The Hetalia Global Warming Crisis; Get Out Alive
26— The Doors
~Canada~
Ivan walked briskly over to the spruce wood door and gently pushed it open. Francis limped up behind him with Matthew hovering in the shadows at the rear. They peeked in, expecting the worse, only to find ancient artifacts from a time before the North American nations were formed. Matthew rushed in, slipping past Ivan and into the little room. Although it was dusty and slightly messy, the artifacts could all be placed within the same time period, around the 1600s. He examined the collection of hunting bows and arrows in awe, much like the one he currently carried.
"Look at this," he whispered. "They are First Nations hunting weapons, from a time before you Europeans arrived here on our land and introduced guns."
"What does this have to do with the door?" Francis muttered as he limped in, supported by Ivan.
"Spruce…" Matthew knitted his brows in concentration, looking up at the ceiling as if the answer lay there. "It was… boiled to make a drink that cured and prevented scurvy in Europeans that arrived here."
"And it was a treatment given to us by the Aboriginals," Francis nodded with understanding. "So this room must include artifacts of America's so-called Indians. But why would these be in here?"
"Profit?" Matthew guessed with a shrug. "They were probably collecting these and selling them. I mean the workers in the building."
"But as far as we know, normal workers knew nothing of this place," Ivan pointed out. "America always said it was locked, and it's clear this place is not used often. And also, there is that torture chamber. I'm sure only few people would even know about that."
"And this place must be ancient compared to the rest of the building," said Francis. "It must have taken years to collect these things, and probably even more to collect dust," he added with a snort.
"There are probably more in the next rooms," murmured the little Canadian excitedly. "Let's go see."
He darted out the door and into the next room. The first thing he saw was a half-burned British flag hanging loosely on a pole, neglected and forgotten in the corner of the room, and blueprints for an old and forgotten building sitting on a table…
"The American Revolutionary War and the War of 1812," Canada gasped as he gazed at the maps covered in familiar strategies and old tools and weapons used for the war.
To one side, the floor was littered with ammunition and contained a box filled with the rejected muskets and bayonets both sides had used to kill each other. On the other leaned a long, silver birch bark canoe. Canada felt a horrible pain in his chest as he remembered being forced to fight his brother in his loyalty to the British Empire. He felt his eyes moisten as he soaked up memories. Whoever owned the place had the consideration enough to include Canada's memoires as well as tokens from America; the wall was plastered with paintings of confrontations and victories on both sides. One showed a British Red Coat, backed up by several Canadians, arguing with an American commander and his troops under a building with the American flag flying high above.
Matthew observed the paintings, some of which were portraits of people. He stopped at a series of portraits, placing a hand on one of a rather confident-looking man in a red coat. His eyes were glassy with recognition and sorrow. He bowed deeply, his free hand clenched into a fist at his side.
After a moment, in which Ivan and Francis stayed respectfully silent, Matthew turned away without looking up.
"Let's see the next room," he rasped before his companions could speak, and he rushed out.
As he opened the next door, Matthew first noticed the red and blue uniforms scattered on the floor. At first he was slightly confused, and hesitated as Francis limped up behind him.
"Is that more Revolution stuff?" he asked in surprise.
"No," Matthew muttered in sudden understanding as he stepped in the tiny room, "the American Civil War."
Ivan nudged past them and kneeled down to pick up a handful of butternuts that had spilled from a box. Beside them were other crates filled with butternuts and roots.
"What's so significant about them?" he asked Matthew, turning around. "Did they eat these?"
Matthew shook his head. "I think they ate the nuts, but they used the shells and roots to dye their uniforms during the war. I'm not sure how though. America never did it again."
"That explains the door, then," Francis said with a nod. He limped as he turned around, clutching the door frame for balance. "There are three rooms left. Let's check those, and then get out of here."
"I think the place is okay," Ivan commented as they strode out of the room. "Besides the room with the elm door, we haven't seen anything dangerous or suspicious. I think we'll be far safer in here."
"I agree," Matthew nodded. "We just need to find light switches, and we can use this place."
He wandered into the next room and what he saw was so familiar it hurt. He could hear the exclamations of recognition and distain from the others behind him. They knew where the artifacts were from.
"The First and Second World War," Francis whispered in shock.
"Look here," Ivan called as he gazed down at a desk in the far corner. "I recognize these maps. Look, it shows the march the Germans took into Stalingrad."
"And look at the trade routes across the Atlantic from North America," Matthew pointed out, nudging the Russian aside to get a better look. "These maps even highlight common U-Boat sightings… and the Black Pit."
"Look here," Francis called, and the two countries turned around.
The Frenchman lifted up several pieces of large cloth from a box by the door. They were the old flags. He held the Soviet Union's red flag in one hand and Canada's old Commonwealth flag in the other.
"There are others too," Francis added as Canada and Russia grabbed their old flags from him in shock. "Great Britain's flags"—he held up a white flag with a red cross on it, and another with familiar red and white stripes and blue triangles—"and mine, too." He dropped them and held up his own blue-white-and-red tricoloured flag. They were all faded, but recognizable. Russia and Canada looked close to tears, both for different reasons.
"My Soviet Union…" Ivan murmured softly. He gently caressed the old flag close to his chest. Never again would he see that flag fly high in victory as it had in Berlin all those years ago…
"Oh, England," Matthew whispered into his own forgotten banner. "Seeing this now makes me feel so bad…"
France's exclamation of horror knocked the two nations from their nostalgia. He had opened a large box in the opposite corner. Ivan and Matthew rushed over as Francis stumbled back in horror.
Half-buried in a pile of ashes were bleached white bones with a skull resting on top in an ominous skull-and-crossbones pattern.
"What's that?" Francis whimpered, voice trembling in fear. Matthew struggled to hide his fear, while Ivan looked slightly surprised and more fascinated than anything else.
"I don't know," Matthew rasped, slamming the lid back over it. "And I don't want to know."
"It could be important," the Russian snickered.
"We'll keep that in mind," the Canadian replied with a tremble in his voice. He turned his back on the room full of memories and walked out, with Russia dragging France along behind him.
"Two more doors," France murmured wearily, "the red maple."
Russia followed the little Canadian to the next door, helping France along. Matthew tried the door handle, which was locked. He kicked the door down and swept the room with his flashlight before entering.
The little room was empty, but a closer look at the walls showed splatters of blood so old, it blended with the dark gray cement walls. By this point, none of the countries were surprised by this. Two chains draped from the wall just across from the door, the ends broken, the shackles torn off. Canada lifted the huge chains off the floor, needing both hands to lift them up, and expected them. He gulped, looking back at Russia and France.
"Wolf teeth," he whimpered, "Definitely wolf teeth."
"How do you know?" Francis queried. He leaned gingerly against a wall as Ivan went off to inspect other areas of the room.
"Think about it," he replied, tossing the heavy chains back on the floor. "The paw prints we saw in the corridor were wolf prints. And when I was telecommunicating with America, he was telling me he was fighting some kind of monster. I'm sure the thing that was chained up here was that same wolf. Only a beast could break chains like these."
"Ah, look at this," the Russian piped up, his flashlight shining on a spot a little to the right of the chains. "Blood… but it says something."
"Let me see," Matthew looked at the spot as Francis limped over. "It's in English."
"What does it say?" France asked from behind them, face twisted in a pained grimace.
"There are the initials 'R.W.' written in blood," Matthew replied. "But the door was red maple. Shouldn't it be R.M. instead?"
"It stands for RedWolf."
The three countries whipped around. Standing at the door was a human shadow with wolf-like ears and a bushy tail. Ivan gripped his pipe tightly while Francis fumbled for his whip. Matthew smoothly unslung his bow from across his back and nocked an arrow, keeping his flashlight trained at the stranger with his teeth.
Illuminated by the artificial light was the mad scientist. She had wolf ears and a tail that were streaked in dark red fur. She drew back her lips to reveal her lupine canines, curved into a wolfish grin. Her red eyes glinted from behind the lens of her glasses. Her head was lowered and body hunched over, like a wolf preparing to pounce.
"Welcome to my world," she said in a snarling voice, sounding more wolf than human. "It is filled with evil conspiracies and bloody experiments. This is the Underground Society of America."
Her wolfish laughter echoed through the basement, chilling the three nations to the bone.
Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya
Author's Note: Everything I wrote in this chapter on regards to the historical aspect is true. He's a summary of my research and where it led me in this story:
The Spruce Door – Before 1600
I chose to use spruce because, first of all, it's the only softwood door in the basement. The fact that it hasn't rot yet is something to keep in mind. Spruce needle was used to make drinks that would cure a disease sailors would often get at sea: scurvy. This helped by replenishing the lack of vitamin C and was provided to the Europeans by the Aboriginals. Canada made a point here to single out Russia and France, making it clear this was a part of history only he and America would share.
This door brings the nations back more than 400 years. The Aboriginals (also known as "Indians") had remained mainly untouched up until this point. At this point in history, America and Canada were pretty much on their own.
The Birch Door – Late 1700s to Early 1800s (specifically: before 1850)
Birch bark was widely used in this time as a means of transportation. The fur trade was the big boom in this era, and furs needed to be transported swiftly and safely via the waterways of the Great Lakes. Thus, the famous birch bark canoe is used. As a door, silver birch would be white in colour, papery, and dry. If you have ever seen a silver birch, it's unmistakable. If any door were to stand out the most, it would be this one.
The half-burned British flag is pretty self-explanatory; this is, after all, the time of America's War of Independence. And the blueprints on the desk? *snorts in amusement* That's a bit of an inside joke; the Americans were planning to invade Canada (and did, unsuccessfully) and build their own little Empire here. … Okay, I know I'm not being fair here, but hadn't America picked enough fights with Britain? Most of Canada was prepared to be left alone, you know. No thanks to Jefferson (you go type that in a search bar and see what I'm ranting about here!)
By the way, the painting is real. Actually, there are dozens of paintings on regards to the War of 1812 and America's War of Independence if you know where to look.
And the portrait is one of Canada's greatest heroes. He is Major General Sir Isaac Brock and while the political higher ups were sitting and praying for America to show mercy, this man went and defended our land to the death. It's because of him that we're free from America today (at least for the most part…) Poor Canada…
The Butternut Door – Late 1800s (specifically: after 1850)
Nothing much to say: Mattie explained it all in the story. Simply put, butternuts were used to die clothes during the Civil War.
The Ash Door – 1900s
It's really just a pun. "…Ashes, ashes… We all fall down…" (That's a plague song, but same thing applies…)
The maps are real. Everything is real from this era. I love this part in history, and I couldn't help but linger a bit.
We all know what the Soviet Union flag looks like. At the end of the Second World War, the Russians had gotten to Berlin first and waved that bright red banner atop the highest citadel. One picture taken at the time is quite famous, even today.
Canada had a different flag at the time. It was red with the British Union Jack in one corner and a simpler coat of arms off the one side. Because Canada had contributed so largely (care to argue? Go look at a map of Normandy during D-Day) in the liberation of Europe, debate had risen to a point where a new flag was chosen: one that represented a country proven its worth many times over, not a land branded a British Commonwealth. Not many people know of our Commonwealth flag, which has been forgotten over the years. Any Canadian would be proud to fly the Maple Leaf, but the flag of old should not be forgotten, not when it represented a huge part of our war history.
The box of ashes… I don't like to bring up old wounds, but this is the First and Second World Wars here. We can't forget the Holocaust.
The Red Maple Door – Modern Day (After 2000)
You'd be surprised. As fictitious as this is, the RedWolf represents many problems we see today.
You'd think now that the Great Wars are over, so would be the suffering and killing. The chains and blood remind us that there's still pain in the world, pain that can change people for worse (winkwinknudgenudge)
Also, there's been a recent decision that Russia will cut down the wolf population in Siberia so the reindeer can thrive. I don't think Rocky's going to like that…
So there's my brief history lesson! :D These all tie into very true and sad parts in history. I decided to add them in just for fun. I enjoyed doing the research for this chapter! And I hope this also helps you in history class ;)
I'm open to suggestions and/or corrections~!
Please Review!
Thank you munki539 for that heartwarming review! Writing is really just a hobby for me, and I don't update regularly because, you know, life. But when I get comments like that from you guys it reminds me: "This is for them, not me." I really appreciate all of you who are reading this series! I apologize for my late posts (and future late posts :P) but I hope it does not discourage anyone. No matter how long it takes, I'll always write, for everyone out there. ^^
Annnd for anyone who cares about idle gossip and my own personal life (teehee) I'm happily fitting into the music family as a newbie. And guess what? I've got a boyfriend. In music. LAKSFNAKJN *jumping for joy* So yeah. I'm moving on with my life. Hopefully it won't move me away from what I like to do best~
I WRITE FOR THE WORLD!
-January 2013-