Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or its characters. I thank Himaruya Hidekaz for letting me play with his characters.
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Warnings: hospital drama, a death
Chapter 30 – Die Another Day
Austria's Mansion
A flat air bed and a mouldy sleeping bag were not the most conducive ways of keeping an unconscious pregnant lady warm. But they were all they had. Denmark cradled Latvia in his arms and weirdly sang a sea shanty about invading England's northern sea ports. Gilbert paced up and down like the expectant dad he wasn't.
They jumped up as someone came in, hoping it was the ambulance drivers. It wasn't, it was Estonia.
Denmark made no comment about Estonia's ascent to sexiness but just motioned dumbly at Latvia.
"What happened?" Estonia asked, utterly shocked. All thoughts of the deals he'd just made with the builders for the new hotel complex he was planning went out of the window.
Gilbert and Den pointed at each other "It was his fault," they said in unison.
Estonia bent down and gently brushed wet hair from Latvia's eyes, "Come on, little Raivis..." he murmured and then he turned to Den, who was shuffling about, "Did you ring for an ambulance?"
"Yeah, mate... but..."
"We need to get hold of Russia," Estonia said.
This was not what they wanted to hear. At all.
Prussia practically had a fit, "Are you fucking joking, geeky little idiot?"
"Don't talk to my little Baltic like that," Den said suddenly turning on his fellow Awesome Trio member.
"He's trying to get us fucking killed..." Gilbert yelled.
"Russia is the father, he has a right to know," Estonia said shortly, pulling himself away from a possible hug from Den.
"You knew she was pregnant?" Den asked.
Estonia didn't answer as the doorbell rang – a horrid out of tune, tinny Mozart symphony.
"Ambulance!" Den and Pru yelled together and both loped to the door, shoving each other out of the way.
Bank of Vienna
"Right, disguises at the ready?" America yelled. He was quite pleased at how this was working out. In his own little head they were completely incognito (if he could have pronounced it), no-one would be able to tell from the CCTV who they were.
Himself, as Batman of course, Arthur stood next to him pulling at his tights and dressed as Robin, Belarus was wearing a Snow White outfit, stood with France who wore a Supergirl outfit and complaining that the tights restricted his 'area of manliness', Austria had refused to wear any kind of disguise, as had Russia – who was still, to America's utter horror, muttering about finding a little sunflower or something.
The revolving door proved a problem. America was unsure what happened, it was all a blur. Literally just that – a blur.
Five Nations stepped into one compartment of the revolving door – himself, England, Belarus, France, Austria... but not Russia. Russia did not like revolving doors and he said as much. This was to be their downfall.
The big Russian stepped back as his fellow Nations stepped in and watched as America pushed the door in front of him. His American strength forced the door spinning forward too fast and England yelled "Bloody hell, you big American idiot!"
Russia cocked his head to one side. It actually looked like fun – like the roundabouts at the park and he stuck his large hand in and brought the door to a resounding stop. The occupants were about to thank him, when Russia gave it another shove. His superpower strength easily matching America's, and the door spun around and round, the occupants and their bizarre 'disguises' were just a flash and blur of colour. Russia, his head cocked on one side, smiled softly, "Pretty colours..." he murmured.
The revolving door finally did stop revolving and the Nations fell out in various states of consciousness. Belarus promptly vomited all over the Bank of Vienna's polished tiled floor. America, struggling to keep his hamburgers in his stomach crawled out, very unhero-like from the entrance and collapsed. Austria was laid flat on his back moaning quietly, his glasses broken. France collapsed next to him, his face green. Only England kept his feet, a lifetime of adventuring on the high seas had given him a rather enviable sense of balance. Also a penchant for funfair rides had something to do with the fact that he wasn't retching his guts up on the Bank's emblem that was etched on the floor – a large black eagle.
Russia strode in after them, looking in utter surprise at their unhealthy state. "What's wrong? Didn't you enjoy the ride?" he asked them.
His fellow Nations looked at him in what could only be described as utter disbelief.
It was, weirdly, Austria's Germanic authority that stopped them from being thrown out by the security guards. Although said Germanic authority had to be propped up by England.
"I need to see the manager," Austria told the reception clerk, ignoring the French Nation hugging his leg and wailing "I am so unsexy... I'm going to vomit in a minute..."
"I think it would be best if you and your friends left," the reception clerk said, looking in disgust at Austria and his fellow Nations.
Austria glanced around, he would never, ever if he lived for another thousand years call any of these imbeciles 'friends'. England was holding Belarus' hair back while she continued to empty her stomach on the floor, America was eyeing up the security guards and counting the number of guns said guards carried and making strategic defensive manoeuvres in his head, France was still clinging to his leg and Russia was stood in the centre of the reception area humming tunelessly.
"You don't know who I am?" Austria said, raising himself to his full five feet nine inches and attempted to pull his velvet waistcoat around himself, thanking God he hadn't worn that ridiculous Tigger costume that America had picked out for him.
He felt a delicate hand on his shoulder, caressing gently. He didn't look around, expecting it to be France (even though the said French Nation was still clinging to his left leg) or England. It was neither.
"My husband needs to see the manager now!" Hungary all but exploded.
He turned to her, his heart jumped with joy at the word 'husband', he was about to point out that technically they weren't married any more but... he didn't.
"Liz, I thought you went with Lily and Vash... Is Vash...? Is he alright?" Austria asked.
Hungary smiled, "He'll be alright, the doctors say that he's had a huge shock. Temporary paralysis. And Lily's fine..."
"Do you think she'll ever forgive me?" Austria asked, his heart is in his mouth.
Hungary sighed, there were so many things she had to say to him, but now was not the time. "Later, I'll explain later..." she said.
Hungary turned back to the receptionist, who clearly thought that she'd better not argue with a very tough-looking Hungarian woman brandishing a large frying pan, and put a call through. She also pressed the alarm button three times – the alarm that incidentally was linked to the local police station.
The Hungarian leaned across the desk at the receptionist so she was nose to nose. "We are very important people..." she began.
Francis sniffled at their feet.
"... apart from him..." she said indicating the great Le France.
Russia continued humming behind them.
"...and him..." she added quickly.
"Come on, man! We need to get this show on the road!" America yelled, his patience, such as it was had worn thin.
Russia's patience had also worn thin. He slammed out of the bank. He had no idea anyway what this 'job' was they were going to do and the awful, wrenching feeling his stomach had grown worse and worse. He needed to find Latvia, or Toris. (Toris always knew what to do. Toris always had vodka.) He whizzed through the revolving doors and, because his mind was on finding his little Baltic, completely missed the armed police in full riot gear, balaclavas (America would have been impressed), batons and guns coming in.
Vienna Hospital
"Are you the father?" the reception nurse asked Estonia as Latvia was wheeled away down a long corridor.
Estonia watched as the girl he'd thought of as his sister was taken into a cubicle and doctors and nurses hurried in to her. He shook his head and blushed as the nurse looked him up and down, wondering weighing up whether it was professional to chat up a patient's next of kin.
Den stuck his hand up, "I am!" he said.
"No, you're not..." Gil said.
"I am... oh I thought she said are you a father?"
"Idiot!" Gilbert yelled and twatted his friend around the head.
The nurse sighed and seriously wondered whether she should call security or the psychiatric ward. However, she continued to take down notes.
"Name?" she asked.
"Matthias Kohler and yes... I am available."
"Not you... you big loon," Estonia said and hit his former boss in the head. "Raivis Gallante."
"Age?"
There was a pause as the Nations looked at each other. Age was a taboo thing to discuss. You can't go around telling humans your real age. Denmark found, often to his cost, that it freaked them out.
Estonia took a pot-shot, "22," he said confidently.
"How far on is she?"
"About 500 miles from Riga..." Denmark answered.
He received a smack from Estonia. "Hmmm," Estonia did a quick calculation, "About six weeks, I think."
"It's Russian!" Gilbert butted in, as if that made any difference. As if the doctors and nurses would have to use an entirely different medical procedure or medication because the father was Russian.
The nurse looked at Gilbert as if he were just that – an idiot and shook her head. "Is she on any medication?"
"Nah man... although she should be – being with Russkie dude..." Den said.
Estonia finally lost it then and shoved the two 'loons' out into the waiting area, gave them some money – which brightened them up considerably – and went back in.
Austria's mansion
Russia wanted answers and when Russia wanted answers, Mr Pipe also wanted answers. Several German builders had found this to their cost. But it wasn't their fault, how do you answer 'where's my little sunflower?' They'd tried pointing him in the direction of the garden, to no avail.
He'd taken himself back to Austria's mansion, thinking that that's where she'd be. But as he'd got out of the taxi, the sick feeling in his stomach worsened, particularly when he saw the dustbin lorry at the bottom of the swimming pool.
Finally, it was a hippy Germany and a goose-stepping Italian who told him the news that they'd seen Latvia wheeled away in an ambulance as they'd been 'practising marching'.
Russia picked up the little Italian and shook him like a ragdoll, "Why, what happened, where did she go?" he snarled.
Italy, who had only seen Latvia on a stretcher, accompanied by Estonia, shook his head, his face turning blue. Russia flung him down in disgust.
Germany gave a 'v' sign and said, "Peace!" and was promptly punched out by Russia.
Bank of Vienna
America would always, no matter how much he asked England afterwards, be unsure as to what happened next. (And he asked England over a dozen times over the next few days, 'What happened, Arty?')
The armed guards crashed into the bank. Literally crashed in. Russia had sent the revolving door spinning behind him so fast that the Rapid Response Team of Vienna City Police fell in a heap on the floor.
This did not put them in a good mood for negotiating with 'terrorists'. 'Terrorists' being the term applied to the rather bedraggled individuals in fancy dress costume in front of them.
"Put your hands up! Feet apart! Drop your weapons!" the commander shouted as the unit got to their collective feet.
Belarus dropped her knife, with much dismay. England sighed, "I say..." France snivelled. America dropped his plastic sub-machine gun in disgust. He knew he should have fetched some grenades and a Howitzer.
Hungary spun around, "I'm not dropping anything!" she said, her eyes flaring.
The armed police glanced at one another, for a moment completely taken aback. Their commander shook his head, "Madam, drop your ... erm kitchen implement and come quietly..."
Hungary did not appreciate her frying pan being called a kitchen implement or being told to 'come quietly'. She had never gone anywhere quietly. She stepped forward, "Don't you point that gun at me!" she said.
It was the wrong thing to do. The police were jittery as it was. Having been flung around the revolving entrance by Russia had been on a par with being in a washing machine on the spin cycle. France, whose sexual hormones were just about coming back, had always had a 'thing' for men in uniforms, was eyeing up the nearest young rookie.
One of the policemen raised his gun at Hungary. Austria, completely horrified, leapt in front of her, someone panicked and there were shots fired.
Austria felt as if the Earth had suddenly stopped turning, time slowing down to a slow trudge. 'Who has punched me in the chest?' he thought druggedly. He looked down to see a red bloom spreading across his waistcoat and his legs crumpled beneath him.
It felt as if there were a rock in his chest and he couldn't breathe. His vision started to blur and go dark. He felt Hungary cradling his head and her sobs filled his ears. Strangely, the last thought that went through his head was 'I'm glad I didn't die wearing that Tigger costume'. Blood spread along the floor as a thousand year old heart played out its last beats...
Author's Notes:
I made up Bank of Vienna and also the eagle emblem – however the eagle emblem is an emblem of Austria.
Future chapters: more hospital dramas, special guest stars and what happens in a police cell stays in a police cell. A king returns, somebody gets the sack, a reunion and parting worthy of a movie, awesomeness goes on a world tour, and a picnic...
Don't worry, all loose ends will be tied up – I know some of you have had questions... Please remember – foreshadowing... and also all my stories all belong in the same universe (thanks for that Scarheart of DarkClan)... and I sometimes shamelessly steal ideas from what reviewers comment...
Did anyone guess it was Austria who 'died'?
Reviews/PMs/Comments welcome.
On a roll now, a few more chapters of madness, an epilogue (or maybe two...) and that's it.