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Post by England on Jun 7, 2012 19:48:12 GMT -5
"Well then, I for one, know you've grown up to be such a wonderful young man..." England sighed, slipping his eyes shut for a moment and enjoying the weightlessness that the darkness brought him. "Sure, you're a right arse sometimes, and quite obnoxious, and illogical and immature, but..." He shrugged, giving a small, tired smile as he draped himself over America's shoulders, lacking energy to hold himself up. "I guess... I guess that's what I like about you..." he mumbled softly. "That's what makes you, well.... you."
And he wouldn't change it for the world. he often complained that America was too loud, or too bratty, or too demanding, or too immature, but.. he never did really mean it. After all, he'd fallen for the America who acted like all of those, and so much more. And once he really thought about it, he really would be destabilized if one day, he was forced to live with an America that acted serious and responsible all the time. Because if he did, what would England do? Lovers were supposed to complete each other, so England liked completing the lack of seriousness in America's personality.
Lovers... His heart leaps at the concept associated to the single word, and his breath hitched for a moment. His heart was beating must faster now, and he blushed. They still had a long way to go before they could call themselves that, but... Just thinking about it, imagining them holding each other and whispering sweet nothings, and understanding everything without even having to speak... The image was enchanting, and oh-so lovely. England's heartstrings tugged again, making him nauseous, when he realized how close he was to never achieving that dream.
His heart still hadn't calmed down, though, and by then, England was starting to realize that maybe the sudden rise wasn't due to the fact that he was thinking of the future. The thought only made his grip tighter, and he grit his teeth. Here is came. The countdown was nearing its end, and there came the descent into nothingness.
1200 hours
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Post by America on Jun 8, 2012 8:22:13 GMT -5
America smiled at this, somehow forcing his lips to turn upward and telling himself to stay happy, stay calm, stay pleased. He wasn't going to break. He was going to show England that he would always be the same person, show England just how much joy he brought into his life. He didn't want to end everything with tears and cries and despair. No, he would continue going until the very last moment. He would continue being who he was. It might seem false, almost like he was putting on a show, but he could do that. He could handle with the fake happiness for now, if only for England.
"That's the first time I've heard you say something like that," he replied, staring at the wall ahead of him. If he could just keep his eyes on that one spot, he wouldn't have to look at England. If he looked at England, he knew how much pain it would bring him. He'd have to stare into those green eyes with the knowledge that they would soon lose all life in them. He'd have to watch that smile or frown, well aware that, after this, he could never see that unique emotion on England's face again. He'd have to understand that they only had such a short amount of time left together, and then...and then it was over. No, he would continue staring at the wall for as long as he could. Holding England in his arms was enough for now.
He didn't know what else to say, but he felt as if he had to continue talking. He hated the silence. "I expect to be hearing it a lot more in the fut-" He stopped, swallowing nervously and suddenly feeling his hands become shaky. "I...I meant...I like hearing your nice...nice remarks." He took a deep breath, willing himself not to cry. "You know how vain I am. Y-You know I'd like hearing them more and more."
He didn't know how he was supposed to handle this. Why had he already accepted the fact that there was no future together? Why couldn't he have his hope back, his dreams? Why couldn't he make sure that everything would be fine, that they'd wake up beside each other and...and it would be fine.
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Post by England on Jun 8, 2012 18:50:14 GMT -5
"If I could help it, I would never stop complimenting you, you beautiful, amazing boy." England chuckled shakily, clinging on America as if he were his lifeline. "You deserve it, and so much more." And he meant it, because America deserved the world for being who he was and brightening England's life by such a huge margin.
His heart leaped systematically now, skipping a beat here and there and causing some kind of nausea to rise within England's entire system. He blinked and took a deep breath, fear striking deep in his chest when his vision blurred for a moment there, and took another to return to normal. His stomach hurt. As did his head. Something was coming. England could feel it.
"Help me lay down." he quickly ordered, his tone lacking the steadiness he so desperately wanted. Hoping that his pains were merely the result of him putting pressure on his stomach, he started wiggling in hopes of lying down and clearing his system of pressure. He just hoped it was just that. He just hoped he still had time to tell America all the things he hadn't said yet. Because he still had so much to do, so many loose ends left to tie before he died.
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Post by America on Jun 9, 2012 13:13:17 GMT -5
Though he was worried that England could potentially fall asleep and drift off into the coma, the next stage of the infection, the last one before death, America wasn't going to deny him anything. England wanted to lay down. Besides, it seemed as if hardly any time at all had passed from the last stage. Perhaps he just needed a quick rest before fighting off this infection. With a nod, America shifted his positioned and slowly lowered England back down onto the bed, making sure his head was resting softly on the pillows.
America wanted to ask if he was alright, but he realized the stupidity of that question. Of course he wasn't alright. He was dying. It was an idiotic thing to even think. He bit his lip, trying to hide the pain that was probably layered all about his face. He wasn't going to break. He had to remind himself that he would do them both harm if he decided to just fall into despair right here and now. He'd keep up his strong exterior. He'd show England all the happiness he could.
Hating the loss of contact even more now, America reached out and grabbed one of England's hands, rubbing his thumb over the skin, if only to comfort himself. He didn't want England to leave his side. It was hurting him so much, just simply seeing the man he loved drift away. "You feeling okay?" he blurted out before he could think. Well...maybe sometimes stupid questions had to be asked. Maybe sometimes America had to take in the knowledge of whatever England told him- yes or no. America steeled himself for the answer, expecting the worst.
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Post by England on Jun 10, 2012 18:07:30 GMT -5
"I-I'm fine..." England winced as an ache crackled across his ribs, sparking his nerves on fire. He grunted and closed his eyes for a moment, but immediately opened them again. The darkness surrounding him was just so pressuring. Coupled with the pain he could feel from the inside, it was almost unbearable.
Desperately fumbling around, he found America's hand and weakly squeezed it, trying to take deep breaths. Maybe he'd just run out of breath. He was quite weak, after all, and overexertion wouldn't take much for his body. Yes, maybe he just needed a quick rest. A bit of sleep. Then, he'd be up and running again. Okay, so maybe not running. But up, at least. In an effort to compel himself to leave the pain behind and get some sleep, he closed his eyes and tried to relax his muscles.
He instantly felt like something was pulling him down into the darkness. Like a clawed, strong hand gripping him and pulling him, the effect comparable to sinking in quicksand. England's mind was sinking in quicksand.
With a gasp for breath, he forced his eyes open again, finding no solace. With his eyes open, his body hurt. With his eyes closed, he started losing himself. Already, the sweet poison promises of sleep that the infection whispered into his ear were dragging him down again, and it was getting harder to fight the pull on his eyelids.
"A-America." he found himself calling, hoping in desperation that he could be saved. That someone- anyone- would be able to keep him alive. Just a little longer. He didn't feel like he'd had enough time to do anything constructive at all. He was dying and leaving behind nothing to remember him by. "America." his voice was shaking, and he turned, his other hand grasping America's, gripping it tight between his two hands. He looked up, hopeless, confused, and just so terrified, and silently pleaded to him.
"Save me."
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Post by America on Jun 10, 2012 22:29:37 GMT -5
If America had thought the symptoms before were bad, this was even worse. This was full-out torture, having to watch England struggle in such a way. And now their fear was coming into play- England would soon be gone. England was slipping farther and farther away with each second that passed, with each minute that ticked away. And all America could do was grip tightly to England's two hands, his eyes wide with alarm and his breathing quick.
"I'm here," he assured, wanting so much to say more. He wanted more than assurance, he wanted the solid truth that no harm would ever come to England. "I'm right here. I won't leave. I'll..." He couldn't do anything. he was once again left to flounder about in his helplessness, forced to watch from the sidelines as England continued to fall. "I-I'm not leaving. Ever. I'm gonna stay with you forever and we're gonna be happy, you hear me?" He stared right into England's eyes, his heart almost breaking in two when he saw the terror that lay within them. "Just stay with me and...and it will be fine, everything will be fine."
He felt as if he was rambling. He felt as if he was trying to comfort himself. He felt as if he was lying.
How could anything be fine at this point? If not for the faith he had in his fellow nations, he would have given up by now. He would have already accepted the fact that England was going to die very shortly. But, the stubbornness in him refused to accept anything other than good news at this point. He had been met with nothing but pain since England was bitten. He wanted a happy ending. he wanted a Hollywood-style ending. He wouldn't go for anything less than that.
"Just stay with me," he whispered.
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Post by England on Jun 11, 2012 20:10:20 GMT -5
"What does it look like I'm trying to do?" England wheezed as breath momentarily escaped him. "Idiot..." he gasped out, trying to breathe, but failing to do so correctly. The pain in his chest was growing, as if a ton of cement had been put on his ribs and was now crushing him. The pressure he felt on his heart, lungs and stomach was horrible. He felt like he was going to throw up.
He blinked, his vision blurry, and only realized that tears were obstructing the view of America's face when he felt one of them roll down his cheeks. And he felt ashamed, so ashamed of himself for letting himself fall apart when all he had to do was keep himself together. But it felt like there was no point to anything anymore. It already felt like he was dead, and that everything he was doing was futile. Nothing remained for him anymore. No ledges to catch, no outstretched hands to hold onto, no obstacles to slow his fall. Just darkness, and a never ending fall.
The pain that had spread across his entire torso now came together, around his heart, and England winced, the action causing a few more tears to drip down his face, something that he ignored entirely. Something was stopping inside of him. He didn't know what was happening. He suddenly felt detached, lost, as if floating and drifting with no anchor to hold him down. He was all but gone. This was his last chance.
He would take it.
"This probably isn't the best time, but..." he rasped in a low voice, his lungs rapidly trying to expand to take in breath, but his brain unable to order them into full expansion. Instead, he drew short, ragged breaths, and tried to calm himself, despite knowing that calm was all he was going to get soon enough. "America..." he turned to him and looked at him for a moment, hands still gripping his, and suddenly, it hit him.
This was it. He was never going to see, or touch, or feel America ever again. And America would never get to do those to him, either. All their plans had been fruitless. Fantasies. Escapes from the harsh reality. Lies.
That's what hurt the most. England had lied to America, and he'd lied to himself, and he was ashamed to hell and back of his conduct for the past twelve hours. He didn't know what caused the dam to break, but it was probably the desperate hope for a miracle in America's eyes.
"I love you." England choked out, pressing America's hand to his face and trying to get just another feeling to keep in his memory, just one last spark, one last brush of a thumb over skin, anything- anything. "I love you, I'm sure of it, a-and I always will, a-and..." he closed his eyes, unable to face America and bit his lip so he wouldn't flat-out wail. "O-Oh god, I don't want to lose you, please don't let me lose you, please..." he didn't know who he was begging to, but he just hoped that someone, anyone, could hear him. "Please, I-I love you, why isn't that enough!? Why can't we just-" he choked back another sob welling up in his throat and looked up at America, desperate. Black was creeping on the edge of his vision already. Why so soon? Why now? "Why?"
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Post by America on Jun 11, 2012 22:32:15 GMT -5
And with that, all those emotions that America had been trying so desperately to keep in check came pouring out, tears quickly escaping his eyes and rolling down his cheeks. His whole body shook with sobs, shook with just the sheer thought that there would be no more times together. He was never going to have England by his side again. The others...the others hadn't made it in time, and now all hope truly was lost. How could there be anyway to devise a cure this quickly, with so little time left, with England continuing to slip away?
He felt like his throat was closed up. All that he could offer were tears. He wanted to be happy that England loved him back, but how could he? How could he smile when his dream was ripped to shreds? He didn't mind if England never told him, so long as he remained alive. He didn't want it all to end like this. He wanted to live out the fantasies they had devised. He wanted to kiss in the rain and watch horror movies late at night and argue about tea and coffee and McDonald's and scones and play video games together and even read those boring old books and-
You'll be fine, he wanted to say. You'll continue living and we'll have our happy ending. Lies. Everything was lies. Everything he thought and wished and hoped for...false. And he didn't know how he could handle it any longer. England's desperation and pain and unhappiness was wrong, he knew it, and there was no way of fixing it. Not only was England being taken from him, from life, he was being taken knowing that their love was only for a few short hours, less than a day, even, knowing that they wouldn't have their happily ever after ending.
He wanted to scream. he just wanted to scream out his frustration with the world, with whomever was taking England from him.
That was the one thing he held back on. He didn't think he would have the energy to do that.
"You w-won't lose me," he managed to choke out, his voice hoarse. "I-I'll always be here, and...and I love you and you can't leave me, not when...w-when we love each other. This...it wasn't suppose to..." It wasn't supposed to be this way. No, it was supposed to be full of happiness and joy and just...just...anything but this. Feeling England's skin against his hands, his heart just broke that much more. England couldn't feel him. England couldn't feel a damn thing.
He bent over and kissed England's forehead, still managing to keep his hands on England's cheeks, his eyes on England's eyes. He couldn't stop crying and everything was getting blurry, but he could still see well enough to know that this was the last chance he'd ever get to see England awake. He didn't care if he wanted to close his eyes and cry. No, he was going to face England and use these last few minutes to just be beside him.
He wouldn't ever get another chance.
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Post by England on Jun 11, 2012 23:01:26 GMT -5
"W-Why does it n-never-" England took a rasping breath, his lungs burning for more, but his brain unable to accommodate to the signals. "-F-Fucking... work out?" he closed his eyes for a moment, feeling his eyes burning in exhaustion and tears streaming down his cheeks, and wished silently that somehow, it didn't end this way. It couldn't, could it? He hadn't survived throughout the ages, no matter what, just to die here, right?
He would forever be known as the nation that was weak enough to succumb. This wasn't even exceptional- it was just another war. England hated himself for losing a war like this.
"I'm sorry." he whispered with a surprising clarity. "I'm so sorry. I never meant to hurt you like this." he weakly put his hand up, and through his blurring, dimming vision, he saw one of the tears glistening on his cheeks and shakily wiped it off. "There are... so many things I want to say to you, and to everyone else..." he took a rattling breath and closed his eyes for a moment, the darkness that invaded him pulling him down immediately. For a moment, England did lose control and did give into the darkness, going still.
No, not yet. He couldn't give in. When a few minutes was all he had left, a few minutes he would take. With an enormous effort, he opened his eyes slightly, just enough to look at America, create an eternal painting of him in his head, a picture he would remember forever.
"America..." he tugged weakly on his hand, pulling him down. "I-" He couldn't remember what he wanted to say. He felt numb, so numb, as if paralyzed everywhere. He couldn't even muster up the energy to move his lips and speak. His mind was shutting down, his heartbeat getting slower, his vision, dimming... He didn't want to go, not yet...
He still had... so much to live for...
"C-Can I kiss you one last time...?" England finally asked, blinking the tears away as his heart clenched at the concept of finality. This was it. This is where it all ended. With this kiss, he was sealing a contract that guaranteed his death, and eternal suffering for America. All of it, for just one kiss. England could not bring himself to regret what he did.
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Post by America on Jun 12, 2012 7:11:23 GMT -5
It was the 'one last time' that terrified America. It was the 'one last time' that made his heart clench so painfully in his chest. it was the 'one last time' that reminded him of those days and weeks and months and years that he'd have to continue without England by his side. Yet, it was the 'one last time' that made him nod, that made him agree.
Because this would be their one last time to kiss, to embrace, to even be with each other. There wouldn't be any more time. This was it. This was the last time England would be able to do anything. Last time England would be able to kiss him.
Not trusting himself enough to speak, America nodded, painfully aware of the fact that Death was waiting just around the corner. And he, America, in all his heroism and strength, was unable to fend Death away. It had nearly taken England over completely. One last squeeze at his life, and then that was it. And then America would never see the man he loved again.
England had already pulled him back down halfway, so the distance between them wasn't too far of a gap to cross, but for America, time passed by slowly. It crawled along, echoing every heartbeat that came from his chest, magnifying it's sound across the room. Of course, he knew it was all in his mind. He knew time was unable to slow down.
Oh, but how he wished it would. How he wished time would just stand still, if only for America and England, until the cure could be made.
His lips touched England's and he melted into the kiss, the soft, gentle kiss. He didn't want to draw back. If he drew back, England would completely slip away from him. He knew it. He knew that this was their last moment together and this was their last kiss and, god, why did it have to end this way? Why couldn't they be allowed a life of happiness together? What had they done to deserve this horrendous punishment, to deserve being ripped from each other?
Life was unfair. He had heard that saying more times he could count. He always believed in that saying. This wasn't life being unfair, though. No, this was life screwing them both up. This was life taking them and seeing how much it could break them. This was life wanting to see suffering and torture and countless years spent alone. This was life ending.
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Post by England on Jun 12, 2012 12:52:01 GMT -5
England did not close his eyes. Whilst in a regular situation, it would have been awkward, in this one, he just couldn't make himself lose visual contact with America. It was all he had anymore. He couldn't even feel their kiss, but at least he was aware that America was here, and he was kissing him, and that this would be the very last time-
England had to break the kiss for a moment because a choked sob made its way past his lips. Their proximity was wonderful, he just wished he could feel his tears smudging against America's cheeks, he just wished he could feel anything, anything at all except for the overwhelming desperation that had taken him over already.
He couldn't say anything anymore. His breath was already short, and so he had a choice: speak and mourn his -their- loss or leave what he hoped would be a lasting memory of him. He chose the latter. Sometimes, actions did speak louder than words.
He was shaking inside, and he briefly wondered if he was shaking against America's lips as well. His arms, previously having wound up for support around America's neck, had gone all but limp. England felt so tired, exhausted and ready to drop. It felt like every part of him had gone cold and numb, although his slowed heartbeat could've been the cause of that. He was shutting down, and he knew it. But he still tired to hold on, he still persevered, tried to last out until the end, just to show destiny that he wouldn't be defeated so easily.
His eyelids felt heavy, and he blinked, finding it harder every time to open his eyes again. It was all a matter of will now. And England willed himself to stay awake just a bit longer. Just one last stretch. Just enough to say America's name once more, listen to the way it rolled on his tongue, melodic and sweet, and forever embedded in his memory.
He couldn't muster up the necessary energy, though. His voice just wouldn't come. Instead, he looked into America's eyes, memorizing the enchanting blue of them, and silently mouthed his name against his lips. There was pressure, so much pressure, and he found his eyes sliding shut. The last things he saw were America's teary eyes, an image now forever burned into his brain.
England went limp in America's arms.
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Post by America on Jun 12, 2012 21:27:29 GMT -5
All he could do was stare right then. He stared, his body and mind in complete shock. The tears continued rolling down his face, yet it didn't register in his brain that he was still sobbing. Nothing registered except for the fact that England had totally slipped from him. England was gone.
Not dead, though. Not yet. Simply forced to await the death with no comfort anymore. He wasn't able to feel or see or hear or...or...anything. They wouldn't be able to talk or kiss or laugh or just sit and enjoy each other's presence. They wouldn't be able to take walks alongside gardens or take road trips through their countries or share ice cream or watch television or wake up together-
America buried his face into England's clothes, gripping him tightly and letting forth all those tears and all those sobs. He didn't care who heard. He didn't care if he would be labeled a crybaby, if he would be labeled weak. He would gladly take all of those labels just for England to come back to him. Hell, he would gladly take anything, if only he could have England by his side.
It hurt. It hurt so damn bad, and there wasn't any healing for this sort of hurt. There wasn't anyway his heart could be mended. England couldn't magically re-appear and sew it all back together, fix the pieces right back up again. All America could do was continue with life. It seemed easy enough before, to say that he would continue with his head held high, but now the truth was ugly. England wasn't by his side anymore. England wasn't with him and would never be with him and how could America continue with him dead?
And then there was the anger. Anger at whoever took England from him. Anger at everyone. Anger at himself. "You promised," he cried, his voice muffled from the clothing he still had his face buried into you. "Idiot. You promised you wouldn't let him die. You promised. You fucking promised." He couldn't even keep the love of his life alive for a day. A mere day. All they needed to do was wait and America couldn't help. He couldn't do anything but sit there and drown in his hopelessness and pity and sadness and he didn't even think about what he could do.
He sat up, pulling England into his lap and cradling him, his breath coming out in ragged sobs. Wake up, he silently begged, unable to stare at those closed eyes. Wake up, just wake up. They would never open again. He would never be able to see the brilliant green that shone from them, the expression that made itself clear, that made England who he was. Don't leave me, England. We were supposed to live happily ever after...
[[And...now I should wait? And silently sob to myself...]]
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Post by china on Jun 13, 2012 0:37:34 GMT -5
1500 hours
If China was in one of his 'moods' he would have kicked the door down, probably to brake the crescendo (rather major) cloud of choking tendrils of painstaking tension.
Unlike a colony of lemmings, though, he thought twice. Curling his free hand around the doorknob China pressed through, pressuring the hinges to move for him when he himself had no intention of coming back here to hear their sobbing. He was never very good with sympathizing and even worse, showing weakness when it was already present. It made him and his government uneasy. (That's what he told himself, at least. He wasn't crying when his siblings--what a spire of a word--left. No, it would not have sense. There was no one but him, he couldn't...).
Even so he had the gall to smile, it wasn't very wide but it was meaningful. Light-hearted humour unwillingly took the better of him.
"America, England, aru~" He sang, "you better not have died on me, aru. You're for us, a sense of hope," He brandished a needle the size of Kentucky, it's spindle glistening a metal peg with an even more impressive syringe on the end of it.
"Guess what Japan has for you," he said with a silly, quirky smile, "it wouldn't be the cure, now would it? That would be too lucky, even for you, aru~" His eyes, shining like beetle shells, shook off the motherly tint despite how silly he sounded. He just didn't want them unhappy. It wasn't over yet.
By England's side he knelt in his lab coat, having moved quick to not be regarded with those sets of frigidly depressive eyes. Green and blue like oxigenless blood turned nuclear.
His slender, worn hands worked fast to drive the Sr2Xe4 into the needle without a thread of liquid dropping.
Carefully, like he was working with the first paper, China pinched the skin of England's arm and injected the contents into his bloodstream, administering the vaccine once and for all.
"一...二...三...四......五......六......七...八......九......十 [[It's shà but it's not working]].....二....十二......十三......十四....十五."
Then, he waited.
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Post by England on Jun 13, 2012 17:35:02 GMT -5
England's body did not react at first. His skin had gone cold as the heart had all but stopped beating just a little while ago, so for a while there, for the time it took his slowed circulatory system to pump the vaccine up into his brain, he stayed motionless as ever. Cold. On the brink of death. Silent. Strangely serene.
And then, the light green liquid hit him straight-on, the chemicals immediately setting to work to bringing him back to life again. Something built up inside of him, something warm and comforting and full of life, but he still was too comatose to be conscious of the phenomenon. His skin, previously so pale and devoid of colour, started turning just slightly peachier, the light freckles on his upper cheeks standing out. His blood was pumping again, very slowly at first, and then slightly faster and faster, until it had reached a semi-normal state.
That's when something inside of him finally reacted, and England's previously limp body arched up, and he drew a long, rattling, raspy breath that sounded desperate and demanding, as if fighting to even exist. Laying comatose, he gasped for breath for a while as if he'd run a marathon, before settling back down. His muscles, previously tense, eased, and he sank back into the hospital bed again, his breathing straightening out. Once he awakened from his healing coma, everything would go back to normal.
After so much fighting, so many tears, so many fears... it was finally over.
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Post by America on Jun 13, 2012 21:41:56 GMT -5
America could hardly even dare to believe it when China came in to administer a cure. He had looked up, tears still pouring down his cheeks, nearly unable to see anything through his blurry eyes. He didn't want to hope. He didn't want to hope it would work because, if it didn't, he'd have to face the crushing weight it would bring down upon him once more and he'd suffer yet another heartbreak.
However, he did hope. As China stuck the needle into England's arm, America held his breath and did allow himself that one strand of hope, this one final chance for England to be alive, for England to breathe and talk and walk and laugh and argue and just be England. This had to work. The other scientists were smart, they'd know just what to use for the vaccine. They'd be able to save him.
He paid close attention to England's body, trying to brush his tears away, willing England to come back to him. The color that was brought to his cheeks just barely caught America's attention, and he found his heart racing. This had to be it. This had to be real. This had to work.
And then England breathed. And then America knew for certain that he would be alright.
He felt a smile forming on his face. He was alive. Not yet awake, obviously, still in the coma and probably still in pain, but he would live "Oh, god, he's alive, he's alive!" America whispered, standing from his chair and staring down at England. He was back. He wouldn't have to die and America wouldn't have to try and continue on without him. They could live together now.
Unwilling to contain his happiness, he spun around and grasped China tightly, hugging him for all his worth. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" he exclaimed, now letting more tears fall (though he refused to admit that he was actually crying from joy- no, they were just leftovers that needed to escape his eyes). "You saved him!"
China instantly moved up on America's list of 'Cool Countries'. He hadn't always gotten along well with the Asian nation, but now America would make sure that he was as friendly as could be to him. Well, to all the other nations, really. They did this- they worked so hard and got the cure, and America wanted to thank every single one of them.
However, he didn't exactly want to cut off China's supply of air, so he let go and grabbed England's hand, unable to wipe that silly grin off his face. "How long until he wakes up?" he asked excitedly, his eyes suddenly bright and full of enthusiasm, quite a change from just mere minutes ago.
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