Denial: England x Dead!Reader

Denial is a funny thing. It can twist up the past, crumple things up, and alter your perspective. Arthur did really see the other car coming towards him.

He did hear your scream pierce his ears.

He did see you cover your bulging stomach quickly, a small attempt to protect his and your unborn child. Squinting your once beautiful (e/c) eyes in expectation, you braced for impact.

And he saw the bright crimson blood splatter wildly against the windshield before it shattered.

Arthur could see all the beer bottles left shattered around the car as well. As he saw that, he vomited, the retching inspiring gut wrenching pain in his side.

But Arthur couldn’t really register you how you got taken away.

He could see the sheet covering your face as he lay trapped in the car, woozy and bleeding profusely.

But somehow he could also see your face was bloodied and marred. He knew that both you and his baby were no longer alive.

Arthur couldn’t accept any of it, however. It was just so dreadful. It couldn’t have happened.

So when he awoke in his bed, covered in a sheen of sweat, to discover it was all a dream, everything just seemed to make sense. Nothing that horrific could really happen to you two, right?

Arthur wound down the staircase, searching for you. You were probably just up with another craving, or to find some socks, or to look in the baby’s room or something.

When he couldn’t find you, he began to panic. What if his dream was an omen? What if something awful had happened to you while he was asleep? After he searched for a moment, he saw the answering machine blinking.

He hit play, slowly sinking down the wall the phone was on onto the floor in defeat. It beeped, crackling.

“Artie...” it was Alfred, “...I really don’t know what to say. I am so sorry. Please, call back when you feel up to it, we’re all worried about you.

“We all miss her... My condolences, man...”

It crackled again.

“Mr. Kirkland, this is Dr. Barron. When you get this, please remember to change your bandages frequently. You got quite a few big gashes, you’re lucky to be alive, honestly.”

Arthur looked at himself, seeing his chest was wrapped up tightly, blood soaking through his shirt. “No...” he whispered to no one in particular, “I’m not lucky at all...”

You were gone.

He had to accept it.

Arthur had to swallow that he would never see your beaming face again. He would never hear you laugh, be able to staring into those shining (e/c) eyes, wind his fingers in your (h/c) hair and kiss you, calling you his and his alone.

He could never hold your child in his arms, smile and make him or her laugh. He could never watch his child grow up, graduate high school or college. His or her life ended before it had a chance to begin.

You were absolutely gone, ripped from his grasp, never returning to him.

He was utterly alone.

A lone tear splattered on his kitchen linoleum.