February 4, 2012. 3:30
England pulls into the World Meeting two minutes before it starts and rushes up the stairs. He was waiting at his house for a call from America, who said he would pick him up for the meeting today.
"Bloody Git. Making me late for the meeting." England mumbles to himself, vowing to give America a peice of his mind when he goes in.
He bursts through the doors angrily, walk over to his chair, and plops down into it. He twists around, expecting America to be right there next to him so he can start yelling, but the bloody git isn't there! The Brit scans the crowd of nations among him, but America isn't there.
"Alright! Ve vill start ze meeting now!" Germany yells.
Everyone rushes to their seats, except for Italy who is busy talking to his brother about some pasta recipe he just found. Germany ignores it, and begins to talk, but England can't concentrate. Where is America? Is he alright? Nobody else seems to notice the young man's absence.
February 4, 2012. 4:00
"Ve vill have a small break. Be back here in half an hour. No exceptions!" He yells.
England jumps out of his seat and immediatley walks out of the room, ignoring all the eyes that follow him as he does so. He hops into his car and speeds to the hotel where America is staying. He's never been late for a meeting before! Let alone miss half of it entirely. England thinks. Something must be wrong. England walks into the hotel and comes up to the desk.
"Ello there. Can I please have the room number to Mr. Alfred Jones?" The gentleman says politley.
"I'm sorry but you must tell me who you are. Mr. Alfred is a special guest in our hotel."
England sighs. "The bloody idiot told you he was America!"
"Yes. Since you know too, I'm sure it's okay for you to come and visit him. He's on the top floor, room 712."
England walks into the elevator and presses the button. He wait impatiently as the elevator slowly rises from the ground. People join on, and then get off, which slows this down even more. Finally, the Brit can't take it anymore. It's only a three star hotel. I can surely make it to the fifteenth floor by the stairs. He checks what floor he is on now. The seventh. He bursts out of the elevator, bumping people who let out a startled "Hey!" He doesn't even bother to apologize. He starts up the stairs with abnormal speed.
Floor 8, Floor, 9, Floor, 10..... England is panting now, but keeps running as fast as he can go. Floor 11, Floor 12, Floor 13.... England thinks his lungs are likely to explode, but still, he runs, driven by the thought that America must be hurt. Floor 14, Floor 15! He dashes down the long hallway and finds room 712. He presses his ear to the door and hears... nothing, except some heavy breathing.
"America! I'm coming!" England says, kicking the door down, he runs into the room.
America is slumped against a wall, his eyes closed. His shirt lays a few feet away from him. England looks him up and down. His lip is split, and he has a black eye. Scars, brusises, and bleeding wounds cover every visible inch of the young man's body. England runs over and shakes the unconcious man, muttering curses under his breath.
The American slowly cracks an eye open to look at the worried man in front of him.
"Oh.... Hey.... Iggy.... What's up?" He asks weakly.
"What's up? You're covered in wounds! What the hell happened?"
"I... I... Nothing..."
"My god America! This is way out of hand! You better tell me!"
