Hey everyone! I'm Mo and this is my first fanfiction. I actually wanted to write this mainly because of one reason: to be politically correct in today's terms. A lot of things I've seen/read in the Hetalia fandom aren't necessarily correct politically and historically and I want to write one that is correct so it satisfies me. Anyway I hope you enjoy!
Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia
Chapter 1: Dominoes
In the end, it all came down to Greece's failed Spending and Saving plan. The austerity measures simply weren't enough. The numerous bailouts and intervention from the European Central Bank, Germany and France didn't matter. The debt was too large. The hole was too big. Nothing could fill it.
August 1, 2013. Greece falls out of the European Union after total economic collapse.
After that catastrophe, it doesn't take long before Spain, Portugal and the Republic of Ireland crash like dominoes. Spain's banks fail rendering the entire country handicapped. Portugal finds herself in a ditch as deep as Greece's. Ireland loses her leader, succumbs to national debt and becomes victim to religious persecutions.
It is the spring of 2015 and Italy is next.
South Italy, or Romano, has been bedridden for almost a year now for his part of the land fell to corruption in the blink of an eye. It has become an almost feudalistic society and ironically the landlords have no money to play with. North Italy is holding on by a thread but it's only a matter of time before corruption and debt finally sink their teeth into him too.
The day Germany gets the call, he is in Monaco with France discussing the European Central Bank's dilemma. The look of horror muddled with remorse on Germany's rigid face gives France all the information he needs to know before his mobile rings a few seconds later. As the news resounds in their ears, Germany feels an invisible punch to his gut and cringes, the phone slipping out of his calloused hands and hitting the velvet carpet of their hotel room. France coughs violently, choking up blood.
The deliria lasts for a good ten minutes—longer than it had when Spain, Ireland and Portugal had fallen—and France can feel his stomach drop as his banks scramble to control their commodity and loans. Germany too can feel the panic stirring in his government through the throbbing in his head.
As soon as the feeling passes sufficiently enough, the two blond males race out of Monaco, forgetting every issue they had been arguing upon, and rush to the poor, fallen, and helpless country of Italy.
June 2, 2015
It has been a few months since Italy's fall and Germany still cannot rid his mind of the fragile and paralyzed friend of his. Upon his and France's arrival, Italy had already been placed in his chamber in the Vatican next to his brother Romano, both of them wearing identical expressions. The two brothers' faces were ash gray with sunken cheeks and faded copper hair. There was no sign of breathing. If Germany hadn't known better, he would have thought they were dead. But no, countries never perished. Instead, they fell into a perpetual state of coma until their land's condition bettered. However, so far, neither Greece, Spain, Portugal nor Ireland had stirred even once in their sleep.
Beside him, France had been crying subtle tears and crossing his heart as the Pope sprinkled holy water upon the two parts of his country and whispered words to the Lord above who he hoped was watching.
Standing there, the two countries had come across the exact same realization: the wall had crumbled and now every other country in the Eurozone would follow. They were the only strongholds left. If they collapsed, Europe collapsed.
Now Germany pushes open the glass door in front of him with controlled force as he strides into the plush Marriot hotel in New York City. He is wearing his usual grim expression, though there is a noticeable difference in his stature. Usually in more-than-perfect posture, the German's back has begun to slump as if there is some mysterious weight upon his shoulders that he can't carry. His blue eyes are bloodshot as if he has been drinking beer for a month straight—despite the fact he has been completely sober for the past three years—and more wrinkles crease his forehead and the corners of his mouth.
The elegant man France enters just behind him, though he is definitely not so elegant anymore. His gold spun hair is polluted with tiny streaks of gray and he has become too slender which ironically fits his image as the epitome of skinny. But you know something is definitely wrong when you can see the veins pulse in your neck when you smile.
"Hurry up France. We are already late! And of course you don't know that because you have no sense of time!" Germany growls, fast walking at a breakneck pace into the elevator as France saunters sluggishly behind him.
Sighing, France runs his long and slender fingers through his hair and then pushes the appropriate number on the elevator's inside.
"Why did we even bother coming here? I have more important things to do than quarreling with undesirable acquaintances," states France, carefully emphasizing his euphemism.
The German country fights the urge to roll his eyes—an ability that comes easily to him now that he and France have literally been inseparable for years during the crisis—and only replies,
"We haven't seen the others in almost three years France. It's about time we join the world again."
"Which is merely an understatement for 'maybe we should ask them for help because we're poor'," France scoffs, earning himself a death glare from his German companion.
"Look," snaps Germany, stabbing France's chest with his stern finger, "I don't like this anymore than you do but look me in the eye and tell me there's another way. Tell me!"
France merely swallows distastefully, turns away, pulls his sinful hair into a ponytail and is silent for the rest of the elevator ride.
They hear the familiar Ding! on the 22nd floor and the two neighboring countries straighten their ties as they head out towards the appointed conference room. Upon reaching the polished mahogany door labeled Conference Room 22B, France is relieved to see the "smoking permitted" sign and whips out a cigarette in his practiced manner. He has been dying to fill his lungs with smoke all day.
Germany opens the door in the usual brisk manner and the two are greeted by the extremely familiar sight of a boisterous America standing at the head of the large oval table with the other countries wearing various looks of distaste on their faces. There is a deafening silence as the two countries make their way over to two empty seats reserved for them right next to a scowling Britain.
Well at least that hasn't changed, thinks France as he takes the seat that is left next to his old rival for Germany has taken the one further away from the United Kingdom. As he scoots the chair closer in towards the table, he makes sure to move it a little to the left as well closer to Germany. The action isn't left unnoticed by Britain who narrows his eyes at France and reaches over to shake hands with Germany.
"Well look who's come back from the grave!" an excited America exclaims who walks around to pat the two newcomers on the back in a friendly manner. A sea of greetings rises and France can point out the tired voices of China, Russia, Japan, Britain and Canada. He can tell the universe hasn't been very kind to them either.
Germany also notices as he scans all of the familiar faces. Russia has become paler than normal—which is definitely saying something—and he has lost his usual intimidating air, which Germany associates with the Communist party's rebirth in the arctic country. China's shambled infrastructure has left him scars on his face and neck and the tips of his ponytail are burnt. The ceaseless earthquakes and tsunamis have brought a green complexion to Japan's usually stoic face and his breathing is raspy. Canada is nearing blindness with Quebec gone and natural resources depleted by his Southern neighbor. Britain is paralyzed in his left hand from the Irish and Scottish rebellions and there is something behind America's hair that Germany cannot make out but assumes is from the terrorist turmoil in his country.
"It's good to see you too," France remarks, smiling his normal charming smile that surprisingly everyone has missed.
"I'm…sorry to hear about Italy…" Japan adds quietly, speaking what has been on every other country's mind. "…And Spain and Portugal and Ireland and…Greece."
His breath becomes shaky while saying the last bit and another uncomfortable silence follows as Germany and France both shake their heads and mumble polite words in return.
Seconds later, America, ever the icebreaker, clears his throat and stands again at the head of the table. France notices there's a faint air of discipline about him and it saddens the Frenchman to know the normally cheerful country had to learn it the hard way.
"Anyway, you guys really didn't miss much," America starts, waving his hands around for emphasis, "Basically every country has agreed to lessen their relief funds to Japan and Russia here has guaranteed his government will not be handing itself over to the Commies any time soon."
He says this with a glare directed at the icy country and Russia only stares back calmly.
"And that is a promise I intend to keep," he retorts, sitting up as straight as he can.
America scoffs and crosses his arms. "Yeah because you've had a great batting streak so far haven't you?"
France hears a hand meet a forehead coming from Britain's direction and he can't help but smile as he realizes he misses this. And from a glance to his left he can see that Germany has too.
"Just get on with it and stop wasting time," Britain scolds, his furry eyebrows furrowing further as he gathers his notes and gets up. "I believe it is time to speak about our situations."
The sandy haired man takes his place next to America and clears his throat before addressing his audience.
"As you all may be aware, the United States of America is currently subjected to riots across the land. The Christian churches have risen up and declared the Muslim faith the Devil's handiwork and now a number of Christians and Muslims alike have been murdered across the country. The prosecution of Jews, Hindus and Buddhists has also been reported."
Next to him, America shifts uncomfortably as he unconsciously rubs the hidden dark spot near his temple. Britain continues,
"It is also believed that many Middle Easterners, particularly extremists from Syria, Iran and Iraq are behind the bombings of Mount Rushmore, Yellow Stone National Park and are the catalysts of the Chicago subway fires. Of course, with this much turmoil, it is only natural the target spreads to my country."
It is here that Britain puts down his notes and places a consoling hand on America's lower back—the action isn't gone unnoticed by France—and stands tall.
"Since the Middle East has closed its borders to any persons from America and myself, I would like to propose that someone else—someone with "better" relations with them—to go and negotiate terms for us and the rest of the world. This is where you come in France."
He and the rest of the countries look straight at the Frenchman who is now sitting up alert with bloodshot eyes.
Hmph, I didn't think he'd react that badly to the idea, Britain thinks, surprised. France says nothing.
"Um France…you gonna say something?" America asks slowly.
There is still no answer as France's chair topples over and the country crashes to the ground with no restraint.
They know he is not faking it when Germany yells "FRANCE!" and scrambles out of his chair and kneels down next to the fallen nation.
Britain and America, followed by the rest of the countries, leap over chairs to the spot where France is now lying unconscious, trembling.
"What's happened? Is that France on the floor? Why is he on the floor?" Canada questions, clutching the sleeve of America's suit and squinting to see his former father figure.
"Is it his national bank? Has it collapsed?" China asks as Germany cellphone goes off.
The German whips his mobile out as if it's the Oracle, but not before he barks orders.
"Russia! Get some wet towels. Canada! Get something hot. His body temperature is already lower than it needs to be. Japan! China! I need you to make something that will help his breathing. Now!"
The countries scramble to take out their orders, worried about the life of one of the world's greatest nations. Germany answers the call.
"Shall I carry him to the break room?" America asks, eager to be of some help.
"NO!" roars Germany as he raises the phone to his ear. "Don't. Touch. Him."
And with that, the blond nation is out of the room chatting in distressed German into the phone's speaker. Britain is left kneeling next to a motionless France and America is left staring at him. Britain raises two gentle fingers to France's jugular, astonished at how scrawny France has become, and feels for his rival's pulse. What he feels relieves him.
"So, is it his national bank?" America inquires softly, kneeling down next to the Brit.
The island nation shakes his head.
"N-no," he chokes out before repeating the word loudly once more. "It's not. Otherwise his pulse wouldn't have been so strong."
America lets out a huge sigh of relief and lets his head fall to France's unmoving chest.
"Thank goodness. I was really really worried there for a second. I mean, imagine a world without France!"
There is a moment of hesitance in America's voice and Britain catches it, hoping it's not what he thinks it is. But before he has a chance to question it, Germany walks back into the room, his brow furrowed.
"It's Air France," he announces. "Air France has just claimed bankruptcy."
The amount of relief Britain feels is unwarranted but he is careful not to show it as Germany kneels down to scoop his fallen comrade up with ease.
"Don't worry. I'll make sure he's okay."
With that, Germany leaves the room once again and Britain and America are now faced with pin drop silence.
"America," Britain starts, turning to face the other nation. "You're not relieved France is okay just because of the Middle East thing are you?"
America's look is one of astonishment.
"What? No of course not! He's one of my best allies. You know that," the younger country answers and Britain wishes he could say that statement was completely true. But he knows inside that part of America hasn't been truthful with him for years now and he cannot do anything about it.
"Yeah. Of course I do," Britain mumbles, an uncalled for dizziness whirring up in his head. "I'll be heading to the break room now to see if Germany and the others need anything."
He is about to trace Germany's steps when he feels America's tense grip on his shoulder. He is wearing a solemn expression.
"Britain, why are there tears in your eyes?"
The question takes Britain aback and by habit he goes to rub his eyes.
"What are you talking about? There aren't any tears in my eyes. Why would there be? I'm simply stressed out and I don't need anymore of your questions."
America doesn't let go but only stares at the other with a fierce gaze.
"You told me that was years ago Britain. Decades ago. You can't seriously still feel the same way about hi-"
Aggressively shrugging the younger's hand off of him, Britain cuts him off with an even icier glare and his pupils narrow.
"That is not how I feel and don't you dare bring it up again or by my queen's head I will break this special alliance with you. Understand?"
The American gulps and stands back as Britain storms out of the conference room.
So what did you think? Just to let you know, I'm like a super hardcore FrUK fan but honestly speaking in today's terms FrancexGermany and USUK are more canon so now you know this story will have a lot of complex relationships. (It will ultimately end in FrUK!)
Please let me know what you thought so I'm encouraged to write more. Thanks!
-Mo.