Books and movies often portray explosions as large, spectacular flashes of fire and light. They are, indeed, large spectacular flashes of fire and light, but only to those lucky enough to be standing outside of the blast radius.
To Germany, it was nothing but shimmering heat that rushed towards him in a wave. The whiteness seared itself into his eyes. He threw himself down, hoping to avoid the brunt of the blast.
He nearly wasn't fast enough; the heat grazed over him as he threw up his hands in front of his face. He could dimly hear screaming in the background, anguished, pained screaming. Voices called out before being abruptly silenced and large thuds nearly punctured Germany's ear drums as what he assumed were pieces of debris crashed into the ground around them and tore holes in the walls of corridor. Under all the chaos was the faint sound of a fire coming to life, whispering demonically as it forced Germany to open his eyes.
"Help! Help! Germany, help me! Germany, I can't see!" an all-too familiar voice faded away into incoherent sobbing that seemed to stand out among the cacophony of shouts.
Germany pushed himself to his feet, wondering if he should feel relieved or panicked, decided on both, and forced himself to hobble towards the sound of Italy's voice.
He did his best to ignore the flames and the twisted shadows on the walls.
Xxx
He knew he should have stayed at the World Meeting. He knew he should have. This was God's way of punishing him for his laziness, wasn't it? Italy opened his mouth to try and scream again but instead coughed up a phlegm of congealed black soot onto his lap.
His arm didn't hurt anymore, and he thought he should be relieved. Instead he was even more terrified. He had gathered enough injuries to understand that the pain didn't subside that easily without medication, and if it did, that meant there was something terribly wrong.
Italy willed himself to keep his eyes closed, usually an easy task, but it was becoming difficult to resist the urge to peek at his arm and leg.
He could at least feel his leg, thought it was quickly numbing as his nerves simply began to shut themselves down. He wondered if they would have to amputate. Did country's limbs grow back like starfish? Probably not. He would have heard of it by now.
He imagined doctors with saws hacking off his limbs and vomited again as a flare of pain consumed his leg.
"Italiaaaaaaa!"
Again, it took a concentrated effort not to open his eyes. He wondered why he even bothered. Nothing could be as bad as what his imagination had dreamt up.
Italy cracked one of his eyes open to try and catch a glimpse of Germany's muscular form coming to rescue him. It was hard to see with all this smoke, though. And fire, lots of fire. He thought he could see bodies and nations running frantically back and forth. He opened his left eye and was shocked and terrified to find only blackness.
Nothing happened to my eye, right? Now he wasn't so sure, so he closed both of them for good measure.
His left eye wouldn't close now. Not that it made a difference, but he could actually feel his eye lid catching on something. Something sharp.
Something protruding from my eye?
Italy felt like he might be sick again.
"Italy! Italy, are you alright? Italy, I . . . oh, God, no."
And there was Germany, coming to his rescue, the way he always did and always would. The way the man's usually clear voice trailed off at the end left him feeling ever so slightly hollow, however.
"Germany . . ." he croaked. He coughed a bit and blood spilled from his lips, running down his chin to further stain his jacket.
As long as I don't open my eyes . . . What? As long as he didn't open his eyes, what? What could possibly improve this situation? He wondered vaguely if now would be a good time to cry but decided against it.
Am I dying?
The last thing he heard was Germany's strangled cry before he succumbed to a deep and dreamless sleep.
Xxx
Germany choked back bile and told himself repeatedly that he'd seen worse. He'd seen worse in his time. He had . . . he had . . .
He hadn't seen worse. He hadn't seen anything even close to this, especially not when it was his dearest and closest friend who was in pain.
Italy was propped up against a pile of rubble, limbs spread-eagled. A wooden support beam had fallen on his right leg, trapping it. Germany was fairly certain it must have been broken in at least half a dozen places. His head, matted with plaster and blood, lolled slightly to the left. One of his hazel eyes was tightly closed and encrusted in a film of blood. A large shard of glass was lodged in the other and the left side of his face was completely obscured by crimson.
His arm, however, his arm was the worst. One of the thick, bulletproof windows had been dislodged from its place in the wall above the meeting room's doors and had come down right on Italy's shoulder. It had shorn it completely off and both the bloody window and missing limb were lying next to him.
Germany started to step forward, then stopped himself. He couldn't help his friend now; there was too much danger of him injuring Italy even more than he already was. It would take at least two strong men to lift the beam.
He glanced at the stump briefly and deduced that no tourniquet would be needed at the moment. Nation's clot much faster than humans, so the bleeding had nearly completely subsided.
Germany was struggling to look at this objectively. All he could think of was the pain and terror Italy must have felt as the explosion tore the building apart, trapping him under the rubble.
Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Germany forced himself to turn away. The best thing he could do right now was to contact the authorities.
Hungary was screaming his name, but he couldn't face her right now. Instead, he began to push through the crowd, remembering to keep his eyes firmly locked on the flickering exit sign at the end of the hallway.
If he had looked, he would have thrown up.
Xxx
"Liet! Liet, like, this isn't funny anymore! Get up! Come on, Liet!" Poland was leaning over Lithuania's body, shaking his shoulders frantically. He had found Lithuania half buried in a pile of debris and had managed to pull him out onto the tile floor. Blood blossomed under his white dress shirt and seeped through the fabric onto Poland's hands. Poland tried to ignore that, tears welling in his eyes.
"Liet! If you don't, like, wake up right now I am totally never playing chess with you ever again!"
To his relief, Lithuania's eyelids fluttered, than opened slightly.
"Po . . ."
Poland choked back tears. "Liet . . . Liet are you okay?"
Lithuania moaned and shifted his head to look down at the stain on his shirt. "Poland, I think I'm dying." He did not say it sadly, he said it in the slightly exhausted tone of one who has seen far too much of the world and its cruelties.
Poland grabbed his shirt angrily. "Don't say such stupid things! Of course you're not going to die! You're a nation! Nations don't die that easily!" His voice had taken on a slightly desperate edge.
Lithuania grimaced. "Lift up my shirt, Po."
Poland did.
Then he put it back again. His hands were shaking like an addicts, and tears were falling from his eyes onto the Lithuania's collar.
"Liet . . ." he said softly, pausing momentarily as his friend let out a bloody cough. "Liet, you can't leave! I still . . . I still need you!"
Lithuania breathed deeply and mustered a small smile. "It makes me very happy to hear you say that. but it's not true. You don't need me. You never needed me. You can do just fine on your own. I believe in you."
Poland shook his head furiously, he could feel his throat closing up. "Liet, I, like, love you!"
Oh, god, he wished he'd said it sooner. Oh, god, oh, god, oh, god. The proclamation was more forceful than he had originally intended, as if saying it loudly enough would somehow reverse the tragedy unfolding under his hands.
Lithuania looked momentarily shocked, before the tenseness in his face melted away completely. "I love you too, Po."
Choking back a sob, Poland leaned down and kissed Lithuania for what he knew would be the first and last time.
He tasted like buttermilk, and then he was gone.
Xxx
No matter how loud Hungary screamed and shouted, no one came. The maelstrom of bodies around her were preoccupied with their own difficulties and had no time to stop and help her.
She tried calling for Germany, but he either didn't hear her or wouldn't come. After awhile, she couldn't even hear the voices echoing around her. She barely noticed the chaos. The only reality that she knew was the broken sound of her own cries and the body of her once upon a time husband sprawled in front of her.
He was dead, she was quite certain of it. And with that certainty came panic as her mind desperately tried to scab over the wound the sight she had just witnessed had left on her.
Austria is dead because I wasn't there to protect him.
If in life he looked like a saint, in death he seemed an angel. His clothes were barely even tattered or singed and his glasses were only slightly askew. The only part of him that was damaged, however, was awful enough to counterbalance the rest of them.
A metal beam was sticking straight of his heart. It had fallen from the ceiling and struck him down while she watched. Pierced him cleanly through the chest and pinned him to the ground like a moth on the edge of a knife. His blood was everywhere and Hungary, Macbeth's guilty wife, could not wipe it from her hands because she had not saved him.
For a moment, she tried to wrap her mind around the possibility of a life without him, without hearing his music every day and visiting him and Prussia and eating his cakes and watching him mend her clothes. She decided that it would drive her mad so she gave up and merely cradled him to her chest instead.
This is the end of the world and I am not okay.
Xxx
The hallway was a battlefield where there was no enemies, only causalities.
Poland and Hungary cried for their loved ones. Others, too, were being forced to stare death straight in the face. Others lay crippled on the floor, trying to lift themselves and realizing they could not. Some searched for those they had lost.
Netherlands wandered through the mess with a heavy heart.
Spain and Romano held each other tightly and pretended that they would never have to let go.
Finland and Sweden fell sobbing into each other's arms.
And America fell to the floor in anguish, because he realized he wasn't good enough. He couldn't save everybody and that was all he had ever wanted.
And outside, a storm was brewing.
The worst was yet to come.
