Thank you for all the reviews and favorites and followers! It shows me that people are really interested in my writing. I think I finally found my writing style! So thank you all!
And just remember that Himaruya owns Hetalia, with RightStuf publishing the manga and FUNimation producing it (in America that is.) And you should always support the official release!
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Chapter 4
He was glad that all the tubes were out of his mouth and nose, and most all of the cords were unstuck from his chest and arms. But as he ate his applesauce, he tried to avoid the eyes in the room . . . not that it was too hard to do.
The younger looking one, with the long, curly hair and slightly sideways glasses, was pouting in her – uh, his – chair, eyes downcast, not wanting to even look at him.
The one with the bushy brows, which were now furrowed into a long, caterpillar-like line, sat on the other side of the bed, peaking up at him every now and then.
The other man, his wavy hair and stubbly chin, which, honestly, made him look like an actor from a French romance film, smiled sweetly at him; but he still tried to avoid direct eye contact.
The doctor, the only normal looking one from the bunch, had left a few minutes ago. He seriously wished he could go as well.
But he just sat there, eating his sweet sauce of apple-y goodness. It was about the only thing that was edible on his plate. The other so-called "food" items – a hard biscuit, some cold soup, tap water, and some kind of green Jell-O-thing with, chopped up meat or tofu or something in it – were just so disgusting-looking. Well . . . maybe not the water; but it was right by the Jell-O! His stomach could probably take it . . . but his taste buds would not accept it! And he did not want to betray them. They would never trust him again.
As he scooped up the last bit of sauce, he tried to figure out what to do next. He did not want to talk to these three . . . depressing people. Well, two depressing people and one movie actor. He wanted to be happy, not down in the dumps. But he supposed it might be his fault in a way. Though how should he know who they were? He just woke up! From, apparently, a really bad accident.
"So," his attention flew to the French-looking one, putting down his finished "meal," "nothing else looking appealing to you?"
He looked down, back up, and said, "You're kidding right?" The sarcasm was not too harsh, but it did throw the other off-guard, "This looks worse than a three month old McDonald's hamburger."
Curly-haired whimpered a bit. But why?
Frenchie came closer to the bed, placing his hand on Curly's shoulder, smiling sweetly, "You know the doctor won't let you go unless you eat everything. They want to make sure you can keep food down."
He grimaced at the tray filled with "edibles," and pouted up at the man, "Do I have to?"
The man, who looked as if he were about to hug him for some odd reason, instead smiled even wider, "Unless you want to live here the rest of your life, I suggest you do, mon cher~"
"Fine. . ." he grabbed the biscuit. Then stopped, "Wait, your French?"
All three men halted in unison, sucking in their breaths. He felt a little worried at that. Did he say something wrong? Was it about something he was supposed to know?
"Well . . ." The movie actor rubbed the back of his head, "Actually – "
The doctor burst through the door, smiling cheerfully, "Well, Mr. Jones – "oh yeah, that was his name, " – I'd like to say that we got special permission for you to leave the hospital. A Mr. Beilschmidt has cleared it for you."
"W-what?! Really?!"
"Yes."
"B-but shouldn't I stay here?"
"No reason to."
"I haven't finished my food yet!"
"No need to."
"Bu-but you said it yourself: I have amnesia apparently!"
"Yes. But you're a special case," The doctor came closer, Curly moving out of the way for him, "anyone else with your kind of injuries would certainly still be in a coma. Even if they were awake like you, they would definitely have a worse case of PTA than you do."
"Seriously?" He did not know if he should be scared or amazed.
"Why, yes. Instead of being afraid and emotionally labile from just waking up, you acted as if it were just a small catnap. And though you're probably still distracted easily and still have memory loss, you are easily adapting to your surroundings."
"But I have just been in my room! How would you know – "
The doctor came up so close, he was whispering in his ear, "Don't be afraid of these men. I can confirm that they are family, and have nothing but the best for you in mind. Besides, the best way to get your memories back would be to go with them."
He looked at all three, breathing slowly, deeply. He was just a tiny bit afraid of leaving with them. Not because they were strangers to him . . . but because of some underlying pain he felt when he looked at them for too long. As if something horrible had happened between all three and him.
"And we have done background checks. They aren't bad people," The doctor finished, standing up and smiling, "we've scheduled a check-up for the end of the week," he turned to the movie star, "please make sure he's here."
"Of course, doctor."
"Good."
.
So within half an hour he was out of bed, fully dressed, and exiting the hospital with three people he did not know anything about.
He took once last look at the building – his sanctuary – and got into the taxi.
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Germany did not know how many times he had smacked his brother for calling the hospital, posing as him, and demanding for America to come back in the condition he was in. Stupid diplomatic position. Stupid brother.
But Germany did have to hand it to Prussia. He wanted to get America back here as soon as was possible, but did not have the gall to do anything himself. Because of Prussia's overbearing and annoying move to get America back to the meetings, they would be able to help him get on a normal routine again, and get to move on without any further delays – he hoped.
And, though he would not tell anyone how much, he knew his brother was worried about the younger nation. He had been since the American Revolution, when America had asked the Bad Touch Trio for help to gain his freedom from the former British Empire. Prussia had been intrigued with how the boy would handle himself. Although Germany did not know what Prussia thought of himself as towards America, he did know that his brother felt proud when it came to the other.
It was stupid to think – almost sounding like Italy when he whined for three hours straight – but Germany did feel just the tiniest bit jealous of America sometimes because of this. He would wonder now and then if Prussia was proud of him in the way that he was of America.
But then again, his brother was proud of anyone he deemed worthy.
Germany smiled softly – so soft it would be easy to miss – and walked the rest of the way to the front of the hotel.
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The caterpillar became bushier and bushier as the taxi drove its way to their hotel. Britain did not know if he was infuriated or depressed over America's situation. He knew it was not the boy's fault, but it did not help anything that they would have to deal with every single nation in the world, give or take a few, when they got back. What about America's enemies? What about the ones who depended on him so much?
It was not like the world was going to end just because one of the personifications had lost their memories. The country that was being represented would still be standing, and would move on with or without them – at least in the sense of having someone to go to meetings with other personifications.
But . . .
America was one of, if not the biggest, and most powerful nation on earth. Maybe not with military or power; at least not too much now. But definitely with personal identity and influence. If not his nation side, America's human side, Alfred, could influence almost everyone he came across. With a big, goofy smile or a dumb pout, he could change the world's decision on something.
Yet now the boy was just looking out the window, calmly. No loud voice. No whining. No craving for a burger. No nothing. Nothing, except a serene, yet curious fascination with the lights outside the vehicle. . .
Britain lit up a little when he saw this. America might not be there; Alfred might just be hanging on by the tiniest thread; but the boy he found in a field of flowers was still in there.
There was still hope.
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It was not long until they were all standing on the sidewalk right in front of the hotel. As the movie star paid the taxi driver – which took forever to do, since he had to argue with bushy brows to cough up at least half of the bill – the others waited.
He did not know what they were waiting for exactly, only that he could not go inside until then. Thank goodness it was a nice, cool evening in spring, and not a harsh, frigid one in winter.
His mind wandered as he took in his surroundings. Apparently he was staying in a nice and fancy hotel, its own doorman included. And it was connected to one of the most famous and highest grossing convention centers in this region of the country –
Wait.
How did he know that?
He shrugged off the thought as his eyes fell on the street. There were so many cars running this way and that. So many commercial vehicles making their ways to different destinations. So many lights and sounds.
Beeps and honks.
Engines roaring at the stop light.
Signals flashing one way or another.
Honking from all directions.
So much noise.
So many lights.
And the crosswalk . . .
The crosswalk was there . . .
The –
He jumped as a hand grabbed his shoulder.
"Hey!" He turned around, but calmed himself when he saw the movie star smiling.
"Were you distracted?"
"Uh . . . I guess," he shrugged, smiling, "But I am a little hungry, still."
The other nodded, "Oui. We can get something in the hotel. It is almost dinner for us representatives anyways."
They started to walk into the hotel, when another blond made his way towards them. He was tall, with his hair slicked back. Though he had blue eyes like Frenchie, his were paler, and seemed to stare into your soul just a bit.
"Wh-who is that?" He whispered.
"A friend. You'll get to know him better before we eat."
"Is . . . is he mad or something?"
"What do you mean?" Frenchie looked up.
"He just seems . . . how'd you say it . . . bat-shit scary."
The movie star broke into a chuckle, "He always looks like that. But don't worry. You'll know exactly when he is truly mad at something or someone later."
"Oh joy," There was his favorite sarcasm, "sounds like fun."
Another chuckle from his strange companion, and they were all walking to the elevators. He noticed that Curly had not talked since he first woke up. He wondered if he was always like that or if something was wrong –
Oh that's right. He was supposed to be Curly's brother.
But he honestly could not remember anything about the other!
He could not even remember his own name!
He decided not to say anything, and just followed the small group to a secluded room in the convention center.
Wow.
Secluded room.
With strangers.
Not freaky at all.
Yet, he kept recalling the doctor's words about these people being family . . . and the background checks too.
He could trust them.
Something in him said to.
.
"So you don't remember anything?"
"No."
"Not even your name?"
He shrugged, "no."
The scary blond rubbed his temples, "Oh, this'll be fun."
Bushy brows intervened, "But the doctor did say that he'll be fine, as long as we introduce him to himself slowly."
"Ja," this man was German then? "But what about the meetings? And the fact that America –" the man gestured towards him "- plays a vital role in all of this," he sighed, "And my brother and Denmark and Russia and all of them . . ."
"Wait," He spoke up, finally finding his voice, "What do you mean, America? Are you saying that I represent the entire country of the United States?"
"Ja," was the firm answer he received, "Und I am the representation of Germany, und he is the representation of Britain, und he is the one of France, und he is the one of Canada."
"Wait . . . representation? Don't you mean representative?"
"We are both, but more so representations than anything else."
He was completely, absolutely, 1000% dumbfounded. Representations? Seriously?
"Wouldn't that mean we're . . . embodiments of the nation, though?"
The German nodded, "Exactly."
Exactly stupid, that is. There was no way!
"So we are the nations?"
"Ja," another stern look.
He could not think of what to say next. Was this man insane? Was his "family" insane? What about that doctor? Was he off his rocker too?!
He did not know what he was doing, until he had already done it.
He launched himself out of his seat, hands on the rounded dinner table. "Are you crazy?! You can't be serious?! There's no way that a country can be embodied in a single human!"
The others, though surprised by his actions, stayed calm through his rant.
"We are not just human," another stern look, as if the man was looking down on him, "We are both nation and human. We both and, yet, only nation. It may be hard to understand, but –"
"But you're insane, aren't you?!" He was shaking badly, his vision jumping from the vibrations, "You can't honestly think that'd I'd believe that you're actually Germany! Or he's actually French! Or that bushy brows is Great Britain!"
"Excuse me!" said brows stood up, yelling as loud as he was, "my brows aren't bushy! They're just not groomed as much as everyone else's!"
"Who cares! You're still not Britain!"
"But you are America!"
The tension was rising in the room, the remaining three on the edges of their seats. Was a fight about to start?
Before that question could be answered, though, a cheerful, obnoxious voice – no, two obnoxious voices – entered the room
"Hey West! Can we come and eat now! Or does the coma boy still not know his name!" A full albino, red eyes included, busted through the doors, grinning as widely as he had ever seen.
"Yeah! I want to eat before I drink my beer! Not after!" A tall – taller than the German – man came in, his hair all spiked and messy.
The two walked up to the table, seemingly ignorant of the previous "conversation."
The albino patted on his back, sending his whole body back down into the seat, "So Alfred, do you know your biggest secret yet?"
"You mean the dumbass notion that I'm America," he glared at the stern one, "Yeah. But it's total bat-shit for sure."
"Aw come on, bro! It's not that farfetched, is it?" The wide grin from the tall one seemed to outdo anything he was capable of, especially now.
"Listen, I –" As his head turned to face the two new coo coo birds, his eyes met with the red ones. They were piercing flames, shooting through his heart. There was so much emotion held in them. So much pain. So much pride. Looking into those eyes . . . it calmed him. The shuddering stopped; he could not focus on anything else besides those eyes; not even on his anger.
"All you have to know right now is that your name is Alfred F. Jones. And you represent America. Whether you believe that you embody the nation or not is up to you. But you are still responsible for an entire nation filled with people and their futures. Act accordingly. Or it might just slip away."
He did not notice until the words stopped, but the man had a smirk formed across his face. It never slipped, never came down. Was he being sarcastic? No. not that. He could not put his finger on it, but this man was very important somehow.
"Uh . . . sure. I will."
"Gut," the man stood back up, walking towards the buffet set-up in the corner of the room, "let's go get something to eat. Before the other losers get here and eat it all."
The tall one and Curly followed him, the latter jumping up the first chance he got.
He just sat there –
No.
Alfred just sat there, wondering what would happen to him next; but, somehow, not afraid of it, as he had been.
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France slipped to Prussia's side, as the albino placed a whole pound of sausages onto his plate, "So we are going by our human names, then?"
"Why not? It'll be easier for him to get use to us again with our human names. Besides, he might blab in the middle of a store or something if we just gave our national titles away."
France nodded, "Good work." He grabbed a plate, placing some croissants and a few pieces of Sole Meunière. They made their way down a little further, before he spoke again, "You were listening at the door the whole time, weren't you?"
Prussia smirked widely, "Of course the awesome me was. I couldn't resist hearing someone take a verbal whack at my brother! Or Brows' bushy brows for that matter!"
The other Bad Trio member laughed, "I know right? It was so hard to not start laughing at that point! It appears that our America is still in there somewhere. We just have to help him find his way back."
Prussia's eyes wondered back to the boy in question, who was sitting at the table again, trying to keep himself calm, "let's just hope he will want to stay."
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Please read my HetaOni fic, Don't Enter, and tell me what you think. Also be sure to hug your memories. Good or bad, they are what helps you be you. ^_^
