A/N: Guess what? I got myself grounded again, so this means slower updates. Not that the updates were particularly fast, anyway...Sorry again for the short chapter. Review it! :D
Germany was lying in a puddle of silver. It was stained all up his uniform, and his mouth tasted of must and mold.
He sat up and groaned, his vision blurring. He hadn't felt this bad since WWII. His entire body hurt, but he only felt the shapes of two stings on his back. Just two? There was also the older one on his temple that still throbbed. He glanced at his uniform. Ruined. And I just washed and pressed this thing, too. Figures.
He was fighting the poison, and they stung him again to finish him off. It was taking too long. That's what they seemed to be communicating.
Because they'd come in and attacked him, after the silence turned on. He'd waited in confusion for five minutes, long and silent, and then while he was counting the seconds with his eyes shut, alone in his solitude, he'd heard a hiss and a click, and turned around in surprise to see a long thin alien glide through the bars.
That was what happened. His memory had fragmented and was coming back together. Had that happened before? Germany searched his memory for a similar moment, but couldn't remember. Maybe it had happened. He still felt frazzled.
Germany had always been the strong one, stronger than the rest almost. While it was America who could lift a car, Germany would not give in, would not back down.
He would not be overwhelmed.
But then again, he was.
He sighed and ran his hands through his hair, making it stand up straight. Breathing in too deeply made him cough -there was still silver mercury in his lungs- and shouted "Blargh!" trying to clear the taste out of his mouth. That done, he mopped at the crescent-shaped stain on his uniform again and sighed. It'd taken ages to iron it out.
His throat felt better, so he breathed in deeply, experimentally. No cough, no creeping, itchy feeling.
Germany's next priorities were his friends and the other nations.
"Japan? Italy?" He didn't really expect a response, what with the bars and the tech, and he was right. He reached to tug at the bars, but the dancing strands of electricity snaking towards him made him withdraw his hand quickly.
"I wish I could see what was going on," he said to no one in particular. As if by magic, part of the wall lit up. He warily stepped closer, expecting a trap.
Instead, it was a flickering image of Italy lying on his back, with the silver streams from his mouth. His eyes were puffy from tears. Germany absently wondered how long he'd been unconscious as he stared at the image, wanting to reach through it and see if the other was all right. Maybe he had some sort of resistance to it. "Italy?" whispered Germany worriedly.
Then it switched. Now Japan was on the screen, curled up on his side like a cat. After giving Germany a good long while to stare at it, it moved on, showing a quick montage of the other nations, pausing on America, who was currently attacking the alien sent in to sting him. His mouth was moving, and there was no sound. Germany guessed he was saying something along the lines of, "I'm the hero! You can't get me!"
Typical America. The thought brought a smile to his face. The smile faded, however, as the alien overpowered the other nation. America went down, a look of shock on his face. The silver-milky liquid began its ponderous travel out of the corner of his mouth to the floor. The alien walked away. The screen then flicked to Russia, who was lying on his back quietly as the alien burst in.
Then the alien appeared, and the screen blackened and faded back to normal wall color. Germany sat down slowly, nearly missing the bench. His stings felt like acid, but he ignored them for the time being, feeling disturbed.
Why seemed to be the question. Had they annoyed some intergalactic space patrol? Were they just parasites, or were they like the Pictonians, just needing a new place to stay?
Germany rose and paced around his cell, trying to think of an escape plan, any plan at all really, but each plan ended up drifting apart at the seams.
The cell was eight by seven feet. He counted. Ein, zwei, drei... After an interminable time, his legs felt like sacks of cement, and all he had done was established that the cell was eight by seven feet.
Annoyed with himself and his lack of plan-making, and feeling strangely tired, he slumped backwards against the wall and fell asleep.
While his dreams riddled his mind with nightmares.