God, it's been a long time since I've uploaded anything!
This is a random idea I got. It started with Germany and Prussia at a meeting during WWII and being very uncomfortable, for obvious reasons. And then it evolved inside my twisted brain to encompass many of the nations and other crap like that- I'm gonna shut up now. ^^;
Translations are on the bottom, but of course, if I made a mistake with any of them, please let me know and I will fix it right away. I didn't include it, but the title is German, and translates loosely to "I Stay With You, Brother".
I guess that's all.
I don't own Hetalia or any of the characters. =[
If you looked down on upon the scene, your first impression would undoubtedly be that all was well and normal. Men in a range of cool-colored suits, all sitting around a long table with papers in front of them and briefcases waiting obediently beside their rolling chairs. Normal, everyday occurrences, right?
I'd think not.
However, if you had indeed looked down upon the scene, but you were someone from said scene, you would've noticed immediately that something was wrong. Terribly wrong. There were many things that you would've picked up, even at a glance.
But for you, erm, other people, I'll point some major things out.
For one thing, Heracles was not away somewhere in the land of his slumber. He was, in fact, quite the opposite. Perfectly aware and very much awake. Feliciano was sitting quietly, looking -was it ashamedly?- down at his lap. Francis, for once, was not flirting with any nation that was unlucky enough to be sitting next to him. A dirty blonde, bespectacled nation sat with his arms folded, glaring darkly through his bangs at the Japanese man across the table from him; Alfred was absolutely silent. The snowy-haired embodiment of Russia sat with a stoic expression, the childish grin he usually wore nowhere in sight.
But lastly, the most unusual thing about this meeting was sitting with his fingers laced together, hands laying stiffly on the table. His eyes darted around the room, scanning faces but not daring to linger on anyone of them for too long. He sat perched on the edge of his black leather rolling chair, feet rigid and flat on the floor. And was it just my well-trained eyes, or was he sitting just a tad more to the right side of his chair, leaning just slightly towards the albino man seated next to him?
And now that my experienced self thinks about it, this crimson-eyed man looked about as uncomfortable as the other man.
His long, alabaster fingers ran back and forth almost nervously over the surface of the iron cross pinned to the front of his suit jacket. And he too leaned ever so slightly to his left, towards the other man.
"What the fuck is with all these dirty looks, West?" He grumbled, keeping his mouth as still as possible. There were some excellent lip-readers about.
Icy blue eyes glanced to the side and met crimson. "What do you think, Gilbert?" He muttered back, his words edgy.
"Hmph..." Gilbert mumbled back, laying his chin in his hand, elbow propped up on the table. He glanced around the room from behind his silvery bangs. "Pft. Pussies should just mind there own business." Receiving only a sigh from the German, he proceeded to stare down at the mahogany stained table.
Since neither Alfred or Ludwig even attempted to take control of the meeting, as they usually did, the intelligent and well-composed Chinese man stepped up. Yao began the conference smoothly despite the growing tension in the room and was currently talking about someone's troops in a foreign country (probably Alfred's) and what should be done with them. Named nation was too busy burning a hole in a certain someone's head with his cerulean eyes to hear a word of it though.
The tension around the table was almost tangible, thick and suffocating. On everyone's face was either complete and utter loathing or heavy nervousness, negative feelings looming over all. Something was going to snap, and soon. It was inevitable...
"Are you kidding me?" Alfred stood up from his chair so quickly that Yao was surprised his legs didn't snap in half. His hands spread out on the table and his eyes narrowed dangerously. The man had just mocked him! "You little fucker, Kiku!"
And so we've snapped.
Yao's eyes widened. "Alfred! What's-"
"What hell was that for?" He snarled across the table at Kiku Honda.
The Asian man scowled and raised his eyebrows at the American, as if to challenge him. Apparently it worked, because Alfred made to bolt around the table when one of his arms was grabbed by Francis.
"Amérique, stop-"
Alfred ripped his arm from the Frenchman and tried again only to have his other arm grabbed by two colder hands. He didn't have to look to each side to know it was now Ivan and Francis restraining him. "Alfred!"
The young nation struggled for a second but then glared at Kiku, whom to his horror was grinning smugly, spitefully, at him. He growled, "You wanna fucking instigate? Come over here and fight like a man, ya fucking Jap."
This seemed to touch a nerve, because Kiku suddenly rose out of his chair too. But this time everyone one was ready, so when he made to move from his spot at the table he was held back by Vash.
Yao looked extremely pissed. "Now then. Is there anyone else who feels the need to get something off their chest?" He snapped.
That was supposed to be sarcastic, rhetorical question. Nobody was really expected to answer him, or react for that matter. Maybe just slink down in their chairs a little. But one of the few women present did.
"Y-You know? Come to think of it, I do!" The woman with luscious, light brown hair turned to the German sitting not far from her, unfolding her arms and gripping the arms of the chair, probably to keep her composure. Her lip trembled slightly as her fiery green eyes locked on Ludwig. "Y-You said you wouldn't intrude. You said it!"
"Erszeb-"
"Shut up, Roderich!" She clenched her teeth when the man sitting next to her laid a hand on her shoulder. The Austrian awkwardly took his hand back as she turned back to Ludwig. "That loathsome man promised! He..." Erszebet bit back a sob. "He promised he would leave my Jews alone! But no! He went and fucking took them away! You-"
"Yeah! And mine too! That snake!" Feliks growled, glaring at the Aryan.
Gilbert leaned his forehead on his hand and glared down at the table. "Scheiße, I knew this was going to-"
"What was that, Gilbert? You wanna say that a little louder?" Bitter cerulean eyes burned into him across the table.
"Oh, bitte, Alfred, what the hell do you have to do with any of this?" He was all the way across the Atlantic for Gott's sake!
"Um, incase you haven't noticed, I've been forced into "this"." Alfred, who was now sitting in his chair, snarled back, emphasizing the word 'this' with finger/air quotes. He ignored a Japanese sounding grunt. "And now I'm being stretched to my limits in any and every direction possible to help everyone; so yeah, I think I most definitely have to do with all of it!"
The embodiment of Prussia leaned back in his chair, cocking his chin up arrogantly at the American. "Oh ja?" He knew the younger nation was right. "And how about you two, Francis, Arthur? You got anything to say?" Gilbert cocked an eyebrow at the mentioned nations, a spiteful glint in his eyes. "You've sure been awfully quiet." It wasn't a question, it was a challenge.
The Frenchman sank down in his chair just slightly, but it was painfully obvious. The Briton flicked his gaze to the albino. He was paler with dark rings under his deep green eyes. He looked slightly skinnier than usual, weak and exhausted, but there was a fiery glint in his eyes. "Well observed. Indeed I am quiet." He replied softly.
The Prussian scoffed. He opened his mouth and was about to say something when Arthur cut him off.
"Because I seem to recall that last time I spoke up," He paused, voice growing louder by each passing word, and slightly climbing in pitch. "I was beaten and tortured by your fucking bombs until I could barely even think, for a whole bloody year!" Arthur hissed venomously. His breathing hitched, obviously still recovering from the aforementioned torture and was still low on energy.
Gilbert and Ludwig both felt some strange sort of satisfaction surge through them. Yeah. They did hurt him pretty badly during the London Blitz, didn't they? He should just shut up and take it like a man. With a sudden pang of confidence, Ludwig shot at Arthur, "So then don't speak up."
The Englishman brought a fist down on the table in front of him. "How is one not to speak up about the absolutely immoral things you've been getting away with?" He grit his teeth. "Bomb me! Hurt me! I can't die! But you're murdering humans! Who can very much so die!" Arthur shouted angrily at the Aryan. "They're not even my Jews! They're not Alfred's, they're not Yao's!"
At this, Ludwig smirked. "Ja? So why should you care if they are not yours? They are absolute disgraces, the cause of all our misfortune, lower then dirt, and deserve to be-"
"Don't you dare finish that sentence, Ludwig." Alfred cut him off, eyes narrowed. "Don't even say it out loud."
Many of the nations around the table had been glad he'd stopped the German. Feliks, Toris, and Ivan could've shuddered at the thought; a chunk of their population had been ripped away and the other nations could only imagine how empty they must've felt. All their Jews. Ivan was still reeling from being invaded and destroyed, you could see it in his face. Erszebet was now sobbing silently into a handkerchief, keeping herself as far from Roderich as possible. She didn't even want to see his face, he who just went along with everything.
"Why? Your young ears can't handle it, Alfred?" Gilbert sneered. "Get-"
"Shut up." The American shot back at him.
And then Gilbert rose from his chair, arms folded and eyes glinting cockily. "I don't understand, and I doubt Ludwig does either..." He paused, eyeing every nation sitting around the table. "Why every one of you thinks it's necessary to make a huge deal out of it. Just leave everything alone and we won't bother-"
"Oui, but that is what you have been preaching since day un!" Francis shot at him, finally speaking up. "When do you think you will abide by it?"
"Don't waste your breath, Francis. Dat won't do any good anyway." The embodiment of Poland quipped coolly, coiling a piece of his soft blonde hair roughly around his index finger. "We've tried negotiating with them many times, and it's never worked for too long."
"It seems that way." Arthur said lowly.
"Enough!" Ludwig barked, slamming a hand down on the table's surface. "I suggest that you all shut up before I invade you too-"
"Like that'll ever happen. I'd like to see you try." Alfred growled back.
"Alfred, hush!" Arthur hissed quietly to the American seated next to him. "Don't start something else."
The albino smirked. "Ja, Alfred, listen to Vatti."
The American's tight grip on his pen reached the utensil's limit, snapping it in half. There was something else Alfred wanted to snap in half too. "Say something else, Gilbert. Go ahead."
At this point, Yao had left the room to avoid getting involved. Even Arthur looked a little uncomfortable with the Prussian's comment.
"Cela devient absolument nulle part! I say we end this pathétique excuse for a meeting and continue when everyone is able to calm down." Francis snapped, seemingly freezing time. However, after a minute or so, the nations began to react. There was a murmur of "Good idea..." in many different tongues.
"Buena idea..."
"Хорошая идея..."
"Dobry pomysł..."
"Buona idea..."
At the last voice, all four remaining Allied powers snapped their heads up at an auburn-haired man, who'd been especially quiet the whole meeting. "Cosa-"
Angry lavender eyes burned through Feliciano's light brown ones. Ivan growled, "Don't "what" me, Feliciano."
"You're in the same position as Ludwig and Gilbert. Scum." Alfred snarled.
"At least Kiku can figure out for himself that he has no place chiming in where it's not appropriate." Arthur hissed.
"Oui. He knows when to be silent." Francis finished.
"But that doesn't mean he's any less of a douchebag than you." The American shot a filthy glance at Kiku before returning to glaring at the Italian.
After this verbal tag-team assault, Feliciano looked like he was on the verge of tears. His cheeks were ruby in color, folded hands trembling a bit, but so be it. Nothing excused him from the side he'd chosen.
The Briton scowled. "You're on their side. Nothing can change that."
"Enough! Isn't this meeting already called off?" A thick, angry German accent growled. Ludwig was now standing, eyes narrowed at anyone who dared disagree with him.
Alfred, Francis, and Ivan nodded curtly at Arthur. "Very well then." The Englishman straightened up as he addressed the whole table. "You're dismissed."
Translations:
Scheiße (German)- Shit
Bitte (German)- Please
Ja (German)- Yes
Oui (French)- Yes
Un (French)- One
Vatti (German)- Daddy/Dad/Father [I intended it is 'Daddy']
Cela devient absolument nulle part! (French)- This is getting absolutely nowhere!
Pathétique (French)- Pathetic
Buena idea (Spanish)- Good idea
Хорошая идея (Russian)- Good idea
Dobry pomysł (Polish)- Good idea
Buona idea (Italian)- Good idea
Cosa (Italian)- What
Whew! Pain in the ass translations. Anway! If anyone is confused about why someone said something or did something, like why Alfred is ready to murder Kiku (I hope I don't get any Americans asking about that), feel free to ask! A lot of what happened in this little fic corresponds to WWII events.
-Alexandra