from crying still.
When Egypt took his arm away from Czech, America couldn't help but have the fear course through him again. The closer he stayed beside someone, the less danger he would be in, right? It was logical; the reason he was in this mess in the first place was because he had strayed away.
"But I-I wanna go," he choked out in response to Egypt's warning about his lands being unsafe. That was ridiculous. His lands were the safest place in the whole world! Didn't people flock just to live with him? Didn't he have the strongest navy, and army? Didn't he have the most enduring citizens? Didn't he have safe towns and quiet neighborhoods? Egypt obviously knew nothing about what was safe and what was unsafe. "I-I have to go- I can protect them-" He coughed then, squeezing his eyes shut, and while he knew he couldn't grab a hold of Czech anymore, he still had to lean his head on her shoulder to keep himself from completely falling.
With his free hands, he grabbed at his knees, gritting his teeth and shaking as he desperately tried to think of a way to stop the pain.
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Post by Czech Republic on Aug 1, 2013 21:49:32 GMT -5
When her arm was pried of America's grip she hissed in pain then winced when she saw the hand shaped bruise on her arm. Hesitantly she touched the tender grayish value skin and rubbed her fingertips over it gently in an attempt to sooth the throbbing, only hearing half of what Egypt was talking about, only looking up when America rested his head against her shoulder. Using her free hand now she stroked his hair and listened to his pleas once more and closed her eyes tightly to keep any tears from escaping. She was unsure of what to do...it seemed that in her mind there was no solution to this problem, no way to fully stabilize it, a meticulous, orderly person like her's, nightmare.
She heard approaching footsteps as she paused for a moment, then looking up found her blue eyes meeting with a pair of green that surveyed the scene before them with nothing less than shock. Czech looked at England and saw that he was struck frozen. Well why wouldn't he be, the whole place was going straight to hell! She looked him and felt relieved that he seemed to be fine...and yet at the same time when seeing him something was trying to click in her brain. Her eyes looked to him then down to America and smiled. It was so damn obvious.
"America..." She said in a very soothing, very gently voice as she took the side of his face and turned it towards England's direction, urging him to look now. "Look whose here." She thought that this would be helpful, that him seeing his lover would help him to calm down, and perhaps England could help with the process...if there was one thing that could be positive was that a loved one could almost always convince someone of anything.
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Post by America on Aug 5, 2013 0:16:50 GMT -5
He was comforted a tad bit more when Czech's hand started to stroke at his hair. It felt nice, and it put his pain slightly at ease, as he was now allowed to focus more on the movements rather than his own legs. However, she soon stopped, and he whined quietly, biting at his lip nearly hard enough to draw blood. He didn't want to look at anyone. He didn't want to do anything but ward off the pain. Maybe death would ward off the pain and fear and helplessness. Maybe he should have just let the zombies take him.
Upon her request, though, he opened his eyes. She was anything if not persistent, and with his head up like that, he couldn't help but become curious. Another nation coming to stab him, no doubt. Another nation coming with some device to intensify his pain, no doubt. Who else would come? Surely not someone who would save him; no one could. They could drug him all they wanted, but it would never take away his nightmare and terror.
When he opened his eyes, though, he couldn't help but stare. "England," he whispered, his voice uncomfortably scratchy, the voice of someone who hadn't used it save for screaming. He continued to gaze at his lover in shock for an hour, a day, a month, he didn't know. He just stared until he broke down again, then reached his arm out for the one person who could save him.
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Post by England on Aug 5, 2013 12:37:50 GMT -5
England didn't even hear what America, or Czech Republic, had said. Their lips were moving but no noise was coming from them. It was like he was isolated in a different plane and was only a helpless witness to what was happening around him. He felt cold, and he identified the feeling invading his senses as dread, apprehension at learning why exactly America was delirious and lying on the floor in his condition. He could see his bandaged legs, white gauze wrapped heavily around the skin. Not even the layers upon layers of bandages could hide the dips where skin and muscle had been torn off and the malformed silhouette of America's legs.
The spell was broken when America extended his hand to him. He suddenly rushed back into his own dimension, one where the world had gone to hell and his boyfriend was dying in front of his eyes. His name sounded foreign on America's lips. It felt like forever since he'd last heard it, and so desperately, too. America had always been the one to proclaim himself a hero, but now it was his turn. Even heroes needed a hero sometimes.
He felt a bit numb as he twisted to pass between Scotland and Egypt, brushing against Israel on his way to the two figures on the floor. Each touch caused a jolt to pass through him, buzzing in his ears until he reached America and Czech Republic. He looked down at the man in the woman's arms and stared at him for just one second before just as numbly kneeling before him, and taking his extended hand. He cradled it safely between both of his, and then wordlessly bent his head to press a soft kiss to his knuckles, like a knight saluting his king.
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Post by Czech Republic on Aug 5, 2013 15:56:53 GMT -5
The sight in general was all so heartwarming that Czech couldn't help but let a few tears leave her eyes as did a warm smile cross her sweet face. Sighing in what seemed to be relief she used her bad arm that seemed to be swelling and throbbing in pain but ignored it as her hand reached up and stroked America's hair softly, reaching down and kissing his head in a mother like gesture.
Her eyes now turned onto England and gave a very sweet, very warm smile to him as her other hand reached up and touched him as well, patting his head and giving an approving nod to his actions towards America.
"I'm glad you're feeling better my friend."
She was about to say more but her arm was hurting to much and heard a bone crack which made her flinch and hiss in pain. Shaking her head she flashed an embarrassed smile while trying to hold in the agony that swept through her arm.
"Can you...help him onto the bed? My arm isn't doing so well."
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Post by America on Aug 5, 2013 17:00:51 GMT -5
He couldn't have been more relieved when England grabbed his outstretched hand. It seemed childish to cling onto one person in such a manner, but America couldn't help it. America couldn't help it when he felt that everything would be perfectly fine now that England was with him. After all, wasn't it England who had pulled him away from the zombies? Wasn't it England who tried to clean him up? Wasn't it England who carried him and protected him and soothed him? The others weren't around for all of that; they weren't the ones that saved him. England was.
With a loud cry of pain, he pushed himself out on Czech's lap and wrapped his arms around England's middle, holding him tightly as he sobbed, knowing full well that he was nothing more than a useless lump at the moment. He couldn't stand or walk, and he could barely move his legs. He couldn't even comprehend anything correctly. But he didn't care. He was going to be safe, and he was going to survive.
"Take me home," he choked out, gripping onto England's clothes. "Pl-Please, England, take me ho-home, I wanna go home." He was reduced to begging like a child, something he had promised himself to never do. But if none of the others could take him home, maybe England would. Maybe he just needed to be persuaded.
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Post by England on Aug 6, 2013 11:10:14 GMT -5
England was surprised at America's sudden movement, not having expected him to even have that much strength left in him. His darling was a fighter, he knew that. Which was why the broken and sobbing mess on his lap was more than a simply heartbreaking sight to see. He didn't want to see him like this. America had more poise, more grace, more pride than that.
''I'll help him up. Get your arm checked,'' he mumbled distractedly to Czech Republic, making a move to move him out of her lap, and into his. He was careful for his legs, which dragged uselessly on the floor, and cradled his upper body as best as he could, carding his fingers through his lover's pale hair. He let America sob just a little longer without acknowledging his desperate plea, and then slowly shifted to grab his attention.
He gently took America's chin in his hands and tilted his head upwards so that they could speak eye-to-eye. England absently rubbed the tears under his eyes and caught in his long, fine lashes, and then sighed.
''You are home.'' He gave him a few moments to ponder the question before elaborating. ''You are scared, and you are hurt, and I realize that you want something you are familiar with to comfort yourself. But out there, there is nothing you know anymore. Everything you knew is gone.'' He bent over just a little to press a strong, reassuring kiss to his forehead. ''Your home is here, with all of us, and as long as we still live, though we may move, our home will move with us. Home is where the people who love you will always wait for you. ''
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Egypt
Neophyte
Medic
Posts: 125
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Post by Egypt on Aug 6, 2013 12:50:49 GMT -5
"Well said, England."
Egypt moved to America's feet, and gently pulled the bottle of numbing agent and syringe out of his lab coat pocket. He quickly readied the syringe with a strong douse, then in one swift movement, stuck the syringe into America's leg. Gupta highly doubted that the American nation could feel anything but pain right now, and a small flare in said pain probably wouldn't even register with the nation. He pushed down on the top of the syringe and watched as the clear liquid dissipated into America's leg. Gupta pulled the syringe out and took another douse from the bottle, this one was a bit smaller than the first.
"America, this medicine will chase away the Zombies and now England is here to protect you." 'Gods, I sound stupid, but I guess I should stick to whatever gets America calmest.'
Egypt quickly injected the second douse into America's other leg, then began to unwrap some of the bandages to see if any of the stitches had come undone.
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Post by America on Aug 6, 2013 19:04:24 GMT -5
England was talking. Obviously England was talking; his mouth was moving and words were coming out, and while they registered in America's mind, he couldn't really make much sense of them. Home was with the people who loved him; but what did that mean? More importantly, he wanted to say, his people loved him. His people loved him, and they would gladly take him back home.
But then his lip quivered as he wondered whether any of those citizens of his were the ones biting his legs off.
He felt ashamed when a quiet, strangled whimper moved past his lips, and he stared at England, breath coming out in short pants. "But it hurts," he gasped out, choking back on his own tears. "E-England, it hurts!" Not just his legs. That pain was only physical, and he knew it would be going away soon. Even as Egypt stuck those scary needles in (England didn't protest, so America assumed it was okay), America was well aware that, in no time at all, the pain would be gone. No, everything else hurt, too.
It especially hurt knowing that the people who loved him were now trying to kill him. But what if that was supposed to happen? He had always said he'd sacrifice himself for his people. Back then, of course, he always thought he'd be immortal. But now that his chance had come, he had pulled back, and he was surviving and they weren't. The people he swore to protect were now trying to rip him to shreds.
"An-And I'm scared, and I want to die with them, because if they love me, I-I need to be with them, and I can't leave, but, oh god, England, I'm s-scared- I'm so scared and-" He let out a louder sob, wincing when Egypt began to unravel his bandages. "Ma-Make it stop," he begged, burying his face into England's chest and reaching up to grab at either of his lover's hands. "Make it all st-stop." He was tired, mentally and physically, and he could feel the energy being completely drained from him, to the point where he was certain he couldn't even lift his head anymore.
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Post by England on Aug 7, 2013 10:18:05 GMT -5
England cradled America's head against his chest so that he wouldn't have to see the mess of his legs that Egypt was uncovering, and threw a furtive glance at the medic to make sure he was being gentle. He trusted the older nation to know what he was doing, but he could not help but worry at least a little. His free hand carded through his hair slowly, a reassurance that he was still listening and supporting him though he often fell silent in thought.
He had never been good at reassurances either. He hadn't grown up in a time where international support was very widespread, and did not know how to comfort someone in distress. In his time, all the people who could potentially have held him and told him that everything would be okay were at war against him and the rest of the world. Therefore, he was not sure if he was saying the right things, but he was sure of one thing at least: that he was telling him all the truths that had to be said out loud.
''They're dead.'' It was abrupt, even he knew it, but it was better to shock America into reality than spin words of gold and lose him in a fantasy world that he created. ''Your people, whoever is left on this continent, they're all dead. You see their walking corpses prowling the street, but they are gone. Your people are not physical entities, America, they are the spirit of your nation. These monsters have no spirit, they are nothing. They are not the people who love you.''
He squeezed America's hand, giving him a few moments to absorb the information. It was rough, but America needed to be at peace with his inner thoughts if he ever wanted to recover. His legs would heal and regrow, his infected brain cells would get replaced by healthy ones, but if he never came to terms with himself, he would never be back to normal... however his normal could be after all this.
''Your home as you knew it is gone. Your people are sheltered all over Europe, waiting for you, for us, to rebuild it. Until you can re-assemble the people who love you, and re-create the home you used to have, your home will be with us. With the nations who suffer alongside you every single day and who celebrate your successes as if it was theirs. Misery loves company, America.'' He smiled bitterly at the wall in front of him and absently put his cheek down on America's head, fingers running down to caress his teary face instead. ''We've all lost our homes, which is why we're here to fight for them. True strength is being able to rebuild every time your home is destroyed.''
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Post by America on Aug 7, 2013 14:22:39 GMT -5
He had been taking steady breaths to calm himself, and that's what the majority of his energy was being focused on. In and out, in and out. He didn't want to have another breakdown; if he did, he was fairly certain he would just faint. His mind was already too jumbled, and his body felt weak, like nothing more than a sack of bones, ready to drop at any minute.
Yet he still listened as England spoke, head pressed up against his lover's chest as the bandages continued to unwind from his legs. He closed his eyes, a few more tears dripping down his cheeks before he was finally able to stop crying and just hold still. England's words shocked him. Blunt as they were, they rang true, and America stiffened. His people were dead, his home was gone, and he would be scarred for life. Was this supposed to comfort him? Was the truth supposed to be so harsh and horrible?
His stomach felt like it was clenching up as he struggled to speak, "England, I'm tired." It came out in a whisper, and he wasn't quite sure what he meant, but he still continued, wanting to speak. "Can I quit? I- I just...no strength to rebuild." No strength to stay awake, and no strength to keep fighting. He felt like he was done. "I don't...want to wake." Waking up would mean he'd have to face the nightmare over and over and over again.
His last sentence was hushed and slurred to the point where he didn't even know if England could hear him speak anymore. "Why did you get me?"
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Post by England on Aug 7, 2013 15:58:01 GMT -5
''If you quit now, you will never be able to go back to the home you used to know.'' England stiffened at the admittance of defeat. America had never backed down from any challenge before, as tough as they may have been. He'd always been the one to win fights and stand up for what he believed in, and the man in his arms certainly was not doing that. He was kneeling, head down at the world's feet, defeated, and unwilling to even attempt getting up. England did not like the look of it. America's recovery, at this point, would be a long and arduous process.
''You are not alone,'' he whispered to him, cradling his head closer and throwing another repulsed look at his mutilated legs. ''You're just saying this because you're tired and you're hurt, but once you get better, you'll want to rebuild. It's natural to us Nations. It's in our instincts to want to live for our people.'' He'd learned the hard way himself that Nations lived for their people and not themselves. Over a millenium of wars and invasions and plagues and death had taught him that he would not die. Not when his people were still alive.
''As long as one person on this planet waves your flag and sings your name, as long as one child, one toddler looks at your colours and is proud of what he sees, as long as the last man on this planet still yearns to return to his homeland, you will live. These are the people you live for. These are the people who are dying every single day waiting for us to take them home, and they are the ones you fight for. Just as much as your home is within every one of these scattered, hopeless humans, their home is you. So if you will not be strong for yourself, be strong for them. This is reality, America. You already are awake.''
Petting America's hair, he bent down and closed his eyes, taking a whiff of his hair. It didn't exactly smell like roses, but it was comforting. America's hushed question was confusing, though, and England wasn't even sure it was meant to be answered.
''Why wouldn't I?'' he finally asked in return, unsure of what to expect.
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Post by America on Aug 7, 2013 19:37:00 GMT -5
His people were still alive. The thought made him curl in closer to England, body slowly and sluggishly moving, his strength already spent. It took every ounce of his trembling limbs to not just fall over on the floor. He kept himself up, kept his head up, and tried, with all he could, to keep his spirit up. Of course, he couldn't do any of that alone. England was the lifeline he clung to right now.
There was a reason, he realized, that he was alive. There was a reason he had become his own nation. There was a reason he thrived in the darkest of times, and there was a reason he proclaimed himself to be the hero. That reason wasn't him; that reason was his people. Sure, England might have been the lifeline then, but his people were the reason he was still alive, still going strong.
Well, the reason he had been going strong. And he wanted to get better and start to fight again, but he couldn't. He couldn't just fix himself, and he couldn't just turn around and face the hopeless situation they were all in. The zombies would never stop coming. They had barely put a dent in them, and already lives were nearly lost. Why was he still fighting? Why was he still facing his nightmare? It would never change, and he could never get his home back, and he would have to deteriorate as a nation.
Why did England save him just for that? Did the others want to see him fall that bad that they were willing to force him to go through the pain? He whined and grabbed England's clothes once more, and the seconds stretched into minutes before he answered, breath coming out in short pants. "I want...I should have...died then. It...it would be better."
He released England's clothes and crossed his arms over his chest, shivering slightly and gritting his teeth. "But..." He was using everything he had to speak. "When...you saved me, I was..." Happy? Relieved? Glad? "Ready." He opened his eyes and looked up at England, then gave a small smile, a ghost of his former self. "I was ready to...to keep on." He felt delirious as he spoke, and he wondered if England could let him go to sleep in his arms.
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Post by England on Aug 7, 2013 22:53:48 GMT -5
"Your will is fighting even if you don't realize it," England hummed, holding America securely in his lap even when the other let him go. He leaned his boyfriend on his chest and rubbed his shoulder in a gesture of comfort. "You want to survive and thrive so that one day you can live again. Deep inside, all of us want that. The reason why you are still fighting as we speak, why you haven't given up yet... it's because you don't want to die, not really. You're just saying it because you are scared."
He patted America's shoulder once more and then cradled his cheek with one hand, the other supporting his limp body up. He looked into America's eyes and lowered his tone, their conversation unfit for prying ears.
"I know you're terrified. Especially back at the marsh, you were terrorized out of your mind. Your fear, however good its reason is, should not control you like you let it control you now. You don't really mean that you want to die, do you, America? You want to stop hurting, but at which cost? Will you hurt everyone who loves you in order not to be hurt again? Will you really be that selfish?" England sighed. "I saved you because I care for you, like I care for every other nation in my charge. I saved you and I will always save you from whatever plagues you because I love you and I just want to see you back on your feet."
Gently kissing America's cheek, England drew back with a sheepish pout.
"You should rest, though. You're still delirious and probably have a fever. You need to get better as soon as possible." He gave America a small, reassuring smile. "You're not alone. You never have been and you never will be."
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Post by America on Aug 8, 2013 0:17:42 GMT -5
America fell silent then, his smile leaving as he stared up at England's eyes. He could easily admit to being selfish. He could easily admit to being terrified. He could easily admit to losing control. But what could any of them do about that? England, as great as he was, couldn't force America to stop being scared, to stop losing himself.
America realized he would have to force himself.
He was going to stay and live, and he was going to keep fighting. He couldn't get rid of the fear, probably never would, but he could push it out of his mind and focus on overcoming all of the struggles that his new life would have for him. He could force himself to do that with the knowledge that everyone would stand behind and support him.
"Don't leave," he murmured, letting his head droop back on England's chest. He wanted to pull his legs away from Egypt, but he had no strength left to do that. He was just glad the pain wasn't nearly as bad as it was before. Everything seemed numb now. He'd rather have it numb, so he hummed appreciatively, bringing a shaky hand up to rub at his tear-streaked face before hugging himself once more.
"Promise?"
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