This chapter is considered "Safe For Work."
***Warnings: Blood, Guns, Violence, Death, Death threats. ***
***Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia nor the characters in this chapter. The plot is mine.***
"Heads up."
White noise filled the air. Japan cringed, ripping out the microphone hidden in his jacket and chucking it at the passenger seat of his car. "Ludwig," he growled into his phone, "Would you mind telling me why you just made white noise to fry our brains?"
A bored voice responded. "I wanted to check if it was working correctly. It shouldn't have made any noise." Clanks and ruffles began, readjusting something on the other line. "Alright, again." Nothing came from the phone.
"It works," Kiku replied, putting the tap back in its place.
"Good. It seemed our technical difficulty came from a bothersome Nata-" A large smacking sound came from the other end. "I told you to stop hitting me with your shit!"
The Japanese man chuckled, running a hand through his hair. Amusement cause him to grin widely. "You should really refer to her by her last name." He paused. "Actually, you should really watch your mouth in general."
"Fuck you, Honda."
"Such profanity, Ludwig," he tsked. "And in front of a lady."
"Damn you and your fucking fashion sense."
Japan couldn't help laughing as she interrupted. He turned on the ignition of his car, warming up the engine. "Well, I thought I chose very suitable clothing for you, Ms. Arlovskaya. Ludwig certainly seemed to like what I picked it out." A series of smacks and swears ensued from the other line as the other phone clattered to the ground.
"Dammit, Kiku!" Germany cried after picking up the phone again. "Just because I let you choose it didn't mean I liked it! I couldn't care less what she wears!"
He laughed, deaf to his friend's claims. After a while, he wiped away his tears of amusement, satisfied with the show from the other end of the line. Japan placed his phone down on the passenger seat, leaning down to his microphone. "Very well then, we shall drop the topic. Can both of you hear this?" Tiny calls of agreement came from his phone. "I'm going to go to the meeting now. No fighting, children," he chided with a smile. More outcries emerged from his phone and he tapped the red button, silencing them.
The new meeting place stood quite a distance away from the usual one. Japan's red car pulled into the hotel's parking lot, the building much more luxurious than Belarus's and much more accommodating than the Japanese meeting place. He climbed out of his car, examining the few people that walked by. Gratefully, the stains had been cleared away. Not that anyone would care too much.
Inside, Japan found himself at the door to the suite. Readjusting his jacket one last time, he knocked politely at the door and stood in wait. Swinging open, the door revealed a large living space, complete with couches and tables and a refrigerator in the corner. The drapes were drawn so as not to let in the sun but despite this the light spilt through the cracks and crevices, leaving strange patterns on the floor. Laid out on the couch, France was fast asleep, a newspaper quivering over his face and two blankets sandwiching his body.
Japan stepped in, mischievous ideas running through his mind, when he got a cuff from the one at the door. "Don't make such a strange face so early in the morning!" China cried, closing the door. His hair was ruffled and he was still in his sleeping clothes. "I can't believe you could only get one suite. I thought you were more efficient then that." Japan shrugged, noting the other's grumpiness was most likely from his sleep on the couch. "You know, when I was your age-"
"Wang, stop talking. It's irritating." America stepped out of his room, fully dressed for the day. He leaned on the doorway, dark tinted glasses hiding examining eyes. "Morning, Honda. You're early."
He nodded in greeting. "Hai, I am early. But you all are now late." His eyes went over China with scrutiny. "And underdressed." Hmphing, the Chinese man grabbed a duffel bag and went to the bathroom to change.
Out of another room emerged England, smile on his face as he fixed his hair. "Good morning, Kiku~ It nice to see you up bright and early." His eyes fell upon the sleeping France. "Though, it appears we may need to prepare some others." Going over to the back side of the couch, England clutched the blanket. "Francis~ You have until the count of three~"
America sighed immensely. "Kirkland, don't."
"One-"
"Bonnefoy, wake up."
"Two-"
"You're both imbeciles."
"Three!"
England pulled the blanket from under the Frenchman and he tumbled to the ground, cursing as he sat up and saw a smiling face greeting him. "'Early to bed and early to rise, makes a man healthy and wise.'" The Brit hummed.
"Healthy my ass! I'm thousands of years old and I need my rest!" He rose from the floor, nursing his injured parts as the blanket fell to the ground. "Fuck... It hurts." France bent back and forward, hoping to relieve the pain in his lower back.
England placed hands on France's shoulders, leading him to the door. "Now, change into something proper now~ We have a long day ahead of us." He pushed France in, closing the door at the cry of indignation.
While France was being lead away, America has folded the blanket and dumped it on the couch. He sat himself down, arms laying back to show how relaxed he felt in the situation. America waved to the other couch across from him. "Sit down, Honda. They'll take a while."
The Japanese nation did what was bid of him, hands on his knees examining the other in silence. They sat that way for a while before America leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Honda, let's make this clear. Neither of us wants to be here. You don't want us in your country. We don't want to be in your country."
A clever smirk settled on Japan's features, fingers intertwining on his lap. America was much antsier than usual. Then this would make two assumptions correct: one, they were back; and two, the Security Council was anxious to finish up business. They hated being in the dark as much as all the other countries. Without all the cards in their hands, the Security Council feared the worst.
"Now," Japan replied cooly, "If that is the case, you should just leave." I'll spur them on so this game of cat and mouse will be a bit quicker.
The American's jaw tightened. "We can't. Honda, this is not time for your tricks. Tell us straight out what happened. No bullshit. Then we'll get out of your hair."
He lifted an eyebrow, considering the proposition before leaning to the side, propping his elbow on the arm of the couch and his chin on the palm of his hand. "I told you all I knew last meeting. But you, and your close allies, have not shared the full extent of your knowledge." Japan's eyes narrowed. "I am quite sure neither of us wishes to wait for little, unknowing Feliciano to skip inside and bring back those dreadful memories." Despite his teasing and threatening tone, fear seeped into his eyes ever so slightly. His pride would not allow him to admit such a weak emotion. However, he could at least see the understanding in the other's eyes.
"...Alright," America said, straightening and sitting back in defeat. "They are back."
The grin faded ever so slightly. "I want to hear you say it. Word for word."
A single word was all they needed.
"Reapers."
Japan's jaw tightened, wondering how Germany would be handling this on the other end. To Hell to Germany, what would happen to the Italian? Would he be able to withstand yet another attack? No... No, he had to think properly.
"How did you come about with this?" The American remained silent, now seeing he had Japan's full and undivided attention despite the small change in atmosphere. "Cat got your tongue, Alfred?" The small man challenged in hope to regain his edge.
The brown haired man sighed, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees."I would tell you more, Honda, but I need the whole Security Council's permission." He grimaced. "Even Braginski's."
A door opened behind them, breaking their conversation. Out came China, plopping the duffel bag at the side of the couch. The Chinese man examined the both of them, shrugging. "Carry on. You have my vote to get stuff in." He glared at Japan. "And maybe he'll stop acting like a child."
Japan grinned, relaxing a bit more. "Tsk, tsk, tsk. I-" His eyes widened and he gasped, hands clawing at his chest in pain.
America huffed indignantly. "Looks like the Russian is here." China shrugged, getting a water bottle from the fridge and tossing it to the American who caught it just as casually. "Wang, make breakfast."
"No."
"Wang. Make breakfast."
The Asian nation hmphed, crossing his arms and leaning back against the table. "Make me."
"I'll take the couch tonight," America bargained. "But you have to cook all day. And don't let Kirkland in the kitchen. I hate his sweets." The Chinese man thought about the offer before nodding. "Fine," he said, beginning to take out ingredients.
With another creak, another door opened violently. France walked hurriedly away from the other, sitting at the table and crossing his arms. He mumbled to himself angrily, annoyed by the Brit's presence. England, on the contrary, skipped inside, humming a jolly tune. He glanced over at the couch where the Japanese man was curled up in a ball. "My, did our tardy member arrive when I was helping out Francis?"
"Yup," America called, taking a swig of his drink. "I don't know why the hell Honda is taking so long in getting out of it. It's only Russia."
France turned around, staring at the Japanese man. The contorted expression on his face caused him worry. He rose, looking over the Asian nation. "...How long has he been like this?"
"A couple minutes. But Bonnefoy, you know it'll pass." Never the less, France turned the Asian on his back. Sweat trailed down from his forehead. His breathing was labored. His eyes widened.
"YOU IMBECILES!" He cried. "THIS IS NOT A LAPSE!" A clang came from the stove as the frying pan came down. China ran over, pushing France aside to check the struggling man. He touched his forehead and neck, the pulse struggling beneath his fingertips.
"What the hell is this..." To get more air into his system, China began to undo some of the buttons of his clothing. A tap suddenly appeared, surprising the two nations who were watching. In the background, America had run over for a wet towel and returned, using it to get rid of the sweat from his forehead. "I... I don't know what this is..." China replied, eyebrows furrowed.
Kirkland stood back, examining in silence. The smile faded ever so slightly but did not disappear. He watched them work, not contributing to the work at hand.
The Japanese man's breathing continued at this ridiculously fast rate. His eyes had screwed shut from the pain. He couldn't breathe. Couldn't... Couldn't understand. Something... Something should not exist. It was here. It should not exist. The struggle of two beings at war was within him. Couldn't breathe.
"K-K-K-K-K," he began stuttering, grinding teeth and tearing off invisible hands at his chest and neck and arms.
"What the hell is he saying?" China muttered, wiping the sweat away. The tremors had gone and the breathing had steadied but he appeared far away, eyes screwed shut in concentration.
Ruby eyes suddenly flew open, erratic with bloodlust and violence. "K... Kill." Japan pushed China away, the tap falling to the ground. "Kill. Kill her."
America pushed the Asian nation back on the couch. "Honda, get off the crazy train this instant."
The American found himself on the floor, the Japanese man up once more. "SHE MUST DIE!" Japan cried. "THERE CAN ONLY BE O-"
A gunshot rang throughout the room. The bloodlust came away from his eyes, filled instead with surprise and... Shock. He fell to his knees and then the ground, face meeting the carpet. Blood trailed down his back, staining his jacket. England put his gun back in his holster, frowning. "He was too loud. The neighbors would complain."
America stood up, standing toe to toe with the British man, eyes challenging and fierce behind the sunglasses. "Idiot," he hissed. "What the hell did you just do? Why did you kill the hosting nation?"
A hand was on his shoulder, pulling him away from the British man. "...He has a habit of denying things, Alfred. Stop trying to get him to explain anything." France turned to the body on the ground. "The question is what now?"
England came forward, picking up the tap in his fingers and grinned. His gaze went over it curiously. "Why, we find out who is listening to this right now." He let it fall to the ground from his fingertips. His foot followed suit.
"VERDAMMIT!" Germany yelled, smacking the table as static filled the air. "WHAT THE HELL, HONDA?!" He rose from his seat, kicking over his chair and cursing in German. His hat was slammed to the ground then kicked. What the ever living fuck? "'Kill her'? What the hell does that mean? What does-" His rant came to a halt, arms falling to his sides. "Natalya...?"
Belarus just sat in silence. She stared at the receiving equipment, not moving from her spot. A hand was on her shoulder, waking her from her stupor. "Natalya. Hey." She batted the hand away, standing.
"Don't call me Natalya," she retorted quietly, eyes averted from him. Her frown had grown pensive.
He frowned at her. "What is your problem? He didn't mean you-"
"He did," Belarus interrupted. Her hand clenched to a fist. "But that's not the point. We heard a gunshot. He was killed. And you didn't even blink."
Germany huffed, crossing his arms. "I have no idea what you're going on about but whatever it is put it out of your mind. He will mostly be fine."
She shook her head. "It's disgusting how easily you forget about the importance of life." Belarus turned on her heel, leaving the room. The door slammed shut behind her. Now in the confines of her room, she gripped at her chest. Something was brewing. That... That was a warning.
A warning for her.
The whir of airplanes filled the air as two departed from the airport, people bustling by with their own affairs. The taller of the two looked at the surrounding area, locating a car. He directed his companion to follow him. Within moments, he began to pack the luggage in the car, not allowing his dear little sister to do such manual labor.
Inside the car, Belarus staring up into the sky, fuchsia eyes glimmering but now growing cloudy. A twisted grin came onto her face. "I'm going to find you~" She sang, darkness in her voice. Her antsy fingers trailed down the glass, her mind becoming creative with distorted images.
"Then there will only be one of us."
Author's Note: It's been way too long since I posted anything on here! Well, here it is! The next chapter of Belarus in 2p!World! I have quite a bit of ideas for the plot line but wow. It's a lot longer to write. So... How am I? I've been spending my writing time rping and creating slam poetry. We recently finished our poetry slam yesterday and my school placed second. The college search is also difficult but I got a general view of which colleges I want to go to. Most are still instate but I want to look out to the rest of the country. That's it for me right now. Sorry for the wait!