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Post by America on Mar 25, 2012 18:52:57 GMT -5
America looked up, trying to blink away his tears. He slowly moved over to the bed again, wiping away at his face. "I'm not a child," he weakly protested, grabbing England's hand. He took a deep breath, willing himself to stop sobbing like a baby. If I say I'm not a child, I gotta stop acting like one, he scolded himself, bringing England's hand to his chest.
However, his tears just kept falling. Unable to stop them, he leaned forward and carefully buried his head into England's neck, making sure he didn't put his full weight on the nation. Even in his emotion-filled state, he knew better than to use his full strength on someone so frail.
He let himself cry, deciding that, if he couldn't stop it, he might as well let it all out. He felt England's heated skin against his own. Despite being sick, England's presence and closeness was more than comforting.
"I'm sorry," he managed to choke out. "I-I'm acting like a baby." He hated showing such weakness. He was a hero, and since when did heroes cry? He told himself he had a right to cry, though.
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Post by England on Mar 25, 2012 19:25:15 GMT -5
England flinched slightly when America leaned over him, and shivered when his warm skin touched his neck. For a moment, he was too shocked to do anything else than stare ahead, eyes wide, but then, America spoke again, snapping his out of his daze. Slowly, gently, he put a hand behind America's neck and pressed him closer against him. His fingers threaded through the golden hair at the nape of his neck, and though he'd already lost feeling in the extremities, he could practically imagine how soft they were.
"You are..." he sighed, wiggling lightly so he could make their position as comfortable as possible. "But... You're still a baby, compared to some of us here like China or Scotland." One hand idly caressing his hair, the other pressed against his heart, England realized how nostalgic this scene made him feel. Once, so long ago, America fitted in his arms and cried against his shirt...
Taking a deep breath, he put his cheek down on America's head and smiled. His heart wrenched with every single one of America's sobs, and he really wished he would stop crying for his sadness affected him, as well. Still, America was young, inexperienced compared to a lot of them. And the last time he'd seen him in such a pitiful state was in 1939. Even then, he hadn't been this close to a near-certain death.
"Must I hum a lullaby as well?" he added with a breathy chuckle, closing his eyes and losing himself in the younger Nation in front of him for a moment.
No, England decided. America had every right to cry, and if it helped in any way, he would be there to hold him until the very end.
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Post by America on Mar 25, 2012 20:04:03 GMT -5
Once England's fingers started combing through his hair, America closed his eyes, feeling a bit soothed. He sniffed, wishing he had a tissue but unwilling to move away from this new warmth. After England adjusted their position, America settled in closer to England, feeling bad that he was probably wetting his shoulder. He wanted to apologize, but he wasn't sure how it would come out. England, I'm sorry for smearing tears and possibly snot all over your clothes, please forgive me. He nearly chuckled at the thought of saying that.
He realized England was right, though. As much as he wanted to have a rich, full history as the other countries did, he was still a child compared to them. So, was England giving him permission to cry? He would like to think so.
"Y-You don't hafta," America muttered, his voice coming out strangled through the sobs. "J-Just give me a second. I'll b-be fine." Well, he'd stop crying, but he didn't think he ever be fine. Not if England actually did leave him.
He tensed up at the thought of it. Even he couldn't save England at this point. He tightened his hold on England's hand. Don't leave me, England, he thought, a new set of tears dying to make themselves known. He was holding them back, but he knew he was going to let them out one way or another.
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Post by England on Mar 25, 2012 20:31:08 GMT -5
"Idiot. Of course you'll be fine." England whispered against his hair. He would be. England would make sure of it until his final breath. America was precious to him, after all. If he was going to die, he had to make sure that America wouldn't cry any more after that. Deep inside, he didn't want anybody else than him to be able to hold America like this and quell his worry like this. Only he wanted to have the key to America's heart.
But he still didn't know how to feel about the younger boy. He obviously cared about him, but... No, he wouldn't give himself new found hope. Not when he was so close to death. If he survived, perhaps. But right now, he didn't want to think about anything. Just hold America until his world faded to black.
As a reaction to America's tightened grip on his hand, England winced and squeezed back. The younger Nation obviously hadn't thought of limiting his strength, opting to involuntarily squish England's hand, but he figured that if this was the last time they'd get to do this, he might as well let the other go all out.
Still, just as America's smile was infectious, so was his sadness. England soon found himself with a frown on his face, wondering if America really would be alright if he ever died.
He quickly corrected himself, though. America was strong. America was independent. America didn't need him. America would, theoretically, be just fine. Theoretically.
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Post by America on Mar 25, 2012 20:44:42 GMT -5
Yeah. I'll be fine. America gave a shuddering breath, finally managing to stop his tears. He refused to move his face from England's neck, though. Not at the moment, at least. The closeness was calming him down. In any other situation, he would have probably been embarrassed and would have drawn back, but he couldn't. Not now. Not when England's life was on the line.
When he finally deemed himself in enough control, America drew back slightly, still keeping England's hand to his chest. "Sorry," he apologized again, giving a shaky smile. "I...I don't know what came over me." He kept his eyes downcast, a faint blush spreading across his face.
To give himself something to do in order to keep the situation from becoming more awkward, America quickly asked, "Would you, uh...like another towel?" He rubbed at his tear-stained cheeks with his free hand, feeling so incredibly childish and unheroic for breaking down like he did.
Still, he wasn't exactly ashamed. Crying was good for people now and then. And, with England slowly dying, America knew he wouldn't be able to keep it all in. He adjusted the glasses on his face, trying to convince himself that he was sad simply because England was his big brother. His best friend. Whom he might never see after these few days.
He bit his tongue to keep himself from sobbing once more.
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Post by England on Mar 25, 2012 21:07:59 GMT -5
"We might be Nations, but we're not inhuman." England whispered fondly, using his now-free hand to push a strand of hair out of America's face. "You exist because you feel." he assured him.
Watching America fumble around to gather himself once more, England nodded.
"Yes, it did get much hotter in here all of a sudden." he commented, shakily taking the lukewarm towel off his forehead. "Do you... have a towel here, or... are you going to leave again?" he asked slowly, the hand against America's heart instinctively curling up to grab a hold of America's clothing.
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Post by America on Mar 25, 2012 21:28:26 GMT -5
America let out a true smile at England's comment and the simple gesture he made. When his hand brushed his hair away, it felt so right. He was reminded of how England always used to do that, fixing or mussing his hair. The memories were coming back in strength, and America wished he could immerse himself in them and just stay like that.
However, he wasn't going to. England was right here and he needed his help. America took the used towel and set it aside. "I've got a few right here," he replied, wiping the last of his tears away. He wasn't going to leave at all. Not again. Not now.
He leaned toward the table, dipping the towel in the cold water for a few seconds before pulling it out. Using one hand, he squeezed the water out the best he could, then handed it over to England, managing to keep the smile on his face, though he looked like a complete mess. The smile didn't hide his red eyes or blotchy cheeks. "Here."
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Post by England on Mar 25, 2012 21:53:57 GMT -5
Satisfied of America's proximity, England nodded in thanks and accepted the wet towel gratefully, putting it against his forehead and sighing in relief.
"Much appreciated, love." he whispered almost on reflex, his accent rolling heavily in his words as he let himself go, closing his eyes and enjoying the cool sensation running through his overheating body.
When he blinked his eyes open a moment later, he put his free hand out and put his thumb under America's left eye, heart leaping as he realized he couldn't feel anything under his touch. Still, he silently wiped some of the remains of America's past tears and then drew back, blushing, but satisfied.
"Y-You're..." he gulped down, looking away a bit sheepishly. "For all the time we've got left... How about you smiled?" he suggested under his breath, unsure. It was true that America was much more pleasant to be around when he smiled. At least, if he died, the last thing he would see would be America's smile. That's all he really wanted. That's why he was dying.
For the sake of the rest of the world.
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Post by America on Mar 26, 2012 17:05:55 GMT -5
With a shock, America realized that England called him love. He hadn't been called love since he was a child. Hearing the familiar term caused his heart beat to speed up. Was it simply because England wished to relive the past, or did it carry a deeper meaning? He somehow found himself wishing for the latter, though he quickly pushed that thought out of his head. No need to dwell on something like that at the moment.
England's hand brushed against his face and he sat still, frozen, his blue eyes wide and staring straight ahead at the sick nation. The touch was hot to his skin, yet it still managed to send shivers down his arm. Just that simple gesture.
Once the contact was broken, America finally managed to blink, attempting to hide his surprise at England's gentleness. "You...you just want me to smile?" He kept his gaze upon England, now more confused than anything. He supposed he could keep a smile on, if only for England. However, it seemed difficult to act so carefree when England was dying.
Difficult, but not impossible. Besides, it was just acting, right?
He allowed himself to give a small smile as he rubbed England's hand, though it did little to brighten his face. "Are you in a lot of pain?" he whispered, looking down at the hand he held.
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Post by England on Mar 26, 2012 19:06:32 GMT -5
England gazed with a sad smile as America played with his hand and was overcome by a huge desire to pull him close and kiss his forehead, like he always did when America was younger. Just for comfort, he reminded himself, though. Just for comfort. Nothing more.
Nothing more until he was sure he'd live. He's restart the existential debate on his feelings towards America once he was sure he'd still have time to pursue them. Whatever those feelings were. Just thinking about them made him blush, though. His mind shut down before he could go any further.
"Not so bad." he grumbled after a bit, looking at everything around him, but not at America. "My head is splitting apart, but I already can't feel much anywhere else on my body." he put his free hand up and flexed his fingers, the same apprehension and terror running through his veins as he desperately tried to feel his fingers against his palm, to no avail.
"The worst of the pain will pass with the end of this stage. The next stage will bring the calmer symptoms." he resisted the use of the very accurate term, 'lethal', because he knew it would upset America if he said it. They both knew it would happen, so he figured he could cut the younger boy a break just this once.
Or maybe it was because he was also scaring himself even more by admitting himself that he was diving head-first into a certain death. But he couldn't be scared. He was doing this for the lives of the other Nations. Why did the prospect of such a noble, sacrificial death terrorize him so much?
... Was his subconscious signalling that he had something he didn't want to leave behind?
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Post by America on Mar 26, 2012 19:24:28 GMT -5
Somewhere in the back of his mind, America told himself to keep smiling. Even if what England said was terrible to hear, America knew he had to keep smiling. He told England he would, after all, and since when did heroes break their promises?
His fingers continued to rub up and down England's hand, breath caught in his throat. England couldn't feel him. England could only watch as America touched him. He wasn't able to feel anything, though. He's going numb? What if he goes numb all over? What if he can never move again?
America's smile finally faltered for a second, trying desperately to push these thoughts away. "How long until the next stage?" he asked, his voice hardly above a whisper. He found he couldn't speak very well at the moment, so he decided to speak softly. For once.
Knowing England couldn't feel much of anything, America squeezed his hand, wishing, hoping, that maybe his grasp would sensor at least a few of his nerves. Maybe the numbness would even go away, though he highly doubted that. It seemed as if time was running out.
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Post by England on Mar 26, 2012 19:59:48 GMT -5
"I'm not sure. About six hours until anything below my waist becomes paralyzed." he whispered back, gulping down nervously. "We've still got a ways to go."
So that meant he'd have to endure his feverish, clouded vision for another 6 hours. Lovely. That meant he couldn't see America's face clearly. How good would it be to ask him to smile if he wasn't able to enjoy it?
"On the bright side..." was there a bright side to this entire story? "In six hours, the Nations on the mission should be on their way back, if not already here. That would give Finland a margin of manoeuvre of about..." he counted in his head. "Five or six hours to create a successful vaccine." his eyes darkened after that. "Although seven hours would be too late..."
He took a deep breath and slowly put out a hand, touching America's cheek without actually feeling the soft skin under his fingers, getting his attention. Once he was sure that America was looking him in the eye, England gritted his teeth.
"America. In eight hours, I will become comatose. In eleven hours, my heart will stop. In twelve hours, it'll be too late. In thirteen hours, I'll be back to bite you in the butt." his eyes sparkled at that. "Quite literally." but the spark faded quickly enough when he realized what he was asking of America.
He didn't now if he had the strength to say it. But he had to. He had to do this. America had always wanted to be a hero, so this was his time to shine.
"Before it gets to that point, America... I want you to pull out your pistol, put it against my forehead, and pull the trigger so you can save everybody."
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Post by America on Mar 26, 2012 20:32:49 GMT -5
Six hours. America had always assumed six hours was such a long time. Especially as a child, he always remembered waiting impatiently for a mere thirty minutes to be up. However, right at the moment, six hours didn't seem like nearly enough time.
So, if what England said was true, they'd have about 10 hours (rounding, that is, since he really didn't feel like doing exact math at the moment) to save England. All in all, it wasn't nearly enough time to America. They'll do it, he thought. The others will hurry, I know they will, and Finland has always been pretty quick at these things.
America stopped his thought process when he felt England's touch again. Blue eyes met green. Blinking and in complete seriousness, the superpower lost his smile as he noticed the darkened look on England's face.
And, when he heard what England said, America felt like he was about to lose control of himself once more. "N-No," he whispered, shaking his head. "What the hell are you even thinking, asking such a question?" With his free hand, he touched England's arm, shaking with fear, sadness, hopelessness, everything. "I won't be able to do that to you, England."
He wouldn't, not ever. Even if England turned into a zombie, he could never shoot him. He didn't know what else he'd do, but he sure wouldn't ever pull the trigger on England.
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Post by England on Mar 26, 2012 20:42:30 GMT -5
"You stupid idiot, you have to." England whispered solemnly, looking him straight in the eye, desperation and utter agony swirling in his clouded gaze. "You've always wanted to be a hero, haven't you? Think of what amount of danger you'd eradicate if you killed me before I could reanimate. I would become a huge potential danger if you locked me in the quarantine ward. I don't want to be the cause of death for anyone." he gently touched the hand America had on his arm and squeezed it in what he hoped was a comforting grip.
"America, you have to. I'm placing my trust in you." he repeated, just to make sure the younger boy understood how important this job would be. "If I become one of them, you have to kill me. I'm not going to die so I can kill you afterwards. I'm going to die so you can live."
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Post by America on Mar 26, 2012 20:56:27 GMT -5
America could hardly see as he gaze became watery. I...I can't do that! he thought, wanting to scream it out loud. I will never kill you, England. He couldn't bring himself to voice it, though. England seemed so desperate to have him agree. England was looking out for his well-being. That was what hurt him the most. He's looking after me, despite the state he's in.
Shaking even more, America barely registered England's grip as he struggled to keep his tears in check. "I..." He was planning on saying how he wouldn't, no matter what, but...could he? Could he deny England's wish? "I won't be a hero if I shoot you," he finally breathed. "But..."
But what? If he wasn't going to be a hero by doing this, then what would he have to gain from it? "If...if that's what you want." Saying these words tore him up, and he felt like sobbing again. He kept silent, though, avoiding looking straight at England and suddenly finding the bed sheets so much more interesting.
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