"Hahaha... whee! Faster!" Oliver kicked his legs, tickling America's sides inadvertently and almost making the Nation flinch. Still, the blond chuckled and tried to comply, though honestly you could only do push-ups so fast. Besides, everyone knew that if you rushed through exercises your muscles didn't get the full benefit of whatever exercise you were doing. You had to be deliberate, let the muscles burn and strain, that was the ticket! But... America really was having trouble finding a reason to say no to Oliver, and so like a bucking bronco he sped up, moving up and down faster so the little Nation on his back got an even better ride. Tiny peals of laughter filled the room, Oliver's little hands gripping to America's shoulders so he didn't fall off his back.
The workout wasn't really because America was trying to bulk up anyway. No, he knew that his waning strength had less to do with being idle and much more to do with the blood transfusions and his separation from his people. He was working out today to see how his stamina was recovering from the last transfusion, seeing if he was well enough to put the plan Prussia had outlined into motion. Of course, America was planning to alter it a bit, but he hadn't been able to tell the ex-Nation that. All America had been able to do was listen in silence to Prussia, listen to everything he had to say, everything about what had happened...
"... been spending an awesome day alone, just me and Gilbird, enjoying a glorious day outside while the rest of you jokers were all stuck at a World Meeting. Kesese, it was even more awesome because it was a perfect day for a walk, I bet you were wishing you'd been outside then! But then I noticed something... someone was following me! Of course, being as awesome as I am, I noticed right away. Normally it's not a big deal, you know how sometimes humans are a bit sensitive about us not being human, so I brushed it off and kept on walking. Kept walking... and kept noticing the fan club I was starting to develop, eyes locking onto me from all over..."
America shook his head, slowing his push-ups a little and trying to get some sweat out of his eyes. Oliver leaned forward, trying to help wipe the sweat away with his hands. "Thanks Oli!" America said brightly, even if the little one had only made it worse. His eyes stung and he closed them tightly, riding out the pain and waiting on his tears to flow and help out. As he contemplated rubbing his face against his own shirt sleeve, he kept on thinking about the tale of Prussia's capture. They'd been lying in wait for him all over... they'd tracked him from rooftops and rooms like he was some sort of dangerous beast. 'Because he was the first they went after... and they probably didn't know just how strong we all were...' America cracked his eyes back open again. They were extra blurry now (he wasn't wearing Texas at the moment, too easy to slip off doing push-ups and all), but at least the pain had diminished.
"When they fired their first shot at me, of course I dodged! My reflexes are too awesome for that! But I was pissed... because these were West's people shooting at me, I could tell! There was no way I was going to run from them, I'm no coward! But every time I chased after one they led me right towards another hidden shooter. So... of course I knew I had to change tactics. I had to get them to come to me on my terms! So I didn't run away... I made a tactical change of locations! Kesese, that seemed to trip them up a bit!"
Prussia's plan had sounded like it should have worked, though America rolled his eyes. This was Prussia, who was pretty notorious for making himself out to be way more awesome than he really was (unlike America, who of course was always exactly as heroic as he said he was in his stories), so it could have been an exaggeration. Something in the story must not have added up though, and even Prussia had seemed pissed off and annoyed that somehow the humans had managed to outmaneuver him. It was news to America that Prussia had actually been laying low and in hiding for the first week of his disappearance, playing a game of cat and mouse with these turncoat citizens. He hadn't wanted to put Germany at risk, apparently. It's why he'd kept out of sight without warning anyone. He'd thought he could handle it. Considering the brilliant battle tactician Prussia could be, it seemed sound.
However, this was a new age, wars and battles and traps handled differently than they'd been back when Prussia was a power. The ex-Nation had adapted to technology just fine, but had he had to deal with modern city warfare and technologically assisted tactics? America knew all too well, it only took a couple lucky shots from a human to get the upper-hand, and with the right gadgets luck could be artificially increased. As powerful as the Nations were, they weren't immune to injuries, they weren't bulletproof, and drugs and substances could affect them as well. Yes, they healed and purged toxins faster than a human... but they could still be brought low. From the sheer number of shots they'd hit Prussia with, dart guns filled with a cocktail of substances that the humans had probably guessed at for taking down a Nation... it was amazing the ex-Nation had woken up as quickly as he had.
"It wasn't like they told me what they used to knock me out, but when I came to I was here. I ripped right out of their restraints the minute my eyes opened, kesese you should have seen their faces! But, well, they filled the room with some sort of damn gas, and they didn't make the mistake of weak restraints twice!" Prussia had grimaced in telling his tale then, pausing to let his cracking voice rest for just a moment. He'd been singing all day apparently. "I'm glad they got me first though... these assholes didn't have any idea what they were doing. The cuts they'd made, the things they pumped into my veins... I was practice... fucking practice!"
America tapped Oliver's leg, urging him to climb off his back so he could move to doing sit-ups instead. So far his stamina seemed pretty good, and as Oliver moved to sit on the ground right next to him, he could tell that the little one was still feeling alright. 'Good, this has got to be the sweet spot then. I'm feeling just strong enough to go through with the plan... and Oliver is strong enough that he can probably handle the escape, too.' Granted, in Prussia's version of the plan, Oliver wasn't supposed to come with them. Prussia seemed to have an extreme hatred of the little one, and after hearing about all the torture they'd done to Prussia, examining and taking samples from him... it was reasonable. America couldn't put any blame for the things Prussia had suffered on Oliver's shoulders... the kid was innocent, he hadn't chosen how he'd been 'born'.
But... he supposed in Prussia's shoes he might have felt differently. Especially when the ex-Nation had been forced to watch what they did to North Italy. America swallowed down a lump that formed in his throat at the thought of it. Yeah, they'd poked, prodded, tested on Prussia to get a better idea of what a Nation was. But Italy... when it came to Italy, they'd worked with more of a purpose.
"I know everyone thinks he's weak, I know it's easy to look at him like a coward, and Veneziano doesn't really try to make anyone think differently. But when he screamed, it wasn't because of that! No... no... if you could have seen what they were doing to him, what they cut out of him, what they... you would have screamed America. Any of us would. They just took from him... ripped things out of him, filled him with drugs to try to accelerate the healing... but all the while Veneziano had to deal with it. Deal with the pain he felt inside..." The way Prussia had shuddered, the fire in his eyes and that painfully intimate understanding that'd flashed through red eyes. "You don't know what it's like, losing your status as a Nation. Suffering this all at once... he's strong..."
America frowned. He really couldn't imagine what it was like. Losing your status as a Nation... hell, he couldn't even begin to imagine it! His situation wasn't that at all, he might be separated from his people here, kept off of his lands... but he was still a Nation. He knew it in his bones, had no question about it. He hadn't been gone that long, surely his country was still thriving, no new Nation had risen to take over. 'But... we... we gave up on North Italy... we declared South Italy to be...' He flopped onto his back, losing the will to keep doing his sit-ups. The guilt weighed on him heavily. These bastards had tortured and tormented and taken so much from Italy... and he'd had to deal with that while the rest of the world gave up on him.
Was it painful, becoming an ex-Nation? Did it hurt physically? Emotionally? Did you feel drained, stripped away? Was it disorienting? A loss of self? Your identity ripped away? America knew there was a reason you didn't have tons of ex-Nations roaming about. There was a reason Prussia was such an anomaly. It... it couldn't be easy... to cling to life when what you were was ripped away. It had to be agony, America was sure of it, but Prussia hadn't gone into details about that. He'd barely been able to contain his rage when talking about what was done to Italy, skirting the edges of it lest his anger give away that he was doing more than just singing.
"America?" Oliver leaned forward, crawling over to curl up against the blond Nation now that he wasn't moving. Honest little red eyes stared up at him, worried. "Are you ok? You look sad..."
Reaching over and pulling Oliver into a hug, America sighed. "I'm ok buddy, it's alright." He rubbed calm little circle's on the child Nation's back, possibly more for his own comfort than Oliver's.
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"Mmm... boss really doesn't like having you rush off into danger without him..." England hid his smirk as he listened to Spain fussing over Romano, pretending to check over his gear much more intently than he was. To his side, the Italian was bristling, trying to find some way to finish preparing for their infiltration while pushing a 'mothering' Spaniard away. It didn't appear he was having much success. Romano looked ready to pull his gun on Spain if the other Nation didn't back off, and yet Spain didn't seem like he felt threatened at all.
"Chigi! Back off you bastard! I can handle myself, you're not my boss anymore!" The Italian's face was bright red, eyes glaring daggers. England still thought it was pretty clear that Romano appreciated Spain's concern, though. Perhaps it was a 'big brother' thing, but surely Italy was happy Spain so obviously still cared. "Besides," the Italian continued, stomping on Spain's toes and finally getting the other to take a (pained) step back. "You decided not to come, not my fault you're worried now!"
Spain sighed, yet still managed to smile, shaking his foot out just slightly from the pain. "It's not because I don't want to go..." The smile faltered, Spain's face touched momentarily by the fearsome shadows of his former ways. "I do, Romano, I do. I can't stand doing nothing, knowing what these people are doing..."
Like the sun coming out from behind the clouds, that old look vanished, the more familiar 'happy Spain' taking its place. "However, someone who knows everything needs to stay behind, right? In case things do not work out for you all. If you run into trouble, leave it to the boss! He'll rally the other Nations and lead the rescue!" He attempted to grab Italy up in a hug, but the smaller Nation dodged away with ease, no doubt thanks to many years of practice.
"Cheh, whatever. That... what's-his-name guy could do it." Spain looked to the ceiling, as if trying to figure out who Romano was referring to.
"Canada already has his hands full," France cut in smoothly, saving England the embarrassment of admitting he'd forgotten who Romano had been referring to as well. He was perched on a table, looking over the blueprints that Germany had acquired for them. Redglass had, in the end, given up all the information he had on the One Earth Movement, and though it wasn't much, it was enough. He'd squealed about where they'd taken America after abducting him from that hotel, and had given up the names of other people involved. Germany had followed those leads immediately, moving from warehouses to train yards and docks. After a tangled search that led further and further south, they had a destination to go investigate.
"You could have stayed, pervert..." It was unclear if Romano was actually upset that France was coming, or failing to hide that he possibly secretly would like to have Spain at his side for this. Difficult to tell, and England didn't bother wasting the mental energy on puzzling it out. As it stood, he'd rather not have France along either, but it made sense as much as he hated to admit it. France obviously cared for North Italy, was a long time friend of Prussia... and... well, he probably still cared about America somewhere in that heart of his. However... unlike Spain, who had moments of passion hidden under his sunny stupid mask... France probably wouldn't loose his cool coming along. Typically you'd think to rely on Germany to keep a cool head, or England himself... but the frog might possibly be useful.
This time.
"Is everyone ready?" Germany was looking them all over, his gear meticulously prepared, a heavy winter coat held in his arms. England didn't like the impatience he saw in the German's eyes, didn't like knowing that his own probably looked just as bad. God it was maddening, knowing where to go and not already being there. But it wasn't as easy for a Nation to just pick up and run off as some would think, and it'd taken much explaining by each of them to get their governments to allow them to go at all. Secretly, England wondered if Italy had gotten permission at all, but kept it to himself. He wouldn't get in Romano's way over this.
"Ready," came the chorus of replies, in different forms and tones. Germany nodded, pleased, and turned on his heel. Marching out, he led them towards the car that would be taking them to an airport, which would lead them south, where they'd be catching a ship. 'Please hold on America...' Never before had he seriously hoped for some of America's ridiculous invention ideas to be real, but a 'super teleporting robot bus' sounded lovely at the moment. England wouldn't be able to forgive himself if they were too late thanks to the time it took to travel.
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In the dim light of a computer screen, a stubble-ridden face stared at rows and columns of data. The face seemed haggard, worn out and tired, but the eyes burned with intensity. A graveyard of coffee tins in the kitchen not far away served as a testament to the lengths this man went to remain awake, stay with his research. They were getting there... they were going to achieve their goal at last. He let his tongue flick out to wet chapped lips, fingers clicking the mouse, bringing up new screens to look over and analyze.
There was the sound of metal grinding against metal, a door latch that wanted to rust shut forever forced to move. The man leaned back in his chair, feeling his joints pop and protest about suddenly being straight. He probably shouldn't hunch over quite so much when on the computer, but so it went. He was getting too old to care about his posture, and quite frankly what he was working on now was so much greater than physical appearance or comfort. Did it matter if his body became warped or bent when he was mending the world?
A rather portly and thick woman entered, hands cradled around a Petri dish. Her hands were thickly gloved, not from the cold. No, they had their facility warm enough to keep anyone from ever thinking they were stranded in this frigid land of ice. The gloves were there to protect, in case some accident should cause the dish to crack, cause the sample within to escape its confines. Oh the man knew that no true harm could come from coming in contact with the sample. He had, after all, done exactly that nearly three years ago now. However, the sample wasn't ready for use in a large scale yet, they weren't at that part of the timeline.
She spoke up, a solid heavy voice so much like the rest of her. The man frowned, swiveling his chair just a bit to look at her properly. "What was that?" He spoke up, his native tongue at odds with hers. The woman paused, confusion in her eyes for a moment before she yielded to his language, her accent thick and cumbersome. It was an annoying issue for the One Earth Movement, the international collection of languages they spoke. The problem wasn't in learning to communicate, but in the end goal. One Earth, One Culture... One Language. Which one though... which language would they speak?
Obviously, the more 'political' minded of the group argued over this constantly. Languages were brought forward for consideration, shot down just as fast by those claiming it went against the spirit of the group to convert to the language culture of any existing country. Those same people argued for the creation of a new language, which quite frankly just seemed silly.
But the man, with his computer screens and machines and practical science, didn't really care what they chose. Because here, in his research rooms, at the labs, he knew he was the heart of the movement. Without what he was doing with the sample, with the captive Nations, and with their prized creation... the movement would be nothing. It would fail as most of these extremist attempts did.
"I have brought this for you, as requested," she said simply, stating the obvious. He nodded and gestured to a tray and she set it down next to needles and syringes. Stepping back from the tray, she stared at him, expectant. "Do you wish for me to send for the technicians?" The man smiled at her thinly, shaking his head.
"No... I think perhaps I will do the procedure this time. I've yet to meet America personally... it seems a little unfair. I don't need glory or recognition, I'm content to work down here... but I would like to observe him directly." He made a turn to his computer, clicking up the data on the Nation. "He seems quite fascinating, and I have quite a few hypothesis about what exactly will happen when we introduce the sample..."
The woman shrugged. "So long as it makes the transfusions more successful."
"Oh yes, I am quite certain of one thing. Should the sample take, he will be much more compatible with our little one." Nodding his head, the man looked to the tray and the Petri dish. It would be a shame, really, if the sample didn't take, but what did it matter? If America fell he wouldn't lose any sleep over it. He had no love of the United States, and in the end, all of the Nations would be slain anyhow. If he died when North Italy and Prussia had survived, well, it would just mean they needed to collect a new Nation and carry on.
A/N:
It was clear enough, right? The italicized and center aligned parts were Prussia's tale of what happened to him and Italy, sort of flashback-y.
Anyway, at last, the rescue is a go! Action ahead, the next chapter should pack a punch! Well, as much of a punch as my writing can deliver.
Thank you a million for all the reviews! I love each and every one I get, and I'm still a little amazed this fic is as liked as it is. =)
