Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.
The choking black vines melted away to reveal the dark abyss of night. Considering the circumstances, it was equally terrifying for Ludwig, heart thumping under his white t-shirt, to see the darkness around him, but his senses soon caught up with him. He let go of his sheets and scanned the perimeter around his bed. Good. No vines.
But a new problem made itself known as he attempted to swallow. It was as if he devoured sand in his sleep, or maybe gulped down a few cotton balls. Sighing in disdain, he yanked back the sheets and proceeded to pad across the cold floor with bare feet.
The night was harsh, not as much as morning promised to be, but none the less obnoxious. Ludwig cursed his blasted nightmare, the chilly kitchen, and the light radiating off the television. He turned on the tap. His mind wandered as he scooped the water to his lips.
What time is it?
When did I turn the TV on?
I need to get back to sleep. I still have to fill out some finance papers.
Water droplets littered the counter after Ludwig shook his hands dry. He pushed the tap off with his wrist, wandering towards the refrigerator. When he yanked open the door, a blast of cold and light assaulted his senses, and he sighed in dismay.
"…has spread to five countries in a matter of two days. Officials are saying it's a more violent strain of strep throat, but with deadly effects. As of this morning, the United States has issued public school closings in twenty-six states."
What?
The man released the door and it closed with a soft thud. His eyes locked onto the blurry screen as he stepped forward to run his hand along the side. He pressed a button and watched as the little green blocks stacked horizontally along the screen, the crisp voice of some American news reporter filling Ludwig's apartment.
He awoke again with a total of two hours of sleep. After watching the news for a half hour, Ludwig ended up staring at the ceiling for another hour, then rolled around restlessly until dawn peeped over the closed curtains. The start of sleep had been interrupted, though, by the phone.
Damnit all.
His hand wandered across the bedside table. He yanked the phone out of the charger, and pulled it to his ear while pressing the answer button in one swift motion.
"Vhat?" he drawled.
"Have you seen the news, Germany?" asked the choppy voice of his ally Japan. His monotone voice held traces of concern, not enough to alert the average person, but enough to pipe Germany's interest.
"Uh, yeah, some virus?" replied Ludwig. Pushing himself up, Ludwig leaned against the headboard, covers around his waist.
"America's called for a world meeting," said Japan. Ludwig rolled his eyes, even though his ally obviously couldn't see him.
"Alveady? Why?"
"He says it's the worst he's ever seen. Overnight he shut down all his schools, and it's spread to three more countries."
"Drama queen."
"I don't know, Germany, it's pretty bad."
"Whatever. When and where?"
"New York, ten o'clock tomorrow night. I can meet you at the airport if you want."
"Sure, whatever."
It was as if a hospital and Greek architecture melted together to form a childhood queen's palace. Ludwig scanned the perimeter disdainfully. America had this tendency to make everything overly grand, and quite frankly, it was tacky.
Attempting to visualize the earth-toned villas of his homeland, Ludwig wandered towards his appointed seat. The crowd of countries muddled about, whispering medical jargon like "strains," and "quarantine periods." The atmosphere was more charged than it had been in past meetings, which were comparable to a middle school ice cream social since the countries gossiped a majority of the time, and it was jarring to see the empty seats of the missing countries. Instead, there was a hush over the crowd, as if the virus could hear them. Ludwig sat down and pulled open his book. If he was lucky, this change in atmosphere would preoccupy the other countries and they would leave him alone for once.
But then someone walked into the room.
Ludwig glanced up from his book and his eyes were met by two brown orbs taking in the mess of countries chatting about the hall. It was startling to see this sudden burst of life in the room. The young man held his shoulders high, not in a haughty way, more like a flower reaching for the sun, and his stride was only comparable to a dance or a skip. Looking about the room, one could see the way his shoulders tensed up as he took in the conversations of "antibiotic resistance," and "contagious tendencies." But aside from that, his lips still played with a smile, and he laughed often. Ludwig could not help but openly stare at the slender boy when he dutifully followed behind a darker haired version of himself towards the front of the room.
What just happened?
"Japan," called Ludwig. The stoic man was sitting in the seat behind him, filing through some paperwork calmly. He looked up.
"Yes?" he said.
"Who's he?" asked the German, gesturing towards the boy. Japan's dark eyebrows came together as he analyzed the brunette, squinting like a professor peering into a microscope. The boy talked animatedly to his darker counterpart, hands moving about the air like he was leading a symphony. Japan nodded.
"Judging from the way he's talking with his hands, I'm guessing that's probably one of the Italy brothers," replied Japan at last. Ludwig frowned.
"Ja, but vhat's his name?" questioned Ludwig. Japan shrugged.
"I don't know. Why don't you ask him?" he replied.
"Ja, richtig," muttered Ludwig, rolling his clear blue eyes. The Japanese man leaned foreword.
"Pardon?"
"Nothing."
"If you don't mind me asking, why do you want to know?"
"No reason, I've just never seen him before."
"Ah."
"Thought maybe he knew something about the virus. I heard it's moving west to east."
"Really?"
"Ja." Ludwig turned around in a vain attempt to his the red crawling up his neck. Hopefully Japan wouldn't breach the subject once the meeting began, otherwise Germany would have to concoct another lie as to where he heard the false information from. And then he would blush again. And that would suck.
A bouncy voice sliced through Ludwig's train of thought, making the German lurch in his chair.
"Hey everyone, let's get this meeting started!" America announced, slamming a gable against a polished wood podium. It shook the ground all the way to the first table and Ludwig reached out to steady his cup of coffee.
Uh.
"My fellow countries," yelled America dramatically "We are facing a national crisis unlike anything we've seen before." His eyes swept across the crowd. It like the opening to some B-rated sci-fi flick, and despite the dire circumstances, Ludwig found himself doodling in his notebook as America launched into some melodramatic speech. He started shading in squares as America jumped about the stage, capturing the audience with crisply enunciated facts and shocking statistics. He spun tales about the school closings, and the rising numbers of infected. Ludwig refrained from reigning in the calamity, which was like a pot of water on the stove, heating to a boil as America gave an Oscar-worthy performance.
At last, the meeting took a recess for lunch. Ludwig and maneuvered his way through the pale crowd that chatted loudly. He heading into the dining hall, found his seat, and cracked open a book.
The chattering returned all too quickly as the countries filed into the room. Ludwig felt something brush his should and he glanced up.
It was the Italian.
"Oh, dispiace signore," he piped. His voice was light as Champaign, and he grinned brightly. Unlike the rest of the crowd, he appeared completely oblivious to the pending destruction, like a daisy swaying in the wind of a storm. It was unnerving.
Ludwig didn't bother to respond. He went back to reading as the Italian skipped away. A few minutes later, he was back.
"Hello there! This seems to be my seat," Italy chirped.
Of course.
The lithe boy pulled back a chair and it scraped against the wood floor loudly. He eased into the seat, fidgeting around until he was comfortable. A group of countries found their seats nearby, and he chatted with them cheerily. Ludwig pulled his book closer to his face.
The meal came, a basic steak and potatoes lunch. Ludwig busied himself with meticulously cutting up the steak. Beside him, the Italian whined about pasta for a while, than munched on the steak by cutting a piece, eating it, and starting the process over again. Ludwig wondered why he didn't just cut it all up at once, but decided not to ask.*
Italy's glass was filled up yet again, the bubbly red liquid spiraling like a tidal wave, then settling back to a calm surface. He giggled and took a sip. The wine had a bitter bite to it, but was rich and well aged. It reminded the young man of home, so he took another swing.
"And I heard from the rumors-" Italy hiccupped, making the allies around him snicker "t-that England and America are-"
"Uh, Feliciano, you're out of wine," interrupted England, grabbing the empty glass and shoving it under Italy's nose. Italy frowned and took it from him.
"Ah, che peccato!" he whined. The other allies nodded as if they spoke Italian. Italy reached across the table, his fingers brushing the crystal pitcher. Falling back into his seat, he swayed to the side.
"What the-" Ludwig said, looking down to see the Italian man hanging on his arm. He giggled and took the glass sitting beside Germany's meal. Ludwig just sat there, a flush crawling up his neck, biting his tongue to the point of tasting blood in his mouth.
Italy took a sip and made a face.
"Ve, just water. Do you have any wine, mister?" Behind him, the group of allies were laughing hysterically as Germany muttered something about not drinking wine. Italy didn't appear to be paying attention, though, as another loud calamity was going on across the room. Germany finally turned around to see what he was staring at.
It was Japan, surrounded by a group of countries and he was bent on the floor coughing.
Untangling himself from the dazed young man, Germany hurried across the room, leaving the drunkards behind. When he arrived on the scene, he found America pacing back and forth on his cell phone and the crowd backing away slowing. Looking down, he saw speckles of blood on the carpet.
"Vhat's going on?" he yelled. Screaming answered him, people hurrying away with their shirts over their noses. A shaking America whispered into the cell phone, eyes locked on Japan.
"The virus," wheezed Japan from the floor. Ludwig bent down, placing a hand on his ally's back.
"Vhat?" he said.
"Just get away, I don't want you-"
"No, vhat's going on? This morning you were fine, it can't be the-"
"Germany, get away from him, he's contagious!" yelled America, snapping his cell phone shut. He didn't move from across the room, but gestured frantically from his spot near the door. A mob of people rushed out the door, herded by France and a slightly drunk England, who were yelling in thick accents for everyone to stay calm.
"He doesn't have the virus! It's probably something else, why is everyone panicking like this?" yelled Germany back. Japan coughed again, a glob of blood sliding out of his mouth and onto the light yellow carpet.
It wasn't until tears rolled down Japan's cheeks that Germany began to panic.
They entered the questioning room. Sitting down at a polished wood table, the agent pulled out a plastic covered iPad and adjusting the light blue face mask slipping down his greasy nose.
"Okay, let's get this over with," he sighed, tapping at the screen. Ludwig looked at his reflection in the polished wood floor and rubbed his hands together under the table. His stomach jumped around like a caged animal, and all he could think about was the look on Japan's face as they carried him off on a stretcher. The agents came soon after. America's, of course, and wearing bio suits that sent another wave of panic over the crowd waiting in the lobby. They only pulled a few countries, though, and the rest were sent back to their homelands.
"First question. How much time did you spend with the infected?"
"Vhat?"
"How many hours were you in contact with Japan?"
"Two hours in the shuttle from the airport. And, uh, we sat near each other at the meeting."
"Did you sit together at dinner?"
"No."
"Alright…" he tapped at the iPad for a while. Finally, the agent spoke again.
"What is your relationship with the infected?"
"Friends, I guess. Why does it matter?"
"Just a standard question. In the past day, approximately how many people have you come into contact with?"
"I don't know."
"Guess."
"Uh… well there was, uh, the taxi cab driver, and uh… the doorman. And then Japan. And, well, the people who sat next to me at dinner."
"Did you share any fluids with these people?"
"Fluids?"
"Kissing, sharing food, or-"
"No I- wait, there was one guy who drank out of my cup during dinner."
"Who was that?"
"Uh, he was one of the Italy brothers, I think. I'm not sure. He was drunk and-"
"Hold on a second," the agent played around with the iPad again. Finally, he lifted it up, and showed it to Ludwig.
"This man?" he questioned. Staring back at Ludwig was a plastic covered picture of Italy, smiling brightly at the camera behind a green, white, and red background. Ludwig nodded.
"Feliciano Vargas," said the agent "Sound familiar?"
"Not really, I didn't know him."
"Well," the agent snorted and stood up "Your about to get to know him."
"Vhat?"
"Just wait here. Someone will come and get you in a little while," and with that, the agent strode away, leaving Ludwig to pace the room for another hour.
The term was "quarantine" and, quite honestly, it sounded more obnoxious than frightening. Ludwig supposed they would just run a bunch of tests all night long, but no, now he was going to be stuck inside the hospital for the next week without even being able to stop home first.
The bio-suit agents led him through a maze of hallways, all the way down into the basement were windows shown into dim-lit rooms stocked with beds and toilets. To Ludwig it looked more like a jail than it did a hospital. They got to the final room in the hallway, and one agent stepped forward to unlock the door. Ludwig sighed and stalked in. They slammed the door shut behind him.
Ludwig scanned the room disdainfully, setting his bag down on the chair that rested next to the door. He was about to sit down on the bed when he heard a sniffling noise that stopped him dead in his tracks.
There on the floor sat the Italian, tears running down his face.
Ja, richtig-German, yeah right.
dispiace signore- Sorry sir.
Ah, che peccato-Ah, what a shame!
*In Italy, it is common for people to cut up there food as they eat opposed to cutting it before they eat it.
A/N- Hey guys! So, this is my first ever Hetalia fan fiction, and I am super excited to be writing this! To let you all know a little bit about myself; 1. I'm a literature nerd. My previous fandom? Lord of the Flies, 2. I love reviews (duh, who doesn't…) but really, they encourage me to write, so review away! And 3. I take criticism well, so feel free to flame. I'll be working on the next chapter soon, and if you are looking for updates, check out my profile. I leave little musings on my profile and I have some pretty awesome polls (not…). Peace, love, and lunchboxes!-Paris
Song for the chapter: "Scheibe" by Lady Gaga