Expulsion

New Kid in Town

Britain's POV

Bloody hel- I awoke to a terrible screeching sound, filling the air with noise. I was laying on a cold, hard surface. Almost instinctively, I jerked my left hand towards my body, a huge metalic object filling the space where my fingers had just been.

Something struck my head so hard, I'm suprised it's still attached to my neck.

"WHAT THE F***ING HELL ARE YOU DOING?" A voice demanded, "Are you ok?"

Still in shock, I couldn't respond.

"Oh god, please don't be dead." The man said, putting his fingers on my neck to check my pulse. "Oh thank the lord."

He moved me to the side of the road.

Recovering slightly, I moved my head, and it felt like it was going to split open.

"Seriously, dude, if you can hear me, tell me if you're ok!" He said, in a panic.

"Obviously I am not ok, you twat." I muttered irritably.

"Glad to know you're your normal self." I thought I heard him say, though I had never met him before, as far as I new. But what did I know? I couldn't remember anything before waking up on that road.

"What?" I asked.

"N-never mind." He said, motrtified that I had heard him. "Listen, I'm gonna call 9-1-1, ok?"

"What? What's that? Do you mean 9-9-9?" I asked, confused.

"What? No. It's the emergency number. Oh right, the British one's different, I forgot." He told me.

"How do you know that I'm British?" I asked, now very puzzled.

"Oh, uh... your accent, dude! Yeah that's it!" He replied. I was not convinced.

"Anyway, I'm gonna call now, so just hang tight!" He instructed me.

"I'm not going anywhere." I assured him, pushing my self into a sitting position and leaning against his car.

He talked and waited for a few minutes, and then he got talking to someone who was actually useful. I provided him with information when needed, but he did most of the talking, such as where we were.

"What's your name, dude?"

"Arthur Kirkland."

"Gender?"

"What do you think?"

"Age?"

"14."

"Are you hurt?"

"Obviously."

"Where?"

"Everywhere."

"Be specific."

"Fine. My head hurts like all the magic of hell is infecting it with darkness. I speak from experience, I think."

"Umm... ok? Where exactly? Show me."

"Here." I motioned to the spot where it hurt the most.

"Oh sh*t." There must of been a lot of blood.

He whispered into the phone, turning away so that I couldn't read his expression.

"And you're from England, right?"

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure."

"Pretty sure?"

"Yes."

"Oh hell. Get here quickly." He told the person on the other end of the line, and hung up.

"How bad is it?" I asked.

He just shook his head.

"Come on! It's my body!I have a right to know what's going on!" I yelled.

"You're yelling again." He wimpered.

"Don't change the subject! Also, while we're at it, tuck your tie into that uniform! and tuck in your shirt, you scruffbag!" I instructed him.

"Yes, sir!" He mocked.

"Hey! Anyways, how bad is it?" I retorted.

"You are so stubborn." He informed me.

"So are you. Now how bad-" I asked

"Ok, ok! It's pretty bad, dude. Your hair's in the way, so I can't really see, but it's really bloody. Your hair looks like you dyed it red and the tips blond." He replied shrewdly.

"Bloody hell. Thank you for that beautiful image." I said sarcastically.

"What? Umm, you're welcome, I guess." he told me. My sarcasm was completely lost on him.

A far-off siren seared through my head, resounding off every surface possible, and getting louder as it approached.

It pulled to the side of the road, and the man who had helped me went to talk to the ambulance attendants. I realized that I didn't even knw this man's name. He was arguing with the attendants about something. Then, three of them came over with a stretcher.

"There is no way in hell you are getting me onto that thing like a pathetic git. I can walk." I pronounced, attempthing to get up. The world spun round and round like a merry-go-round.

"On second thought..." I conceded, lying on the stretcher.

"Good. The last thing I want is to see you get hurt more." The man told me, a hurting look in his eyes.

"I feel so foolish." I muttered, "But you never told me your name."

"Alfred. Alfred F. Jones, actually, but you can call me Al." He said.

"Pleasure." I said,before passing out cold onto the stretcher.

Alfred's POV(CAUSE ARTHUR PASSED OUT)

Oh god, let him be ok. I started to get into the ambulence with him, but the people in charge pushed me back.

"You don't understand," I told them, "I have to make sure he's ok."

"Alright, come on up. You can sit in with him." They allowed.

When they had set the stretcher down, I took the man who I have always loved so much's hand, and gently kissed it.

"You're gonna be ok. I love you." I whispered, brushing his forehead with my lips, and tenderly stroking his hand.