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Description
After a few moments of quiet deliberation, you decided to leave him. You barely knew him - you'd only met him once! He wasn't your responsibility. Turning on your heel, you walked back home without a second thought. You changed into your pajamas quickly and headed into the kitchen, making yourself a cup of tea before taking it to bed with you, turning out the lights as you went. You climbed into bed and swept your h/l h/c hair out of your face before settling down. You were asleep before your head hit the pillow.

*Le timeskip - I mean obviously, you want me to detail you sleeping? Weirdo.*

When you woke it felt as though you hadn't been to sleep, though the bright light filtering through the blinds told you it must be morning. Looking at the clock you groaned. Half past five. for a moment you wondered why you had woken so early. Then your ears slowly began to tune in on a muffled tinny ringing. Your mobile! Rolling out of bed, you slounched towards your bag, thrown carelessly onto the floor and snatched it up. You checked the caller ID. America. Cursing under your breath, you pressed the button with more force than required and half shouted down the phone. "What the hell is your problem? I know time is different in America, but seriously..!" Then you stopped. America was making a strange noise. One you hadn't ever heard him make before. He was crying. "Look, I shout at you all the time, there's no need to cry..." tailing off, you realized, stupidly late, that you were not the reason he was crying. "It's my friend... he was in an accident yesterday..." "Oh! I'm so sorry! Is he okay!?" "I think you might have met him...Britain? He was... hit by a car" Your stomach turned somersaults. Could you have prevented this? If you had followed him, even called somebody else... "____? You still there?" Snapping out of your guilt you remembered America. "Yes, of course... D-do you want me to come down?" "Uh, if you really want to, I'm at the world hospital. I guess I'll see you in a few then... bye..." America hung up before you could respond. You let the phone fall from your hand onto the floor, but you barely noticed it skittering away. The floor came crashing away, sending you falling onto your bed, your face in your hands. After a few minutes you pulled them away, shuddering, gazing intently at the glittering beads of moisture falling neatly from your fingertips. He could die! All because you couldn't be bothered to check he was safe. You dressed quickly, not giving yourself any time to think. You didn't bother with make-up, and let your hair fall wildly. Leaping into the car, you blasted music loud enough to disallow any other thoughts to work their way in. You were thinking so hard about not thinking that you missed your turning. Sighing, you went round again before finding a parking spot relatively easily. It didn't take you long to find America. He stood out, his ahoge standing proud on top of his head. His eyes looked dull and his glasses were in his front pocket. He was leaning against the wall, texting unanimatedly, but looked fractionally happier when he saw you. He pushed the door to the ward open and showed you in, kicking it gently closed behind him. You saw him straight away, tucked away in the corner, his honey blond hair tinted pink from blood washed out not too long before. His left arm was heavily bandaged, and the moniter beeped unnaturally slowly. You sat in silence next to him, ever so often being pulled into a hug by the distraught American. Suddenly, Britain's breathing quickened, and his hands quivered as the moniter got faster and faster until it was barely a beep at all. Nurses and doctors flooded the room, beating them back as they shielded him from view They were talking so loudly neither of you could hear the moniter anymore. The next few minutes were of fear and confusion as various people darted back and forth out of the room. America kept trying to get closer, so you were eventually both ousted from the room, and told to wait in the chairs outside. You sat quietly with your hands pursed in your lap, staring at the floor, but he wouldn't still, tapping his fingers against the plastic of the chair and craning his neck, attempting to look through the tiny window into the ward. Finally, you could take it no more, you smacked him in the stomach, hissing "You really aren't making this experience any more enjoyable. Now if you don't pipe the hell down, I'll pull that thing off" Your eyes slid up the tuft of hair protruding from the top of his head. He attempted to flatten it down and gulped, not taking it as an empty threat. You both sat for an unmeasurable amount of time. It could have been minutes, or it could have been hours. The doors opened in front of you and a nurse in pale pink scrubs stepped out slowly and took the seat next to America. She sat for a moment before breathing deeply and slowly taking his hands. His gaze went from his hand in hers slowly up to her face, and the film across his eyes told you he already knew. "I'm sorry Mr. Jones... but Mr. Kirkland has just passed away. He's gone." America stared blankly at her for a few seconds, as if he didn't understand. your breath caught in your chest. You laid a hand on his shoulder, and tried to turn him to face you, but he shook you off, standing up. Looking wildly around, he looked into your eyes for an instant before kicking a chair out of his way and running flat footeed out of the hospital, tears flying behind him like jewels. You shakily thanked the nurse and staggered out, not crying, but feeling worse than you ever had before. Crushed under unmeasurable guilt. After wandering the grid of streets for a few minutes, you saw him. Loitering in a bus station, glaring at various people walking past. As you got closer you detected the thick smell of smoke. You coughed as it hit your nostrils. America was holding a cigarette, occasionally flicking it into the road. When he noticed you coming, he threw it on the floor, narrowly missing the foot of a passing businesswoman. He stamped on it with unnecessary force and kicked the ashes, sending tiny golden embers scattering in the wind. "Since when do you smoke?" You asked quietly, sidling up to him. "I don't.' his voice lacked it's normal bounce and general brashness. You couldn't take this anymore. You had to tell him you'd seen him. Just as you opened your mouth, a thought occured to you. What if he didn't want to be your friend anymore? What if he hated your guts? What if he never spoke to you again?? But you couldn't deal with this guilt! A drink seemed good right about now...

So what should you do? Tell America or go drinking? Links below whenn they're finished.

Description
After a few moments of quiet deliberation, you decided to leave him. You barely knew him - you'd only met him once! He wasn't your responsibility. Turning on your heel, you walked back home without a second thought. You changed into your pajamas quickly and headed into the kitchen, making yourself a cup of tea before taking it to bed with you, turning out the lights as you went. You climbed into bed and swept your h/l h/c hair out of your face before settling down. You were asleep before your head hit the pillow.

*Le timeskip - I mean obviously, you want me to detail you sleeping? Weirdo.*

When you woke it felt as though you hadn't been to sleep, though the bright light filtering through the blinds told you it must be morning. Looking at the clock you groaned. Half past five. for a moment you wondered why you had woken so early. Then your ears slowly began to tune in on a muffled tinny ringing. Your mobile! Rolling out of bed, you slounched towards your bag, thrown carelessly onto the floor and snatched it up. You checked the caller ID. America. Cursing under your breath, you pressed the button with more force than required and half shouted down the phone. "What the hell is your problem? I know time is different in America, but seriously..!" Then you stopped. America was making a strange noise. One you hadn't ever heard him make before. He was crying. "Look, I shout at you all the time, there's no need to cry..." tailing off, you realized, stupidly late, that you were not the reason he was crying. "It's my friend... he was in an accident yesterday..." "Oh! I'm so sorry! Is he okay!?" "I think you might have met him...Britain? He was... hit by a car" Your stomach turned somersaults. Could you have prevented this? If you had followed him, even called somebody else... "____? You still there?" Snapping out of your guilt you remembered America. "Yes, of course... D-do you want me to come down?" "Uh, if you really want to, I'm at the world hospital. I guess I'll see you in a few then... bye..." America hung up before you could respond. You let the phone fall from your hand onto the floor, but you barely noticed it skittering away. The floor came crashing away, sending you falling onto your bed, your face in your hands. After a few minutes you pulled them away, shuddering, gazing intently at the glittering beads of moisture falling neatly from your fingertips. He could die! All because you couldn't be bothered to check he was safe. You dressed quickly, not giving yourself any time to think. You didn't bother with make-up, and let your hair fall wildly. Leaping into the car, you blasted music loud enough to disallow any other thoughts to work their way in. You were thinking so hard about not thinking that you missed your turning. Sighing, you went round again before finding a parking spot relatively easily. It didn't take you long to find America. He stood out, his ahoge standing proud on top of his head. His eyes looked dull and his glasses were in his front pocket. He was leaning against the wall, texting unanimatedly, but looked fractionally happier when he saw you. He pushed the door to the ward open and showed you in, kicking it gently closed behind him. You saw him straight away, tucked away in the corner, his honey blond hair tinted pink from blood washed out not too long before. His left arm was heavily bandaged, and the moniter beeped unnaturally slowly. You sat in silence next to him, ever so often being pulled into a hug by the distraught American. Suddenly, Britain's breathing quickened, and his hands quivered as the moniter got faster and faster until it was barely a beep at all. Nurses and doctors flooded the room, beating them back as they shielded him from view They were talking so loudly neither of you could hear the moniter anymore. The next few minutes were of fear and confusion as various people darted back and forth out of the room. America kept trying to get closer, so you were eventually both ousted from the room, and told to wait in the chairs outside. You sat quietly with your hands pursed in your lap, staring at the floor, but he wouldn't still, tapping his fingers against the plastic of the chair and craning his neck, attempting to look through the tiny window into the ward. Finally, you could take it no more, you smacked him in the stomach, hissing "You really aren't making this experience any more enjoyable. Now if you don't pipe the hell down, I'll pull that thing off" Your eyes slid up the tuft of hair protruding from the top of his head. He attempted to flatten it down and gulped, not taking it as an empty threat. You both sat for an unmeasurable amount of time. It could have been minutes, or it could have been hours. The doors opened in front of you and a nurse in pale pink scrubs stepped out slowly and took the seat next to America. She sat for a moment before breathing deeply and slowly taking his hands. His gaze went from his hand in hers slowly up to her face, and the film across his eyes told you he already knew. "I'm sorry Mr. Jones... but Mr. Kirkland has just passed away. He's gone." America stared blankly at her for a few seconds, as if he didn't understand. your breath caught in your chest. You laid a hand on his shoulder, and tried to turn him to face you, but he shook you off, standing up. Looking wildly around, he looked into your eyes for an instant before kicking a chair out of his way and running flat footeed out of the hospital, tears flying behind him like jewels. You shakily thanked the nurse and staggered out, not crying, but feeling worse than you ever had before. Crushed under unmeasurable guilt. After wandering the grid of streets for a few minutes, you saw him. Loitering in a bus station, glaring at various people walking past. As you got closer you detected the thick smell of smoke. You coughed as it hit your nostrils. America was holding a cigarette, occasionally flicking it into the road. When he noticed you coming, he threw it on the floor, narrowly missing the foot of a passing businesswoman. He stamped on it with unnecessary force and kicked the ashes, sending tiny golden embers scattering in the wind. "Since when do you smoke?" You asked quietly, sidling up to him. "I don't.' his voice lacked it's normal bounce and general brashness. You couldn't take this anymore. You had to tell him you'd seen him. Just as you opened your mouth, a thought occured to you. What if he didn't want to be your friend anymore? What if he hated your guts? What if he never spoke to you again?? But you couldn't deal with this guilt! A drink seemed good right about now...

So what should you do? Tell America or go drinking? Links below whenn they're finished.