Chapter Nineteen

When England woke, he noticed three things right away. The first was that he was in a bed. The second was that the pain he had been in for so long had dulled to a steady throb instead of a surging agony. The third was that he was desperately thirsty. He opened his eyes and eased into an upright position, a groan escaping his chapped lips.

"Hello?"

France, who had fallen asleep sitting at his bedside, shot up, wide eyed. He looked at England and his moment of panic faded.

"Mon cher Angleterre, you're awake!" He exclaimed softly, a smile gracing his tired face. "How are you feeling?"

"Water, please." He croaked, his voice hardly sounding like his own with how hoarse it was.

France immediately got him a water bottle, opening it before helping the Englishman hold it up to his lips so he could drink. He downed the majority of it, gasping for breath and wiping his mouth when he broke away for air.

"Bloody hell…." England murmured, quickly drinking the rest. He hadn't had water in what felt like weeks. Perhaps it had been weeks; time was frozen, so there was no real way of knowing.

"Better?" France smoothed down England's hair, which had been washed since the ordeal with their counterparts.

He nodded and laid back down. He brought a hand up to wipe his mouth again, faltering slightly when he saw the bandages. His wounds weren't healed yet, then. He glanced at his right forearm, biting the inside of his cheek when he saw the pristine bandage wrapped around it. It was more what lay underneath it than the dressing itself that made him want to cry again.

"What happened?" France asked hesitantly. He and all the other nations had been waiting to ask England the same thing, all of them wanting to know what had happened to their fellow nation, America. "If you cannot answer now, don't force yourself to. I understand not being able to speak about it."

England was silent for a long moment, staring at the ceiling. "I don't want to have to relive this multiple times. I will speak of it once and then never again."

France took one of his hands in his own, nodding. "I won't make you, and neither will anyone else."

England nodded once, finding himself squeezing France's hand instead of pushing it away as he usually did. He cleared his throat and began to speak. "As you likely have seen, a lot of what...Oliver did to me was physical torture. A little bit of mental taunting, but the majority of it was just for fun, just to hear me scream."

France's hand held his tighter and he bit his lip, trying not to cry as he listened to what he said.

"It was some sort of game to him. All of it was just for fun, for entertainment. A while after they brought me there, they...they brought Al...they brought America in. He looked like I'd never seen him before. Utterly drained and beyond miserable...I can't bear to imagine what Allen said to him to get him like that, what horrible lies he must have made that poor lad believe." England paused a moment, needing to compose himself. "I thought they were going to torture him until I resigned my title, but they did the opposite. Oliver stabbed me three times before America resigned his title. Seconds later, he dispersed; impaled in the heart. I tried to tell him not to give in, that whatever they had told him was a lie. I-I tried, but he took my-my voice and…." He began to cry and France sat on the edge of the bed, pulling him close in a soothing embrace.

"Hush, my dear Arthur. You did all you could." He whispered, holding him as he cried.

The two of them remained like that for quite some time, until England had stopped crying and France had let him lay back down.

"You don't ever have to speak of it again. Never." He murmured, staying on the edge of his bed and stroking his hair slowly. "Do you want to know what happened here?"

England nodded, welcoming the change of subjects.

"We weren't able to do anything for a while, not until we managed to catch one of the counterparts; Francois, to be specific. When we did, Tim and...Gilbert took care of getting information out of him. He told them where the bunker was and so we gathered the nations we had left and prepared to attack. We caught them by surprise, so we managed to gain the upper hand. It was all luck, if you ask me. We shouldn't have won. We found out where they had been keeping you and the rest of the ones they captured and got you out of there. That's when you drove the counterparts away. After you lost consciousness, I carried you back to where we all had agreed to meet and on the way, found Ludwig crying over Gilbert's body. He had been killed in the fight and you know of his nation status…." A brief, mirthless smile crossed France's face as he desperately tried to hold back his tears. "He never did like to admit when he was hurt; I should have known that his physical state was far worse than he lead us to believe."

England squeezed France's hand again, offering what little comfort he could give him. France appreciated it nonetheless and found the strength to continue.

"Estonia was killed while the parallel nations had him as well. Lithuania can't bear to tell us the details, which might be better for us all. After we found everyone, we brought you all back to the hotel we've been staying at and tended to the ones of you who were taken. In the end, they had taken you, America, Cuba, Taiwan, Hong Kong, South Korea, the Italy brothers, Lithuania, Estonia, Iceland, and Belarus. None of you were in good shape, but you all seem to be healing all right. We suspect the wounds will scar. They were inflicted by other nations, after all." France sounded heartbroken to say it, but he wouldn't lie to him. "Time is still frozen, or whatever spell Oliver had cast. The humans still are asleep and besides the sunrise and sunset, the world seems to have frozen."

England looked at him. It made sense for Oliver to have done so, but this was news to him. "He put everything asleep?"

"Except for roughly thirty-five of us nations, yes. I think they wanted to take things one step at a time. Can you lift the spell?" France asked, a bit worried he couldn't.

"Easily. But it would be best to let us heal fully first. All of us need time to recover." England said, closing his eyes. He'd just woken, but god, was he tired.

"Thank god." France sighed in relief, then noticed he was practically falling asleep. "Do you want me to let you rest?"

England nodded, but didn't let go of his hand. France got the subtle hint and laid down beside him, holding him close. Their troubles were briefly forgotten as they drifted off to sleep together, needing the embrace of the other far more than they needed to retain their pride.

The memorial was held on a clear, sunny day, in a clear field near the hotel. Every nation that wasn't still asleep from the spell was there, respectfully donned in full uniform. It was a foreign thing, holding a memorial for three deceased countries, let alone one, but they did their best anyways. There were no flowers or photographs, just chairs and a podium for those who wanted to speak. Three flags were flying on poles behind the podium, one Estonian, one American, and one Prussian flag. Everyone sat in silence, save for France, who had taken charge of the memorial and volunteered to run it.

France stood at the podium and spoke into the microphone. It had taken a lot to set it up, and he was relieved when his voice rang clear through the speakers. "As you all know, we've gathered today to remember and pay tribute to those we lost. For those of you who wish to speak, there will be a chance for that soon. First, please stand as we play the national anthems of the deceased in homage to them."

Everyone stood and a few seconds later, the Estonian anthem began. Finland began to cry and the two remaining Baltics fought back tears of their own. As for the others, their heads were either lowered in respect or gazing at the sky in memory of him. When it ended, there was a long moment of silence before the American anthem began. There was more crying than there was with Estonia, most of it from Canada. France's heart went out to the poor boy and he made a mental note to hug him after. He and America both felt like sons to him, but Canada had always had a special place in his heart.

After it ended, there was another long moment of silence, followed by the Prussian anthem. It was a song none of them had heard since before 1947, and it almost brought France to tears. He forced himself to hold strong and glanced at Germany, hoping he was all right. He hadn't said much at all since Prussia died, and it was growing worrisome. Getting back into his normal routine would do him good, or so Austria had assured him. Germany would recover in time, and work would help give him purpose and serve to distract him.

As the last anthem ended, everyone sat back down and France stepped up to the podium again after swallowing the lump in his throat. "If there's anything any of you want to say, feel free to step up and say so."

Only two nations stood, Hungary and Finland. Finland wiped his face and thanked France as he stepped aside and let him speak.

"Eduard was one of my best friends. He wasn't a very prevalent nation, but he was a good one. He was kind and always knew what the best thing to do was, even in difficult situations. I know not a lot of you knew him well, but that doesn't make his death mean any less. We lost a great man, and I want that to be recognized." Finland took a brief moment to compose himself, getting choked up. "As for Alfred, he was one of the few nations I've met who has nearly always meant well in everything he did. Since the day Berwald and I found him, I knew he would be a great country, and I'm honored to have been at least a tiny part of his upbringing. He was a good nation, despite his flaws, and I know every one of us will miss him in one way or another."

Finland went back to where he had been sitting, wiping his tears and hugging Sweden close. Hungary took his place at the podium, her expression firm. She didn't want to give Prussia the satisfaction of her crying at his memorial, if he was watching from wherever he had gone.

"Gilbert was an asshole." She began, almost hearing the Prussian's laugh echo in her ears. "He made fun of everyone he could whenever he could and refused to admit any sort of weakness. He was a pain in the ass as often as possible and at several points in his life, I was quite motivated to strangle him to death. That being said, life isn't going to be the same without him. He was my best friend, and despite how much of a dick he could be, I'm going to miss him and you're fooling yourselves if you think you won't as well."

Hungary walked away, leaving her small speech at that. There was a lot she didn't say, but she didn't want to publicly declare how deeply she had cared for him, or how heartbroken she was that she didn't let herself confess how she truly felt to him while he was still alive.

France was barely holding back tears as he stepped back up to the podium. "There's food in the hotel dining room, but all you know that already, you helped make it." He ran a hand over his face. "I don't know what else to say or address here. We will discuss the technicalities of what the deaths of Estonia and America mean another time, so please proceed to the dining room."

The nations stood and started making their way back to the hotel and France joined them. He could worry about dealing with the chairs and everything else they'd brought there for the memorial later, now wasn't the time. He spotted England and walked beside him in silence, their hands entwined. None of them spoke, letting the solemn moment be as it was in a final tribute to the ones they lost.

The meal afterward was a bit more light hearted than anticipated, thanks to alcohol and the retelling of amusing stories. Even Germany smiled as Hungary told everyone about the time she had a drunk Prussia entirely convinced that cheese was a figment of his imagination. The stories went on for hours, and England and France watched from the side as they turned into good natured fun, preferring to observe instead of participate in this case.

It was nice to see that some amount of normalcy had returned, even if for a little while. Italy was glued to Germany's hip, and Romano, though hiding his now constantly gloved hands in his pockets, was threatening to beat the shit out of Spain if he kept babying him. Finland was taking care of the rest of the Nordics like the mother everyone always joked he was, and Russia had roped the two remaining Baltics into a drinking game consisting of him, Poland, Greece, Turkey, Canada, Cuba, and The Netherlands. Austria and Switzerland were talking quietly, in a small argument by the looks of it. The Asian countries had started playing a game together, and the girls had gathered to continue to reminisce and comfort one another.

France looked at England, wishing he could ease the pain that so clearly showed on his face. Whatever he was thinking about, he figured it best to distract him from it.

"What are we going to do about the citizens of America and Estonia? We can't let them fend for themselves and we can't split up the land without rousing questions." France said, having been thinking a lot on that topic.

England glanced at him and sighed. "I haven't the foggiest, this isn't something we've encountered before. Hell, it isn't something that ever should have been able to happen, a nation dying while his people still thrived. It was only because the parallel nations were here to take our place if we resigned that we were able to die. Ideally, I would like to figure that out what to do before I wake everyone, but don't you think the presidents should have a say? It's their right more than ours to decide."

"I agree." France said, rubbing his temples a little as a bottle shattered, thrown by a drunken Turkey. "Could we possibly go elsewhere? This noise is giving me a headache."

"Please." England groaned, standing. He faltered a bit, his wounds not fully healed yet. He could walk fine, but it ached deep in his flesh.

Sparing his dignity, France didn't help him more than steadying him by standing closer to him as they walked outside to get some fresh air. The sun was setting and it was cool outside, making for quite a pleasant ambiance. They sat where they could watch the sunset and France struck up another conversation.

"When do you think you will wake everyone?"

"A week or two more, perhaps three." England glanced at him for affirmation; it wasn't just his own people that were asleep, after all.

"That's a good idea." France nodded, then stayed silent for a moment. "It's going to take decades to recover from this, isn't it?"

"If we're lucky," he replied quietly. "I get the feeling we never truly will, much like the wars."

"You're probably right." He squeezed his hand, looking down at the grass at their feet.

"I often wish I wasn't." England loved winning arguments and the like, but being proved right in situations like this? That was something he would never take any sort of pleasure in.

France had opened his mouth to reply, but before he could speak, he was interrupted.

"Hey, do either of you know how I can get home? This is Europe and I kind of need to be on the other side of the pond."

England's heart stopped and his head shot up, looking at the man who had spoken. For a split second, he thought that somehow, his dreams had come true, that he had come back from the dead with the departure of his counterpart. For half of a second, that terrible ache in his chest was gone. Then he realized there was no recognition whatsoever in his eyes; he was a blank slate.

"America...?" France said, letting go of his hand and standing.

"Uh, yep. Who're you?" He said, raising a brow as he spoke.

Is there no end to the cruelness of the world? England thought, his heart aching. This was America, technically, but not the one they all knew. He looked and sounded the same, but he had none of the memories the other one did. He was merely a hollow duplicate of the original. He was the same size as America had been when he died, yet he somehow looked so young. The white gown he was wearing didn't serve to make him look any older.

France's heart broke at hearing him ask that, though he had known that it wasn't possible for him to already know the answer, it wasn't possible to have the old America back. "Francis Bonnefoy, the French Republic."

"Huh. Nice to meet you!" America grinned and extended a hand and glancing at England after he shook it. "And you're...yeah I can't guess. You're white, there's too many possibilities."

"England." He answered, surprised he hadn't broken down. "Arthur Kirkland."

America blinked, a flicker of something akin to recollection flashing across his face. But it was gone as quickly as it had appeared.

"Nice to meet you, too! Either of you know how I can get home?"

France glanced at England, silently asking if he wanted to be left alone or to remain with them. England ever so slightly shook his head. He didn't want to have to hear America's voice right then, he needed to process what had just happened. France, bless the man, understood him and took America's arm, leading him away.

"Come with me, hm? I have got a lot to explain to you and I promise to answer all your questions."

England didn't hear America's reply, staring in a slight daze at the back of the nation's head as he walked away with France. In hindsight, he realized he should have known that America would pop up again; whatever force put the nations on Earth wouldn't let a fully developed country be without a leader. Estonia must be around there somewhere as well, just as confused and wearing an identical white gown to America's; all the nations were born into the world with one.

Tears streaked England's face and he wiped them away, willing himself to be strong. He had indulged himself in weakness far too much lately, and it had become a habit. He took a deep breath and set his jaw. He needed to be strong, especially since America had been reborn. There was so much he didn't know, so many lessons he had to re-teach him. Perhaps it would go similarly to how it did all those years ago and end in a revolution, but only if England made the same mistakes. He hadn't wanted to let go of him, to admit that he had grown up. But things were different now, and England had learned the importance of letting America do as he may. It wasn't easy to step back and watch him make mistakes that he knew how to prevent, but he knew from experience that it would be easier on the boy than forcing him to do as he said.

England took another deep breath and turned his gaze to the sunset, letting himself find solace in knowing he had a second chance. It wouldn't be the same as it was before, he knew that, but perhaps it would be all right regardless of that. It was going to be hard, likely one of the hardest things he'd ever have to do, but in his many years of life, he'd learned that the hardest things to do were often the most worthwhile. Having a second chance to help bring up America the proper way didn't atone for all he had endured in the past few weeks, but it was a small comfort. He'd been given a rare opportunity to redo what he had done wrong, and he was going to do all he could to not let it go to waste.

A/N: And there you have it, the conclusion of the first lengthy fic I've written! God, I can't believe it's been two years since I started it. Thank you so very much to all of you who've read, followed, favorited, and most importantly, reviewed. It has meant a lot to me! I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Likely not, unless you're an emotional masochist like me. ;p Anyways, thank you all again! I'd love to hear what you thought of it, if you have the time to jot down a review! With love, Rae Sedona ~