Third-person pov

(Thanks for the idea, ) Alfred opened his eyes, spotting the red splotched bandages on his arms. He also had bandages wrapped around his knuckles. His heart leaped into his throat. They knew. They all knew. He felt something warm run down his face.

He didn't bother checking. He knew it was tears he felt. He covered his face, weeping quietly. After about an hour, he had no more tears to cry. He had no more sadness in him, just a chasm in his chest. No dread, no anxiety. Nothing. It terrified him. He tried to show emotion, but his face remained frigid.

He bit his tongue, trying to invoke pain, but he didn't succeed. He couldn't even feel numb. There was just coldness. A suffocating coldness that seemed to pull the oxygen from his lungs. He tried to yell for help. Nothing came out. He stared at the door to the room, praying that someone would come in and help him.

As if by fate, the door opened, Canada peeking through. "Oh. You're awake." He said, coming in and closing the door. Alfred stared, unable to do anything else. It was as if he was only looking through his own eyes, his mind and soul becoming more and more detached from his body. He could only watch.

"Listen, I just want to say...I'm sorry. For not intervening when the others insulted you." He said sadly, "I was a coward" America tried to comfort him, but all that came out was a sigh. Canada finally met his eyes and was taken aback. What looked back at him...it wasn't his brother. It couldn't be.

His brother had radiant and starry eyes. The sky blue ones that glared at him were cold and unpassionate, barely even alive. "Alfie?" He reached out to hold his brother's hand, but as he felt it, he knew something was off. They were cold and clammy. He pulled his hand away, shaking as the reality set in. "Alfred? Are you okay?"

No response. Only a long sigh.

Matthew quickly exited, hurrying downstairs to tell the others. England entered along with France shortly after, not believing what they saw. The world's superpower, just sitting there, staring blankly at not quite anything. "America?" Britain asked, placing his hand on his shoulder.

No response.

France felt his heart drop into his shoes, England felt the same. He was like this because of them, and they knew it.

Next was Russia, who had gotten the most extreme reaction. When Ivan entered the room, he saw America's eyes shine with tears. "Fredka?" He asked, sitting down on the bed and putting his hand on the American's. It was frigid, but he was used to the cold. He examined Alfred's eyes, seeing tears begin to gather. "Amerika?... Please answer..." He begged, placing his hand on Alfred's cheek.

A single tear managed to escape his soulless eyes, trailing down his face so slowly it was like time ceased to exist. Ivan wiped the tear, feeling his own begin to blur his vision. "No..." He mumbled, pulling Alfred up for a hug. America's arms laid by his sides, and no matter how much the American wanted to squeeze the Russian back, they wouldn't even twitch.

He wanted to help Ivan. He wanted to be in his arms. He wanted to listen to him as he hummed calming songs and gave him hot cocoa. All he desired was to feel. To feel Ivan's heart beating as fast as his was now.

Then Allen came in, looking away as Ivan cried. After he calmed down, he left to give the 2p some privacy. He didn't go far though, just in case Alfred turned out to be okay.

"Porkchop?" Allen asked, taking a hesitant step towards him. Alfred just laid in bed, looking up at his counterpart. "Oh no..." He murmured, seeing the emptiness in Alfred's eyes. He had seen this before.

He left the room and went downstairs to the others seeing the room looking glum. Ivan followed down the stairs, sitting down in a chair. The image of those dead blue eyes haunted his memory, tainting the shining ones he remembered. Then a thought entered his head. Were any of those smiles real...? Some of them had to be but... His thoughts trailed off, and Allen cleared his throat.

"Guys, I've seen this before..." That immediately caught the attention of everyone. "Well, experienced this before..." He said that sentence quietly. "How did you get better?" Canada asked, scooting forward on his seat. Allen sadly shrugged, "I don't remember much from that time, only that my friends took care of me and I eventually just started talking again."

"So we just have to wait?" England asked, fiddling with his hands. Allen nodded, looking to the Russian. A shadow covered his eyes, but he could tell tears were building up.

Their best chance of getting the original Alfred back was to just watch him suffer? That didn't feel right to Ivan. "How long did it take you?" He asked, looking up at the 2p.

"About two months"

"TWO MONTHS?!" Everyone, minus Allen, exclaimed. The redhead plugged his ears, ringing setting in. "We can't wait that long! Isn't there a faster way?"

"Well unless you want to electrocute him, no. Plus the time varies from person to person, odds are he won't stay like this for that long."

"Or he could stay like that for longer" Prussia whispered. Canada hissed at him, "Not helping!"

//////

Day One

Alfred was still attempting to free himself of this horrible paralysis, but he hadn't made any progress. He could only blink and breathe. After hours of struggling to move, he gave up, feeling exhausted mentally and physically. He fell asleep with one thought on his mind.

Ivan...