Alright, finally I got the guts to publish my first work~! Now, before we begin at all, I feel there should be a few disclaimers and warnings and things of the such. Because why else would this lovely fanfiction be rated so high?

Disclaimers:

-I do not own Hetalia. But I bet most of you knew that, because this is after all a site for fanfictions.

-The events depicted in this story do in no way, shape, or form demonstrate any personal feelings I have towards any race, nationality, or individual, etc., etc. They are simply to move the plot along, and I mean no offense to anyone.

-The characters in this story do not in any way intentionally resemble any person, alive or dead.

Warnings:

-There will be much gore and death in later chapters. I want to make this very clear, because it has come to my attention I have little sadist, morbid habits that yes, I love to embrace. I apologize in advance if this was not what you were looking for in your searching for stories and humbly request you leave rather than rant at me if you have an issue with your favorite characters dying. (Because they just so happen to be some of my favorites as well. I know. Tragic.)

-A few of the characters involved, such as America, England, and Germany, will go through a point in time where they are very out of character, all in a similar way. I am fully aware of this, and as much as it bugs me (as I'm sure it bugs you), I can promise it will go away. Again, only for little plot thingies.

-I used human names for the nations in this story. Not for any particular reason, simply because I like to make sure I have more than one thing to call the characters. I only state this here because I came to the understanding this bothers some people. If this really starts mattering enough to the point where it simply can't go on, and I have enough people contact me on the matter, I'm sure I can change this.

-I planned to hang back and publish this later, so the editing may be hurried. **Please, if you find errors message me about them so I can fix them! I will be your best friend for life and probably give you chocolate! Over the internet, just because people can do that now.

Keys:

~0~0~: There is a difference in time from the paragraph previous.

~^~^~: No time skippies; only character switching.

Okay, sorry that was kind of a lot to swallow… Please take note that I wrote this for my cousin, Celticknot14, which is really the entire reason I've come to this site to post. And while I have no qualms with the rest of you reading it, simply keep in mind there may not be much more from me afterwards. ^^; Now we can begin~!

(*After this: if there is anything else you find that I should be warning you guys about, same situation as the spelling/grammar errors. Please send me a message saying so… I'm a complete newb to this place…)

1: Misery and Misfortune Find a Foothold

America let out a small laugh, moving to get his former caretaker from the passenger's seat. "Dude, you should probably get to bed before your fairy friends or whatever come to eat your sorry butt for gettin' so drunk…!" He ushered the fuming, tipsy Brit into his living room, shoving him onto the sofa before he was able to deliver the off-center strike he'd been readying periodically for almost half an hour.

Arthur scowled, a competitive glint sparking in his foggy, bloodshot eyes. He let out a few slurs of protest, though the most Alfred could actually make out wasn't very polite at all. He tossed England the blanket draped neatly over the rocking chair and headed for the door, grinning. "Great party by the way, brah~"

~0~0~

In the morning, Alfred was woken by the phone blaring its ugly call, turning over with small, reluctant mumbles. It was only about eleven thirty…! Who even woke up at such an ungodly hour? After the calls persisted past the answering machine nearly three times, the young nation decided the only way to shut the infernal machine up was to answer. Or break it, but he normally needed the device in question.

Without bothering to get up or even really get his glasses on, America felt around for the still singing phone until its smooth surface greeted the sweaty palm of his hand. He raised it to his ear, nearly speaking to his pillow more than the caller. "Dude, did somebody die or something…? 'Cause if not it could probably wait until I can actually taste something that's not morning br-"

"Someone did die, actually…!" came a quiet, yet very angry tsundere hiss from the other end of the line. "You killed the me that was worth anything, fat wanker…!" There was a certain warbling pain to his tone, compressed just like everything else to a tight hiss.

Alfred let out a small groan. The guy was even going through one of his award-winning hangovers and he still found the energy to come scolding him about it. "Iggy, dude, it's not my fault you're one of the funniest drunkards on this planet. Go back to bed or find some other poor sap to listen to you complain." He clicked his phone shut, dropping it to the ground beside his bed before he could hear further whispered ranting.

But because the topic of feeling awful had come up, he couldn't help but notice he was feeling a little more than sleep deprived himself. Normally mornings weren't this bad for him, even if he was forced to rise early. And surely this was no hangover; that was Britain's job. He'd only had like, two or three drinks the night before anyway…

When further rest didn't seem to help him out, America grew irritated. He forced himself out of bed, pushing his glasses onto his nose and wobbling into the kitchen with a hideous case of morning fog-headedness. He simply wasn't all there…

After breakfast, when at least the foul-tasting dryness of his mouth and throat had been washed away, the American had no choice but to admit it to himself. He had a headache. A real, throbbing, not-foggy-but-panging headache.

…What was one supposed to do for that, exactly? He was aware that there were medications out there for citizens to use if they got sick… Alfred reluctantly pulled together a few things to make his sleepwear look less so, heading for the pharmacy. He'd been to one only once or twice before for some flu stuff and whatnot, but he wasn't all too familiar with the drug stores personally. He had better things to be doing than getting sick.

By the time he reached the store, all Alfred really truly wanted was to be back in his cozy bed. He regretted having come at all, but figured if he was already there there was no point in leaving without what he'd come for. He wasn't taking this to heart very religiously however, as he didn't bother looking through all the drugs and labels. He wanted to rest, not to read, and it didn't really matter to him what he was downing as long as it made things better. A bottle of pills lining one of the shelves seemed promising enough, convincing Alfred to take it and head home. After reading only what he really needed to, he popped two of the tablets into his mouth and had them washed down with a swig of stray mystery soda on the coffee table.

Two lanky legs carried a miserable America to bed in hopes of fighting off the odd pains that seemed intent on sapping the fun from the bright new day. Getting to sleep proved to be a larger challenge than was expected however, and he soon found himself staring at the ceiling, bored out of his mind. He had a sinking feeling that the next few days were not going to be very fun…

~0~0~

"Alright people, if we're gonna pull this off we need at least twenty cases of dynamite, a giant net and a-…" America trailed off slightly, staring ahead of himself in a blank daze. "I, uh… I actually wrote a list… somewhere…" he started for the door, trying his hardest not to seem in any sort of hurry.

Once he was certain the door was shut all the way, Britain let out a small sigh of relief. "Thank heavens… I didn't think he was ever going to shut up."

"Did anyone even come close to understanding that, aru?" China glanced around, uncertain if he'd failed to comprehend the plan because of a cultural gap with the American or if he really had just been babbling nonsense.

Alfred sat back against the door of the bathroom stall he'd hidden away into, wiping at his face with a shaking sleeve. It was getting harder and harder to keep up his little act… Maybe it was finally time he wuss out and see a doctor?

He shook his head at the thought, feeling a thin coat of sickly saliva start to well back up in his mouth. After a few moments of stubborn resistance, the young nation reluctantly leaned back over the bowl to empty what little his stomach still contained. He'd never hear the end of it if Britain figured out he'd been ill…

It took America a while to recover, laying limp where he knelt for a while before reaching to flush away the red mess he'd left. He froze up somewhat after a moment, contents of his chest starting to knot up in an ugly tangle of utter shock and terror as he started to take in the actual hue of the water. Had he really just… coughed up blood…?