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Post by America on May 9, 2012 19:34:28 GMT -5
Once America felt contact, he grasped England's hand tightly, determined to keep the hold for as long as he possibly could. Never let go. Wasn't that what would save England? If America never let go, if he continued holding on. He had to. With slow movements, he grabbed the glasses that were laying by his side and put them on his face, his eyesight much more clear. He wanted to look at England, no matter what the island nation said. He wanted to just soak in the lovely image that lay in the bad.
He wanted to forget that England was slowly dying, slowly breaking. Because he knew he needed hope. Neither of them would be able to handle anything if they didn't have hope. America wanted to let England know that everything would be fine.
"I love you," he said for what felt like the fiftieth time that day, though it never lost the meaning- if anything, it just grew much stronger. "You know I love you. You know I wouldn't lie to you about anything." He brought the hand he was holding closer to his chest, staring at England with as much seriousness as he could muster. "You'll make it through this, I swear it. I'll do everything in my power to make sure of that fact."
And it felt like a lie when he said it. What power did he have over Death? How could he promise that England would live? What if it was a lie, what if he couldn't do a thing? How would he live with himself then?
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Post by England on May 9, 2012 22:36:48 GMT -5
"I want to believe you, I really do..." England mumbled unclearly, gaze directed vaguely at the wall. "How much time do I have left? A couple of hours? It's not enough. An eternity wouldn't be enough time allotted to adoring you, so how could a mere couple of hours ever be enough?" he closed his eyes momentarily and sighed.
"I'm terrified, America." he wanted to say. "Terrified of losing you." But he couldn't, because admitting he was scared would shame him forevermore. America did not know that deep inside himself, England had a rabbit cowering and quaking in fear. Nobody knew. Nobody would know. It would be England's dirty little secret, one he would strive to keep hidden forever.
He felt so relaxed. Light. His heartbeats had gotten slower, deeper, and despite the proximity of his imminent death, England couldn't help but feel both calm and terrified at the same time. The oxymoron was tearing him up inside. He felt uselessly passive about everything. He just wished he could do something, anything, that would help him go out with a bang. Slipping quietly into the darkness was extremely unappealing.
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Post by America on May 10, 2012 20:11:21 GMT -5
America allowed the silence to fall for a minute or two, reflecting on what England said. Were they really giving up all faith and hope of this just passing over? Were they really starting to realize that England wouldn't be around in the next few hours? The acceptance of such a horrid fact would drive America insane, so he decided to take the only route that would get him through everything- optimism. If he just retained that, he would be able to keep his cool.
Slowly, he moved himself over to the bed, wishing to be even closer to England. Getting in a comfortable position next to his friend, his ally, his love, and still keeping the hand contact, he replied, "England, you have more than a couple of hours. They'll get back in time. They'll get back and you'll be well and then we'll have an eternity and beyond that to be together." He pressed a swift kiss to England's forehead, drawing back with what he hoped to be a comforting smile. "Trust in the others, okay?" Trust in me.
Above all else, he didn't want England worrying. He didn't want anxiety hovering over their heads, the question of life and death lingering on their conversations. No, he wanted England to be happy, to be at peace. It was the only way America would be able to relax. Once the tension in the room dispersed, then they would both be able to talk in much more happy tones.
That wouldn't happen, though, and even America, with all his optimism, knew it.
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Post by England on May 10, 2012 21:30:17 GMT -5
"I trust you..." England bit his lip. "But I wish trusting you was enough..." Trusting America did give him hope, but hope wouldn't be enough: he needed results. "I wish trusting you, and the others, was enough to keep me alive, at least a little longer. When every second counts, I'll take anything I can get." he looked up gently at America. "Anything that will grant me just another moment with you."
But he couldn't go on hoping aimlessly like that. Promises just weren't enough anymore, not when he was so close to the end. He needed actions, not words. Words had kept him going through the countdown. Actions would now save him from endless nothingness.
"Hey America...?" he quietly called, shifting his upper body so he turned more towards him. "What do you think a coma will feel like?" Because he wanted to know, wanted to prepare, to steel himself against what was coming. Brace himself for the impact as he watched his entire world crumble. "I-I mean... They used to say that people in comas sometimes heard people talking to them on the outside. Do you... Do you think I'll be able to stay with you despite not being able to be with you?" he blushed, hating how his wording made him sound so helpless.
But he was mere hours away from death. Why would he not allow himself to accept that at his lowest, he had the right to let go the facade of pride and strength he'd worked to uphold his entire life? The mask of coldness and cruelty was exhausting him. His impending death should have been a relief from that burden. If he was going to die, he wanted to die, his heart light and free.
He knew that would be impossible, though, because he was very much aware of the fact that he would be leaving a broken-hearted America behind.
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Post by America on May 11, 2012 17:24:56 GMT -5
"I hope you'd be able to," America whispered, hating the fact that all he could base his answer off of was hope. He wanted truth. He wanted to know, not blindly desire. It seemed like such an impossible situation, though. How was England going to survive? The others hadn't arrived back just yet, and America wasn't exactly sure how long it would take for Finland to prepare a cure. Was a cure even possible?
There were too many questions, all of which was just pushing America farther down into a depressed state, a hopeless mess. If he knew what would happen, if he was given some sign, anything, to know that Finland could make a cure, the others could find the necessary materials, that England would come out alive and well, the situation would have been so much better. Ten times better.
Wanting to reassure England with something more than just his own wishes, America took a deep breath, trying to keep his voice free from the shakiness and hesitation that wanted to pop up. "If you go into a coma," and if was the keyword right there, "I truly believe...I'm positive that one part of you, no matter how tiny, will...it'll remember me and..." And maybe that would keep England from slipping even deeper?
Taking the hand up to his lips, America sighed. "Just keep remembering," he murmured up against the skin, keeping his eyes on England. "I'll hold your hand the entire time, and you'll remember."
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Post by England on May 11, 2012 18:35:46 GMT -5
England looked at him, eyes pleading and surprised and disbelieving at the same time. He couldn't muster the strength to curl his fingers away from America's grasp. He imagined what it would feel like, having America murmuring words against his skin, having him take his limp, trembling hand into his own, having the strength to cross the small distance between them and feeling his lips moving against America's. He was tired of being a stranger to America's intimacy. He wanted to feel, was that so hard to ask for?
"You're an idiot." he whispered, head bowed, because he couldn't admit how much America's devoted promises touched his heart and made him want to cry his soul out every single time. "What have I done to deserve you?" he kept on whispering, an instinctive inquiry to himself, despite knowing that they'd discussed the answer mere hours ago. "What have I done...?"
America was doing so much for him, and he wasn't doing a single thing to repay his boundless kindness and the actions prompted by his golden heart. He didn't want to feel so useless and pointlessly breathing, gathering dust, clogging up space. He just wanted to love America on equal footing. He just wanted one more chance.
"I won't forget you." he muttered, looking up at America determinately. "I can't do anything right now. I can't do anything to prove it to you. Words are all I have left, so I promise, I swear upon the head of any god that may wish to strike me down for using their name in vain, I will not abandon your memory ingrained deep within my heart."
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Post by America on May 11, 2012 20:56:06 GMT -5
And with those words, with that muttered promise from England's mouth, America knew it was the truth. Somehow, America knew this just might be their ticket to overcome everything. Could England actually rise up out of the coma as a normal man, as a nation? Could a simple memory make him better?
No. America's optimism wavered but he refused to let it fully fail on him. He had to keep believing. England wouldn't forget, England was determined. America had to be so as well. Moving the hand from his lips but still keeping a tight hold of it, America gave England a small smile, the largest he could force to come to his face at the moment. He felt choked up, torn between the pain that this was causing for both England and himself and every other emotion that had just come crashing down over him.
"I know," he breathed in reply, afraid that, if he spoke much too loudly, his entire shell would crack and everything he had been holding back would come spilling forth. "I know." He wanted to say more, something eloquent and meaningful, but he couldn't bring the words forth. He didn't have a way with them the way England did. He couldn't invent such beautiful, poetic speeches from the top of his head like England could.
He just hoped that what he was doing was enough to prove all those unsaid words.
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Post by England on May 11, 2012 21:46:40 GMT -5
England looked at him, feeling oddly at ease, as if lulled into a false sense of security. And then, he quietly whispered "I'm glad." and tried a shaky smile. It slid off his face before he even realized it, and he briefly wondered if this is what someone taking his last breaths felt like. Calm. At peace. Feeling light and weightless and free. Slowly fading away, blinking sluggishly and their vision becoming blurrier by the second.
He hadn't gotten that far yet, but England briefly wondered if a man dying in peace felt as calm as he did. He knew his heart rate had slowed, it was a listed symptom, but he didn't think dying could feel so freeing. He didn't know where it came from, but suddenly, he wished he could just die right there, right then. Never come back out of the warm, soothing calm that had overtaken his senses. Let himself be lulled deeper and deeper, until he no longer had the strength, or the desire, to pull back out.
He blinked slowly, but when he opened his eyes, he could only see America. Glorious, beautiful America, smiling a wavering smile that did nothing to hide the conflict inside of him. And suddenly, England realized something. The soothing feeling the silent slide into darkness provided... It was nothing compared to the utter ecstasy of being close to America.
Maybe he would die... But he would die another day.
"Not today." he mumbled without realizing it. "Not when I still have you, if nothing else..." And slowly, painstakingly, England ripped himself away from the appeal of sleep, determined to spend his very last hours reminding himself what he lived for.
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Post by America on May 11, 2012 22:22:03 GMT -5
It took America a few seconds to realize what England was speaking about. Even he, though, what with his lack to read the atmosphere well and everything, was able to quickly figure it out. "Not ever," he corrected, his smile widening just that much more, a determined glint coming to his eyes. "You're never gonna die, not if I have anything to say about it." And, oh, did he have a lot to say about that.
England wouldn't die. England wasn't going to die. Hell, England couldn't die. There was no way America would allow that to happen. He wasn't quite so sure of all the medical aspects of things, but if England started drifting into the coma, America would be there to shake him awake. It would be possible. What was the one phrase? 'Love conquers all'. America had long since forgotten where it had come from, but he truly believed it in this case- his love for England would conquer Death. He would chase it away, scare it away, do all that he could to keep Death's grimy hands off of his amazing England. No, he wouldn't allow England to slip away from him.
With a bitter chuckle, he was reminded of how awfully Hollywood-like this all was. A seemingly hopeless situation, a sudden resolution, and a happy ever after. Except...they were left in the dark. They didn't have the luxury of knowing that, no matter what happened throughout the course of their 'movie', everything would turn out alright in the end. No, they had to just cling to the desperate wishes and hope that they had. Still, though, it was even better than a movie. Despite all that was happening, America found that this was so much better.
"I...I always imagined myself to be the hero of some romance. You know, the guy that goes through some sort of conflict, or watches his girl go through some sort of conflict, yet, not matter how horrible the middle of the movie was, the end always turns out right. I imagined that." Wiping across his face to stop both his tears and to push away all sadness he was feeling, he continued quietly. "This is so much more real, though. I never could imagine loving anyone this much. I really couldn't." He brought England's hand to his chest.
"You're gonna stay with me, okay? I'm not going to let you sleep until you have the cure settled in you, until we're in the all-clear."
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Post by England on May 11, 2012 22:59:47 GMT -5
"Are you implying that I'm the girl you're watching deal with a conflict?" England snickered humourlessly, trying inspire life into his words again. To no avail, he still sounded breathy and quiet. This wasn't him. He hated this side of him that had come out. This side of him was weak. England wanted to be strong.
He wished this were a movie. Just a simple movie, where, judging by the cover of the DVD case, you could tell that the heroes would live in the end. England hated not knowing. The unknown was one of his greatest fears. He just wanted to be told if he would live or not in the end. It wasn't the ending that stressed him. It was the long hours of waiting that did. Not knowing whether you would live or die, suffering without knowing what awaits you, watching helplessly as your life tears at the seams, everything you've worked to build up coming crashing down as the clock hands tick forward all too quickly... England just wanted to be told whether he would live or die.
"I'm not intending to leave your side, not now, not ever." England gritted his teeth lightly, enjoying the sight of his hand on America's chest. He tried to imagine what America's heartbeat would feel like against the back of his hand. He could wait to recover so he could put his own hand against America's heart and feel it beat, very much alive. "If Death wants me, then he'll have to come and rip me off of you to get me."
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Post by America on May 12, 2012 8:57:49 GMT -5
"And before he even tries ripping you from my side, he's gonna have to go through me first," America responded with enthusiasm, scooting himself closer to England. He didn't want to sit too far away and be forced to just stare. No, he wanted to be right up alongside the smaller nation, with him every step of the way towards the unknown. He would make sure England would make it out alive. "Between the two of us, I think he'll finally go off to find some easier subject to prey on."
America was certain England wouldn't die now. Not when they were both so determined to stop it, not when it would be anything but simple. Even if they didn't know exactly what was going to happen, America knew they would be fine. They had survived so much together, after all. This was just another test, a test to see if they would be able to handle the stress and anxiety and depression. And we passed. We passed, so make him better. America's thoughts were those desperate pleas that he couldn't voice out, aimed at whoever was in his head listening. We can't be torn apart. Not know, not when we're finally together.
His eyes threatened to produce more tears if he kept silent in his tortured thoughts, so America made a move to speak once more. "We're gonna be too much for him to handle," he muttered. "He probably won't be able to make it past the door, even."
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Post by England on May 12, 2012 9:13:07 GMT -5
"Heh." England chuckled, fondly gazing at America and appreciating every gesture he made to raise the mood when it was at its lowest. His efforts didn't seem to contribute on a long term for either of them, but with every word America said, a small burst of hope came to life in England's heart, and ebbed away a second later. It was good enough. The small amount of hope he was letting bud was enough to hold the fear off at arm's length.
He wondered if anything would be difference after this. If he would look at zombies at another angle. Or if he would become hesitant to send Nations on the field. Or, goodness forbid, if he would be internally traumatized of zombies. He wouldn't be able to deal with sitting on the sidelines, not ever, but he wondered if he would ever again be able to fight in such a relaxed, carefree manner. Probably not. Chances were England would be even more paranoia-driven after this. Every breath of wind, every ruffle of leaves, every crunch of twigs, he would grab his gun, turn the safety off, and crouch.
England briefly considered that despite surviving the infection, he could very well become a type of 'zombie' himself. Instinct-driven, lacking rational thought in order to reach his goal, unwavering in any situation, and based on the primal instinct that was to kill.
He shivered.
"As long as we're still together..." he curled his hand up over America's, trying to divert his thoughts. His worries could wait. They didn't need another stroke of black on an already-black canvas. "Nothing's going to stop us. Nothing."
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Post by America on May 12, 2012 12:20:24 GMT -5
"Right," America replied, giving a small sigh. England was right. Like always. They would be together forever and nothing would ever stand between them. Not even this. They would overcome all tribulations thrown at them, and it would make them stronger, it would bring them even closer together. For an eternity.
He wondered if England felt this sort of hopelessness during World War II, during the bombing of London, when all of Europe was slowly falling and England was the only stronghold left. Did he ever feel as if whatever he did would be a useless effort? Did he ever feel that he was going to fall at any moment? America couldn't say that he ever did. One could make the argument that the Revolutionary War was probably the biggest gamble he had ever made. America hadn't known what the outcome would be, and, sometimes, he did truly believe that England would win. Or 9/11, when his people were killed by the terrorists- didn't America feel lost then? didn't he feel as if his entire country would go down under?
He wanted to know more about England, though. He wanted to know all the hardships that the elder nation had to face, before he met America and after. "First thing we'll do when this is all over," he murmured, adding even more topics onto his list. It was keeping him from completely losing it. "Is talk. I wanna know everything I can about you. Every single bit of history that I failed to figure out for myself, I want you to tell me."
Not just the history, though. He wanted to know the emotions that ran through England at the time. He wanted to know the nations who England trusted and the nations who England hated. He wanted to know the clothes he had been wearing, the expression on his face, the position of his body.
He wanted to know what England was feeling now.
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Post by England on May 12, 2012 12:45:04 GMT -5
England looked up at him, an unsure look flickering in his eyes like a fire slowly dying in a fireplace. America wanted to know more about him? About his past? His past wasn't exactly the cheeriest, and he'd hate to make the nation feel bad since a lot of his contemporary history had been dark because of him. Besides, unearthing memories of times he'd long buried six feet under was never easy. So many hardships and so much pain would come with a refreshed memory of all the good and bad times.
"T-Talk...?" he looked a bit conflicted. "W-Well, we have a couple of hours now... What do I tell you first?" It was an invitation, and open door to his heart. England never shared his worries and pain with anybody, not now, not ever. America had been the first to receive all of his trust, and England didn't regret it one bit. He knew America wouldn't abuse it.
He fidgeted at the thought of misplaced trust, but immediately took it out of his mind. America wouldn't do that to him. England could tell him anything, and he wouldn't be judged. The only person who would judge England for revealing those deep, dark secrets was England himself.
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Post by America on May 12, 2012 21:30:25 GMT -5
"Uh, anything, really." Perhaps the conversation, which wouldn't center around England's coming death, would make their spirits lighter, the both of them. If that was so, America would gladly listen to England's history now rather than later. "Like...maybe your childhood? Ooh, or the pirating days, those always seemed cool in the movies!" He grinned, but it faltered when he realized that maybe the pirating days weren't fond memories. What America wanted to hear right now were the good memories, the ones that left England smiling.
Pirating days and childhood just wouldn't cut it. He would need to be specific in order for England to be happy. "Actually, how about...c-can you tell me your happiest moment? Like...before I came around, did you have anything really amazing happen to you?" And, hopefully, that would bring some peace into their room to chase out the lingering depression and anxiety.
Another part of it was just for the sole purpose that America wanted to see that smile. He wanted England's gaze to be far-off, distant, a smile etched upon his lovely features, a smile that America would be able to just stare at. He wanted England to be pleased and happy and just calm.
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