HetaOni: They Have Each Other

"How...how long have we been waiting?" A voice, thick with a British accent, inquired. He was sitting on his bed in the safeoom, his sightless eyes locked on the nation in front of him.

"Dunno..." The other replied, his dirty blonde hair falling in his eyes. "England?" The nation found it hard to bring himself to lock gazes with the Brit, but did it anyway. "What...what's it like?"

With a sigh, the older man shook his head, his pale emerald eyes staring down at the floor. "By 'it' I assume you mean being blind? Well America..." England blinked slowly, as if it would change anything, and glanced back up in the direction of the American. "To be blunt...it's a damn nightmare."

America frowned and sat down on the bed next to him, purposely letting his hand brush England's. Without noticing it, the Brit continued. "To go even a moment without your vision is like hell. Especially in our fucking situation." He gave another sigh, ignoring the wetness of his tears flowing down his blood-stained cheeks.

"England..." America finally spoke, the unbearable thought of England - his England - crying, was too much. "I'm sorry..."

The Brit sniffled, refusing to let himself fall victim to the unpleasant sobs that racked his body. "Don't be daft, America. You aren't to be blamed for this...this wrongdoing."

Blasted fool. Can't you see that your perpetual apologising makes me feel worse?

America opened his mouth to protest, only to close it again. Words had failed him. The only thing he could do was sit there, and protect his England from the malevolent force that was pressing itself upon them.

Since words had seemed to escape the American, he settled with using actions instead. Slowly, for he didn't want to startle the Brit, he wrapped his arms around the smaller man in a tight embrace.

England hesitated. The action was all so sudden. So...unusual for the American. He wanted to push him away but instead he blinked his sightless eyes slowly, pressing his face into the American's broad shoulder.

After three, agonisingly slow minutes, the American finally found the courage to speak words that have played at him for so long. Years, to be exact. "England...I l-"

A loud crash cut him off, making him curse under his breath.

The Briton jumped to his feet, glancing around frantically. "The bloody hell was that?!"

America grabbed his hand, standing taller than he. "I'll go check it out." With a determined sigh, the American reached for his bomber jacket and slung it over his shoulder before snatching up his pair of pistols he kept under his bed.

"Like hell you are!" England shouted, narrowing his eyes. "What if it's that goddamn demon out there, America? It would kill you!"

The American said nothing, the cocking of a gun angering England even further. "Listen to me!" Unable to see where the hell he was going, the Brit stumbled past beds and tables before he reached the American, gripping him tightly. "I said listen, you daft imbecile!"

"Hey! Let go of me, Iggy!" America frowned, his weapons sitting comfortably in their hoisters that he had made during the western age. "C'mon, I'll be fine!"

England, however, wasn't going to take no for an answer. "Alfred F. Jones! I refuse to let you go out there again, and risk your neck for me!" The Brit barely took a breath between shouts, gripping the American's arms harshly.

Another crash. Something was at the door. But England ignored it, his rage never faltering.

"Yes, I know. I'm blind. But did you ever think that maybe, just maybe, I didn't want to be protected? Maybe I want that Thing to find me! Maybe I want to die! Did you ever think about that? Did you ever think about me and what I want?"

America had no idea what to say. Yes, he had witnessed most of the Brit's angry rants before, but only when England was drunk and wasn't in his right mind. It was so much different when he was sober..."England, I-"

"No!" England shouted once more. "Don't you dare say you're sorry! Don't you dare apologise!" The Brit's sightless emerald eyes began glistening with the formation of new tears. But he didn't care. What did it matter anyway? He was worthless. Powerless. Blind...

"Just...don't..." England's grasp on the American loosened, that loud crash earlier nothing but a mere memory. He fell to his knees, sobs racking the old nation's body.

America, as shaken as he was, knelt next to the Briton and hugged him tightly, his own tears flowing at this point. "Arthur, I...I'm so sorry." The door seemed ready to fly off its hinges at any moment. Which meant that the American had no time to waste.

Acting either out of fear or instinct, America tilted the older man's head up, meeting his gaze without hesitation. "Arthur Ignatious Kirkland..." The use of his human name made England tense slightly. "I love you."

With that, America pressed their lips together forcefully, holding the Brit gently in his arms. England fluttered his eyes shut, wrapping his arms around the young man tightly, only to be pushed away when the door was thrown across the room, shattering into pieces.

There, standing in what was thought to be the safest room in the mansion, was the Thing. Its soulless black eyes stared unblinkingly at the American. America narrowed his eyes and pointed his pistol at the damned creature.

"Alfred..." England's raspy voice came. He lay there on the floor where he had been kissed by the American, focusing straight ahead. "I love you, too."

As if a new surge of adrenaline rushed through him, the American lunged at the creature with all his might. The sound of pistol shots rang all throughout the room, followed by a bloodcurdling crunch.

The fight had ended as quickly as it started.

England still lay where he was, tensing when he hears slow, ragged breaths. At this point, he couldn't tell if it was Alfred...or the Thing. Swallowing his fear, the Brit dared to speak. "A-Amer-"

He was cut off by a pair of lips meeting his. By then England knew it was America. He pulled away, the salty tang of tears that met his lips still lingering. "Y-you're not badly injured, are you?"

America, with tears of relief and joy pouring down his cheeks, hugged the Brit in a tight embrace. "No. No, Arthur. I'm fine."

With that news, England let out a quiet, joyful giggle. "Alfred...I love you so much."

The American sighed and lifted the older man bridal style over to the bed, sitting down with him on his lap. They had escaped the icy grips of death once more. But there were still a good deal of monsters left in that mansion. But neither England nor America cared at that moment. They had each other, and they weren't going to let those cursed creatures destroy that.