It's raining, isn't it? I can hear it... I can feel it. I can't see it. People are screaming. Why? What happened?

The ground around me is getting warmer, or is my body getting colder? Either way, I can tell that something bad is happening. Hands lifted me off the ground, at least one supporting my head. A young voice, (male?) called out: "He's my older brother! Please, let me go with him!"

Am I the one going? Going where? Who's claiming to be my brother? The hands laid me down on a flat object. What?

Someone grabbed my hand. "Arthur? Can you hear me? It's Alfred. It's going to be all right."

Alfred? Why is he here? What the bloody hell's going on? What's happened? Why can't I open my eyes? I'm frigging scared, somebody, help!

"He's going into shock. We have to stop the bleeding." Oh God, am I bleeding?

I could feel Alfred's hand in mine, and that was the last thing I felt... maybe ever.

The phone was ringing. I rolled off my bed, and attempted to answer. Little did I know, in my exhausted state, I had grabbed my alarm clock. I tossed it to the side, and reached again for the phone. This time I succeeded, and answered it grumpily.

"I don't know if you know this, but where I am, it's four in the morning."

"Sorry to wake you, lil' bro, but something's happened." It was America... and he sounded scared.

"What?"

"England was hit by a car, and was sent flying." I could hear America crying.

My heart stopped for a moment. "Is he... all right? Oh my God, how do you know this?"

"I was with him. I dodged the car, but it hit him full force. I don't know how he is, the doctors won't let me see him. I've been sitting in the waiting room since we got here." America gave into the tears, and sobbed.

"How long since it happened?"

"About an hour, I think. Canada, I need you to do me a favour."

I was nodding as I answered. "Yeah, what?"

"Call France. Tell him what you know, and tell him to call me on my cell."

I agreed, and said, "I'll fly out there later. Stay there. Please."

America told me he would, and hung up. I called France, and told him everything Alfred had told me. I heard my older brother gasp in shock when I told him.

"I'll go see him. Get some rest, mon frère."

Dial tone. France hung up on me. I called the airline, and booked a last minute flight to London. I'd get the confirmation to bring with me to the plane. It was at noon. I plan on sleeping until I have to leave.

I curled up on my bed, and fell asleep, dreams of tires screeching and people screaming invading my head.

It's comfortable... and nice. Except for that damn beeping sound. Jeez, can someone turn that off? I still can't open my eyes, but I can hear again. I'm pretty sure I'm not dead. I can't be positive just yet. The beep may just be the elevator to Hell.

A soft sigh came from my other side. It sounded like someone was sleeping.

I fought my instinct to fall back to sleep, and struggled to open my eyes. The ceiling spun above me, and I tried to put a hand over my eyes. To my horror, the only thing I could move was my head. I started to cry, not caring if the sleeping person (I still didn't bother checking who it was), woke up and saw me.

Sadly, they did. It was America, panicking. "England? What's wrong? Do you need a doctor?"

I sniffed, and let tears run down my cheeks. "No... I don't need a doctor. I need to know what happened. America... please, what happened to me?"

He stared at me, like I was crazy. "What's the last thing you remember?"

"Well..." I strained myself to remember. It gave me a headache, but I said, "finding you in that pub, dancing with those two girls."

"That was ages ago! Jeez, for the love of all that is American, you've forgotten the week before it happened."

"What happened? That was the question. America... please. I need to know." I was begging him. I don't care what I've forgotten, only what happened.

"England... you were hit by a car. You nearly died. You've been unconscious for almost three weeks now." America's voice was hoarse, almost forced, as he told me the truth.

Now is one of those moments I wish I hadn't been hooked up to a heart monitor. It stopped beeping for a moment, before resuming. I had to convince America I was fine, and he didn't need to call a doctor. He didn't look happy, but he obliged. I tried to push myself onto my elbows, but ended up nearly blacking out from the pain. America didn't listen to my protests this time. He called a doctor.

I groaned in pain as America left the room, and the doctor walked in. America's departure didn't surprise me. He's always been nervous about doctors. What didn't help was the fact that the doctor that walked into my hospital room looked sort of like Russia. I turned an uncomfortable shade of red in the face when the doctor began to check my bandages, and I stared at him as he gave me a shot of pain meds, saying I'd be unconscious in half an hour.

After the doctor left, America came back in, arguing on his cell phone.

"No, this isn't a prank. I've grown up since then, retard."

I stared at him, confused. He mouthed the word "France" and I sighed. I was ready to fall asleep, and just wait for the meds to hit me then, but I was disturbed by America putting his phone to my ear. I could hear France, being rather loud, but Canada in the background, trying to calm him down.

"Non, Canada, je ne veux pas dormir. L'Angleterre—England, is that you?" France sounded exhausted.

"You bloody idiot, why haven't you slept?" I barked, regretting it, because my throat felt like it burst into flames.

"Mon cher, I've been worried about you. You shouldn't blame me for that." He cooed. Ugh, he'd better stop that.

"Well, I don't care how worried you were, your health comes before me. Alright?" I tried to hide my pain. I couldn't feel my hands or feet anymore. Pain meds are kicking in.

"Oui, L'Angleterre. Je veux visiter." France muttered into the phone.

"After you sleep." I said to him, assuming what he said with the little French I knew.

Stupid Frenchman shouldn't have gone without sleep. He does stupid, often illegal things when he's tired. I didn't feel like having to bail him out of jail. I hope Canada's kept him somewhere he can't do stupid shit easily.

"England?" Canada's soft voice came through the receiver.

"Yes?" I grinned a little. Someone with a little sense.

"How are you feeling?" He spoke quietly. I almost asked him to speak up.

"Fine... fine. I'm completely stoned on pain medication. Can't feel a thing." I tried to laugh, but sound more like a choke.

"England, please get well soon. We're worried about you." Canada sounded like he was on the verge of tears.

"Canada, do me a favour. Please don't cry." I had to beg him. I didn't want anyone to cry because of me.

"O-okay. Can France and I come see you tomorrow?"

"If I'm awake, then why not?" I was grinning. My cheeks began to hurt, and I realized had no idea what the extent of my injuries was.

The pain meds were messing with my head. I pushed the phone away before I said anything stupid. America lied, saying I was tired, and had to rest. I couldn't hear Canada, but I knew he was worried. I didn't want him to be. I would be fine... right?

I closed my eyes, and let sleep come over me.

To be continued. Hope you enjoyed it!

I don't own Hetalia. I only wish.