Italy hides farther into the corner of the small room, holding himself tightly for fear of falling apart. He could hear it clearly: cries of mourning women, moans of agony, gasps for breath, but most of all, coughing. All over the country, his people were dying. They called out to God, pleading for mercy, but it seems that their requests had met deaf ears. It had hit, harder than before.

Though he had been ordered to embargo as well, the plague still hit him. It started in Sicily, then crept north to him. The increased transportation just meant that it spread faster. Those who could fled the cities, but many couldn't. They were left to die.

Feliciano cringes as coughing from the room next to him grows louder and louder until... thud. Closing his eyes, he can see the body lifeless on the wooden floor, brown eyes staring blankly into nothing, blood trickling from the mouth. That wasn't the first to die here, and he knows it won't be

the last.

Electricity is gone. Only seldom few are left who know how to work it, and they have abandoned their jobs to take care of family. Same with plumbing and all previous luxuries. Before it was off, Feli had managed to contact a few of the others. Japan seems to be holding strong, not a case reported, though his methods of quarantine were much stricter than the Europeans. Germany had been cut off two weeks before Italy. Silently, Feli wonders what became of his strong friend. The Americas as well are not yet touched, due to destroying every ship or plane that didn't turn around. It didn't matter what was on that ship, as long as it came from "that filthy Europe", it couldn't dock.

Italy bites back tears as he feels more of his people dying around him. He knows that graves won't be dug in time. All previous methods of mourning had been abandoned. All that mattered was getting the bodies away so that none could be infected. Mass graves were being dug, bodies thrown in, covered with a thin layer of dirt, then more bodies on top of that. It was as if the Dark Ages had come again. The sharp scent of death fills the air in that run-down hospital. Thankfully, Feli hasn't caught it yet, at least as a human. He remembers clearly what happened last time. Weeks of agony and sickness, praying for the sweet release of death but knowing that it would never come to a nation. He had to be strong, to endure the suffering.

He shifts about gently, sending a spark of pain through his arm. He had been in the city when a mob

arose, panic causing the already on edge people to become vicious. They attacked a Jewish merchant, claiming that God had sent the plague because of them. Italy knew that this was absolutely false, but they just needed a scapegoat. Sadly, the one who took the blame was an innocent victim, his family decimated by the disease as much as everyone else's. Not that the group of men would listen to reason. Frenzies never do. He had watched as the man was brutally beat to death. He had tried to step in, save him, but the mob had thrown him against the stone wall, and he had felt something snap with the force of impact. Even a country is not invincible, just immortal.

None of the doctors could really do anything to help him. They were all busy tending to the plague victims that physical injuries meant nothing. Not like it mattered in the long run. His arm would heal on its own, given enough time. Still, that's a half year of pain versus three weeks of a cast for the same results. As much as Feliciano hated not being able to move his arms, he thinks he would prefer that to agony.

There is a knock on the door, and Feli instinctively reaches for the gun by his side, scrambling to his feet. The door creaks open slowly, revealing a figure draped in a dark, leather cloak. A wide brimmed hat sits atop his head, and his hands are covered with thick gloves. That wasn't what frightens him, though. the figure had a stark white mask, shaped like the skeletal beak of some great bird. Its eyes were the only thing that seemed human, but even these were covered in shadows cast by the hat. He looks like a messenger of death, and Feli wants no such message delivered.

"G- Get back!" he barks, his voice reaching a note higher than planned. He points the gun at the man, his hands shaking.

The figure removes his hat, tossing it aside, leaving the leather hood. This he pulls down as well, revealing shaggy brown hair. He reaches behind his head and unlatches the mask, letting it fall from his face. Two green eyes stare back at Feli from a face very much like his own. "Feliciano... it's me."

"B- brother?" Tears begin streaming down Feli's face and the gun falls from his hands. He runs at his brother, throwing his arms around him and burying his face in his cloak. "Lovino! Lovino!" he cries, sobbing into his brother's shoulder.

Romano wraps his arms around his brother, trying to comfort him. "Veneziano..." he whispers.
Feli continues crying. "I thought I was alone! Everyone else is gone! I thought you were-! You were-!"

Romano sighs. "I know, Feli. I thought you were as well." He removes himself from Italy's grasp and holds him at arm's length. "You are never alone, fratello. Because we are Italy. And we will always have each other."

Feliciano nods, only realizing now what his sudden movements did to his already injured arm. He gasps in pain, clutching it tightly to his side.

Lovino acts quickly, taking his brother's arm and examining what he could through the sleeve. "How long has it been like this?" he asks, his brows furrowed.

"Th- three days." Feli replies, biting back another yelp.

"And no one has treated it?" he demands.

Feliciano shakes his head. "The plague patients have first priority."

Romano growls under his breath. "Take off your shirt." he commands.

"Wh- why?"

"Just do it!" He begins digging through the bag he brought with him.

Confusedly, Feli removes his shirt, hissing as his arm is jostled. Dried blood is smeared along the fracture, and a sick rainbow of multi-colored bruises cover the length of his arm from the wrist to shoulder.

Romano turns and gasps at the sight of the injury. "Feli, what happened?"

"A mob. In the middle of Venice." He winces as his brother begins wiping away the blood gently, trying to set the bone back in place. "They were- gah! Killing a Jew!"

His brother shoots him an apologetic look, then begins binding the injury. "They did the same last time. I'm guessing you tried to help?"

Feli nods slowly. "Si. I couldn't just stand by and watch it happen."

Romano finishes, cutting the excess bandages with a knife. "You should have. You wouldn't have gotten hurt." he scolds.

Feli's jaw drops. "They were killing him!" he defends.

Romano's eyes become dark. "Italians die every day. French, German, British, Chinese, Russians... so what if you saved one man? What difference will it make if the plague gets him in the end?" He looks away. "Better he die violently in a few minutes than tortuously for three days." He helps Feli get his shirt back on, the injury now treated.

Feli bites his lip. "S- si, fratello." He watches as Romano puts his Venetian plague doctor uniform back on.

Romano opens the door and turns back to his brother. "Are you coming?"

Feli tilts his head in confusion, but follows anyway. "Where?"

Romano leads him out of the hospital. "Anywhere we can survive."