"When are they coming, again?" asked Canada. His twin brother looked up from the book he was poring over.
"They're all supposed to come sometime today," said America vaguely before returning to his reading. Canada sighed. He, like the rest of the countries, was under extreme stress and pressure. Due to the fact that a good portion of his population was either ill or dying, Canada himself was much weaker and sicklier than he normally would have been. The same was happening to the rest of them.
Every time he opened his mind and thought or felt of the suffering of his people, Canada was overcome with an extreme and terrible anguish that threatened to floor him. This happened to him now, and, unwilling to show his brother weakness, quickly stood from the table.
"I'm going to get some coffee," he choked, and did his best to exit the room with poise. America made a noncommittal noise, still absorbed by his reading. When he stumbled into the kitchen, Canada fell to his knees, clutching his head in his hands. He squeezed his eyes shut in a futile attempt to stop the flow of hot, salty tears that were escaping from under his eyelids. He choked back a sob as he felt the overwhelming pain that the citizens of Canada were going through.
After a minute, it passed. Canada remained on his knees, shaking, for a few seconds, before rising to his feet and going to retrieve the coffee that had been his excuse for leaving.
"Took you long enough," observed America upon his return.
"Yeah, well."
The morning passed away in a similar way, with America studying and Canada attempting to do the same, but occasionally succumbing to fits of grief. If similar fits happened to America, he did not show it. Typical of him, thought Canada bitterly. He has no sympathy with his people. Not like me.
A little into the afternoon, France arrived. America looked up reluctantly from his reading and went to open the door for his fellow nation. The superpower was irritable, fighting to keep down the swirling emotions that were not his own, but those of the country that he represented. Normally he didn't have any trouble sticking to his own personal thoughts, but in a time of such trouble and upheaval, it was getting more difficult.
America was not ignorant. He knew that his brother had already succumbed to the pain and grief a few times, but had chosen not to comment on it. He knew that it would happen to all of them eventually, he just didn't want it to happen to him unless it had to.
France entered America's house quietly, murmuring only a subdued hello and asking which bedroom he would be using this time. He didn't even flirtatiously inquire as to whom he would be sharing a bed with. The astounding change in the Frenchman was more than a little unnerving to America.
Soon thereafter, Italy and Germany arrived. Neither of them said a word. Both of them walked in with their eyes cast towards the ground, their mouths set in grim lines. A few hairs were hanging down from Germany's normally perfectly slicked-back hairstyle, and Italy's perpetually smiling face was sad and pale. However, when Japan and Russia arrived, little or no change was visibly noticeable in them. The short Japanese man was as stoic and antisocial as ever, and Russia was still wearing his infuriating, unshakable grin. When Cuba came, he said nothing at all, and no one acknowledged his presence. It would be a long time until the Hispanic nation's reputation was rectified.
Finally, Britain arrived. His blonde hair was disheveled as usual, and his thick eyebrows were drawn together in a pensive expression. The unforgettable green of his eyes sparkled in the afternoon sun. America couldn't help but stare at England's beautiful eyes. That shade of green was just so wonderful that took his breath away.
America shook himself. Stop it, he told himself. Now is not the time.
"Hello, America."
"Hello."
They stood together in the doorway for a moment, staring into each other's eyes, before Britain broke the eye contact and moved away, leaving the younger nation to stare after him as he moved gracefully down the hallway.
The nations wasted no time in beginning their research and experiments. The next morning they headed straight to America's laboratory. Cuba filled them in a little more on the particulars of the virus. They had taken the human immunodeficiency virus and attempted to alter it so that it would not target white blood cells but platelets (a structure that aided greatly in blood clotting). The idea was that during warfare, the Cubans could infect their enemies with it in order to slow or hinder their blood-clotting process so that they would be easier to defeat. The experiment had gone horribly wrong, instead producing a new virus that targeted all body cells and was able to target, exploit, and kill them nearly five times as fast as a regular virus would be able to.
Needless to say, the situation was grave indeed.
The nations discussed nearly all day, but none of them could come up with a way to fight the virus. The discussion was eerily calm, but inside, all of them were fighting to control the panic that threatened to overtake them almost constantly. By the end of the day, America was exhausted, and wanted nothing more than to escape to his bedroom and sleep.
Canada walked down the hallway of his brother's house on shaking legs, fighting to keep control for just a few more seconds before he could escape into the comfort of solitude. Just a few more steps, he told himself. Then you'll be all alo—
"Matvey."
Canada whirled around, gasping, and nearly knocked over an expensive-looking decorative vase. Russia stood there, towering over the Canadian, his violet eyes sparkling with amusement.
"What the hell, Russia!"
"What?" asked the other nation innocently.
"You can't just—you can't—I mean…"
"Shhh," said Russia, suddenly drawing close to Canada and hooking his arm around the other man's waist. "Matvey, you have nothing to be afraid of."
"Don't call me that, damn it!" shouted Canada, shoving the Russian's gloved hands off of him. "Listen, bastard, now is not the time to try and go rekindling fires that died out a long time ago. So leave me alone."
Without another word, Canada hurried to his room and slammed the door behind him, leaving Russia blinking in his wake.
