The Night Before Morning
Warning: Mild Swearing.
Also, before you read this at all, and I mean all, read this: http://thelosthype.deviantart.com/art/APH-Morning-Pick-Me-Up-pg1-382084498
. This is blocking so in the preview you don't get to the plot spoiler of TheLostHype's story in case you were an idiot and didn't read the comic first like I told you to.
Three hours until sunrise, the door to America's home opened and the nation stumbled inside, holding his head, his vision spinning.
South looks over at him as he enters, her usual scowl upon her face that comes whenever he goes out drinking and doesn't come back all night. "Alfred, where have you-?!" She stops, sensing something was very wrong. "A- Alfie...?"
America shudders, looking up at her with blood red eyes, a streak of blood running down his mouth, from which South could see fangs when he spoke. "Caitlyn... run... please..."
She takes a step back, clutching her cross necklace. "A- Alfie..."
He shudders agai
AloneArthur shivered. He turned over onto his other side, pulled the blankets over his shoulder, and tried again to fall asleep. He gave it five minutes and sat up, sighing.
Three hours of trying to get comfortable certainly tried his patience.
The Brit closed his eyes, leaning against the headboard to think. Why couldn't he sleep...? Was there something bothering him? Was there something he wanted? Needed?
Well, yes, he told himself, opening his eyes and staring at the opposite wall. That moron is the answer to all four questions.
He wanted to speak to him. See him.
Well, there was only one way to accomplish that.
Arthur reached over to the bedtable and picked up his mobile. A few buttons were pressed and a text message was sent.
Because, Arthur mused, he didn't want to wake Francis with a loud ringtone. It was rude enough as it is to text him out of the blue in the middle of the night. Calling would be worse.
"Mm?" A sleepy groan answered the noise,
"I need help!"
"With what, Gilbert? I'm busy."
"You already know how to make love."
"Not making love, just love!"
"Why are you asking me?"
"You're the first of the two of us to love a dude!"
"WAS?! You have no evidence on the matter!"
"Stop making this about you. I think I like a guy!"
"So, what's the problem?"
"Aw, forget it!"
"Nein, tell me the problem."
"Well, he has provinces!"
"Yeah! You see my problem?"
"Provinces are like having kids!"
"I see. You can't be a family man."
"Well it might have been fine if he had two or three, but he has thirteen!"
"I don't think they'd think of you as a parent anyway. They might not even think of him as a parent. You're overreacting."
"Overreacting?! Does Italy have thirteen kids?!"
"I do not love Italy!"
"You do, too."
"I do not!"
"Ja, you do."
"Nein! And even if I did, it has nothing to do with the subject at hand!"
Eh? What do you mean, no?
I mean, Im not going in there. Turn the car back on, lets go.
We just got here! And we decided, tonight was the night. Youre going to do this.
I am not, and you really cant make me.
Alfred, youre being a big fat baby right now.
Hey!...Dont call me fat.
Aww, is whittle Alfwerd scared? Want big brovher to hold your hand?
Dude, shut up or Im going to bite you.
With that, the American heaved a heavy sigh and looked from his twin brother, sitting anxiously in the drivers seat of their red pick-up truck, to the very posh looking house they had parked in front of. For a few moments, Alfred fiddled with the cross around his neck and then cleared his throat.
Does he really have to know Alfred asked his twin, concern and trepidation in his voice. It was unlike Alfred to be this nervous, bu
You Can't SwimEngland looked out at the lake and felt an anxious tug in the pit of his stomach. He was wearing swim trunks and was holding a book in his hands despite the fact his appearance suggested he was going to go swimming. But the truth was, he couldn’t swim.
Yes, England, the man who used to once be the terror of the seas couldn’t swim.
No one knew about this. Well, no one except for France. But despite he and England held much anger with each other he kept the secret a secret. And ever since his pirate days he’d kept a distance from bodies of water to keep people from discovering his secret. But here he was, at America’s lake and beach area along with several other countries for a barbecue. America had pressured him into going, and since he couldn’t say no without giving away his secret he’d had to say yes after his usual excuses failed.
He was sitting in a plastic chair leafing through the pages of a novel he had recently began when a shadow was cast ove
Big Brother"Angleterre, you're sick." Francis guided the British man to the sofa and sat him down. "You're pale, and you sound sick, and you look sick, and-"
"I'm not sick." Arthur shoved the concerned Frenchman away, growling. "I'm fine." He pushed himself up and got to his feet, instantly grasping onto the other's shoulder for support. He took a step, found himself to be steady, and took another, moving slowly until he was in the kitchen.
"What do you think you're doing?" Francis crossed his arms and stood in the entranceway, eyeing the Englishman sternly.
"Doing the dishes, of course." They'd just finished breakfast when Arthur had suddenly frozen, made some sort of noise, and grasped onto Francis' shoulder for support. He'd blamed it on having had too much alcohol the night before and carried on normally. Then he'd nearly fallen on his way back to the sink, Francis' arms saving him from a cracked skull. And now he was back in the kitchen, the workaholic.
"No, you're not." Francis strode over