Thank you so much, OP!Anon.~~ :] Well, here's your story, Part 1!~ I have a feeling this may end up pretty long, so I hope you all stick with me to the end!
It's damp and empty; their footsteps are resounding throughout the ghostly walls like in a horror movie where the group is walking through the ruins, and all of sudden a ghost should come up and try and strangle them, but no ghost comes.
They are not ghost-hunting, after all. They are looking for someone, or more specifically, a nation. The half of the United Kingdom whom represents the England part of it, in other words: Arthur Kirkland.
“You're walking to slow, America.” France bluntly states, and America jumps at France's voice, “D-Don't scare me like that, France!” America demands and France chuckles; despite the serious atmosphere, it is no less fun to scare America. The golden blond does, however, pick up his pace and walks a bit faster. They move their flashlights among the prison cells, filled with skeletons and blood and gore and honestly, despite their age, both nations were disgusted to the core.
“America, do you honestly think England is here?” France asks, and America pauses, but replies, “I don't know. He hasn't been in the others, but there's still a chance.” France narrows his eyes, but they push onward. A sudden rustle comes out from deeper in the prison, and both nations get out their pistols with a swift movement.
There is no following noise though; “Who's there?!” America shouts, and there is another sound, but it does not sound of pulling out a gun. It sounds like the movement of chains and America, oh God, oh God, it can't be, is it--
His pistol hits the ground and he makes a run for it through the jail cells, his flashlight moving like stage lights. France follows America, but slows his pace when he finds the young nation, standing in front of a cell. He is in what looks like perpetual shock, as if... as if, no, there is no way England can be dead in his cell, right...? No way in hell, France is sure, and he is right.
The sight he sees is far from rewarding though. When he stands beside America, he sees a stranger, because the England he knows would give a smart remark when he's found, but this England does nothing.
He sits there, he's completely motionless, not doing anything at all; “England?” There is no reply. America knocks on the cell bars; “England!” He doesn't say anything. The younger nation grips his teeth, and pulls on the doorway into the cell, but it doesn't open.
He fumbles in his pocket and pulls out a ring with keys slung on it and ringing together like a poorly done symphony. With haste, he opens the door and walks in; “England!” he shouts again, but even then, he does not react.
England sits, his wrists cuffed with shackles that are chained to the wall. His eyes are half-glazed, they are a disgustingly dull green and America hates it. France though, notes the condition instead. England's shirt is gone, and he's stuck with a pair of pants, that, mind you, are in no better condition then he is. They are torn and, oh God, are they burnt too?
France knows the sight would be disturbing because it's Russia who took England in the first place, but this is just terrifying. He is covered, head to toe, in scars and burns over his old, dried wounds, and he is thin, so thin, you can see his ribs and cheekbones peering out, and he's pale, so pale as if he's dead.
“England...” America says softly, and his fingers reach out to touch England's cheek; the moment they make contact, England's reaction is wild. He says nothing, but he slaps away America's hand as if he is trying to feed him poison and crawls away until his aching back touches the wall behind him.
“England, what's wrong?” America asks, but England looks at him, he's terrified like a corner animal, and France walks in. His hand is on America's shoulder and he shakes his head; “Let me take over, America.” The younger blond nods and stands, moving to the doorway.
“What's your name?” France asks, standing and gazing down on England. He says something, but France hears a mumble of words, and re-asses his question.
“D-Don't know... Said I don't have one...” France narrows his eyes. So Russia's gone as far as to leave England completely name-less, “Do you know who I am? Or that guy over there?” England shakes his head.
“... Do you remember what they did to you?” France asks, and England flinches. His eyes hit the ground and a stream of explanations leave his mouth, but they are so slow and fast that France can't understand a single thing, and neither can America.
England's voice gradually grew louder, “They told me I wasn't who I was, I'm worthless, they'd come in here everyday with sharp objects and guns and they were loud and I was bleeding and then they'd grab my shirt and pants,” he clutches his head and his eyes grow wide and he can't stop the memories and France nearly topples over when America shoves him aside and dives to England's side.
“And they're coming, you're one of them aren't you? You're going to come here and you're going to beat me and do those horrible things and I'm going to die and--”
“England, stop! We're not here to hurt you! Calm down!” America shouts with a voice coated in worry, distress... pain, France notes. His hands are on England's bare shoulders, and his ramblings come to a miserable end, and America narrows his eyes. Without another thought about it, he pulls England into an embrace; “I'm so sorry...” he whispers, but England looks hysterical again, and shoves him away.
America falls back and looks at England with shock. “They're broken him completely.” France explains, his brow furrowing. Even if England has always been his rival, he can't help, but feel pity. He's always been a very head strong person and brave and now look at him.
His body is scarred all over, and his mind is even worse off if England can't even handle a little human contact. “Did they... rape him?” America asks as England still trembles, and France nods; “Probably. They've probably done it... in the crueler way, if he's left like this.”
The blond, young Nation looks down. As America, he's always had days where he just wants to beat himself up. The feeling is strong now, and all he wants to do is find Russia and kill him until he's dead and never gonna rise again, and drag the bastard down to hell for doing this... Doing this to England, damn that fucking bastard, he's going to kill him, he's going to kill him that Russia's going to regret ever doing this, and before he knows it, he's walking out of the jail cell with France's pistol in hand.
Russia, damn it, you're going to get this, I'm not letting you go, I'm going to make sure-- “America!” France grabs his shoulder, and America's broken out of his thoughts and all he sees is France's face, and, “Russia can wait for later. For now, I need you to help me get England out of here.”
America pauses; as much as he just wants to find Russia and give him Hell, no, no, worse then Hell, he can't now. His priority needs to lie with England.
“... All right, but... how? He doesn't even want us near him, but I don't think he can walk on his own...” America replies, and France nods; “Exactly, and in his mental state, convincing may just make things worse... so, America, I want you to knock him out. A hit to the back of the neck should leave him unconscious.”
“Knock him out?! You can't be serious, France!” America answers in defiance, but France shakes his head, “It's the only way for now. I don't know if anyone else is in here, and if there is, we're lucky no one's caught us yet. If he makes a fuss, we might get into some trouble.” He explains, and America turns his face to England.
So vulnerable and so weak... It breaks America's heart. I... I have to. I can't leave him here... America thinks, and walks over to England. He grasps his wrist and England can remember.
They would grab his wrist and they'd pull him up, fingers trace over his bare chest before they'd slam him against the wall and it'd hurt so much, he couldn't do anything, and America painfully ignores England's struggles to be free, his screaming, it's so loud and it's like they're cutting him up inside out and he pulls England to his chest. His free hand folds into a straight line and it hits his neck without a sound, and England isn't awake anymore.
“Job well done, America. Now let's get going.” France adds, stoic, unlike his normal self. He... he knew England would be hurt, but this was beyond what he ever thought he'd see. His rival... his rival was by near, dead inside, or maybe already gone. France couldn't tell at England in this state.
America nods, and he takes the keys in his hand and unlocks the shackles. He picks up England, slipping his arms under his neck and knees protectively. He's... he's so light... America thinks, and all of a sudden, he feels like his knees will buckle any moment and he's going to start crying because, damn it, damn it all to Hell, he couldn't protect England. He loves him, has loved him for so long, longer then he's loved anyone and likes to think it's longer then anyone has loved someone and here England is, beaten and traumatized because America failed to be a damn hero.
What was his title worth if he can't even protect the person he loves most in the world?
France exits the cell and America follows after, France cautiously making his way forward with his pistol protectively in his hand.
The place was truly empty though, because the trio managed to make it outside without much trouble at all. The sun is setting, but the darkness has left France and America wincing as they adjust to the light, and struggle to the helicopter; “I'll pilot this time.” France says, and America doesn't reply, but France knows America would rather be holding England.
In minutes, the plane was buzzing in the air; “Let's bring him to your vacation house in Virginia for now, okay? I highly doubt letting his higher-ups see him like this will be a good idea anyway.” France explains, and America nods. Even if France doesn't say it, America knows it's also because... well, they honestly don't know whether England will heal, or rather, if he can.
They're in the air, and America's honestly always loved it up there. It's vast and beautiful colors; right now, it's purple and orange and yellow like America's hair, but the sky holds no comfort today, because he can't feel happy when England is in his arms.
England, whose eyes showed a void when they found him, who was scared when America touched his cheek, who... who didn't know who he was, who America was, who France was. Everything was a blur to England and it made America's heart break.
His gloved hand runs through England's tangled hair, and he comes to notice, and his eyes narrow; dry blood coats his sandy blond hair, which isn't so much blond anymore. It's so pale that it's almost like Prussia's white hair, and America remembers the urge to kill Russia, but he knows. France's words ring in his head, Russia is not his priority, England is.
“... Do you think you can heal him?” France asks, but America doesn't reply, because... he's always the hero, he can do anything, he's got no faults, but, to be honest... he really doesn't know anymore.
[A/N: orz, ANY TALES FANS OUT THERE? Cause that quote, " What was his title worth if he can't even protect the person he loves most in the world?" is pretty much jacked off one of the Tales Of games~~ Though I admit, I honestly don't know which game it's from. Memory escapes me. I think it's Lloyd who said it, but. idk. ;A;''' ]
England is still asleep. He must have been really tired, America figures, so he lets him sleep in his vacation house.
“I... I really don't want to think about what they could have done to him- aru.” China says as he sits on the couch across from America. He was called over by the young nation and France to check up on England, since they couldn't exactly leave him in a hospital. He'd probably wind up locked up that way, in the hospital, and America didn't want to think what would happen.
“It's that bad?” France asks, and China nods; “This is only the physical condition too. I have no idea what's become of his mind- aru.”
“We don't know much either, to be honest. He's scared of physical contact though.” France adds, and China ponders for a moment, and gives his answer.
“He looks like he's been abused, physically and sexually. I don't want to go into detail about how bad, but I can tell you that it's definitely enough to leave him scared of others- aru,” China begins to explain, “It's trauma, I'd say. He's been surrounded by people who've been hurting him, and it's probably gotten to the point where to him, everyone is the same, and they're all trying to hurt him- aru.”
“... Is he... going to be okay?” America asks with an unsteady voice. The answer scares him, what if it's a no? What if there's no hope for England and that nation's personification is gone down an insane road forever, and no matter how many times America calls for him to come back, he won't...
China pauses, and a silence fills the room. His eyes are conflicted, but he speaks, because China knows; keeping an answer from someone is no better then saying it at all, “I don't know yet. I haven't seen enough, but... if I had to give you a yes or no answer, I'd say no- aru.”
America's hope fell, but inside he laughs dryly. He figured it'd be no, but he still held onto that scrimmage of hope. That small bit that prayed it'd be okay, he could help England, he'd heal him, he'd be the hero...
“I can take him if you want. I could see if there's anyone in my country who knows what to do- aru...” China explains, but... but America's hands ball into fists as they grip his pants; “... Don't. I'm... I'm going to be the one to heal him. I'll help him.”
“... Are you sure? It's going to be hard, and it might not work- aru.” China warns him, and America nods. His decision is firm and he knows, he loves England and if he couldn't save him then, the least he could do was try now.
[A/N: Anon fails for forgetting to make the subject for Part 3 to be 'Hold Me Close [3/?]' SORRY GAIZ LOL;;;.]
It's morning and the sky is clear, the sun is bright, but... it does not help America, because if it can not heal England, then it isn't good enough.
He's sitting at the table with a mug of coffee and the newspaper. He called in a few days ago, to the White House. He can't make it back due to some emergencies, so he's going to be a few days late. They let him off the hook, thank God.
America sighs; “Even if I said I'd take care of him... I have no idea where to start... First off, what can I do when I have to go back to Washington anyway?” He can't bring England, but he most certainly can't just leave him here on his own.
Then there's Russia... America had to control himself, so his grip on the coffee mug's handle didn't cause the glass to shatter. Knowing him, he might come back to fetch England, and if America wants to do anything, he'd like to invite Russia over for the sole purpose of punching him in the face, but he's got to take care of England for now.
“Is he even up yet?” America quietly asks himself, and he abandons the breakfast on the table (buttered toast, sausages, eggs, and of course, tea, just the way England always liked it.) and walks down the hall into the guest room.
It was a beauty, really, like a painting. The windows sail high, covered by thin, white curtains that let in a dull glimmer of sunlight through the fabric. The room was generally large, but empty. It has a dresser and closet, with a mirror, one large bed and a nightstand.
America strides over to the large, white bed, with a single person sleeping on it, and that is England. His body is still coated in old blood, mixed with the white bandages wrapped around him, on his wounds. The white bed is stained with blotches of red when America laid England down there the first time, but he doesn't really care.
His hands run through that dry hair and... no one was around, he knew it, and America begins to cry. His hand, once in England's hair, was slips behind his glasses and on his eyes as he cries. He honestly didn't cry all night, made himself stay strong, but you know, facades only last so long.
England... England, he loves him, loves him as much as he loves himself and his country, he's important, the most important person in America's life... and here he is.
He's in blood, he's dying inside, he's not England anymore... and it hurts America more then a shot to his heart would.
America knows, he'd give anything to everything if they'd switch him with England. They'd turn back time and America would be captured instead of England... it's fine, it really is, as long as England's healthy and happy, it's okay. Love just extends to so many lengths, and this is one of them.
He hears a groan from below, and wipes his bleary eyes, and looks down, and there is England, waking up. Slowly, but surely, he's alive, and America pushes back the urge to embrace him, talk about how worried he was...
[A/N: I SWEAR THINGS SHOULD GET MORE INTERESTING SOON.]
England says nothing, but when he looks at America, all of a sudden the world moves fast, and America realizes England's on the other side of the bed, and he looks like he's about run out through the window.
“Hold on, England! Stop! I'm not here to hurt you!” He shouts in a desperate voice, and England pauses, his body remains tense though.
“Look, I'm not here to harm you, okay? I'm here to help you. I'm not allied with Russia or anything like that, so chill out... I know I knocked you out and all, but it was just so we could get you to come here, so trust me on this, okay?” America explains slowly, but England still looks at him wary... no, not wary. He looks at America with a terrified expression, because all he thinks is that America is another bad person, another person out to make him more miserable then he already was...
He can't trust this man! He knocked him out, so England does the most natural thing; he runs straight past America and out the door. He's gotta get out of here, find someone, find someone he can depend on, but... but he can't recall anyone, who can he depend on?
He doesn't even know his own name...
“England, stop, damn it!” America's voice grows closer, and England's been deprived for days, he's shocked he can even run, but not outrun the American behind him. All of a sudden, they grab his arm and England knows, oh God, they're going to kill him, he always hears from people in other cells; “If you try and run, they're going to kill you, slow and painful,” oh God, this guy's going to kill him, he's never going even find out what his name is. Freedom was so close, so close, England wishes--
America embraces him instead. His arms around England's smaller frame, and England does the natural thing to him; he tries to push America away, he's terrified, this must be a trick, they're going to kill him, it's just a false hope, it's nothing good.
“Please believe in me.” America says, and England stops. To be honest, he isn't sure what to do. All he's known for months now is the horrifying world where they've taken him. They cut him with knives, slammed him against the walls and floors, raped him, blindfolded him and told him he's not whatever his name was, that there's no such thing as kindness and it's all a lie...
England hasn't seen compassion in months. He's forgotten what it was. He's forgotten how you feel when someone is compassionate towards you... so he keeps his face stoic, he doesn't react when America's arms get tighter and he starts to weep a little.
It stays like that for a few moments, and the only sound in the hallway is America's quiet sobbing. Then he lets go; “Sorry... You're probably feeling dirty. You can take a shower if you want...” He says, wiping his tears.
Inside somewhere, he's broken inside that England doesn't hug him back, that England really has been torn apart inside and out, so much that it's unimaginable.
America steps a good distance away; “It's right down the hall. Don't take too long! I have food waiting for you in the dining room!” He says, smiling again, and England simply nods. America nods and walks down the hall, back to the dining room, and England heads down to the bathroom.
[A/N: >A<;; Author!Anon hopes you're enjoying this, since it's starting to stray from what I originally planned, orz;;;. And. idk. this one... sort of bugs me anyway. I feel like I'm rushing it. -sobbbb- ]
America sits and wonders; “Is England still afraid of physical contact?” He asks himself. He just hugged him and the guy stopped squirming and pushing him away, but... America could tell, something in him is still scared. He doesn't want to be touched by anyone.
He doesn't seem to trust him either. Then again, it's only been one day, America isn't expecting much progress. He sighs and shakes his head. For now, I should just work on getting England's name back in his head and his body back in shape. He's like stick and bones, no joke... America plans. Maybe he should ask China just in case.
Speaking of China, he's gotta tell China about England's progress, “Call me when he wakes up and what happens... aru.” America imitates him, even to the point of his suffix.
The young nation pulls out his phone, dials the numbers, and puts it to his ear; “C'mon, China, pick up, pick up- aru,” America mumbles, mocking China's suffix again and the other end picks up, “Hello- aru?” America brightens up a bit, “Hey China- aru! … Wait, what?” China had the nerve to hang up.
“Make this quick- aru.” China grumbles, and America laughs nervously; “Chill out, man. Anyway, going on to the more serious subject, England woke up.”
China pauses for a moment, and replies; “What did he do?”
America looks away, and gulps before he speaks, and he explains the situation the best he can; “But... I don't think he trusts me, still.”
“It figures he wouldn't- aru. I'm not a real doctor, so I don't know how to go about this case. For now, just be nice and give him what he's looking for. Try to give him things he likes too- aru.” China explains, and America replies, “Right, thanks.” And they hang up.
England walks in then, with a fresh change of clothes. He's in a black hoodie with too long sleeves and even more too long sweat pants. I know I lent him those since he has nothing else to wear, but he looks so cute...! America gazes at him, mulling over how he'd look in bed, while America's busy taking off those clothes and how--
He's afraid of physical contact.
“... I suck.” America mumbles to himself and buries his face in his hands. England stares at him peculiarly; what the hell's he going on about?
“S-Sorry!” America hops out of his slump in an instant. “You're probably hungry! Come on, sit and eat!” America pushes the plate full of food towards England, “It might have gotten cold though. Jeez, you take so long in the shower!”
England flinches, “I'm sorry,” he says, and there are creases on his forehead, and America suppresses a frown; “Nothing to apologize about! Dig in!” America says cheerfully, and England looks up at him, unsure. He didn't understand where this boundless amount of energy and forgivingness all came from... they were never like this back at the prison... he can recall when they'd feed him, it was horrifying, really. They'd literally push the food into his throat... He... he can remember the drugs too, pills, and all the needles and...
America stands up; “England, are you okay?” He asks, and England takes a step back. Is the food drugged? He's not going to be tricked; he takes another step back.
“England, calm down! It's just food, there's nothing out there to get you!” He explains, trying to keep his voice low, but it was still somewhat of a shout.
“Y-You're lying! You're going to drug me and rape me and drag me back to the prison and then they're going to... they're going to...” England's voice hits a whisper and he clutches his head again, and the memories flood back and sting him and he hates it, and someone help him, that's all he wants, but he can't tell who wants to help and who wants to hurt him in the long run.
[A/N: Thank you guys for the support so far~~ Much love to you two!]
America turns and he picks up the toast. Quickly, he takes a small bite out of and drops it onto the plate, and his hands go for the other parts of the breakfast as well, all know having a small bite taken out of, and then a swig of tea; “There! I even took a bite myself! They're fine, England.” America huffs and crosses his arms.
England narrows his eyes, but... it's food, and truth be told, he's starving, and... well, the man's not going to eat poison, so... England stands, and he moves to the chair. America goes back to his, and England sits, beginning to eat.
“Do you like it?” America asks, cheery in voice. England looks down, but nods, and America's smile grows wider; “Great! Do you want this again tomorrow, or do you want me to try making something different?” England pauses.
“You're making this... tomorrow to? For me?” He asks, and the words sound as if they'd be happily curious, but they sound like a simple question, which England's voice still empty. America nods; “Of course! I'm taking care of you now, so I got to do a good job!” For humor's sake, he wanted to add that China and France will come beat him up other wise, but England would probably take that the wrong way.
England isn't sure what to say. Why is this guy being so nice anyway? It feels so familiar, but he doesn't know, “... I'll... have the same thing. Thank you.” England says, and America frowns inside. He knows he isn't expecting results right now, but he thought he'd gained a smidgen of England's trust, but his voice sounds like England still thinks he has to be polite and good-willed, or else he's going to get hurt.
England, I'd never hurt you. America thinks, but he wants to say it out loud; it'd probably throw England into a fit of distrust again, so he stays quiet.
“Are you sure?” America asks, and England nods. Figures; England is just scared of asking for something else because he's worried he's going to get hit for being spoiled.
“All right! Then after this, we'll have an important lesson, so be ready, okay?” America tells him, positive and bright, but England flinches, and America knows he's thinking of some sort of horrifying and traumatizing lesson instead of something simple as England's identity.
“Don't worry, it's nothing bad. You said so yourself; you don't know who you are! I'm going to help you remember!” America explains, and England looks up at him, his eyes... just a little less dull. Just a little, and America's soaring. England nods, and sips the last of his tea. He ate pretty fast, America notes, and with a smile; “Do you want more?”
“... N-No, thank you...” England sputters out, and America pouts. He's probably lying and he's probably still hungry, “Are you sure? I have plenty of food! You can eat all you want! It's really okay.”
England shakes his head, and he stands. His plate in his hands with the tea cup balancing carefully on it, and he heads into the kitchen. Oh well, America figures he can just make England eat once his stomach winds up growling again. How can he be in that state and have one plate fill him completely?
The older nation headed to the sink to wash his dishes; “Hey, I can do it for you if you want.” America calls from the dining room, but England, busy looking around, has his eyes fixated on one object, so much that he doesn't reply. It's a knife; there's a knife piled with the utensils.
It's sharp, and all of a sudden, England can see the blood on it, his blood, his reflection, he can see Russia, he can remember his screams and he can recall it all and the plate falls from his hands and shatters and England is brought out of his horrific reverie with the sound and America runs in.
“England! What happened?!” He asks, and pauses when he sees the china plates, broken and all of the floor; “I-I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'll clean it up now...” England says in a rush, his arm raises as if to defend himself. His voice is meek and he quickly turns and crouches down, the white glass pooling in his hand as he attempts to pick up the sharp pieces, fighting back the images for blood and gore and...
“Come here.” America says, and England, in shock, drops the glass pieces. He turns with haste, almost stepping on a broken piece of the plate, and walks over to America. His head is looking at the ground and he's trembling. America only plans to tell him to wait on the couch, but his urge was so much more stronger when he sees England so weak and small...
England is about to push him away again when his arms are around him again, just like earlier, but America's lips so close to his ear stop him; he can hear whispers of sweet words into his ear, how it's okay and he doesn't need to be afraid, and how America's going to be his hero and Russia won't come after him, and England's arms wrap around America too, and they're embracing and...
America breaks out of his daydream; England still stands before him, shaking, scared, and America wants to cry again, because England was so strong, so great, so tall, so... “England, look at me.” America demands, but not cruelly. It is more of a request and he complies, slowly looking up.
“England, wait on the couch, okay? You can watch TV or something, I'll catch up soon.” America smiles instead, and England looks confused. He expected anger, but this man is smiling. England nods slowly and walks out, to the couch, and sits down. He wants to check the television, but... he's honestly a little scared, so he sits and waits for America.
America is in the kitchen and he's on his knees. In his hand is the larger pieces of broken glass, and he fits not to ball his hands in fists, because his palms will wind up bleeding and while he couldn't give a damn, he has no idea what the sight of blood will stimulate if England sees it.
He has to resist the urges, and sighs. He... he can't rush the things involving emotion; it's not going to do England any good if America flings his feelings at him. It'll just leave his mind spinning and confused and even more worse then he is now.
“England... I'll save you, I promise.” America remarks, and continues picking up the glass scattered all over the ground in his hand.
[A/N: Damn, Author!Anon has never written so much in her life... Well, this is it! Not the end, but it's 11:16 pm here and Author!Anon has yet to do her homework, so... she's. gonna go do that. ;AAA;'' Will continue tmr~~
Sorry for making it so long. I honestly didn't realize it'd be THIS long, orz;;.
I think it end around Part 15 or something, but if OP and commenters enjoy that it's so long, then I can make it even longer~~ I just. don't wanna make it so long you guys get sick of it. >A<'''
Also, Russia making a villainous reappearance = y/n? I made him such a jerk already, I wasn't sure if making his role here even worse would be fun for readers LOL;;;. But if you guys want it like that, I already have stuff planned~~ And no, I do not hate Russia, gaiz. ;A; ]
England is sitting, he's waiting on the couch, and peers out the window. The scenery looks different to him; he hasn't seen it in so long, it looks alien to him. All he's even been seeing were the chains, bloody and cold hard floor, white mixed with red. It wasn't exactly a pleasant sight, so England didn't mind the current view, though to be honest in his current state, he probably didn't care where he was.
As long as it didn't involve sharp knives, chains, anything torture method of the sort.
“Hey, England!” The sandy haired nation slowly turns to the source, and it's America; “Enjoying the view? Actually, do you want to go outside?” England doesn't answer. He isn't sure; were they knives out there? Were they going to hurt him?
“I own this house and the area around it, so it's no problem!” America winks as he speaks, “I have a nice little table outside, so we can sit and talk there! Oh, or if you like trees, I have a nice tree from Japan, pretty cherry blossoms...” America muses on where to go, while England watches him blankly.
Trees and tables... it doesn't sound dangerous. The guy looks unarmed too; all he has was a big white T-shirt and blue jeans. England doesn't dispel the thought that he might get killed anyway. Brute force is something very probable, but he does not object.
He's scared of saying his opinion. All he recalls when he says his thoughts are being beaten for it, raped, and before he knows it, he's trembling, his brows furrow and America pauses; “England? Hey, England!” he says, trying to grab his attention.
His hand reaches out to shake his shoulder, but it stops; You can't touch him. It rings in America's head, but what can he do? England's shaking, he needs to grab his attention and... “Look, no one's going to hurt you. If you want, we can just stay inside for today. Maybe we'll go out another day when you want to.”
England's shaking comes to a stop, and he slowly, fearfully looks up; he expects piercing eyes that are really justify the phrase, “Looks can kill,” but soft blue eyes meet his dull green and a warm smile reflects his partly open mouth, and it is nothing like Russia.
“Just sit down and let me talk, okay?” America says, and he walks across the coffee table and onto the couch, directly across from England.
“So, what's your name?” He asks, and England blinks, wary, but does not answer. America says nothing and waits patiently, before he jokingly says, “You know, when someone asks something, you're supposed to answer.”
The words, the words he can understand, “You ungrateful ingrate. When I ask you something, I'm not asking for an answer, I'm demanding one, so out with it,” the words are dripping with venom and hate and the lips which it comes from curl into a smile and they kick his gut and step on his head, and England finds himself flinch at America's words.
The young nation frowns for a moment, but forces a smile for England; “I... I don't have one... sir.” England says meekly, and he's looking down, and America... America shakes his head, he forces his smile again.
“It's okay! I'll give you one then; from now own, your name's Arthur Kirkland, okay?” America announces, and England only nods; he nods because is scared if he says no, or if he questions his new name.
America feels frustrated inside; is he scaring England? The guy's only been agreeing or doing whatever it takes to cause America less trouble... then again, knowing Russia, figures it'd happen; “Also, sir is no! I don't want that special jazz; just call me Alfred, okay?” England nods again.
“... Hey. Are you really okay with your name? With what you're calling me? You know, you could just call me stupid, git, whatever...” But England shakes his head. Last time he called someone something like those, he wound up with a stomach covered in white and his shaking and the pain and they went too fast... and...
America wants to hold England, kiss him, say it's going to be okay... but it's not going to be okay, because America knows he's getting to England's heart just a little, repairing it slowly, but it's working, but... he doesn't know if one day, it'll just fall apart again.
England is silent, but America knows he's listening; “You woke up in this room, so you probably know, but this is your new bed room for now. Sorry it's so empty, it's only a guest room.” America explains, and England nods. America solemnly watches for a moment... he, he honestly just wants to walk over, and kiss him good night, but... but it'll probably leave England hysterical, again, so he pushes his urge away.
“Good night. I'm probably going to be up for a while longer, so come to me if you need anything.” America says with a smile, and with a click, the lights are off and the only source of light is the moon and the night light America left, since he figures that England and the dark aren't good buddies right now.
England sits still for a moment, looking at the white sheets before him. He looks at the doorway now; he said... good night, so... England supposes he should sleep, but something pulls at him, says he shouldn't, reminds him what happened when he slept, but when he's surrounded by warm white sheets and soft pillows, he can't catch his drooping eyelids, and he can't catch himself fall onto the bed and sleep.
He wishes he never slept though, because in his mind, he dreams of just a week ago, a week ago when people would come by, they'd point and laugh and mock him. Then Russia would walk up to them, a graceful smile, and they'd scamper away back on guard duty as they should.
Then Russia would walk in, and he'd lean down and cup his face, and England would be scared, it's going to happen, he's gonna do it again, but it hurts when he does and England's eyes trace to the back and there's more needles and pills and knives and guns and there's everything. All of a sudden, Russia's taking off his pants, they're all watching outside the cell, and England's struggling against the chains, and his pants are on the floor too and it hurts, God it hurts, please stop, he's begging, stop it, please stop it--
America is jerked away from his paper work when he hears screaming upstairs. He runs up stairs and into the room, and he finds England, in his bed, he's turning and crying and screaming and begging for someone to stop, and America does the first thing that comes to mind; he knows he shouldn't touch England, but he grabs his shoulder and shakes him.
“Arthur, Arthur, wake up!” He shouts, and in an instant, England finds himself in his white bed, and the big white pajama shirt and shorts America lent him stick to him because of the sweat, and he finds America hovering above him, gripping his shoulders.
All he can do is shriek again and shove him away. America tumbles back and fights to regain his balance in the few steps it'll take.
England sits and pants, clutching the bedsheets and looking at America, who is confused and lost as he tries to assess the situation. One thing he knows; England is absolutely terrified, he's scared like when America touched his cheek in the prison, and he's going to go hysterical if America lets this go easy.
“England... what happened?” He asks, and England thinks, but in the long run, all he does is tremble and clutch his blanket. America furrows his brow.
“It's going to be okay.” He whispers, and he knows England can hear his voice. How he wants to embrace him and hold his hand, persuade him that America's going to protect him, but he doesn't; he sits on the edge of the bed, while England is still slumping and sitting in the middle.
“I'll fight off all the bad guys, okay? So you can just sleep; don't worry about it.” America smiles, his face and body glow against the light of the moon and the small, dull lamp in the room. England doesn't move though.
“En-- Arthur, it's fine. It's just a dream; remember, you're here, you're with me, and I'm not going to hurt you in the slightest. Russia isn't coming here.” His words are confident and filled with warmth, England feels gulps and takes a nod; something in his instincts tell him to just go to sleep as he is told.
He lays back down, and America shoots him another smile; “I'll stay here until you fall asleep, so don't worry.” England doesn't respond, and America knows England couldn't have not heard him. For the following hour or so, he sat, watching England breathing, watching him try to sleep.
It is when England manages to fall back into a slumber, America narrows his eyes; he's so small, so weak... it's nothing like how England once was. America picks up his hand, his eyes graze over the bandages wrapped around it, and how rough it feels; Well, he has been in a jail cell for so long... and he resists the urge not to tightly hold England's hand, because remembering the jail cell, remembering how much England suffered (and he didn't even know half the story, mind you.), and who did it all...
He lifts up England's pale hand and lays his lips against it for a moment, and lets go; he brushes a hair out of his face and, “I'm sorry,” so barely above a whisper, before he leaves.
It wasn't the last time America has to come to England's room; in fact, he winds up making a second round trip. It's frequent for the first few nights, but America feels a twinge of hope when he realizes he's coming at England's room to comfort him from nightmares less and less, but as China tells him when he calls; “Don't get your hopes up- aru. He's still unstable; he's only okay now because you're giving him all the affection he needs, but if something like what Russia did to him happens in the slightest, you'll wind up back at square 1- aru.”
America knows; England is still fragile. He's progressing, but he still is far from over what Russia did. He doesn't like going into the kitchen at all, and spends most of his time reading books America offers him; old books, like Shakespeare's works and what not.
There are days where England is completely enamored in the book, America likes to watch him from the corner of his eye as he pretends to watch the television and drink his coffee instead. It is like this often; England's still sitting, cute in America's clothes because they're so over-sized (he's hardened himself mentally, so he can stand the sight without swooning about how cute it is in his mind, like some fan boy, or whatever Japan calls them.) and he'd sit at one end of the couch, America at the other.
England was still afraid of requesting anything, America had to lead him through the day. He sort of has the message now, knows what to do, like when it is time for breakfast, he will wander down to the dining room on his own now (America usually had to fetch him).
He's becoming a little self-sufficient. America thinks to himself with a smile, but he knows it's only because he is here, and once America leaves, England will be scared to do something again, because right now, his whole world is made of terrifying memories and the warmth of America's Virginia vacation home.
He can't stay forever though; “Alfred, are you sure?” Canada asks on the phone that night, “I mean... England is going to be scared of me. He's only really comfortable with you, and you said he still doesn't trust you...”
“I know, but there's nothing else I can do. You're closest and Mexico has her hands busy with the Swine Flu. Plus, we look so alike, and I told my boss I'd manage to get back in a few days. I can't leave England on his own though, so come on, please? I'll owe you, okay?” America begs, and Canada sighs through the phone; “Fine.”
[A/N: Sorry! This was supposed to be in the above segment, but it wound up being too long, so I cut it and put it here~~ For the commenter who wanted a Canada cameo, here you go!~]
“Hey, Arthur, what do you think about having a new care taker?” America asks, his voice cheery and positive, and England places his book on his lap, looking at America. His eyes are not curious though, he looks at America as if he is staring into air, and America notices his hand on the book twitches.
“My brother, Mattie Williams!” America says, ignoring it; he shouldn't point it out, just keep England happy and unafraid. It hurts him inside that the mention of new name sends England back down a spiral of unpleasant memories.
“He's real nice, nicer then I am! Probably cooks better too, I think you'll like him, Arthur!” America explains, cheery, but England doesn't react. America hopes England would say something, but then he doesn't remain expectant. England still doesn't react to much, other then if he's scared. He does some things on his own, but that's only daily actions such as coming for breakfast, because he's probably feeling conditioned to coming down to eat if anything.
“... Okay.” England says only that, and America's lips form a thin line, before he nervously dismisses England back to his book.
It is the next day Canada arrives; “Arthur, this is Matty. Matty... well, yeah.” America introduces them, and Canada instinctively holds his hand out for a handshake (how awkward is this? His former ruling empire is going to shake his hand.) but England takes a step back and stares, afraid, almost wary, and Canada remembers and pulls his hand back to his side.
“Oh, sorry! I forgot. Anyway, it's as Alfred says. I'm Matthew Williams, his brother. It's nice to meet you, Arthur.” This is so silly for him, he thinks. He's known England all his life, and now the man doesn't even remember who he is, let alone his own identity.
Now he's just Arthur Kirkland until he heals up more and America decides to tell him about the nations. “I hope he'll remember before that,” Canada remembers America say.
“There's still a chance he'll remember. China said Russia traumatized him and practically brainwashed him, but he hasn't forgotten. It's still in there.” America tells Canada this the night before, and Canada can't forget America's determined voice, so he recalls that he braced himself for the worst. And... honestly, something in Canada wonders if he braced himself enough, because England is so different.
He is healing, America reminds him on the phone as Canada was coming, and Canada wonders, if this is healing, exactly what was it before? Because England is still covered in bandages, and that is only the part of him which is shrouded by America's clothing.
Even then, he can see purple and black peer out from clothing spots and other parts of England, and Canada, with eerie curiosity, wants to know what happened to England, but he remembers stories of England's hysterical reaction when he's asked about it, and replaces his curiosity with the convincing lie that he'll probably never get over the story he'll be told if England gets around to telling him about it.
“I'll be taking care of you from now on, so I hope we get along,” Canada says nervously, and England is looking down at his feet; “Yes sir.” England mumbles, but Canada barely hears it, and isn't sure whether England was speaking at all, because he sounds so different.
“Well... I dropped my stuff of at the air port this morning, so I should get going now.” America shoots both of them a smile; “Arthur, be good and listen to Mattie, okay? Oh, and hold out your hands,” England does as he's told to, “If Mattie's being lewd though, don't listen to him. Punch him and run into my bedroom and hide.” He drops the keys into England's hands and runs out the door, and Canada follows him out.
“Alfred! I wouldn't do anything lewd to Arthur! Are you out of your mind?!” Canada sighs, exasperated as he listens to America's haughty laughter fade in the distance. He turns and smiles at England; “Sorry. He was just kidding, I won't do anything bad to you.” England still looks afraid though. Canada frowns at this. Now he knows why America sounds so miserable the night before, when they talked on the phone.
England's progressing well, Canada tells America. He says it might have actually been a smart move to have Canada take care of England, because China says that according to what he hears from Canada, England seems less afraid because Canada looks like America, and America seems to trust him a lot.
Still, he is afraid, none the less. He still has traumatic memories flood back at the very instance of anything that reminds him of the prison. Canada notes that when he came with a knife in the dining room to cut the steak, England winds up running upstairs, and hid in America's bed room until Canada convinces him to come out.
America laughs at this; “That's sort of cute.” he says, but China says something quite different: “That's actually a little bad- aru. Not only is he still traumatized, he's still stuck in the mindset that he has to follow orders instead of act on his own will, because you did tell him that America was just joking- aru.” It really blows America's bubble, but he says it'll be fine, because soon, England's going to be fine with the sight of a knife.
He doesn't tell anyone, but he hopes that England will be okay with it soon.
“Anyway, all I really do is hang around the house, cook and clean. I do what you told me and usually give Arthur what he used to like; he enjoys it, eh.” Canada explains, and he can tell America is smiling through the cell phone.
“Good! All right, I have to meet with Congress now, so I'll call you later.” America says and they say they good byes and shut the phones off. Canada looks back at England sitting on the couch, looking outside, but he seems completely uninterested. In fact, according to what he's heard from America, and seen himself, England seems to be bored with everything that isn't dangerous. There are days he is more open, days he is more scared, but he always seems to be thinking about something when he's not either, and no matter what day, there is an instance where England gazes blankly and remembers. They both note that when it is like this, England tends to twitch.
It's been like that for a days. About a week, Canada has taken care of England, and there is almost no progress, it's so slow, but Canada perseveres, because he loves his brother and his brother loves England, and Canada loves England too. They're like his family, plus France, of course.
So when the door is torn down, England screams and there's a pipe and the first thing Canada does is usher England to the back door and dive into the kitchen and pull out the pistol in the cabinet.
It is 5 hours ago Russia warns America, and it is 3 hours later that he hears this voice mail on his cell phone, and it is another 3 hours when he arrives to his vacation house, and it is ravaged. The door is torn down, and he can see broken windows and gunshots on the wall.
“It is 5 hours, I will give you, da? I know where you are hiding, and I am coming for my toy. Chase is fun, so I will give you 5 hours to try and run.”
It is sent at 4:30 p.m., on a Monday afternoon.
America hears this at 7:36 p.m., on a Monday evening.
He arrives to his vacation house at 10:28 p.m., on a Monday night.
He is one hour late.
England's voice is coming from his bedroom; he is screaming. America can hear Russia laugh.
[A/N: YOU CAN SHOOT AUTHOR-NON FOR CLIFF-HANGING, CAUSE IT'S 2:46 AM, SO GOOD NIGHT. ;AA; ]
America does not think; he dashes, runs like there's someone out to get him, except there isn't. They're out for England, “Arthur!” His voices are messily mixed and not in sync with England's tearing screams, and he's not, Russia can't be...
“Matty!” America skids to a stop, when he finds Canada slump against the wall. His head is bleeding and Canada is unconscious. Russia's beaten him around, America figures, and so he grabs him; “Matty! Open your eyes!” America shakes him, and Canada, by a little, opens his cerulean eyes to face his distressed brother.
“Al... fred... D-Damn it, Russia...” He sputters out, but it's so difficult and hard, because his voice is so rasp, because he can recall an hour ago when he's trying to dodge and remembers when he screams; “Russia, get the fuck out of here!” Because he has to protect England, but it didn't work.
“I know! But what about you?!” America asks; he loves England, but Canada is his brother. He can't just leave him, right?
“I'm fine... Just... go help... England...” His breathes out and clutches his head with one hand, over his bleeding wound, and his other hand finds it's way onto America's hand on his left shoulder, and feebly attempts to pry it off. America looks at him with shock and conflict, but Canada smiles, and attempts to clearly see America's face through his cracked glasses.
“Canada, I'm sorry.” America mutters out, and squeezes the hand which had just tried to pull him off Canada's shoulder, and Canada wants to smile when America runs upstairs, pistol being pulled out of his pocket, but he's so tired, and that's not the point right now.
Who to call, who to call... Canada forces him hand, coated in the blood of his own from when he was hit with Russia's pipe, to the phone beside him. It resides on the nightstand, in the corner, beside Canada who is using the wall for support.
He pulls the black phone, smeared with red now, and dials; he prays it works, because he is worried about America, if he can handle this on his own.
America is all alone when he opens the door, and finds the most disgusting sight he has seen, and something in him just breaks. What he sees is England, he's only the floor, his hands are tied together with chains, not shackles, just chains. They are cold and rough against his skin like the wood floor must be, and he is bruised and bleeding and Russia is on top of him.
[A/N: ;AAA; Author-non is so sorry she caused so much eagerness about the earlier cliff hanger!
The screams and the sight of England crying make America wish he was blind and deaf, because it's like a horror movie, just so much more worse. Russia is thrusting in him without rhythm; all that matters it's his own pleasure, and he doesn't care for England's tears. They urge him on, really.
“England!” America cries out, and runs to pry Russia away from England, but the gun shot which whips across his face and leaves a small cut on America's cheek stops him.
“America, and here I thought you lost interest in England.” Russia smiles as he removes himself from England and stands. He calmly zips his pants up, and England is left panting and crying, until his sobs are reduced to quiet sobs once Russia kicks him in the gut, and fires his gun seconds away from his face.
“You bastard...” America mutters out, and the hilt of his gun is gripped so tightly, America should be thankful it does not snap.
“What's wrong? He is my toy, and owners are free to do with their toys as they want, da?” Russia asks, and America's suddenly holding the gun up to Russia; “Shut the fuck up and leave.” Russia looks into his blue eyes and he does not lose him smiling facade, “What makes you think I will listen to you?”
“Because I'm America. I'm this nation's personification and I'm telling you to get off my fucking soil, you sick bastard!” America's voice is steadily rising; “I don't give a damn who you are; you're on my land and I don't want you here, so get the fuck off, right now.”
America's voice was dripping with venom and it sent chills up Russia's spine; it excited him, and amused him all the same.
“I'll leave soon, America. I just came to take what was rightfully mine,” and Russia motions to America. Within a swift motion, the wall cracked with the heat of a bullet smoking through it; America's pistol fires that moment and leaves a hole in the wall, but it does not phase Russia.
“He doesn't belong to you. Leave.” America demands again, but Russia simply walks over and grabs England's hair; “Let him go!” America orders, and wants to fire, but he is scared of what Russia will do to England if he does.
Russia lifts England up higher and licks his cheek, England's blood on his tongue and it tastes like steel, but he doesn't care. His eyes focus on America's enraged expression and his trembling arm as it clutches his arm, desires to badly to fire. Russia loves it, he loves having the upper hand against America, a superpower, it makes him giddy inside.
“It's not like you can help him.” Russia says as he lets England fall to a thud on the ground, and points his gun at England; “It's not like you can--” Russia's words do not leave his mouth, because he does not expect America to run straight into him, like an ox, and for the shattering glass of the window in the guest room to resound in the night as the pieces which glitter in the night fall as America falls with Russia.
They tumble onto the ground; naturally you'd think they just break their backs, but they're nations, they're stronger then normal people, so all they do is roll around and land punches against each other while the glass scattered on the green grass cuts them and lodges itself in their large jackets.
“You fucking bastard!” America shouts, and punches Russia square in the cheek. Russia pushes him off and they wind up standing; “You are no better, da?” Russia taunts him and punches America back. His glasses scatter onto the grass and they lunge for each other, both grabbing each other's arms like a wrestling match and attempting to push the other over.
“I don't give a damn if I'm not any better, Arthur had nothing to do with what I did!” America barks back, and feels himself fall onto the ground when Russia's knee meets his gut, and feels his head pushed into the dirt and shards of glass digging into his cheek as Russia's foot is atop his head.
“America, oh America, you must be stupid to think that would stop me. Honestly, I couldn't care less about England, it's you I hate. And you love England.” Russia explains, and it clicks; Russia did this because of America. He hurt England because it hurts America in the long run.
Something in America breaks.
At the same time, something in him flares.
He pushes Russia off with this sudden strength, granted by his rage, and Russia topples over, but with a roll, he stands back up, but by the time he regains his senses, America's hands are around his neck and his back is against a tree; “You fucking bastard! You did this to Arthur because of me!?” His grip becomes harder and Russia knows he can not die, but the lack of breath is painful anyway.
“Goddamn it, Russia, you- you bastard! I'm going to send you fucking hell, you son of a bitch!” America's grip is so tight and blood drips from Russia's neck and he coughs. His blood splatters over America's bomb jacket and over his fingers, which are busy trying to pry America's hands off.
“I don't give a shit about why you hate me! I couldn't care less if you did, but using that as an excuse to hurt Arthur; you, damn it, you fucking--” America can't even voice his rage; how dare he, how dare Russia hurt England just to tick America off, that's fucking bullshit, America thinks. He doesn't know anything right now, doesn't know where he is, who he is, all he knows is he going's to fucking kill this guy, and he hates him.
“Sacre-bleu, America, stop!” France's voice comes from behind, but America's resolution does not waver, and his muscles tense more as his grip becomes harder, and before he knows it, France is trying to pry him off, but America's too strong, and then he realizes France has one arm and Germany has the other, and they're pulling him off.
“America, let go!” Germany orders, but America drowns out their voice in his anger, and he's struggling to finish the job before the two nations overpower him. Seconds later, Lithuania is on his left arm with France; “America, please, stop!” Estonia helps with Germany, and in seconds, America finds himself struggling as four pairs of arms have to drag him away, and even then, they struggle to keep America in their grip.
“Get the fuck off! I'm going to kill that son of a bitch, damn it, you--” America's shouting curses as Russia tries to catch his breath and France stands in front of him and there is a warm feeling against his cheek; France slapped him.
“England.” Is all France has to say, and America's heart drops.
[A/N: I-Ivan had it coming?
-feels bad for making him so horrible in this story-
America's eyes are on the ground; he's the worst. He's horrible. How... how could he forget England? He was so caught up with Russia, he... he forgot England.
“Guys... let me go,” America whispers, “Please.” Germany looks at him warily, but France puts a hand on the German's shoulders, and he nods. Germany releases America's arm, and Lithuania and Estonia follow suit. America pulls himself up, ignoring the offered hands which want to help him stand, and walks into the house, the glass cracking under his feet, and the wood creaking when he enters the house.
“Thank you guys for coming.” France says, and Germany nods, “I'm going to go check up on Canada.” He says, and follows America in, but he stops when he sees Canada, and tends to his wounds with what he has. Germany looks at Lithuania and Estonia and speaks, “You guys should take Russia back now. I'll stay and make sure nothing else happens.”
The two nod, and walk over to Russia. They help him stand properly, and begin walking; “Ukraine and Belarus are waiting for you,” and Russia nods as he is lugged away.
America walks up the stairs solemnly, but he runs into a dash when he can hear England crying again, attempting to sob without making much of a fuss or noise, but why? Russia was gone, there was nothing to cry about. The door is on the floor, and when he runs in, he sees China, South Korea, and Japan.
“Yong-soo! Get the drugs and everything Russia brought out of here!” China orders, and South Korea begins scooping up everything he was to grab and ran past America, out of the room. Japan runs up to him; “America! Are you okay?”
“I-I'm fine, but...” America's eyes are glued to England, who China is trying to get near, but he doesn't know how to get near England at all.
“We... We came through the back door. It seems France received a call from Canada about everything, and then France asked Germany and China to help. Afterwards, Germany called Estonia and Lithuania to help stop Russia, and China asked Yong-soo and I to assist him...” Japan explained, his voice trailing off as he watched England too.
“I figured it would be like this- aru,” China stops, standing still as he thinks that maybe he should wait for England to calm down, but it's so hard, because he doesn't know when he'll calm down; “That's why I asked. When I heard Russia came, I knew England would probably wind up more messed up then he was before- aru.” England doesn't cease his tears; “He's absolutely terrified of us- aru.”
“... China, everyone, go down and help France with Matty. I... I'm going to try.” America says, and he looks as if he's about to cry, so China hesitates. Japan and South Korea watch for his decision, and after a silent moment, nothing, but England's crying filling the air, China walks out the door, and Japan follows with a first aid kit, and South Korea with the items he collected, which he throws in the garbage as he finds his way to Canada with the others.
“England?” America asks, but England doesn't respond; he tries to say it a bit louder this time, and... when he does, England looks at him for a split second.
He cries harder, and he is more scared. America feels the tears welling up in his eyes; “... I'm sorry, England, I'm so sorry...” and he finds himself standing, and he is crying too.
[A/N: Thank you gaiz so much for your support! >A< I feel so honored to have these comments! I don't think I would've been this determined to continue if it wasn't for all of you~~
I hope I can "try" and get Part 19 up by 2:30 am, which is when I'll force myself to sleep! If not, it'll be up tmr, I hope. ;A;'']
How long has it been? About 1 month? America thinks to himself. The scars on his face have healed, and he is good as he was earlier; Canada was still healing, and... England, well...
Occasionally, China calls to tell him about England; “I haven't been able to get through to him at all- aru... He goes everyday doing the exact same thing, and it's always the things I told him to do when he first started staying with him. I've tried to ply him with everything I could think of- aru. Books he liked, British tea, nothing comes up- aru.” America cringes as China continues, “He doesn't react to it. He looks at it, and he'll hold it because I'm telling him to try it, but... nothing happens- aru. He's just doing it out of fear- aru.”
“... What about Japan? South Korea? Haven't they been visiting him?” America asks, and he has to control himself so his phone doesn't crush under his strength.
“Japan tries too. He brings tea from his country. Poetry, rugs, anything that England would like- aru. South Korea has tried to make him watch dramas. It's like he's completely soul-less now- aru. Unless something reminds him of Russia; then he starts to scream again- aru.” China explains, and with a sharp breath, he says, “I don't think there's anymore we can do- aru. He's beyond help now- aru...”
America hangs up. He... He refuses to believe it. It's... It's England, he's got to be okay inside, right? Right? He's strong, so strong, America remembers, there's no way he'd... give up like that.
China's not doing it right, he convinces himself. Maybe if he visits England, it'll be okay. England still remembers him, right? Of course he does, of course he does, England would never truly forget him. He's America, he's America, so... So stop crying, damn it... America wipes his tears.
He must be strong, because it is England, and everyone is giving up, but he won't. He'll save him, wherever he has gone. He stands up and picks up his phone; “I'm taking him home.” America says, and hangs up on China, who doesn't have a chance to argue back.
And now, a few hours later, he's being guided by Chinese officials to their personification's household, where England was. It's been a while since he saw England. After the events with Russia... well, China took care of England there on after. America was in no condition with injuries, and his unstable emotions.
He... he is okay now, he is! He's a hero! Heroes always heal!
But when China greets him and leads him to England's room, he finds him on his knees; he sobs. He hasn't seriously cried over this whole ordeal yet, because he forces him emotions in check, even when they are so messy after Russia came. Seeing England scream, backed against the wall, afraid like he is Russia too...
It hurts. It hurts him like he's been shot too many times, and he can't take it anymore. Politics, economy, everything; it's stressing him out, he's so tired, then there's England, the person he loves, afraid and weak and he can't do anything, and, and...
He's no hero. He can't do this.
He can't help England.
But his mind changes the screaming ceases; America does not hear over his crying, but he knows when he feels warmth around him; he doesn't know what happened. China watches from the side with a smile.
But England is hugging him, embracing him, his mouth against America's golden hair. He doesn't stroke his back or anything like that, like he once used to when America was young, but he holds him close, regardless, and says nothing. America sneaks his arms around him, and he cries against the crook of England's neck.
There is hope, isn't there- aru? China asks himself; I was mistaken. What he needs isn't someone smart enough to have a Doctor's degree. England needs specifically America to help him- aru.
“Because he still remembers you somewhere inside- aru.” The Chinese man whispers.
[A/N: BECAUSE. I'VE BEEN GIVING YOU ALL DEPRESSING ANGST SO HERE'S SOME LOVELY. CUTE THINGS. IDK. ;A;
So it's 2:45, I am definitely sleeping now. D8 GOOD NIGHT GAIZ, ILU SO MUCH.
England's been coming around, and it makes America happy. He's now staying at America's place in Washington D.C., and now America's coming home to his house everyday instead of lodging at the White House.
It's been 5 weeks since they embraced, but it makes America's heart drop when it seems it's like when they first hugged; a one time thing. England is healing, but at the same time, he's still haunted. He wakes up at night frequently, and he doesn't go anywhere in the house, other then the living room and the guest room he's been staying in.
Though, America does find it cute though; there is one other room he goes to, and from time to time, America arrives home late, and he'd tip-toe to his room and see England sleeping on his bed instead of the guest room. America doesn't mind though; he did say, “If you ever want to, you can sleep in my bed room instead.” He never thought England would seriously do it, but he is proven wrong that day when he comes home and sees England snuggled in his big bed, sleeping peacefully under the comforters.
Now, he's never going to say it, but he does take pictures when England's looking especially cute, and he'll look at the photos of him on his iPhone when he's bored and crammed in the White House for work.
Despite all the faults though, England is going the better way now, and it makes America happy. China always agrees when he hears about England's progress. He always reminds America though, that even he is healing, the way it sounds, he is all the more easy to break now.
America is okay though; he is healing too, because watching England heal is all he needs. “He does things on his own now, in a way.” America notes; in a way. In a general sense, he still only does things if he's told it's okay, but before, England would be told it's okay to watch the television, but he never would, because he's still scared. America would say he can read whatever is on America's bookshelf, he can go anywhere in the house that he'd like (“Just don't go into the basement; that's where Tony is.” America would warn him.), he can eat anything in the house, call him whenever he feels like it, but he'd never do any of it, because he was afraid.
It is different now though. America comes home and he finds England watching the TV, or sitting on the couch, reading more books. Solemnly, he is never eating though because of his dislike for the kitchen, so America tends to lay out some food on the dining table for England to eat when he's hungry.
He doesn't call America either, but that doesn't mean he doesn't speak. His voice is very quiet and he doesn't say much, but he's always says, “Welcome home,” “Thank you,” “Good morning,” and “Good night.”
America knows though; he certainly doesn't say much to others, but he has a cute habit of mumbling to himself when things don't go his way (when it doesn't involve America, of course).
He's not so bad with other people too; they don't have America's privilege with England, but he doesn't run from them. He doesn't seem afraid of Canada at all, but he doesn't seem to like France or Spain much, as America often sees the ghost of a scowl on his face when they come. He seems to appreciate Japan's visits though, along with Canada's.
“I didn't think he'd heal, or this fast- aru. I'm proud of you- aru.” China's words ring in his head as America smiles, standing beside his bed, where England sleeps. Got my bed jacked from me again. America says to himself, playfully.
His gloved hand picks up England's pale one, but he notes it's getting a little color back; his lips are against it in a quick kiss, and England's eyes flutter open; a small smile graces his lip. He rarely smiles, only when America comes home, from time to time; “Welcome home.”
His privilege is no hug or kiss, but they do hold hands from time to time.
[A/N: ;A;'' Author-non apologizes for lack of hurt/comfort! I just felt like writing fluff.
Sorry, this may be the only update today. >A>; I have a project due for history;;! I'll try and fit another update in today though!
Also, what would you like to see for Part 21: Something more serious with Doctor!China, orz. Or some more fluff? :D Rejected idea will come in later parts.]
“Cute, isn't he?” America asks with a smile as he and China peer through the guest room door where England is sleeping in America's bed for the umpteenth time. It's late at night when China arrives to America's house, and China can't help, but nod. He remembers the old days, with Vietnam, Japan, South Korea, Taiwan, and Hong Kong... how when he would arrive in his home and see them sleeping on the front porch under one blanket, waiting for him to come back from work.
It makes him heart warm. He can tell why America likes the sight of England sleeping so much; “Yes. He looks much better then before- aru.” China quietly notes, and America smiles with a proud nod. He motions China to come back with him to his office, and they sit there and talk.
“How do you think he is?” America asks, his face hardening. He knows China is very blunt with England's condition because he does not want to give America any false hope.
“You can smile- aru. I think things are going great- aru.” China explains, and America's face brightens so much that if he were a light bulb, China would bet it'd be worth quite the penny.
“Really? He is?” America is so jumpy that China has to motion for him to sit and stay still, which America does, but he is still giddy and excited like a school girl whose crush just confessed he reciprocated her feelings.
“Yes, really. It's quite a shock, to be honest- aru. Considering how he reacted to you, I didn't think he'd ever get over what happened with Russia, but he has- aru. Even more so, he's made so much more progress with you then he had with me, South Korea, and Japan- aru.” China adds, and some part of America wants to run out the door and scream, “I fucking did it!” But he holds himself on the couch.
“Even more so, he feared you because you said Russia would not come for him, but Russia did- aru. Then he began to associate you with Russia- aru. And it took one month for him to sleep in your bed because he misses your presence.” China explains, and America stops. Wait... what? H-He always thought that England slept in his bed because it was comfortable... he looks at China like a deer looks at a car's headlights.
“... Don't tell me you didn't realize that- aru.” China says flatly, and America flails his arms; “O-Of course I know!” He lies, and it is so clear that China is unaware why he even true. He shakes his head and moves on.
“Moving on; I'd say he's attached to you if you guys held hands as you said- aru. Then again, you do spend the most time with him and he's like a child right now, so it figures- aru. Has he shown any signs of remembering prior to his capture?” China asks, and America cups his chin, thoughts running through his mind. He isn't very sure, because England never says so himself; hell, the guy never says much unless directed.
“Not that I know of. I'd say he hasn't really forgotten though,” America begins, “He did know the way around my house right away though!” America says, and China nods; that's something. If England has never been to America's real house prior to his current stay here, he wouldn't know anything about where everything is.
“Anything else- aru?” America shakes his head; “Personality.” America goes on to explain that England curses too, but not in front of him. Only when he's alone, which China says means he's still scared.
“It's still good though. Naturally, a person of normal status would've probably entered a state of insanity and probably killed themselves, or they would suffer post-traumatic stress for life. I think within a few months, he might return to his normal self- aru.” China looks out the dark window, reflecting him and America with the stars and moons, which were vague in view because of the city buildings.
“So then if we're getting their mentally, then the next step is his memories, right?” China nods; “His personality will probably return with his memories- aru. I just don't know how to do it- aru.”
“What do you mean?” America's face becomes stern, but China doesn't blame him. It's a very serious subject; “You know amnesiac cases, America. You can't just tell them all they've forgotten and expect them to remember. It's something similar here- aru.”
“But England didn't forget, he--” America begins, but China cuts him off swiftly; “just isn't aware he remembers everything- aru.” China rests his chin on his hands, which are laced together and has his elbows rest on his knees, “I know, America.”
“Then why are you saying this?” He asks, and China looks down; “Because even if that was the case, I wouldn't know how to go about all this- aru.”
“... What?” America asks, and China can tell his voice is bordering on shock and possible rage; Russia is coming to his mind all over again.
“Russia forced England to forget his own name. I don't doubt he knows what it takes to make England forget everything,” He grabs America's arm as he stands; “Remember last time- aru.” Then the memories flood back like a raging waterfall, and America recalls the screams and shattering glass and all the chaos; it sends his mind spiraling again. He sits down again.
“Don't get me wrong- aru. I am not pinning the blame on Russia. There is a chance England can not remember because of him, but there is a chance he simply can not recall it is all. Or option C- aru, and that is he chooses not to remember it.” That is what leaves their discussion in a frozen moment, and America struggles to speak. His mouth opens, it closes, it opens, and closes again. He... he doesn't know what to say.
“We don't know what Russia told him.” China says, and America feels the leather of the couch strain under his grip, because he is holding it so tight because it is all that keeps him from flying to Europe.
“Russia is not your concern, America. Think about England. If you leave him-” China warns him and is promptly cut off by America; “I know... I know.” He says quietly, and sits back, releasing his hold on the couch.
“All right. On the topic of England... First, we need to find out why he's like this; why he can't remember. Whether he's afraid, or doesn't want to, or something completely different- aru. If possible, you might have to speed up- aru.” China explains, and America nods; the economy is terrible, and it does the United Kingdom no good to have one of its personifications missing (right now, they are left with all, but Ireland and Scotland, who have taken up representing the United Kingdom until England's return.) so he has to hurry, but all the same-- “But if it's causing you to rush it, then don't. We need to be as slow as England needs- aru. He's still fragile; we need to preserve his trust more then anything.”
“... Got it... but what can I do to make him trust me more?” America asks himself quietly, and China smiles; “I thought you would ask that- aru. I have some ideas.”
America looks at him peculiarly; he knows China is smart, but heck, he is the last person America expects to know plenty about relationships; he'd usually go to Canada for this kind of thing.
“So, tomorrow, you are to take England out on a date- aru. I heard of a place here... The Cheesecake Factory, they called it? Taiwan and Hong Kong went- aru. They said it was great, so take England there, enjoy dinner, and the night scenery. I heard tomorrow is indeed a cloud free day- aru.” China says this all in one breath, and... and America is speechless.
[A/N: Sorry! Short update is short! ;A; It's sort of like a small transition, ending the earlier event and. uh. GIVING YOU A LITTLE HINT ABOUT PART 23, HMMM?
There should be even more fluff after that too~~ Poor America's gonna get ordered around by China for quite a bit. Needless to say, it'll be cute, so I hope you love it~~ <3 I hope it's cute, LOL;;;.
ALSO. I er, also started a new fill on the APH Kink Meme, so go check it out~~ It's on the 29th page. I think by now you can probably tell it's me by my manner of writing. XDDD]
America casually walks into the restaurant with a black sweater and denim jeans. England follows behind with a T-Shirt (From America, and they still haven't gotten around to picking up England's clothes in London because they haven't an excuse to raid England's home, nor do they know where his keys even are.) that hits the length of his elbows, and short cargo pants from America, except it goes a little past his ankles. America needs smaller clothes, that's for sure.
England isn't even that much shorter; 2 centimeters, to be exact. He should be able to fit like a tee in America's pants at the very least (the former England would hate to admit it, but America's T-Shirts would never fit him because of America's much-more athletic build in comparison to him.) but no, not even that. Well, it's not England currently cared much anyway.
“We got a private booth Arthur, so let's go!” America motions for them to go deeper into the restaurant, so England nods and scampers closely behind America.
They sit across from each other, and a waiter comes to deliver their menus; America slides one to England. “Take it, and you can order whatever you'd like and as much as you'd like.” America smiles, and England nods; “Thank you.” He says, a bit quietly, and they read over the menus. It's 10 minutes later that they order.
“I'll have a Hibachi Steak and Coke!” America says, cheery, and picks up a bread in the basket and takes a bite out of it. England shifts a little, and tries to hide his nervous expression with a look of apathy or wariness; “I'll have a Chicken Salad Sandwich and Iced Green Tea.” He says, and the waiter nods. He takes their orders and goes on his merry way.
“So how do you like it so far?” America asks, and England looks up; “The restaurant! Does it fit your tastes?” England ponders for a moment before he answers: “I don't really know. We've only been here for about.... 15 minutes?” England cocks his head to the left as he tries to remember when they arrived, and notices America's glasses messed with his blond hair, his hands slid onto his face and pushes the glasses up until his hair. He's trembling.
“... Alfred? I-Is something wrong?” England stammers out, and America shakes his head; Nothing wrong, but you! Damn it, Arthur, why so moe!? America has to control himself, and makes a mental thank you that he is sitting and not standing, making his slowly coming erection just a little less obvious.
“S-Sorry, Arthur. Anyway, want some bread?” America asks as he regains himself and picks up a piece of bread. England nods and mutters a small thank you as he munches on it quietly, and... and America is looking out at the tinted window behind him, so desperate to punch it and virtually shatter it, take England in his arms and somewhere private where they could, quote – “have some alone time” – unquote.
“... Alfred, why did you take me out to dinner today?” England asks, a bit nervously. He fidgets, but attempts to look like he doesn't care, borderline a small scowl maybe (it's probably because England isn't the best at forcing his expressions right now, like Alfred) and looks to the right. America smiles; “You're always home, right?”
England nods. “Well, it gets stuffy there after a while, right? You must get bored, always reading or watching TV, right?” England looks down, and America smiles, “You can be honest.”
“It... does feel lonely after a while.” England admits, and America feels positive inside. He's gotten one step closer if he can pry honest answers out of England.
“Is this why you sleep in my bed if I take too long to come home?” America asks, “Because it reminds you of me and makes you feel less lonely?” England's face still lights up red when he's embarrassed, America notes when he speaks, and sees England turn completely red by the time he finished the first part of his question.
[A/N: Sorry that nothing much has happened yet! It's sort of like a transition from China's talk with America to the date. 24 should have more fluff, I hope.
I also apologize for today's lack of updates. I have trouble thinking of what to do with this segment! >A<;; orz. I would've written more, but it's 4:59 am. ;A;'' I'm scared of being caught by my parents, sorry gaiz. Hopefully, I'll update more tommorow.]
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Hold Me Close [1/?]
(Anonymous) 2009-05-03 08:08 pm (UTC)(link)It's damp and empty; their footsteps are resounding throughout the ghostly walls like in a horror movie where the group is walking through the ruins, and all of sudden a ghost should come up and try and strangle them, but no ghost comes.
They are not ghost-hunting, after all. They are looking for someone, or more specifically, a nation. The half of the United Kingdom whom represents the England part of it, in other words: Arthur Kirkland.
“You're walking to slow, America.” France bluntly states, and America jumps at France's voice, “D-Don't scare me like that, France!” America demands and France chuckles; despite the serious atmosphere, it is no less fun to scare America. The golden blond does, however, pick up his pace and walks a bit faster. They move their flashlights among the prison cells, filled with skeletons and blood and gore and honestly, despite their age, both nations were disgusted to the core.
“America, do you honestly think England is here?” France asks, and America pauses, but replies, “I don't know. He hasn't been in the others, but there's still a chance.” France narrows his eyes, but they push onward. A sudden rustle comes out from deeper in the prison, and both nations get out their pistols with a swift movement.
There is no following noise though; “Who's there?!” America shouts, and there is another sound, but it does not sound of pulling out a gun. It sounds like the movement of chains and America, oh God, oh God, it can't be, is it--
His pistol hits the ground and he makes a run for it through the jail cells, his flashlight moving like stage lights. France follows America, but slows his pace when he finds the young nation, standing in front of a cell. He is in what looks like perpetual shock, as if... as if, no, there is no way England can be dead in his cell, right...? No way in hell, France is sure, and he is right.
The sight he sees is far from rewarding though. When he stands beside America, he sees a stranger, because the England he knows would give a smart remark when he's found, but this England does nothing.
He sits there, he's completely motionless, not doing anything at all; “England?” There is no reply. America knocks on the cell bars; “England!” He doesn't say anything. The younger nation grips his teeth, and pulls on the doorway into the cell, but it doesn't open.
He fumbles in his pocket and pulls out a ring with keys slung on it and ringing together like a poorly done symphony. With haste, he opens the door and walks in; “England!” he shouts again, but even then, he does not react.
England sits, his wrists cuffed with shackles that are chained to the wall. His eyes are half-glazed, they are a disgustingly dull green and America hates it. France though, notes the condition instead. England's shirt is gone, and he's stuck with a pair of pants, that, mind you, are in no better condition then he is. They are torn and, oh God, are they burnt too?
France knows the sight would be disturbing because it's Russia who took England in the first place, but this is just terrifying. He is covered, head to toe, in scars and burns over his old, dried wounds, and he is thin, so thin, you can see his ribs and cheekbones peering out, and he's pale, so pale as if he's dead.
“England...” America says softly, and his fingers reach out to touch England's cheek; the moment they make contact, England's reaction is wild. He says nothing, but he slaps away America's hand as if he is trying to feed him poison and crawls away until his aching back touches the wall behind him.
OP
(Anonymous) - 2009-05-03 20:24 (UTC) - ExpandRe: OP
(Anonymous) - 2009-05-03 20:35 (UTC) - ExpandHold Me Close [2/?]
(Anonymous) 2009-05-03 08:37 pm (UTC)(link)“What's your name?” France asks, standing and gazing down on England. He says something, but France hears a mumble of words, and re-asses his question.
“D-Don't know... Said I don't have one...” France narrows his eyes. So Russia's gone as far as to leave England completely name-less, “Do you know who I am? Or that guy over there?” England shakes his head.
“... Do you remember what they did to you?” France asks, and England flinches. His eyes hit the ground and a stream of explanations leave his mouth, but they are so slow and fast that France can't understand a single thing, and neither can America.
England's voice gradually grew louder, “They told me I wasn't who I was, I'm worthless, they'd come in here everyday with sharp objects and guns and they were loud and I was bleeding and then they'd grab my shirt and pants,” he clutches his head and his eyes grow wide and he can't stop the memories and France nearly topples over when America shoves him aside and dives to England's side.
“And they're coming, you're one of them aren't you? You're going to come here and you're going to beat me and do those horrible things and I'm going to die and--”
“England, stop! We're not here to hurt you! Calm down!” America shouts with a voice coated in worry, distress... pain, France notes. His hands are on England's bare shoulders, and his ramblings come to a miserable end, and America narrows his eyes. Without another thought about it, he pulls England into an embrace; “I'm so sorry...” he whispers, but England looks hysterical again, and shoves him away.
America falls back and looks at England with shock. “They're broken him completely.” France explains, his brow furrowing. Even if England has always been his rival, he can't help, but feel pity. He's always been a very head strong person and brave and now look at him.
His body is scarred all over, and his mind is even worse off if England can't even handle a little human contact. “Did they... rape him?” America asks as England still trembles, and France nods; “Probably. They've probably done it... in the crueler way, if he's left like this.”
The blond, young Nation looks down. As America, he's always had days where he just wants to beat himself up. The feeling is strong now, and all he wants to do is find Russia and kill him until he's dead and never gonna rise again, and drag the bastard down to hell for doing this... Doing this to England, damn that fucking bastard, he's going to kill him, he's going to kill him that Russia's going to regret ever doing this, and before he knows it, he's walking out of the jail cell with France's pistol in hand.
Russia, damn it, you're going to get this, I'm not letting you go, I'm going to make sure-- “America!” France grabs his shoulder, and America's broken out of his thoughts and all he sees is France's face, and, “Russia can wait for later. For now, I need you to help me get England out of here.”
America pauses; as much as he just wants to find Russia and give him Hell, no, no, worse then Hell, he can't now. His priority needs to lie with England.
“... All right, but... how? He doesn't even want us near him, but I don't think he can walk on his own...” America replies, and France nods; “Exactly, and in his mental state, convincing may just make things worse... so, America, I want you to knock him out. A hit to the back of the neck should leave him unconscious.”
“Knock him out?! You can't be serious, France!” America answers in defiance, but France shakes his head, “It's the only way for now. I don't know if anyone else is in here, and if there is, we're lucky no one's caught us yet. If he makes a fuss, we might get into some trouble.” He explains, and America turns his face to England.
So vulnerable and so weak... It breaks America's heart. I... I have to. I can't leave him here... America thinks, and walks over to England. He grasps his wrist and England can remember.
OP
(Anonymous) - 2009-05-03 21:01 (UTC) - ExpandRe: OP
(Anonymous) - 2009-05-03 21:07 (UTC) - ExpandRe: America/England
(Anonymous) 2009-05-03 09:09 pm (UTC)(link)“Job well done, America. Now let's get going.” France adds, stoic, unlike his normal self. He... he knew England would be hurt, but this was beyond what he ever thought he'd see. His rival... his rival was by near, dead inside, or maybe already gone. France couldn't tell at England in this state.
America nods, and he takes the keys in his hand and unlocks the shackles. He picks up England, slipping his arms under his neck and knees protectively. He's... he's so light... America thinks, and all of a sudden, he feels like his knees will buckle any moment and he's going to start crying because, damn it, damn it all to Hell, he couldn't protect England. He loves him, has loved him for so long, longer then he's loved anyone and likes to think it's longer then anyone has loved someone and here England is, beaten and traumatized because America failed to be a damn hero.
What was his title worth if he can't even protect the person he loves most in the world?
France exits the cell and America follows after, France cautiously making his way forward with his pistol protectively in his hand.
The place was truly empty though, because the trio managed to make it outside without much trouble at all. The sun is setting, but the darkness has left France and America wincing as they adjust to the light, and struggle to the helicopter; “I'll pilot this time.” France says, and America doesn't reply, but France knows America would rather be holding England.
In minutes, the plane was buzzing in the air; “Let's bring him to your vacation house in Virginia for now, okay? I highly doubt letting his higher-ups see him like this will be a good idea anyway.” France explains, and America nods. Even if France doesn't say it, America knows it's also because... well, they honestly don't know whether England will heal, or rather, if he can.
They're in the air, and America's honestly always loved it up there. It's vast and beautiful colors; right now, it's purple and orange and yellow like America's hair, but the sky holds no comfort today, because he can't feel happy when England is in his arms.
England, whose eyes showed a void when they found him, who was scared when America touched his cheek, who... who didn't know who he was, who America was, who France was. Everything was a blur to England and it made America's heart break.
His gloved hand runs through England's tangled hair, and he comes to notice, and his eyes narrow; dry blood coats his sandy blond hair, which isn't so much blond anymore. It's so pale that it's almost like Prussia's white hair, and America remembers the urge to kill Russia, but he knows. France's words ring in his head, Russia is not his priority, England is.
“... Do you think you can heal him?” France asks, but America doesn't reply, because... he's always the hero, he can do anything, he's got no faults, but, to be honest... he really doesn't know anymore.
[A/N: orz, ANY TALES FANS OUT THERE? Cause that quote, "
What was his title worth if he can't even protect the person he loves most in the world?" is pretty much jacked off one of the Tales Of games~~ Though I admit, I honestly don't know which game it's from. Memory escapes me. I think it's Lloyd who said it, but. idk. ;A;''' ]
OP
(Anonymous) - 2009-05-03 21:30 (UTC) - ExpandHold Me Close [4/?]
(Anonymous) 2009-05-03 09:29 pm (UTC)(link)“I... I really don't want to think about what they could have done to him- aru.” China says as he sits on the couch across from America. He was called over by the young nation and France to check up on England, since they couldn't exactly leave him in a hospital. He'd probably wind up locked up that way, in the hospital, and America didn't want to think what would happen.
“It's that bad?” France asks, and China nods; “This is only the physical condition too. I have no idea what's become of his mind- aru.”
“We don't know much either, to be honest. He's scared of physical contact though.” France adds, and China ponders for a moment, and gives his answer.
“He looks like he's been abused, physically and sexually. I don't want to go into detail about how bad, but I can tell you that it's definitely enough to leave him scared of others- aru,” China begins to explain, “It's trauma, I'd say. He's been surrounded by people who've been hurting him, and it's probably gotten to the point where to him, everyone is the same, and they're all trying to hurt him- aru.”
“... Is he... going to be okay?” America asks with an unsteady voice. The answer scares him, what if it's a no? What if there's no hope for England and that nation's personification is gone down an insane road forever, and no matter how many times America calls for him to come back, he won't...
China pauses, and a silence fills the room. His eyes are conflicted, but he speaks, because China knows; keeping an answer from someone is no better then saying it at all, “I don't know yet. I haven't seen enough, but... if I had to give you a yes or no answer, I'd say no- aru.”
America's hope fell, but inside he laughs dryly. He figured it'd be no, but he still held onto that scrimmage of hope. That small bit that prayed it'd be okay, he could help England, he'd heal him, he'd be the hero...
“I can take him if you want. I could see if there's anyone in my country who knows what to do- aru...” China explains, but... but America's hands ball into fists as they grip his pants; “... Don't. I'm... I'm going to be the one to heal him. I'll help him.”
“... Are you sure? It's going to be hard, and it might not work- aru.” China warns him, and America nods. His decision is firm and he knows, he loves England and if he couldn't save him then, the least he could do was try now.
[A/N: Anon fails for forgetting to make the subject for Part 3 to be 'Hold Me Close [3/?]' SORRY GAIZ LOL;;;.]
OP
(Anonymous) - 2009-05-03 21:37 (UTC) - ExpandRe: OP
(Anonymous) - 2009-05-03 22:18 (UTC) - ExpandHold Me Close [5/?]
(Anonymous) 2009-05-03 10:19 pm (UTC)(link)He's sitting at the table with a mug of coffee and the newspaper. He called in a few days ago, to the White House. He can't make it back due to some emergencies, so he's going to be a few days late. They let him off the hook, thank God.
America sighs; “Even if I said I'd take care of him... I have no idea where to start... First off, what can I do when I have to go back to Washington anyway?” He can't bring England, but he most certainly can't just leave him here on his own.
Then there's Russia... America had to control himself, so his grip on the coffee mug's handle didn't cause the glass to shatter. Knowing him, he might come back to fetch England, and if America wants to do anything, he'd like to invite Russia over for the sole purpose of punching him in the face, but he's got to take care of England for now.
“Is he even up yet?” America quietly asks himself, and he abandons the breakfast on the table (buttered toast, sausages, eggs, and of course, tea, just the way England always liked it.) and walks down the hall into the guest room.
It was a beauty, really, like a painting. The windows sail high, covered by thin, white curtains that let in a dull glimmer of sunlight through the fabric. The room was generally large, but empty. It has a dresser and closet, with a mirror, one large bed and a nightstand.
America strides over to the large, white bed, with a single person sleeping on it, and that is England. His body is still coated in old blood, mixed with the white bandages wrapped around him, on his wounds. The white bed is stained with blotches of red when America laid England down there the first time, but he doesn't really care.
His hands run through that dry hair and... no one was around, he knew it, and America begins to cry. His hand, once in England's hair, was slips behind his glasses and on his eyes as he cries. He honestly didn't cry all night, made himself stay strong, but you know, facades only last so long.
England... England, he loves him, loves him as much as he loves himself and his country, he's important, the most important person in America's life... and here he is.
He's in blood, he's dying inside, he's not England anymore... and it hurts America more then a shot to his heart would.
America knows, he'd give anything to everything if they'd switch him with England. They'd turn back time and America would be captured instead of England... it's fine, it really is, as long as England's healthy and happy, it's okay. Love just extends to so many lengths, and this is one of them.
He hears a groan from below, and wipes his bleary eyes, and looks down, and there is England, waking up. Slowly, but surely, he's alive, and America pushes back the urge to embrace him, talk about how worried he was...
[A/N: I SWEAR THINGS SHOULD GET MORE INTERESTING SOON.]
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(Anonymous) 2009-05-04 12:19 am (UTC)(link)“Hold on, England! Stop! I'm not here to hurt you!” He shouts in a desperate voice, and England pauses, his body remains tense though.
“Look, I'm not here to harm you, okay? I'm here to help you. I'm not allied with Russia or anything like that, so chill out... I know I knocked you out and all, but it was just so we could get you to come here, so trust me on this, okay?” America explains slowly, but England still looks at him wary... no, not wary. He looks at America with a terrified expression, because all he thinks is that America is another bad person, another person out to make him more miserable then he already was...
He can't trust this man! He knocked him out, so England does the most natural thing; he runs straight past America and out the door. He's gotta get out of here, find someone, find someone he can depend on, but... but he can't recall anyone, who can he depend on?
He doesn't even know his own name...
“England, stop, damn it!” America's voice grows closer, and England's been deprived for days, he's shocked he can even run, but not outrun the American behind him. All of a sudden, they grab his arm and England knows, oh God, they're going to kill him, he always hears from people in other cells; “If you try and run, they're going to kill you, slow and painful,” oh God, this guy's going to kill him, he's never going even find out what his name is. Freedom was so close, so close, England wishes--
America embraces him instead. His arms around England's smaller frame, and England does the natural thing to him; he tries to push America away, he's terrified, this must be a trick, they're going to kill him, it's just a false hope, it's nothing good.
“Please believe in me.” America says, and England stops. To be honest, he isn't sure what to do. All he's known for months now is the horrifying world where they've taken him. They cut him with knives, slammed him against the walls and floors, raped him, blindfolded him and told him he's not whatever his name was, that there's no such thing as kindness and it's all a lie...
England hasn't seen compassion in months. He's forgotten what it was. He's forgotten how you feel when someone is compassionate towards you... so he keeps his face stoic, he doesn't react when America's arms get tighter and he starts to weep a little.
It stays like that for a few moments, and the only sound in the hallway is America's quiet sobbing. Then he lets go; “Sorry... You're probably feeling dirty. You can take a shower if you want...” He says, wiping his tears.
Inside somewhere, he's broken inside that England doesn't hug him back, that England really has been torn apart inside and out, so much that it's unimaginable.
America steps a good distance away; “It's right down the hall. Don't take too long! I have food waiting for you in the dining room!” He says, smiling again, and England simply nods. America nods and walks down the hall, back to the dining room, and England heads down to the bathroom.
[A/N: >A<;; Author!Anon hopes you're enjoying this, since it's starting to stray from what I originally planned, orz;;;. And. idk. this one... sort of bugs me anyway. I feel like I'm rushing it. -sobbbb- ]
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(Anonymous) 2009-05-04 02:04 am (UTC)(link)He doesn't seem to trust him either. Then again, it's only been one day, America isn't expecting much progress. He sighs and shakes his head. For now, I should just work on getting England's name back in his head and his body back in shape. He's like stick and bones, no joke... America plans. Maybe he should ask China just in case.
Speaking of China, he's gotta tell China about England's progress, “Call me when he wakes up and what happens... aru.” America imitates him, even to the point of his suffix.
The young nation pulls out his phone, dials the numbers, and puts it to his ear; “C'mon, China, pick up, pick up- aru,” America mumbles, mocking China's suffix again and the other end picks up, “Hello- aru?” America brightens up a bit, “Hey China- aru! … Wait, what?” China had the nerve to hang up.
“Make this quick- aru.” China grumbles, and America laughs nervously; “Chill out, man. Anyway, going on to the more serious subject, England woke up.”
China pauses for a moment, and replies; “What did he do?”
America looks away, and gulps before he speaks, and he explains the situation the best he can; “But... I don't think he trusts me, still.”
“It figures he wouldn't- aru. I'm not a real doctor, so I don't know how to go about this case. For now, just be nice and give him what he's looking for. Try to give him things he likes too- aru.” China explains, and America replies, “Right, thanks.” And they hang up.
England walks in then, with a fresh change of clothes. He's in a black hoodie with too long sleeves and even more too long sweat pants. I know I lent him those since he has nothing else to wear, but he looks so cute...! America gazes at him, mulling over how he'd look in bed, while America's busy taking off those clothes and how--
He's afraid of physical contact.
“... I suck.” America mumbles to himself and buries his face in his hands. England stares at him peculiarly; what the hell's he going on about?
“S-Sorry!” America hops out of his slump in an instant. “You're probably hungry! Come on, sit and eat!” America pushes the plate full of food towards England, “It might have gotten cold though. Jeez, you take so long in the shower!”
England flinches, “I'm sorry,” he says, and there are creases on his forehead, and America suppresses a frown; “Nothing to apologize about! Dig in!” America says cheerfully, and England looks up at him, unsure. He didn't understand where this boundless amount of energy and forgivingness all came from... they were never like this back at the prison... he can recall when they'd feed him, it was horrifying, really. They'd literally push the food into his throat... He... he can remember the drugs too, pills, and all the needles and...
America stands up; “England, are you okay?” He asks, and England takes a step back. Is the food drugged? He's not going to be tricked; he takes another step back.
“England, calm down! It's just food, there's nothing out there to get you!” He explains, trying to keep his voice low, but it was still somewhat of a shout.
“Y-You're lying! You're going to drug me and rape me and drag me back to the prison and then they're going to... they're going to...” England's voice hits a whisper and he clutches his head again, and the memories flood back and sting him and he hates it, and someone help him, that's all he wants, but he can't tell who wants to help and who wants to hurt him in the long run.
[A/N: Thank you guys for the support so far~~ Much love to you two!]
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(Anonymous) 2009-05-04 03:00 am (UTC)(link)England narrows his eyes, but... it's food, and truth be told, he's starving, and... well, the man's not going to eat poison, so... England stands, and he moves to the chair. America goes back to his, and England sits, beginning to eat.
“Do you like it?” America asks, cheery in voice. England looks down, but nods, and America's smile grows wider; “Great! Do you want this again tomorrow, or do you want me to try making something different?” England pauses.
“You're making this... tomorrow to? For me?” He asks, and the words sound as if they'd be happily curious, but they sound like a simple question, which England's voice still empty. America nods; “Of course! I'm taking care of you now, so I got to do a good job!” For humor's sake, he wanted to add that China and France will come beat him up other wise, but England would probably take that the wrong way.
England isn't sure what to say. Why is this guy being so nice anyway? It feels so familiar, but he doesn't know, “... I'll... have the same thing. Thank you.” England says, and America frowns inside. He knows he isn't expecting results right now, but he thought he'd gained a smidgen of England's trust, but his voice sounds like England still thinks he has to be polite and good-willed, or else he's going to get hurt.
England, I'd never hurt you. America thinks, but he wants to say it out loud; it'd probably throw England into a fit of distrust again, so he stays quiet.
“Are you sure?” America asks, and England nods. Figures; England is just scared of asking for something else because he's worried he's going to get hit for being spoiled.
“All right! Then after this, we'll have an important lesson, so be ready, okay?” America tells him, positive and bright, but England flinches, and America knows he's thinking of some sort of horrifying and traumatizing lesson instead of something simple as England's identity.
“Don't worry, it's nothing bad. You said so yourself; you don't know who you are! I'm going to help you remember!” America explains, and England looks up at him, his eyes... just a little less dull. Just a little, and America's soaring. England nods, and sips the last of his tea. He ate pretty fast, America notes, and with a smile; “Do you want more?”
“... N-No, thank you...” England sputters out, and America pouts. He's probably lying and he's probably still hungry, “Are you sure? I have plenty of food! You can eat all you want! It's really okay.”
England shakes his head, and he stands. His plate in his hands with the tea cup balancing carefully on it, and he heads into the kitchen. Oh well, America figures he can just make England eat once his stomach winds up growling again. How can he be in that state and have one plate fill him completely?
The older nation headed to the sink to wash his dishes; “Hey, I can do it for you if you want.” America calls from the dining room, but England, busy looking around, has his eyes fixated on one object, so much that he doesn't reply. It's a knife; there's a knife piled with the utensils.
It's sharp, and all of a sudden, England can see the blood on it, his blood, his reflection, he can see Russia, he can remember his screams and he can recall it all and the plate falls from his hands and shatters and England is brought out of his horrific reverie with the sound and America runs in.
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(Anonymous) 2009-05-04 03:20 am (UTC)(link)“Come here.” America says, and England, in shock, drops the glass pieces. He turns with haste, almost stepping on a broken piece of the plate, and walks over to America. His head is looking at the ground and he's trembling. America only plans to tell him to wait on the couch, but his urge was so much more stronger when he sees England so weak and small...
England is about to push him away again when his arms are around him again, just like earlier, but America's lips so close to his ear stop him; he can hear whispers of sweet words into his ear, how it's okay and he doesn't need to be afraid, and how America's going to be his hero and Russia won't come after him, and England's arms wrap around America too, and they're embracing and...
America breaks out of his daydream; England still stands before him, shaking, scared, and America wants to cry again, because England was so strong, so great, so tall, so... “England, look at me.” America demands, but not cruelly. It is more of a request and he complies, slowly looking up.
“England, wait on the couch, okay? You can watch TV or something, I'll catch up soon.” America smiles instead, and England looks confused. He expected anger, but this man is smiling. England nods slowly and walks out, to the couch, and sits down. He wants to check the television, but... he's honestly a little scared, so he sits and waits for America.
America is in the kitchen and he's on his knees. In his hand is the larger pieces of broken glass, and he fits not to ball his hands in fists, because his palms will wind up bleeding and while he couldn't give a damn, he has no idea what the sight of blood will stimulate if England sees it.
He has to resist the urges, and sighs. He... he can't rush the things involving emotion; it's not going to do England any good if America flings his feelings at him. It'll just leave his mind spinning and confused and even more worse then he is now.
“England... I'll save you, I promise.” America remarks, and continues picking up the glass scattered all over the ground in his hand.
[A/N: Damn, Author!Anon has never written so much in her life... Well, this is it! Not the end, but it's 11:16 pm here and Author!Anon has yet to do her homework, so... she's. gonna go do that. ;AAA;'' Will continue tmr~~
Sorry for making it so long. I honestly didn't realize it'd be THIS long, orz;;.
I think it end around Part 15 or something, but if OP and commenters enjoy that it's so long, then I can make it even longer~~ I just. don't wanna make it so long you guys get sick of it. >A<'''
Also, Russia making a villainous reappearance = y/n? I made him such a jerk already, I wasn't sure if making his role here even worse would be fun for readers LOL;;;. But if you guys want it like that, I already have stuff planned~~ And no, I do not hate Russia, gaiz. ;A; ]
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(Anonymous) 2009-05-04 08:27 pm (UTC)(link)As long as it didn't involve sharp knives, chains, anything torture method of the sort.
“Hey, England!” The sandy haired nation slowly turns to the source, and it's America; “Enjoying the view? Actually, do you want to go outside?” England doesn't answer. He isn't sure; were they knives out there? Were they going to hurt him?
“I own this house and the area around it, so it's no problem!” America winks as he speaks, “I have a nice little table outside, so we can sit and talk there! Oh, or if you like trees, I have a nice tree from Japan, pretty cherry blossoms...” America muses on where to go, while England watches him blankly.
Trees and tables... it doesn't sound dangerous. The guy looks unarmed too; all he has was a big white T-shirt and blue jeans. England doesn't dispel the thought that he might get killed anyway. Brute force is something very probable, but he does not object.
He's scared of saying his opinion. All he recalls when he says his thoughts are being beaten for it, raped, and before he knows it, he's trembling, his brows furrow and America pauses; “England? Hey, England!” he says, trying to grab his attention.
His hand reaches out to shake his shoulder, but it stops; You can't touch him. It rings in America's head, but what can he do? England's shaking, he needs to grab his attention and... “Look, no one's going to hurt you. If you want, we can just stay inside for today. Maybe we'll go out another day when you want to.”
England's shaking comes to a stop, and he slowly, fearfully looks up; he expects piercing eyes that are really justify the phrase, “Looks can kill,” but soft blue eyes meet his dull green and a warm smile reflects his partly open mouth, and it is nothing like Russia.
“Just sit down and let me talk, okay?” America says, and he walks across the coffee table and onto the couch, directly across from England.
“So, what's your name?” He asks, and England blinks, wary, but does not answer. America says nothing and waits patiently, before he jokingly says, “You know, when someone asks something, you're supposed to answer.”
The words, the words he can understand, “You ungrateful ingrate. When I ask you something, I'm not asking for an answer, I'm demanding one, so out with it,” the words are dripping with venom and hate and the lips which it comes from curl into a smile and they kick his gut and step on his head, and England finds himself flinch at America's words.
The young nation frowns for a moment, but forces a smile for England; “I... I don't have one... sir.” England says meekly, and he's looking down, and America... America shakes his head, he forces his smile again.
“It's okay! I'll give you one then; from now own, your name's Arthur Kirkland, okay?” America announces, and England only nods; he nods because is scared if he says no, or if he questions his new name.
America feels frustrated inside; is he scaring England? The guy's only been agreeing or doing whatever it takes to cause America less trouble... then again, knowing Russia, figures it'd happen; “Also, sir is no! I don't want that special jazz; just call me Alfred, okay?” England nods again.
“... Hey. Are you really okay with your name? With what you're calling me? You know, you could just call me stupid, git, whatever...” But England shakes his head. Last time he called someone something like those, he wound up with a stomach covered in white and his shaking and the pain and they went too fast... and...
America wants to hold England, kiss him, say it's going to be okay... but it's not going to be okay, because America knows he's getting to England's heart just a little, repairing it slowly, but it's working, but... he doesn't know if one day, it'll just fall apart again.
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(Anonymous) 2009-05-04 09:54 pm (UTC)(link)“Good night. I'm probably going to be up for a while longer, so come to me if you need anything.” America says with a smile, and with a click, the lights are off and the only source of light is the moon and the night light America left, since he figures that England and the dark aren't good buddies right now.
England sits still for a moment, looking at the white sheets before him. He looks at the doorway now; he said... good night, so... England supposes he should sleep, but something pulls at him, says he shouldn't, reminds him what happened when he slept, but when he's surrounded by warm white sheets and soft pillows, he can't catch his drooping eyelids, and he can't catch himself fall onto the bed and sleep.
He wishes he never slept though, because in his mind, he dreams of just a week ago, a week ago when people would come by, they'd point and laugh and mock him. Then Russia would walk up to them, a graceful smile, and they'd scamper away back on guard duty as they should.
Then Russia would walk in, and he'd lean down and cup his face, and England would be scared, it's going to happen, he's gonna do it again, but it hurts when he does and England's eyes trace to the back and there's more needles and pills and knives and guns and there's everything. All of a sudden, Russia's taking off his pants, they're all watching outside the cell, and England's struggling against the chains, and his pants are on the floor too and it hurts, God it hurts, please stop, he's begging, stop it, please stop it--
America is jerked away from his paper work when he hears screaming upstairs. He runs up stairs and into the room, and he finds England, in his bed, he's turning and crying and screaming and begging for someone to stop, and America does the first thing that comes to mind; he knows he shouldn't touch England, but he grabs his shoulder and shakes him.
“Arthur, Arthur, wake up!” He shouts, and in an instant, England finds himself in his white bed, and the big white pajama shirt and shorts America lent him stick to him because of the sweat, and he finds America hovering above him, gripping his shoulders.
All he can do is shriek again and shove him away. America tumbles back and fights to regain his balance in the few steps it'll take.
England sits and pants, clutching the bedsheets and looking at America, who is confused and lost as he tries to assess the situation. One thing he knows; England is absolutely terrified, he's scared like when America touched his cheek in the prison, and he's going to go hysterical if America lets this go easy.
“England... what happened?” He asks, and England thinks, but in the long run, all he does is tremble and clutch his blanket. America furrows his brow.
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(Anonymous) 2009-05-05 04:26 am (UTC)(link)“I'll fight off all the bad guys, okay? So you can just sleep; don't worry about it.” America smiles, his face and body glow against the light of the moon and the small, dull lamp in the room. England doesn't move though.
“En-- Arthur, it's fine. It's just a dream; remember, you're here, you're with me, and I'm not going to hurt you in the slightest. Russia isn't coming here.” His words are confident and filled with warmth, England feels gulps and takes a nod; something in his instincts tell him to just go to sleep as he is told.
He lays back down, and America shoots him another smile; “I'll stay here until you fall asleep, so don't worry.” England doesn't respond, and America knows England couldn't have not heard him. For the following hour or so, he sat, watching England breathing, watching him try to sleep.
It is when England manages to fall back into a slumber, America narrows his eyes; he's so small, so weak... it's nothing like how England once was. America picks up his hand, his eyes graze over the bandages wrapped around it, and how rough it feels; Well, he has been in a jail cell for so long... and he resists the urge not to tightly hold England's hand, because remembering the jail cell, remembering how much England suffered (and he didn't even know half the story, mind you.), and who did it all...
He lifts up England's pale hand and lays his lips against it for a moment, and lets go; he brushes a hair out of his face and, “I'm sorry,” so barely above a whisper, before he leaves.
It wasn't the last time America has to come to England's room; in fact, he winds up making a second round trip. It's frequent for the first few nights, but America feels a twinge of hope when he realizes he's coming at England's room to comfort him from nightmares less and less, but as China tells him when he calls; “Don't get your hopes up- aru. He's still unstable; he's only okay now because you're giving him all the affection he needs, but if something like what Russia did to him happens in the slightest, you'll wind up back at square 1- aru.”
Hold Me Close [12a/?]
(Anonymous) 2009-05-05 04:29 am (UTC)(link)There are days where England is completely enamored in the book, America likes to watch him from the corner of his eye as he pretends to watch the television and drink his coffee instead. It is like this often; England's still sitting, cute in America's clothes because they're so over-sized (he's hardened himself mentally, so he can stand the sight without swooning about how cute it is in his mind, like some fan boy, or whatever Japan calls them.) and he'd sit at one end of the couch, America at the other.
England was still afraid of requesting anything, America had to lead him through the day. He sort of has the message now, knows what to do, like when it is time for breakfast, he will wander down to the dining room on his own now (America usually had to fetch him).
He's becoming a little self-sufficient. America thinks to himself with a smile, but he knows it's only because he is here, and once America leaves, England will be scared to do something again, because right now, his whole world is made of terrifying memories and the warmth of America's Virginia vacation home.
He can't stay forever though; “Alfred, are you sure?” Canada asks on the phone that night, “I mean... England is going to be scared of me. He's only really comfortable with you, and you said he still doesn't trust you...”
“I know, but there's nothing else I can do. You're closest and Mexico has her hands busy with the Swine Flu. Plus, we look so alike, and I told my boss I'd manage to get back in a few days. I can't leave England on his own though, so come on, please? I'll owe you, okay?” America begs, and Canada sighs through the phone; “Fine.”
[A/N: Sorry! This was supposed to be in the above segment, but it wound up being too long, so I cut it and put it here~~ For the commenter who wanted a Canada cameo, here you go!~]
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(Anonymous) 2009-05-05 06:27 am (UTC)(link)“My brother, Mattie Williams!” America says, ignoring it; he shouldn't point it out, just keep England happy and unafraid. It hurts him inside that the mention of new name sends England back down a spiral of unpleasant memories.
“He's real nice, nicer then I am! Probably cooks better too, I think you'll like him, Arthur!” America explains, cheery, but England doesn't react. America hopes England would say something, but then he doesn't remain expectant. England still doesn't react to much, other then if he's scared. He does some things on his own, but that's only daily actions such as coming for breakfast, because he's probably feeling conditioned to coming down to eat if anything.
“... Okay.” England says only that, and America's lips form a thin line, before he nervously dismisses England back to his book.
It is the next day Canada arrives; “Arthur, this is Matty. Matty... well, yeah.” America introduces them, and Canada instinctively holds his hand out for a handshake (how awkward is this? His former ruling empire is going to shake his hand.) but England takes a step back and stares, afraid, almost wary, and Canada remembers and pulls his hand back to his side.
“Oh, sorry! I forgot. Anyway, it's as Alfred says. I'm Matthew Williams, his brother. It's nice to meet you, Arthur.” This is so silly for him, he thinks. He's known England all his life, and now the man doesn't even remember who he is, let alone his own identity.
Now he's just Arthur Kirkland until he heals up more and America decides to tell him about the nations. “I hope he'll remember before that,” Canada remembers America say.
“There's still a chance he'll remember. China said Russia traumatized him and practically brainwashed him, but he hasn't forgotten. It's still in there.” America tells Canada this the night before, and Canada can't forget America's determined voice, so he recalls that he braced himself for the worst. And... honestly, something in Canada wonders if he braced himself enough, because England is so different.
He is healing, America reminds him on the phone as Canada was coming, and Canada wonders, if this is healing, exactly what was it before? Because England is still covered in bandages, and that is only the part of him which is shrouded by America's clothing.
Even then, he can see purple and black peer out from clothing spots and other parts of England, and Canada, with eerie curiosity, wants to know what happened to England, but he remembers stories of England's hysterical reaction when he's asked about it, and replaces his curiosity with the convincing lie that he'll probably never get over the story he'll be told if England gets around to telling him about it.
“I'll be taking care of you from now on, so I hope we get along,” Canada says nervously, and England is looking down at his feet; “Yes sir.” England mumbles, but Canada barely hears it, and isn't sure whether England was speaking at all, because he sounds so different.
“Well... I dropped my stuff of at the air port this morning, so I should get going now.” America shoots both of them a smile; “Arthur, be good and listen to Mattie, okay? Oh, and hold out your hands,” England does as he's told to, “If Mattie's being lewd though, don't listen to him. Punch him and run into my bedroom and hide.” He drops the keys into England's hands and runs out the door, and Canada follows him out.
“Alfred! I wouldn't do anything lewd to Arthur! Are you out of your mind?!” Canada sighs, exasperated as he listens to America's haughty laughter fade in the distance. He turns and smiles at England; “Sorry. He was just kidding, I won't do anything bad to you.” England still looks afraid though. Canada frowns at this. Now he knows why America sounds so miserable the night before, when they talked on the phone.
Re: Hold Me Close [13/?]
(Anonymous) - 2009-05-05 06:39 (UTC) - ExpandOP
(Anonymous) - 2009-05-05 07:59 (UTC) - ExpandHold Me Close [14/?]
(Anonymous) 2009-05-05 06:46 am (UTC)(link)Still, he is afraid, none the less. He still has traumatic memories flood back at the very instance of anything that reminds him of the prison. Canada notes that when he came with a knife in the dining room to cut the steak, England winds up running upstairs, and hid in America's bed room until Canada convinces him to come out.
America laughs at this; “That's sort of cute.” he says, but China says something quite different: “That's actually a little bad- aru. Not only is he still traumatized, he's still stuck in the mindset that he has to follow orders instead of act on his own will, because you did tell him that America was just joking- aru.” It really blows America's bubble, but he says it'll be fine, because soon, England's going to be fine with the sight of a knife.
He doesn't tell anyone, but he hopes that England will be okay with it soon.
“Anyway, all I really do is hang around the house, cook and clean. I do what you told me and usually give Arthur what he used to like; he enjoys it, eh.” Canada explains, and he can tell America is smiling through the cell phone.
“Good! All right, I have to meet with Congress now, so I'll call you later.” America says and they say they good byes and shut the phones off. Canada looks back at England sitting on the couch, looking outside, but he seems completely uninterested. In fact, according to what he's heard from America, and seen himself, England seems to be bored with everything that isn't dangerous. There are days he is more open, days he is more scared, but he always seems to be thinking about something when he's not either, and no matter what day, there is an instance where England gazes blankly and remembers. They both note that when it is like this, England tends to twitch.
It's been like that for a days. About a week, Canada has taken care of England, and there is almost no progress, it's so slow, but Canada perseveres, because he loves his brother and his brother loves England, and Canada loves England too. They're like his family, plus France, of course.
So when the door is torn down, England screams and there's a pipe and the first thing Canada does is usher England to the back door and dive into the kitchen and pull out the pistol in the cabinet.
It is 5 hours ago Russia warns America, and it is 3 hours later that he hears this voice mail on his cell phone, and it is another 3 hours when he arrives to his vacation house, and it is ravaged. The door is torn down, and he can see broken windows and gunshots on the wall.
“It is 5 hours, I will give you, da? I know where you are hiding, and I am coming for my toy. Chase is fun, so I will give you 5 hours to try and run.”
It is sent at 4:30 p.m., on a Monday afternoon.
America hears this at 7:36 p.m., on a Monday evening.
He arrives to his vacation house at 10:28 p.m., on a Monday night.
He is one hour late.
England's voice is coming from his bedroom; he is screaming. America can hear Russia laugh.
[A/N: YOU CAN SHOOT AUTHOR-NON FOR CLIFF-HANGING, CAUSE IT'S 2:46 AM, SO GOOD NIGHT. ;AA; ]
Re: Hold Me Close [14/?]
(Anonymous) - 2009-05-05 07:02 (UTC) - ExpandNot OP but..
(Anonymous) - 2009-05-05 19:16 (UTC) - ExpandRe: Not OP but..
(Anonymous) - 2009-05-05 21:17 (UTC) - Expand...
(Anonymous) - 2009-05-06 00:34 (UTC) - ExpandRe: Hold Me Close [14/?]
(Anonymous) - 2009-05-05 08:04 (UTC) - ExpandOP
(Anonymous) - 2009-05-05 08:05 (UTC) - ExpandRe: Hold Me Close [14/?]
(Anonymous) - 2009-05-05 08:48 (UTC) - ExpandCLIFFHANGER!!! *clings to the thread*
(Anonymous) - 2009-05-05 11:20 (UTC) - ExpandRe: Hold Me Close [14/?]
(Anonymous) - 2009-05-05 16:44 (UTC) - ExpandHold Me Close [15/?]
(Anonymous) 2009-05-05 08:43 pm (UTC)(link)“Matty!” America skids to a stop, when he finds Canada slump against the wall. His head is bleeding and Canada is unconscious. Russia's beaten him around, America figures, and so he grabs him; “Matty! Open your eyes!” America shakes him, and Canada, by a little, opens his cerulean eyes to face his distressed brother.
“Al... fred... D-Damn it, Russia...” He sputters out, but it's so difficult and hard, because his voice is so rasp, because he can recall an hour ago when he's trying to dodge and remembers when he screams; “Russia, get the fuck out of here!” Because he has to protect England, but it didn't work.
“I know! But what about you?!” America asks; he loves England, but Canada is his brother. He can't just leave him, right?
“I'm fine... Just... go help... England...” His breathes out and clutches his head with one hand, over his bleeding wound, and his other hand finds it's way onto America's hand on his left shoulder, and feebly attempts to pry it off. America looks at him with shock and conflict, but Canada smiles, and attempts to clearly see America's face through his cracked glasses.
“Canada, I'm sorry.” America mutters out, and squeezes the hand which had just tried to pull him off Canada's shoulder, and Canada wants to smile when America runs upstairs, pistol being pulled out of his pocket, but he's so tired, and that's not the point right now.
Who to call, who to call... Canada forces him hand, coated in the blood of his own from when he was hit with Russia's pipe, to the phone beside him. It resides on the nightstand, in the corner, beside Canada who is using the wall for support.
He pulls the black phone, smeared with red now, and dials; he prays it works, because he is worried about America, if he can handle this on his own.
America is all alone when he opens the door, and finds the most disgusting sight he has seen, and something in him just breaks. What he sees is England, he's only the floor, his hands are tied together with chains, not shackles, just chains. They are cold and rough against his skin like the wood floor must be, and he is bruised and bleeding and Russia is on top of him.
[A/N: ;AAA; Author-non is so sorry she caused so much eagerness about the earlier cliff hanger!
I-I hope you enjoy this part.]
OP
(Anonymous) - 2009-05-05 22:22 (UTC) - ExpandHold Me Close [16/?]
(Anonymous) 2009-05-05 09:16 pm (UTC)(link)“England!” America cries out, and runs to pry Russia away from England, but the gun shot which whips across his face and leaves a small cut on America's cheek stops him.
“America, and here I thought you lost interest in England.” Russia smiles as he removes himself from England and stands. He calmly zips his pants up, and England is left panting and crying, until his sobs are reduced to quiet sobs once Russia kicks him in the gut, and fires his gun seconds away from his face.
“You bastard...” America mutters out, and the hilt of his gun is gripped so tightly, America should be thankful it does not snap.
“What's wrong? He is my toy, and owners are free to do with their toys as they want, da?” Russia asks, and America's suddenly holding the gun up to Russia; “Shut the fuck up and leave.” Russia looks into his blue eyes and he does not lose him smiling facade, “What makes you think I will listen to you?”
“Because I'm America. I'm this nation's personification and I'm telling you to get off my fucking soil, you sick bastard!” America's voice is steadily rising; “I don't give a damn who you are; you're on my land and I don't want you here, so get the fuck off, right now.”
America's voice was dripping with venom and it sent chills up Russia's spine; it excited him, and amused him all the same.
“I'll leave soon, America. I just came to take what was rightfully mine,” and Russia motions to America. Within a swift motion, the wall cracked with the heat of a bullet smoking through it; America's pistol fires that moment and leaves a hole in the wall, but it does not phase Russia.
“He doesn't belong to you. Leave.” America demands again, but Russia simply walks over and grabs England's hair; “Let him go!” America orders, and wants to fire, but he is scared of what Russia will do to England if he does.
Russia lifts England up higher and licks his cheek, England's blood on his tongue and it tastes like steel, but he doesn't care. His eyes focus on America's enraged expression and his trembling arm as it clutches his arm, desires to badly to fire. Russia loves it, he loves having the upper hand against America, a superpower, it makes him giddy inside.
“It's not like you can help him.” Russia says as he lets England fall to a thud on the ground, and points his gun at England; “It's not like you can--” Russia's words do not leave his mouth, because he does not expect America to run straight into him, like an ox, and for the shattering glass of the window in the guest room to resound in the night as the pieces which glitter in the night fall as America falls with Russia.
OP
(Anonymous) - 2009-05-05 22:24 (UTC) - ExpandRe: OP
(Anonymous) - 2009-05-06 00:54 (UTC) - ExpandRe: Hold Me Close [16/?]
(Anonymous) - 2009-05-05 23:00 (UTC) - ExpandRe: Hold Me Close [16/?]
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(Anonymous) - 2009-05-06 01:54 (UTC) - ExpandAuthor-non makes too many typos. ;A;''
(Anonymous) - 2009-05-06 00:52 (UTC) - ExpandRe: Hold Me Close [16/?]
(Anonymous) - 2009-05-06 02:35 (UTC) - ExpandHold Me Close [17/?]
(Anonymous) 2009-05-06 03:51 am (UTC)(link)“You fucking bastard!” America shouts, and punches Russia square in the cheek. Russia pushes him off and they wind up standing; “You are no better, da?” Russia taunts him and punches America back. His glasses scatter onto the grass and they lunge for each other, both grabbing each other's arms like a wrestling match and attempting to push the other over.
“I don't give a damn if I'm not any better, Arthur had nothing to do with what I did!” America barks back, and feels himself fall onto the ground when Russia's knee meets his gut, and feels his head pushed into the dirt and shards of glass digging into his cheek as Russia's foot is atop his head.
“America, oh America, you must be stupid to think that would stop me. Honestly, I couldn't care less about England, it's you I hate. And you love England.” Russia explains, and it clicks; Russia did this because of America. He hurt England because it hurts America in the long run.
Something in America breaks.
At the same time, something in him flares.
He pushes Russia off with this sudden strength, granted by his rage, and Russia topples over, but with a roll, he stands back up, but by the time he regains his senses, America's hands are around his neck and his back is against a tree; “You fucking bastard! You did this to Arthur because of me!?” His grip becomes harder and Russia knows he can not die, but the lack of breath is painful anyway.
“Goddamn it, Russia, you- you bastard! I'm going to send you fucking hell, you son of a bitch!” America's grip is so tight and blood drips from Russia's neck and he coughs. His blood splatters over America's bomb jacket and over his fingers, which are busy trying to pry America's hands off.
“I don't give a shit about why you hate me! I couldn't care less if you did, but using that as an excuse to hurt Arthur; you, damn it, you fucking--” America can't even voice his rage; how dare he, how dare Russia hurt England just to tick America off, that's fucking bullshit, America thinks. He doesn't know anything right now, doesn't know where he is, who he is, all he knows is he going's to fucking kill this guy, and he hates him.
“Sacre-bleu, America, stop!” France's voice comes from behind, but America's resolution does not waver, and his muscles tense more as his grip becomes harder, and before he knows it, France is trying to pry him off, but America's too strong, and then he realizes France has one arm and Germany has the other, and they're pulling him off.
“America, let go!” Germany orders, but America drowns out their voice in his anger, and he's struggling to finish the job before the two nations overpower him. Seconds later, Lithuania is on his left arm with France; “America, please, stop!” Estonia helps with Germany, and in seconds, America finds himself struggling as four pairs of arms have to drag him away, and even then, they struggle to keep America in their grip.
“Get the fuck off! I'm going to kill that son of a bitch, damn it, you--” America's shouting curses as Russia tries to catch his breath and France stands in front of him and there is a warm feeling against his cheek; France slapped him.
“England.” Is all France has to say, and America's heart drops.
[A/N: I-Ivan had it coming?
-feels bad for making him so horrible in this story-
;AAA; I'm so sorry, Ivaaaaan.]
Re: Hold Me Close [17/?]
(Anonymous) - 2009-05-06 04:10 (UTC) - ExpandRe: Hold Me Close [17/?]
(Anonymous) - 2009-05-06 04:22 (UTC) - ExpandOP
(Anonymous) - 2009-05-06 04:22 (UTC) - ExpandRe: Hold Me Close [17/?]
(Anonymous) - 2009-05-06 04:30 (UTC) - ExpandHold Me Close [18/?]
(Anonymous) 2009-05-06 06:02 am (UTC)(link)“Guys... let me go,” America whispers, “Please.” Germany looks at him warily, but France puts a hand on the German's shoulders, and he nods. Germany releases America's arm, and Lithuania and Estonia follow suit. America pulls himself up, ignoring the offered hands which want to help him stand, and walks into the house, the glass cracking under his feet, and the wood creaking when he enters the house.
“Thank you guys for coming.” France says, and Germany nods, “I'm going to go check up on Canada.” He says, and follows America in, but he stops when he sees Canada, and tends to his wounds with what he has. Germany looks at Lithuania and Estonia and speaks, “You guys should take Russia back now. I'll stay and make sure nothing else happens.”
The two nod, and walk over to Russia. They help him stand properly, and begin walking; “Ukraine and Belarus are waiting for you,” and Russia nods as he is lugged away.
America walks up the stairs solemnly, but he runs into a dash when he can hear England crying again, attempting to sob without making much of a fuss or noise, but why? Russia was gone, there was nothing to cry about. The door is on the floor, and when he runs in, he sees China, South Korea, and Japan.
“Yong-soo! Get the drugs and everything Russia brought out of here!” China orders, and South Korea begins scooping up everything he was to grab and ran past America, out of the room. Japan runs up to him; “America! Are you okay?”
“I-I'm fine, but...” America's eyes are glued to England, who China is trying to get near, but he doesn't know how to get near England at all.
“We... We came through the back door. It seems France received a call from Canada about everything, and then France asked Germany and China to help. Afterwards, Germany called Estonia and Lithuania to help stop Russia, and China asked Yong-soo and I to assist him...” Japan explained, his voice trailing off as he watched England too.
“I figured it would be like this- aru,” China stops, standing still as he thinks that maybe he should wait for England to calm down, but it's so hard, because he doesn't know when he'll calm down; “That's why I asked. When I heard Russia came, I knew England would probably wind up more messed up then he was before- aru.” England doesn't cease his tears; “He's absolutely terrified of us- aru.”
“... China, everyone, go down and help France with Matty. I... I'm going to try.” America says, and he looks as if he's about to cry, so China hesitates. Japan and South Korea watch for his decision, and after a silent moment, nothing, but England's crying filling the air, China walks out the door, and Japan follows with a first aid kit, and South Korea with the items he collected, which he throws in the garbage as he finds his way to Canada with the others.
“England?” America asks, but England doesn't respond; he tries to say it a bit louder this time, and... when he does, England looks at him for a split second.
He cries harder, and he is more scared. America feels the tears welling up in his eyes; “... I'm sorry, England, I'm so sorry...” and he finds himself standing, and he is crying too.
[A/N: Thank you gaiz so much for your support! >A< I feel so honored to have these comments! I don't think I would've been this determined to continue if it wasn't for all of you~~
I hope I can "try" and get Part 19 up by 2:30 am, which is when I'll force myself to sleep! If not, it'll be up tmr, I hope. ;A;'']
Re: Hold Me Close [18/?]
(Anonymous) - 2009-05-06 06:17 (UTC) - ExpandRe: Hold Me Close [18/?]
(Anonymous) - 2009-05-06 06:34 (UTC) - ExpandOP
(Anonymous) - 2009-05-06 06:26 (UTC) - ExpandRe: OP
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(Anonymous) - 2009-05-06 06:49 (UTC) - ExpandHold Me Close [19/?]
(Anonymous) 2009-05-06 06:47 am (UTC)(link)Occasionally, China calls to tell him about England; “I haven't been able to get through to him at all- aru... He goes everyday doing the exact same thing, and it's always the things I told him to do when he first started staying with him. I've tried to ply him with everything I could think of- aru. Books he liked, British tea, nothing comes up- aru.” America cringes as China continues, “He doesn't react to it. He looks at it, and he'll hold it because I'm telling him to try it, but... nothing happens- aru. He's just doing it out of fear- aru.”
“... What about Japan? South Korea? Haven't they been visiting him?” America asks, and he has to control himself so his phone doesn't crush under his strength.
“Japan tries too. He brings tea from his country. Poetry, rugs, anything that England would like- aru. South Korea has tried to make him watch dramas. It's like he's completely soul-less now- aru. Unless something reminds him of Russia; then he starts to scream again- aru.” China explains, and with a sharp breath, he says, “I don't think there's anymore we can do- aru. He's beyond help now- aru...”
America hangs up. He... He refuses to believe it. It's... It's England, he's got to be okay inside, right? Right? He's strong, so strong, America remembers, there's no way he'd... give up like that.
China's not doing it right, he convinces himself. Maybe if he visits England, it'll be okay. England still remembers him, right? Of course he does, of course he does, England would never truly forget him. He's America, he's America, so... So stop crying, damn it... America wipes his tears.
He must be strong, because it is England, and everyone is giving up, but he won't. He'll save him, wherever he has gone. He stands up and picks up his phone; “I'm taking him home.” America says, and hangs up on China, who doesn't have a chance to argue back.
And now, a few hours later, he's being guided by Chinese officials to their personification's household, where England was. It's been a while since he saw England. After the events with Russia... well, China took care of England there on after. America was in no condition with injuries, and his unstable emotions.
He... he is okay now, he is! He's a hero! Heroes always heal!
But when China greets him and leads him to England's room, he finds him on his knees; he sobs. He hasn't seriously cried over this whole ordeal yet, because he forces him emotions in check, even when they are so messy after Russia came. Seeing England scream, backed against the wall, afraid like he is Russia too...
It hurts. It hurts him like he's been shot too many times, and he can't take it anymore. Politics, economy, everything; it's stressing him out, he's so tired, then there's England, the person he loves, afraid and weak and he can't do anything, and, and...
He's no hero. He can't do this.
He can't help England.
But his mind changes the screaming ceases; America does not hear over his crying, but he knows when he feels warmth around him; he doesn't know what happened. China watches from the side with a smile.
But England is hugging him, embracing him, his mouth against America's golden hair. He doesn't stroke his back or anything like that, like he once used to when America was young, but he holds him close, regardless, and says nothing. America sneaks his arms around him, and he cries against the crook of England's neck.
There is hope, isn't there- aru? China asks himself; I was mistaken. What he needs isn't someone smart enough to have a Doctor's degree. England needs specifically America to help him- aru.
“Because he still remembers you somewhere inside- aru.” The Chinese man whispers.
[A/N: BECAUSE. I'VE BEEN GIVING YOU ALL DEPRESSING ANGST SO HERE'S SOME LOVELY. CUTE THINGS. IDK. ;A;
So it's 2:45, I am definitely sleeping now. D8 GOOD NIGHT GAIZ, ILU SO MUCH.
and no this isn't the end, STILL. HAHAHA.]
Re: Hold Me Close [19/?]
(Anonymous) - 2009-05-06 06:54 (UTC) - ExpandRe: Hold Me Close [19/?]
(Anonymous) - 2009-05-06 07:04 (UTC) - ExpandOP
(Anonymous) - 2009-05-06 07:17 (UTC) - ExpandSWEET DREAMS!
(Anonymous) - 2009-05-06 08:26 (UTC) - ExpandRe: Hold Me Close [19/?]
(Anonymous) - 2009-05-06 14:01 (UTC) - ExpandRe: Hold Me Close [19/?]
(Anonymous) - 2009-05-06 17:47 (UTC) - ExpandHave I told you..
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(Anonymous) - 2009-05-07 00:00 (UTC) - ExpandHold Me Close [20/?]
(Anonymous) 2009-05-07 12:15 am (UTC)(link)It's been 5 weeks since they embraced, but it makes America's heart drop when it seems it's like when they first hugged; a one time thing. England is healing, but at the same time, he's still haunted. He wakes up at night frequently, and he doesn't go anywhere in the house, other then the living room and the guest room he's been staying in.
Though, America does find it cute though; there is one other room he goes to, and from time to time, America arrives home late, and he'd tip-toe to his room and see England sleeping on his bed instead of the guest room. America doesn't mind though; he did say, “If you ever want to, you can sleep in my bed room instead.” He never thought England would seriously do it, but he is proven wrong that day when he comes home and sees England snuggled in his big bed, sleeping peacefully under the comforters.
Now, he's never going to say it, but he does take pictures when England's looking especially cute, and he'll look at the photos of him on his iPhone when he's bored and crammed in the White House for work.
Despite all the faults though, England is going the better way now, and it makes America happy. China always agrees when he hears about England's progress. He always reminds America though, that even he is healing, the way it sounds, he is all the more easy to break now.
America is okay though; he is healing too, because watching England heal is all he needs. “He does things on his own now, in a way.” America notes; in a way. In a general sense, he still only does things if he's told it's okay, but before, England would be told it's okay to watch the television, but he never would, because he's still scared. America would say he can read whatever is on America's bookshelf, he can go anywhere in the house that he'd like (“Just don't go into the basement; that's where Tony is.” America would warn him.), he can eat anything in the house, call him whenever he feels like it, but he'd never do any of it, because he was afraid.
It is different now though. America comes home and he finds England watching the TV, or sitting on the couch, reading more books. Solemnly, he is never eating though because of his dislike for the kitchen, so America tends to lay out some food on the dining table for England to eat when he's hungry.
He doesn't call America either, but that doesn't mean he doesn't speak. His voice is very quiet and he doesn't say much, but he's always says, “Welcome home,” “Thank you,” “Good morning,” and “Good night.”
America knows though; he certainly doesn't say much to others, but he has a cute habit of mumbling to himself when things don't go his way (when it doesn't involve America, of course).
He's not so bad with other people too; they don't have America's privilege with England, but he doesn't run from them. He doesn't seem afraid of Canada at all, but he doesn't seem to like France or Spain much, as America often sees the ghost of a scowl on his face when they come. He seems to appreciate Japan's visits though, along with Canada's.
“I didn't think he'd heal, or this fast- aru. I'm proud of you- aru.” China's words ring in his head as America smiles, standing beside his bed, where England sleeps. Got my bed jacked from me again. America says to himself, playfully.
His gloved hand picks up England's pale one, but he notes it's getting a little color back; his lips are against it in a quick kiss, and England's eyes flutter open; a small smile graces his lip. He rarely smiles, only when America comes home, from time to time; “Welcome home.”
His privilege is no hug or kiss, but they do hold hands from time to time.
[A/N: ;A;'' Author-non apologizes for lack of hurt/comfort! I just felt like writing fluff.
Sorry, this may be the only update today. >A>; I have a project due for history;;! I'll try and fit another update in today though!
Also, what would you like to see for Part 21: Something more serious with Doctor!China, orz. Or some more fluff? :D Rejected idea will come in later parts.]
Re: Hold Me Close [20/?]
(Anonymous) - 2009-05-07 00:29 (UTC) - ExpandOP
(Anonymous) - 2009-05-07 05:44 (UTC) - ExpandWriter anon i love you
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(Anonymous) - 2009-05-07 19:42 (UTC) - ExpandHold Me Close [21/?]
(Anonymous) 2009-05-07 11:06 pm (UTC)(link)It makes him heart warm. He can tell why America likes the sight of England sleeping so much; “Yes. He looks much better then before- aru.” China quietly notes, and America smiles with a proud nod. He motions China to come back with him to his office, and they sit there and talk.
“How do you think he is?” America asks, his face hardening. He knows China is very blunt with England's condition because he does not want to give America any false hope.
“You can smile- aru. I think things are going great- aru.” China explains, and America's face brightens so much that if he were a light bulb, China would bet it'd be worth quite the penny.
“Really? He is?” America is so jumpy that China has to motion for him to sit and stay still, which America does, but he is still giddy and excited like a school girl whose crush just confessed he reciprocated her feelings.
“Yes, really. It's quite a shock, to be honest- aru. Considering how he reacted to you, I didn't think he'd ever get over what happened with Russia, but he has- aru. Even more so, he's made so much more progress with you then he had with me, South Korea, and Japan- aru.” China adds, and some part of America wants to run out the door and scream, “I fucking did it!” But he holds himself on the couch.
“Even more so, he feared you because you said Russia would not come for him, but Russia did- aru. Then he began to associate you with Russia- aru. And it took one month for him to sleep in your bed because he misses your presence.” China explains, and America stops. Wait... what? H-He always thought that England slept in his bed because it was comfortable... he looks at China like a deer looks at a car's headlights.
“... Don't tell me you didn't realize that- aru.” China says flatly, and America flails his arms; “O-Of course I know!” He lies, and it is so clear that China is unaware why he even true. He shakes his head and moves on.
“Moving on; I'd say he's attached to you if you guys held hands as you said- aru. Then again, you do spend the most time with him and he's like a child right now, so it figures- aru. Has he shown any signs of remembering prior to his capture?” China asks, and America cups his chin, thoughts running through his mind. He isn't very sure, because England never says so himself; hell, the guy never says much unless directed.
“Not that I know of. I'd say he hasn't really forgotten though,” America begins, “He did know the way around my house right away though!” America says, and China nods; that's something. If England has never been to America's real house prior to his current stay here, he wouldn't know anything about where everything is.
“Anything else- aru?” America shakes his head; “Personality.” America goes on to explain that England curses too, but not in front of him. Only when he's alone, which China says means he's still scared.
“It's still good though. Naturally, a person of normal status would've probably entered a state of insanity and probably killed themselves, or they would suffer post-traumatic stress for life. I think within a few months, he might return to his normal self- aru.” China looks out the dark window, reflecting him and America with the stars and moons, which were vague in view because of the city buildings.
“So then if we're getting their mentally, then the next step is his memories, right?” China nods; “His personality will probably return with his memories- aru. I just don't know how to do it- aru.”
[A/N: ;AAA;'' S-Sorry for boring segment. -sob-]
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(Anonymous) 2009-05-08 03:21 am (UTC)(link)“But England didn't forget, he--” America begins, but China cuts him off swiftly; “just isn't aware he remembers everything- aru.” China rests his chin on his hands, which are laced together and has his elbows rest on his knees, “I know, America.”
“Then why are you saying this?” He asks, and China looks down; “Because even if that was the case, I wouldn't know how to go about all this- aru.”
“... What?” America asks, and China can tell his voice is bordering on shock and possible rage; Russia is coming to his mind all over again.
“Russia forced England to forget his own name. I don't doubt he knows what it takes to make England forget everything,” He grabs America's arm as he stands; “Remember last time- aru.” Then the memories flood back like a raging waterfall, and America recalls the screams and shattering glass and all the chaos; it sends his mind spiraling again. He sits down again.
“Don't get me wrong- aru. I am not pinning the blame on Russia. There is a chance England can not remember because of him, but there is a chance he simply can not recall it is all. Or option C- aru, and that is he chooses not to remember it.” That is what leaves their discussion in a frozen moment, and America struggles to speak. His mouth opens, it closes, it opens, and closes again. He... he doesn't know what to say.
“We don't know what Russia told him.” China says, and America feels the leather of the couch strain under his grip, because he is holding it so tight because it is all that keeps him from flying to Europe.
“Russia is not your concern, America. Think about England. If you leave him-” China warns him and is promptly cut off by America; “I know... I know.” He says quietly, and sits back, releasing his hold on the couch.
“All right. On the topic of England... First, we need to find out why he's like this; why he can't remember. Whether he's afraid, or doesn't want to, or something completely different- aru. If possible, you might have to speed up- aru.” China explains, and America nods; the economy is terrible, and it does the United Kingdom no good to have one of its personifications missing (right now, they are left with all, but Ireland and Scotland, who have taken up representing the United Kingdom until England's return.) so he has to hurry, but all the same-- “But if it's causing you to rush it, then don't. We need to be as slow as England needs- aru. He's still fragile; we need to preserve his trust more then anything.”
“... Got it... but what can I do to make him trust me more?” America asks himself quietly, and China smiles; “I thought you would ask that- aru. I have some ideas.”
America looks at him peculiarly; he knows China is smart, but heck, he is the last person America expects to know plenty about relationships; he'd usually go to Canada for this kind of thing.
“So, tomorrow, you are to take England out on a date- aru. I heard of a place here... The Cheesecake Factory, they called it? Taiwan and Hong Kong went- aru. They said it was great, so take England there, enjoy dinner, and the night scenery. I heard tomorrow is indeed a cloud free day- aru.” China says this all in one breath, and... and America is speechless.
[A/N: Sorry! Short update is short! ;A; It's sort of like a small transition, ending the earlier event and. uh. GIVING YOU A LITTLE HINT ABOUT PART 23, HMMM?
There should be even more fluff after that too~~ Poor America's gonna get ordered around by China for quite a bit. Needless to say, it'll be cute, so I hope you love it~~ <3 I hope it's cute, LOL;;;.
ALSO. I er, also started a new fill on the APH Kink Meme, so go check it out~~ It's on the 29th page. I think by now you can probably tell it's me by my manner of writing. XDDD]
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(Anonymous) 2009-05-09 09:00 am (UTC)(link)England isn't even that much shorter; 2 centimeters, to be exact. He should be able to fit like a tee in America's pants at the very least (the former England would hate to admit it, but America's T-Shirts would never fit him because of America's much-more athletic build in comparison to him.) but no, not even that. Well, it's not England currently cared much anyway.
“We got a private booth Arthur, so let's go!” America motions for them to go deeper into the restaurant, so England nods and scampers closely behind America.
They sit across from each other, and a waiter comes to deliver their menus; America slides one to England. “Take it, and you can order whatever you'd like and as much as you'd like.” America smiles, and England nods; “Thank you.” He says, a bit quietly, and they read over the menus. It's 10 minutes later that they order.
“I'll have a Hibachi Steak and Coke!” America says, cheery, and picks up a bread in the basket and takes a bite out of it. England shifts a little, and tries to hide his nervous expression with a look of apathy or wariness; “I'll have a Chicken Salad Sandwich and Iced Green Tea.” He says, and the waiter nods. He takes their orders and goes on his merry way.
“So how do you like it so far?” America asks, and England looks up; “The restaurant! Does it fit your tastes?” England ponders for a moment before he answers: “I don't really know. We've only been here for about.... 15 minutes?” England cocks his head to the left as he tries to remember when they arrived, and notices America's glasses messed with his blond hair, his hands slid onto his face and pushes the glasses up until his hair. He's trembling.
“... Alfred? I-Is something wrong?” England stammers out, and America shakes his head; Nothing wrong, but you! Damn it, Arthur, why so moe!? America has to control himself, and makes a mental thank you that he is sitting and not standing, making his slowly coming erection just a little less obvious.
“S-Sorry, Arthur. Anyway, want some bread?” America asks as he regains himself and picks up a piece of bread. England nods and mutters a small thank you as he munches on it quietly, and... and America is looking out at the tinted window behind him, so desperate to punch it and virtually shatter it, take England in his arms and somewhere private where they could, quote – “have some alone time” – unquote.
“... Alfred, why did you take me out to dinner today?” England asks, a bit nervously. He fidgets, but attempts to look like he doesn't care, borderline a small scowl maybe (it's probably because England isn't the best at forcing his expressions right now, like Alfred) and looks to the right. America smiles; “You're always home, right?”
England nods. “Well, it gets stuffy there after a while, right? You must get bored, always reading or watching TV, right?” England looks down, and America smiles, “You can be honest.”
“It... does feel lonely after a while.” England admits, and America feels positive inside. He's gotten one step closer if he can pry honest answers out of England.
“Is this why you sleep in my bed if I take too long to come home?” America asks, “Because it reminds you of me and makes you feel less lonely?” England's face still lights up red when he's embarrassed, America notes when he speaks, and sees England turn completely red by the time he finished the first part of his question.
[A/N: Sorry that nothing much has happened yet! It's sort of like a transition from China's talk with America to the date. 24 should have more fluff, I hope.
I also apologize for today's lack of updates. I have trouble thinking of what to do with this segment! >A<;; orz. I would've written more, but it's 4:59 am. ;A;'' I'm scared of being caught by my parents, sorry gaiz. Hopefully, I'll update more tommorow.]
...I love you ;_;
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