Medicine = Magic [RoChu Fanfiction]

Chapter Two

After drinking all he could of his morning tea the Asian nation retraced his steps back to his room, running a hand along the wall as he walked, now appreciating his surroundings since he was fully awake. He was lucky to still have this house, since so much of his country was now changing.

Once in the darker room China sat down on his bed.

The blanket was still on the floor where he had rolled but he didn't care, he was only resting here for a moment or so, then he would get ready to leave for his flight. He wondered if there were other nations who had also procrastinated until the day off for a flight. There probably were, seeing as many of them always seemed to be so unorganized.

After this thought he nearly laughed for a moment before realizing that at the moment he was in the same situation. That stopped his mental teasing abruptly.

Maybe his situation was sad, maybe he was just as pathetic as the rest of them. Perhaps that was the problem, he was becoming too much like the westerners, that was another thing to work on.

According to his government he was also far too much like Russia used to than he would have wished but that wasn't his choice.

Ugg... Russia.

What a country, always going around radiating pure evil and other strange activities. But odd people usually had odd hobbies so it wasn't that surprising, albeit a little off-putting. It still felt wrong what the younger nation had done in his past, even if China himself hadn't always been much better.

His hands tightened on the edge of the mattress as he thought about it.

How bad of a state was his country in at the moment? He knew that they were still under a rather unconventional government and that many of his people often suffered. There were other things, like laws that didn't make sense to any of his fellow nations as well as too much censorship that may or may not have been partially his fault on a personal level.

Maybe that was a reason why Hong Kong seemed to complain so much about him.

China swallowed the emptiness in his throat as he turned towards the painted wall again just thinking about what else could have gone wrong with the people he had raised. Japan didn't like him, that was for certain, there had been so much war between the two countries that it was surprising that they still talked occasionally. Hong Kong obviously hated him, and South Korea might as well, he hadn't seen North Korea since he had been locked away in his country so he was a mystery. China was pretty sure that Taiwan didn't have any problems with him as a person...

There was so much that he had done wrong!

Maybe he had never been cut out to raise those nations. Maybe it had been better to let England raise Hong Kong, even if he had turned out regrettably like America.

Children were always a pain.

But then he couldn't say that, he had only ever lived with kids who weren't his own. Maybe if he was related to them it would be different, maybe they would get along better, maybe so many years of struggling through poverty and side jobs wouldn't go to waste on a child who didn't love him.

But at the same time he cursed that idea, if it wasn't just as bad then what had his loss been for? What did his suffering mean other than the gods way of "f*ck you"?

He knew that in English morning and mourning were awfully similar.

"What am I thinking aru?" He groaned to himself, spinning around on the bed and staring out the window. His hands caught on the sheets like the emotions in his throat.

That child would never be able to look at the same sky as him, the same sun and the same moon.

"Stop please..." but the pleading words were barely heard by his own ears as he stared at the sky outside his window. Even the nation who hated him most had looked at the moon with him, they had argued about it too but that was besides the point.

His emotions boiled over too quickly, just like they always had when he didn't understand things, and the nation soon felt tears welling up in his eyes. They stung his cheeks on their way down, not from physical pain but from shame. He had already cried over this so many times over the years that he was starting to suspect that the number had neared infinity.

It wouldn't have been so much of a problem other than the fact that it still felt like his own fault for accepting the battle, even when the rational part of him knew that there had been no choice. Occasionally the guilt would overwhelm him, the regret would become too much.

Recently the feeling had not been an easy one to shake.

He told himself over and over again to just forget it, that that was what he got for experimenting with things that probably weren't meant to be changed. Of course with thoughts like these there was always the sneaking suspicion that he probably wasn't making it any easier for himself. The accusations set by his own brain only hit his heart, and he knew that usually that never lead to anything good.

He wondered what the other nations would think if they knew.

They would probably hate him for it.

He put his face in his hands, closing his eyes as tightly as he could and trying to simply will the tears away. But he couldn't do it. His body shook as the sobs took him in full force, wrenching convulsive gasps and shudders from his lungs.

In his brain he apologized, asking forgiveness again from that child he had never been able to meet.

Tears ran down his face as he tried to wipe them away. Gasps for air that couldn't be described with words, not even with paintings.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered between hiccups, "I'm s-so... so..." but he didn't need to finish the sentence a second time because the regretful weeping soon filled the room again. It sounded almost dry, because he didn't really have many tears left to shed and his throat hurt from praying too much. Still, at the same time somehow, it was almost wet, as if the shame seeping into his soul was finally letting itself loose, even though it had done the same many other times that week.

It was all too familiar, and he was sure his neighbors were probably tired of the sound.

After all, in their minds, what was there for a nation to cry about? They had everything, eternal life, fame, glory, everything a human could wish for. Everything a human would mistake for what they wanted.

In truth, very few of the nations liked their state of being. Very few liked the concept of representing such a large area of land, and so many people who had their own lives to live out. It was almost too big of an expectation, but there were far worse things out there. That was probably one reason why so many people didn't take their lives seriously, it always seemed like death was losing everything.

But what if some of the nations wanted to lose everything? To forget about their mistakes? Their flaws and faults?

What if all they wanted was something that was long gone?

Something they had never even had.