Save Me.

France and Issues: The End.

~Previously~

Britain is in his boxers, pulling a tee shirt from his suitcase. I let out a low whistle and he whips around, pulling the shirt on as fast as he can. I walk over and embrace him, falling onto the bed.

"America!" He shouts, struggling.

"Yes?" I whisper quietly.
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~Alfred~

Britain remains quiet and his struggling ceases. I loosen my grip and he turns around to face me. His emerald eyes glow in the dim light.

Slowly, oh so slowly, he leans up and plants a kiss on my cheek. As soon as he does he turns right back around, curling up. A large smile covers my face as I reach over and turn off the lamp, cascading the room into darkness. After pulling the blanket over the both of us, Iggy turns to face me and wraps his arms around my chest.

"Goodnight Alfred." He mumbles against my shoulder.

"Goodnight Iggy." I whisper back.

~Arthur~

The back of my eyelids are red. If I open my eyes then the sun will blind me. Great. Grumbling I turn over and pry open my eyes. The bed is empty except for me. From the bathroom drifts a noise. A noise that I don't like. Not one bit.

Quick as a flash I'm on my feet and rattling the doorknob; it's locked.

"America!" I call, trying not to panic. He doesn't respond, but his sobs become quieter. In a frenzy I bang on the door, begging him to just open it.

"I-I can't, please just go." He calls out, voice cracking. I pace in front of the door, tears forming.

"Please," I beg, "what's wrong?" There's a moment of silence, pure deafening silence. It is broken only by the sound of a gun being cocked and my scared cries.

"America!" My voice is shrill and panicked. My palms sting from hitting the door. Tears trace there way down my face. In a flurry I bang my shoulder against the door; it does not barge.

Thoughts racing I rush to my suitcase, tearing out a thin piece of metal, from inside the hem.

The lock is taking to long to pick.

The words "I love you Iggy" are followed by the ear splitting sound of a gun being fired. Screaming, I get the door open.

Slumped in a pool of crimson is America, a small hole has been pierced through his chest. I rush over to him, trying oh so desperately to stop the blood.

With blood smeared hands and tear stained eyes I rush to the phone. My voice is panicked as I talk. Soon after hanging up an ambulance is dragging him away from me. The flashing lights and loud sirens are hurting my head, I feel sick to my stomach. An EMT is saying something, but my mind is too muddled to make it out.

One minute I'm standing, America's blood covering my hands, the next I'm sitting on the side walk with a blanket over my shoulders. I feel so utterly lost. Like my only light has gone out, and here I am, stick in the midst of a rolling black sea.

I'm being escorted in a police car. I don't know where they're taking me. As soon as I exit the vehicle, the contents of my stomach are no longer where they should be. They spill onto the sidewalk. I nearly fall to the ground, feeling like my internal organs are about to be pulled from my insides.

A hospital is where I am taken; this scene is all to familiar. I look through blurry eyes at my still bloody hands. A very kind nurse brings me into a bathroom to wash up. It doesn't work. The red had been stained into my skin. My hands shake as I stumble from the bathroom. All I want is to see Alfred, to know if he's okay. The image of his most likely dead body burns in my memory. I cannot escape it.

The nice nurse takes me into a room, the white walls hurt my eyes. I am put onto a bed and realize that I am not crying; yet my vision remains blurred. Next to me a heart monitor beeps steadily. It lulls my eyes closed.

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Word count: 711

Sorry, I know this chapter is short and maybe painful. I had fun writing it. The next one will hopefully be longer and all from Britains point of view. So who thinks America is dead, the next chapter will reveal all! You know what to do vote, comment, share!

Je t'aime!