SUPER IMPORTANT MESSAGE AT THE END OF THIS CHAPTER! IF YOU ARE A FOLLOWER OF ANY OF MY STORIES, PLEASE READ IT!

Yay! More of this story. So this week has been one of the most stressful weeks of my entire life and I've now gone and gotten myself sick. Yipee. XD So if I don't post anything next week, I'm real sorry. I'll do my best to catch up during Thanksgiving break!

For those of you who have been missing out on whatever the countries are up to, this chapter is for you! This chapter basically goes through everything that's happened at the World conference from when France left the conference room to before he gets the phone call from Louisiana. Also, this entire chapter will take place from his point of view, since France supported us through this whole ordeal big time and I think he and his people deserves that recognition. :) Yeah, I'm looking at you, (if you are French, insert your name here)!

And with that out of the way, let us begin.

For the first time in his life, he couldn't care less about the creases and wrinkles that were adorning his normally beautiful face.

France paced nervously outside the open door as he listened quietly to Canada's incoherent babbling and England's panicked voice doing everything in his power to soothe the mostly silent nation in the bed in front of him. Despite his unconscious state, America's face was contorted in pain. England gently set a wet washcloth on his feverish forehead, subconsciously winching at every ragged breathe. He was still paranoid, traumatized even, from the events that had occurred after the third hit just minutes ago.

France couldn't blame him. It had scared him, too. So much so that he gave up on trying to comfort Canada when he himself was still shaking and it only made Canada panic. So he had resorted to pacing. Pacing and not looking up because he couldn't look at them.

And it wasn't even the worst condition that he'd ever seen a nation in. After the London Blitz, England had looked like death and even France felt sorry as he watched him regain his ability to walk and breathe. France himself hadn't been in the best condition after his country was taken over by the Nazi party. Oh, and don't even get him started on Japan's injuries after Hiroshima and Nagasaki... And that was just a couple of examples from WWII alone...

Yes, horrible things, even worse things, had happened to a lot of them, and yet, for more of them than he expected, everything had stopped. It was as if the world had ceased spinning, and as France saw it, there were two major reasons for this. One, it was peace time. There were no major wars going on, and most of the awful things that had happened to all of them were during wars, so it was expected. This had come out of absolute nowhere. They hadn't expected it at all. It had been a normal day for all of them, and then straight out of left field, the most powerful nation in the world was under attack.

And that was the second reason. This was America. America had never been directly attacked outside of war. America was the only superpower nation of the time. America was strong, optimistic, and an unstoppable force.

America was dying.

The thought made France blanch. He'd been pushing that thought away every time it appeared in his mind, but it kept coming back. At first, he ignored it completely. What was there to fear? Nations couldn't die. Unless their country and people disappeared, they were immortal. He shouldn't be worrying about that.

But what if that country had territories to take his place? At first, France hadn't even understood his own thought, but the more it lingered, the more he wanted time to stop and let him breathe. What happened when a nation was made up of territories? What is they were made up of provinces? What if they were made up of states that, altogether, create a second version of him? Could the country itself, as a mere sum of all the personifications of his land put together, die?

France had never pondered this idea more than when he found Canada and America after racing out of the conference room. The time had been 1:56pm.

Outside of war, France had never seen a nation bleed so much. He had leaned heavily against the door frame of America's hotel room, staring wide-eyed as Canada held his unconscious brother to his chest and looked up at him in fear.

"He... They..." Canada sobbed. "W-What do we do?"

France leaped into action, biting his lip as he reluctantly tore off his precious cloak and tried to stop the bleeding and clean the blood off of America's face and torso. There was a deep gash on the right side of his chest, and France knew that it had punctured a lung. France moved himself directly in front of the twins and placed his hand in America's hair. His breathing was ragged and he sounded as if he'd be choking on his own blood any moment.

"Mon frère, we have to move him." France breathed, moving to gently lift him bridal style and at least get him to the bed in the room. He'd have to remember to tip housekeeping after this. This would not be fun to clean up afterward. America gasped in pain, causing France to falter and muttered a small apology.

He had then heard someone's breath hitch behind him as he moved to stand. A glance behind him revealed England, gasping for breath after bolting straight from the conference room in a state of panic. He looked pale, slowly processing what he was looking at as France slowly lifted America off of the ground.

"Angleterre-"

England was already next to him as he set the injured nation down on the bed, England's hands shaking as he looked over his former charge with concern. England carefully took his glasses, setting them on a nearby desk to keep them out of the way, and was immediately startled into action by violent coughing. Canada jumped up from where he was, running to the other side of the bed and taking his brother's hand.

"America?" Canada's voice wavered. "America, can you hear me?"

America inhale hard after hacking up blood and looked over at Canada in slight confusion. "Yeah..." he answered. His voice was painfully raspy. "Wha... What-"

He gasped in pain and clutched his wound, clenching his teeth to try to not cry out. "What...happened?"

Tears threatened to fall from Canada's eyes, but he held it together. At least for now. "Planes. There were planes..., and they... They crashed... I'm sorry, America. Your... The North Tower..."

America's eyes widened in realization, then became clouded with shock and sadness. Yes, he could feel it now. His tower... His people... France and England glanced at each other warily. At this point, they'd been given a chance to really think about all of this, and they had come to the conclusion that if it had been an accident, there was no way that he would be hurt this badly. England couldn't accept that thought, choosing to ignore the idea and instead stay with America for the time being. France, however, knew that if they were right, this might not be the end of it.

France didn't want to be right.

Not long after the clock struck two, America screamed, a new gaping wound appearing and tearing into his other lung. Canada, out of shock, flew back in surprise before immediately leaping forward to try and comfort him, though he himself looked as if he needed it just as badly, given that the tears had finally spilled over. England had nearly hit the ceiling, dashing off and furiously digging through every bathroom and closet and sending after any personnel available to him in search of needed first aid. France could hear the other countries from where they were, screaming and shouting over whatever was happening in New York at that moment. Japan found them eventually, his face deathly pale.

"They hit the second tower." he gasped, his eyes darting between France and America. If France had been more observant, he might have noticed how Japan's eyes lingered on America's prone form before he turned away, or how they burned with rage as he stormed back towards the conference room, while his fists were balled up so tightly that his palms bled and his steps were loud and made the floor creak and groan under him.

The next twenty minutes had been a blur. Canada never left his brother's side, conversing with him when he was awake and holding his hand tightly and speaking words of encouragement when he went back under. England took care of most of the bandaging, France stepping in and assisting him when needed.

For the first time since either of them could remember, they never fought. Not once.

It was 2:25pm when France had wandered back into the conference room, all eyes glued to the screens on the far right wall. No one noticed him enter, but he really didn't mind at the moment. The shouting had stopped, now a collective whisper amongst the concerned nations. France had taken the chance to catch a glimpse of some of the reactions of his fellow nations. Some didn't surprise him in the least. Back with America, England and Canada were barely holding it together, and he himself was still in shock. He noticed Ukraine and Lithuania huddled in a corner to his left, the former stroking the latter's hair to comfort him, as well as herself, it seemed. France could not see Lithuania's face, but he could see his body shaking and hear the sharp intakes of breath. Estonia and Latvia stood nearby, watching with dismay.

France was startled out of his thoughts by Greece approaching him, asking about America's condition. Greece seemed genuinely concerned and asked if France would be willing to give him his regards for him, though he hoped to see him personally once he was back on his feet. The fact that Greece wanted to do something spoke volumes, and France couldn't help but smile. Finland and Sweden were both completely silent, as was Norway, looking down with solemn expressions on their faces. On closer inspection, France could see the worry and disbelief as well. Austria and Hungary were both in similar states. It wasn't long before France was approached by South Korea and Poland, both for the same purpose as Greece, and France started to notice something.

Not one nation was left without emotion. None of them in that room were happy. It was because of this that France started to notice reactions that left him somewhat unnerved.

Germany looked like he wanted to punch something. Again, France thought, noticing nearby holes in the wall. He was seething. France honestly didn't remember the last time he had seen Germany that angry. Italy wasn't affected by that, however, as he clutched the German's arm and cried into his shoulder. That was somewhat expected. Italy and America were on decent terms and Italy was sensitive, so of course he would cry.

What France hadn't expected was for Romano to react the same way, and openly into the shoulder of Spain of all people.

Prussia was near Germany, standing straight and alert as he watched the scene unfolding before them with an expression that France couldn't quite decipher. There was no doubt in his mind, however, that it was something similar to Germany's. Meanwhile, China was pacing, babbling frantically to himself in Mandarin and violently kicking things out of his way every once in a while. China was not pleased. He was disgusted. For someone to do something like this to such a young country, even that country.

He's not even three hundred...

It had warmed France's heart, seeing everyone showing so much concern for America's well being. Yet, at the same time, it scared him. It made him realize just how bad this was, and how bad it could get, but France buried those thoughts in the back of his mind. Or at least he tried, until he was faced with three certain people and their responses and France just wanted to get out and be with his family.

The first was Cuba. France knew that Cuba hated America with a passion. He didn't know the whole history behind it, but he knew that the Cold War was in there somewhere(which he'd rather not think about). Considering how much Cuba detested the American, France had thought that perhaps Cuba would at least be satisfied seeing someone he hated get attacked so viciously. What France found adorning Cuba's face was a grimace. He looked displeased and impatient, strumming his fingers against the table and tapping his foot violently against the floor.

France jumped when Cuba slammed his hands on the table, stood up, and marched right over to him, staring at him with intense determination.

"What can I do?"

"Huh?"

"What can I do? How can I help him?"

France was stunned into silence, gawking at Cuba in shock. He'd been taken completely by surprise.

Cuba became impatient. "Stop staring and tell me what I can do! That idiot needs all the help he can get! Do you need medical supplies? I can get that for you, at least!"

France shook himself out of his trance. "O-Oui. That would be-"

Cuba was already gone, off to his room searching for his extra supplies and his phone to contact his government for further aid. That had thrown France completely for a loop.

The second time he felt his stomach drop was when he noticed Japan. The island nation stood motionless in front of the television. At first, he looked completely blank and remained still, as if he were a statue. Not living, nor breathing. It was at this point that France finally noticed the subtle changes in Japan's stance. Normally, Japan stood straight, like he did now, but he looked taller. Bigger. One hand was still balled into a fist, while the other was itching his katana longingly, craving the blood of his enemies. Japan had never bothered to wash his own blood off of his hands.

For a single moment, he turned to face France, and the look in Japan's eyes unnerved him. It was almost as if they were on fire, a blazing inferno, burning with rage, because how dare they hurt his friend, as well as Japan's own people, everyone elses' own people, in such a heinous and barbaric way. France gulped and broke eye contact, but he could still feel Japan's eyes burning right through him. It felt like a breath of fresh air when he finally turned away. At least France knew that they could count on him. He also knew that no one else's reaction could possibly scar him for life quite like that one did.

And then he saw Russia.

He sat alone at the end of the table, directly ahead of where France stood, watching the news with the blankest expression he'd ever seen. He didn't make a move, nor a sound. He just...watched. Belarus approached him with concern. If France didn't know any better, he'd say that her face looked as if she'd been suppressing a sob. Whether it was for Russia or America, he wasn't quite sure. She put her hand on his shoulder, leaning over to whisper something to him, probably asking if he was okay. When Russia turned to her, France got a better look at his face.

His eyes were dead.

Belarus's expression didn't change, but France could see her shoulders tighten. "Big brother?"

Russia stared at her for a moment before he turned back to the burning towers. So many innocents... Once upon a time, Russia wouldn't have cared. For all he knew, he might have liked to be involved in something like this in the past. But, now... Now... Russia looked down, never making eye contact with Belarus, and his voice was so quiet that France almost didn't hear him.

"My people, they... My people are crying...for him..."

Russia then hunched over and hid his face in his hands.

If France had been able to stomach any more before turning away, he might have noticed Russia's fingers slowly starting to dig into his face before balling into fists. He would have seen him stand so quickly that Belarus stumbled back. He might have not been startled by the bulking Russian slamming the conference doors shut behind them and swiftly striding past him with a cell phone in hand.

"Privet, President Putin. It is Russia. We need to talk. Now."

France didn't bother chasing after Russia and instead began to make his way back to where America was. Perhaps he was already recovering. Knowing the young nation, he could bounce back from just about anything. It was this wishful thinking that made France smile with a little bit of hope.

And then the room behind him burst into chaos. France and Russia both whirled around at the same time, France in a state of panic. He was not hit again. Seeing his distress, Russia raced forward, muttering something into his phone before throwing the doors back open. The nations were in shock, many of them displaying anger more than anything. Russia glanced back at the televisions, his eyes widening at the sight. He turned back to France, who was looking back where he had been heading. They could both hear Canada and England losing their minds, and France was itching to get to them.

"The Pentagon." Russia informed him gravely. "That is part of his heart. That will hurt him. GO."

France didn't have to be told twice. He nearly tripped as he ran towards America's room as fast as he could possibly go. He couldn't help but chastise himself for not realizing that such a major scale attack would involve a hit to the capital at some point. He'd just been in such a state of panic...

He's so young...

Yet so powerful...

This isn't suppose to happen to him...

Canada appeared down the hallway, skittering through the doorway and folding into himself against the other wall, shaking. France could still hear England shouting in the other room.

"America!" he screamed. "America, snap out of it!"

France appeared next to Canada, holding onto his shoulders and looking into his unfocused, tear-stricken eyes.

"I-I... I. Nonononono..."

"Canada. Mon frère, look at me. What is happening to him?"

"I- He- They- I don't-" Canada stuttered. France didn't know how long he'd had Kumajirou with him, but he felt bad for the little bear currently being suffocated by his owner's grip.

"Canada-"

"His heart. His heart, his heart!" Canada cried.

"Canada, what-"

"I-I-It... It... It...stopped."

France's blood ran cold. "WHAT!?"

"He j-j-jerked...and the- and then a st-t-traggled s-sound...and then...nothing."

France jumped at the sound of palm meeting face in the other room and embraced his sobbing little brother in the tightest bear hug he could muster as England switched between giving America CPR and striking him as hard as he could.

Heave, press, breathe. "America, answer me!" he screamed. SLAP! "You're stronger than this!" Heave, press, breathe. SLAP! "Pull yourself together!" SLAP! SLAP! "Come on, lad!"

For the entire duration of that morning, despite already losing his composure entirely, England had managed not to cry. He felt obligated to stay strong for his former charge and showing weakness wasn't going to help anything. France couldn't help but admit to himself that England's strength in such times as this baffled him.

He couldn't see his face, but France could easily tell by the shaking of his shoulders and panic in his voice that it was getting really hard to hold it together right about now. He didn't even seem to care that his voice cracked. "COME ON, LAD!"

There was a cough, and then two, followed by a wheeze, and England collapsed so fast and so suddenly that any nearby chair was completely forgotten, the distraught island nation sprawling onto the floor with a loud thud. France hesitated to leave Canada's side, the quiet nation shaking and burying his face into his shoulder, but curiosity won him over. He gently pushed Kumajirou back into Canada's arms and let him snuggle the poor bear to death for comfort as France cautiously approached his long time rival. He never bothered to get back up, still flat on his back with his eyes hidden under his forearm as he took sharp intakes of breath. Glancing to the bed at his left, France was more than relieved that America was okay. The fact that he was now breathing on his own again was a sign that his heart had started back up. He couldn't imagine how relieved England must feel.

"Eighteen and a half seconds..."

France looked down with a flash of surprise followed by sympathy as England let out a sob and clenched his teeth so hard that he bled. "My little brother...was dead for eighteen and a half seconds..."

And for the first time that day, England cried.

Something tells me that I might have gone overboard here, but never in my life have I known where that edge lies, so... Oh well.

Anyways, see you guys in the next chapter! :D

EDIT: Hey guys, so this past couple of weeks have been super stressful for me, and now finals are coming up. Because of this, I've gotten very distracted. Another thing is that I've been very clearly reminded that I'm bad at taking criticism, even when justified and even when there's good advice mixed in. Perhaps I'm just not used to receiving it. Finally, I've lost my inspiration and have fallen into the dreaded writer's block. This is starting to become a chore and I do NOT want that. I want this to be fun for both the reader AND the writer. I would also like to apologize to all those out there were didn't get what they were looking for in a fanfic out of my story. I understand that I have disappointed you and I hope that you find something much more worth your time. :) If you have some friendly advice on how to improvement, please let me know and I'll gladly use it as food for thought. Anyway, consider this an official break. I know I'm doing exactly what I DIDN'T want to do as stated in the very first chapter, but I feel this is necessary. I DO intend to finish this story and my other one. That will not change. It just may take a little longer than anticipated. Thank you some much for your understanding and happy holidays! I will see you guys as soon as I'm good and ready.

~AnonymousTwit