A/N: Well, I've missed the feeling of clicking "publish new chapter". Been waaaay too long. Anyways, here's chapter four. :) Also, I've started to write on Wattpad again, under the same username, "RisenDown"! Most stuff posted there is either fanfiction based on real people (which isn't allowed on this website) or original work.
Also! The anime is returning in 2021 and I am so hyped!
Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia; I own only my mentioned OC's.
WARNING: Strong language, small mentions of blood/gore.
Grave situation.
Those are the words that China's president had uttered last month.
And he hadn't been wrong.
The hospitals filled. The numbers rose. China had never been more devastated to see the number 1,000. He'd tried to talk to his government more, but even that became impossible after one of them fell sick, potentially exposed everyone else, and all were forced into quarantine—for what they were told would be fourteen days, but in reality, according to the CDC, may be much longer.
Now, China sits at home, his mind blank yet full at the same time. What is there to think about, anyways? There's nothing he can do right now. His boss and the governor of Wuhan had told him not to worry for now. Let the quarantine pass, and then they'll discuss further plans. This means that, for the time being, he wouldn't be able to attend any world meetings. But the nation doesn't know if it's possible to wait that long before the situation escalates further.
His economy isn't doing too well, either, which is yet another cause for concern. His country has a lot of factories, making a lot of products. Recently, it's been difficult to ship them and maintain safety in the workplace without causing more people to contract the virus. For now, most of it has been suspended.
When the Asian man looks out of his house's window, the streets are empty. Normally, a vehicle or two would pass by, a few people strolling down the sidewalks. Today, there's nothing. An eerie silence except the wind blowing through the few trees. He remembers earlier, he had thought about how this would feel. He knew it would feel unsettling, but he hadn't thought it would feel so wrong, like a glitch in the matrix.
China rubs his neck. It feels sore after he was blankly staring at the kitchen table for so long. Quarantine . . . yes, that would be their best bet for now, though there's no guarantee it'll completely stop anything. When the CDC told him about the possibility of a pandemic, boy, what a laugh that brought him. A coronavirus pandemic? At the time, it had felt as impossible as it sounded.
Then days, weeks passed. The curve never slowed. It started to spread far outside of the country. The struggling economy made it harder to get supplies, to get equipment, to support everyone in need. Now the thought of a pandemic is weighing on him more than ever.
Minutes before the speech that day, his boss had asked him, "How are you?"
"Fine," China had answered. And if that wasn't one of the biggest lies he'd ever told. Tired. Sick. Depressed. Stressed. Agitated. Disgusted. Angry. Anxious. Uncertain. In reality, he was anything except "fine". The President even knew it himself, having given his nation a sympathetic look before walking away.
"It is our responsibility to prevent and control it," the President mentioned.
Exactly. From the day he was informed about the virus, China had tried to take it into his own hands to take care of things. He's been clinging onto that ever since. But now, as he sits alone in his home, unable to do anything except isolate himself from all others, he feels lost.
He shakes his head.
What had gone wrong?
America has had enough.
For the last hour, he had been arguing with his boss about what to do about the coronavirus and sliding economy. His boss had called him in, re-discussed the information given at the recent world meeting, and had started to claim that China had only been dramatizing and exaggerating the virus, and then had started to say that they should take action to prevent its spread, and then had started to go on about how it really isn't that important, and then had proposed a new plan to boost the economy, and then . . . well, to America, he simply hadn't been staying consistent with his views.
"You say we should care. Then you say we shouldn't!" The young nation clenches his fists, no longer bothering to keep his voice at a reasonable volume. He glares at his boss. "Is it, or is it not, an immediate issue or threat to us? Make up your mind, why don't you!"
"Quiet!" the President snaps. "Why is this of any importance right now? The economy, your economy, has plunged recently, and of course the virus itself is of no importance to us if there are hardly any cases—"
"Oh, come on—"
"—and if anything," his boss continues, "it's China's fault; their communism and cover-ups led to this outbreak, and the fact that they are only admitting to it now is the pure definition of manipulation."
"You didn't see what I saw!" America objects, raising his voice even louder, slamming his palms onto the table. God, his boss is impossible to deal with sometimes. Maybe he really should have been booted from office during the recent trial in which he had been acquitted. "That man literally, and I mean literally, punched England in the face at the last meeting and yelled at him for, like, ten minutes straight for saying that the virus isn't an issue or something—"
"So now you're taking the side of the Democrats—"
"What do the Democrats have anything to do with this?!"
"A whole lot, that's what, and if you are going to be so stupid as to take their side on this situation after they way they've treated me—"
"I don't take sides, goddammit, I'm a nation, not a citizen!" America rolls his eyes and turns his head away, eyeing an oddly-framed photo on the wall, not wanting to stare at his wild boss for any longer. Damn, where had all the good, fun presidents gone? "You know I just do whatever shit you tell me to do, right? And you know this thing could become a pandemic soon; that's the news, and that is most definitely not a hoax!"
"Huh, interesting," his boss chuckles, locking his hands together. "Last time I spoke with you, you were the one who didn't think this virus was an issue. How would I know you're telling the truth about this so-called 'news' you heard?"
America buries his face in his hands and loudly groans, so much that his throat begins to hurt. "Dude, all I'm doing is telling you the stuff that I was told at the last meeting, which is literally what you've been yelling at me to do for the last few weeks, and I swear to fucking God, that virus is a PHEIC! Yeah, sure, maybe it's not our issue, but why the hell would any part of it be a hoax?!"
"I never said one thing about it being a hoax, in any form!"
America flies out of his seat and backs away from the table, crossing his arms. He grits his teeth so hard he swears he can taste blood and narrows his eyes even further at his boss, who returns the glare in an unnervingly calm manner. The nation swears it almost sends a chill down his spine while at the same time, causes his body to heat up with annoyance and rage.
"Alright, now listen to me, you dipshit—"
His boss almost looks offended. "You're calling me what?"
"—I said dipshit, are you deaf?!" America yells. "Listen to me, dipshit, you need to make up your mind, and I mean make up your mind. You don't decide what you want me to do about this, and I won't know what the fuck I'm going to do about this. Now, make up your mind; is this virus a hoax or not a hoax, and what do you want me to say at the next world meeting? How do you want to fix the economy? What do you want me to do next?"
The President crosses his arms and lowers his voice. "At the meeting tomorrow, I want you to tell the nations, every single one of them, that the virus is nothing to worry about, that China is simply overplaying it. We are about to fall into an economic crisis; we cannot worry about a silly disease."
America scowls at his boss and leans closer to him. "Listen here, President. I want you to imagine something. Imagine you lived in a universe where there are no personifications of nations. Imagine that the only one attending UN meetings is someone working for you. Imagine that the only so-called 'person' that you need to protect is the 320-something million citizens of your actual country itself. Imagine that."
The President raises an eyebrow, his expression otherwise unchanged. America won't lie; that blunt expression, still the same from nearly four years ago, is beginning to piss him off. He resists the urge to punch his boss in the face as hard as he can, maybe breaking his nose, and making it change for once.
"And? Your point?"
"My point is, you can't rely on me to do everything for everyone, and you can't rely on me to fix or sweep up your own silly mistakes, so you need to seriously think about what you're doing and saying before you do or say them. If I were the only one running this country, there'd be no need for a government."
"I don't think I understand you." That's what his boss' mouth says, but his tone says "I'm not listening to you."
"That's right; you don't," America growls. "There's a reason I don't get a say in who gets to be my president." Though if I did, he shamelessly thinks, I'd definitely replace you with someone else right this instant because you're being nothing but a fucking asshole right now. "There's a reason the citizens of my country aren't supposed to know about my existence unless they work for the government. And that very reason is, I don't run this country. You do, and you need to remember that your actions affect not only me, but millions upon millions of people, even those not living in this nation."
The President scowls, though it still doesn't change the expression of his face. "Right now, I think you are the one who needs to listen to me. As stated before, I want you to tell all of the nations tomorrow that no action, as of now, will be taken from the American people, because the economy is much more at stake."
"Oh, sure," America sarcastically responds, rolling his eyes. Though he isn't completely opposed to the President's view, why must he always do and say whatever that guy wants? Why can't the nation just be in charge of . . . well . . . his nation for a while, and not rely on a random probably-needs-some-serious-help guy? "And if I don't?"
The old man raises a blond eyebrow. "Looking for consequences, hm?"
"If 'consequences' are what you call them, then of course." America doesn't break his stare, and neither does his boss. The two don't bat an eyelash for over a minute, simply staring each other down with anger in their eyes, but after a while, the President clenches his fists, and the nation notices only a fraction of a second too late.
An attorney, who works as part of the American President's Cabinet as the Attorney General, checks his watch; it's half an hour until the Cabinet's meeting, which the President had called, in regards to new travel restrictions due to a new virus called the "coronavirus", more specifically, "COVID-19".
The attorney had done nothing but shrug when he'd first heard the idea. Yes, he'd heard about the virus and the lockdown in China, but was it really much of a concern here in the United States, at least right now? He didn't think so, but the President had insisted that a meeting was at least needed, and that even if travel restrictions were not implemented, an eye had to be kept out on the situation.
As he's walking to the meeting room in preparation, he passes by the President's office; the door is closed, with an unusual amount of commotion coming from behind it. The attorney recognizes one of the shouting voices as the President's own.
The attorney stops in his steps, wondering if he should check on America/Alfred. Oftentimes, members of the government would refer to the nations by their human pseudonyms, to avoid confusion between the entire country and the personification.
He listens to the loud voices for a while. It's well known that Alfred and the President argue frequently, but this sounds like far more than a simple disagreement or squabble.
A loud bang erupts from the room, followed by more angry screaming. Seconds later, America bursts out from behind the door. It hits the attached wall with a bang; the nation thunders away, cursing under his breath. Then, the President follows, but storms off in the opposite direction.
"Alfred? Mr. President? What—?" the attorney sputters. He keeps swinging his head in both directions, not knowing who to follow. He then chooses to follow the nation, calling his name. When he finally catches up, America is wiping away a trickle of blood from the side of his head.
"Alfred!" The attorney tugs at the young American's sleeve to get his attention. "What's going on? Tell me, what happened with the President?" Although the two argue frequently, they never do so to the point where blood is drawn.
"What are you doing here?" America asks, taking deep breaths to calm himself down. He rips out a folded wad of tissues from his pocket and presses it against the wound. He completely avoids the attorney's question.
"The President organized a meeting with the Cabinet for today."
"I bet he'll spill everything to you during that meeting, then. Whatever. I don't want to talk about it. My boss is a total, clueless idiot." America turns away from the Cabinet member, scowling again.
The attorney frowns. "Don't say that about him, Alfred. He's not like that."
"He is, though! I get that he's the damn President and all, but it's like he thinks I'm less of a nation and more of a . . . a simulation, a game, maybe, like he can try a bunch of things and just delete if it doesn't work and then try something else." The blond man re-folds the blood-stained tissues. "I'm supposed to turn to him for help. Now I don't even have the slightest idea of what I'm going to say tomorrow at the world meeting."
The attorney sighs. He's found America and his boss arguing countless times over the past years that the man has been in office, and every time America spoke about it, he would describe it something like this. On the other hand, the President would shrug it off, acting as though nothing happened. America does have a tendency to over-exaggerate the severity of things that he feels are important, to him at least, so no one truly believed things got as heated as he said they did, but looking at him now, it looks like he'd been telling the truth this whole time.
"It's almost time for the Cabinet's meeting," the attorney says, "with the President. Are you going to be alright for now? Do you need me to get you anything?"
"Well—" America pauses, shrugging. He readjusts the tissues on his head. "To get me, no. To tell me, yes."
The attorney nods. "What is it?"
"Where's the resign button for the job of 'nation'?"
A few days ago, North Italy had been living his life, helping his country, until out of the blue, his economy began to slide—quickly. His government had been quick to find out it was because of COVID-19, and on the subject of that virus, he had also been notified about a small outbreak of cases in the nation. He'd been told not to worry too much, but knowing what is currently happening with China, well . . . it's quite unnerving. Ever since, he's been worried sick that the same would happen to him. He's asked his brother, South Italy, if there's something they can do, but Romano hadn't any idea, either.
"I don't know what happened," Italy says, trying to suppress the trembling in his voice. Goodness, public speaking is really not his forte; how does Germany do it so well? "I've put both of the areas under lockdown, as well as a few more, like China did. I don't know how else to handle it. I don't know what to do."
Germany lets out a long breath, nodding. "So, what you're saying is, you need help?"
"Well, no, I mean—" The Italian swallows hard and sighs. He may as well just admit it; help is what he needs. "I mean, yes, I do need help. I don't know where to go from here."
"Hm . . . 'help'; not sure how helpful this'll be, but I've got some advice for ya," America butts in, still sounding as unenthusiastic as ever. He'd been like this ever since the incident with Iran nearly two months ago. "Let's not pay too much attention to the virus right now. It's not that big of an issue yet. Most of what's causing you worry is the worry itself."
Italy is taken aback. "Not pay too much attention" is the opposite of what he and his brother Romano had been doing, though of course, he had been told not to worry. For a moment, he thinks that perhaps his people were right; after all, there aren't that many cases yet in his country. But, the virus in China had spread quickly, and although Italy is sure that won't happen to him . . .
"But, look at what's happening in China," Italy points out. "He couldn't even be here at the meeting today because . . ." Because he had to stay home and quarantine himself since he'd potentially been exposed. Because his economy has pretty much crashed and there's nothing he can do about it. He doesn't say any of this, but everyone else in the room seems to understand.
Japan is the next to speak up. "We agreed that we would send him a report of everything that was discussed today. He'll be alright."
"Japan, what about the virus in your country? You're not worried?" Italy asks, hoping to get more information. The cases hadn't only been rising in China, they'd been rising in other parts of Asia, too.
"I'm doing fine," Japan softly answers. "Maybe the economy hasn't been great, but I'm not too worried anymore. I'm thinking it'll be the same for you."
"See? Told ya," America shrugs. He leans back in his chair and puts his arms behind his head, an action that seems to annoy the Englishman sitting next to him; he gives his former colony an agitated look before leaning away. The American doesn't notice this, however, and continues. "You don't need to worry, man. You said your economy was getting all messed up. Let's focus on that first."
Before anyone else can speak, Romano stands up.
"So what is that supposed to mean?" he spits out, crossing his arms. He narrows his eyes. "We're now just supposed to forget that the coronavirus, which has literally ruined China at this point, could do the same thing to us? This is why we're asking for help!"
America's eyes widen. "What, no, I'm just saying, there's barely, like, a hundred cases, and both of you are acting like it's suddenly going turn into a thousand tomorrow when we all know it's not—"
"Oh, yeah? Maybe not tomorrow, but next week? This is a contagious virus we're talking about, mind you, not a damn case of bone cancer!"
Italy sighs. "Romano, maybe America's right; there's other things to worry about—"
"Both of you, listen," Germany interrupts, giving the nervous Italians a gaze that is oddly calming. "To be fair, we can't know for sure how bad this outbreak is right now or how bad it's going to get. There's still so much we haven't figured out, and no one is saying we take the situation lightly, only that there is no need to stress over it. However, you have my word; if things get bad, I will send help."
Romano glares at the bulkier man. "Why not send the help now, when things aren't bad yet, to prevent them from getting bad? Saving those infected with a plague is one thing, getting rid of the rats in the first place is another. Your logic makes no sense, sausage bastard."
Italy cringes. Some of the other nations snicker, particularly Spain, who's failing to suppress a laugh from across the room. The insult is nowhere near the worst of his older brother's foul mouth, especially towards Germany, but "sausage bastard?" Romano, please.
Germany stares for a moment, stunned.
"I don't appreciate you calling me that, Romano," he coldly replies, shaking his head. Then he turns back to the seated nations and drives the discussion to another direction. "That's resolved for now. Moving on to another concern, which I believe has affected many of us: the economy . . ."
As Italy sits down, listening to the chatter of France, who is now the one talking, he thinks about what Germany had said. "If things get bad, I will send help."
The Italian sighs and buries his face in his hands, pulling at his auburn hair. His heart still pounds while wondering what is going to happen in the next month, but he tries to think of something else. Pasta, perhaps. He hasn't eaten some in a while. At least he knows that Germany has his back and won't let things spiral downward.
But there's a pressing feeling in his gut that won't leave him alone, and he's felt that feeling before; during the 1918 pandemic, during the 1957/58 pandemic, during the 2009 pandemic, even during the plague so many centuries ago. It's unsettling, and although he tries to convince himself otherwise, he knows that it isn't a matter of if things get bad. It's only a matter of when.
China is snapped back to reality by a knock on his door. He sighs and forces himself to get out of his room, pawing around for his mask—nevermind, there's no need for a mask, is there? It should only be a two-minute interaction at most.
When he opens the front door, a young man stands there, mask on, gloves on, with a small stack of stapled papers in his hands. He stands far away, six feet apart, or 1.83 meters apart, as China preferred to think of it as.
After a quick greeting, he hands the stack of papers to China. "This is the document detailing the United Nations meeting that occurred two days ago, which you were unable to attend," he explains.
Of course; after he'd notified the other nations that he had to stay home and isolate, they told him that they'd give him a review of everything that was discussed. Normally, this would be done in-person, but considering the circumstances, that is out of the question.
"Thank you," China responds, before shutting the door and reading the document.
He starts at the beginning, where there's a short table of contents. Brexit, the Persian Gulf Crisis, the Australian fires, COVID-19 in Italy, the economy . . .
The Chinese man flips to the discussion of the outbreak in Italy. He'd already heard that it was spreading in Europe, which alarmed him, but he has yet to find a way to do something about it. Maybe the other nations have beat him to it.
Unexpectedly, when China looks at the text, it's very short, barely a paragraph. While the other subjects discussed in the meeting had a page or longer in the stack, this one somehow has less than one third of a single page, which is normally not seen unless it's something that was brought up as more of a notification rather than a discussion.
COVID-19 has spread to Italy; two municipalities in the northern area are under lockdown. No action will be taken by outside countries yet.
What the—?
China stares agape at the papers, unable to comprehend what he's reading. He flips through them again and again, scouring every single sentence, looking for anything else in relation to the coronavirus, but he finds nothing except the short mention—and general disregard—of the outbreak in Italy.
Because there isn't full information yet, nothing should be done? China admits that he himself doesn't know much about the virus. He only discovered yesterday that this particular strain of it is more contagious than the previous, which is why it had spread so quickly without his knowledge. Why the CDC had such a delay in telling him that, he'll never know, but if he did know earlier, he surely would have tried to enforce stricter regulations to slow the outbreak.
In a fit of anger, he rips the papers off of the single staple tying them together and then proceeds to shred it into smithereens with his bare hands, cursing at the rest of the nations under his breath.
Regardless of how much information on the virus there is, what are they thinking?
Notes:
On January 25th, 2020, Chinese President Xi Jinping warned that China would be facing a "grave situation" due to COVID-19. (And the entire world did, and is still doing.)
On February 5th, 2020, US President Donald Trump was acquitted in his final impeachment trial and remained in office. Although he did initially take preventive measures against the virus, most of the time he passed it off as not much of a big deal, and blamed most of the situation on the Chinese. His first and foremost concern was the American economy.
Early-mid February was when the coronavirus peaked in mainland China. In late February 2020, COVID-19 began spreading more significantly outside of the country. This resulted in a global economic recession beginning around that time, the worst since the Great Recession of 2007-09.
In late February 2020, two clusters of cases were detected in Italy, both in the northern half of the nation. One was presumed to have been made worse due to a minor hospital slip-up. The only other country that seemed to care at the time was China; most of the other European nations disregarded it. 11 municipalities in northern Italy soon went under lockdown.
The United States Attorney General (referred to as "the attorney") in this chapter is William Barr.