Title: Until The Next Time
Rating: T
Summary: Italy is finally at the brink. He's turned back the hands of fate so many times he can't keep things straight, even though the horrors of the mansion are finally behind him. Everyone else tries to tell him it was all a dream, for that is what it seemingly was. Everyone that is except for Prussia, but why? Maybe it has to do with that damn voice or that house itself, but will there be a next time?
Warnings: Swearing, questionable morals, insanity, minor gore, psychological themes, and the usual warnings that come with my fics.
AN: This fic is has nothing to do with the book, "Until the Next Time" by Kevin Fox, the title and searching for a good HetaOni fic gave me this idea. And no, this fic doesn't mean I am not working on my others, it just means I need a break. This will be a possible multi-chapter.
Disclaimer: I own nothing except the laptop this was written on, the plot kitty that scratched me quite viciously, and the brilliant mind that came up with my stories.
Chapter One: It Begins Again... Only Different
"...and that is why we should totally do my awesome idea!" America exclaims, slamming his hand down on the conference table. His bright eyes gleaming in excitement like always.
It was a typical meeting for everyone, except Prussia had decided that it was his brotherly duty to sit in and make sure that he knew what was going on as his brother's boss was kind enough to let the former nation help out. While it had irked the German and some of the other nations, the only nation who wasn't showing their opinion either way was the personification of Northern Italy.
The Italian was far too preoccupied with his own thoughts, mentally cringing when each person would go up to speak as if dreading what they had to say. As if Italy was waiting for the madness to start again. He knew it would happen, and it always ended up being either America or, to the surprise of many, China. One thing did shock the Italian, well after the 20 times China had suggested the hell, was that Prussia- the only non-nation present- never offered up the idea. In fact, when Italy thought about it, Prussia seemed to get a slight twitch in his eye and he seemed to mumble under his breath in his old language, one that none but two other nations knew.
As if his subconscious was trying to tell him something, Feliciano-Italy's preferred human name- turned his attention to the normally uncomposed Prussian, only to be shocked into worry. The normal Prussia would have been doodling or on his phone, heck he would have even been bothering Germany. This Prussia was different, he was taking notes, though what he was writing Feliciano didn't know, but judging by the look on Germany's face it wasn't in any language he knew or even on the meeting.
The Prussian paused in his writing and quietly placed his pen down, as if making sure not to disturb the others, his face paler than normal.
"The unexpected developments have been taken care of and..." The large Russian trailed off taking notice of the Prussian's silence.
"That son of a bitch! I can't believe I didn't notice it sooner! That none of us did and it was more obvious than the blunder from the Winter Olympics!" Prussia suddenly exclaims, slamming his head on the yellow legal pad he was using.
That causes all of the nations to look at the Prussian with varying levels of concern for his mental health or wondering if he finally had snapped.
"What are you on about now?" A voice that belongs to a growingly irritated Italian asks.
"What do you mean a blunder?" Germany asks, unsure if it had anything to do with the meeting at hand or the nonsense his brother had been writing for the past two hours.
A hush falls over the room, similar to a pregnant pause or the stillness of death- no one daring to speak.
Well no one that is until Prussia looks directly at Feliciano and says, "Feli, I'm sorry to do this to you considering the hell it put you through but we need to go back."
Every nation that is present all think the same question though America chooses to voice it, "Go back to where?"
Without missing a beat, and not letting anyone interrupt the tall albino walks from his spot to the front of the room his dull glowing eyes never leaving Northern Italy's, "The mansion none shall enter."