France knocked again. Still no answer. He stood knocking for about two minutes straight. Nothing. That was worrying. His first thought was that England had went out, but somehow, his instinct doubted it, so he shoved the door open. Oh, what would have happened if he had not listened to his instinct?

He was met with the mess of a madman; Broken glass and blood was everywhere, there was even a word written in smeared blood on the wall. "HELP" it said, and was accompanied by bloody handprints. There were also some pools of spilled alcohol. The furniture was a wreck. But... Where was England?

Fear and dread began coiling in France's stomach as he looked around frantically, then a hoarse, barely audible cry pierced his ears. The study. The French nation was there in an instant, and was even further horrified by the state of his long-time friend. Sometimes enemy. 

There was England, propped up against the desk, head rolled back. He was thin to the bone, pale as snow, and still in the outfit from that last world meeting in Japan, but it was now torn and bloody. His usually sandy-blonde hair was nearly ginger from how thickly matted with blood it was. There were glass shards in some open cuts, such as at his neck, and numerous other wounds covered him. And this was only what was visible. The dark circles under his scarily dull eyes were deep enough and dark enough to seem like permanent black spots on his skin.

As France drank all of this in, his mind in a flurry, he picked him up, hating that he felt practically no weight. England's dead, bloodshot eyes met his wide, worried indigo ones, and his previously terrified expression relaxed before his eyelids shut and his body went entirely limp. This was so much worse than directly after the American Revolution.

France never felt this grateful to be aware of the nearest hospital's location. Normally, it was a ten minute walk, but he ran and got there in six, shocking any people on the streets. The nurses in the hospital lobby were horrified, immediately taking the frail man to the emergency section.

Not able to do anything else, France sat just outside, as he wasn't allowed in, sighing heavily, his head in his hands, his heart hammering, silently praying for the Brit not to fall into a coma. He jumped as he heard screaming. England's screaming. The sound struck him with guilt as the realization that this was partially his fault struck him; After all, he had helped America tremendously.

So had he, in a way, caused this?