Chapter Eleven
Breakfast the next morning was chaos. Instead of eating, the news they had woken up to had sparked one of the most disarrayed meetings they'd ever had. In addition to Iceland, which they all knew had been captured last night, America, Hong Kong, and South Korea had been captured as well. Due to this, it wasn't just the Nordics that were now very angry and eager to fight back, but also Canada, Japan, China, and all the close friends of the ones who had been taken.
"We have to find our counterparts and fight!" Denmark shouted.
"They're torturing th-them!" Canada said desperately, for once, actually being heard by everyone in the room. "We can't just stand around and do nothing while the people we love are-"
"But how are we supposed to find them?" China asked, looking disheveled, scared, and as frustrated as they all felt. "It is impossible."
"Don't say it's i-impossible." Ukraine whimpered, fighting back tears.
"What are we supposed to say, then? That everything is going to be fine?" Switzerland shouted. "It's not fine! We're being hunted down and any one of us could be next!"
"We already know that!" Austria snapped.
"Arguing isn't going to do anything." Netherlands said, his brow creased. "We need to form a plan."
"What a fucking great idea!" Poland rolled his eyes. "If only we had thought of that sooner."
"Hey, don't talk to my brother that way!" Belgium frowned and crossed her arms.
"We have bigger things than that to worry about right now!" Lithuania interjected.
Before anyone could say anything more, Prussia lost what little patience he had and leapt up onto the table. "Everyone, just shut the fuck up! All this petty squabbling is only making things worse and accomplishing nothing, and you all know it; just sit the hell down and chill!"
There was a moment of hesitation, but everyone ended up doing as he said and sitting down. Prussia got off the table and nodded in satisfaction.
"Much better. Gott, and you call yourself nations! You're all pathetic." He ran a hand over his face in frustration. "If you don't get your shit together, the chances of us all dying are far greater, you know that? You're goddamn nations! You've been through hell and back, and I know you have, because I've seen it happen. This isn't like anything any of us have experienced before, but who shits a give? I sure as hell don't! You're going to fight, and you're going to fucking win, because if you don't, the ones you hold dear will die and you'll lose your people and everything you've ever known. So stop fighting with each other and kick the enemy's ass instead!"
"But how…? We cannot find their location." Japan said, his voice strained.
"What if we captured one of them?" Canada asked, his expression cold. "We can force the information out of them; I'll do it myself."
"Capturing one of them will not be easy." Netherlands said. "Let me plan it."
"Very well." Prussia said, nodding. He glanced sideways at Germany, who hadn't said a word all morning. He had been unlike himself since Italy was captured, and it disappointed him, honestly. Usually, he didn't let his emotions get the better of him, and so Prussia made a mental note to lecture him about that after the meeting; now was the worst of times he could pick to let his emotions get the better of him.
"What will we do after we find out where they're keeping everyone?" France asked.
"Depending on where it is and such, we'll form an attack plan and storm the place." Prussia answered.
"But didn't Oliver say that they couldn't be killed in that airplane letter he sent…?" Spain said uneasily.
"For all we know, that could've been a bluff." Finland stated.
"Tino's right. They may be different from us, but they're still nations." Denmark said. "We may not be able to get rid of them for good right away, but killing them will buy us time, as it takes a while to revive."
Prussia nodded and then sighed. "Well, there isn't much we can do, so if Tim needs help forming a plan to capture one, help him. If he doesn't, stay the out of his way and try not to get yourself captured in the meantime. If any of you fuckers gets hurt or anything, you'll have me to answer to. Meeting commenced, or adjourned, or whatever the goddamn phrase is. This shit is too professional!" He rolled his eyes and sighed again before looking at Germany. "You, come with me."
The German stood and followed him into the hall without protest. When they were a little ways away from the dining hall, Prussia took a deep breath and sighed.
"Ludwig, I know you're upset about Feliciano being taken, but moping around like this isn't going to help him at all; quite the opposite. Stop pouting like a little kid and pull yourself together! You're the freaking awesome personification of Germany and mein kleiner Bruder! Put on your big boy panties and be a man like I taught you!"
Germany looked at him, an eyebrow raised slightly. "'Big boy panties'?"
"Yes." He said seriously, though winced internally at the poor choice of words. "And what would you think Vater would say if he were here to see you being so pathetic? We are Germanic, and we bear that title with pride...unlike that embarrassment of a girl, Austria!"
He sighed. "You're right."
"I know I am. Plus, that Feli is a tough one, from what I've heard. He kicked Sadik's ass once!"
Germany nodded and ran a hand over his face. "I know. I'm going to go discuss with The Netherlands what his plan is. ...thank you, Gilbert."
Prussia grinned and patted Germany's head as he always did when he was little, though he had to reach up to do so instead of merely extending his arm. "Don't thank me; it's what older brothers do!"
Germany nodded, and with that, left. Prussia's smile faded almost instantly and he stared down at the floor, his brow creased in thought. Though he was doing his best not to let it show, he had no idea how they were going to win against their counterparts, and that terrified him.
Italy whimpered a little as he lifted his head up, his stiff neck sending a sharp ache down his back, where the muscles were just as tense, knotted, and sore. Having been either sat upright or hunched over in his chair for so long had started to take its toll on him, and not being able to stretch out his arms or legs only worsened things. In addition to the muscle pain, his entire body throbbed in unison due to all the wounds Luciano had inflicted on him. It had been hours since he left and the torture had stopped, but it was taking a while for them to heal, as he hadn't been able to rest well and had no food or water to give his body strength.
"Are you awake, fratello?" He whispered into the darkness, his voice wavering a little due to the pain and fear.
"Unfortunately," came Romano's weak reply. He sounded considerably less bitter than he usually did, which worried Italy.
"Are you okay?"
Romano was silent for a long moment, not understanding why he would ask him that. Italy was the one who had been tortured, and he was the one who had been too scared to stop it; he didn't deserve to be asked if he was okay.
"I'm fine. More importantly, are you?"
"It's not more important." Italy protested. "...but everything hurts and I want to go home, Lovino."
"We ca-" He bit his tongue to keep himself from saying something harsh and took a deep breath. He'd already hurt him enough; he didn't need to make him cry in addition to that. "I do, too, Feliciano."
"And I'm hungry...and really, really, thirsty."
"We'll be back home before you know it." He murmured, though he didn't believe it in the slightest.
"Yeah. Maybe they'll let us go if we don't give in…?" He said, sounding wary to consider it, as if doing so would eliminate the possibility of it ever happening.
Romano couldn't reply to that. He couldn't bring himself to encourage his futile hope, nor did he have the heart to dash it. He knew that their counterparts had no intentions of letting them go, and that they couldn't possibly endure torture for the rest of forever. There was no question on whether or not they were going to die in that dirty, cold room; it was only a matter of when.
"Now that has got to be one of the most innocent things I have ever heard." Luciano chuckled and said in a perfect impersonation of Italy, "'Maybe they'll let us go if we don't give in…?'" He laughed again and spoke in his usual authoritative tone. "You stupid, stupid thing. We're never letting you go. Even your coward of a brother knows it."
The room remained pitch black, which only increased Romano's overwhelming unease. Not being able to see where he was was definitely worse than staring into his huge, magenta eyes, even as frightening as they were.
"L-Lovino…." Italy murmured fearfully.
"Why are you calling to him?" Flavio asked. "He can't do anything; that much he already proved when he didn't stop you from getting hurt."
"D-Don't say that! He w-wanted to, but he couldn't!" He protested, sounding distressed.
"Oh, he could have. He very much could have, Feli." Luciano said. His breath was suddenly at Romano's ear, making him shrink back as he whispered, "Isn't that right, Lovino?"
"Get the hell away from me." Romano growled.
"Hmm...no." Luciano said, sounding amused. He then trailed his hand down Romano's left arm, causing shivers of fear to bring up goosebumps on his skin. When he reached his index finger, he gently held it in his fist. "You will either give up, or I will break each of your fingers one by one."
"And you," Flavio said, gently patting Italy's cheek with a soft, gloved hand, "you just remember that you can stop it at any time. All you have to do is resign your title, and your brother won't be hurt anymore."
"Don't you fucking dare do that, Feliciano!" Romano shouted. "I can take whatever this bag of dicks throws at me! No matter what, don't resign your ti-" He was interrupted by his own scream as Luciano's grip on his finger tightened before he yanked it sharply to the side, breaking it. Pain surged through his hand and he let out a guttural groan as he fought not to cry out a second time.
"Stop it! Please, stop it!" Italy begged, tears streaking his cheeks.
Luciano answered by grabbing Romano's middle finger and twisting it out of socket in what felt like more than one place. He let out a loud string of curses and gritted his teeth as he panted for breath. If the lights weren't off, he was sure that he would have trouble seeing properly because of the pain.
"Just a few words, and it's all over, Feliciano." Flavio trilled. "'I, Feliciano Vargas, resign my title as the northern personification of the Italian Republic.' That's all you have to do to keep your brother safe."
Luciano took Romano's ring finger and bent it as quickly and harshly backward as he could, causing it to break and stay bent in a horribly unnatural position, just like the other two. A scream tore through Romano's throat and he hunched over a little, both out of reflex and in reaction to the oncoming feeling of being sick.
For the next hour, the room was filled with the sounds of breaking bones, screams, pleading, sobs, and false promises of relief. Neither of the Italy brothers knew how, but they managed to make it through it. They had no strength to talk about it after it was over, nor any idea what to say, so they sat in the darkness and were silent, each one searching their mind for a sliver of hope or a way to deal with all that was happening. As had been the case with their previous attempts, their efforts proved to be fruitless.
