The Things I'd Rather Forget // Countryhumans AU

Ch 5: Anna // The Girl that Wasn't Saved

America went inside his apartment and fell onto his couch. He was laying there for a while, and was so out of it and sleep-deprived that he must have fallen asleep.

--~--

America was launched into memory after memory, each one only lasting a few seconds each. They were all during the civil war. One in particular, however, lasted more than a few seconds.

America watched a past version of him pace around, obviously stressed. This one seemed to be before the civil war. America heard past him muttering and found himself listening in out of habit.

"What the hell? Why is everything falling apart?" Past America looked at his own hand for a second and only then did Present America notice that he had cracks, too. America suddenly remembered this. He has gotten cracks before-

Past America interrupted his train of thought, "Why is this happening?! I don't f*cking bleed anymore and then my eyes casually start going black like ok-" He was interrupted by a string of awful coughs that went on for way too long. When Past America was done coughing, He started looking at his hand for way too long, "I now apparently cough f*cking black stuff now."

Present America looked at his own increasingly cracked hand in fear. This is what the crack causes? He had completely forgotten about all of this. But- why did he forget? The memory suddenly ended, leaving America in a black void.

America was honestly just about halfway done with everything when the memories started again. This time they were longer and crueler. America was forced to sit there and watch his friends and allies die over and over again. Sometimes, he joined them in the fighting. And after multiple repeats of the same vicious cycle, he gave up trying to fight and let himself get shot multiple times, over and over again. Each time he was shot, he felt relieved actually.

Why?

Because it meant he wouldn't just stand there and watch his friends die. He never could save them, because he was never on time.

He was always one second too late.

And then, BANG!

They were on the floor, another body for the count.

And every time, America was left there, alone with his thoughts and tremendous guilt weighing on his shoulders.

"It's all your fault they're dead." An eerily familiar voice said in his ear, "You're always fashionably late, never on time. Maybe if you weren't so worthless you could save them."

America could feel tears on his cheeks as he found himself agreeing with those cruel words.

"You're worthless, America, unable to save a few measly human lives."

Suddenly, America was in front of what looked to be mountains upon mountains of bodies.

"You see that, America? I'm sure you recognize some of those faces. Kevin, Lynn, Samuel, Anna... All of these bodies are the people you failed to save."

America whispered, "I'm sorry-"

"Are you happy, America? Are you happy that all these people are dead? You practically all sent them to their deaths, like lambs to the slaughter."

America reached his hand out to all the people, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"Mean to what? Kill us?" America was horrified when he noticed that the people in front of him- dead people- were saying this, but he also felt incredible guilt weighing on his heart.