O n e s h o t s || Fandom Oneshots

In Due Time, My Friend [2p CanAme]

Was I always this way? Had I always been so helpless to his stare?

His eyes?

Here I sit, desolate and alone.

But I'm not alone. I'm lingering in a sea of broken, blurred, beaten people. The same sea of people that once ridiculed me for liking this man.

This man that hurt them. This man that loves me.

This man with his tattoos, his piercings, his heavily accented voice and faintly freckled face.

And his eyes. His ruby eyes.

But these people aren't here anymore. I feel them though, they're watching over me.

A tear slips down my cheek, and my face is quiet, my hand nearly intertwined into his own tanned hand. It's so frail.. He looks so tired. God, he's looking at me with that stupid grin.

Why did I fall I love with him? Him of all people? He's tired, I know he is. Does that matter now? Should I be worrying about that anymore? Probably not.

I feel stupid for crying in front of him. I never do. I never cry. But seeing him so weak and frail and sick in this state. The heart monitor is the only thing giving me hope that maybe I won't lose him today.

Even though I know I will eventually.

His heartbeat is quite steady and he's managed to stay conscious through all of this. He's so strong.. I'm so proud of him. I wish I'd told him that more often. I wish I'd told him that I love him more. It's all in vain though. Fuck- I need to stop psyching myself out.

"Matt.."

"Mattieu."

"Stop crying."

I can't respond. I want to, but I can't. I'm just not strong enough. Not like I used to be. Nothing's like it used to be anymore, as much as I'd like that. It's obvious that he knows exactly what's running through my mind. With everything inside of me, I desperately hope that he won't say anything, though. There's no need to desolately point out my weakness and my faults, as I know damn well I have them as well what they are.

But being Allen, of course he still does. He always does. But God, I love him.

"I'm not going to die, you asshole.."

I flinch visibly, another tear dropping blatantly onto the back of my hand and I try to swallow back a painfully voice cracked whimper. I feel so hopeless and weak in this situation. I hate seeing him like this. I love him too much. He means the world to me. The thought of losing Allen had haunted me ever since the day he'd gotten sick. How long ago was that? Two months? Three? Five? Eight? A year. I couldn't tell. Time was important to me anymore. Neither was work. Or eating. Or the little family I had left. It was all the American. The damned American and his ruby eyes.

I bit down a bit roughly onto the edge of my bottom lip, my hand ticking as I fight for something to say. I have to back myself up, prove that I'm not as pathetic as I seem. But I can't. No matter how hard I try, I could never lie to Allen.

I'm utterly humiliated, at the least. I feel stupid in this weak state, tears spilling from my eyes. His heart monitor is getting dangerously spaced out and I'm terrified. I really, really don't want to lose Allen.

He's my greatest weakness. I can see it now. I clench tighter around his hand, and I can no longer see straight.

The doctors have already told me. I don't know why I'm afraid. Maybe it's just the existential thought of it all, the crisis of losing someone important to you and not being able to do anything. You know they're leaving, and they always do, but you just can't do anything. Watching them fall.

They know you can't do anything, but in often time they blame you. I've seen too much death to think differently. He's died too many times. I've endured it too much. It doesn't matter that he's a nation anymore. If he dies again there's a chance he won't come back, and I don't want to lose him again.

His country isn't strong enough to hold onto everything anymore. He just isn't strong enough.

I think about what he said again.

'I'm not going to die'

Haven't they told him already? Doesn't he know? Or perhaps he thinks they haven't told me. Maybe they shouldn't of. Of course the doctors aren't here anymore.

They've given up on trying to fix him.

The monitor slows down another pace, and his eyes are rolled back into his head. I know it's happening. There's nothing I can do.

I look to the clock on the wall, my vision blurring desperately.

It's dying, the sounds of the monitor is slowing.

"'Matt-"

His voice is weak.

"I know."

We're silent for a long time, we both know. We both know he's going away. Maybe his confidence is evident because he has a chance. Maybe he'll be back after all. His nation is weakened, not dead.

He's the same way, isn't he?

And that doesn't stop him from dying.

I flutter my eyelids and take a heavy breath as I watch Allen's hand relax. It's painfully close now.

He looks to me weakly, the monitor is on its last string now. It's last straw. The last hum of machinery, signaling the liveliness of my weakened lover.

"I'll be back." His voice is dying.

"In due time, my friend."

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep