Hetalia Angst

You Are My Sunshine...

There was too much blood, way too much for Alfred to be just "fine." Arthur desperately clung to him, trying to stem the wound. "Alfred, please, hold on. You'll be fine." He repeated these words like a mantra, but even he, himself, did not believe this. With shaking hands, Alfred held onto Arthur, clutching his shirt like a lifeline. "That's a lie, and you k-know it." His voice cracked as he smiled up at Arthur, despite the blood rushing out of him. Tears slid down his face, and Alfred's heart broke. He hated seeing people cry, especially Arthur. His hand came up to cradle Arthurs face, but it was too pale, compared to his golden tan. And too cold, to be part of this world.

He coughed, blood dribbling down his chin, staining his bomber jacket, and started to sing. "You are m-my sunshine.." His voice wavered and cracked, yet he continued. "My only-" He was cut off by a coughing fit, his lungs failing him. Arthur shushed him, smiling sadly through his tears. Alfred just clung to his hand, holding it next to his heart, right above the bullet wounds. It was just one too many bombs for him to handle. One too many wars for the great United States to live through. He continued the song, praying for Arthur to stop crying, and telling himself false lies, that he was fine. "You make..me happy." Arthur gripped his hand tightly, using the other to run his fingers through his blond hair, now clumpy with the dried blood. 'Any time now,' He thought. 'please, please let him be fine.' But Alfred was far from fine. The world was going to eventually end, but no one was prepared for this. For the world's greatest superpower, to be a bleeding mess on the floor. It was just too many enemies. One too many shots fired into the hearts of his citizens, and one too many bombs dropped. Alfred's eyes drooped, his baby blue eyes growing dull, and his tan skin slowly losing it's shine and color, turning even paler. Yet, his hands found Arthur's and held on for dear life. "W-when skies..are g-grey." 

Arthur was flooded with memories. When the G8 was still together. Even when they were fighting, they were still a family. When Alfred sang the song to him, and every moment where they hugged, kissed, and were loving and together. It was a moment of peace, of happiness, in a cruel world. He just held Alfred tightly, and let the tears drip down, wetting Alfred's shoulder. Neither of them could care less. Not when the world was ending. He wanted to wail how unfair it was, that they had to be born like this, that they all had to go. The tears kept coming, he just wanted to live. To love, to be with everyone he ever loved. But what did the world care about? Certainly not his feelings. 

"You'll n-ever k-know...d-dear..." Alfred was struggling to get the words out, struggling to breathe and stay alive. The United States of America was slowly ripping apart, the President long dead, assassinated. No more government to run the place, and the last of his citizens dying. He didn't want to die. He was scared, terrified, more so than he had ever been. It was the most pain he had ever felt in his life, feeling the terror, the sadness, and guilt of millions of people. It felt like he was being ripped apart by little needles, but he would not spend the last minutes of his life fighting, killing people, or dropping bombs on his former friends. Unlike what he has done in his entire life, his entire history, he was going to enjoy his last moments, even if it was tragic and rushed. No, he would spend his last moments making his loved ones, his people, fill with a sense of peace, and happiness. A wave of pain swept through him, making him intake a sharp breath. The edges of his eyes darkened, and suddenly, all he wanted to do was sleep. Sleep sounded nice...a nap.

"H-how much I l-love...you."

"...."

He gasped for breath, desperately trying to cling to the earth, willing his citizens to stop fighting, to stop leaving him. He gripped Arthurs hand tightly, his knuckles turning white. He didn't want to go, but it was so painful, and all he wanted to do was sleep. To take a nice long nap. To have the pain, the war, all of it, all go away. 

"..Please..don't t-take.."

"..m-my s..un-n shi-ine.."

His hand fell limp to the ground, as the blood gushed out of his body. His hands were too cold, too cold to be his, too cold to be alive. Arthur let his tears fall, finally. He started to shake, his body racked with sobs. He was screaming, yelling Alfred's name over and over again, as if that would bring him back. He cradled his body close, pressing a kiss to his forehead, whispering the last word of the song, the last word, that Alfred never sang, and never will. 

"..away.."

America, the world's greatest superpower, the world's most powerful country, was no more.

Alfred, the most loving man, with the eyes as blue as cornflowers in California. With the golden hair, like the meadows in Oregon. With the bubbly laugh, and lovely, yet loud voice. He was gone too.

The other night dear, as I lay sleeping, I dreamt I held you in my arms. When I awoke dear, I was mistaken. So I hung my head, and cried.