Saudade | CountryHumans RusAme

68 ‎ ‎ The Waiting Room

ONE YEAR AND ONE MONTH LATER
When he attempted to heave his body upright there was an excruciating pain that cut through his back and a furious numbing in his head. He frowned, surrendering immediately to the ache and slumping back down into supination, staring blankly at the wide, pale sheet of plaster that was the hospital ceiling; too white, too disorienting, much too bright for his likes. 

Flashes of a journey forced itself back to the forefront of his mind ─ a vague memory of the blinding lights in a city ─ some kind of brain scan printout ─ but his mind was groggy and his memories distorted and he needed nothing more than some cold water to splash on his face and to regain a semblance of consciousness. Why he was in this position, of a total weakness in his bones and an unbeatable desire to drift further into sleep, he had no clue.

When the needle-like sensation had receded he reached weakly for the mirror on his nightstand, observing his haggard appearance in the glare of the mirror, the word dreary and lingering with lethargy. There was nothing out of the ordinary, just a daunting darkness under his eyes.  

He frowned. Something was off about this ordeal, he thought, observing a IV line strapped to his arm. His unruly sleep habits cannot have been that bad ─ despite it all he hadn't even failed ASEAN's history test ─ so why? Where was France and Britain? His siblings, South, Poland, Japan? 

Someone clicked open the door. WHO's face broke out into an ear-to-ear grin of shocked relief upon seeing him, the sentiment quickly crossing her entire face and lighting it up. "America!" she breathed. "Oh my god. Oh my god..." 

"God, I feel like shit," he groaned, looking up at her as she hovered above his cot, checking vitals and whatever programs he had been hooked up to, lips pursed in focus. "I'm definitely late for school too." 

WHO paused in her fumbling, looking astonished. "School?" 

"School," America raised an eyebrow, frowning. "And I feel like I can't move, like someone's drugged me. Don't tell me this will hinder my basketball skil─" 

Now it was his turn to stop. Something was definitely wrong, he realized, as the feeble echos of memory in his mind, now aching again, struggled to establish a timeline. Events repeated, variations branched off, and when he thought he had found the earliest instance of life he remembered, something else forced itself into his system, and the cycle repeated. Oh, he could recall some ─ Canada pouring maple syrup on pancakes ─ France and Britain ushering him off to his first day of high school ─ but that happened twice, did it not? 

He parted his lips and closed them again and no words departed and he was so utterly confused. First days of high school were a one-time occurance, as far as he knew. WHO watched him carefully, almost as she was seeing the entanglement fold into itself. 

"What's going on in there?" she asked softly, making a motion to his head. 

"WHO," he whispered, suddenly struck with the revelation that she looked much older than he remembered. "Why am I here?"

"Don't you remember anything?" WHO questioned, her voice not meant to prod or poke, as if he was fragile. She helped him up into a sitting position. "Fire? Guns?" 

"Guns?" he yelped. "I─ in the past─ oh...." His voice trailed off. Yes, guns, in speeches and ringouts and security guards tackling each other to get him to safety through a blizzard of blue. And then one singular bullet, making its way towards someone he seemingly cared about more than anyone─ but it was─ how?

"You do," WHO gaped, seeing the expression on his face. She voiced his concern: "...How?"

"More than one instance," America admitted, surprised with himself too, because a minute ago he felt as if he was doubting his own name. "During speeches and government meetings and being ushered back somewhere through a swirling passageway. And then another time, meant to harm someone that caused ─  I remember a spike in emotion..."