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Post by England on May 13, 2012 9:50:58 GMT -5
"Make your mind up. My happiest moment?" England blinked, trying to think back really hard. Only America came to mind. England hadn't been a very happy kid during his childhood. Lots of satisfaction when he beat up France or Spain, but his grins had never been that of happiness. They'd been proofs of the fire of domination lighting up inside of him.
Happy... He didn't really think so. He tried to think back to before America came into his life, and couldn't find anything at all. Nothing big, anyway. He was sure there had been bursts of happiness here and there, small things that made life worth living, but he couldn't recall.
"I..." he started, turning his eyes away in shame. "I don't know. You made me happy, so, so happy... Nobody else made me happy like you did." he whispered, eyes downcast. "I remember being strangely satisfied when we burned Joan of Arc... Proud when the English army, four times smaller than the French army, completely obliterated them in Agincourt... Conflicted between happiness and doubt when Rome brought back gifts for me from Italy... High on the ecstasy of power during Trafalgar and when I sank Spain's armada... And then..." he hesitated.
He looked up at America, scanning his eyes doubtfully, as if wondering if he was saying the right things. Is this what he wanted America to learn, though? That he'd long been a sad child that grew into a power-hungry fool to compensate for the lack of happiness in his life? He didn't want America to know that part of him. He wanted to bury it deep where nobody would be able to bring those memories out.
"And then... I remember my heart leaping when Finland brought rumours about you..." he bit his lip, blushing. "I felt... hopeful, when I saw you at first. And then... Happy." he'd forever remember the burst of an indescribably pleasant feeling in his heart when America came to stop his tears. "So... So happy." When he walked through a grassy field, a bright, beautiful day, but not as bright and beautiful as the boy napping in his arms.
England found that he could not speak anymore and slowly buried his face in his hands so that America would not see the light glinting off the water in his eyes. One part of him knew that those days were long gone, and that now, he had a different kind of love from America, but he just couldn't help but long for those bright days to come back.
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Post by America on May 13, 2012 16:31:44 GMT -5
America felt shocked at this. England's happiest moment was with him? He had always known he had made England happy, goodness knows it was painstakingly obvious, but...there weren't very many happy memories from earlier on in his past, were there? So England's history was that of constant bloodshed and fighting, just like he had heard about. Guilt jumped up to America's throat. There he was as a kid, living such an incredible, joyful life, while England had been mocked and beaten from the day he was born.
Was England's past so dreadful that only victories in war would bring him satisfaction? The very thought made America sick to his stomach. He ruined England's happiness. When England finally found someone that loved him, someone he loved in return, America had thrown everything away. America had declared independence. No wonder England had been so cranky and short years later. No wonder he always got into arguments with everyone he could. He lost the only thing that made him happy.
America swallowed, trying to push the guilt aside. He had to declare independence. He...he had to! Besides, wasn't...wasn't England happy now? He seemed a bit happier, aside from the infection spreading through his body, aside from the fact that he couldn't feel anything below his waist, aside from the fact that he might very well be dead soon.
Damn it all. America had stolen England's happiness and now, when he finally gave England his heart, when he finally felt that he brought some sort of happiness into the smaller country, it was to be destroyed. It would only last for the next couple of hours.
"I'm so sorry," he whispered. "I...I broke away from you, and...and if I was the only thing that had made you happy, how much did I break your heart? I didn't even realize it. I didn't realize how horrible I must have made your life." He leaned forward to run his fingers through England's hair, though he knew England couldn't feel a thing. "O-Once you get better, I'll make sure your life is the happiest life ever. I promise, I will."
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Post by England on May 13, 2012 20:30:09 GMT -5
"You already have..." England whispered from behind his hands, and once he was sure his tears wouldn't spill over, he looked up, trying to sit straight to prove that the memories of those nicer days weren't affecting him still after so many centuries. "You're here. You've already made me so, so happy." he gently took America's roaming hand in both of his and squeezed it in the middle, bowing his head lightly. It looked he was praying to some god he didn't believe in and that didn't even exist.
"You did what you had to do. Sometimes, there must be a down for things to get back up again, right?" he asked, only half-believing what he said himself. Because that had been one hell of a down, and he was still waiting to get all the way back up. "I'm just glad we're here... relatively safe... together..." he blushed, biting his lower lip and refusing to meet America's eyes.
It was weird how every time America inspired happiness into him, it never lasted long enough. Then again, an eternity wouldn't have been long enough to be satisfied. Still. The first time, it was a couple of centuries. The second time, it was a couple of hours. England hated being given false hope. It wasn't fair for destiny to mock him like that. Maybe that was why he'd been reluctant at first to develop on his feelings for America. Because he knew that they were coming to this point, and that there was a big chance that they would lose it all before the day ended.
He didn't want false hope again. They say people learn from their mistakes. England decided to crush the spark before it became a fire, but he still made the very same mistake he'd done so many centuries ago and had trusted someone with his heart. In the end, maybe he was destined to stay unhappy. The high wasn't worth the down, especially when it involved other people. Especially when it involved America, of all people.
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Post by America on May 14, 2012 19:22:01 GMT -5
"But..." America hesitated, swallowing back the words he was about to blurt out. But England was dying. But they had finally gotten back together and now...and now they would be torn apart. But America just wanted England to survive. "We'll...we'll always be together," is what he chose to say. It was what he needed to say. England would survive. He had no idea how often he had told himself that in the past few hours, trying to convince himself that, yes, England was strong and would make it through perfectly fine.
Once again, he wondered if he had made the correct decision in proclaiming his love to England. Should he have waited until England was fully better? Should he have waited until he knew they could both live comfortably together without the fear of death looming over their heads? America didn't think so. America didn't think he would let England drift away from him without telling him his true feelings. It was just...it wasn't right. I wouldn't have been the right thing to do.
Like England said, at least they were together. At least they were close. And America didn't want that to change. "I won't leave you again." His own voice shocked him, but he continued, determined to get everything off his chest. "Like you said, I...I did what I had to, as horrible as it might sound, but I believe I did the right thing. It tore me up, though. I never wanted to push you out of my life. I wanted my independence, but I still wanted to be beside you. It was just such a hard decision, but now...now we can start over. Now we can be together and I won't ever leave your side again."
Besides, he made a promise. Heroes didn't break their promises.
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Post by England on May 14, 2012 21:04:35 GMT -5
"I started over already." England immediately admitted, squeezing his hand tighter. "A few hours ago. You kissed me for the first time, and something inside of me died in order for something else to be reborn from the ashes." his lips twitched up in a weak smile. "I don't regret this. I don't regret the sleepless nights and the torturous days, the extending time that made decades feel like millenniums, the haunting memories that came with every rainfall and every gunshot..."
Because in reality, the only thing he regretted was letting himself become so weak and broken, just because of something like America's independence. It had hurt, yes, but to this day, England still wondered if he'd been shattered enough to let himself wallow in the deepest recesses of his dark mind for so long. It had taken him almost half a millennium to start over with America entirely. That had been too long of a time in which he'd first tried to get back up, and failed, falling down to the ground and staying there from then on. Slowly, his power had dwindled, and America had been at the origin of it all.
He didn't regret giving America his independence. He regretted not seeing in that independence the signs of rebirth that would ultimately lead him to happiness.
"I'm happy things turned out the way they did. All of it. From the beginning to where we stand." So close to the end, he reminded himself gloomily, before correcting himself. No, there could be no end. America's and his story was timeless. And there would be no happy ending, because their story would go on and on and on and never find a conclusion.
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Post by America on May 15, 2012 6:03:17 GMT -5
America wondered if he could be happy about everything, too. If he could put England's current situation aside and just focus on the fact that they were both happy, that he might have even mended England's heart somewhat. With a smile, he realized that he could still hope and...well, maybe his wish of England's recovery would come true. No, it would come true. He needed to be definite with himself, and he chose to continue with his optimism, no matter what anyone else might say to try and bring him down.
"I'm happy as well," America commented, looking down at their intertwined fingers. He was happy, he truly was, but his happiness was slowly diminishing the more time passed. He wanted the other nations to hurry up, wanted England to have the cure and become his old self once more. Unlike England, America wished things could have turned out just a bit differently. He wouldn't voice that opinion, though, for it didn't need to be voiced. England could probably figure it out for himself, anyway.
"And I want you to be happy forever," America continued, stealing a glance up at the other nation. "I'll make sure that you are." He offered a small smile, the best he could give at the moment, still a bit anxious to see what exactly would come to pass during the next few hours, still anxious to see if England would be saved.
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Post by England on May 15, 2012 21:35:56 GMT -5
"And I'll make sure that you are, as well. If there is no sun in the sky, there is no way the world will be able to be bright." England tapped America's cheek gently. "You're the ultimate light in the dark. I'm happy when you are, poppet, I'm happy when you are..." he drifted off, sighing and closing his eyes for a moment. America's happiness before his, England reminded himself adamantly. If America was sad, the whole world would be sad with him, so they couldn't afford to lose the cheerful boy to the stormy clouds of anguish looming above them.
"Say, America..." he called as he opened his eyes again and gazed at the man holding his hand in what looked like the most tender hold on the planet. "I-If I do... pass away... D-Do you think you'll be able to move on and forget me?" he bit his lip nervously. He wasn't fishing for any kind of sappy 'I'll never forget you!' type of comment, but he wanted to know if, even in his death, he would be unable to make America happy.
If he had to die, he wanted to die with his conscience clean, knowing that America would be able to find definite happiness over him. He didn't want to die, knowing America would cry for him every single day for the rest of the eternity they had promised to share together.
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Post by America on May 16, 2012 19:34:01 GMT -5
Shocked that England would even ask such a question, America slowly shook his head. "I...I won't...I won't forget you," he mumbled. "I don't know how you could even ask." With a short chuckle, America looked back down at England's hand, marveling at how soft the skin was, how perfect it seemed to fit into his own hand. No, he wouldn't ever be able to forget England. Even if millions of years passed, England would always be fresh on his mind. The thought of forgetting made his heart clench horribly, and he swallowed back his tears. How could he forget? When he loved him this much, when he wanted to always stay right beside him, it would be completely impossible.
"I won't forget you. Ever." He ran his fingers through his hair with one hand, letting out a gust of breath he didn't realize he had been holding. Would England be satisfied with that answer? Or did he want America to move on, to forget about him, to live happily? "But...you know me, Iggy." He gave a weak attempt at a smile, which faltered when he spoke once more. "I can't be sad forever. After a while, you know I'll just remember our better times."
Because being sad was something America could never live with. Even if England was gone, even if he fell to the fate that seemed to be inevitable, America certainly wouldn't mope about forever. England would want him to keep a 'stiff upper lip'. England wouldn't want tears shed when there was work to be done. No, he'd continue living happily. He'd continue living with the image of England etched onto his brain, England berating him when he became upset, England giving a dry smile when he said something silly, England gazing at him with warm and comforting eyes when he completed a task.
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Post by England on May 16, 2012 20:49:18 GMT -5
England looked at him a while longer, as if trying to spot the lies behind his words, but, as he found nothing but sincerity, he allowed himself to twitch the corners of his lips upwards for a few seconds.
"I feel somewhat bad for making you promise all these various things, America." he whispered. "I never wanted to make you sad, be it in life or in death. I promised myself I would never make you sad, but..." he trailed off, looking up and giving him a bittersweet, guilty smile. "I can't keep my promises. I never could. Maybe you'll have better luck than me, keeping promises to the dead."
He was glad America would have the strength to move on. The small spark of pride he had left, dwindling inside of him as his body and mind died out, insisted on not admitting to the fact that if it were him sitting on that chair and watching America's life slip right through his fingers... Millenniums and millenniums afterwards, he still would not have been able to get back up and let himself smile. England just didn't have that barrier around his heart that made him so cold and so strong before. He had America now, and to accept America, he had to open his heart, and thus release his weaknesses and defaults as well.
It was like opening Pandora's Box all over again. Except in England's case... he received something very much worth all the demons he let lose.
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Post by America on May 17, 2012 15:18:07 GMT -5
"Don't." America shook his head, wanting to say so many things, wanting to express every ounce of emotion he had stored up within him at the moment. "Don't say that." His grip on England's hand tightened as he felt his own hands begin to shake. No, he couldn't show his fear, he couldn't show his pain, not now. England needed him to be strong. "You won't die, you hear me? You're gonna keep your promise. You, you won't make me sad. You're gonna pull through this and I won't be sad."
Even though he stated how he'd remember their happier times, it would still take him a while to get over the loss. How long, America wasn't sure. He had been through deaths before. He had to watch his presidents fall, their families, soldiers on the battlefield, influential citizens, random families...he was no stranger to death. None of them were. But having England die, having the closest ally, his only love, die and never return scared him. He wasn't sure how he'd be able to handle it in the weeks, months, years afterward. He didn't want to handle it. He wanted to keep believing that everything would be fine.
The fact that England told him specifically to pull the gun on him made him fear England's death even more. He didn't know if he would be able to do as England wished, even if he had promised. He couldn't even bear thinking it. Back during the Revolution, when his gun was pointed at England...even that had frightened him. America knew he wouldn't have shot the other nation back then. Though they were in war, though America knew England wouldn't die just from that, he wasn't able to pull the trigger. Neither was England.
But here he was, already promising to shoot him and end his life forever, already promising to move on without him. He couldn't help the lone tear that escaped his eye and rolled down his cheek.
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Post by England on May 17, 2012 18:30:36 GMT -5
England looked at him sadly, his heart twisting at the sight of the tear that was running its course down America's cheek. He slowly put a hand out and collected it on his index before it fell off his face, slowly bringing his fingers up to his face and examining the wetness on his fingertip. America was crying for him. Somehow, the thought of him making America cry hurt a lot more than any other injury.
"America, please don't cry for me." he tried to smile, ending up with an awkward twitch of the lips. "I... I'm not worth your tears." he dropped his hand, suddenly feeling extremely tired, as if he could slip any time now. "I don't want to be the one to make you cry. I don't want anyone to make you cry." a sudden feeling of helplessness rang out through his entire body, and the entire thing just felt so hopeless, so frustrating... England felt like he was going to explode.
Why couldn't anything work out the way he planned it to be?
"Why can't I save you?" he asked himself out loud, wanting to do nothing but pull his knees up and curl into a tight ball where nothing would be able to hurt him anymore. "No matter what I do, I still can't save you, America." He'd hurt America enough for one lifetime. He didn't want anyone or anything to hurt him anymore. That's why he was dying, because he'd tried to protect America. And he thought he'd succeeded, that is, until he saw the anguish in those eyes he adored so much.
That's all he wanted, but he still couldn't get it. Nothing he did seemed to be enough to save America from hurt.
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Post by America on May 18, 2012 16:08:29 GMT -5
America knew he needed to stop crying. He needed to calm down and stay happy, if only for England. He felt selfish, selfish for thinking only of the pain this was bringing him. Why couldn't he take into consideration how England was feeling? Why couldn't he respect England enough to just smile for him? With a deep breath, America shook his head, running his hand across his face to stop any more tears from falling. "No," he whispered, unable to meet England's eyes. "No, none of this is your fault."
He didn't want England to blame himself. Above all else, he really didn't want England to blame himself for any of this. It just seemed so wrong and it made him feel guilty. If it was anyone's fault, it was his own. Letting out a shuddering sigh, America looked up at England, at the helplessness in his eyes, and tried laughing his tears away. Of course, it failed, as did most of his attempts to stay happy, and he had to take a few deep breaths before saying anything. He didn't want to cry anymore. Not now.
"Quit blaming yourself," he whispered, running his thumb along the knuckles of England's hand, wanting to hold this very hand forever. "You didn't cause anything to happen. You have no reason to beat yourself up over my tears." He attempted yet another smile and, luckily, this one was able to stay on his face, even if he didn't exactly feel like smiling. "England, I love you. I think I've told you that more times than needed today, but I truly do love you. I don't want you to be upset about anything, you hear? I'm just being the selfish guy I usually am. My tears aren't your fault."
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Post by England on May 18, 2012 23:18:44 GMT -5
England didn't reply, only half-convinced by America's statement. Deep inside, he had to admit that America's words struck home, but still... He was to blame at least halfway.
"Even if they aren't, I want to be able to do something, anything, to stop them." He felt so helpless and useless, tied down to his hospital bed, unable to help both America and himself. He hated it. He hated being so dependent on everything that wasn't under his control. He wasn't used to this. He was used to being the one who held all the strings in his hands, the one with power, the one who could change everything.
Everything had changed, and now... Now, he could change nothing anymore. Just when he thought he couldn't fall lower, a pit had opened up under his feet and he'd found himself airborne again. He could see the ground, not yet, but... He knew it was coming, and that he had no way of stopping his fall.
"I'm so tired..." he found himself whispering. "And..." he gulped down, gripping his sheets tighter and gritting his teeth as he imagined what would happen when he did finally hit the ground. He knew he'd be even more terrified once he got the ground in sight, knowing he was going to hit rock bottom very soon, knowing he'd lose everything very soon, and being unable to stop himself from falling to his death. "I'm scared." England finally admitted, feeling his heart twist in his chest at his confession.
He hated showing such weakness. He was supposed to be the strong one, and yet, he found he couldn't help the words that slipped out of his tightly closed lips. He was scared, and he had to admit it to both himself and the entire world.
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Post by America on May 19, 2012 12:26:24 GMT -5
Never before had America heard those words come from England's mouth. The thought of England, brave, strong England, was admitting to fear surprised America. It was a completely reasonable and understandable fear, yes, but America didn't want England to be scared. He wanted England to laugh and smile and be anything but frightened. Because he wouldn't die. America wouldn't let him die.
"I know," America muttered, biting at his lower lip. What could he do about it, though? His comforting words seemed like lies, even to his ears. England didn't want to hear lies, hopes, wishes. England wanted to know the truth. England wanted to be told everything would be all right because everything really would be all right, not because America wanted everything to be all right.
He felt as if there was nothing he could do to ease England's fears. "I'll be here," he said, moving himself to sit beside England, to touch more of his body, though he knew England was unable to feel it. "I'm going to stay by your side until you're one hundred percent better. You don't have to be scared of anything, England." But England still would be scared. America still would be scared. There was nothing to do or say to drive away all their fears.
Just don't leave me, America thought, squeezing England's hand and reminding himself that there was no possible way fate could be so cruel. There was no possible way that fate could tear them apart just when they had gotten together. It wasn't fair.
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Post by England on May 20, 2012 20:35:01 GMT -5
England numbly nodded, only half-registering America's words. And only believing half of what he heard. He knew he couldn't be afraid, even in the face of death, because his sacrifice would be well-worth it. His sacrifice was noble and honourable, so there was no reason for him to be so entirely, absolutely, completely overwhelmed by fear-
He hadn't taken America into account when he'd accepted his fate, minutes after the bite. He'd thought of the good his sacrifice would do, of the good he'd already done. He hadn't realized that hours away, sitting in a hospital bed, he would have to face his regrets. He hadn't realized that his desire to stay with America would overwhelm the nobility of his sacrifice.
His death wouldn't mean a thing, because it wouldn't benefit the person that mattered the most to England. And he hated the fact that no matter how hard he'd tried, it had still ended up leading to nothing.
"It's so unfair." his own whining reminded him of a petulant child's, but he needed to let it out. "Everything is. How time passes by too quickly. How I can't even enjoy your presence by my side right now. How we were all but forced to come here in the first place." How a treasure had been dug out on a sinking ship. And how everything they'd done up to now just hadn't been enough.
England was sick and tired of his efforts being in vain. He just wished there was something, anything, he could do to help himself and to help America and the others. But there was nothing. Slipping away, numb and half-paralyzed, all he could do was watch his happiness fly by and regret not having chased it when he still had the chance.
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