RATED T FOR LANGUAGE AND MILD SUGGESTIVE SCENES
A/N: Yeah, probably not the most original idea on the site, but I decided to write one of these 'Nations Revealed' fanfictions to the best of my ability! Leave feedback, PM me if I don't update, etc. etc. I hope you enjoy! Thanks to my friend from Furcadia, Canada Williams, for helping me through my intense writers block.
I, sadly, do not own Hetalia.
JULY 19, 2013
Peace.
That was what Feliciano felt, a pleasant change from the usual stress involving his work, and his very existence. Fingers laced behind his head and woven into his hair, he was tucked comfortably away in a little patch of heaven on earth, the smell of wildflowers filling his nose as a light breeze ruffled his hair. A contented sigh left his lips and he shifted, seeking an even more comfortable position in this lush field.
Silence.
It was not an absolute silence- a total absence of noise. The gentle sounds of the wind, weaving deftly through the grass still reached his ears, the high melody of birdsong, and the distant cacophony of civilization, voices raised in shouts of greeting or barter, or even rage, car horns and tires, the typical banging of construction. These sounds, however, faded away, submitting themselves to memory's superiority.
Nostalgia.
Yes, memory. Memory flooded him, of intense stares and awkward situations, and a little black hat atop a serious face, so often seen red and flustered. An offered hand, a friendly frown, careless days full of art and love. Affectionate words between innocent children. A comfortable sadness sent his lips twitching into a smile, closed eyes peacefully turned to the sky.
It was too bad that it would have to end. A simple white shirt and pair of jeans would be swapped for his more formal, acceptable blue uniform, comfortable sandals changed for his boots. His peace would melt into work, his silence would be filled with urgent requests, his nostalgia filled with the needs of today.
With a regretful sigh, he stood up, brushing himself off and looking briefly over this sheltered paradise. One last smile was given to it before he took an easy pace, an odd mixture of a skip and a job being taken to return to his Venice.
It was not an eventful journey, in any way, no more than usual in his crowded city. With amusement, he thought of his German friend's constant worries that he would be harmed in his own country, be it fatally or not- either one would be rather awkward, if you thought about it. No matter his insistences to the contrary, Ludwig was still convinced that this place was a deathtrap, an accident waiting to happen.
Stiff suits, tight ties, enclosed offices. None of these were considered 'fun' to the Italian, tucked away in a secret place where nobody might stumble upon or attempt to harm him. A pen in hand, he alternated between paperwork and computerwork, addressing the issues of his country.
Boredom.
Centuries of the same thing, no change, sitting at a desk for so long to look over everything, be it trivial or no, before passing it on to others. No chance to amuse himself, nor to go 'bother' Ludwig- who was more than a short ways away, back in his own country- as he normally would. He was shut up, cramped, and he was in desperate need of amusement, as usual.
Noise.
Too many voices, demanding too much of him. Rapid fire Italian, easily understood and responded to in the same fashion, one word repeated over and over- 'Italia.' His name. His identity. Said in so many different ways, over and over, breaking through his mind. Himself. Italy.
Regret.
Wars, battles, problems, economies, murders, deaths, thefts, arsons, so many things. Unpleasant memories forced to the surface for the good of everyone, formalities that he would much rather forgo rather than be forced through, abandoning responsibilities instead of being made to bring up bad blood, to bury it once again.
Leaving again would be such a pleasure, in his mind, the ability to walk home, change to comfortable clothing, and relax, without work demanding his attention. Strolling from his workplace with more warnings to 'be careful, don't tell anyone!' and other such things.
It was finally time to leave. With a yawn, he stood, and said his farewells, his cheerful 'ciao's being met with the more formal 'arrivederci' that he always received. With a sigh, barely hidden, he walked out.
His 'deathtrap' city of Venice, Italy, filled with light and noise and more life than you would think could ever exist, filled with art and beauty- and its own darkness, its other side, as with any other place. Still, the bad in himself and his land was not his current focus. Indeed, he did not truly seem to have a current focus at all, oblivious to the world as always.
It was not until blinding pain hit him that he cared about much of anything at all, his body flying through the air with a sickening crunch and landing with another, similar noise. His eyes flew open, tears welling up, and a ragged shout of agony was flung from his throat.
Shocked, his eyes flew wide open, blood gathering around his lips. Screams, shouts, apologies- he registered them, though not the meaning of the words. Only that there was panic, mass confusion, and so much chaos, and that his pain was vanishing with adrenaline and darkness, both covering him in a thick fog.
No. No. No.
He could feel his heart stopping. He could feel cold hands pulling him away, though this he knew to be an illusion.
Not here. Not now.
Broken bones, things that would have a normal human being already long gone, numbed by hormones and shock.
I can't die here. I can't die here.
He was, though, and there was nothing he could do about it. His last thought was that Ludwig would be sad, even disappointed with him, possibly angry, and that there would be far too much explaining to do when he did wake up.
JULY 25, 2013
Naturally, when he at last awoke, he was confused, disoriented, and oh so very sore. Moving did not seem to be an option for the moment, and the simple act of breathing sent pain shooting through his body, primarily his ribcage, though he slowly adjusted to the highly unpleasant feeling.
Slowly, he became aware of other sensations, too, regaining bits of his consciousness and slowly expanding his viewpoint on the world. Bandages, wrapped tightly around his arms, legs, torso. A large hand wrapped around his, warm and reassuring. A flimsy hospital gown, paired with typical sheets and bedding. The steady beep of hospital machines. The low murmur of voices, all speaking in English.
"… busy. He can not come at the time, I apologize. He is not feeling the best, and the States decided that he needs to stay at home and rest. Seeing as he could not leave this be, he sent me to represent him." The words were spoken by an unfamiliar voice, accented in typical American style- yet phrased clearly, even respectfully, something that Italy did not quite understand. The heavy sigh that followed this bit of speech, however, he knew quite well.
"L-Lud…?" he began tentatively, a hoarse whisper that hurt to be made. Immediately, there was noise, reactions to him. Italy forced his eyes open, ignoring the uncomfortable, almost crusty feeling that came with one having their eyes closed for far too long.
"Feliciano!" he said, looking a bit surprised, and relieved. "You're awake."
"Good!" said the mystery voice with a polite cheer. "Buongiorno, signore Vargas. Mi chiamo-"
"Y-you can speak in English, if you want…" Italy murmured, closing his eyes again. The unnatural accent that went with the words reinforced the 'American' theory, although that he spoke a different language at all was surprising and rather pleasant.
"Very well, thank you. My official name is Washington D.C. I represent the capital city of the United States of America, and I am here on behalf of my father who is currently busy. If we are in public, and can not address each other by our normal names, you may know me as Michael W. Jones." A pleasant smile was placed on the man's face, flicking blonde hair out of brilliant blue eyes. The dull glint of glasses shielded part of the color from view, but it was unmistakably similar to America.
"Why does America need someone here…?" Even as he spoke, Italy grimaced at how his voice sounded- he sounded quiet, injured. Like he had forgotten how to speak. Like it hurt him. It did, a little, but that was a moot point. Washington shrugged, not seeming too concerned, though Germany's face displayed classic worry.
"Because, he's America, and you know him," was the reply he got, almost bored. "If something happens, he has to be there to 'fix' it. Since he can't come... I had to, which is regrettable because, no offense, but I would rather be back home, working to get America back on track."
"No offense taken, I understand," Italy replied, attempting to raise one hand in a friendly way, only to be restrained by his bandages. The movement was not noticed by capital or country.
"How do you feel, Italy?" Germany sounded tired- had he slept recently?
"Molto bene, grazie!" Unlike his friend, Italy still at least tried to possess his usual cheer, and Washington chuckled, shaking his head.
"'Bene' enough to host the next World Conference?" he asked, brow quirked. It looked to Feliciano as though he was wickedly grinning. Italy frowned, tilting his head, but before he could ask, the capital continued talking, easily telling what the question would be by the confused look on the Italian's face. "There are several reasons, not the least among them being death threats by your brother. However, we're overdue anyways, and we need to have a meeting to discuss this. As far as I know, this hasn't happened before. Nations have died in public, but they woke up before they got to the hospital or anything."
"Scusa..." mumbled Italy looking down, prompting two faces to give him fierce looks. Germany was the one who spoke, however.
"Nein, Italien," he said. "It is not your fault. I do not think that you meant to get hit by a car."
"Besides, it isn't like you wrote Twilight, or the script for Jersey Shore," piped in Washington, grinning. "We just need to meet to get together a cover for you, and to go over normal meeting things, don't worry." Italy smiled.
"Okay," he said. "I'm a little tired, though."
"Do you want me to organize it, so that you can take a nap?" asked Washington. "I typically organize dad's meetings for him, especially when he's busy." Italy sent him a grateful look, and nodded.
"Grazie," he mumbled, and yawned, closing his eyes. "How long was I... you know..." He could almost hear Germany cringing inwardly.
"You were... dead... for three days, and comatose for two more." German accent, smooth as ever, and if Italy had not known better, he would have thought that Germany did not care very much.
"... I think I'm going to take a nap, now." His words were punctuated by a yawn, echoed by another and a quiet 'dammit' that he didn't think he was supposed to hear. "Buonanotte, Germany, Washington." And, once again, he was gone.
A/N: Three things. First, I will shamelessly be using OCs for the States. Secondly, I'm only happy with the first part of this fanfic. And thirdly... R&R, it's appreciated!