Deathly Unification
It was an average down at Feliciano Vargas' home – the personification of North Italy stood by a stove top, stirring pasta with a wooden spoon while tending his tomato sauce in a smaller saucepan. Smiling as his favorite recipe's aromas filled the air, the Italian poured out the hot water from the pasta and placed some of the noodles in a bowl, topping it off with the tomato sauce he had made earlier. With the warm bowl in his hands, the nation walked through his home and into the living room, where his big brother, Lovino, was occupying.
The young man with darker brown hair than his younger brother's (and a curl sticking from the opposite side) sat on the edge of his seat, his hands clenched, and his face narrowed and serious. His light brown eyes were focused on the television. Feliciano could sense something out of place at this moment. He walked over to his older brother, placing the bowl down on the coffee table in front of him, and looked concerned. Usually when placing tomato sauce on his pasta, Lovino would question where the tomatoes came from (he would hesitate to eat them if they came from that 'Spanish bastard's' house).
"Romano," Feliciano muttered, using Lovino's nickname. The younger nation stayed immobilized at his older brother's side, his eyebrows arched in confusion.
"What is it?!" Romano asked with his loud, obnoxious voice. He turned, facing away from the screen. Even with the rage in his eyes, a slip of worry was easily seen from his frowning expression. Italy took a glance at the television screen and noticed that his brother was watching the news, but did not look at it long enough to see what the subject was.
"What is going on?" the light-brown haired Italian asked.
Lovino's face straightened out and he sighed. "Okay, this is-a going to be hard to believe, but…" His eyes took a glance at the screen again to see if there was any updating of the news, and then glanced back at Feliciano. "There is a virus spreading around the earth. It is-a deadly." His dark eyebrows lowered a bit, giving Feliciano the do-not-interrupt-me-because-I-will-explain-more look. "There will be a world conference today about the problem."
Feliciano was walking behind his big brother, expressionless. They were both wearing their military uniforms – North Italy's being navy blue whilst South Italy's colored beige. The hallways of the world conference were on the contrary from what they were on other days. There were no countries having side conversations by the corners of the hall – everyone was isolating themselves and had entered the conference room. At one end of the table was a quiet sandy-blonde haired nation with glasses and a cowlick. It took some time for Italy to recognize the nation as America, who was distinct from his normal self.
As all the nations were seated, Italy looked across from him. Estonia, a nation with blonde hair in some sort of perfectly even cut like Japan's and glasses on, he would usually have his nose in a book about Calculus or anything that the average Joe would not understand. His eyes were baggy and the edge of his mouth was shaking wildly. His face was as white as snow and his eyes were dull and lifeless. His eyes darted around the room and his fingers raked against the surface of the wooden table. Italy scooted at the edge of his chair. He seemed so intimidating today. "I hope that he's okay," Italy said to himself.
The talking went on for hours. To Italy, Estonia seemed to grow more insane by the minute. At one point, he even licked his chapped lips hungrily as Russia began stating his thoughts and opinions.
"So, the conclusions, fellow nations," America started, his blue eyes narrowed and a smirk on his face. About to state his idea, the large nation looked at Britain, his eyes quirking a bit, and then he took a deep breath. "This is going to be very hard to believe, but…considering that the people that are infected by this disease are thirsty for human flesh means one thing: Zombies."
The nations all exchanged glances and side conversations stirred up. The younger nations, such as Liechtenstein, Latvia, and Sealand, questioned what 'zombies' were. Estonia sat in place, glaring at America. Italy began to question what the Estonian was thinking when the blonde man tilted his head to the side a bit. Attempting to ignore this, Italy looked over at his friend, Germany, who had his eyes aimed at the table and tapping his fingers impatiently. Usually contradicting against all foolishness, even he believed America.
That was when Estonia lunged out at Russia. Russia let out a small yelp from his attack, and all the nations had the eyes on the two. A bit of foam came from the corner of Estonia's mouth as he grabbed at the Russian's jacket. Russia jumped up with his blue eyes widened, and knew that if he fought back, he would suffer the same consequences as Estonia – he would be infected by the virus.
Horrified, the countries all jumped from their seats. America cupped his hands around his mouth and began to yell that everyone follow out the exit and get to his house. As the personified countries ran out the door, the American pulled out a pistol, aiming it at Estonia and commanding Russia to run. As the Russian exited the room, America took one last shot at Estonia before slamming the door of the conference room closed, locking it, and joining the rest of the countries.
"What are you all doing here?!" America said, running ahead of the countries. "GET TO MY HOUSE, ESTONIA WILL ESCAPE SOON!" The American sprinted down the street, so fast that only a handful of countries with his athletic ability would be able to make it to his house.
"Feliciano," Italy said to himself. "Remember, if I do not get to America's house, I won't get to eat dinner!" Encouraging himself, he began to keep up with Germany, pulling his older brother behind him. Though exhausted, the Italian was determined. He was going to make it.
America stood at the entrance of his house, looking out to see if there were any upcoming dangers. Taller nations were barricading the windows with all kinds of supplies they found at the American's home, from steel bars to wooden boards. The younger, more dependent nations were finding all possible weapons in the house and piling them up in the corner of the living room. Sighing, the American rubbed his gloved hand through his dusty blonde hair and closed his eyes, biting his lip. "No more other countries in sight, yet there are so many missing," he said to himself, closing the door and locking it. "Britain," he called out.
The Englishman walked out from upstairs and came to his sighed, looking aggravated. "What is it, wanker?" he asked, his green eyes fixated at the blue ones.
"I need help, dude," the American pleaded. "We need to make a system of rules and stuff to keep things here organized. So, I am putting YOU in charge."
Not surprised by America's action, England stepped out. "Everyone, come over here please," he yelled. As all the countries within the house gathered, he crossed his arms. "Role call."
"America!"
"France."
"Japan."
"Germany."
"China!"
"Russia."
"Italy and Romano!"
"Hungary!"
"Austria."
"Spain!"
"PRUSSIA!"
"Canada."
"Belarus."
"Ukraine."
"Hong Kong."
England closed his eyes and sighed. "What an odd bunch. It is going to be very difficult to manage all these countries. Okay. So…" he looked up, finding America. "Well, Alfred, since you are probably more educated than me with zombies, I am going to leave all the rules to you."
America placed his knuckles on his hips and beamed. "Alright, time for some rules. Questions will be answered later! Rule number one: Every country needs to be equipped with a weapon. I already have one." Alfred pulled out his pistol that he used earlier to prove it. "Two: if we get spotted by any zombies, we have to move. To prevent from being seen by zombies, we will not use fire and if we leave the house, it will be if we run out of food supplies. Understand? Okay. Last: at night, one of us will have to guard. We can take turns each night. Any questions?"
Japan raised his hand, shaking. "America-san, what if one of us countries turns into a zombie? We wourd…have to…kirl them…" he sighed, answering his own question. "B-but, we shourd be quiet…it wourd mean that our chances of survivar would be higher."
"Good point, Japan," England praised. "We should not take killing personally. For example…Hungary. If Austria caught the virus, and you were the closest one with a weapon…you would have to…you know…"
Hungary nodded, frowning a bit. Though intimidating most, her fearful side was showing.
"It should be an agreement between all of us, da?" Russia asked. "We will all look after each other until we drop dead or catch the virus."
The countries agreed.
Although not visible, Italy knew that it was around nine o'clock; since that was the time he would usually fall asleep. The furniture in Alfred's house was barricading the door and countries had grabbed blankets and pillows from the couches and beds upstairs, making a camp in the empty living room. Each country was equipped with a weapon which they had nearby, just in case the zombies would arrive.
As Germany was creating his bed which consisted of a pillow that he pulled from a chair and a blanket which was supposedly supposed to be a bed sheet, he curled up underneath. Italy, being shaken by the fact that zombies were outside, grabbed a pillow and jumped underneath Germany's blanket, scared. The German grunted a bit and turned away from the frivolous Italian, having a difficult time falling asleep.
Being the hero that he is, America was sitting on a seat by the door, a shotgun in his hands and looking out at the sleeping nations, determined to protect them from any sort of danger. Then he looked at his brother, who everyone seemed to ignore. Canada was shaking underneath a thin layer of blankets. Feeling pity for the nation, America stood up, taking off his coat, and laying it on top of the Canadian. Canada's warmth was quickly restored.
America returned to his seat, one knee arched more than the other and his hand on the trigger, ready to signal the arrival of zombies.
"Bring it on."