Sorry about the hastiness at the end of this one. It's easiest to pass some time in the story by just summarizing…
Songs-
'Make Believe' by The Burned
'So Complicated' by The Noisettes
'All I Want' by Sarah Blasko
It really didn't feel like the time to be waking up…it was getting dark outside.
"Where am I?" Alfred wondered, taking in his surroundings.
He was lying in a bed, buried under crisp white linens and propped on warm, firm pillows. Around him, people were packing up stretchers and folding blankets. Patients walked past a hospital window, carrying IV bags with them and wearing gowns. The smell of hospital food wafted into his open hospital door.
Alfred pulled the sheets down. He had on a light blue smock and his glasses were gone. His face felt sticky and it was a bit too warm, so he threw the blanket off.
"Oh good morning, sleeping ugly," a sharp, sarcastic voice said happily.
Al's eyes glanced back over the room, prickling as they moved in his eyelids. The figure was blurry, but he'd recognize the crystal blonde hair and obnoxious voice anywhere. "Gil? What're you doing here?" he wondered.
The Prussian put a hand on his hip and ruffled the American's sticky hair. "I'm watchin over you, obviously. You'd think you would recognize it when someone's sitting in a hospital room with you."
Alfred sunk down into the sheets. "What's wrong with me?" he asked.
"Hm…" Gilbert took a seat in the armchair next to Al's bed. "The doctors can't diagnose you, so I'd say it's your crapshit economy and the fact that your leaders can't get anything done without pissing all over each other. I swear, sometimes you guys make me glad I'm not a country anymore. I'd have to deal with you idiots."
"Yeah, you're lucky you're just freeloading off your brother," Alfred mumbled.
Gil just laughed and put his feet up on the side of the bed. "I wouldn't call it freeloading! He comes to me for my awesome advice all the time," he lied, waving his hand dismissively.
Alfred just ignored it. "What hospital is this? When did I get here? Why are you here?"
"Jesus! Chill with the questions…" Gilbert said, folding his arms over his chest.
"You got here yesterday morning. You slept through the day, aru."
"Yao?"
The Chinese man stepped through the door into the hospital room. "Yes?"
"Why're you guys here?" Al wondered, reaching to the bed stand for his glasses.
"Well, I'm here to check in on the money you owe me," China said calmly. "I understand that you're working on that?"
"Ah…I'll get right on it…" the American said awkwardly, knowing he didn't have the means to pay off a fourth of his debt immediately. He owed several trillion to the Chinese alone…
"I just hope that you choose some responsible crediting policies to guarantee the interests of your investors," Yao said stiffly.
Al just frowned and laid back a bit. He knew that China couldn't do much but grumble bitterly.
They had too much invested in the American economy. This was a financial Cold War with no causalities and the stakes were too high to fail. If China made a move to sell away some of the American debt they owned, then other countries would start doing the same and it would immediately drive down the worth of each holding. It would be financial suicide for China, but exactly what America needed because it would eventually drive his debt down.
But, the American dollar was still the most reliable and liquid investment product in the world so long as it remained the world's reserve currency. And this pissed off many European nations and Japan who held large portions of his debt and lent him money. It meant that America could continue holding his interest rates down and borrowing cheaply while still being in debt to half the world.
"I'm sure my boss is working on it…" Alfred muttered, clearing the phlegm from his throat. He felt a bit dizzy and sleepy still.
Yao just nodded angrily. There really wasn't anything he could do right now besides hope that America pulled his act together. "I'll check in again in a few weeks…your clock is ticking, aru."
"Bye, Yao," Prussia said insistently. He was supposed to be watching over the American and making sure he didn't die or something. The Chinese man wasn't helping matters by raising the poor guy's blood pressure.
Yao got the implication and said his goodbyes.
…
Matthew was furious.
Any half-decent brother would be.
Why the hell was Alfred stumbling around Niagara, Ontario at two-thirty in the morning in a heavy downpour? Someone had to be blamed for this.
So he found himself pounding furiously on a hotel door at the Embassy Suites on the thirty-seventh floor. He waited politely, rocking on his heels. He silently plotted to punch the Russian in the jaw the second he opened the door.
But he never answered.
Matt silently fumed. Had Ivan just left already? Did he drive Al out into the rain and leave? That was unforgivable.
"You locked out, boo?"
The Canuck jumped a bit, startled. A maid had tapped him on the shoulder, pulling her cart behind her. Matthew just nodded and let her open the door for him. It seemed a bit easier than breaking the door down like a lumberjack…
He stepped inside quietly, as usual, and checked the place.
The front room was still empty, completely untouched. The complimentary water bottles had been left in their wrapping and the lock on the wine fridge was still in place. The couch hadn't been pulled out.
He walked through to the hallway. The tiles were soaked. A trail of water led across the carpet to the bedroom. He followed it in and scanned the room for the Russian.
Ivan was sitting on the floor against the window, staring out over the falls in silence. He didn't seem to hear Matthew walk in, so the Canadian drew closer. Part of him still wanted to beat the shit out of the Russian, but he knew better and had gathered his head now.
Besides, Ivan seemed upset. So, Matt found all his angry words leaving him. He touched the taller man's shoulder gently. "Um…Russia?"
Ivan looked up, eyes adjusting. "A-Alfred?"
Matt's hand dropped in frustration. "No, I'm Canada…but that's beside the point. Why are you on the floor? Why was Alfred on the street at two this morning? What did you do?"
Matt jumped again when the Russian's head suddenly bashed into the window. He shook his head despondently. "Vhy aren't you Alfred?"
"Because he's the United States…I'm Canada…"
"I didn't think he'd run off…"
"What did you do?" Matt demanded, starting to worry.
Ivan shook his head; it was starting to bleed where he'd bashed it. It would heal in a few hours. "I did not do anything. He ran to the bathroom and vas sick. So, I sat outside the door and vaited for him. He tripped over me as he opened the door and passed out. So, I put him in his bed and took my shower. I did not expect that he vould leave vhen I was not looking…" his voice drifted off.
Matt dropped down to his knees. "Well…he's lucky I found him…"
"Who are you?"
"Canada…"
Ivan didn't seem to hear him again.
The Russian was tired. He didn't sleep at all for the past two nights, waiting for Alfred to come back in. He'd gone out and searched the hotel and the rest of the city for him when he'd realized that the American had left. But, there were too many places to look, and Alfred didn't seem to be in any of them.
He wasn't sure if he should blame himself or not. The American had left without saying a word…
"Do you know vhere he is?"
Matt brought his knees up and locked his arms around them. "I called England to take him down to D.C. But, Iggy had to go to a meeting, so I called Francis instead. But, he got sick two days ago after getting home from Philly. He promised he'd call in a friend…"
…
"So…what're you gonna do?" Gilbert wondered, sitting back down after closing the door. "You can't have half the world up your ass constantly, trying to get money off ya?"
Alfred groaned. His stomach was starting to hurt again.
"Don't you dare get sick again!" Gil snapped. He'd had to get the sheets cleaned out three times already because the American kept throwing up in his sleep. He wouldn't even be here if it wasn't for Francis' desperate call and the fact that he liked Alfred.
There was a time where he would've killed all of the Allies, including America, for making him lose his country status. But, things calmed down and Al was a pretty cool guy when you met him personally.
The American just smiled weakly. He was all pale and sickly, and Gilbert didn't like it. "I guess we'll have to cut spending…" Alfred muttered. "I need to stop outsourcing jobs and borrowing…but, it's tough to stop y'know? After you've started the cycle there's not much you can do."
There was a calm knock at the door. Gil turned to Alfred. "You expecting any company?"
The American just shook his head and watched the door curiously.
Prussia got up and opened it, peering into the hall. Iceland walked inside, closing the door behind himself. He took a seat and looked at Alfred calmly.
"The hell?" the American muttered. "I don't owe you money too…do I?" he wondered. Iceland hardly ever visited, and when he did, it was usually to get Coca-Cola.
The boy just shook his head and folded his hands in his lap, his puffin hopped to sit beside his chair leg. "Europe held a meeting regarding your economic decline." He moved one of his hands from his leg and reached for his breast pocket, taking out a folded sheet of paper. "You owe three-hundred-fifty billion to England, one-hundred-ten billion to Switzerland, seven billion to Luxembourg, six billion to Germany, and substantial amounts to Ireland, Belgium, Poland, Turkey, Italy, France, the Netherlands, and several other European nations. They wanted to know if you had any plans on paying this off yet."
Alfred started, sitting up angrily. "Of course I plan to pay it off! Who sent you anyway?" he demanded.
Iceland just frowned. The American was never angry at him…he'd never had a reason to be. "Norge and Sve sent me, who you are also in substantial debt with," he answered calmly.
"Just…tell them I'm working on it…"
"Al, they won't like that answer. They want a plan, or at least a deadline," the Icelander warned.
Prussia stood, raising a fist, "Look, kid. He just said he's working on it." Gilbird fluttered out of his pocket, 'cheep'ing angrily.
Emil just ignored it, tucking his pant leg more tightly into his boot. "I'm only the messenger," he said calmly. "They just wanted me to warn you. Also, Alfred, you should make it a priority to pay back Japan and the countries that you import oil from."
The American just nodded lethargically. Having a list of people he owed money to just placed out in front of him like that was stressful and worrying. He already felt sick, but he got the feeling that this was just the beginning of his recession. "Anything else?" he asked carefully.
Emil just shrugged. "I said what they sent me to say. Oh…wait…England wanted me to tell you to 'Get off your arse'…" The white-haired boy tapped his chin, nodding. "…Yes…I believe he worded it that way."
Prussia glared, "Look you little-"
Gilbird flew off his shoulder and darted through the air at the bird that had trailed in behind the teenager. Mr. Puffin squawked and pecked at Gilbert's little chick. The Prussian let out a string of curses, ran forward, and swatted at the flying penguin.
Emil's face flushed and he dove after his bird. "Puffin!" he snapped, holding his arm out imploringly. His bird retreated, landing on his head. "I don't like him either, but I'm not trying to peck his eyes out, right?" he scolded, looking up and tapping his pet's beak affectionately.
The Icelander looked at Alfred, his blue eyes far more calm that the American's tired, troubled ones. Emil was technically older than Alfred, but America had grown up a lot quicker. Still, the Icelandic boy was composed and mature compared to the American.
He smiled. Alfred's country had provided for Iceland's national defense since the fifties and Emil remained closest to his fellow Nordics and the United States.
Iceland was particularly proud of the Summit he'd held Reykjavík in 1986 where Regan and Gorbachev had met and set the stage for the end of the Cold War. He still liked to brag about how his meeting and his leadership had assisted in the collapse of the USSR where other countries' meetings had failed.
America was still the largest foreign investor in the Icelandic economy, and Emil was always grateful for that. He'd suffered a bad economic crisis in 2008 that had left him sick and weak, then Eyjafjallajokull erupted two years later and things couldn't have gotten any worse.
But, with help from Russia, he'd gotten back on his feet, and America was always a steadfast investor. Tourists poured in from the U.S. and America signed an agreement to build a silicon factory in southwest Iceland.
The two countries were 'friends' as far as Emil was concerned. He didn't come over and visit often, but they retained close relations and strove for the same global goals. Plus, the Icelander had a certain…thing…for Alfred's Coca-Cola…
The Nordic sat on the edge of his friend's bed. "I am sure that you'll pull yourself together. Things always seem much worse than they are in reality, and you would be surprised just who will come to your aid when you really need it."
Alfred smiled weakly and reached out to pet Mr. Puffin. "Oh, I'm sure things will work out eventually…I'm just worried about what it'll take to go back to normal." He dropped his hand back. "Go tell everyone that I'll have a plan by August."
Emil nodded and stood, putting his hand down for his bird to step onto.
Prussia watched him leave. He turned to the American who had let out a heavy sigh and plopped his head back onto the pillow. "I've got nothing against that guy, but why's he gotta say everything in such a monotone?"
Alfred shrugged, "Maybe it's the Norwegian in 'em, I dunno." He cracked an eye open and glanced at his heart monitor. Was his condition really that bad that it was necessary to have that. "We're in D.C.? Right?"
"Yeah, Walter Reed Army Medical Center," Gilbert replied.
"Hm? They're supposed to be relocating soon…" Alfred muttered. "And why'd they let me in? I'm not a wounded soldier…"
"Well, you've been a soldier before, and you're kinda in a shit condition right now," the Prussian reasoned. "Besides, I think you're sorta an exception. The President said he wanted you to come here so you could get the best treatment."
"Peachy," Alfred muttered. "What about Ivan?"
"What about him?"
"Is he still in Canada?"
"Where?"
"Ah…dangit, I don't know. I left him somewhere yesterday morning. My brother must've called someone to bring me back to my capital. He probably panicked…"
Gilbert laughed. "That crazy bastard couldn't get upset because you left him in his sleep."
"It wasn't in his sleep. He was in the shower."
"Oh, what a big difference," the Prussian said sarcastically. "I think you should worry more about yourself right now than caring whether or not your little boyfriend misses you."
"He's not- …you know what? It doesn't matter. You're probably right," Alfred muttered. He rolled over and pulled the sheets up.
Ivan probably didn't care that he'd left. He could call a plane now and go home. He'd been trying to get home all week, but he was just too polite to turn Alfred down. It wasn't like the Russian wanted to stay.
…
Alfred remained in the hospital for two weeks. Prussia left after the third day and Iceland had returned for a few days to watch over the American.
England called regularly to make sure someone was keeping an eye on him so he wouldn't try to escape the hospital to get his fast food fix. He felt better knowing that a country was keeping watch and not just the hospital staff. Regular humans wouldn't be able to do much.
Europe and Asia were starting to worry, but many of them had their own financial issues to worry about.
Ivan tried to get a flight to D.C. but he hesitated. Alfred never called or tried to contact him. The Russian was starting to get the feeling that it was his fault that the American left. He had scared Alfred off by trying to kiss him. He probably wouldn't want to see him now.
Hurgh…the economy is confusing. Would anyone believe me if I said I wasn't even fifteen yet?
Okay, I didn't come up with Iceland's name. In a recent blog, Himaruya put several possible names up for him. I just chose Emil Steilsson.
I love Iceland. Plus, if America and Russia were a married couple, Iceland would be like their adopted teenager who'd like already moved out of the house. Both countries have helped him out in different ways, and the major summit that ended the Cold War was held in Iceland's capital. (ahah, geddit? Cold war and Iceland! ...sorry...)
I wonder what that makes Norway? Still his bro. Just cause that's frickin adorable.
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