Disclaimer: I don't own Axis Powers: Hetalia.

A/N: Iaveina is beta'ing this story for me; give her lots of hugs! :D

Like I said before, this story was a really random idea I wanted to try. I'm sorry if you guys end up not liking it, and I hope you enjoy this chapter. ;_;

Chapter 2

When Alfred regained consciousness, his eyes flew open immediately. He was surprised to find that he was in a white room with blue curtains surrounding his bed. To his right, a huge window let in the sun. The arrangement of the bright whiteness, the light, and the sterilized hospital smell made him feel nauseous.

As soon as America tried to raise his head, he was aware of a horrible pain in his throat which he tried to bring a hand to. He was shocked when only one of his arms came to his aid, and even that one was covered with wires. His immobile wrist was in a cast, and soon after that he realized so were both of his legs.

The memories came back to him like pieces fitting one after another in a puzzle set. 'Ivan,' he thought angrily. 'That snowman commie –'

"Alfred! You're up!" A tired voice called out. Without Texas, America hadn't known Arthur was in the room. The green-eyed man lifted his head up and rubbed his eyes sleepily. He had been sitting in a chair right next to America's bed, with his head resting on the sheets. His face was also a little red around the eyes, but Alfred didn't know why.

He opened his mouth to speak: 'Arthur, why –' No sound came out. Alfred looked visibly confused for a moment until he finally remembered Ivan's threat, the words coming back to him chillingly.

"If you do not shut up, I will cut your vocal chords out with this blade, da."

America's eyes filled with disbelief. 'It can't be. It isn't true. It isn't…' He tried to talk again, but ended up only aggravating his healing throat, which had been stitched up and bandaged by the doctors. Hurriedly, he turned away from England. 'Why is he here! He can't see me like this, damn it!'

"I know what happened," Arthur began in a comforting tone. "Your brother called me and said you were hurt in your house. I got on the first plane to come and see you, but I had no idea you were harmed this badly." He reached out and put a hand on America's shoulder. "The doctors said someone cut out your vocal chords –"

Alfred smacked his hand away. 'Fuck, I don't want anyone pitying me!'

"I understand that you're upset…" England sighed worriedly, withdrawing his arm. He stood up from the chair and then bent over to get something from under it. "Look. I got you something to help you out with your new, uh, condition."

America still didn't face him, so England placed the object on his lap quietly. Alfred looked down. It was a book titled How to Learn American Sign Language.

The opposite hospital wall soon had a dent in it from the force with which America threw the volume. He wanted to scream at him that this wasn't happening; he wanted to wake up as though this was all just a bad dream. However, the continuous pain in his throat and limbs told him otherwise, a constant reminder of what he had gone through.

Before England could say anything else, a nurse ran into the room. "Is everything okay?" she asked worriedly, looking around and then seeming amazed that there was a hole in the wall near her from a book on the floor.

"Everything's fine," Arthur answered. "Uh, he's just a bit upset is all." The British man walked over and picked the book back up, dusting it off a little. He wanted to apologize about the wall, but wasn't exactly sure how to go about it.

"Is there anything I can get him?" the nurse asked instead.

England looked back at his friend, but he didn't know if he could tell what America wanted unless he actually spoke to him. He walked to his bag and took out a pad and pencil he had bought along with the sign language book while Alfred had been unconscious for nearly a day. Slightly timid, he gave them to Alfred and waited for him to write a response.

After a few seconds, the American gave him the pad back with the words, "Fuck off, both of you" written on it in huge letters.

"He's fine, thank you," Arthur translated through gritted teeth. He was lucky the nurse hadn't seen it.

She walked back out of the room, but not before saying, "I'll tell his brother that he's awake."

England nodded in agreement as she left. "Matthew was a little beside himself, so he took to the waiting room," he explained to the mute American. There was a long, awkward silence, and finally Arthur said, "Listen, I know that this must be terribly hard for you, but it doesn't give you free license to be a git. We're here to help and support you, and you can't turn us away now. Not when you really need us."

Of course, there was no answer, but Alfred did turn to look at him. The anger in his face had evaporated for now, only to be replaced with defeated solemnity and depression.

Arthur held the book back up again hopefully. "I'll learn with you." Alfred's nod was extremely miniscule, but England still caught it. "Good. Let's start immediately!"

But at that moment, Canada stood in the doorway shyly, not sure if he should come in yet. America smiled and motioned for him to come inside. It became painfully obvious to England now that his brother was very dear to him. America didn't seem mad in the slightest that he was there, so unlike the fit he had earlier when he woke up to England beside him.

"D-Do you f-feel okay?" Matthew questioned, only taking one step into the room. He realized his mistake and his eyes widened innocently. "O-Oh, I shouldn't have asked, s-since, you know, y-you can't a-answer back…" He looked like he was going to burst into tears.

Alfred quickly grabbed the pad and pencil from Arthur and turned a page, all singlehandedly. After taking a few moments to write, he displayed his message proudly, with a big, lopsided grin behind the paper. "I'm the hero, so of course I'm okay! Would you like to learn that ASL stuff with me and Arty over here? I'm sure it can't be that hard to pick up!"

England's mouth almost fell open. What had caused him to change his entire demeanor? Was it simply because his brother was there, and he wanted to put up a front that everything was peachy keen because he didn't want to worry him?

"I-It looks like f-fun. I a-always wanted to l-learn it!" Canada replied, pulling up two chairs and sitting on the side opposite England. He placed Kumajirou in the extra seat.

For the next few hours, they practiced the very beginning of the book with surprising meticulousness, all of them eventually learning how to say various greetings, how someone was (as well as the appropriate responses to that question), and emotions. They wrapped up weather just as it got dark outside the hospital window. America did as best as he could even with just one free hand.

A different nurse came in and told them that they had to go because visiting hours were up. America still had the pad in his possession and wrote, "Mattie, can you fix me up at my favorite private hospital? They're really nice there and don't make you leave because the hours are up. Plus, it's comfy!"

England read the note and wondered how many times Alfred had been injured because of half-brained schemes of heroicness before this mess had occurred.

"I-I'll be sure to d-do that, a-and I'll t-take you there tomorrow." The Canadian gave a soft smile and turned to leave.

Arthur had had a nagging feeling ever since Alfred had woken up that he was forgetting something. As he started to follow Matthew out, he realized that the hospital room was a bit scarier when it was dark, and hoped that America didn't believe that the ghosts of dead patients were going to get him tonight. Suddenly, with this thought, England remembered what it was that he wanted to ask.

"Alfred!" He turned around and walked back toward his friend. "Alfred – who did this to you? Do you remember at all?"

America's fake smile vanished, and he glared at England with such venom that he wondered what he really thought of the situation when his brother was out of the room. America shook his head over and over and kept motioning for him to get out.

"I bet you know!" England accused him with a finger. "Why are you protecting their identity? It doesn't help you any!"

"LEAVE!" Alfred scribbled furiously. "JUST LEAVE!"

"Tell me who it was!" Arthur argued. He came very close to Alfred's bedside and noticed that the nurse and Canada had already gone down the hallway without him. He grabbed both of his shoulders and shook him a little, out of exasperation. "Please! I need to know."

America stopped moving, but his head was bowed as though he had just been defeated. England let him go slowly. "Now, please write –"

All of Alfred's pent-up emotions were released with the loud slap he delivered to Arthur's cheek. He then hid his face behind the pad, showing the messages he had written earlier.

"LEAVE! JUST LEAVE!"

Gradually, England straightened up like nothing had happened and strode out of the room as though he had been politely shown out.

America placed the pad, pencil, and book at the foot of his bed as best he could and settled back into the pillows. He tried to go back to sleep, but it was difficult because he had to raise his free hand up to wipe the tears away from his face every few minutes.

The next day, Alfred was lifted into a wheelchair by two male nurses. His legs felt extremely awkward and clunky with the casts on them, and he couldn't use the mechanism well by himself because of his wrist. His brother wheeled him out of the hospital and into the parking lot, where Arthur waited with a big rental car in order to transport him.

Both England and Canada had to lift America into the middle seat, and then they collapsed the wheelchair and put it in the back.

Alfred would have enjoyed the ride, had it been under different circumstances. He harbored the desire to chat with them although he couldn't make a sound. It would have been a relief to tease Arthur for complaining about where the passenger's seat was in the car because he was used to it being the opposite way. The American closed his eyes and leaned back, imagining that they were on a road trip. He listened to the other two nations' idle chatter as if from a distance, or from a glass prison. He imagined what he'd say if he had a voice, and pictured their responses inwardly.

Too soon, they reached the private hospital and put him back in the wheelchair. America was brought to his bed, the collapsible device placed in a corner of the room, which was designed to look a bit like the interior of an apartment. It didn't look much like a typical hospital room, which was why he liked it so much.

The night before, Alfred studied up on a few more signs because he hadn't been able to rest. Pride swelling in his chest, he pointed to first his brother and then his former colonizer. Once he had their attention, he made the sign for thank you: his four fingers were together and straight, and while his thumb stuck out slightly, he touched his hand to his chin and then let it rest horizontally towards them.

Matthew looked confused and asked no one in particular, "W-What sign is that?"

"Maybe he needs something," Arthur said. He rubbed his chin for a moment before exclaiming, "I get it! He's hungry! I mean, his hand went to his mouth a little…"

"T-That looked m-more like he w-was thirsty t-to me…"

America shook his head and signed the same thing, angrier this time.

"I think he needs a nurse. Perhaps he has to vomit?"

"M-Maybe he needs a b-bedpan…"

Alfred decided to give up, lying back into the pillows and heaving a silent sigh. Still, despite the situation he saw the humor in it and smiled at both of his buddies' worry.

As they ran around asking nurses for items and help, America touched the stomach tube that had been installed in his body so he could eat. He could only have liquefied meals, which annoyed him. Because his throat was still healing, he couldn't eat solid foods. But he was happy that he healed faster than humans, so all of his injuries would most likely disappear in just a couple of weeks instead of in a few months.

'The next meeting is in a few weeks…' America realized inwardly. 'Damn. I don't want to see him there. And I don't want to look weak in front of the others…Fuck…' He looked down ad buried his face in his arm while he thought.

"A-Alfred! Look w-what we brought for you!" Canada exclaimed. England was next to him, arms crossed proudly over his chest. America looked up.

Probably half of the hospital staff was in his room, doctors and nurses included. Most of them started toward him with syringes and other things, while a few others tried to soothe him, talking to him like he was a baby.

If he could speak, Alfred would have cursed them all out.