I do not own Hetalia, the characters, events, places, anything. Hidekaz Himaryua does. I do not own anything I do not own! Thanks to all those who inspire me!

Chapter Ten: Bankrupt

It was clear that America had to dress like he meant the serious business that was going on. When he entered the office with lavish decorations, the secretary that he had spoken to and not let him get through stifled a gasp.

America just didn't wear business suits. Ever. But today he did. Maybe because he had a feeling he'd be able to talk to his boss easier if he showed up dressing like England. Of course, the secretary and anyone who had been in the office long enough to know America as a person could tell that there was a crisis. She didn't ask for his name, she knew who he was, and dialed the service number for the office of the President and held a littler conversation, then waved him through with a tight mouth.

The President in office at the time wasn't the smartest duck in the pond. Then again, there hadn't been a good president since the eighties, so to say he was less smart than the others was exaggerating a little. He wore a business suit as well with an ironed tie- that's what I forgot, he figured as soon as he stepped in. His tie had been shoved in the back of the drawer, and was rather wrinkled, but was a blue shade that England had picked out for him probably five years ago, saying it would make his eyes brighter. Well, it didn't matter what he looked like now, but he felt like a total douche bag standing there in front of his boss with a wrinkled tie and a suit he'd pulled out of the back of his wardrobe.

"Well?" Asked the new-ish president with authority that America wasn't sure he should be speaking with. So far in office, the new president had only put them farther in a hole of debt that was about it become a bottomless pit.

Or even more bottom…less….

As America told him the problem on hand, babbling a little because he was so worried and maybe even a little scared, but what was the most disappointing was the lack of concern the new president had on the situation entirely. As his boss turned and looked out the window, America couldn't help but say, "Dude, seriously, what I go bankrupt, I'll be bedridden for a long time and I'll be so weak I won't be able to get out of bed and then I won't be able to save Canada!"

"We can't really help Canada with this situation," said his boss with his hands clasped behind his back. He had a strong Southern accent that made his voice deep and sound like water was rolling out of his mouth and down his lips- he also had a large belly protruding from his pants that threatened to burst out of the crisp white jacket he wore. England had called him (behind America's back) the 'new' stereotypical American. Of course, the nation knew he was right, yet he wasn't about to admit it to Britain's face. The President sighed as America gasped at his former sentence. "All we can really do is hope China forgets about it for a while."

This was absurd. Absolutely crazy- expecting China to forget about America's debt was like asking England to stop hallucinating. Impossible. Who would forget anything that big in just a week. "W-We…we're not even going to try and pay him off?" America stammered. He'd expected to at least round up a fraction of the money he owed China and promise him the rest later…in hope he'd trust him. That obviously wasn't the president's idea as he shook his head, his fat lips solemn. "WHAT!" America couldn't help but shout and push away from his chair in shock to come standing, inches away from his boss's nose. "Dude, what if he actually does close off his imports, or he might even attack us, what if he does that?"

"Listen here, America," said his boss sternly, turning around so that America couldn't see his face. Which was deadly serious. "Other countries owe China money as well. I'm guessing that he won't just make an offer only to us. We won't need to pay him off when everyone else will be struggling as much as he is under the debt."

"Well, what happens when he only wants the money from me?" America scratched the back of his head, tittering a little. "I think I remember what his beef with me is…I think we were playing Chinese checkers and I beat him….or was that a dream? I can't remember."

The president scowled again. He dumped a file of papers in front of America with a sneer. "Those are the expenses the country as built up. We should focus on our own problems for now. Now…" he made a floppy motion with his hand to usher him out. "Leave. I really don't want to listen to you right now."

America scooped up the enormous file with his arms, watching it spill out of his arms, and scurried out of the room to dump it on the desk to the west of the President's, who slammed the door shut behind him. America didn't look through the file, he was much too nervous, and sat down in his chair with his heart pounding in his chest. He twiddled his thumbs for a little while, and then sat forward to call England to ask for some advice.

The little red light was blinking on the voicemail button. He guessed England had already called him, and was expecting a worried message, however, what he got was almost exactly the opposite.

"Like, America, this is, like, Poland. I was calling you because, like, you owe my country, like, a billion dollars and my, like, boss wants it because my ponies, like- I mean because my civilians, like, need it for healthcare or, like, something, so, like, you should, like, pay me, like, by the end of the week, or I'll be, like, pissed of. Like, to the max. Okay? Like, cool."

Well, shit. America flopped back into his chair and swore with a word he'd only heard England say when he was drunk. Well, it definitely got the secretary to acknowledge him after all. He tapped his hands on his desk. He couldn't think of anything he could do, other than borrow more money. And he couldn't ask England (that was way too embarrassing), but… China was asking for asking for a butt load of money, and there was one person America could remember that hated China enough that she might help him. He picked up the phone and dialed the number, let it ring, then she picked up.

"Hello?" It was the voice of Taiwan. America had helped her in the past, and he hoped she remembered that, and she was friends with Japan as well. He was, at least, surrounded by good relations in that part of Asian, except China and Russia of course. Why Russia was part of Asia was beyond him, and it didn't really help that his enormous country next to China's made up for not much Asian land to be compatible with. Maybe Mongolia would help.

"Taiwan?" He was surprised by the pitch in his voice. "Dude, hi, it's America."

"America? What do you need?" She didn't really sound pleased or unpleased that he was calling her, but that left room for a lot of different emotions. America was second-guessing this idea for several reasons, the biggest was because he was going against his boss's judgment. He lowered his voice a bit more.

"I know this is a really big favor, but I promise I'll pay you back once my economy's doing better, but China was being a really big douche bag and asked for his money that I owe him or else he's gonna blow off all our imports, so can I, like, borrow seventy billion dollars for a while?"

"Seventy billion dollars?" Taiwan sounded like she had just choked on something. She started saying something else in a different language, and America could only laugh hysterically.

"Yeah, I know it's a big amount, but you gotta help me, I'm going to go bankrupt!" America said quickly. In the other room, his boss leaned over his chair to look at him, and America squeezed the phone and turned away.

In the background, a familiar voice sounded, "Is that America?" It was Japan. He might've guessed they were on a date or something, so now he felt a little guilty, but he almost swallowed his throat when Japan asked, "Is he asking for money?"

"Yes, he's asking for money," Taiwan said. America felt his plan go up in smoke.

"Hello?" It was Japan now. Taiwan must've gave him the phone. "America-san?"

"Japan!" America was a little happy to hear from him. He didn't mean to shout, though, because now his boss stretched his neck a little more, his eyebrows going inward. It was worse than an angry look from England, and America started to babble. "I'm in some really deep shit, dude, and I really need your help, my boss it's going to help me, so somebody has to help me, I need help!"

"What kind of help?" Japan asked calmly. "I can't help you with money, Mr. America, Greece went bankrupt a little while ago, so we're helping him, there's really nothing we can do if you need money…" he didn't continue, and America nearly wailed.

America wheezed. "Well is there anyone you know who will help me, because I'm going to die, man!"

"Countries can't die, America," Japan sighed.

America nervously twiddled his hand on the desk. "Okay, I know that, but is there anyone you know that can lend me some money-"

Suddenly the line went dead, and the President was standing over him with his finger in the receiver. America swallowed, the President's enormous belly was almost more of a threat then his twisted face. He slapped a paper down on his desk, and started to walk away. "You've got one of those silly conferences with your friends this Wednesday. Better start getting things together."

America hung up the phone, his shoulders slouched. "Yes, Mr. President," he said quietly, then pulled the paper toward him.

Meanwhile…

"Germany, we're having pasta again this morning because you didn't eat any the other night and there's so much left over, and even if I think I could eat it all I really can't so I'll put some potatoes on it because I know you'll like it then, and maybe I'll chop up some of that sausage hanging in there, okay?"

Germany carefully unclamped his teeth from inside his mouth and opened his eyes. Even if he'd just woken up, he wasn't ready to take Italy for granted. "Italy," he sighed, rolling over from his side so he could look him sincerely in the face. "We don't eat pasta for breakfast. It's not good nutrition."

Italy began compulsively poking Germany on the nose from where he bent over the bed. "Yeah, but it'll get hard and gross if we leave it in there, and that'd be a big waste, Germany, and even if you throw out your underwear when it's ripped unlike Mr. Austria, we can't let food go to waste when people are over starving in China's country, right?"

Germany's eyebrows peaked, but his eyes went to the ceiling. "Alright," he gave in, pulling himself out of bed. "Next time, don't make so much leftovers. I don't want to be eating pasta for the next three days, okay?"

"Okay!" Italy ran into the kitchen and stuck the pasta in the microwave. Germany wasn't sure if that was going to work, but nevertheless, he stuck his head around the corner and said, "And don't forget to shower after breakfast, yeah?" But of course, Italy ignored him. Germany smoothed the hairs in his face back then pulled a towel out of the closet to shower himself, and stepped into the tiny shower after throwing his clothes in the laundry basket. He washed, paying close attention to the outside noises for anything relatively close to a smoke alarm, but he only heard the beep of the microwave and Italy humming as he took out the pasta. Germany stepped out, put on some clean clothes and then walked into the kitchen area. "Italy," he said expectantly. "It's your turn-" Then he stopped dead in his tracks toward the kitchen.

Italy, Germany could name a few reasons why the country would be laying on the floor by choice, but if there hadn't been a broken dish with plain noodles strewn beside him, he would've guessed that he'd just clumsily fell out of his chair. Italy didn't randomly waste pasta, and he'd more likely flail around and eat the noodles off the floor before just leaving them there like he was now. Thoughts of dreading a pasta breakfast flushed from his brain as his eyes met the vacant brown ones of the blank Italy, who wasn't responding. Italy did do some strange things in his time, but falling over and playing dead wasn't on the normal list. Germany could probably say Italy wasn't smart enough to pull a practical joke such as this, but he turned his head a little. "Italy, are you alright?" He asked, just in case, but the Italian who was still in his boxers and a loose t-shirt did not respond. Germany kicked aside the broken pieces of glass as he fell to the floor beside his friend, shaking his shoulder. "Italy," he said, feeling a little panicked. "Italy, this is not a funny joke, you know." But when he shook Italy a little too hard, something dripped from his mouth.

Blood.

Two droplets on the floor, and Germany didn't know what to do. Was someone in his house? Had Italy been attacked? What was going on? The only way to check would be the news or the internet, but Germany didn't have time for that. He looked at Italy again. "Italy are you alright?" Of course he wasn't alright, Germany thought, with the more rational part of his brain. Germany flipped Italy onto his back and pressed his ear to Italy's chest. Well, his head was still beating- slowly,- and he was still breathing, shallowly, at the best. The irrational part of his brain was wedged between the notion to carry Italy all the way to the hospital, but that was a bit pointless. Nations didn't die, but he didn't know what to do for Italy or why it happened. He tried to mop up the blood from the inside of his mouth, feeling a strong fever suddenly radiating off Italy's skin. He picked him up, then laid him on the couch, and stood back. Germany wasn't the most people person, and he'd patched up Italy's wounds for him many times in battle, but he didn't know how to dress a wound that didn't seem to be caused by anything. But Italy was still unresponsive, though eventually he stopped bleeding and that wound seemed to be replaced by a mysterious bruise the size of half a golf ball on the right side of his head. Germany, shakily, wound a bandage around Italy's head, then glanced over his shoulder. Someone had to be in his house. Italy just didn't bruise because of falling from his chair- or at least one that big. He rummaged around his bed and took out the gun he usually slept with, and then went through the apartment and looked out the window. He checked every corner and closet twice, then, a little nervously, turned back to Italy. The only thing he could think of was the Roman Empire could've popped up for a visit like he did on random, but why he'd want to take a swing at his grandson was beyond him, so he ruled out that option and timidly sat on the floor next to Italy, who was still unconscious. He wouldn't really admit he was a bit jumpy, because when the phone rang he almost jumped three feet. He picked up the phone carefully, and greeted the caller.

However, he was not prepared for the answer that screamed at him and almost broke his eardrums.

"WEST!" The scream was from a raspy, sort of taunting voice from the other end, and Germany nearly dropped the phone.

"Scheibe!" Germany switched ears because the other was ringing. "Who is this? What do you want?" Of course, the voice did sound a little familiar, but he knew that at least was impossible. He checked Italy out of the corner of his eye, who was still blankly staring off into space. It was a bit creepy. He probably should've closed his eyes, they were going to dry out.

The voice chuckled like it shouldn't have been a question. "Oh, please," laughed the person. "I know it's been a long time, bro, but you couldn't' have forgotten the likes of my awesomely awesome person, right?"

There was really only one person Germany could think of that held himself so highly (except maybe America) and his eyebrows arched. No, it was a joke. Someone was drunk or was playing a cruel joke. He tried again, this time more harshly "Who is this?"

The person sighed the other end. "West, it's your brother. Duh." With Germany's shocked, blank silence, Prussia had to continue. "Gilbert Beilshcmidt? Do I have to prove it to you? When you were still really little, and I was still really awesome, I pushed you backwards in a mud puddle so it looked like you crapped yourself so that I could hit on-"

Germany's voice raised several ear-piercing octaves. "I do not need to be reminded of that incident, you little imposter-"

"Fine, then, I was just calling so you could give me a ride from the airport, God," Prussia sighed loudly. He then chuckled. "Guess I'll just have to take a trip to Hungary's with my newfound freedom, eheheh."

Germany wavered a little on the other end. He bit his lip. "Is it really Prussia?" He asked tentatively, gripping the phone tightly.

"The one and only! Seriously, nobody can amount to this awesomeness."

Germany took a glance back to Italy, who was still passed out. He couldn't leave Italy, that was too stressful, but if this person was Prussia- he wasn't ready to believe it yet- he also wasn't going to just leave him around an airport. There was also the possibility that he was inviting a total stranger pretending to be Prussia to his house, but he wasn't letting the opportunity pass. "I can't come and get you, something's wrong with Italy," he said. "But get in a cab and I'll pay the bill once you get here. If you're Prussia."

Prussia sighed. "This is unbelievable. Whatever. I'll bet you, like, ten million that I'm really Prussia."

"Yeah, yeah," Germany said, and gave the person the address. They hung up, and Germany went back over to Italy, who now had somehow developed a cut under his left cheek. Germany winced at the blood dripping down the side of his face, and patched up the wound as best he could.

What the hell was going on? Italy somehow being beat up by some mental force- no, that sounded like a silly American movie- and then some person pretending to be Prussia. Was something happening? Was he dreaming? Even he didn't have enough imagination to think up something this silly, so he sighed and sat back on the floor by the sofa to wait for the supposed-Prussia, and he flipped on the television. Usually he kept it on a couple of reliable news stations, so he flipped it to the BBC, only to see America's face on the front. He almost switched it off with a sneer, but the caster's voice came to his ears in time to stop him.

"…Among the countries of Greece and Italy who are struggling financially, the country of America had been on a visit to London when he mysteriously took an emergency flight back to Washington D.C. We tried to get some feedback from our friend England, but he didn't have much to say on the subject." The picture switched from America to England, who was, actually, dressed in a tuxedo and standing before a press-conference. Germany blinked- this all must've happened relatively quickly, because England looked a little frazzled and maybe even a bit green as he spoke. "Her majesty has asked me to keep what happened to America yesterday confidential," he said calmly, reading from a little stack of cards in his hands. Even through the television, it was evident his hands were shaking. "But when the outcome is revealed from our friends overseas, action may be necessary from our citizens in all of the United Kingdom." England then disappeared from the screen, and the newscaster was again there with her hands folded. "Mr. England's words were very civil, however, his brother in Northern Ireland had a few words to say about Mr. America's visit." Then the television showed a shaggy red-haired man with a rough accent grinning at the television like a goon. "Won't say this is the first time Arthur- I mean England- has been so secretive about Am-ar-ika," said Ireland, who seemed to be loving the attention just a little bit. "But I will say that England had his trousers in a fit for most of the time. They might've even been on backwards at one point, I dunno if I was seein' right, but there you have it-" England's face suddenly burst into the screen as he made a shoved at his brother, who jumped away, chuckling. "THAT'S A LIE YOU BUMBLING -" Then the newscaster came back with a fake smile. "And more geese have been seen flying over…" Germany cut her off as she launched into a more boring story, and turned off the television. Obviously England's appearance on television would be seen across the globe, but there were more important things to be worried about.

Like Italy being bankrupt. Germany turned around on his knees and looked at Italy, who still didn't look much better. How did he go bankrupt? Sure the fool didn't have very good attention accuracies, but Italy surely would've been able to tell a little while ago what was happening. Right? Or had he just ignored the problem this long? And if Greece could go bankrupt as well, surely Italy could, but the thought of America loosing all his money was like some alternate universe. He practically rolled in it. Where had it all gone? Hearing about all this made Germany a little nervous about his own sake, but he knew he was coasting along a fine line like many of the rest of the countries. Germany got up and went to the freezer, then wrapped some ice in a rag to try and cool Italy down by setting it on his head. "Careless…" he mumbled, then looked out the window just as a cab pulled up to his curb. Germany watched as a white-haired person stepped out, stumbling a little. His clothes were a bit ragged and he was considerably thinner, however, Germany turned away from the window and then went down the stairs to see if the person really was his brother.

I have NO IDEA what Taiwan and N. Ireland are like. I don't have access to the official website of Hetalia, so...I don't know. I only thought about adding them after seeing a few pictures and videos that were entirely fan made (thanks for the inspiration, guys!) but if they're really scarily out of character, please write me a review saying so and maybe what they're actually like? But, anyway, obviously I haven't kept up with the news, and the number America owes Chine may be grossly exaggerated or grossly under-exaggerated. This is clearly only loosely based on what is actually happing in real life, so if I have any facts wrong, tell me! And please review anyway!