#aph a drop of ink

[xerith-42]

That AU where Aphmau Blows up

Shout out to @thornsofrustandash for the idea. This just came to me like a prophetic vision.

Okay so I usually change Aphmau's name because I hate calling her that, but I have warmed up to just shortening it because Aph is a really cute nickname and it's more accessible to people who can't be bothered to keep track of the 5th Aphmau rename they've read this weak.

This post is me pushing my garrancemau propaganda so if you aren't down with that, idk what to tell you you just don't have taste /j

If you're reading this, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I know this isn't what we wanted, I know I'm supposed to be better than this. I was once a lord, I should know the responsibility that comes with it, and I shouldn't be so selfish.

But I need to think for myself. Have I not earned the right to selfishness after all those years of sacrificing myself for others? That's why I have to do this. I'm sorry.

Aaron, I need you to look after Lilith. I know she's going to miss me, but you're a great father and you have plenty of people who will help you with whatever you need so long as you ask for it. That's what I've always tried to tell you, and I'll keep telling you from the great beyond if I have to.

To my guards and friends, I'll miss you dearly. I wish we could share one last celebration with one another, but after this, there will be plenty of reason for celebration. Please don't let the tragedy of my death outweigh the triumph of my accomplishments. Remember me fondly, keep love in your hearts, and go forward knowing that you are some of the best companions a woman could ask for.

And to my head guards... [There's a noticeable teardrop staining the page and causing some of the ink to bleed] I'm sorry. For everything.

Goodbye.

Aph

A tear slipped down her face again, one that Aph was quickly wiping away as she folded up the letter and left it on her bedside table. She glanced over at her bed, where Lilith was swaddled up in a blanket and snuggling her favorite doll, one Laurance had carved for her. Aph's heart dropped at the image, the final thing that would make her doubt what she was about to do.

She had to remind herself that it wasn't a guarantee it would kill her. Only a possibility. She could hear Zoey rightly correct her that it was a high possibility, but she had to do this. Aph walked over to her daughter, placed a final kiss on her forehead, and then left her home. The Phoenix Alliance was quiet. It usually was, but somehow it felt even emptier under the light of the full moon. As if they're city was as abandoned as the one they had found on the island.

Her eyes kept catching on the sings of life. A guitar leaned up against a stand, the sound of cows snoring in their pens, and the many clothes strung along the drying racks reminded her that they lived here. They were making a home here. Aph had a home. The relic fragment pulled at her, reminder her that she had to protect her home. She had to. She couldn't stand seeing that sad look in Vylad's eyes anymore.

She nearly sprinted past Lucinda's house after traveling through the portal. She couldn't let anyone find her. They might be able to talk her out of this. Luckily she knew the path like the back of her hand. The forests of Phoenix Drop had changed quite a lot over 15 years, and yet they were exactly as Aph had remembered them.

The fragment in her pocket started to pull at her further and further, as if responding to the magic around the closed portal. Aph pulled the piece out, turning over the small purple orb in her hands.

"Take me to him," She commanded, and a burst of light instantly went off, magic springing from the fragment and latching onto the frame of the portal. It flashed red, and the portal was open. She could almost see him. Aph reached her hand through, and when she did, she could instantly feel the heavy blue fabric she knew so well. "Garroth!"

Aph pulled, yanking him out of the dimension and to the floor, where he was instantly followed by Zane who now stood before her. The relic fragment in her hand continued to spark with magic even as she tried to close the portal. Both Garroth and Zane needed a moment to readjust to being in the overworld. It was Zane who took less time, who realized where he was, and who he was in front of.

Bright white angel wings filled Garroth's vision as he looked up at the lord he loved so dearly.

"A-Aph?" Garroth muttered out. "What are you doing?"

"Saving your life," She answered, a smile evident in her voice. Though it faintly echoed with an unfamiliar sound, overlapping with the voice of another. "I'm sorry I couldn't do it before!"

"Wait!" Her hand shot forward, reaching straight for Zane's chest as she held onto the fragment even tighter, trying to hone and focus all the stray magic that was jumping from it.

"W-What are you doing?!" Zane gasped out as he saw her eyes start to glow white. "YOU'LL KILL US BOTH!!" Finally, she had clarity. Zane had put it so well. In order to succeed, she had to kill them both. A relic for a relic, a life for a life.

"That's the plan." Aph turned around and looked down at Garroth, her eyes becoming amber for this final moment. "I love you." A blinding white light filled her eyes, and an explosion rang out across the land.

"What happened?!" Dante nearly screamed as he raced to the explosion site. He prayed that Alexis would find no refugees were harmed, but all thoughts were swept from his mind when he got a clear view of the crater where the forest once was. Black and purple essence was scattered across the destroyed land, some parts were still actively on fire, and near the edge of the crater was Garroth. "Garroth?!"

Dante didn't get a reply. Garroth was still in shock, his hands trembling, and his eyes trying to cry. He was trying, but all he could seem to do was shake.

"Garroth, what happened?" Dante's voice sounded far, like he was talking to someone else. Garroth fell to his knees as he saw what laid at his feet where she once stood. A leather bound notebook with a rather crude "Aph" carved into the front of it. It was worn, clearly loved, and when Garroth traced his fingers over the poor thing like it would break, he could almost feel her life force coming from the pages.

It should have been louder. Garroth should have been filled with anger, something violent, something heard. Instead, the moment he held her diary in his hands, Garroth broke out into the sort of weeping he hadn't allowed since he was a child. Since the last time he lost someone this important to him. Garroth's crying was quiet. His tears were plentiful, but the sound was reserved, only a few sobs escaping between gasps for breath.

"Dante!" Travis called out, only seeing the backs of the two men. "Dante, what's going--" He stopped short when Dante turned around and he saw the tears streaming down his face. It made both men freeze at the sudden display of emotion. "What... What happened?" Dante glanced back at the weeping Garroth, and opted to step away and bring the conversation somewhere he couldn't hear.

"I-I don't really have any details yet. Garroth's not exactly comprehensible right now," Dante explained with a shaky voice. Travis faintly wanted to hold his shaking hands, just to console him a little. "Seems like nobody else was harmed in the explosion... Except..."

"Except...?" Travis repeated.

"A-Aph. I'm pretty sure she was the uh... The cause." Travis could hear his heart beating in his head as the entire world came out of focus. He couldn't really process what Dante said at first, and when he did, he felt numb. Like he should have some big reaction to the information, but instead it just left him feeling cold. "I-I'm going to keep looking around, see if I can't find a sign that she's alive."

"Yeah, y-you should do that. I'm... Enki help me, I don't know what I'm going to do."

"You could help me." Travis didn't have the heart to tell Dante his effort would be fruitless. It's not like Dante would listen anyways.

"I think I'm going to go tell the others." Dante nodded, before walking back towards the site. Travis' body moved without his own will, his legs suddenly having a mind of their own. His head felt heavy and yet also weightless, and he felt dizzy. Things only came into clarity for a moment when he saw Katelyn limping down the path through Phoenix Drop towards him.

That was when Travis got a hold of himself again, and he was suddenly racing towards her, catching Katelyn's weak form in his arms like it was instinct.

"Katelyn? What are you doing out of bed?!" Travis almost yelled.

"Like I was gonna sit still after hearing that," Katelyn groaned as she leaned against his weight. Travis' arm wrapped around her waist to hold her up like it was nothing. "What happened?"

"Still figuring that out."

"Where's Aph? I-Is she safe?" Travis's heart dropped, and he could feel the beginning of tears.

"I-I don't know."

"You don't know what?! Where she is or if she's safe?! You're her guard you should--" Katelyn stopped her yelling when she saw the tear finally slip down Travis' cheek. "No, no, no. Don't--"

"I-I'm sorry, Katelyn."

"No! She can't be!!" Katelyn was suddenly fighting against Travis, trying to break free from the grip he had on her waist. Instead, it just turned into Travis pulling her in even closer, wrapping both his arms around her tightly as Katelyn began to wail. The sound of her agony was enough to finally push those stubborn tears from Travis' eyes as e clung onto her.

They barely noticed the figure rush past them. His vision was somehow hazier than usual with the added tears in his eyes. It was when he stumbled into the crater and saw the man standing before him that the whirlwind of emotions quieted down, and Laurance was able to hear his own thoughts, feel his body again.

Mere moments before he felt an unholy amount of pain, a miserable feeling of mourning consumed every part of his body, and when he saw what remained he realized why. He saw Garroth's absolutely pitiful expression as he clutched onto her diary like a lifeline. Laurance's mind was quiet at first. Just him. Just the realization of all he had lost in a single moment. And all he was now able to lose.

Finally there was a sound to rival the explosion, a single noise to encapsulate the grief. A miserable scream that cracked and broke as it continued to tear through the land as Laurance came to terms with everything he had lost, and everything he was about to lose. The poor man could only fall to his knees and scream as it all came crashing down on him. A cacophony of voices filled his ears, only making it worse as tears forced their way through glassy eyes.

The voices of the calling were the same, yet because they called for something new, none of them sounded right. Nothing was right. Laurance's body felt like it was being ripped apart all over again and it didn't even matter this time because she was gone. He had failed her and possibly doomed everyone because of it. Every time Laurance tried to focus on the anguish of her loss, it was always weighed down by the agony of his own curse. The curse he bore for her sake was now meaningless.

Eventually Laurance's voice went hoarse. It was only then that he finally looked up and saw Garroth. The man he had spent so long fighting to get back, the man who he was ready to rip apart the realm barrier for, the man who was so loved he had more than one person willing to do that. Adoration and love swelled in Laurance for a moment, and emotion got the better of him. Laurance threw himself into Garroth's arms, and Garroth caught him and held him like it was the easiest thing in the world. He held Laurance's sobbing form and continued to weep himself.

Neither knew how to feel about the few tears of joy they initially shed while holding each other. They didn't last very long, and were rather quickly overshadowed by mourning. Garroth managed to stand up and walk the two of them away from the crater, before he collapsed against a tree and allowed his body to finally relax.

Neither Laurance or Garroth spoke for quite some time. It was just the two of them and her diary. At some point Garroth must have decided he'd had enough of wearing the heavy armor, but he never set Laurance down. Even as they walked through the streets of an empty Phoenix Drop that Garroth wanted nothing more than to explore. He'd need time to adjust to their new world, he knew that, but he always dreamed he'd do it hand in hand with the people he cared most about. He never imagined it would be him and Laurance stumbling into Aph's empty home at the top of the hill, and then collapsing before they could get to their own bed.

Now Garroth lay on the floor, Laurance still on top of him, and both of them seemingly run out of tears. That wouldn't last long.

"We should at least get to bed," Garroth suggested quietly. He was met with the sound of Laurance's sniffles.

"I can't," Laurance answered.

"Why not?" Laurance sat up, finally getting off of Garroth and letting him sit up. Laurance tried in vain to wipe his eyes, knowing it likely wouldn't do anything.

"I-I can't. I can't be around you for much longer."

"Why? What's wrong?" Laurance's body began to tremble. His blood ran hot. If his voice weren't already so hoarse, Laurance might have screamed. No no no this couldn't be real-- "Laurance, please talk to me."

"I can't!" Laurance backed away from Garroth, but refusing to move too much. He wasn't sure if he moved if he would have control of his body. He couldn't take the risk. "Calling!" That's all Garroth needed to hear.

The calling. He'd helped Laurance with it before, and Aph had told him how it was harming Laurance. Neither knew too many specifics unless Laurance disclosed them, but Garroth did know exactly what he was saying. There was no doubt that Dante's effort to find her was meaningless. She was dead and Laurance knew the second it happened. And now the calling had simply switched targets.

"I..." Garroth's voice trailed off. What was he supposed to say?

Aph would know what to say.

The thought made Garroth feel like crying all over again, but he didn't dare look away from Laurance. Especially not when he saw his eyes flash red.

"I'm sorry," Laurance whispered. "I love you." And like that, he was gone. In almost an instant Laurance had stood up and taken off, faster than Garroth was capable of keeping up with.

"Laurance!!" He desperately cried out, scrambling to stand up in his heavy armor, and barely making it to their door before he realized it was hopeless. As the sun started to peek over the horizon, Garroth looked out upon an almost empty Phoenix Drop, and he couldn't contain his anguish anymore. Garroth fell to his knees in the doorway of his beloveds home, and wept for his lost lovers once more.

hi i actually have a lot more ideas about this but this post is really long and writing this au is literally hurting me so I'm gonna make another post with more stuff later okay bye

[atwaba]

The Legacy You Leave [Ch 15]

“Vindicta, as in the private military company?” Germany frowned, and glanced at America. As far as he was aware, neither of their governments had contracted the Dutch-based group for any services in recent years, if at all. But they were occasionally mentioned in intelligence reports, as their agents had been reported in several Middle Eastern countries within the last decade.

“The very same.” The man smiled. “Suffice to say, my friends and I have run afoul of them. Or, more specifically, a client of theirs.” He explained. “The two men you encountered earlier today are some of their soldiers.”

“So you heard all that?” America asked, surprised. “I thought your phone call was too well-timed to be a coincidence…”

“Kurt had me on speaker for some time.” The man admitted. “I am sorry that you had to get involved in this, but I am also grateful that you did. We knew we were being followed, but had hoped that the safety of numbers would protect us until we could meet up here. Unfortunately, Nathan’s split from the group made him too tempting a target for them to pass up. However you got involved, your timely intervention saved his life.”

The praise immediately went to America’s head, and Germany could almost watch it rise through his posture - straightening his spine and squaring his shoulders. In contrast, the older nation maintained his neutral expression. Too many facts weren’t lining up, for his liking, and too few answers were being given. On top of that, however, there was something….familiar about this man, and Germany couldn’t help wondering if they had met before.

He was an imposing figure - athletic, and nearly as tall as the nation himself. He wore an eyepatch secured over his right eye, and the pitted edges of old burn scars were visible beneath the patch, at the collar of his shirt, and at the sleeves of his generic short-sleeved shirt. His brown hair with its errant curl was quite reminiscent of Feliciano, but then again, plenty of people had flyaways and dark hair.

Why did he look so familiar?

“You say you’re being pursued by hired guns because you angered someone.” Germany spoke up. The man shifted his attention to the nation, and again, Germany was struck by an eerie sense of familiarity under that amber gaze. “How does one anger someone so much that they hire out a private military to settle the score?”

“By fucking up very, very badly.” The man smiled, and the smug tilt of his lips made Germany bristle behind his frown. “But that’s not the question you really want me to answer, is it?” The nation grit his teeth, and folded his arms sternly.

“No, it isn’t.” He admitted. “Why don’t we start with ‘who the hell are you?’.” The man paused, as if caught off guard, and his eye lit up in realization after a moment.

“Oh. I actually forgot to introduce myself.” He quickly masked his surprise with that smile again. “My name is Tiberius Temerarius. But you can call me Tiber. It’s much faster.”

“Your name is Tiberius??” America repeated incredulously. “Pfft. That’s a mouthful if I ever heard one.”

“You can blame my father for that.” Again, there was some smug tinge to the man’s smile, and Germany shifted on his feet. “It’s an old family name, and he wanted to keep it around. Your next question?”

“What’s up with Nathan?” America dropped his voice down to a volume Germany rarely heard out of the young nation. “We ended up here because he got shot, point blank, and healed from it within minutes. I’d like to know what’s going on with that.”

Tiberius’ smile stretched into a wide grin, and he scratched at his chin, as if thinking. But a series of popping sounds echoed from somewhere back among the buildings before he could respond, and the smile dropped from the man’s face. Footsteps rushed through the plane a moment later, and a tall, burly man in a flight jacket appeared at the edge of the ramp. 

“Tiber, were those gunshots?” The man demanded. Tiberius whispered something under his breath, and shouldered past America.

“Stay on the plane.” He commanded without looking back. The other man - already stepping down onto the ramp - stopped short, and glared at the back of his companion’s head as Tiberius ran toward the source of the noise. 

“Hey, wait!” America turned and sprinted after him. “We’re not done here yet!”

“Alfred-!” Germany started to reach out, then realized that trying to grab the young nation was a futile act, and clenched his fist. With a muttered curse, he, too, sprinted toward the source of the noise.

They were never going to get answers at this rate…

When Germany rounded the corner into the alleyway leading to the security gate, he found America crouched down beside the security guard, blood on the asphalt, and spent bullet casings rolling through the puddles. Tiberius was jogging back from further up the road, radiating fury and tension, and the guard tried to sit up as the man approached.

“It only grazed me.” The guard insisted, despite the blood soaking into the side of his uniform. He winced as he applied a bit more pressure to the wound. “It’s fine - I’ll be fine once I get to a hospital.” Germany stopped a short ways away, not wishing to crowd the poor man as Tiberius also knelt down next to him, checking the wound for himself. Instead, the nation looked around, worried that the other party might still be in the area, and there, on the asphalt next to the gate, he spotted an abandoned phone.

Curious, Germany crouched down to scoop it up, and on the screen was an open text conversation. The last sent message was one of several images, taken from a distance, capturing himself and America standing with Tiberius in front of the plane. The message was marked ‘delivered’, and had one reply from a number ID-ed only as “Boss”.

[Move in.]

“Alfred.” Germany walked over to touch the other nation on the shoulder, and held out the phone for him to see. “Someone was watching us.” America turned, and leaned back on his heels to look at the screen. Before he could touch it, however, Tiberius jumped up and grabbed the phone out of Germany’s hand. He seemed to recognize the number the photos had been sent to, spat out a curse, and then pitched the phone against the wall of the opposite building, shattering it into pieces.

“Whoa!” America yelped, and jumped to his feet as Tiberius turned back, and started to pull the injured guard up. “What the hell, dude?!”

“Convoca mihi omnes alios. Festinate egredi. Non sunt inventi.” Tiberius told the security guard. The man’s expression dropped into a serious frown, and he nodded. “Tutum manere.” The guard hustled away as fast as he could, clutching his wound, and Tiberius fixed the two nations with an intense stare, which Germany matched eye for eye.

“I can’t risk the people on that plane by hanging around any longer.” Tiberius said, gesturing back toward the tarmac. “And now that you’ve been seen with us, Vindicta will be gunning for you, too.” He crossed through the still-open security gate, kicking a broken piece of the shattered phone out of his way. “You two still want your answers? You come with us.”

“....” America looked to Germany to see his reaction, but he had already made up his mind. Superpowered kids? Mysterious bad guys?! He was going to get to the bottom of this mystery, no matter what it took!

And if he had to do it alone, then so be it.

But Germany returned his look with a stubborn one of his own, and simply nodded to Tiberius. Mildly surprised, America chose to bite his tongue as they headed back to the plane, leaving behind the mess of blood splatter and bullets on the concrete behind them.

[schrodinger-s-kitten]

APH rare pair week 2017! Day 2: Music!

Word count: 2555

Pairing: England/Veneziano(North Italy)

Rating: Teen and up, I guess?

Well I’ve made it this far

The story is a little too fast-paced for my taste, and the descriptions are a bit disappointing, but it’s all right.

Enjoy!

Five Times Veneziano Saw England Play the Piano, and One Time He Played Too

~=o-o=~

The first time Veneziano saw England play the piano was at the end of the second World War.

The participating countries had met to discuss the aftermath. They finished in a few hours, but as their planes would not leave until midnight or so, they chose to stay in the building to spend the time they had.

As hasty individuals had organised the conference, they'd had to use the orchestra room. Thus the grand piano in the corner. Austria took to playing it after the meeting to keep his mind occupied. The other countries enjoyed the music, until Austria stopped. When questioned, he responded,

“I was about to play the Fantasy in F minor, D. However, it is a duet.” He looked at the other countries. “I don't suppose any of you, gentlemen, know the song?”

Silence. Did none of them know the piano? Germany should, being home to wonderful composers as Beethoven or Mozart, but he had no interest in creating music. France played the accordion, as did Russia, and the Italies were masterful at the violin, cello and alike. But none of them played the piano.

Seconds passed. At their end, footsteps sounded. England walked towards the piano, his steps light and elegant. Austria's gaze fixated on him.

“Would you conceive me the honour?”

To answer, Austria slid right in his seat, indicating he'd play the treble clef. England took the place of the bass clef, and they played. Veneziano could only stare in awe. Their hands glided over the keys, a light touch here and sinking in there. It was fluid harmony, the sound fluttering in the room and breathing in their ears. It was peace. In a way, the piano piece signified the war was over. Nations from two of the opposing sides, playing a song together, was as the first stitch which would join the world together again. It was a beautiful end to the meeting.

When the Fantasy in F Minor, D ended, Veneziano clapped. Others followed.

~=o=~

The second time Veneziano saw England play the piano, it was in a business meeting.

The Italies had stayed in the UK siblings' house for a few days to discuss trade. In one of these, Veneziano woke up earlier and heard a soft playing from downstairs.

Curious, Veneziano skipped down the stairs, forgetting he wore only a nightshirt. On the lounge, England played a soulful melody and Northern Ireland listened to it, smiling.

It was the first time Veneziano had ever England so calm, so… at ease. It almost pained him how England wasn't at ease anywhere else — only with his family. But if England could be so calm, perhaps Veneziano didn't have to fear him so.

The song finished in a happy note.

“You may come down, Veneziano.”

Northern Ireland's voice startled him and he stumbled down the stairs, almost falling. England stood, ready to help him, but he managed to stabilise himself.

“Sorry,” he said, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck. England shook his head.

“It's no problem.” He motioned to the sofa. “Please sit down. Or do you prefer to, ah…” he glanced at Veneziano, “change your attire?”

Realising his lower half was still nude, Veneziano blushed and ran up the stairs to put clothing on. He thought he heard North laugh. England sighed and sat back at the piano, shaking his head with a smile.

“He likes your playing,” poked North. He looked at her. She smiled. “He was staring at you. You two should try and see if you have any other common interests.”

“…Don't be silly, North,” England stared at the keys. “Us spending time together is a laughable idea.” He wouldn’t take interest in me.

North stood.

“If you're going to be like that, no-one will take interest in you, indeed.” Her tone let stones fall after her as she strolled to the kitchen. “I'll make breakfast for Wales, Scotland, and our guests. Tomorrow, you should.”

Veneziano hopped down the stairs, skipping steps. This time, he wore a light blue  shirt and trousers.

“Ve~ Mister England, I forgot to tell you, your playing is beautiful!” Said Veneziano, grinning, hands swinging a little at his sides. England looked at him.

“…Thank you, Veneziano,” he said. Steps sounded behind Veneziano. “Good morning, Romano.”

“Whatever, whatever,” grumbled Romano. “Where's breakfast?” He rubbed his eyes.

“Kitchen.” Romano trudged past them towards the cup of coffee on the table. Veneziano giggled.

“Mister England~ do you think we could spend more time together?”

He knew he was being bold, but he wanted to make friends with England, and this could be the last opportunity he'd get in decades. England's eyes widened and he was wordless for a moment. Veneziano frowned, afraid he'd gone too far.

England smiled.

“Well, if we are going to, a good first step would be to leave the ‘Mister’ when addressing me.” His tone was warm, and hid immense joy behind it. Veneziano grinned and cheered.

“Oi! Be quiet!” Shouted Scotland from upstairs, eliciting laughter from everyone – except Romano.

~=o=~

The third time Veneziano saw England play the piano, it was because he suggested it.

Veneziano was over for a visit. He and England had spent more time together since the trade discussion, and Veneziano popped by the UK siblings' house to visit sometimes. They were always happy he was over – it was a nice change from the usual grumpiness from everybody, said North once.

When he knocked on the door, Scotland answered. His angry expression softened when he saw Veneziano, not before scaring him a little.

“Ah, it's you. Thank the gods, come in.” He opened the door and stepped away, closing it after Veneziano walked inside. “England's in a bad mood. Go cheer 'im up. He's in his room.”

“Eh?” Veneziano's eyes widened. “What happened?” He furrowed his brow. Scotland shrugged.

“Go find out yerself. It ain't lack of tea, I had a cuppa this morning.” He sat on the sofa. “Wales and North are shopping,” he informed. “England's a dick when he's in a bad mood, so they wanted to get away. I wanted to go too, but apparently he needs supervision now.”

Veneziano raised an eyebrow and walked upstairs. He put on a smile. England couldn't be in that bad of a mood, right? He knocked on the door of England's room.

“Go the fuck away, Scotland!”

…Maybe he was in such a bad mood.

“It's Veneziano!” He shouted back. A few seconds of silence made him tense.

The door opened in a fast motion. Before Veneziano was England, in green pyjamas, trying and failing to conceal an angry expression. Ignoring it, Veneziano grinned.

“Ve~! England!” Before England could reply, Veneziano hugged him around the waist and spun him around with surprising strength. England yelped and hung onto Veneziano. After a few spins, Veneziano put him down. “How are you? Scotland said you were in a bad mood!”

England regained his balance.

“Hello, Veneziano. Yes, I am in a bad mood.” He glared at the floor. “Fucking Scotland,” he sighed. “Come into my room, I suppose.”

He closed the door after them.

“What happened?” Asked Veneziano, looking around. The bed was unmade, the desk was messy and the closet doors, open. He looked at the open laptop on the table, displaying an email. England caught his stare.

“That's from my editor. They rejected my book, after all.” England dropped on his bed. “Again.” A long, drawn-out sigh. Veneziano's eyes widened.

“Why would they? It's amazing!” He exclaimed, raising his arms. England shook his head.

“Not to them.”

Furrowing his brow, Veneziano sat next to England. He smiled his best comforting smile.

“Well, to me it's amazing. All your stories are amazing,” he said in a near-whisper. England turned his head to him.

“Even the one with the crazy balloon man?” Despite his tone, he was smiling.

“…Most of your stories are amazing.”

They laughed. Veneziano got up and offered a hand to England.

“Come on, let's go outside! The editor can go screw himself!” Without waiting for England's response, he yanked him standing. Veneziano gasped. “Wait! You know that piano piece you named ‘letting go’? You could play that one! It'll help you let go!”

England knitted his brow. It sounded silly, but it could work; music did calm him. He smiled and nodded. Veneziano tugged at his wrist and dragged him downstairs. They almost fell in their climbing down the steps in four seconds. Scotland wasn't in the lounge any more, so he wasn't there to see England in his pyjamas. They caught their breath, and Veneziano motioned towards the piano. England sat down and played.

Hearing the music, Scotland turned his head to the window. He took his cigarette off his mouth. England, playing the piano in pyjamas. How bloody ridiculous. At least he looked happy. Veneziano, beside him, was happy too. Scotland smiled. England cheered up so quick with Veneziano there; one could almost say they were falling in love.

~=o=~

The fourth time Veneziano saw England play the piano, they were in a shopping centre.

It was in the USA. Veneziano had convinced England to go on vacation to New York during autumn. After getting ice cream, they'd gone into one of the many shopping centres of the city. It was huge. They enjoyed strolling among the shops, and even bought some items – like a pen for writing musical score, green and red hair chalk, and a 0.1 millimetre ink pen.

When they tried to remember the way out, though, they discovered they'd gotten lost.

“I'm sure the exit is that way.”

“No, we came from there, remember?”

After a lot of random strolling, they came across a grand piano set in the middle of the cross section. They’d seen it before that afternoon. According to a pamphlet, it was there for propaganda of a music school. There was a person watching it, but anybody could try playing. Well, at least they knew it was near the exit.

Veneziano sat on the stool and pressed a random key, deciding to experiment. He soon found his notes, and played the simplest version of Twinkle Little Star. England hummed along, to his surprise.

“I converted the twelve variations to the violin once,” remarked Veneziano.

“Oh?” England smiled.

“A few decades ago. I think I still have the sheet at home.” Veneziano slid right on the stool and England sat on it, putting their bag on the floor.

“Funny you should mention the twelve variations,” he said, positioning his hands on the keys. “Help me on the first?” He looked at Veneziano, who grinned and put his hand on the piano.

They played the first variation together. It was slow, as England adjusted to Veneziano's pace, but it was sweet. After the first variation, Veneziano removed his hand and England's took its place. The variation changed, the tempo increased, the playing itself sounded more experienced.

Throughout the variations, Veneziano watched England's hand motions with intent. People gathered around the piano to watch, which gave the music school the opportunity to try and convince them to join it. England ignored his surroundings, in a world with only him, Veneziano and the piano. Veneziano bobbed his head along, and sometimes hummed along to the song. He came back to reality only when he finished the piece.

Clapping erupted, startling both England and Veneziano. He stood and bowed to them, a little awkward. The music school even tried to hire him as a teacher, to which he declined. They walked through the dispersing crowd and to the exit of the shopping centre.

Well, now Veneziano knew the moment he'd fallen for England.

~=o=~

The fifth time Veneziano saw England play the piano, it was his lullaby.

They were at the Italies' house – England had come to visit for once. Seborga had taken an interest on the piano as of late, so he bought an upright piano and put it on the parlour. When he saw Seborga playing Für Elise, England tilted his head.

“Positioning your hands like that will give you cramps on the long run,” he offered. Seborga stared at him for a moment.

“How should I position them, then?” He spread his hands in front of the piano. England guided him, explaining.

In the meantime, Romano stomped into the room. As soon as England finished explaining, he dragged Seborga to his room, complaining about ‘bad playing at this ungodly hour’. Veneziano giggled, then yawned. God, was he sleepy. England noticed.

“We should go to sleep as well,” suggested England, standing.

“No.” Veneziano grabbed his arm and made him sit back down. Veneziano lay curled up on the sofa, his head on England's lap. England blushed heavily, bringing his hands up. He was used to Veneziano's hugs, but he'd never lied on his lap before.

“A-ah, Veneziano, don't you think it's better if you sleep in your bed?”

Veneziano shook his head.

“Play me a lullaby,” he mumble-demanded, looking at England's eyes. They stayed like that for a moment, their eyes shining, Veneziano's with sleepiness and England's with a bit of embarrassment. England sighed, putting his hands on the piano. His hands were a little crooked, but it worked.

He played a soft, comforting melody. Veneziano closed his eyes as England sang along with it. Veneziano didn't recognise the language, but it didn't matter. England's voice was melodious in a way Veneziano did not expect; it was soothing, low and warm. Made Veneziano think of flowers and calm waters. As he thought this, the sounds mixed, his thoughts blurred, and England's voice and piano carried him away into a peaceful sleep.

England smiled at the sleeping Veneziano. He stopped playing and ran his fingers through Veneziano's hair. It was soft, as was his smile.

“Goodnight, love,” he whispered.

~=o=~

G8 conference.

Right after it, to be preciser.

There had been problems with the orchestra room, and a few instruments would be in the conference room for a few days. Among these instruments, a violin, and a piano.

The countries were lazing around, as it was much more comfortable to wait there for their planes instead of the airport. Veneziano inspected the violin on the corner.

“Likely handmade…” he mumbled to himself, checking the violin and the bow. He raised the bow and tested notes on it. A professional violin indeed, and tuned to perfection. Veneziano played a part of Liebesfreud and grinned. He looked at the other nations.

“England~!” He called, waving, and motioned to the piano. “Be my accompaniment?”

England stood and walked to the piano. His steps were light and elegant. Veneziano observed as he sat on the stool of the Bösendorfer piano.

“3, 2, 1–!”

Music filled the room; strong, elegant, pleasant. Veneziano's hands and arm glided, quick as a hummingbird's beating wings, producing notes heavy with emotion. England's hands were light on the keys; he let his feelings guide them, making his notes flutter. Together, England's piano and Veneziano's violin seamed a soulful, heartfelt melody.

When they finished, there was applause. England stood and, together, they bowed to the audience. They looked into each other's eyes.

Words were dispensable, they figured. Their music had said all they needed to know.

[atwaba]

The Legacy You Leave [Ch 14]

They couldn’t, as it turned out, all take America’s car.

As China was quick to point out, they still had a violent intruder locked up in a broom closet to deal with, and they couldn’t simply leave him behind to be found by the human staff that cleaned the building every night. As England was quick to point out, however, they couldn’t bring Marius to the airport, either.

He’d already tried to kill Nathan once. Putting him back within arms’ reach of the lad was off the table, and taking more than one car would have made their small convoy too obvious.

In the end, China, England, and Canada volunteered to stay behind and deal with Marius (whether that be by simply ensuring he didn’t escape or something more, Germany chose not to ask at the time), leaving America and Germany to escort their guests to the airport in a smaller (and hopefully less noticeable) group. America, of course, drove, as the car was his rental, and Germany sat in the passenger seat, with Kurt and Nathan in the middle row.

Before they could get much further than the parking lot (and begin to experience America’s...unique driving skills), Germany quickly typed out a message on his phone.

[Feli, Kiku, this is Ludwig. I am sorry, but something has come up, and I’m not likely to be able to make our dinner plans tonight. Please eat without me, and we can catch up some time tomorrow.]

The wording was simple and vague, and a bit too blunt (even for his tastes), but he sent the message through to the group chat anyway. The situation was too complicated to explain through a simple text, and until he knew more about what was really going on, Germany didn’t want to risk his friends getting dragged into something that may be dangerous, when they had no reason to get involved at all.

It was also best, he thought, to put out as little information as possible across an unsecured channel…

Just to be safe.

The traffic wasn’t all that bad, given the time of day, but America only made it about five minutes (give or take) before he could no longer stand the awkward silence in the vehicle, and started drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. At a red light, he glanced into the backseat through the rearview mirror, where he could see Nathan nervously watching the cars in the next lane. The massive bruise that had once covered half the boy’s face was completely gone, now…

If not for the cracks in his glasses and a few splatters of blood still clinging to his neck, one would think he’d never have been hurt at all.

“So...this guy on the phone…” America finally broke the silence as the light turned green, and the traffic moved on.  “He sounds like a regular Bryan Mills...you, uh, know him well?”

“Well enough to trust.” Kurt responded stiffly, fixing the nation with a steely stare through the rearview mirror. America didn’t take it personally - this wasn’t exactly the kind of situation that made one relax. 

“He’s nicer than he sounds.” Nathan added on. “I mean, I’ve only met him in person once or twice, but he was pretty nice then. And he did have this whole schedule thing all planned out, and I messed it up by being late, and holding everyone else up-” Kurt quietly reached across the seats to touch his grandson’s arm, and Nathan ceased his nervous rambling with an embarrassed cough.

“Hey,” America frowned, taking his eyes away from the mirror long enough to slow down for a turn, and ignoring the way Germany tightened his grip on the passenger roof handle. “You can’t exactly predict getting jumped in an alley!” He argued. “You didn’t do anything wrong, kid.” Nathan offered up a weak smile through the mirror, and the car fell into silence once more.

Several red lights and a few more turns later, they finally arrived at the airport. Following the signs hung above the streets, America turned off of the busier road into Terminal 3, and followed a much emptier ramp down towards Terminal 1. Germany watched with quiet apprehension as they left the flow of traffic behind, and frowned.

“Are we sure this is the right place?” The nation asked out loud. “This section does not appear to be open to the public.”

“The guy on the phone said ‘Terminal 1’, didn’t he? That’s right here.” America pointed out, though his usual confident smile was absent. “We have to be in the right place.” As they entered the cover of the empty terminal and started to drive through it, a man in a security uniform stepped out of a building further down the sidewalk, and started to wave them over. Trading a wary glance with Germany, America pulled the car over to the side of the curb, and partially rolled down the passenger window.

“I’m sorry, folks, but I’m going to have to ask you to turn around.” The guard started before he even reached the car. “This terminal is currently closed for-. Oh!” He stopped in mid-sentence, and did a double take through the window. “Oh, you must be the Cameron party.” He realized. Nathan gave his grandfather a confused look, but Kurt’s expression remained neutral. “I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t realize.” He apologized, and took a step back from the car.

“The rest of your party is waiting for you at Gate A-19. Due to time constraints, I’ll radio ahead to have your party escorted directly to the runway.” It was America’s turn to shoot Germany a confused glance, but much like Nathan before him, he was ignored. “Please, take the next turn-off on your right, just past the parking sign, and my colleague will direct you from there.” 

“Um...sure! Thank you.” America pulled away from the curb, still hella confused, as the guard headed back into the building, talking quietly into the radio clipped to his shoulder. “That’s...weird. That’s weird, right?”

“Certainly out of the ordinary.” Germany agreed. Quietly, he glanced into the rearview mirror at their passengers, hoping to glean a little understanding from their reactions, but all he saw was Nathan fidgeting nervously, as he had been since they’d left the meeting hall. America took the next right turn, and followed the road for a short while before slowing to a stop before a tall, chain-link gate. Another security guard waited on the other side, and - after a quick check with his radio - unlocked the gate, rolled it open, and waved them inside.

A few dozen yards beyond the gate, the buildings opened up onto the tarmac of the terminal. It was eerily devoid of planes or other maintenance vehicles, with the notable exception of a massive C-130 Hercules sitting alone just before the empty runway. America’s eyes widened, and he whistled lowly.

“Wow…!” He gasped. “I haven’t seen one of those puppies in-ow!” Germany withdrew his elbow, and gave the younger nation a stern look. “...a long time!” America grinned sheepishly. Right, right...probably shouldn’t tell the probably-not-actually-humans that he was over two hundred years old.

They had to take this one strange mystery at a time.

From the back of the plane, a figure appeared from around the lowered rear ramp, and raised one arm in a wave. America slowed the car to a stop a safe distance from the plane, and put it in park before turning off the engine. The figure remained by the ramp, patiently waiting as the four passengers climbed out of the car, and began walking towards him.

“You’re just in time!” The man called out cheerfully as the small party approached. “We’re just about ready for take-off.” He looked to Kurt and Nathan, and waved his hand up the ramp. “You two, go get settled. Take any open seats, and put your seatbelts on. Once we start to taxi, we’re not stopping for anything.” America very nearly reached out to stop Nathan when the young man obediently hurried up the ramp with his grandfather, and settled for clenching his hand into a fist.

There was that strange feeling again...the feeling of something that was his moving out of reach-

“A deal is a deal, then.” The man spoke up, interrupting the young nation’s thoughts. “You brought my friends back - and in a timely manner, to boot - so it’s time for me to hold up my end.” He held his arms out akimbo, and gave the nations a disarming smile. “I promised to explain, and so I shall. Have either of you heard of an organization called ‘Vindicta’?”

[atwaba]

The Legacy You Leave [Ch 11]

Germany always liked to think that he worked best under pressure.

So when he turned the corner of the hallway, and saw America trading blows with one of the thugs from the street, he didn’t waste time on asking questions, and bodily tackled the man.

Marius half-turned to run just as he was hit, and promptly had the wind driven out of him as he was smashed into the ground face-first. America - having just narrowly avoided being tackled, himself - staggered forward through the empty space where Marius had been, and threw a hand against the wall to steady his balance. Germany quickly rolled on top of the thug while the man was still winded, and twisted one of his arms up behind his back.

“Is this the only one?” He asked, already shifting to straddle the man on the floor, and better pin him down.

“Uh, yeah, yeah.” America sounded distracted, and a little put out. He could have handled the guy on his own…the nation gave his head a quick shake. Now was not the time for thoughts like that. “Don’t drop your guard! This guy’s strong.” He warned as Germany reached to twist back Marius’ other arm. The man was still struggling just to get his breath back.

“Had me on the ropes because I wasn’t expecting him to hit so-OH!.” America abruptly cursed, turned around, and ran back down the hallway. Germany had this guy handled, right? Right. He had to get back to the break room - someone might be hurt!

…….

By all rights, the boy should have been dead or dying.

There was no way the bullet could have missed, at such a close range, and the blood splattered across the wall and counter was proof enough that it had, in fact, hit its mark. England tried to ignore a lone drop making its way down the counter’s front, and pressed the dish towel in his hand a little harder against the wound. Nathan whimpered in pain, but didn’t flinch away, and merely clenched his jaw.

“Sorry, lad…” The nation apologized distractedly, looking back over his shoulder towards the doorway. “I have to keep pressure on it. Now, lean forward, come on,” He eased the boy away from the counter, careful not to look at the gruesome stains left behind, though something gave him pause. The blood on the back of Nathan’s sleeve was already drying, and there was less of it overall than he’d been expecting.

Confused, England peered down at the wound, wondering if, perhaps, it hadn’t been quite as severe as he’d worried...and stared.

“...well, lad,” England said after a moment of finding his voice. “The good news is that it’s healing.” He watched the skin knitting together with a sort of morbid fascination. The wound was no longer a through-and-through. “Rather...rapidly, I’d add.”

“Great.” Nathan’s voice in return was clipped, and tired. “That’s...that’s great.” England watched the injury heal for a few seconds more, and then looked down at the dish towel he had pressed against the entry wound. Cautiously, he shifted to be kneeling on one leg, and then moved to stand. Nathan stood up with him, seemingly unaffected by blood loss or injury but for his shirt being ruined.

“I expect,” England said, unconsciously falling into a parental tone that he had long since relegated to a dusty corner of his mind. “You have a bit of explaining to do, lad.” Nathan sank down on his heels like a scolded child and looked down at his shoes.

He probably did owe up at least some sort of explanation. That was twice these people had saved him, after all-

The door suddenly flew open again, with enough force to slam it back against the wall, and dent the drywall. Neither Nathan nor England had enough time to flinch as America practically threw himself into the room, having barely slowed down enough to open the door. England was mildly surprised he hadn’t run straight through it.

“Kid!! Iheardthegunshotareyouokay?!” America took one big breath and rushed forward, grabbing Nathan by the shoulders only to immediately let go and shift his grip lower when he noticed the blood. That strange, electric feeling returned at the contact - like the spark of charged socks in winter. ”Oh, shit! You’re bleeding! Did he shoot you!?”

“N-no, I didn’t-” Nathan stumbled over his words. He couldn’t lie - the other guy was right there! “I mean, I did get shot, but-. But I’m fine-”

“You’re not fine!” America interrupted. There was blood all over the wall, for god’s sake. The room looked like a murder scene! “You got shot-”

“Alfred,” England passed his arm between them, and his stern tone cut through the emotion building in the room. “Nathan is alright. Look,” He turned his hand slightly to point out the hole in Nathan’s sleeve, and the flesh beneath. It was still an angry red, but looked far more like a wound suffered months ago than one inflicted only minutes prior. America’s thoughts ground to a halt, and Nathan shifted uncomfortably under the stare.

“Um...” The young man gulped. “I-uh. I can explain that-” He couldn’t, really. He had no idea how he would explain that. But he was saved from having to by the arrival of a familiar face; both England and America tensed up at the sight of another strange man in the doorway, but Nathan’s posture relaxed noticeably in relief.

“Gramps!!” He ducked under one of America’s arms, and threw himself into the man’s hug. He wasn’t even going to ask how he had found him - it didn’t matter, in the moment. Kurt - still breathing hard from his sprint through the building (damned old knee injury, acting up and slowing him down) - leaned on his cane and wrapped Nathan into a tight, one-armed hug.

America felt another strange tug on his heart, and tried to ignore it.

After a long moment, Kurt eased up his grip, and held his grandson at arm’s length. He looked from the bloody shirt Nathan wore to the mess splattered on the wall, frowning, and England quietly noted that he didn’t seem all that alarmed. In fact, the man’s expression was more...resigned. As if this wasn’t the outcome he had wanted, but it hadn’t been one he’d discounted altogether.

“I’m okay.” Nathan said. Kurt’s gaze pointedly flicked down to the healing bullet wound, then back up to his grandson’s face, and Nathan’s smile turned sheepish. “Now.” He amended. “I’m okay now.”

“Ahem...” England quietly cleared his throat, and habitually adjusted his tie as all attention shifted to him. “Perhaps we should retire to a more secure room,” He suggested. “Before we continue. I believe some explanations are due.” Nathan sank down on his heels, and once again found his shoes of sudden interest. His grandfather, however, only sighed.

“Yes....” Kurt agreed. “Yes, I believe there are.”

[atwaba]

The magic that created the personified Nations was not meant to be used by humans, but direct children of the Nations will inherited it nonetheless.

It will lie dormant until the child is between 10 to 13 years old, and when it activates, the human part of the body sees the magic as an ‘infection’. This causes the child to fall to an intense fever, and in 90% of cases, the child will die. In the 10% who survive, the body and the magic manage to adapt to each other, and the child survives.

The adaptation is not 100% perfect, however, and the surviving Nation-child will forever run high temperatures and experience a faster metabolism as a result.

[atwaba]

The Legacy You Leave [Ch 1]

Japan was used to crowded spaces. 

His own cities were very populous for their sizes, and his trains were always filled to the brim with commuters and travelers with schedules to keep. He did not consider himself claustrophobic, and, in fact, quite liked being immersed in the crowds in his homeland. It allowed him to feel close to his people, without having to sacrifice his - or their - public personal spaces.

But this crowded Spanish elevator was a bit...much.

When the elevator car reached his destination floor, Japan had to withhold a sigh of relief, and quickly wiggled his way out into the lobby with a generous handful of ‘pardon me’s and ‘coming through’s. He even managed to maintain his calm exterior until the elevator doors had fully closed before stepping out, and he could finally relax, and let his tense posture drop.

Next time, he might just take the stairs...

The short nation took a quick look at the room navigation plaque before heading down the hallway, and looking out for the correct number. When he found it, he raised his hand, and knocked three times. After a few moments of silence, a set of heavy footsteps approached the door in a familiar pattern he’d come to learn over the decades. Japan smiled softly as the door opened, and bowed his head in a respectful nod.

“Good morning, Germany, Italy.” He greeted, moving inside as Germany stepped back, and waved him in. “Are you prepared for today’s meeting?”

“Almost, Japan!” Italy replied cheerfully from where he rummaged, out of sight, through his suitcase in the closet. Every few seconds, a piece of discarded clothing was flung into sight, and onto the bed. “Germany had to take a phone call from his brother, but we were almost ready, anyway. I just need to find my jacket!”

“I see.” Japan looked up at Germany. The blond nation closed the door behind them, and raised a hand to rub at his temples.

“You wouldn’t have to search for it if you would just hang it up when you first got here…” He muttered under his breath before looking down at Japan. “Gilbert called a few minutes ago,” Germany confirmed. “To check in and apologize for not calling last week. He sounds like he is doing well, but...he did not want to chat. Said he was running late for...something. He did not specify.”

Japan made a quiet noise of affirmation, but let Germany’s words hangin the air, for the moment. Gilbert - the nation formerly known as Prussia - had come home one day, three months ago, and declared that he was moving out of his brother’s basement. The decision had been sudden, to say the least.

He hadn’t even said anything until the basement had been all but empty.

Germany had been supportive of the decision on the outside, but Japan knew (through Italy’s nervous babble) that the abrupt change had caught the nation off guard. As much as he griped and grumbled about his brother’s living situation, having Prussia - having Gilbert - so close by meant that Germany could always be assured that he was still there.

But out of respect for his friend, Japan kept these observations to himself, and simply placed a comforting hand on Germany’s arm.

For a moment, Germany seemed to hold his breath. Then he exhaled, and Japan let his hand drop. Germany cast the shorter nation a momentary glance before Italy popped out from around the corner, triumphantly tugging on the lapels of his jacket.

“There we go! All nice and fancy!” Italy grinned. “Hey Germany, do you think we could stop for lunch on the way? I saw this little cafe on the cab ride over that had these lovely ladies sitting in the patio-”

“No, we cannot!” Germany snapped, back to his usual stern self in an instant. “We are already running late as it is!” Japan wisely stepped back and opened the door as Germany hustled Italy out into the hallway, grabbing the two briefcases off the closet shelf with one hand as he passed. “It’s incredibly unprofessional to show up late to a world meeting - especially if you’re carpooling with others who have a reputation for being punctual!”

Japan quietly let the hotel door swing shut, and followed after the pair with a small, fond smile. He caught up to them at the elevators once more, and slipped into the (thankfully far less crowded) car just in time for the doors to close.

…….

Another day, another body...and another unsolved murder.

Spain stared down at the local news headline scrolling across his phone and frowned. A charred corpse had been found in an alley out in Seville; headless and handless, just like all the rest that had been found over the last decade. The police had no suspects, and few leads to follow, and had given the media a vague statement, as usual.

And, as usual, the media hadn’t bought it.

Theories and speculations had been flying across the Spanish airwaves all day, ranging from the plausible (a serial killer?) to the ridiculous (aliens?!). Most people seemed to agree that these terrible murders were some sort of gang violence, though no local group had laid claim to them. Spain wasn’t sure he believed that.

“Hey, España!” Romano’s voice cut through the nation’s somber thoughts, and Spain quickly locked his phone. Romano leaned his hip against the threshold of the open door, and crossed his arms with his usual scowl, his jacket tossed over one arm. “Are you ready to go or not? You’re not gonna show up late to a meeting in your own house, are you?”

“Nope!” Spain pasted on a wide smile - one that he’d had centuries to practice - and stuffed his phone in his pocket. “Sorry, Romano. I guess I got a little distracted.” He laughed. Romano rolled his eyes.

“At least tell me you’re not playing that stupid ‘Treat Tower’ game.” The shorter man spun around in the doorway and stomped down the hall. “It’s dumb Tetris knock-off, and you shouldn’t give Russia the satisfaction of knowing you play….” Spain’s smile slipped as Romano’s voice faded down the hall, and he silently picked up his jacket from the back of the chair he’d thrown it over.

Most of the nations didn’t bother watching the news when traveling abroad for these meetings, unless there was a major event they wanted to keep an eye on. A murder should slip right under the radar of even the most keen-eyed among them...it happened everywhere, after all. He just had to put this out of his mind until the meeting concluded in about three days (if they could be as productive as last time).

He could go back to worrying then.

[atwaba]

The Legacy You Leave [Ch 13]

“Who are you?” Germany demanded of the voice. They laughed, as if they were a parent humoring a child’s demand for attention.

“A fair question,” The voice admitted. “But please, allow me to put us on slightly more level footing. I have been listening in since...Ludwig, was it?...met my friend Kurt, here.” He explained. “I know what you’ve seen, and I know that you probably won’t just let my friends get up and walk away, will you?” There was a moment of silence around the table, during which, no-one seemed eager to speak up and break it. Germany closed his eyes, and took a deep breath before opening them.

“No.” He replied. “We probably will not.” The words, though truthful, hung heavy in the air. Kurt’s stoic expression remained, but Nathan sank lower in his chair, as if trying to disappear within the thick wool of his jacket collar. “The events that happened here today require explanation.”

“Then may I propose a compromise?” The voice suggested. “My friends and I have a flight to catch, and we really can’t reschedule it. Bring them to the Alicante Airport, T1, Gate A-19 - preferably soon - and I’ll explain...perhaps not everything. But as much as you need to know.”

“This sounds like a hostage situation…” England muttered under his breath.

“This isn’t a hostage situation.” America argued. “We’re not gonna hurt anyone!” China shushed them both like children, and they fell silent. Germany gave the older nation a grateful glance before raising his voice in response.

“Why the demands?” He asked. “And how can we trust you to keep your word?”

“Like I said, my friends and I have a plane to catch, and we’re on a very tight schedule.” The voice responded. “And as for trusting  me...you do have my friends in your custody. That’s a pretty hefty bargaining chip. What do you say?.” Germany leaned his chin on folded hands, and thought. From the conference center, the airport in question was roughly an hour’s drive away...and if they left soon, they might be able to avoid the day’s end rush of people hurrying home after a long workday.

It would ruin his dinner plans with Italy and Japan, but surely, if he simply called and explained the extenuating circumstances, they both would understand.

Germany looked around the table, hoping to gauge what the others might be thinking. England and China’s expression, as usual, were calculatingly neutral, but Canada wore a look of genuine interest, and America was all but vibrating where he sat. Kurt wore a painfully familiar mask of guarded indifference (one that Germany had seen on countless soldiers on all sides), and Nathan...well.

If he sank any lower, surely, he would disappear beneath the table.

In any case, none of them were speaking out against the proposed idea, so Germany unfolded his hands, and placed them on the table..

“...we will accept your terms.” The nation finally responded to the voice on the phone. “We can be at the airport within an hour, barring the traffic.”

“I’ll be waiting for you.” The voice sounded pleased. “Remember: T1, Gate A19. I would make sure you aren’t followed, if I were you.” He advised. “The man who attacked you here today has many friends.”

“Wait!” America interrupted before the man could hang up. “How are we gonna know who to look for with no name?”

“I’m the kind of man who stands out in a crowd.” The man chuckled. “Trust me, you’ll know me when you see me. Good luck with the traffic.” The call ended, and the phone screen went dark, revealing a home screen background of a grinning Nathan hanging off of a surfboard before Kurt took his phone back, and tucked it away in his jacket pocket. America felt another weird spike of jealousy.

“....alright then.” England cleared his throat after a few moments. “It looks like we’re headed for the airport.”

“I call shotgun!” America sprang up from the table with his usual level of exuberance, causing Nathan to jump out of surprise. “We can totally all take my car! I’ve got just enough seats.”

…….

Alexander eyed the old watch sitting on the cockpit dashboard, and worried his lip as the seconds ticked by. They would have taken off twenty minutes ago, if he’d had his way. Granted, the terminal was more or less empty - an old favor called in to an old friend had allowed them to ‘hide’ at an otherwise active airport. But sitting idly on the runway was never good, and under the current circumstances, it was downright dangerous.

Standing up, the man ducked down through the cockpit door into the body of the plane, and started making his way toward the opened ramp, weaving past empty seats and the few passengers he was supposed to carry. His co-pilot stood at the bottom of the ramp, walking back and forth the way one does while taking a phone call, and Alexander (im)patiently waited for him to hang up the phone before stomping down the ramp.

“Are we leaving or not?” He asked, remembering at the last moment to keep his voice low. The last thing he wanted to deal with was the kids on board panicking. “We got into this city under the radar, but the longer we sit here-”

“We leave in two hours.” His companion promised. “Kurt and Nathan are on their way. With...friends...” Alexander frowned. ‘Friends’? “But if you just let me do the talking-”

“Tiber, we can’t afford this.” The pilot growled. “Mercury’s Arrow can’t hide here for long without someone taking notice, and I know you trust your guy in the tower, but-”

“Alex, relax.” Tiber turned on his silver smile. “We’ve done this three times already, and we always pull it off, don’t we?” He tossed his phone into his other hand as he walked over, and laid his right on Alexander’s shoulder. “Trust me, we’ll be ready to take off in two hours, tops, and Vindicta will never know we were here.” Alexander still didn’t look convinced, and shrugged Tiber’s hand off of his shoulder.

“Two hours.” He repeated sternly, half-turning back up the ramp. “If they aren’t on the plane by then, I’m taking off without them.” Tiber frowned, but Alex was already storming back into the plane. He took up a watch position at the bottom of the ramp, and quickly typed in another number on his phone before raising it to his ear.

“....Paulo ursus! Salvete!” Tiber greeted the person who picked up. “Est avo tuo. Listen, I need you to keep an eye out for a guest we’re expecting…remember the UK citizens from the flight manifest? ...aye, that’s them. I can’t tell you what the vehicle will look like, but if you can get eyes on security….ah, perflat. Wonderful. Say hello to your wife for me, and memento quod effugium consilium. Fortasse autem necessarium.” Tiber hung up the phone, and spun it between his hands as he looked out over the empty runway.

One hundred and fourteen minutes left to go...

[atwaba]

Children of the Nation [Ch 12]

Nathan’s bloody shirt was a loss, by this point, and the teen grudgingly discarded it at his grandfather’s insistence. England raised both eyebrows at the sprawling tattoo he caught a glimpse of before Nathan shrugged his jacket back on and zipped it up, but elected to bite his tongue about it.

Now was hardly the time for a lecture about poor life choices.

Out in the hall, Germany and China had Marius well and truly subdued - his hands tied behind his back with Germany’s belt (sacrificed for the cause). America gave the man a harsh glare as he ushered Nathan and his grandfather past the scene, and in return, Marius spat something threatening in Latin. Latin . England suppressed the shudder that crawled up his spine.

Surely, his ears had to be wrong. The language had been dead for millennia, and though it survived through texts and a resurgence of study and academics, its last native speakers had died long before this man’s time. The nation watched Marius warily from the edge of the breakroom, but once Nathan and his grandfather had been ushered out of sight with America, he seemed to lose interest, and settled down under Germany’s knee, still radiating fury and ire. Something about him made England's skin crawl...

“We’ll need to find somewhere secure to put this one.” Germany decided aloud, one knee still jammed painfully into Marius’ kidney. America hadn’t been wrong; this man was strong , and had he not warned Germany, the fight could very well have gone differently. That was...unusual. “At least until we know more about what is going on here.”

“A closet should do.” Chica scoffed. “All the smaller rooms come with an empty one. That, a belt, and a lock should be more than enough to hold him in that state.” He gestured to the human's bloodied lip, broken nose, and growing black eye. Marius growled low in his throat, and spat blood at the nation’s feet. Germany made a disgusted sound and wrinkled his nose.

“Alfred was not lying.”  He warned China as he climbed to his feet, keeping Marius’ awkwardly hunched to maintain control. “This man is much stronger than he looks.” The older nation seemed unphased.

“Then barricade the door.” China waved a hand in frustration. “Do I have to think of everything for you?” Germany wisely bit back his response, and marched Marius down the hall, in the opposite direction America had taken their other guests. England looked in dismay upon the bloody splatters drying against the wood and wallpaper, and frowned.

“What are we going to do about the break room?” He wondered out loud to Canada, and only partially rhetorically. “Any staff member who stumbles across this mess is bound to phone the authorities.”

“Aiya…” China shook his head, and shrugged out of his suit jacket, tossing it casually across the back of the chair Nathan had been sitting in earlier. “ I’ll take care of this mess.” He said while rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt. “I’ve had more practice than either of you at removing blood from all sorts of surfaces.” Canada quietly traded a mildly concerned look with England, but neither nation protested.

It was probably best not to ask where all that practice came from.

“Right, then.” England stepped out of the room, with Canada in quiet pursuit. “We’ll, ah, go and catch up with America, in that case. I believe he was heading for the same room we used earlier?” He looked over for confirmation, and Canada nodded his head. For security reasons, every time the Nations came together for a world meeting, the chosen location was cleared out and locked down for the duration, using the best security available while still keeping them under the radar.

If nothing else, they already knew it was secure, and that there would be no prying eyes or ears around to listen in on anything that was said.

The meeting room in question was situated at the back of the building, with wide, arched windows that filled the room with natural light, unless one desired to close the blinds (the curtains, although lovely, were only for show). America was sitting on the edge of the edge of the conference table, drumming his fingers against his leg, while Nathan and his grandfather sat in chairs nearby. Kurt immediately fixed the nations with a stoic and wary glare, while Nathan seemed more interested in staring at the tabletop like a scolded child.

Which, England thought, he rather was.

“Ge-. Ah, Ludwig and Yao should join us soon,” England cleared his throat in an attempt to disguise his near slip as he and Canada took up seats along the rounded end of the table - not quite across from their mysterious visitors, but not directly beside them, either. “Then, I think, there are a few things that we need to discuss.” America started to drum his fingers again, and held his breath. There was an attempted murder-mystery happening right in their lap - he didn’t want to wait , he wanted answers .

Thankfully for the impatient young nation, it was only a few minutes more before Germany joined them at the table, having stashed the intruder somewhere safe and secure. China followed soon after with a self-satisfied smirk, and England thought it wise not to comment on how fast he’d finished cleaning up the bloodied kitchen. America saw all parties required in their seats, and stopped drumming his fingers.

“So….are you an alien?” He asked in a conspiratorial tone. Canada closed his eyes for a moment of strength, and England pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. Really? Of all the questions he could have asked?

“Um...no?” Nathan couldn’t help a nervous smile as the silence was broken with, what he considered to be, the most ridiculous of the questions to come. “We’re pretty sure I’m mostly human. Mom was,” He glanced at Kurt, hesitating before continuing. “Gramps is, too.”

“What about your father?” England asked, continuing the line of thought. They might as well make it useful, now that it was in play. “Is there anything unusual about him that might have resulted in your... ability ?” America silently bit his tongue behind his teeth.

Don’t make an X-men joke. Don’t make an X-men joke. Don’t-

“We...don’t actually know about him.” Nathan cast a nervous sidelong glance toward his grandfather, as if seeking permission. When Kurt made no move to hush him, instead keeping his eyes on the people that had them ringed in, the boy scratched at the back of his neck nervously. “We don’t really know my dad at all, actually....Mom sort of had this one-night stand with the guy and then never saw him again.” He admitted.

“Oof.” America frowned. “Your dad sounds like a loser.”

“Judging by your reaction,” Germany spoke up with a quiet warning glance at America. “This is not the first time you’ve ‘miraculously’ healed from a grave injury?” He inquired Both Nathan and Kurt winced, though Kurt’s reaction was much more subdued, and Nathan specifically suddenly found the edge of the table incredibly interesting.

“Noooo, no, it’s not. I’ve, uh...I’ve been shot before.” Nathan admitted fidgeting nervously with the sleeve of his jacket “It’s. It’s happened a couple of times, actually. Got hit by a few cars, over the years. Got laid out by a skateborder going max speed and cracked my head open. Got clipped by the 7:12 to Canterbury and kind of died. Got-”

“Wait, wait, go back.” England interrupted. “You got hit by a train?”

“You died?!” America shouted. Kurt winced, but did not look surprised. He must have already known. Canasa thought. Was he there?

“I mean, I-I got better, right?” Nathan stammered. “And it’s not like it left a huge scar! Er, ah, well, at least not one most people would see-”

The opening notes of “Welcome to the Black Parade” suddenly began to plan, and Nathan snapped his mouth shut. All eyes turned to Kurt, who - slowly - took a hand off his cane, and reached it into his jacket pocket.

“That would be my phone.” The man looked at the caller ID, and with little more than a challenging look to Germany, swiped it open just as the vocals began, and raised it to his ear. “Cameron. What-.....” Kurt stopped to listen, and the stern line of his lips tipped into a frown. Just as cautiously, the man lowered the phone to the table, and tapped the ‘speakerphone’ icon. “He wants to speak to you.”

“Buongiorno.” The smooth voice of a stranger spoke up from the phone. “I hear you’ve found some friends of mine.”

[atwaba]

The Legacy You Leave [Ch 10]

Germany hadn’t been entirely convinced by America’s story.

He had no doubt that the young nation had good intentions behind his actions, of course.. Moreso, if his brother had been involved. Canada had a terrifying good head on his shoulders, and wasn’t nearly as gullible as his twin could be. The whole plot just sounded too ‘Hollywood’ for Germany to believe…

He’d humor the younger nations, of course. A quick look around the block was the least he could do, before gathering his things and returning to his hotel for the day.

Not five steps out of the building, however, Germany was stopped by the sight of a thuggish man with a recently split lip storming down the sidewalk, and spitting a curse that was definitely not Italian.Offering up a silent apology to the brothers, Germany hustled down the front steps, and merged into the crowds passing by.

He tried his best to keep a respectable following distance, but the man had his attention focused on the conference building, and never noticed his newfound shadow. At the end of the block, the man turned, and began to walk the block down the east side of the building.

There were fewer pedestrians down this street, and Germany dropped back a few more meters.

He watched as his mark irritably flicked the antennae of a car parked along the street, and bent in the mirror of another before he suddenly stopped, and Germany quickly ducked behind another parked car. Another pedestrian was approaching from the far end of the street - an older man, face buried in some app on his phone - and Germany saw his mark square his shoulders before heading directly for the man.

Muttering a curse under his breath, Germany broke from his hiding place, and hurried after him.

“Hey, old man!” Tulio reached out and grabbed the man by the shoulder - not quite hard enough to hurt, but firm enough to make him stop. Germany skidded to a halt, and dove behind another parked car to remain unseen. The accosted tourist clenched his jaw, obviously biting back some rude remark, but looked up from his phone to glare at his assailant with a thinly-veiled scowl.

“Don’t I know you from somewhere?” Tulio asked, leaning a little too far into the man’s personal space to be non-threatening. The tourist quickly tucked his phone into his pants’ pocket, and adjusted his grip on his cane.

“No...” His contempt was only barely hidden beneath his smooth English accent. Germany leaned out a few inches from his hiding place to get a better view. “I don’t believe we’ve ever met.”

“Yeah! I think we’ve got a mutual friend…” Tulio’s grin widened into something predatory. The tourist scoffed and started to walk away, but the other man’s smile didn’t lessen as he continued. “Blond hair, blue eyes, big, ratty jacket…goes by ‘Nathan’.”

“....” The tourist stopped abruptly, and Germany frowned. Did this man know the teenager America and Canada had rescued? It was too much of a coincidence for the name, timing, and description to match...he should step in and-

Tulio said something in that oddly familiar language, and moved forward, reaching to grab the man’s shoulder again. Suddenly - and with more agility than Germany would have given a man of his age - the tourist turned on one heel and swung his cane into the side of Tulio’s face with a solid ‘THWACK’. The man staggered into an unfortunate parked car, with a pained cry strangled by a mouthful of blood, and Germany’s jaw dropped.

After a moment of shock, he remembered to close it.

These men were clearly not friends, and - in his brother’s own words - “the enemy of my enemy is my friend”. The nation straightened up out of hiding, and stepped onto the sidewalk before running forward, as if he’d only just caught sight of the altercation from the main street.

He was silently grateful that no-one else had.

“Is there a problem here?” Germany called out, letting his naturally booming voice break up the fight through the call to attention alone. The tourist stiffened, and lowered his cane from its raised position back to the sidewalk. The would-be thug looked up at the shout, wiping blood from his mouth with the back of his wrist, and visibly hesitated as he sized up this newcomer.

“....no problem here.” Tulio backed down immediately. Marius would call him a coward, but he knew how to pick his battles. This one wouldn’t be worth the attention it would draw. “Just a case of mistaken identity.” He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jacket and quickly hustled down the street, tossing a half-hearted apology over his shoulder as he went. The tourist waited until Tulio had crossed the street and disappeared around the corner before turning to look at Germany.

The effect was not unlike a sharp spotlight being cast upon a nervous actor.

“I suppose I should thank you.” The man spoke first. He looked the nation up and down for a moment before holding out his free hand. “Kurt Cameron.”

“Ludwig Beilschmidt.” Germany took the offered hand and gave it a polite shake before letting go. ”Forgive me, but I couldn’t help but overhear a little of what was said…” He admitted. He didn’t want to make it sound like he’d been eavesdropping (he had), but there were some facts that he needed to address up front. “That man mentioned someone by the name of ‘Nathan’...may I presume he is your grandson?”

“You may.” Kurt’s tone was no less chilled than his stare, and Germany wondered if he’d had to answer this question before. “Doesn’t mean you’d be right.”

“Let me explain,” Germany said. “Some friends of mine came across a young man who goes by the same name, and matches the same description, being attacked by that man,” He nodded his head down the street in the direction Tulio had run off. “And his accomplice. They were followed when they tried to leave the area, so they all came back here,” Germany gestured to the building behind them. ”Where my friends and I were attending a meeting.”

Kurt glanced up at the building, quietly aligning it with the map he’d been following on his phone. It was within the perimeter of error...and trusting a pair of well-meaning strangers is just the sort of stupid thing Nathan would have done. The man let out a sigh, and placed his free hand into his pocket, as if thinking over his response.

Quietly, he tapped at the screen of his phone, and (hopefully) tapped on the correct contact.

“...is Nathan alright?” Kurt asked in a lowered voice. “Is he hurt? Or just shaken?”

“He had some bruising that I could see, but he was otherwise-” A sudden and familiar ‘crack’ split the air, and both men froze as the echo of the gunshot faded down the deserted side street. In the eerie silence left behind, Germany whispered a curse, and broke out into a run back towards the main street, with Kurt (limping) just a few steps behind.

[atwaba]

When a Nation-child dies - so long as the death wound was not too large or damaging - the magic that they inherited from their Nation parent can simply heal the wound and ‘reawaken’ the host. If the wound was too grievous or damaging, however, then the magic ‘resets’ the Nation-child host using the magical template captured at their first death.

*Any tattoos, piercings, or other body modifications made after that first death are essentially erased, and have to be re-applied if the Nation-child still wants them. Similarly, any wounds that do not result in death heal using the same magical template. This will leave gaps in any tattoos, as if someone had taken an eraser to them, and the Nation-child will have to get the artwork touched up.

Of those who have them, most Nation-children have given up on keeping all but the most sentimental of their body modifications (primarily tattoos, piercings, dyed hair, etc.).

*Scarification done by using heat or flame will not be ‘reset’, as damage by fire appears to be the one thing the magic cannot properly heal.

[atwaba]

The Legacy You Leave [Ch 9]

Nathan felt his heart leap into his throat as the cold metal pressed against his forehead, and any cry for help he may have attempted disintegrated at his lips.

“W-...! Wait…!” The words stumbled on a dry tongue, and the edge of the kitchenette counter felt sharp at his back. A thousand thoughts raced across his mind, though none of them stuck for more than a moment. At least had been found alone. At least the others could get away. At least these poor men who’d rescued him and were about to have one hell of a mess to clean up wouldn’t be dragged into this any further. “Please...y-you don’t have t-”

“No, I don’t have to.” Marius agreed with a crooked smile. He’d be a liar to say that hearing someone beg for their life didn’t give him one hell of a power trip. “But you’re a flight risk, and I’m lazy.” He ‘tapped’ the gun against Nathan’s forehead just to see him flinch, and his grin widened. Ah, but it was too easy.

Still, Marius knew, he didn’t have a lot of time to waste. The conference was over, for the day, but there were still a small handful of attendees within the building. The sound of the gunshot would be impossible to miss, he’d only have a few minutes to get out with his quarry once he pulled the trigger.

Best to just get it over with, then.

“Just close your eyes, boy...” Marius lowered the gun to Nathan’s chest, and pressed the muzzle into the red stain already dried into the fabric over his heart. Nathan hissed in a frightened breath through his teeth. “It’ll only hurt for a minute.”

The door to the break room creaked suddenly, and Marius had barely begun to turn before a ceramic mug was smashed into the side of his head, and someone bodily tackled him. As he fell, spitting curses and tensing, Marius squeezed the trigger.

The door hit the wall with a bang, and the gun went off.

…….

It took more time that America had hoped to find someone to talk to.

After searching several of the rooms, however, he finally found someone in the west lobby of the building. China was sitting on one of the couches, hunched over a small laptop, and determinedly typing away, one finger at a time.

“China! Heeeyy!” America shouted out as he jogged across the room. “You’re pretty old, right?” China looked up at him with a sharp glare, and America frowned. Oh, yeah, that hadn’t come out right. “Sorry, I mean - you’re older than me.” He clarified.

There! That was better!

“There are a million ways you could have phrased that better, but yes.” China closed his laptop with a gentle but firm ‘snap’, and stood up from the couch. “By a few thousand years, at minimum.” The nation made a show of stretching out his back. Ugh...he’d never say it out loud, but maybe he was getting too old to be contorting himself like some spry young acrobat. “What does it matter to you?”

“Well, you’re the oldest, so I figure you’ve got the most life experience, right?” America began. He knew his little trick had worked when China smirked, and rolled out his shoulders.

“Yes, I do.” The nation preened. Flattery could get you everywhere. “What did you need help with, hm? Relationships? Finances?” America winced internally at that last suggestion, and quickly laughed it off. He wasn’t about to get into that argument again.

“Nnnooot quite.” He said. “You know that feeling we all get when we identify a human as one of our citizens? Have you ever had that feeling...but way, WAY stronger?” China gave him a weird, almost unreadable look, and the young nation tried to elaborate. “Like, lightning-running-through-your-veins, I’ve-never-been-more-certain-of-anything-in-my-life kind of strong?”

Possibly accompanied by a mild sense of panic at having forgotten something important, but perhaps that was a question for another time.

“Well…” China tapped a finger to his chin in thought. “There was a time, long, long ago…” China mused after a long, quiet moment of thought. “I had found a little girl, all alone in the bamboo forest.” He recalled. “I brought her back to the nearest village, but no-one there knew her; her mother had only passed through the village on her way to a larger town.

“The feeling you are asking about is quite similar to what I felt back then. I knew she was one of my people, but the sensation was much more intense. I was actually rather disappointed when I had to leave her behind at the temple in the next town.” China admitted with a thoughtful frown. “I went back a few years later to check on her, but…” The nation sighed, and shook his head. “I was told that she had fallen ill the year prior, and died. I never experienced that kind of sensation again.”

“....ouch.” America frowned. He’d been expecting a shorter answer, like ‘yes’ or ‘no, what are you talking about?’. He wasn’t sure he had the right words to follow a story like that. ”I, uh...don’t suppose you felt that feeling only when you touched her?” America wondered, looking down at his own hands. He hadn’t sensed anything different about Nathan until he’d touched the kid’s hand, and then suddenly, he felt like he’d been hooked up to a live wire.

China fixed the younger nation with another weird, unreadable stare, and almost looked as if he wanted to say something. But before he could, a loud and unmistakable ‘BANG’ echoed from the front of the building. America felt his heart drop like a stone, and China jumped in surprise.

“搞什么鬼?!” He demanded in shock. America didn’t respond, and instead booked it out of the room and back down the hall, ignoring China shouting after him for answers. The only other person he could think of who would carry a gun to this building was Switzerland, and he would never discharge his weapon haphazardly.

And if it wasn’t Switzerland shooting, there were only two other people it could be...

[atwaba]

“….I’m guessing your dad still doesn’t know about me, huh?” Nathan asked when the silence between them started to feel too heavy. The fingers carding through his hair stopped, for a moment, and then slowly resumed their course.

“No…he does not.” Svetlana replied at length. Nathan let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Her hands faltered in their brushing pace, and twirled a lock of short, blond hair. “He has his hands full with his own schemings.”

“I don’t feel good, lying about us...” Nathan rolled over in the grass until he was looking up at the woman, his head still in her lap, and his glasses hung loosely on the collar of his shirt. “Even to your dad. It just…doesn’t feel right.”

“Technically, we are not lying.” Svetlana resumed her fidgeting, and brushed back the hair from Nathan’s face. He couldn’t quite see her expression, in the dark, but he could see her violet eyes, glowing down at him like the stars they’d sneaked out to gaze upon. “We just aren’t going out of our way to tell him everything.”

“Lying by omission is still lying, Sveta.” Nathan frowned. “We’ve already told Kurt-“

“Shh…shh…” Svetlana cut him off with a finger to his lips, and Nathan obediently fell silent. “You are a good man, solnishko.” She smiled softly, and oh-so-fleetingly. “But Alexi eats good men for breakfast,” Her smile faded, and she let her hand wander back to his hair. “And I will not feed you to him. He must never know.” Nathan closed his eyes, and took a long breath of the cool twilight.

“….okay.” He conceded after a minute. “I still don’t like it, but okay.” Svetlana whispered her thanks, and looked back up at the stars.

They sat in silence for an hour more before the sun began to threaten at the horizon, and brought their window to a close.

[atwaba]

The Legacy You Leave [Ch 7]

There were only a few times over the years that America had seen Germany truly angry.

Despite his scary face and loud voice, the German nation actually had quite a tight grip on his temper. He yelled when Prussia drank the last of the beer and didn’t replace it, sure, and threatened punishment when Italy tried to skip out on local meetings, but he was never really angry when he did.

Germany had even somehow kept his cool during the Double-Bubble Incident, where poor Aster had to get a patch of fur shaved off her back (and Sealand had been politely asked never to bring gum to his house again).

So America was caught a bit off guard when England pushed his way around Germany, and leveled him with a glare that was far more scathing in nature.

“What you missed was your presentation slot, as well as five others!” America remembered at the very last second that Nathan was still hiding behind him, and stopped himself from stepping back as an accusing finger was jabbed into his chest. “That’s some nerve the two of you have, buggering off in the middle of a meeting without so much as a word of excuse!”

“Geez, dude, calm down.” America frowned, and raised his hands in a placating gesture. It had never done much to calm England’s rage in the past, but what could it hurt? “Mattie and I just got a little hungry, that’s all! The way your presentation was going, we figured we had time to skip out and grab a quick bite-”

“Well, you ‘figured’ wrong!” England snapped, more than just a little offended. Was his presentation so boring that his former colony just couldn’t bear to focus on it? Granted, America’s attention span did tend to be rather short when it came to topics he didn’t care for, but the least he could have done was stay in the room! “And you were gone for more than an hour!” The nation accused. “What kind of ‘quick bite’ takes you more than an hour?”

“That’s enough!” Germany interrupted firmly, both in voice and with an arm thrust between the two nations to separate them. “I think there is a much more pressing matter we should deal with first.” He pointedly nodded his head over America’s shoulder, where Nathan still stood, partially frozen in the act of closing his jacket. “Who is this?”

“....” The teen swallowed audibly, and raised one hand in a shy little wave. “Uh. H-hi…?” England’s sour mood ground to an abrupt halt at the realization that his ranting had a witness (and a human one, at that!), and Canada shot America a quiet look.

Well? His eyes said. Say something!

“He’s-. Uh.” America began eloquently. He’d figured back in the alleyway that he’d be able to come up with a plausible excuse, but now that he was actually under pressure to, none of those brilliant words would come. “Well, he’s-. Um…see, we sort of-”

“Bloody hell, lad! What happened?” England ducked under America’s arms and raised a cautious hand to the dark bruise that had been spreading across Nathan’s face like a thundercloud. The teenager winced at the careful prodding, but with Canada still at his back, couldn’t move away.

“I. Um.” Nathan stumbled over his words, and flicked a brief glance up at America, as if for permission, before looking back at England. “I fell, and kinda...smashed my face on the sidewalk.”

“It’s a bit more than that, kid...” America hissed a small sigh through his teeth, and propped his hands on his hips. There was little point in hiding things, now. The threat was still hovering somewhere outside, after all, and it was only logical to let the others know.

“We found him getting beat up in an alley, and promised to walk him back to his grandpa,” The nation explained in a lowered voice. There was no-one else in the lobby, and the doors were still shut, but it didn’t hurt to be cautious. “But then the guys who beat him up started following us, and they really weren’t being subtle about it, so Mattie and I came back here, instead.”

“So, we can assume that these men followed you here, and may still be in the area?” Germany deduced, his mind already whirling through a variety of contingency plans. His tone left little room for doubt, and America nodded his head.

“Unfortunately, yes.” He said. “We don’t know what they want, but they followed us pretty closely for - what was it Mattie? Ten blocks? - ten blocks, so whatever they want, they’re serious about it.” Finally satisfied that there seemed to be nothing broken beneath the heavy bruising, England switched his focus to Canada.

“Has he had any sort of medical attention?” He asked, unable to help the authoritative tone slipping into his voice. Old habits die hard - especially for a nation of his age and experience. “Any sign of concussion or other trauma?”

“I did a preliminary test, and he hasn’t shown any symptoms so far.” Canada shook his head. “But on that note, how about you come with us, eh?” He took Nathan by the shoulders and started to pull him across the lobby, and deeper into the building. “We’ll find a first aid kit, and get some ice on that bruise.”

“And then can I call my grandad?” Nathan asked nervously, tugging again at the edges of his jacket to try and cover the dried blood stains on his shirt. Kurt was sure to be worried, now that his grandson was an hour overdue for their rendezvous. Oh, man, he was so grounded for this...

“Of course, lad.” England placed a comforting hand on the boy’s shoulder. “You can borrow my phone, even...”

America turned to watch as Nathan was led away, and that lingering itch beneath his skin flared somewhat as England placed a hand on his shoulder. The nation frowned. That was...weird. He needed to remember to ask someone about that...maybe England himself, or even China. One of the older ones was sure to know what this weird feeling was about.

But right now, he had something more important to focus on.

“Ludwig,” America spoke up again when he thought the others were far enough away. “There’s one other thing.” He leaned his head in slightly, and Germany did the same. “When I first chased these guys away from Nathan, they were speaking this language I didn’t recognize.” He frowned. “It sounded kind of like Italian, but also not?” The german nation hummed in thought for a moment.

“Perhaps it was a dialect you were not familiar with?” He suggested. Though every nation could understand - if not speak - the languages of their own people, even they couldn’t understand every one ever created. “Or, perhaps, it was some kind of code, meant to keep outsiders from understanding.”

“Maybe...” America scratched at his chin, his thoughts speeding around in a tizzy. Secret codes? Mysterious thugs? Strange, electrified kids? This was sounding more and more like an action movie by the minute!

It was...not as fun as he’d thought it’d be, honestly.

“In any case, the meeting has been adjourned for the day.” Germany continued, raising his voice from the quiet whisper to a more normal volume. “Most of the others have already left, but let’s do our best to keep this...situation...between the four of us, if we can.” He advised. The faster they could contain this potential threat, the more it lessened the risk to the rest of the world. America frowned at the advice, clearly disagreeing, but he bit his tongue, for now.

Germany had a good point. For all they knew, this was a purely human conflict. It probably wasn’t something deserving worldwide attention, and really, America and Canada had only gotten involved because the problem had run right into them (or over them, in Canada’s case).

“...fine.” America agreed after a moment of silent consideration. “We’ll keep a tight lid on this. For now. But I’m telling you, there’s something deeper going on here.” He insisted as Germany leaned back. “I’ll eat England’s homemade scones if there’s not!”

“There’s no need to be so dramatic.” Germany muttered under his breath as he straightened his tie. “I’m going to step outside and take a walk around the building.” He said. “If I see any suspicious persons in the area, I’ll report them to building security.”

“You’ll be hard pressed to miss ‘em!” America grinned proudly, and tapped a finger on his lips. “The one I hit is sporting one heck of a split.”

“If you’re the one who hit him, then he’s lucky that’s all he got.” Germany shook his head as he approached the revolving door, and stepped outside. America held his smile for a few moments more before letting it drop, and turning to jog across the lobby, opposite of where Canada and England had taken Nathan. Germany had said ‘most’ of the others had left. That meant there were still some of them there, right?

Maybe, if he was lucky, one of those someones could answer his burning question...

[atwaba]

Nation-child Rules:

General:

Somewhere between the ages of 10 and 13, they all come down with a life-threatening illness. This is where most of them die.

Those who survive the illness age normally, unless they are killed, at which point, their age seems to ‘freeze’.

None of them have lived long enough to ‘die’ of old age.

They can heal from nearly any wound - even decapitation & dismemberment, if the parts are put back together.

*They cannot heal from any injuries worse than a 1st degree burn.

They can regrow organs that have been removed/destroyed, but not full limbs.

*Anything removed by fire does not come back.

They can extend the life of a regular human through the transplantation of organs/bone marrow/blood/etc.

Humans who receive such a transplant seem to stop aging at the point the transplant officially took.

It is unknown if these humans can also heal from nearly any wound, or if they are simply more resilient as a result of the transplants.

Nathan is soft-banned from donating any more kidneys.

[atwaba]

Children of the Nation [Ch. 6]

America didn’t outwardly react to Canada’s whispered statement. Nathan, it seemed, hadn’t heard the northern nation over the ambient noise of the street crowds, and he didn’t want the kid to panic.

“Same guys?” He whispered back, just as softly as his twin. At the edge of his peripheral vision, he saw Canada bob his head in a nod. They may have ditched their outer jackets, but the unlucky one America had punched was still nursing a split lip and a swelling jaw.

It was hard to blend into a crowd, when you looked like you just lost a bar fight.

America tightened his hold around Nathan’s shoulders marginally, and steered them all around a shop sign board set out on the sidewalk. The teen didn’t seem to have picked up on their new ‘shadows’, instead poking hopefully at his phone. His photo gallery? Reachable. That cat-collecting app he always forgot to update? Sure, if he tapped enough and got lucky. The phone app? Absolutely not….

The two brothers traded a quick look over Nathan’s head, and Canada flicked his eyes towards the two men. America nodded minutely, and widened his smile. “Hey, let’s cross here!” America suggested, pivoting suddenly to face a crosswalk on the corner. Canada moved to stand on the teen’s other side, and half a block away, the two men stopped, and appeared to take a sudden phone call.

“Huh? Here?” Nathan looked up from his broken phone nervously. He tried to walk back his path in his head - where he’d broken off the first time, which way he’d run when chased - but before he could catch up, the crossing light changed, and he found himself pulled forward with surprising strength. “Wait-!” Behind them, the men abruptly ended their phone call, and resumed their pursuit.

“Trust me, I know a shortcut!” America promised, still hoping to keep Nathan’s attention diverted. The teen was pretty calm now, but knowing you were being hunted down on the streets made one prone to panic, and they couldn’t afford a bigger scene on a crowded street. “We need to get you back quick, right? So we’re gonna ditch the crowds up the street and go around them!”

Nathan looked doubtful, and Canada felt a little bad. This couldn’t look good, from his perspective. A pair of good Samaritans save him, and promise to take him back to his family, only to suddenly start making these shifty excuses and taking all these ‘shortcuts’?

The poor kid probably felt like he was going straight from one bout of stranger danger to another…

But there wasn’t time to stop and explain. Their pursuers followed them across the busy street at the tail end of the crossing light, and for another three blocks after that. Around a left turn, a right turn, a shortcut down a side street - every time Canada glanced back, he saw the same two men, slowly closing the distance as the two groups wound their way through the city. America snuck a glance over his shoulder at the men as they hung around another random corner.

Geez, didn’t these guys know when to quit?

“...we’re not going to the Basilica, are we?” Nathan asked slowly after several blocks of tense silence. America winced inwardly at the quiet, scared tone, and Canada tossed him a sympathetic glance. They’d both been hoping to avoid this question...at least, until they weren’t being chased down by suspicious thugs.

“...no, kid.” America admitted grudgingly. “Not yet, anyway. Not with those guys still following us. Ah-!” America quickly yanked the teen back around when he started to turn his head. “Don’t look back! Don’t look back…” He whispered as he tugged the boy close with one arm, hoping it looked like they were just trying to hear each other beneath the hubbub of the streets. “We don’t want them to know we know.”

They probably already do. Canada wanted to say. He held his tongue, however. They had more important things to worry about, in all honesty.

“Listen,” America tried to explain. “I know this is already super sketchy, and you’ve only known us for, like, five minutes, but we’ve got a safe place nearby where we can hide out.” They came to another crossing light, and had to stop for the traffic. Canada watched, from the corner of his eye, as the two men stopped only a few meters behind them, and took another sudden ‘phone call’.

“These guys won’t be able to follow us inside, we can let the cops deal with them, and I promise,” America raised his free hand, and made a show of drawing an ‘x’ across his chest, right over his heart. “I promise! You can call your grandad as soon as we’re there.” The light changed, and Canada nudged them both forward again. Nathan moved without much resistance, and the two men immediately ended their phony phone call.

This wasn’t much of a choice, Nathan thought. Get kidnapped by people who definitely wanted to (and had) hurt you, or get kidnapped by people who hadn’t yet and maybe didn’t?

And all this because he’d taken too much time to make friendly conversation at the Promenade…

The crowds were growing thicker, now, as the trio turned onto the street for the conference center. Canada kept sneaking glances back at their pursuers, and withheld a sigh of relief as they started to gain back some of their lead. America had a way of walking that caused people to almost subconsciously step out of his way, and then close up behind him like a school of fish around a shark.

He called it ‘oozing charisma’. England called it ‘obliviousness’.

Canada didn’t want to feed their egos.

America pushed Nathan ahead of him into the revolving door, and Canada waited a beat before following his twin through. The lobby of the conference center was all but empty, which proved to be a good thing - Nathan’s jacket had fallen open, and the dried bloodstain down his shirt would have been quite the frightening sight to any unsuspecting business-folk.

“Whew! Okay!” America’s voice sounded too loud in the space, and he made an audible effort to lower it after taking a deep breath. “We’re inside. We’re safe.” He said, partially for Nathan’s benefit, and partially to calm his own nerves. That warm, lightning sensation was still tingling beneath his skin, and he wasn’t sure if it was just adrenaline, or the fact that he’d kept his arm around this strange kid the whole walk back.

“I’ll go see if I can find a first aid kit.” Canada volunteered. “It should at least have a cold pack for-”

“And just where have you two been?!” A booming voice demanded from across the room. Nathan flinched outright at the shout, and America pulled a face at Canada over the teen’s head. Whoops...guess their spontaneous lunch break had been noticed after all. Pasting on a cheery (though somewhat sheepish, by his own admission) smile, America turned on his heel and stepped between Nathan and the intimidating blond stomping towards them from the elevator doors.

“Hey, Germany!” England’s sharp green eyes rounded the corner behind the meeting moderator, and America cursed internally. “Dudes! Did we, uh, miss anything important?”