He is America (Hetalia fanfic)

Chapter Three: This Means War

"You must be Alfred's family, or should I say... America's family" The doctor was about forty or so, with silky brown hair and large grey orbs for eyes. His skin was perfectly clear aside from a birthmark on his right cheek, and he had stress lines on his forehead. His cologne was faint on his person and he wore a dark crimson dress shirt with a white lab coat. His ID was on a badge snapped to his belt, and he also had a silver crucifix around his neck instead of a tie. He had a deep voice, it was actually pretty scary to the fellow nations there.

    "Yes, we are doctor. I'm Arthur or Britain. That is Francis, otherwise known as France. And this is Matthew, Canada" Arthur explained. Razway nodded and motioned for them to sit.

    "America is quite a card. The surgery went on so long they actually thought about giving up. His heart stopped three times in the duration of two hours. We were able to get him stable. However" the doctor sighed, "I'm afraid he's in a coma. There's no telling if or when he'll wake up. Or even if he'll make it a month with how his heart has been stopping. The most we can do is monitor him and hope for the best. I'm gravely sorry" Razway said.

    Silence... The three nations were stunned... Their little Alfred could possibly never wake up... Their little Alfred could die... Their little Alfred was in a coma...

    Crack

    The three nations' already shattered hearts began to break more, like a combat boot just stomping on the remaining shards. Their Alfred was wrongfully attacked... Now he might never wake up...

    "He's in a coma" echoed through the three of their heads.

    "May we see 'im?" Francis asked, the doctor quickly nodded. Leading them down the quiet and empty corridor they stopped in front of room 143. The doctor opened the door and left the nations. They all walked in, and laid eyes on their once vibrant Alfred.

    Crash

    Their hearts broke completely, seeing Alfred like this. He was deathly pale, his once warm and rosy cheeks were white. His hair was a mess, even his stubborn cowlick drooping onto his face. There was a tube in America's nose to help supply oxygen, and a tube in America's mouth, pumping his lungs with air. He was hooked up to a feeding tube and had two IV's, one for fluid and one for blood. America, sweet America, now looked lifeless.

    Canada couldn't take it anymore, running to the bedside of the large room and cupping his brother's cheeks.

    "Alfie! Come on Alfie don't leave me! Please, I'm begging you to wake up! I need you, Alfie! I need my little brother! I want to hear you laugh again! I want to see you smile again!" Alfie still laid there, sickly and unresponsive. It made Canada snap, "I want to go ice skating on the lake like we do every winter! I want to beat your butt in hockey! I want to go to amusement parks with you and both of us cry like little bitches when we ride roller coasters! I want to go swimming in the coves off of our cousins' islands! I want to go apple picking in the old orchard! I want to be able to talk to you, Alfie! Please, little brother, wake up!!!" Canada had become hysterical. Soaking America's polka-dotted hospital gown with his salty tears, Canada looked at his face again. No response. He collapsed onto the chair and cuddled Alfred's chest, still crying.

    Francis and Arthur couldn't even get too close. They couldn't bare it, seeing their beautiful little America so broken and weak. Arthur led Francis out and walked to the floor lobby, going to the small garden the hospital had. Arthur had tears stinging his eyes.

    "Francis... What kind of monster does this to someone like him?" Arthur cried into his chest, Francis embracing him tightly. His own eyes began to flood as he choked out a sob.

    "I don't know Angleterre... But... We will make sure zey pay..." France's voice sounded dark, the anger was boiling over inside him. His son may never wake up and the demon who did this was to blame. Arthur then saw something white in France's pocket. He picked it out and saw the selfie Francis had taken that morning. The family, all there, all smiling. He looked at the picture and gazed at Alfred. Francis noticed that Arthur pulled something from his pocket, and then saw the picture. He too gazed at his son. Alfred's smile was so bright, his eyes were so vivid, his laugh was so loud, and his heart was so pure.

    "Francis?" Arthur asked, "Can you believe this was just taken this morning? It changed so fast. One moment he's laughing and playing with us, now... Now he's in this God-forsaken sterile prison and might not ever see the sun again... How could this happen? How could I let it happen?" Arthur hiccuped as Francis looked at his lover.

    "Mon amour, do not blame yourself... If I 'ad kept a better eye on 'im, maybe he'd still be 'ere" France cried silently, trying so hard to be the pillar of support for his love and his other son. But he felt everything begin to crack.

    They both went inside the tiny coffee shop on the first floor, getting some warm cider. They couldn't get coffee, not while they were visiting him. Alfred could live on coffee, and the fact he couldn't have it now just made it hurt. Everything hurt now. Everything was a reminder to Arthur and Francis of their kind-hearted ex-colony. They made their way to Alfred's room to find Canada had passed out right next to Alfred. Arthur sat in the windowsill, and Francis sat right in front of Alfred. He wasn't going to leave, no way in Hell.

    Soon the sound of multiple footsteps could be heard running down the hallway. Arthur rushed to the door and stood in front of it. He couldn't just let them run in, he had to warn them. He had to tell them everything, he had to tell them that he might never wake up. That will be the hardest part.