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Post by America on May 21, 2012 20:53:20 GMT -5
America gave a soft, bitter smile when he realized that England was on the same thoughts that he was. It was unfair. It was probably the most unfair, painful, horrible thing that could ever happen to America, to anyone. Why them? Why now? Just...why? Was life trying to prove to them that they couldn't be together, that it would always find some way to tear them apart? Was fate just conspiring against them, hoping that they would be miserable? No matter how he looked at it, America's blood just boiled over.
"Life isn't fair," he muttered, anger evident in his voice. "Life has never really been fair, especially for us, especially now. It's messing with our minds, though." He forced himself to look happier, to sound brighter, not wanting to be upset around England at the moment. "We can find ways to dodge past whatever life has in store for us. I know we can. We're gonna make our own destiny, whether life wants us to or not."
He wanted England in his future. He wanted to do all those things they had planned. He wanted to laugh and hold hands and drink up England's lovely smile. Screw life. Screw life and the plans that were made for them. He never was one for following orders, anyway. If he was going to stay on this planet, if he was going to continue breathing, he'd make certain that England would continue breathing right next to him.
He could cheat life. He was the hero, after all. If he couldn't save England, what was he good for?
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Post by England on May 21, 2012 22:40:34 GMT -5
"I guess you're right." England shrugged. "We shouldn't let ourselves be tamed by what they call a 'fate' or a 'destiny'. We'll go our own way, right?" he looked up at America hopefully. "We won't let anyone or anything tell us what to do, right?" And he desperately hoped that it wasn't too obvious that he was trying to convince himself more than anything else.
He was England, after all, he told himself. Nobody could tame the fierce island nation who had persevered and grown and fallen and learned throughout the ages. His story couldn't end here: it had just begun, after all. It had just begun anew, so England had to live and carry on and keep writing a story in which he and America were the main characters. Everybody knows that the main characters always prevail. England couldn't die now, since, after all, he was the main character in the story of his life. There was no way he could die now.... right?
"I wish there was something I could do to alleviate the atmosphere..." he muttered pensively. "I don't... I don't want to spend what could be possibly the last hours of my life regretting everything I have and have not done." he looked away, slightly ashamed of his conduct. He really needed to be reassured, though. He didn't want false hope, he wanted the truth. And he really hoped the truth wouldn't be as bad as it could get.
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Post by America on May 22, 2012 6:52:49 GMT -5
If only they could alleviate the atmosphere. If only they could forget the dangers and just laugh like the good old times. Not that there had been very many 'good old times', but anything they shared in the past was surely better than this, right? Anything was better than knowing that death lay just a few hours away. Anything was better than knowing death was crawling right beside you, waiting for it's chance to strike.
America's stomach clenched painfully. ”Wh-What do you regret?” he asked quietly, glancing down at England. If he knew, maybe he could do something about it to make everything better. Well, not everything, but maybe he could make England happier, calmer, more peaceful. England's smile and serene face would be like fuel to America's wrenching heart. Just so long as England was pleased, America would be too.
”If...If I can help you with any of your regrets,” he muttered. ”Just lemme know.” If England was to die (which America still refused to believe), America would do all he could to make certain that England died without any sort of regrets.
Except he really wasn't going to die. He couldn't.
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Post by England on May 22, 2012 22:44:31 GMT -5
"I don't know..." England shrugged. "I guess my biggest regret was letting you go... Not spending enough time with you..." he shied away from America's gaze, embarrassed. "It all comes back to a question of time."
There never was enough time for anything. Never enough time spent by America's side, never enough time to say proper goodbyes by the dock, never enough time to write him proper letters, never enough time to plead his officials to let him go back to the New World...
Never enough time to watch America grow up without him... Never enough time to understand him... Never enough time to prevent what turned out as a crisis... Never enough time to recuperate for the centuries afterwards...
"There's never enough time to do anything." he buried his face in his hands tiredly. "We say we've got an eternity, but the intervals of time we'll dedicate to the completion of something are never long enough. The two hours I have left by your side will never be enough to let me die in peace. I wish time would just stop so I could... So I could stay by your side literally forever..."
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Post by America on May 23, 2012 18:15:14 GMT -5
Ah, but wouldn't that be lovely? America wished he could have invented some sort of machine to just make time stand still. He would press it and just wrap his arms around England for as long as he wanted, kiss England for as long as he wanted, talk to England for as long as he wanted, just be there with England, for as long as they both wanted. He wished their destiny were different. He wished they wouldn't have to part, not now, not ever.
"I want to stay with you forever, too," he muttered. And, just like England said, he knew their forever, forever as nations, would involve a lot of time away from each other. No, he wanted just what England wanted. He wanted all of the time with England, not just a few days here or there. "I don't want to leave you, and I don't want you to leave me. I just want to take you on date after silly date and never stop."
However, wishes didn't come true. Despite America trying desperately to attain all that he ever dreamed for, most dreams never made it out of his mind. They stayed there, doomed to never exist in the real world. More than anything, he wanted that to change. He just wanted time. Why couldn't he receive this? He would get rid of all his other requests if it meant that England would always be there, smiling, scowling, cooking, laughing, complaining, humming...
"I don't want you to ever leave," he whispered, swallowing past the lump in his throat.
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Post by England on May 23, 2012 21:39:52 GMT -5
"I won't, that you can be sure of." England's gaze softened as he fondly put his hand up and played with some of America's golden locks of hair, wondering if they felt as soft as they looked. "Even if I do... die..." the concept was quite frightening, in reality. "Be it today, tomorrow, in a hundred years, or the day before the end of the world, I will never ever leave you." he gently dragged his hand down from America's hair, ghosting his touch over his cheeks, trailing down his neck, and resting over his heart. "I'll be right here, waiting for you whenever you care to remember me." he smiled sadly.
In an ideal place at an ideal time, in an ideal world, ideally... England would never have to remind America of such things. The precisions made their entire situation feel like a futility. As if they were being bothered by something that couldn't be helped. England hated feeling so hopeless. He didn't want to be forgotten, he didn't want to be lost between two pages of a never-ending history book... But he couldn't even do anything to make sure of that. He just sat by and hoped that nobody would forget him. And hoped with a lot more fervor, that America, of all people, would remember him every single day.
"And... You can be sure you'll never leave me." he assured in a quiet voice, turning his eyes away. "I don't know what comes after death. But whatever it is, I'll face it head on, knowing I had, and have you by my side. Even if death is just floating in darkness until you feel weightless enough to forget even yourself, there is one thing I won't forget." he turned his gaze back up, staring straight into America's eyes, mustering up intensity to back up his words. "You."
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Post by America on May 24, 2012 20:29:15 GMT -5
America tried blinking back those tears that were starting to form again, tried blocking out some of the words that would force him to face reality head-on once more, something he didn't want to ever have to do again. He wanted to make-believe that this would all turn out perfect, that nothing bad would happen to England, that they would be happy forever. Hell, at this point, he just wanted England to be happy. He didn't care if England forgot him, so long as he could continue living. It seemed selfish, but America could deal with anything so long as England continued living.
"Y-You know I'll always remember you," he murmured, struggling to keep up his slightly-cheerful demeanor. However, his optimism was slowly leaving him with each of the seconds that passed. He didn't know how much longer he and England would have together, and the thought that it would soon end was murdering him on the inside. "You know I couldn't...couldn't forget. Not ever."
No. No matter what would happen, England would forevermore be etched onto his mind. He needed to keep him here physically as well as mentally, though. He needed his presence by his side. "I have faith that you'll always remember me," he whispered, closing his eyes. He couldn't bear to look at England's face now. He couldn't bear to face the hopelessness of it all. "But...I just want you here beside me, England. I love you so much and it hurts, it hurts real bad, just knowing that in a few hours we might...you would..." He gritted his teeth, opening his eyes but turning them away from England.
The future seemed horrible now. The future seemed empty.
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Post by England on May 25, 2012 16:12:24 GMT -5
And England felt guilty, so incredibly guilty for hurting America like that. It seemed like no matter what he did, he always ended up hurting the ones he loved.
Love... Yes, that had to be it. That had to be why England felt like his heart was being torn apart, one muscle fiber at a time. That had to be why America's expression was, on its own, slowly convincing him to break down and cry for the both of them. That had to be why England felt the compulsive need to just get a grip on America and never let him go for fear of losing his anchor to sanity.
"Let me make you feel better, then..." England whispered, gently touching America's shoulder, then his neck, and then his cheeks. "For all the time I have left in the world, I want to steal your pain and keep it somewhere it won't be able to reach you. I wish I could stop hurting you, but since I seem to be unable to do so..." he chuckled bitterly, not a single trace of humour in his voice. "... Let me heal the hurt I inflicted." he brought his gaze down to America's lips, caressing them gently. "Temporary relief it might be, but relief it is still."
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Post by America on May 26, 2012 21:23:22 GMT -5
It sounded lovely, if only for the time being. To have no sort of sadness weighing over him, to be free of it for just a little bit- the thought was so tempting, so perfect. But it wouldn't last. And that was the whole thing that made America actually want to refuse- he knew it wouldn't last. It would be nice to stop hurting for any amount of time, even a few seconds, but the pain would always come rushing right back to him, possibly hit him even worse than before. He couldn't get rid of it, he couldn't escape it. Unless England was out of harm's way, America was stuck feeling this way.
In a few years, though, a long while after all this would be over, if England wasn't around, America wouldn't be moping. He'd only be giving himself fond memories of England, of the time they had together. It would be tainted with the loss, though, but at least America would be able to move on, even if he couldn't ever forget. England, though...if these few hours were really his final ones, he shouldn't be trying to make America feel better. It should be the other way around. America should be doing all he could to make sure England died happily and peacefully and without any sort of regret.
Grabbing England's wrist and kissing his fingers softly, America shook his head. "I should be healing you," he said, his breath brushing over the skin and wishing that England could at least feel this, could experience the same sensations of touch that America could. "I should be making sure that you aren't hurt, that you're pleased with the world." And yet he couldn't. With all his crying, with all his silly words, with all his dreams and wishes, America was unable to make England feel well again.
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Post by England on May 28, 2012 18:59:21 GMT -5
"I am pleased with the world. I love the way it has evolved and the way it has progressed. I love how it's always so bright and sunny, and all I have to do is lose myself in my world and I, too, can feel entirely happy." England gently embraced America, putting his cheek against his hair and breathing softly, wishing he could feel the strands tickling his nose like they seemed to be doing.
Just another reminder that he was as good as dead, and that no matter how much he wanted to cry and despair, he had to live out the few hours he had in tranquil happiness, regret and remorse perhaps, but not anguish. He'd done enough of that for one lifetime.
"You don't need to heal anything in me, America." he whispered, closing his eyes and imagining how soft the younger man's hair must have felt against his cheek. "You healed all my cracks the day you found me, and once more on the day you found me all over again." his cracked lips stretched into a tired smile, and he shifted lightly so he could press closer, praying for something- anything to be given to him. A saving grace. A second longer. A spark of heat in his belly. Anything. He just didn't want to feel so cold and isolated anymore. That's what he'd done all his life, and he didn't want it anymore.
"You're my world, America." he turned his face so it was buried in America's golden hair. It may have been dirty, matted, blood-stained and greasy, but it didn't matter. England was comfortable just the way he was. "You're my world, and I'm happy- so happy you turned out the way you did."
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Post by America on May 30, 2012 17:47:00 GMT -5
America closed his eyes, the soothing words and comforting touches completely overwhelming him. He just wanted to get lost in this, to never have to face what might come next in their life. It felt safe right here, but he was scared that if he pulled back or if England broke away, the world would hit him once more and remind him that England was going to die in just a few hours. He gripped the back of England's shirt, letting out a deep breath of air.
He was pleased that he was able to heal England. He was pleased that he was somehow able to make England happy. However, what if he was still in pain? Maybe not physically, America knew he probably was, but...he had the knowledge that his life was slowly drifting away, that these would be the last moments he would be able to ever have. How could he be happy despite that fact? And how could America not take it away.
"I don't want you to leave me, though," he whispered. "I make you happy, you make me happy, and I want it to stay that way. I just want us to be happy together. I want to go on those dates with you and have parties and dance and kiss in the rain and drag you to McDonald's and endure your awful cooking and just be with you, England. But..." But he couldn't and he waited too long to be given such a chance. He regretted not telling England his feelings sooner. Even a day sooner, for goodness sakes! That was one more day and that would have been so much better than a few hours.
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Post by England on Jun 2, 2012 21:39:27 GMT -5
"I know, America, trust me, I know..." England hushed in an uncharacteristically silent voice, his gaze forlorn and full of regrets as he stared at the wall behind America, one of his hands petting the latter's hair while the other looped around his neck. "You told me before, you told me a million times." and every single time, it sent a pang through his heart, a pang of pain at all the anguish being create because of his unwise choices.
Tears were begging to be let free, pushing against his will in a battle of dominance. Whichever won over the other would be given free reign to England's next actions. After this, England would either keep a stiff upper lip like every other time, or let all the pain from all the stiff upper lips he'd held throughout his life flow. He was dying. It was now or never.
"You don't have to tell me again." he choked, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment and letting the emotion overwhelm his senses. "Please, you don't have to remind me again that I owe you so much happiness, happiness I may never be given the chance to hand you on a silver platter, just the way I want to present it to you. I want to make you feel special." his grip tightened on America, his hand fisting in his hair for a moment. "Please don't remind me that I may never be able to make you feel that way..."
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Post by America on Jun 2, 2012 23:50:25 GMT -5
"I'm sorry," America instantly whispered, not quite sure which of his deeds he was apologizing for. Waiting so long? Making England feel this bad? Not being able to save him? Or was he just now trying to say something, something that had been said before, over and over again, something he believed he could never say enough? America had no idea. England's grip on him tightened, and America breathed in nothing but his scent. He wanted to keep breathing that. He wanted to keep it with him forever, wanted to turn to his side and see England standing right next to him. But, as he had already come to accept, it would never happen.
"I'm sorry, England. I'm...I'm sorry." He repeated those words, trying to convey every emotion he was feeling, trying to express...something. He wasn't sure. He just didn't want England to be this upset over him. I'll be fine, he wanted to say. I'll always remember you and you'll always be in my heart, but I'll be fine. I'll live. I'll still be here and you... He bit his lip, quickly stopping himself from thinking any more.
With a thick swallow, America placed a quick kiss to England's neck, hating the fact that he was doing this despite knowing England couldn't feel. It lost all meaning if England was unaware of the kiss. "Oh god, England, you've...you can't worry about me. Just don't. You don't know how special you've made me feel already, how...how happy I am just...just being with you like this. You know, planning our dates and parties and life and everything." And yet he still felt guilty. He knew he'd be happier if England stayed with him, but he hated only thinking about his own happiness. England was the one who needed to be happy right now. He needed to stop wallowing about in self-pity and start being England's true hero.
"I love you, England, and the fact that you allow me to love you makes me so happy." He couldn't look England in the eyes, not when he didn't want to move from his position. Not when his eyes were this wet.
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Post by England on Jun 3, 2012 15:36:51 GMT -5
"You're beautiful, America." England merely replied, as if there was nothing left he could say. "Inside and out, you're beautiful in your entirety, and I am overjoyed to have met someone like you." he gulped down, his throat feeling dry and scratchy as the impending tears pushed on for release. "I feel so privileged, being given the opportunity to hold you like this and kiss you... And I really hope that someday, I'll be able to feel the warmth of your body and the touch of your lips, because it's killing me inside to know that I can't enjoy what you give me." He just wanted to be happy, if he died. Nothing was being left intact for him. Not even one last pleasure before black consumed him. He couldn't even die with the reassurance that America had known he'd died happy.
He hated it, he hated it all. And in a sudden fit of anger, he tightened his arms around America, his grip abnormally strong for someone who was dying, and he let out a loud, frustrated scream that was muffled in America's shoulder.
He didn't say anything after that. He didn't even feel lighter. The anger and disappointment and anguish inside of him would not let up. England just hoped that the final hours would pass by quickly. The shield he'd set up around him was quickly wearing off, and he was afraid of the real England that was coming out from behind it. He'd already shown America too much weakness, and he hated himself for it. He'd always believed he would be able to die with a straight face. Of course, a zombie apocalypse wasn't accounted for in that belief, but it didn't change the fact that England hated the show he was making of himself.
Thankfully, deep inside, he knew that America would not judge him for anything he did. The only person who would judge him, actually, would be himself.
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Post by America on Jun 5, 2012 16:01:55 GMT -5
America wanted to cry when he heard that scream of anguish that was released from England. He wanted to hold England just as tightly as the elder nation was holding him and cry. He couldn't, though. He had to be strong enough for the both of them, no matter how impossible of a task it sounded. America brought his hand up and ran it through England's hair, wishing that it could be of comfort to him rather than nothing at all. He just wanted England to feel his hugs and kisses and just plain contact.
Everything will be alright, he wanted to whisper, just like he had seen it done in the movies. Everything will be fine. But, again, he had to remind himself that this wasn't a movie. There probably wouldn't be a happy ending just around the corner. He needed to brace himself for what might come his way next, brace himself and deal with it like a man. He couldn't break, not when he had promised England so much.
But he felt as if he needed to say something, anything, to break the silence, to give the room some sort of peace. "Back when...back when I was a kid..." America felt his mouth go dry, so he quickly cleared it, wishing he had some water to swallow. "Back when I was a kid, I always looked up to you. I always wanted to be just like you." He chuckled lightly, refusing to pull out of England's grasp. "I loved going to town with you, even, just so everyone could see you. I was so proud to have you in my life. And, you know...it never changed. Throughout all these years, you would have thought I'd find a new idol, but..." He sighed softly, burying his head in England's messy hair, nuzzling up closer to him. "I don't think I can ever stop looking up to you, England. I don't think I could ever stop wishing I could be just like you."
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