Chapter 1: Did it even get this hot in Italy in April?


There was a fire somewhere. There had to be to produce this sort of heat.

England sat sideways, discreetly fanning himself with his very official and important government papers. Today he didn't even have the time to comment on the wall color, the least of his worries and a dull, horrid shade of violet. Frankly speaking, he wasn't really thinking anything at all for he never could have imaged it could get this hot in Europe, let alone Italy. His head felt like mush, jumbled, unfocused, and just hot. Perspiration dripped from his forehead and his thick suit stuck uncomfortably to his body.

The reason for being in the insufferable weather in Italy was another UN meeting, though the number of countries present didn't exceed 20 because the others had declined the optional invitation. How lucky they all were. England swore he was starting to see heat waves dancing in front of his eyes, creating ripples across the windows and people in front of him. The ticking of the clock behind seemed to amplify all the noise and motion and heat. His enorm -normal- sized eyebrows started to furrow; annoyance building. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to drown out anything and everything, happy place, happy place… but to his right, America was practically bouncing, tapping his fingers repeatedly on the oak table, each thrum hitting down like thunder. France to the left was sipping on an afternoon drink leisurely while humming.

And he hated it all. It was too hot,

America's tapping was incessant, someone - probably Turkey? Wait, he wasn't even present - just kept droning on, and France... well France was surely doing something wrong. Why was there even a bloody meeting today? They had just had one at least a month ago, updates and such, and nothing had happened to call for this.

He swiveled his head to the side, away from the sun peeking in through a window. His hand on the papers sped up to create a real breeze and he didn't bothering trying to hide his irritation or the fan anymore. Steadily, his arm went faster, faster, faster, cooler - and then black spots appeared in the corners of his eyes just before taking him over.

Nations all around dropped, one by one, to the carpet. Once the last dropped, a tie between America and Russia, they all suddenly sat back up. The common reaction was a massage to the head, easing the headache that had sunken in. China and some others groaned in discomfort, breaking the silence and allowing for the complaints to start.

"What just happened? How?!"

"Italy, what are you trying-"

"Back-a the fuck away from mi fratello!"

"Silence!" Germany quieted the crowd in seconds, who had less fear and more curiosity to the country at his side. Italy beside him was holding what seemed like a very, very heavy book. It held numerous pages in the soft leather binding, filled almost as gigantic as the cover itself, and had latches on its spine and front. Heavy brass created a mechanism to keep it shut, taking up a narrow third of the open end. He looked at the red book and started smoothing it, tracing letters with his fingers.

"Abscondita... est.. memoriae?" Seeming bewildered, he placed it on the table, creating a bang as it met the sleek surface. Everyone flinched.

"Hidden memories? What's that mean," The Italian nodded to America words just as he said them, confirming the translation and showing his confusion also on the subject. With a sinking feeling, the rest of the world knew this was going to be an... interesting meeting.

And a lot longer than expected.


Mi Fratello (Italian) - My brother

Abscondita est memoriae (Latin) - Hidden memories


Just another angsty secrets/headcanons fic

Hope you enjoyed the first chapter

Italics- Different language or thinking or emphasis (why are italics so useful?)