My, I do sound like a sadist... I didn't mean to... ¬¬

R and R please, if you don't mind :)

Constructive criticism is welcome, not too harsh please, this is my first time ¦3

A nation's mental and physical capacity surpasses that of a human. This means that where a human would pass out or die from the shock that comes with pain, their brain no longer being able to handle the chaos it brings, a nation must go on suffering, unable to escape. This forces them to experience higher levels of agony than a human can imagine.

The pain came in waves. Arthur inhaled sharply as another, stronger one hit. He glanced down at the blood pooling rapidly on his stomach and winced as his fingers trembled into the chasm to retrieve the last bullet. Eyes flying open in shock and teeth biting into his bottom lip, he held in a scream which transformed into a muffled whimper. He withdrew his closed hand and threw the shining silver bullet aside where it rolled into the collected pile that Arthur had pulled from his trembling body. Seven. Who the fuck had shot him seven times? Arthur had good reflexes and could handle himself in a fight, yet someone had managed to get seven direct hits in daylight with no witnesses. Who would even want to? He let the question slip his mind as another vibe of agony encased his mind, his body twisting in spasm as a shuddering whisper passed his lips.

His dazed emerald eyes lifted to the walls of the alley he lay in. Where was he? He couldn't remember, he had been hit on the head quite a few times during the attack and it had ended with his head being smashed into the brick wall, leaving a throbbing ringing pain settled in his brain. It was only now that he realised it was night. He must have been lying there for hours, but he couldn't move. Each time he tried, he was gifted with sharp contortions which left his body heaving with suffering and self-torture.

But he had to move sometime. Arthur began to brace himself for the extreme vibes of distress he knew would follow, readying himself, he began to shift his weight to his arms to pull himself up on the wall. He pushed down. This time the pain was too much to stifle as a chilling scream escaped his lungs, trailing off into the darkness of the alley-way.

He slumped against the wall, ignoring the dull throbbing from his back and rode out the last wisps of agony. His breath came in short pants, exhausted from the stress on his physical and mental health. Something caught in his chest and he began couching violently into the silence, this produced a metallic taste in his mouth. Was that... blood? He spat the blood out to his side and tried to steady his breaths.

He tried to look down at his body, unsure exactly of what injuries he held. He knew he had been shot, but what else? He didn't remember. He had fallen into a trance after being slammed into the wall, not unconscious, the pain had stayed, just a state where he was unable to think or hear or speak. He glanced down at his body. His shirt was ripped. There was purple bruising on the left side of his chest, judging from the deformity, he had a broken rib. Or a few. He saw his ankle sticking out at an awkward angle, most likely twisted. Various gashes and stab marks scattered the surface of his skin, surrounding the gunshot wounds. There were bound to be other injuries, he could feel them, but not see them.

How had this happened? Had there been just one attacker? Or were there many?

Arthur cried out in frustration and pain. He was Britain. Once the largest empire that roamed the earth, encompassing near a quarter of the worlds surface yet now, he was now cowering in an alley-way, unable to move for pain. Pathetic. His cry still echoing off the walls, his eyes were drawn to the far end of the alley. A dark figure stood backlit against the street lamps outside.

Someone had heard him. Shit. Arthur was in no state to defend himself. Wincing at his mistake he stayed as still as he could, hoping he could undo what was done. The shadow descended upon his location and he mentally cursed himself. He had let his assailant know he was still alive and now he was going to finish the job. Fuck.

Searching his mind for solutions, he found himself unable to think straight, the pain disallowing thoughts to form fully in his head, numbing it into a useless state. He could only watch in panic as the figure grew closer.

"A-Arthur?"

Arthur knew that voice, yet could not place it as his mind felt like it was stuffed with cotton. He forced his head up, dim emerald eyes searching the dark space above him, adjusting to the night.

The figure lent down, allowing Arthur to identify the face. Emerald eyes finally reaching the worried azure ones of the figure. He collapsed onto Alfred and allowed a whimper of pain mixed with relief pass his lips.

"S-shit! Arthur, what the fuck happened?" Alfred knelt, voice shaking with worry,

"I-i-it it hurts..." Arthur whispered.

"Fuck. I know. Shit... Ahhhh..."

Alfred looked around him in panic, still taking in the situation. He turned back to Arthur, noting his shallow breaths and slight wheezing with concern.

"Can you stand?"

"T-too painful..."

Alfred's brows knitted in worry and panic. He needed to get Arthur away, but moving him would cause too much pain.

Meanwhile, Arthur felt another wave of pain begin to surface. He clenched his teeth and hissed as his wounds began to throb and sting.

"Hit me." Said a quiet, rough voice.

"Wh-what?"

"There's too m-much pain, I can't m-move in this state. I have to... have to sleep..."

Realising what Arthur meant, Alfred began to search for another solution. One that would refrain from hurting his friend any further. He failed to find one. Arthur was hurt. Badly, as far as he could tell. He needed to move him, but it would be too painful to move him as he was, somehow he needed to sleep.

Seeing no escape from the scenario, he brushed Arthurs cheek and pulled his head up, exposing his neck. He knew what to do, he had done it many times before, just never with a friend or ally.

"Are you ready?" He asked, voice still masked with worry,

Arthur smirked in response, eyes hooded and face dark.

Alfred took this as a "yes" and his hand swiftly flew through the darkness and towards Arthur's neck, twitching as contact came close. He stopped just before he reached the pressure point, unable to go further.

Arthur felt the rush of air on his neck and pried his eyes open to see Alfred with tears glinting in his normally bright eyes, head bowed.

"I can't. I won't"

"Please, Alfred." Arthur said in the steadiest voice he could muster.

Their eyes connected once again and Alfred nodded, pulling Arthur's neck up and pushing forcefully onto the side of Arthur's neck. Arthur whimpered, momentarily feeling all of his pain seep back into him before falling unconscious on the cold concrete.

Alfred sat, dumfounded for a few seconds, unable to believe what he had just done to his friend, before shaking himself to his senses and picking Arthur up into a fire mans lift. Upon standing, he nearly slipped on the large amount of blood Arthur has spilt onto the floor. He grimaced and squeezed his eyes shut for a second before clearing his mind and working out the quickest way to the hospital.

He could feel Arthurs blood trickling down his back and began to quicken his pace, realising Arthur was still very much in danger.

Stepping out of the alley, he looked over his shoulder and now, by the light of the street lamps, was able to see the full extent of Arthur's injuries.

He swallowed and felt his stomach tighten, bringing Arthur around his front to support him more carefully. He could now access the injuries on the whole of his body, but glancing over the trembling body, in his arms, he decided to leave that for later, when he could be sure he was safe. Inhaling shakily, he began his journey to the hospital, protecting the frail, smaller nation from the cascading rain and harsh winds. Leaning forward and whispering comforting words into his chest, What the fuck happened, Arthur?