I hate these middling points in which there's no great action. I have to remember everything I did earlier for reference. For example, making sure that Germany doesn't use his hand...I think I should just buy a notebook and keep track of things because I always end up forgetting. Actually I might do that. Hm.
Since I'm awful at writing Italy, I extend my apologies. I know there's more to him than a whiny nuisance but I have no idea how to write it without making him seem suddenly badass.
And don't you hate that end-of-series depression? *sighs* . . Sure, now the Archipelago of Dreams is safe, but my brain is crying. Plus, I don't even know how many people read "The Chronicles of the Imaginarium Geographica", because every time I go to the library, all the books are always still there. BUT ENOUGH OF MY WISHING MY SERIES WAS MORE LOVED ONTO THE CHAPTER YOU'VE ALL BEEN WAITING FOR
Oh, and Happy Chinese New Year.
Review! :D
Italy woke up with the scent of overripe oranges in his nostrils like cheap perfume. Bits of white powder were clinging to his hair, and he shook them off.
The others! he thought excitedly, sitting up and looking at his friends. We can escape. They'll have a plan!
He saw a thorny vine in the corner, but otherwise the gray room was the same gray room they'd congregated in last time. "I wonder why they'd add a vine," he thought aloud. He knew from experience that the other nations did not like to be shaken awake, so he walked over to investigate it.
The vine was thick and green, with enormous thorns as long as his thumb, and at the top a pink flower blossomed. When he leaned in to smell it, too late remembering it was an alien flower and quite possibly dangerous, nothing bad happened. It didn't sprout tentacles and try and rip his face off. It smelled of freshly-cut grass, actually.
He sat on a tree stump, wondering if Germany hated him because he was useless. It was sunny and the sky was blue, the grass was green, and everything was as it should be.
"Italy?" Germany's voice behind him. He turned around. "Oh, h-hi Germany. What is it?"
The blond said nothing.
"Germany?"
The nation blinked, and his eyes turned yellow. He reached for Italy's throat.
Italy found himself screaming at the nightmare-ified memory. He stuffed his hand into his mouth and picked up the flower with his other one. He could give it to Germany so Germany wouldn't strangle him. Yes, that was a good plan. He thought about Germany weaving the flower through his hair and started laughing madly. His throat hurt, though, and eventually the laughs turned into coughs, hysterical tears running down his cheeks.
No, he said inside his head. Be calm.
Japan was calm. Be like Japan. Be like Japan. Be like-
Then he realized Germany was standing right next to him, asking for the second or third time; "Italy? Are you all right?"
Italy jumped about a foot in the air. "Eee! Oh, Germany, it's only you. Hello!" An idea struck him. "Here, Germany, you can have this flower. I'll go pick more." He had completely forgotten his original plan to give the flower to him.
Germany looked a little blank as Italy cheerfully offered him the flower.
"Italy, there is no flower."
Italy shook his head impatiently. "Sure there is. Take it." Looking disturbed, the blond cupped his right hand, red and sticky, and the Italian dropped the pink blossom into it, then turned to return to the vine.
The vine was gone, though there was a small pile of ashes. It'd been burned up while he was preoccupied. "That's weird," he murmured to himself. "Why wouldn't they want the vine here anymore?"
On a whim, he swirled a finger through the ashes and licked them. They were salty, and he spat them out with a grimace.
Behind him, some of the other nations were waking up. Good for them.
"Italy? Are you okay?" Germany repeated, reaching out with a hand streaked in black and red.
"Well," said the Italian nervously, "I feel a little weird." Seeing things that aren't there, having visions of things that haven't happened (yet), laughing without ending. Soon I'll be hearing voices in my head.
"I'm tired," said Italy honestly. "But I'm afraid to sleep. However, now that the rest of you are here, I'm safe!" He put on his most cheerful face and then flopped down quickly, trying to lull his mind to that state of Japan-like calm. He had to make up on lost sleep. Lack of sleep was bad.
Germany sighed and looked around. Time to take stock of ourselves.
France wasn't talking, and there was a ring of burnt flesh around his neck that was a sickly yellow-green color on around the edges, and a deep crimson in the middle. From a distance, it almost appeared to be a necklace.
America was covered in dozens of white lines. They ran over his body, splitting his skin. Every time he moved he winced, and he was unusually quiet.
Russia's coat was licked with ashes and burn holes. He too was burnt, several patches of skin bubbled and festering and red, and he didn't move, just lay curled up on his side.
China appeared almost all right, sitting back against the wall with slightly swollen eyes.
Japan wasn't moving, which was worrying. Had he still not woken up? Well, the answer to that was kind of obvious.
England's skin was reddish and crisscrossed with fat purple bruises that snaked under his skin. He looked sullen, as usual.
In fact, England's head hurt and his body was one white-hot blaze of agony. He'd been able to escape it by letting his soul wander in the folds of his mind, but he couldn't do it forever. The more time he spent, the less likely he'd be able to find his way back. And then a demon would take my place.
He was worried about the others, though. America's taciturn silence was unlike him. And, frankly, Russia's behavior was just scary.
At least that damn Frenchman is silent, he thought humorlessly. Thank God for small favors. His heart wasn't in the insult.
Germany appeared to be his same stoic self, though thinner and more haggard, not mentioning the bloody chunk of meat at the end of one of his arms and the twisting patterns of gore coating the other.
China sat staring at everything with wide, empty eyes. The series of dreams had explained in great detail how the murderer had taken care of his victims. And then the knife in the murderer's hand was tracing gently around his eye socket.
His eyes flew open again. He hadn't even realized he'd closed them. Don't get lost in your thoughts, aru. Who knows what you'll find.
To distract himself, he looked at the thing nearest to him- Japan. He still hadn't gotten up, and he looked unwell...Japan, who was a solid anchor in everyone's life. Japan, whose personality hardly changed, though the nation itself was another story. He was like a mountain. Trustworthy. Kind.
Except for when he tried to kill me.
The squirming worm of doubt in his thoughts surfaced again, and inwardly, China screamed. Instead of releasing it, he crawled over to his younger brother and put one feverish hand on the other nations' forehead.
And snatched it back again. Japan's skin was burning, even against his own already warm palm.
Japan was hardly ever sick. China wished he was at home, to make hot soup or something to make his younger brother better. Anything at all.
He gathered the other nation into a hug, and then, almost as an afterthought, kissed his fingers and pressed them to his younger sibling's head.
Get better soon, aru.
The room was very quiet, a drastic difference from the time before. This time around the nations were nursing their injuries in a sullen, tension-filled silence.
Germany in particular was having problems. He'd torn off his jacket and attempted to bind his left hand, but each time the cloth brushed the mangled flesh, a tidal wave of pain roared through him. Only by sheer force of will did he not cry out. As it was, the pain diverted to escape through his eyes, the ribbons of water that streamed under them going mostly unheeded. He caught a salty droplet on the edge of his tongue and absently wondered how he had any fluid left in his body. He hadn't been drinking the liquid the aliens provided for them, and his hand - well, he had lost a lot of blood.
Then his thoughts snapped back to the shrieking agony of his hand as he tried to tighten it.
Backhanding away the tears, he sighed, sucked up the last bits of his pride, and went over to the nearest nation that didn't seem to be in horrible pain, which was China.
As he neared the other, he wondered if he'd been correct in assuming China hadn't been badly injured. There were long scratches and bruises from the alien's rough treatment, but all of the nations had that. The Asian nation had opened his golden eyes at the footsteps, and Germany could see into them clearly.
No, it was the pain and horror and who knows what else swirling in those dark eyes that gave him pause.
But more blood dripped from his hand, an even tattoo, and he reminded himself he needed China's assistance to wrap his hand for him.
"Could you bandage this for me?" Germany asked the nation in subdued tones, extending the mashed conglomerate of whitish splinters and muscle and veins towards him. "I can't do it."
China turned his eyes on the German, and for a moment the blond fought the urge to jerk his eyes away from the storm of broken emotions in the other's eyes.
"Sure thing, aru," he responded dully, turning his eyes towards the aforementioned hand. "What happened to you?"
Germany gritted his teeth as the cloth was bound around his hand, jostling the splinters and driving a few deeper. "There was a creature in my cell," he said. "It tried to kill me."
China suddenly yanked the cloth tight, and he winced, a scream hissing out unspent through his teeth. But not screaming took more strength than he'd imagined, silly prideful ways, and he slumped back against the wall. The green cloth was already turning darker, though the Asian nation wasn't finished.
"What did you do?"
"Punched it through the eye into the brain."
"All right, aru."
"What about you?" the German squeezed out, then gasp as the cloth jarred against his bones.
"I have some terrible nightmares, aru. Some of them are coming true, and then they get worse." The older nation didn't look up from the binding, but his shoulders slumped. "I can only hope that the rest of my family is okay."
"You mean...Japan?"
"My family is larger than that," said China with a touch of condescension. "I have seven younger siblings I've had to raise, and then they all left me...I love them all. Better to try and be an older brother and be ignored, as some older brothers are, than to grow up with nobody in a great big silence, aru." He pulled the cloth tight one last time. "There. Done."
Germany let out a low moan as the pain ricocheted up and down, swiping tears from his eyes and leaving tracks of gore. "Thank you."
China wiped blood off his hands. "別客氣. Also, you may want to keep pressure on it, for it may bleed more. Here." He took a spare elastic from his pocket and looped it seven times around the blond's wrist. "That should help."
The German looked at the sodden green fabric covering his hand, and said again, "Thank you."
"Don't mention it, aru."
"Now what are you going to do?" America's loud voice sounded different. There was a weary quality that hadn't been there before. "We're all in crappy shape."
"No, really," said England sarcastically, throat still sore from screaming. "It's not like I've been having flesh-eating worms breeding under my skin or anything." His voice lacked any real bite.
"We're all tired," said Russia, keeping his face buried in his knees. "How long have we been here, anyway?"
The question was met with silence.
"You see?" the Russian continued. "It feels like forever."
"I've almost forgotten some of their faces," said China, nearly inaudibly. "I don't know how - they just blur out of memory and are gone, and the dreams tell me they've died and replace them with rotting maggoty carcasses." There was a feeling of forgetting something, something important...but it squiggled out of reach."Since I can't see them, none of us know what's happening on Earth. I'm starting to believe them, to believe that stuff coming out of my brain-" Abruptly he turned to England. "Can dreams kill, ahen?"
England looked taken aback. "Why are you asking me?"
"Because you're the one most in tune with this fairy world, even it we think you're crazy, ahen."
The Brit bristled a little but answered, "You need them to live. Whether not you accept them are up to you."
China hugged his knees to himself, unconsciously imitating Russia. "I should be dead by now."
To try and change the subject, Germany suddenly interjected, "America, remember how last time we had a plan, that you would stay awake to look around and escape? How did that go?" The nations looked at him eagerly, hopefully.
America looked down, shamefaced. "I tried. I swear I really did. But they caught me out somehow, figured out I was faking, and made me inhale more of the stuff. I'm sorry. I really am."
"Oh," said Germany heavily, trying hard to conceal his disappointment. "That's-"
And then Italy woke up screaming.
Italy's dream had started bright and full of the usual dream nonsense, a cat and a picnic on a hill, except in the picnic basket was a ship in a bottle and the hill was made of jello.
It had rapidly degenerated from there until he was being chased by a thousand other creatures that were bent on ripping his limbs from his body. He heard their speech, a sort of dull murmur that was at once ominous and frightening.
And as soon as he'd been able to slough off the sleep, he was surrounded by monsters in a cold red room. He loosed a scream, and that caused the nearest to him to turn and make a grinding, clanking sound, like old machinery. Nothing like the alluringly soothing voices in the past dream.
This beast was tall, almost impossibly so, and had an extended face, like a muzzle that dripped green poison. There was no chance of hiding from it, not in this red-walled cave. It was bare, but for the shapes of other monsters lurking in the darkness. There was no escape. He'd fallen through a hole in his dream into a room with no exit. Now he wouldn't get out. Now this was the end.
Italy curled into a ball and shrieked, because there was nothing else really to do. Not even to fight. Any of the strength he had turned to water and drained from his muscles at the sight of the beasts. Fear was churning in his veins, crackling in the corners of his mind.
The poison-muzzled beast reached for him, grabbed him by the shoulders, and Italy's breathe was coming in wheezing little pants, his lungs not sucking in enough air to continue the scream anymore.
And it was a scream, a scream to kill all the rest, a scream that cut across the senses and suspended him in a vat of fear and white noise. The creature moved its elongated jaw, wagging it back and forth in an obscene mockery of speech, but the clanking, rasping sound he expected did not reach his ears. Just small staticky bursts, like bad radio chatter. He thought his heart would burst.
Impossibly, the scaly beast didn't wrap those formidable claws around his neck. Instead, it turned its head over to where the other monsters crouched, and Italy saw his chance and tried to shake free. But those claws just tightened, nearly bringing blood, inhuman eyes fraying his sanity, and Italy just let the tears slide down his face, waiting for the blow that would end his life.
Since his eyes were closed and his ears were full of white noise, he didn't see the monster turn at the summons of one of the others, then look down at the nation almost sadly, release him, back away.
"We terrify him," said Germany, looking at his shuddering, cowering friend, and then turned away, feeling a wave of shame.
Italy opened his eyes to see the monster backing off, retreating into the far distance of the crimson cave. A miracle. He bit back his fearful, throat-rasping screams and tried to study the dim figures, but his mind couldn't fathom the deformity and the differences. He felt the screams rising up again, and shut his eyes and wished himself away from the red cave, wished himself back to the gray room with all his heart-
And then he opened them when the rank, humid air changed to something cooler and drier, a band of darkness sweeping up his vision, giving him the dizzying perception of motion when there should be none. The gray room erased the red, and the monsters were gone.
It took him only a few seconds to realize the obvious: He'd found a hole in the red cave and exploited it unknowingly; an escape brought about by yearning. If he could do that next time, he might have a weapon to fight the monsters with.
Yes, that would be fantastic.
"My throat hurts," he said quietly. Then, louder, "Did any of the rest of you see me go?"
All eyes were on him, and Germany stood close enough to touch. "What do you mean?" answered the blond tentatively, not sure of the Italian's meaning. Appear to go insane? Yes, he'd done that, he'd scared the hell out of everyone. But go? This room was closed, this cage without exit, and there was nowhere else to go beyond here.
"I was somewhere else. I'd fallen into a trap." Italy's eyes darted around the room, daring the red cave and its creatures to come for him now, now that he was alert and out of the land of dreams. "I was almost killed, just about almost, but I escaped, you see? You can tell, of course. If I hadn't I wouldn't be the same me, I'm not entirely sure what would happen, but I-"
The Italian became aware he was babbling and slammed his jaw shut, making an audible click as his teeth rattled together.
By silent vote through the exchanging of glances, they agreed to say nothing about their companion's psychotic break.
"If you say so, Italy. I didn't notice anything," Germany lied, feeling terrible about it. Italy trusted him, and look what he had gone and done with that trust.
He felt even worse when Italy put on a smile. "Okay, Germany. I guess I just imagined it."
China suddenly sat up straight, his face lit up. "I remember now! They tried to make me forget, aru, but I remember it!"
Everyone else jumped.
"What? What is it?" asked England, infected with hope.
"I saw South Korea, for a little bit. He was okay, and he said something about...about..." The Asian nation's forehead wrinkled as he tried to remember. "He said something about something I can't remember, and then Belarus came running down the hall and told him he needed to run now and they did and then I don't know what was real or not, aru."
At the mention of Belarus, Russia sat up a little straighter. "She's here? Not dead? Are you sure?" His voice was a rush of relief. Then he dropped his face into his knees. "If she's here, then she's going to try and marry me."
"Or she could get killed," added America unhelpfully, and Russia shot him a savage glare.
Realizing how harsh the words had come across, America quickly fumbled to make up for it. "Ah, sorry. You know I didn't mean it like that." He grimaced. "You know me, brain to mouth." The American twirled a finger at his temple and chuckled somewhat nervously. "Being cut apart doesn't really help either. I kinda feel like Frankenstein."
England cut a sharp look over to him at the mention of that. France snorted, then winced and pointed at his neck.
"Someone should tend to that," said Germany suddenly. The infection looked awful, strands of red and yellow twining together under the skin. Realizing he'd just volunteered himself for the task, he sighed. "I'll do it then. France, don't try anything."
The Frenchman smirked and waggled his fingers, but allowed a thoroughly nonplussed Germany to come over and use up more of his jacket as a binding. After a few moments, Germany said, "This is too inflamed. I'll have to lance it to get the pus out."
France cringed.
"Does anyone have a sharp object?" Germany asked. The nations rummaged in their pockets.
"I have a toothpick!" announced America, waving the splinter of wood in the air. When nobody else provided anything, Germany reached out with his cloth-bound hand, then remembered and extended his good one to grab the piece of wood, still with a little twist of colored plastic on the end.
At least it doesn't hurt as much now, Germany thought, and thanked China for the good binding, and thanked his brain for deadening the nerves. Or maybe the nerves were destroyed. And on that cheery note... The blond stoically poked holes in the infected skin, letting pus the color of snot dribble out. With his free hand, he clumsily bandaged it.
It's harder than I remember, only having one hand. It had happened before. Not for a while, the peace was relatively calm, but aside from stupid things like breaking his arm when falling off a ladder (and that healed quickly anyways), there had been no major wars, no government strangeness limiting his freedom, that involved the rendering of hands useless. Italy watched him as if he wanted to help, but knew from experience that the German had too much pride.
When he was done, Russia asked, "How did Korea and Belarus and who knows who else get up here?"
"I think I might know," ventured America. "The aliens showed me a clip of the fighting in a screen, and I saw one plane make it up." He said nothing about all those who hadn't, who'd been destroyed with great lasers. The deaths still weighed on him.
"Yes," said England suddenly. "I saw Greece, South Korea, Belarus, and Switzerland. And there were two more, I can't remember..." He furrowed his brow in concentration, defying his faulty memory to bring the images of those he had forgotten to mind, but after a few more desperate seconds, he sighed. "I can't remember. I can't bloody remember."
"How did you see them?" asked Germany skeptically.
"Just because I'm tired in every possible way doesn't mean I can't occasionally spare some magic," England tried to snap defiantly.
France, who was sitting closest to him, heard him mutter "Or, maybe I've just gone round the bend."
It's sad, thought the Frenchman, to see how little we trust ourselves now.
Minor translation thing: 別客氣 - No problem.
Of course I'm not actually sure what it says since my laptop is old and most things in other languages show up as some boxes.
*suddenly realizes this chapter has exactly five times the number of words as last chapter*
Nailed it.