"Count off!"
"Uno!"
"Ni."
Germany sized-up the two men standing before him. Despite it being 2015 and long past the days of the Axis Powers, the three still remained close and continued on training and doing other work as a threesome. They were good friends after the World Wars, even if they were the losers.
Once again Japan had been complaining to the other two about growing old and how his bones ached and other painful adult problems. It was weird to think that they were perpetually in their early to mid-twenties when they were actually alive since before anyone can even remember. Germany already began the new diet and exercise regimen for the three of them (acting as a unified front). Once again it brought out the depression of no longer being allowed to eat salted salmon or drink beer. Italy, naturally, cheated on his diet, unable to ever give up his pasta or empty carbs.
"Alright," the blonde began. "Today we will be running laps around the park!"
"But Germany," Italy whined. "The park is huge!"
"Ja, it is. That's why I picked it. We can all stand to lose some weight and exercise our legs."
Being a proficient runner from responsibility didn't help the young Italian with running the miles of trails at the park. By the end of the day they were gathered by a bench, sweaty and sore and panting. It was decided they would go back to Germany's house, being they were in his country for the approaching World Meeting he would be hosting.
Their walk to his large house was filled with mutual complaints about exercising between Italy and a small cat he had found.
"Meow meow."
"I know, kitty kitty! My thighs are so sore!"
Germany turned around. "Put that damn thing down before you get rabies!"
Italy frowned and begrudgingly let his furry friend go. They finally arrived at their destination, the vast driveway and surrounding street jammed with parked cars.
"Gott," he whispered. "They're here."
As it turns out, America had a lifetime ban from the local German hotels. Apparently it's frowned upon to constantly ask the workers if the hotel movie channel will be playing Schindler's List and Sophie's Choice. As a result, America was no longer welcome there and was forced to stay at the next best place: Germany's.
And, of course, Canada tagged along since America always roomed with him. Then Britain did, too, to escape France. Then naturally, France came to stay. It was a vicious cycle that ended with everyone agreeing, against Germany's will, to stay with him. They threw around excuses of it showing good spirit and unity, but really, they were all just cheap bastards.
The three entered the house, walking through the halls to their respective rooms. Since Germany was limited on space, everyone had to buddy-up. Italy was with Romano, the Bad Touch Trio were in another room, and Germany was stuck with Austria and Hungary.
Gott.
When he entered the room he found Hungary sitting on the (one) bed, mending an apron. "Working out?" she smiled.
"Ja, excuse me." He slid into the attached bathroom and washed up, hoping to whatever higher being there might be that these countries wouldn't cause too much trouble.
The sound of breaking glass and an Austrian "Sorry!" did nothing to assuage his fears.
Sometime later the countries were all gathered up in the "TV room." Germany didn't feel right having a television in the living/sitting room, being that it felt trashy. And so the TV room came to be after many nights of Italy whining that he was missing his shows.
America, as expected, was hogging the remote and flipping through channels while Britain muttered irritations. "Sweet!" the excitable idiot cried. "Three's Company is on!"
Come and knock on our door!
"Oh hell no," Romano groaned. "Not that shit."
"What about… uh…" he mashed the buttons again. "…Full House?"
"Nein," Germany bellowed.
"Cory in the House?"
"Non!"
"iCarly? Hehe, just kidding! What about Leave It to Beaver?"
"That bloody American excuse for television? Never."
"Cheers?"
"Unawesome!"
"You know, you guys make it really hard to pick something!"
Britain sighed, reaching for the remote. "Then give it to me and I'll do it—"
"No way, you always pick Doctor Who!"
The struggle was real. The two blondes found themselves fighting over the small device, like children, flailing about for it. In an instant it had slipped from their sweating palms, flying high in the air and landing with a bang—
Against Germany's head.
The remote smacked him with such surprising force that it knocked him back in his seat, leaving a red and surely to bruise mark on his forehead. The nations watched in awe as their host was knocked unconscious.
"Dude, what the hell are German remotes made of? Steel?!"
Italy and Japan worriedly reached over to their fallen friend (much to Romano's dismay). He was definitely knocked out. The worst part, of all this nonsense…
The remote broke and now they were stuck watching The Brady Bunch.
A groan emitted from Germany's throat, low and strained, as he slowly opened his eyes against the blaring light of the room. He sat up, noticing the sound of beeping. Taking in his surroundings he realized he was in a hospital, attached to a heart monitor.
"What the scheiße…"
The windowed door to his room opened and he was greeted with his doctor… Finland?
"You're awake!" he cheered.
"Finland? What the hell?"
The young man frowned. "I'm your doctor, Tino Väinämöinen. But most people call me TV, isn't that right, Su?"
Sweden slid into the room, wearing green scrubs and a do-rag. "This is true."
Germany rubbed his eyes. "What the scheiße is happening? You two aren't doctors!"
"That is also true," Sweden said in his monotone voice. "I am a surgeon."
The blonde man deadpanned. "Surgeon? Since when?"
"Season two, technically," the Finnish man murmured. "I wonder what it'd be like if we were a TV show…" He placed a thoughtful hand to his chin and stared off into the ceiling.
"What… what is he doing?" Germany asked Sweden.
"Sometimes he spaces out and fantasizes about ridiculous situations," the Swede replied. "It is awkward most of the time."
About five minutes later Doctor TV and Berwald were explaining to Germany that he was rushed there the night before due to sudden heart problems. During all this they refused to acknowledge their country names—even going as far as to call Germany Ludwig.
"But don't worry!" Tino cheered. "You're being discharged today and your roommates will be coming to get you!"
"Roommates?" the German questioned. How the hell did Finland—Tino—know any of that? This is way too coincidental.
The overly-happy man nodded and pranced out, swiftly slipping on a wet floor seconds before a shabby-looking janitor with spiked-up hair placed a warning sign. Germany could swear that was Denmark, but these people were acting so unusual. What do they have to gain, messing with him like this?
Upon leaving the hospital he was greeted in the parking lot by Italy and Japan. Finally! Some people who wouldn't try to bullshit him!
"Luddy!" Italy chirped. "We were so worried!"
"Yes, we were," Japan added. "Let's go, Feliciano. I am sure Ludwig would like to get back to the apartment."
Germany sighed. "Apartment?"
"Yes, our home!" Italy replied. "We should hurry home, you have a baking deadline for a big wedding tomorrow!"
"Baking..?"
Their drive home (to some American apartment complex) was filled with Italy reminding Germany of their life. He was a baker and they all lived together in a two-room apartment. They had lived together for a few years—none of which he remembered.
He thought he was going crazy when he watched the world fly by in the window and the quality of the imagery seemed to go down… almost like the colors were offset and things were blurrier. He must need glasses.
Their home was unexpectedly orange and their furnishings looked like antiques. Even the television was old, being a small box set (which had been out of date since the mid-2000s). He then noticed both Italy and Japan were in bell-bottoms and shirts you'd see on men in pornos.
Oh God.
Please no.
A loud knocking at the door alerted them to a visitor. Suddenly it burst open, revealing a strange blonde man.
"Poland?" Germany said to himself.
"Hey, guys!" the blonde cheered. Then, somewhere in the distance, Germany also heard applause. The TV was off—where the hell did that noise come from? Then a random catcall! Was the door open? Did someone else have their TV up loud?
"Hi, Feliks!" Italy said. "What brings you here?"
"The stairs." Immense laughter.
"But that wasn't even funny," Germany deadpanned. Further laugher by half as many voices. "And what the hell do you want?"
Feliks pouted. "I just, like, want to totally welcome you back home…" The room filled with "awes" and sad vocal noises. "I also need something—"
"Of course you do," Germany groaned.
"What is it this time?" Japan asked. "We're not going on blind dates with you again."
Italy stood facing the far wall where the TV was against, only half looking at Poland. "Yeah, last time I got my brother!" Loud raucous laughter and some wheezes followed. "And he skimped me on the bill!" Further laughter ensued with few obnoxious duck-like laughs.
"Where the scheiße is that laughter coming from?!"
The other men looked at him nervously. Japan coughed, "It is the, uh, neighbor's television. You know how bad they are at turning it down!" They all nervously laughed and agreed as if it was some kind of cover-up.
"Ja?"
"Si," Italy said, a quiver in his voice.
This was just ridiculous. The room felt so cramped and the lights were so bright and hot, like a stage. Germany decided he had enough of this crazy nonsense and cleared his throat. "I'm going for a walk." He brushed past Poland and jogged down the stairs and away from the apartment. He could faintly hear more laughter in the background fading as he got further away from his alleged home.
So he walked the sidewalk, hearing very soft music, as if muffled.
Come and knock on our door… we've been waiting for you…
He quickened his pace.
Where the kisses are hers and hers and his!
He broke into a full sprint and then began running so fast he could only hear the sound of his shoes hitting the pavement and his heart pulsing in his ears.
When you're lost out there and you're all alone, life is waiting to carry you home! Everywhere you look!
All this running was wearing him out. He stopped to catch his breath, noticing the change in the world—suddenly clearer yet still off. There were rows of close houses along a sloped road, a steep hill. Something compelled him to go to this clean, white house. He didn't know what it was but he felt the growing need to be inside this house and maybe, just maybe, figure out what the hell is going on.
He went to knock on the door, but it flew open instead. He stepped inside, ready to call out to whoever must own it when he was suddenly greeted by a family instead.
"Look! Ludwig's back!" a small voice called. He looked down, ignoring the applause, seeing a small Lichtenstein, standing between Wy and Seychelles. Austria and Hungary stood behind them, smiling.
"Great," Austria said. "You're here just in time!"
"I am?" Germany asked.
"Oh yes!" Hungary nodded. "Roddy here just produced his first music video for his band Roderich and the Rippers!"
"You've got to be kidding me," he sighed. This nonsense again.
The back door slammed open and Seychelles, the tallest of the three young girls, muttered, "Uh oh, papa's home!"
Wy smirked at her. "You gonna show him that report card? The one showing you failed math?" The omniscient audience "ooh'd" in a low tone.
"You little nerd-bomber, you read my diary!" At least the French accent made this kind of funny, at least to Germany. He was startled when he looked up to see Switzerland strolling through the kitchen doors, stopping to address him.
"Oh, Ludwig, you're finally back from your college comedy tour, I see."
"My what?!"
They chose to ignore him. "So, Vash," Austria said. "How was the meeting?"
Switzerland smiled. "It was a meeting. I think they'll be promoting me to executive producer!" There was a bombardment of cheers and whistling.
"That's great, dad!" Lichtenstein cooed.
"Thanks, Lili. But all I need is my family to make me happy." The applause turned to another round of "awe"s.
"This is gayer than Austria," Germany muttered. "I need to get out."
"But you just got here, and Uncle Roddy wants to show us his music video!" Seychelles whined, trying to distract her father from her report card.
"Screw that, I'm done," he deadpanned once more. The audience were confused as some laughed, some booed, and a few even clapped. Germany did his best to ignore it as he strolled past the awkward, unsettlingly happy family and through the kitchen and out the back door.
He walked and noticed the color fading from the world to literal black and white.
"Ja, just great."
A whistling theme caught his attention and he stopped in front of the picture-perfect American house. A boy rushed past him, stopping to mumble a "Sorry, mister!"
This young boy was, of course, Canada.
Germany, out of voyeuristic curiosity, snuck to the side of the house and peered in through the large, totally clean window which led to the dining room.
Inside he saw Britain, sitting at the table alone while reading a large newspaper. France glided into the room, wearing an apron and holding a large platter of food.
"Boys, dinner!" he called.
Stomping feet and rushed laughter brought the two boys to the dining room—young Canada in a plaid shirt and suspenders, followed by America in a similar getup, though with his hair uncharacteristically slicked back.
They all sat down, having their perfect little family dinner.
"So, boys, how was school?" Britain asked.
"Gee, dad," America began. "It was just swell!"
"Alfred, dear, swallow before you talk," France chided.
Little Canada kept his head down, avoiding his parents' gaze. Britain watched him, asking slowly, "Matthew, do you want to tell us something?"
The young boy startled. "No thank you, papa," he rushed.
"I got a call from the school today," France added. Canada looked up.
"You did?"
"Oui. Now, what happened? Your teacher said you got in a fight!"
America choked. "A fight? Who?"
"Me," Canada said lowly.
"You? You mean to tell me the Beave got in a fight?"
It felt as if the world was focused on the young blonde, sitting slumped over and trying to think of a way to explain to his family what happened without getting grounded for too long. Germany found himself watching closely as well.
"Well," he mumbled. "I was at recess and we were playing dodgeball… and Peter came over and picked up the red ball…"
"You got in a fight over a ball?" Britain scoffed.
"No. What happened was I told him I wanted to play with the blue one but he said red was better. Then I looked at him and said I'd rather be dead than red and that he was basically signing himself over to evil communism by picking the red ball! And he called me a right-wing liberal so I punched him in his mouth so he couldn't spread any more evil!"
Germany's eye twitched.
France and Britain shared a look before telling their youngest, "I'm so proud of you."
Germany's jaw dropped.
"You did good, baby bro," America said warmly as he placed a hand on Canada's shoulder. "You're a true freedom fighter!"
"Come on, all! Let's go out for some cherry colas!" And with that the small family got up, put their jackets on, and hopped into their old black Ford.
The German man was left staring awestruck at the perfect little house. What the hell was going on? This was ludicrous! With a confused mind he began walking down the street again, finding the world change into a higher quality with a rainbow of colors.
He was so distracted by the new colors and modern buildings that he completely missed seeing the street he was now walking into… and the man speeding by on a moped coming his way.
There was a loud screech as the moped slammed the brakes and slid around dangerously, just barely missing the stunned German. He watched then as the man got off his small vehicle, taking his helmet off, worried face and high eye-brows exposed.
"Oh my," he cried. "Are you okay?"
"Russia?!"
"Da, I am Russian," the beige-haired man replied, confused. "And you are German, da?"
"I… well, yes."
Russia smiled and his usual horrifying aura was gone, looking genuinely cheery. "You must be new to Amerika, da? Come with me, I have apartment around corner."
Hesitantly he followed the larger scarf-clad man to his moped, taking the offered helmet, riding down the street and to the bright apartment complex. The lobby was unusually large and they went straight to the elevator, heading up to the fourth floor and through an unlocked door. Inside Germany was assaulted with the image of a giant yak made from butter, surrounded by seven fans and dripping at the base (which sat on a coffee table in the middle of the living area).
"This is my home," Russia supplied. "I live here with little brother, he should be back from school any minute. That is my sculpture on table. I work as artist to support us."
"That's… unique."
"Da."
The floor shook very slightly when three teenagers ran into the front door—Lithuania, Estonia, and Latvia. Instead of their suits and uniforms, they were dressed in preppy teen clothing, as if they frequented the GAP or Abercrombie & Fitch.
"Hello, Ivan!" Lithuania said, too cheery to be natural. Where was his fear? Why did they all act like they weren't horrified of the Russian man? "Who's this?" he asked, looking at Germany.
"How rude of me. Toris, this is man I met today. He's new to Amerika."
Germany awkwardly looked around the group, realizing he never introduced himself. "I'm…" he internally sighed. "Ludwig."
The Russian smiled. "This is my little brother, Toris. Those are his friends, Eduard and Raivis. They run online show together."
"Yes," Lithuania—Toris—added. "And we're about to be late! Come on, Raivis, be getting your camera!" The smallest boy ran to a table, where a large professional camera was, and hurried with the other kids to a strange, old-timey elevator that was exclusively in their apartment, apparently leading from the living area to the attic.
Somehow this place felt almost normal. The two men stayed on the couch while the kids upstairs loudly did their show, playing random music and thumping the floor as if jumping or dancing. Germany glanced up at the high ceiling, wondering just how big this apartment complex was and how much money Russia—Ivan—could possibly make as an artist to afford this.
Russia, on the other hand, was happily molding the butter and scratching at it with a knife to make fur on the surprisingly realistic yak. Things were going well—they even stopped to get some coffee in the kitchen. They talked like normal people, unlike any conversation they ever had as countries before this craziness began.
Then it all went downhill.
There was a loud banging on the door, followed by, "Open up! I know you're in there!" The ominous laughter from before was back, building up as the knocks continued.
Russia instinctively ducked down behind the kitchen counter, pulling Germany down with him. He was as still as his yak sculpture, evident fear radiating.
"I know you're in there! Marry me, marry me, marry me!" Wailing laughter.
Germany turned to the horrified Russian, whispering, "Who is that?"
"Crazy neighbor," he hushed.
"BE ONE WITH ME, IVAN. MARRY ME." Wheezing, ugly repeated laughs ensued.
Ivan cried out, "Go away!" as if he was ready to cry in fear. The two hurried to the elevator, their safe little cage until they reached the attic. The three teens were still there, cleaning up their mess and uploading their video to their website, iToris.
"She's back," Ivan hurriedly told Toris.
Apparently this crazy neighbor (Natalia) would stalk him and harass him because she felt they were one. It got to the point where he had to hide in the apartment for days on end, which was good given he was a free-lance artist and could do his work from home… until it came time to deliver the piece.
He voiced his concerns for Toris, given that Natalia would go as far as to follow him around to get to his brother. They managed to convince Germany to do a trade—he stays in their guest bedroom free if he escorts Toris and his friends to school. They figured a big, ripped German man was the best kind of bodyguard. And, sadly, they were right.
The following morning he walked the kids along the sidewalks and up to the school, even taking them in through the office. He was ready to turn and leave when Latvia nervously tugged his shirt sleeve.
"Um, excuse me… but could you help me carry this to my class? It's so heavy…" In his arms was a large three-fold science fair board, along with a box of something electronic, and a folded black jacket on top.
Germany sighed. In for a penny, in for a pound. "Ja, I'll carry it." He quickly filled out a visitor pass and neatly placed a bright orange sticker to his shirt that read Ludwig in clean print. He followed the boy to his locker (all of which were bright purple or blue) and then to his first class, AP Chemistry.
The teacher turned around, smiling at the two. Her giant knockers bounced and the laugh track continued awkwardly and soon faded away. Germany tried to avoid all eye-contact as he placed the materials on Latvia's desk.
The Ukrainian woman approached him, asking him if he could stay to help out for a bit, since most of the projects were heavy and needed to be moved to the gym for the science fair after the students presented them to the class. He sighed, agreeing to help, given that it was either this or being locked up in Russia's apartment while Belarus harassed him.
Germany was given a chair at the front of the room alongside Ukraine's desk, facing the class. He wasn't even surprised anymore to see countries here. He was so used to it that it was scary.
Along the back of the room sat Prussia, looking confused by the nerdy kids speaking about scientific things. Germany caught the phrase "What the hell is a covalent bond?"
Gott, he hoped that idiot was adopted.
It was surprising to see Latvia flag Prussia over to sit with him, who looked iffy about it but ultimately moved over. They talked for a bit, Latvia handing him the black jacket.
"Here, so you can get extra credit. I know you failed the last test…"
"Shut up! I was caught off-guard!"
"You were tripping on acid and thought you were a country! You scribbled numbers all over the board and just walked out of class!"
Germany turned his head a fraction to see the dry erase board, covered in light remainders of erased marker, which covered the entire board in 4's.
Ukraine clapped her hands, calling the class to attention. "Class is beginning! Would anyone like to do any extra credit before we begin our presentations?"
Latvia elbowed Prussia, who grumbled as he stood up, sliding the black jacket on and heading to the front of the room. His jacket was covered in red and blue balls, attached by white lines, and over the heart it read KNO3 in bright white.
Ukraine smiled, eyeing him in unprofessional ways. "Yes, Gilbert, go ahead."
He cleared his throat, anxious about this nonsense. It was weird to see him so… nervous. He reached for a folded sheet of paper from his pocket and began reading from it. "Potassium Nitrate. Don't hate, it's great. It can act as an oxidizer. I didn't know that, but now I'm wiser. It has a crystalline structure. If you can't respect that, you're a butt-muncher. It's a key ingredient in gun powder, KNO3. Don't get no grief. It can be used to make corned beef. It's also known as salt peter." Prussia nervously folded his paper and looked at Ukraine, who began a slow clap. He smiled and looked at his watch. "Scheiße!" Then he ran from the room in a hurry.
Gott, Germany really hoped he was adopted.
After the class finished up he began helping Ukraine place projects in larger boxes and helped her carry them through the halls and to the gym. He passed by the auditorium, the doors wide open. He spotted Prussia on the stage fighting with Spain, who was in a bright green Peter Pan costume and hovering above the stage. They were hopping around and screaming that the other was jealous or a bad friend.
Germany was close to having an ulcer.
They made it to the gym, though entering the heavily air-conditioned room created a drastic change in atmosphere. The room was well-defined, but dark. The lights began to flicker and he set the box down on a close folding table, noticing the rows of what appeared to be a line-up of trash bags along the floor.
Large trash bags. In body shape, actually.
A low, gurgling groan filled the room and he turned around to face Ukraine… who was now leaned forward a bit, arms loose and swinging as she limped toward him. Her clothes were now torn, black and dark red with filth and death. Her hair was like old straw and her eyes were all white. He barely missed a bite when she lunged for him.
"What the scheiße?!"
He ran back through the doors, faced with more of the undead, limping around the halls. He caught sight of an undead Estonia feeding on the body of Lithuania while Latvia crawled over, missing a leg already.
The monsters looked up at him and he began to run faster than he ever ran, shoulder-checking zombies as he busted through the doors to the outside world. He jumped when he saw a half-eaten zombie, missing its legs and pelvis, dragging around a trail of organs that were sliding out of the gaping stomach. It groaned, looking up at him and reaching out a decayed hand.
He felt like he was going to get sick when he found he was staring into the dead, white eyes of Germania, blonde hair now white and limply hanging on to his rotten scalp. Germany backed away, knocking into a bike before hopping on and riding away as far as he could go.
As life would have it, he found a farm. A farm with real, living people! The sight of him made Turkey and Greece (who were keeping watch from the top of an RV) begin to argue over if he was a threat or not.
Turkey wore a POLICE cap, flailing around a shotgun and crying that they couldn't trust some stranger, while Greece argued a strong German would mean their group could feel safe again. Being the leader, Greece made the call to let him in.
Around a campfire sat the survivors: Romano, China, Grandpa Rome, Holy Roman Empire, Turkey, and Greece. They were talking about a girl from the group who went missing. Turkey was ranting how after 48 hours it goes from finding a person to finding a body, to which Greece smacked him over the head for saying such dark things in front of Holy Rome, a little boy.
Grandpa Rome, clad in suspenders and general farm ware, was muttering how it was a shame and a pity to lose such a young girl who was lost before they found his farm. Romano, the farmer's son, quietly slipped a small note to China, who was wearing a baseball hat.
China unfolded it, reading the simple message: Barn? Tonight
He smiled at Romano, slipping the note in his shorts pocket. Germany groaned at all this.
"Hey, Ludwig," Greece spoke softly in his natural tone of voice. "You don't have any weapons, do you?"
"Nein, I spent my time running from the zombies."
Greece smiled. "We have a crossbow but no one knows how to use it right. HR knows how, but his arms are too short for the one we have. Would you like to give it a try?"
Germany nodded, following Greece away from the campfire and to the RV, where they rummaged through supplies. Underneath an extra blanket was the crossbow, barely chipped and almost new. He held it up, a natural with the weapon. Greece smiled lightly and took a seat at the kitchenette table. "I promised HR he could have it when he got older… but in this world, I don't know how long any of us will last. He's so small, I'm afraid for him. We already lost a little girl." He frowned, looking to his feet.
Germany caught himself invested in this. "Don't blame yourself. I was in a school when it began. Children are killed all the time."
Greece frowned. "I was a sheriff. I should have been able to protect her. Little HR already lost his parents. I took him in as my own. I gave him my old hat to try to cheer him up, but he's so serious… especially for a little kid. He's convinced he can go start wars with these beasts and come out standing on top. I worry about him. That jerk Sadik isn't helping, always wearing that creepy mask and cop hat. He's a bad influence on HR."
All this information from Greece made Germany lose his voice. What happened to the happy little apartment he was in? Where were those doctors at the hospital or the perfect family from the perfect neighborhood?
When did everything fall apart?
"And now… Grandpa wants to kick us out once we find our girl, but I'm not so sure we'll even find her…"
They sat in silence for what felt like hours. The sky began totally black except for the scattered stars, forcing them to all split up and sleep in tents or the RV. Greece offered Germany to share his tent for the night while Turkey took watch over the camp from the RV.
China unzipped his own tent, eyeing the camp. Turkey was busy cleaning his shotgun, inattentive to the immediate area but still glancing up to check the tree line. China smirked before he snuck away from the group and to the large barn. He heard rustling inside, brushing it off as the farm animals being restless.
"Lovino better not be late, I can't afford Sadik chewing me out again…"
He climbed the wooden ladder that led up to the loft, where he stood in the darkness, only barely seeing the barn by the illumination of the moon. The animals were groaning and shuffling. He flipped his flashlight on, wondering what they were—
THOSE ARE ZOMBIES.
THERE ARE ZOMBIES IN THE BARN AND OH GOD NO, HE WAS SUPPOSED TO GET LAID HERE NOT EATEN ALIVE.
He hurried back down the ladder, running from the barn and thankful for the bolted doors. He looked over his shoulder, running into Romano.
"Lovino!" he whispered. "Why—what—how?!"
Romano tilted his head, raising an eyebrow before the realization hit him. "You looked."
"What did you expect me to do, ignore the groans?!"
"I was hoping you'd only hear moans."
China stopped and his cheeks grew red. Damn Romano, giving him that look.
The following day was filled with manual labor and grunt work, with the occasional awkward stare. Romano was currently pissed at China, who immediately ran to tell Greece about the barn. Turkey was slowly losing his shit.
"Let's get this over with!" Turkey yelled to the group. "The only good Walker is a dead Walker!"
Grandpa Rome and Romano were yelling, crying for him not to do it, but he stormed to the barn anyway. He let the Walkers out. This forced the rest of the camp to find their weapons and take them out before they caused any damage.
"HR, get in the house!" Greece yelled. Romano had fallen to his knees and was holding onto Holy Rome while Grandpa Rome did the same, traumatized by this mass killing of who they considered to be sick people.
Germany was amazed how easy this crossbow was to use, though he had to switch to a rifle when he noticed how long it took to reload the damn thing.
Dead zombies laid sprawled out on the grass, all down except for one. Small groans and gurgles came from the barn doors and a tiny zombie limped out, an auburn-haired girl wearing a green dress and a bandana on her head. Germany recognized her: Chibitalia.
She was put down quickly by Greece as she stumbled toward them.
The rest of the day was quiet and somber. Germany would give anything to go back to his Italian and Japanese roommate or even the Russian's apartment. This was just pathetic to live in.
The camp became overrun in no time, given the noise from their guns, and they quickly fled the farm. As they ran low on gas in their RV and cars, they stopped in front of an old school. The sign in front was blood-splattered and read "SANCTUARY" though it was obvious this wasn't the case.
Germany signaled to Greece, muttering that he would check it out first, and clear the halls if there were any undead. He came from a school, he might as well go back to one.
He kicked in a weak window leading to a hallway lined with lockers. He scurried in, forgetting his crossbow, which lay abandoned in a bush outside the window. The halls were clean, save for some loose papers on the floor. As he wandered the halls they seemed to get brighter, and the windows that were once blood-stained and dusty were now clear and filtering in the sun.
A bell rang and students—all living and talking—bombarded the halls. He stood in amazement—did this school not know what was happening outside? Were they immune? What was going on?!
A laughter filled his head, one that he knew well. Glancing up he saw the Italian he had grown so fond of, speaking animatedly with Japan near a class door. Germany hurried to them, relieved to see them alive and well.
"Luddy!" Italy cried. "We missed you! You didn't come to first period!"
"What?" Just earlier they were roommates. Now they're… high school students? He suddenly realized his own clothes had changed from his tank top and torn pants to the school uniform of sweaters and plaid slacks.
But he didn't care, anything was better than the apocalypse. He followed his friends into the classroom, playing along with the situation.
Austria stood at the front of the room, wearing a vest, and welcoming the students. This class was like a world meeting! Nearly everyone was there! Poland wore a cheerleader uniform while America and Prussia all donned letterman jackets. There were no desks, not even for the teacher. Instead were a small row of steps with individual chairs. Austria had a music stand and a piano rather than a desk.
"Listen up, class. It's time to begin," Austria's arrogant voice called out. "Everyone have their assignments?"
Everyone talked over one another about their projects and what they had prepared. Germany scowled, not knowing what it was and unable to hear it either.
"Feliciano," he whispered to the happy Italian. "What class is this?"
"You're so silly, Luddy," he smiled. "It's Glee club!"
"It's what?!"
Just when he thought things couldn't get worse.
Austria clapped his hands. "Okay, everyone! Time to start! Get ready because this week is theme song mashup week!"
That ulcer deep in his stomach ached and burned as the class all stood up and got in dance formation.
Italy began this new fresh level of hell. "Come and knock on our door!"
Russia joined as well, "Somehow the world will change for me, and be so beautiful."
Finland and Sweden stood together. "But I can't do this all on my own, I know."
Greece sang out, "I'll take the long way home, I'll find my own way back, as I should."
Romano hummed out, "Everything changes in time."
America stood up. "Hey, hey, daddy! Can I have some coke? Hey, hey, mama!"
Britain bit his cheek. "Hey, hey, mama!"
Japan joined in, "We've been waiting for you!"
Switzerland begrudgingly added, "When you're lost out there and you're all alone, life is waiting to carry you home."
Prussia called out, "Will the real Slim Shady, please stand up?"
Things became blurry for Germany as all these nations sang and danced and did unrealistically well for high school students in choir. He found himself missing the good old days… when Turkey opened that barn of zombies. This was truly the lowest and worst level of hell and eternal suffering. The room spun out of control and he blacked out.
As he woke up, he heard hushed whispers and worried voices. He opened his eyes, spotting Italy hovering above him.
"He's awake!"
Everyone crowded around and he just laid there, waiting for another stupid musical routine. But none came
"We were worried, Germany!"
Germany? Not 'Luddy?'
"What happened?"
Britain cleared his throat and explained to Germany he was knocked out when the remote flew from his hands (definitely America's fault, though). He had been unconscious for an hour while they had searched for and found a new remote and continued skimming channels.
Italy sat on the floor next to Germany, who was laid out on the couch while he was possibly in a coma or brain-dead. "Did you dream of anything?" he innocently asked.
"Ja, I did, actually."
The other nations watched him, inquiring about the dream. He eased himself to his elbows, looking at everyone in the room. Apparently after the accident most of them had left to give him space. He was grateful to at least have half as many unwanted guests.
He thought for a moment before pointing to Italy. "You were there." Then he saw America and China, repeating, "And you were there, and you were there, too!"
They thought it to be weird that he refused to tell them what exactly happened in his dream, though he did make it extremely clear they wouldn't be watching any cable TV for the remainder of their stay. They chalked it up to the incident.
America groaned, asking if movies were okay.
"Ja, as long as they're not cop movies," he shuddered.
"Sweet!" The blonde dug through his overnight bag, brought from his room. He threw out a handful of DVDs and Blu-rays. He held one up, asking loudly, "What about this one? The Boy in the Striped Pajamas!"
They stopped holding World Meetings in Germany after that.
A/N: Ah, Poor Germany. Suffering through every TV show I could manage to cram in there.
TV shows/movie and their songs in order are:
Scrubs (2001) - "I'm No Superman" by Lazlo Bane
Three's Company (1977) - "Three's Company, Too" by Ray Charles and Julia Rinker
Full House (1987) - "Everywhere You Look" by Jesse Frederick
Leave It to Beaver (1957)
iCarly (2007) - "Leave It All To Me" by Miranda Cosgrove and Drake Bell
21 Jump Street (2012) - "The Real Slim Shady" by Eminem
The Walking Dead (2010) - "Oates in the Water" by Ben Howard and "Serpents" by Sharon Van Etten
Glee (2009)
Bonus: Hetalia - Axis Powers - America's "Marukaite Chikyuu"
Thanks for reading! ;)