HOLY CRAP I AM SO SORRY. THIS IS LATE. SO LATE. LIKE. CANNOT EVEN.

Chapter Two

Murder

Mr. Austria,

Thank you for informing me about my brother. I… greatly appreciate it.

I just warned the other countries about the GDC-14. Surprisingly, none of them knew of it so I had to go into further detail than I originally intended. Everyone seems determined to overcome this thing but by your reports, it seems our efforts will be in vain. I hate to be a pessimist but that's just how I see it. If you don't mind, I'd like you to keep informing me about any new abnormalities in this virus. It'll help us keep track of what might and might not come. If we can't, we can at least say we didn't go down without a fight.

If it's not too much to ask, I would like to receive day-to-day updates on how my brother is doing. Just so I can make sure he's okay. I would greatly appreciate it.

Italy, Japan, and I send our best wishes to you both and that we hope to see you again soon.

From,

Germany

The tall blonde nation folded the paper and placed it neatly inside the envelope and shakily wrote Austria's name and mailing address, sealing it tightly afterwards. He'd have to make a note to send that otherwise he'd forget. Germany glanced at the long list of names that was separate from his other paperwork sitting beside the envelope. He crossed off another name: Lichtenstein. The one right beneath it was Switzerland and he knew it was only a matter of time before he blended in with all the rest.

"How do you suppose the others are doing, America? I mean, so much has happened in such a short amount of time. First Hungary and now Lichtenstein. Austria isn't doing so well either from what I've heard. And I just received a letter from Finland requesting remedies for stomachaches—like I would know what the hell to do," England sighed, closing one of the many books he had finished in a mere two weeks' time. The Hobbit, one of his favorites,was placed gingerly on the empty bench space next to him. Middle-Earth and the hobbits, wizards and dwarves held within its pages were soon lost as he regained a loose grip on his bitter reality. "I'm actually beginning to worry."

It was a hot Saturday afternoon. The sun was high in the sky and there was not a single cotton white cloud in sight to shield them from its rays. America and England had decided to take a break from it all and spent the short time they had off together in the park—much to England's chagrin. America had to practically drag him out of the house and away from Uni and Tink and God knows whatever else England claimed to reside in his house. A month had gone by since the meeting and those who attended were putting forth all their effort to make sure everything was stable, politically and economically. Help was offered from whoever was willing to give it. They were all in this together. Every few days or so (some even pushed it to weeks), they had to remind themselves that it was also healthy to get rest and that distractions were necessary. A strong body also helped keep a strong mind. And vice versa. This was one of those few days for America and England.

The Brit stared at the children running through the park. They were still so innocent. So naïve. A life so delicate, held up only by a thin string. Ready to be snuffed out. Vulnerability at its finest. They had no idea what the world was capable of doing. They had no idea that their country was about to go down in flames.

"Don't worry, England. I'm sure they're fine. They're fully capable of taking care of themselves. We're countries, remember? We have what it takes to beat this thing! Knowing them, they're probably staying inside and away from everything. Like they're quaran— quarantium—"

"Quarantining."

"Yeah, that word! Germany did say this virus was contagious and all. And I'm not afraid of no virus!," America was licking away at his double-scoop chocolate ice cream cone and took a huge bite of the waffle cone, not even aware that the treat was smeared around his mouth. And how some of it ended up in his blonde mop of hair will forever be unknown to the Englishman.

"You're a bloody mess, git. And you'd think I never taught you manners," England wiped the mess from Alfred's face with a napkin. "Hold still, you idiot."

America grinned cheekily.

"You'll never grow up, will you?"

"I've still got plenty of time to do that!"

England's eyes grew pained at the declaration.

Time is scarcer than you think, America.

Romano walked down the crowded streets of his hometown, not even paying attention to where he was going or who was around him. A woman bumped into him and cursed at him in rapid Italian before heading home. It didn't bother him. No one noticed him often anyway. Sighing, Romano combed a hand through his hair. What was said at the meeting had yet to stop haunting him. Much to the country's dismay, he couldn't stop worrying about the country that was head-over-heels in love with him and his chipper brother.

Both of them were complete idiots.

Neither of them knew which way was up.

How long would each of them last?

It was a question he had been asking himself for hours on end, ever since Spain reluctantly dropped him off at home. That man annoyed him sometimes. Spain had always been cheerful, his eyes harboring a shine that Romano could never hope to have and a owning a grin that would never cross Romano's features. How did that man do it? How could he be so happy all the damn time especially in a situation like this?

It didn't make any sense!

Romano suddenly stopped dead in his tracks, scanning the area hastily. His heart pounded and an abnormally cool breeze clung to his skin, sending a cold bead of sweat down the side of his face. The sounds of the bustling town were drowned out by his own heart. Thundering like war drums. Straining against his chest. This feeling… this fear… it built up in his throat, threating to choke him. His eyes drifted to a building in the distance and winced when the sun hit his eyes.

"Hmm… interesting," mauve eyes scrutinized Romano from the roof of a building carefully, the sun making such eyes dark and abysmal. He fixed the sunglasses askew on his face. The owner of such eyes chuckled darkly, "It looks like he can sense our presence. Much sooner than I expected. It seems he isn't completely useless. And he has a terrible sense of fashion."

"Yeah, yeah, he's perfect—a fucking angel. Can we go now? I'm bored as hell," his companion was lying down beside him, twirling his weapon in his hand.

"I just said his fashion sense is terrible. Ugh. It's disgusting. He probably bought his clothes at a thrift store," he brushed a stray blonde piece of hair back into place.

"Stop primping and let's go," the other griped.

"Patience is a virtue."

"Fuck virtue."

"Such language. Fine, we'll go. I can't take looking at the atrocity he's wearing any longer. We have another assignment to complete anyway. The Nordics, am I right? I hear Finland is getting sick."

"It should be fun. You can handle Finland. I'll get Sweden."

"You're making my job almost too easy."

The two figures disappeared and traces of them ever being there vanished. Romano rubbed his eyes then looked in the direction they were once in and the terror that had built in his system had dissipated. Vanished. He shook his head. This whole virus talk was making him go crazy.

Hazy crimson eyes stared out the window. Blue sky conflicted with his red and he reached out towards the window, the sunshine warming his trembling hand.

Sunlight.

Warmth.

He could think the words… yet could not speak.

As soon as he tried, the words would stumble out of his mouth in a jumbled mess.

Why was that?

He didn't understand. Nothing made sense to him anymore.

Maybe… maybe if he wrote his thoughts on paper… it would make more sense.

Dear What's up

Prussia shook his head. Get it together, idiot! This is totally not awesome! A disastrous coughing fit erupted and crimson splattered on the page. The pen shook in his bloodied hand as he scribbled his words insufficiently on the paper. He had to hurry. He was running out of time.

Hey West,

I know I haven't said it a lot because I'm not big on this mushy gushy stuff, but… ich liebe dich, little brother. I always have. And you know I always will, right?

Hehe… it's almost funny when you think about it, actually. You depended on me so much back then. You were such a crybaby, too. And a worry-wart. You were always so excited when I came back home. And I was always so happy to see you. The times that you scolded me for always getting into reckless situations still make me laugh, even to this day.

You remember those talks we had when you were little, don't you?

The ones you always hated to hear?

Well, it's time to face the truth.

You should know by now that I'm not always gonna be there for you. You're gonna have to fight some battles on your own.

The time has come. I grow weaker every second of the day.

And it is now I who is dependent on you.

When the time comes, the day that I finally pass…

Promise me that you won't cry.

You've got an entire nation to take care of. They'll need you to be strong. You've got to live. Live for the both of us. You've got to promise me this.

You're smart, West. Smarter than any nation I've ever met. And strong, too. Both in body and in mind. Use both to your advantage and stop this virus from taking any more of your loved ones. But don't forget that you still have friends to turn to for help. You have some of the greatest countries fighting by your side.

Take care of Italy.

He needs you as much as you need him.

Your brother,

Prus

"Prussia, I made you some lunch," Austria slid inside the door, tray in hand, holding back a small cough. "Maybe you can keep it down this time." The tray suddenly fell from his hands and the food and drink splattered on the floor, mixing with the blood pooling from Prussia's mouth, ears and nose as he lay sprawled out on the floor, face frozen in terrorizing pain. Beside him, stained in red, was the letter to Germany and a lone piece of paper with two almost illegible words:

I'm sorry.

'This is Prussia speaking! I am awesome! Leave a voicemail and I will decide if you are awesome enough to be called back! So leave one, losers!'

"Bruder, I need you to call me back. I need to make sure that you're okay," Germany hung up and slammed his phone on the desk and started to pace back and forth.

"Mr. Germany, you must try and calm down," Japan watched him from across the room.

"I can't calm down!" Germany yelled and Japan didn't even flinch. Clearing his throat, the taller nation lowered his voice. "Forgive me, I didn't mean to shout."

"You're under a lot of stress. It is understandable."

Germany rested once again in his chair, "It's been three days… three days and no word neither from Germany or Austria. I asked him. I explicitly asked him to give me day-to-day updates on how my brother was doing. And there's been nothing." He covered his face with his hands. "I can't help but fear the worst."

"Geeermannnnyyyyy~!" Italy burst through the door, happy as a clam.

"Italy."

Said nation stopped dead in his tracks at the grave tone in his friend's voice, "Y-Yes, Germany? Is everything okay?"

The doorbell rang and Japan silently left to answer it.

"Get your things together. We're taking a road trip."

"Really? Where are we going?" Italy's eyes lit up in excitement.

"Austria's house."

"Okay!" Italy darted away.

"And don't take everything with you this time! Travel lightly! Tell Japan we're leaving!" Germany called out, sorting the scattered papers on his desk, mulling over what needed to be taken.

How would he react when he saw Prussia? When he saw the sickness claiming him? When he saw him frail and broken under the sheets as pale as his hair? After once standing so tall and proud? He glanced at the picture of him and Prussia—one that Germany was reluctant to take.

"I'm coming, bruder. Just hang in there."

"Mr. Germany. I'll save you the trouble," Japan held out an envelope painted with blood spatter, its bottom half sodden in the same dreadful color.

Strong, hesitant hands took the item and held it delicately, fearing its contents. Breaking the seal, Germany pulled out the soaked letter, leaving the other one be.

Mr. Germany:

Apologies for not writing. Been busy.

Prussia's dead.

And I'm next.

The blonde nation fell to his knees and Japan quickly ushered Italy out of the room as Germany cried out in agony.

"No! I want to stay with Mr. Germany!" Italy tried to get past the shorter man but without much success. "Please let me go see him, Japan!"

"No, Italy, you can't," Japan placed a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder and spoke softly as crashes, breaking glass, and utter despair littered the once peaceful air. He hardened his voice only slightly, merely to prove a much needed point. "He needs to be alone. He needs to grieve."

"But what if he hurts himself…?" Italy sniffled. "I don't want him to get hurt…"

"Neither do I. I want to help him as much as you do, trust me. But we need to let him do this."

Tear-sodden eyes stared at him weakly.

"Give him 30 minutes. An hour at most. Then go check on him. I'm going to respond to Mr. Austria," Japan started to walk away when Italy called out to him.

"W-What did Austria say in the letter?"

"Guessing by the blood stains and shaky handwriting… Prussia is dead. And it won't be long until Austria joins him," and with that, he left a mentally shaken Italy behind.

Mr. Austria:

I'm afraid Mr. Germany will no longer be responding to your letters should you decide to send anymore. As you can probably assume, he is taking Prussia's death very hard.

Take care of yourself. You are one of his very good friends despite any previous altercations you may have had with him.

Your friend,

Japan

Lithe, meticulous gloved hands delicately placed the paper back on the desk. Wondrous red-violet eyes gazed at sticky crimson liquid with fascination. A dark chuckle escaped past thin, perfect lips and rumbled deep within a strong chest. Such a gorgeous color. Such a vibrant, lively color. It oozed out of his victim slowly and intimately. His victim started to stir, coughing up even more of that captivating red substance that stained the ground and stole his undivided attention.

"And to think you used to control me. Now look at you—groveling in the dirt," the man with murderous orbs jeered. He spit on Austria's face. "You're fucking pathetic."

"Italy… D-Don't do this," his prey sputtered. A knife came down with brutal force and the sickening tear of flesh began to drown out Austria's screams.

"That's right. Beg. Beg for your life. Beg!" he dug the weapon deeper. "I find it absolutely insulting that you would call me such a pitiful country! I am offended!"

"Feliciano."

A deadly smirk appeared on his face.