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The Crumbling Precipice (AO3 | My Wattpad Part | Angel's Wattpad Part)

This is part two of a collab with @aloha-from-angel. We accidentally started writing two halves of a whole story, so we made it into a proper collab. Go check out her oneshot book for part one of the Collab, linked above, and her blog. She's a super awesome writer and person!

British Western Pacific Territories woke slowly. His body ached, and sharp pains laced his chest. Everything hurt. There was a dull, throbbing pain in his chest, and his mouth hurt. So did breathing, as each breath caused a tightness in his chest, a small, strange whistle sounding every time he exhaled.

Was this Hell? Has he really been doomed to eternal suffering like his Grandfather said he would? It couldn’t be Heaven; everything hurt too much for it to be Heaven. His chest felt like it was on fire, every breath sending a stabbing pain through his chest.

His right hand was in agony, sharp spikes of pain traveling up his arm and bringing tears to his eyes. His face ached, especially his nose and mouth, a dull, throbbing pain that made it hard to think.

Everything hurt.

As his awareness began to grow past the throbbing pain that covered his body, he began to hear faint voices coming from above him, and Pacific cracked his eyes open, hissing at the pain of the lights and shutting his eyes again.

“Pacific?” he heard Uncle Scotland’s familiar voice say, the thick accent laced with concern.

A small part of him was disappointed to still be alive. The rest of him was glad that the rest of his real family didn’t have to see him die.

Pacific opened his eyes again, seeing his uncle's worried face and Solomon Islands above him. He tried to smile, but it quickly faded due to the pain it caused—a stabbing feeling in his nose and upper jaw. Uncle Scotland turned to Solomon Islands.

“Solomon, go get his mother,” he said. Solomon Islands nodded and ran off. Uncle Scotland then placed a hand on his forehead. “Do you know where you are?”

Uncle Scotland's voice was gentle and quiet, soothing. Pacific was tired. He shut his eyes and began drifting off, feeling the pain fade as he drifted into the black nothingness, but his focus returned as Uncle Scotland gently tapped his forehead.

“Can you answer me, Pacific?” he asked. Pacific slowly opened his eyes, staring up at his uncle through blurry vision, and tried to nod, but his head barely moved. It hurt too badly to move it any further.

“H’spi’al,” he said. His voice sounded weird, the strange whistle in his breath very obvious in his voice. What was that? Uncle Scotland nodded, his face relieved.

“Good,” he said, his voice emotional, “I don’t think ye have a concussion.”

“Ev’ryt’ing hur’s,” Pacific said, blinking sluggishly. Uncle Scotland’s relieved expression faded to concern as he brushed a gentle thumb over Pacific’s forehead.

“I know,” he said, voice soft, “I send A' Chuimrigh to get some morphine from a hospital. I think he’s having trouble convincing them to give us some, but we burned through all our supply yesterday, and that wasn’t very big to begin with.”

“Yes’erday?” Pacific asked, worried. How long had he been unconscious for? Did Britain really listen and decide not to finish him off? Uncle Scotland nodded.

“You’ve been unconscious for three days, lad. Your mother’s been inconsolable since I pulled Britain off you. She’s been sitting by your bed the entire time, but she had to get some rest. Tonga got Fiji to got to sleep a few hours ago,” Uncle Scotland said.

Pacific opened his mouth a little to ask another question until the door slammed open, and his mother ran in, rushing over to his bedside and grabbing his left hand, the hand that didn’t feel broken and twisted and wrong.

“O, my baby, my baby, thank goodness you’re alive,” Mother said, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. Pacific felt so much like a little boy again that he couldn’t help but cry, the achy pain becoming more real and solid.

“Mommy? It hur’s,” Pacific said, tears coming to his eyes, which only served to make his face and mouth hurt more. “It hur’s!”

“I know, I know, I’m so sorry,” Mother said, squeezing his good hand gently. “Britain’s not allowed to touch you anymore, okay? Uncle Scotland’s banned him from the room and got a few hits in for you.”

“M’surry,” Pacific said. Uncle Scotland was going to get in trouble for him. No one could tell Britain what to do and not escape unscathed.

“Oh, my baby, you have nothing to apologize for. It’s not your fault. The other person to blame is Britain. Don’t beat yourself up over everything. Just focus on resting and healing,” Mother said before turning to Scotland.

“Are you sure we shouldn’t get him to a real doctor?” she asked Uncle Scotland as Pacific shut his eyes again, slowly drifting off again.

“We’re lucky enough that Britain’s decided to listen to me, but I don’t want to risk Pacific’s life by taking him to a hospital. Britain made it clear enough that we save his life here, or not at all, you know that, Fìdi. ‘Sides, you heard him. He’s in enough pain without us moving him,” Uncle Scotland said, his voice firm but not unkind.

Someone began running their hand through Pacific’s hair, and he leaned into the touch, finding it soothing.

“Someone’s gonna find out. Britain can’t hide it forever,” Mother said. Uncle Scotland let out a bitter laugh.

“Orcadians just told me about the latest news back in Britain. That a colony of Britain’s was beaten by the Japanese when he was under occupation and lost a tooth.” Uncle Scotland started. Lost a tooth? Pacific slowly lifted his tongue towards the roof of his mouth before pressing it against his teeth, realizing that his front tooth was indeed missing.

Pacific wanted to cry, but he just felt too tired, too lethargic. Of course, Britain deformed him again. It wasn’t enough to have that man’s flag plastered on his face, but he had to knock out a tooth, too.

Pacific hated her, but Japan was right. It was better to cover up his face and hide what Britain had done to him. He hated it, but she was right.

“Britain’s already covered things up. I…you shouldn’t stir the pot, not until you’re independent,” Uncle Scotland then warned, not noticing Pacific’s mini-crisis.

“Well, who knows when that’ll b—” Mother began before Pacific cut her off, slowly cracking open his eyes again, revealing that it was Solomon Islands running a hand through his hair, worried eyes darting between Uncle Scotland and Mother.

“Met ‘Merica. W’en in H’wai. He…he said I co’ld live with him if Brit’in if he bec’me…too much,” Pacific explained. Solomon Islands nodded.

“He said that Canton and Enderbury knew where his house here was and that if we needed to get away, we could go with him,” Solomon Islands nodded. Mother looked relieved, and Uncle Scotland shook his head slightly with a slight smile on his face.

“Bless that boy,” he muttered.

“We should send him there now before Britain changes his mind,” Mother said. Solomon Islands immediately sat up, anger on his face.

“We can’t do that now! He broke three ribs! His right hand has had almost every bone broken, and that wrist is messed up! He’s lost a tooth, and his nose is broken, and he’s only been healing for three days! There’s no way we can move him until he’s better healed,” Solomon Islands said, looking on the verge of tears, “He almost died. He…we shouldn’t. I’ll..I’ll fight Fath–Father myself to keep Pacific safe.”

“Easy, na h-Eileanan Sholaimh, you…you saw what happened the last time. No one else is getting hurt. But at the same time, Fìdi, Sholaimh’s right. Pacific needs time to rest before he can be moved. I’ll keep Britain away from him until then,” Uncle Scotladn said, a dark look entering his eyes.

Strangely, it didn’t scare Pacific. He knew his uncle was not going to be a threat to him. He knew he was safe with Uncle Scotland. His eyes fluttered shut again.

“I ‘gree w’th Unca Scot. H’rt too much,” Pacific said. A hand returned to his hair, and his mother’s gentle voice washed over him.

“I know, baby, I know. I just want to make sure you’re safe. I’ve never been more scared before than watching him do that to you. I’m sorry I couldn’t do more,” Mother said. Pacific cracked open his eyes once more.

“N’t your fault. You a good Tinaqu,” he said, his falling shut once more.

“Vinaka, Pacific. Are you tired?” Pacific hummed in agreement, and he heard his mother let out a gentle laugh, “Then sleep some more. I’ll be here when you wake.”

With his mother’s approval, Pacific sunk back into the blackness, letting his pain fade away.

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