It was dark in the conference room when Canada arrived. He’d expected as much; he’d waited in the parking lot until the only car he recognized there was the familiar Ford Mustang. Unlike the other cars, Canada was sure it hadn’t been used for carpooling, like the rest of the cars. If it had been, would this still have happened?
Yes, of course it would have. A small gesture of goodwill wouldn’t have stopped them now, he thought. It was too late for things like that. In fact, it probably would have made things worse.
“A-America?” asked Canada, dreading that the other Nations might have taken him with them.
“Oh, it’s you,” he heard from behind some toppled chairs in the corner. “You’re too late. The meeting’s over.”
Canada flicked on the light switch and started slowly to the corner of the room.
“But if the meeting’s over, I’ve got to wonder…”
Canada took slow steps toward the chairs. He was close enough to see a foot propped up on one, and came closer until he was finally close enough to see his brother’s face.
“Why am I still here?”
Red streamed from America’s nose, white from the corners of his mouth, dripping in a river down his neck, smeared across a torn white shirt and onto that cross dangling from his neck. So much red, so much white, like some sick patriotic joke set up just for Canada to find.
“Oh God…” Canada kicked the chairs out of the way. He didn’t know what else to do besides take a handkerchief out of his pocket, kneel down, and try to wipe that blasphemy off America’s face. He hadn’t wanted to hurt him more, but he had to wipe hard over bruised skin to have any affect on the caking fluids.
“America, I —” What was he going to say? That he hadn’t known? Of course he had known. Russia had even invited him personally, and all Canada could do was decline. They all knew they wouldn’t even have to lift a finger to keep Canada quiet.
This didn’t have to happen. He could have stopped all this, given more of a warning, kept him from going, thought Canada, dabbing over a split lip, only to find that all over America’s teeth was more red-and-white mockery.
“I’m —”
“Don’t say it,” said America, wearily, “If you say ‘I’m soooreee’ in that funny accent of yours, I’ll laugh. I swear I will.”
In any other circumstance, Canada would have shouted some retort, but instead he just noticed that the handkerchief wasn’t helping at all — all he was doing was smearing pink across bruises.
America propped himself up on his elbows, leaning forward, hauling himself up.
“What am I supposed to say instead?”
“I don’t know,” said America. He stepped around the chairs, Canada finally seeing what they’d done to America’s jeans, what they’d done to him, and all the bloodstained denim between his legs. America spat pink to the carpet. “Whatever you want, I guess. I’m going home. You should too. The meeting’s over.”
“You can’t go out like that!”
“Why not? People will see?” There was no mocking tone to his voice, no sarcasm. Only tiredness.
Canada’s next words die in his mouth as America opens the door wider.
“At least let me take you home,” said Canada, “Please…”
“I’ll be fine,” said America, “Always am.” He flicked off the light switch on his way out, leaving Canada alone in the dark.
don't be sorry, I actually quite enjoyed reading it! its similar to how I was going to end it but better lol I don't know if it was obvious that I was going to use Canada as the one to comfort him afterwards
Okay, anon. I never freaking cry when reading fics, but...this just really got to me for some reason. I applaud you and humbly ask for a continuation!!
A continuation. This is feeling a bit more like Canada's story now.
Also, this is my first time writing Japan. I hope I did a good job...
---
“Did you hear what happened to Japan?” asked Canada. America sat on his bed, hunched over an old color gameboy, falling bricks reflecting off his glasses. Canada sat on the other side of the bed. There was something so usual about the way America hadn’t noticed him walk in twenty minutes ago. Maybe he hadn’t even heard Canada, but there Canada sat anyway, the new pair of jeans he’d brought for his brother in his lap.
“He’s under observation… or something. Something like he didn’t eat for a while, just locked himself in a closet with some comic books. So now they’re watching him, making sure he’s not going to hurt himself —”
“And I did this to him,” said America. So America had heard his brother speak. But, if Japan had locked himself in all week, he couldn’t have been at the meeting.
“That’s not what I was trying to say.”
“But it’s true, isn’t it?” asked America, the music from the gameboy gaining speed.
“No, it’s not true.”
“Then who did?”
Canada swallowed. People selling seemingly stable investments, giving mortgages to high-risk customers, inflating a real-estate bubble for profit and profit and profit until it inevitably popped had done it. And their headquarters had been Wall Street, just under America’s right earlobe.
Canada had no answer. He stood up, about to say he was going to the bathroom, but then he didn’t think America would notice, so he left without saying anything at all into the hallway and found a nice crook in the wall to stand in. He took his cell out of his pocket and dialed Japan. It only rang once before it picked up.
“Moshimoshi?” The voice was too deep to be Japan’s. Perhaps he’d dialed the wrong number?
“Hello? Can I… can I speak with Honda?” asked Canada. He hoped this was the right number, or else he may be given to the wrong Honda.
“Hello?” No, it was the right Honda on the other end of the line.
“Japan, it’s Canada.”
“Ah, Canada-san. Hello.”
“Umm,” said Canada, completely forgetting why now he called. It almost seemed like the world was falling apart again. “How are you holding up?”
“I’m fine, and though I appreciate your concern, I feel I must remind you that while it may be a timely hour in Ottawa, it is four AM in Tokyo.” Even through his even, calm tone, Japan’s voice sounded hoarse, almost as if he had been crying.
“Oh, sorry… and actually, I’m in D. C. right now,” said Canada.
“I see.”
“You… heard what happened, right?”
“Yes.”
“Who told you?”
“Nobody needed to tell me. They may have confiscated my computer, but I still have a phone. Russia-san posted pictures of the act to his livejournal.”
“Russia, he…?”
“Yes. He’s rather famous in the Russian blogosphere. His people were entertained by his stories of us, thinking them satire. According to the most recent comments, though, his fans are no longer amused,” said Japan.
“Oh, God…”
“Would you like me to text you the link?”
“No. No, I don’t want it.”
“Canada, I understand that you are upset, but I believe that if I remain on the phone much longer, my observers will begin to think there’s been an international incident,” said Japan.
“I could have stopped it,” blurted Canada. Even though he’d thought it and thought it, it sounded strange in his own voice.
“And America-kun could have stopped making risky loans, but there is little use dwelling on what could have been done. Good night, Canada-san.”
“Good—”
But Japan hung up. That small sign of discourtesy seemed to speak volumes. How had everyone managed to remain so civil in the thirties?
Wait, no, they hadn’t remained civil at all. Perhaps nothing like this had happened, but what happened instead was so much worse. It wouldn’t cure an ailing economy, but maybe if everyone vented earlier, it wouldn’t happen again. It was a price, but averting disaster always came at a price…
It made Canada sick that he was even thinking that way, and sicker when he thought that he was probably right.
a part III. Uhh... I took Canada's glasses to be Quebec. Or something.
---
America was asleep, as he had been for about two hours. Once the gameboy’s batteries had run out, he dug a half-bag of potato chips out from under his bed, finished them off, and climbed between the sheets. Since then, Canada had spent his time calling other Nations he’d known wouldn’t have been at the meeting —Taiwan, who’d tried to hang herself last week, so was under observation like Japan; Southern Ireland, who never went anywhere she knew England would be; Sealand, who never got invited to anything; and Cuba, who he thought would have been too disgusted with America to even be in the same room with him. When Canada had tried to talk to him, though, Cuba yelled at him for being America and hung up.
Canada had never known doing nothing could be so exhausting. By then, his cell had nearly run out of power. He set the phone down on the nightstand by Texas, and took off Quebec and put them on the nightstand, too, and climbed into bed. Immediately, America got up, took his pillow, and lay down on the floor, quickly enough for Canada to realize that America had never actually been asleep at all.
“Come back to bed,” said Canada.
“I’m fine here,” said America.
“No, you aren’t,” said Canada, throwing back the comforter to make space. America sat up, picked up the pillow, and paused.
“There’s more than enough room for both of us,” said Canada. Without looking at his brother once, America put the pillow back on the bed and climbed in, curling up, facing the wall. At the hem of his shirt, Canada could see the beginnings of a bruise. Lightly, he pulled the fabric away to see where it ended, but couldn’t find
America winced.
“Have you been to a doctor?” asked Canada, tugging again at the shirt, trying to get him to roll over, but America didn’t budge.
“No.”
Canada let go of the shirt.
“I could have gone if I wanted to,” said America. Canada put a hand on America’s stomach, but instead of coaxing him closer as he’d intended, America curled up tighter.
“That… that’s what’s so great. I could go if I wanted to. There’s no waiting list or anything.”
“You’re mumbling into your pillow, America.”
“It’s not a socialist system… I could if I wanted…”
“Talk to me, not your pillow.”
“But… I don’t… want to…”
Canada pulled America, forcing him onto his back. America just let out a sharp gasp, but nothing more, as Canada tugged at the shirt, trying to find where that goddamned bruise ended. It had to end somewhere, after all. As he searched for it over America’s stomach, he heard a strangled sound.
It was America, choking on nothing, eyes frozen to the ceiling. Slowly, Canada pulled the shirt back over America’s stomach and took back his hands. Perhaps he didn’t need to find where that bruise ended after all.
“I-I’m sorry, I—”
But Canada was interrupted by America’s laughter. America laughed hard enough to wake the President’s daughters, and Canada, for the life of him, could not understand why.
LOL @ Quebec! I can totally see that one happening.
When Canada had tried to talk to him, though, Cuba yelled at him for being America and hung up.
Poor Canada, even his voice sounds like America. D:
The last sentence creeped me out. America is definitely getting darker and darker with Canada having no idea on what to do. Can't wait to see more of this!
I can't wait to see Canada interacting with England, Russia, etc etc and how it goes. I can imagine lots of yelling and arguing. @____@
Oh, ow. OW. I love the way you wrote America's trauma from Canada's point of view - all the little touches, like how he won't share a bed, and wincing, and the laughter....speaking of the president's daughters, what happens when America's boss finds out what happened? And is that why he ended up giving Brown such a sucky present? HMMM?
Artist!Anon, I hope you don't mind that I took some liberties about what happened... erp.
Here, have some France, being himself.
---
“Ah, mon fils, I haven’t seen you in so long,” said France, curiously keeping his hands to himself today.
“Two weeks,” said Canada, curtly, watching the small bottle of antibacterial gel on the table instead of France himself.
“Would you like some?” asked France, picking up the bottle, “Everyone’s so sick. It may be wise.” Canada saw all the boxes of tissues on the table, now a mainstay, and put his hand on the table face up. Instead of pouring some gel into his hand, though, France poured gel into his own hand and began rubbing it into Canada’s palm. Perhaps Canada should have stayed home too — he could feel bile rising in his throat.
“I trust you are still well?”
“I was in D.C,” said Canada. And he would have still been there, too, if his bosses hadn’t advised him that he couldn’t just stay there all week, that he still had a job to do.
“For too long, likely. You may have caught something,” said France, “You can never be too careful, these days, especially if you must sit so close to me…” Canada hadn’t chosen to sit so close, but that was where the placard had placed him that day, just between France and Switzerland. He tried to pull his hand away, but France tightened his grip, moving up and lingering on Canada’s wrist.
“People forget to wash their wrists, you know. It’s disgusting.” His fingers continued upwards, into Canada’s sleeve, into what could barely be considered ‘wrist’ anymore. Again, Canada tried to pull back, but France just wouldn’t let go.
“I know what you are thinking,” he whispered, “I did not touch him. He is a leper. I-I couldn’t.”
Canada swallowed hard and wondered how far he could scoot to the right before Switzerland would shoot at him.
“He may be the worst, but there are so many lepers now. I can’t touch any of them. It’s very… lonely…”
Canada yanked his hand away, finally freeing himself from France’s grasp. “At least let me get your other hand,” said France. Canada shook his head and put his hands in his lap. But France’s hand followed, caressing his fingers. “Please.”
Canada scooted away, seeing the obvious lust in France’s eyes, and kept moving farther and farther to the right until he hit a shoulder.
The mouth of a pistol jabbed against his cheek.
Scrambling back again, Canada found himself neatly in France’s arms. Canada couldn’t decide which was worse, the gun in his face or France’s hands, slick with antibacterial gel, the man kissing each newly-sanitized spot. Canada tried to calm his breath, wanting to move to another seat, knowing if he did, he’d likely get sat on by one of the stragglers —
And suddenly, France was yanked away with a yelp. England had walked in, carrying an itinerary, and as he’d walked by, had pulled France off of Canada by his hair. England threw down the itinerary near his placard and said, “Bloody Hell, where is everybody today?”
The table was smaller than usual, and even then, only about half the chairs were filled. “I know Israel and India are probably at a launch, but everyone else?”
“Mexico’s been told not to leave her house,” said Spain, leaning back into his chair, sniffling into a tissue.
“And Germany’s at home with a bad cold…” said North Italy. Everyone began to mutter about sickness and flus as France’s gaze returned to Canada. “Japan and Taiwan are not well, aru,” said China. Such an inspecific term, probably exactly what Japan’s observers had told him to say.
“And then America is probably —”
At home, watching TV with the girls, gorging himself on potato chips he can’t taste, the girls yelling at him to make room for them on the couch, while little did they know that that strange kid they called Alfred was not well —
“—Staying out of this in protest of environmental regulation. So I guess that accounts for everyone,” said England, sitting down, “We should probably begin, then.”
As England started off the meeting, most of the other Nations paid more attention to their colds and tissues than to their itineraries. Spain had even fallen asleep, making soft sounds of congested snoring.
“Your other hand, mon fils,” said France quietly, bottle in hand. Looking at all sick Nations across the table, Canada saw little choice but to give it to him.
Ouch. Poor America. Poor Japan, and everybody, too.
Though it looks like Japan really was at the meeting in the comic, and I hope that when artist!anon gets back to it, she doesn't take Japan out. We need more Japan/America, even if it is non-con.
But it looks like some nasty stuff was done and said at the meeting.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
A bit of an afterward
(Anonymous) 2009-03-18 08:31 pm (UTC)(link)Can you tell?
---
It was dark in the conference room when Canada arrived. He’d expected as much; he’d waited in the parking lot until the only car he recognized there was the familiar Ford Mustang. Unlike the other cars, Canada was sure it hadn’t been used for carpooling, like the rest of the cars. If it had been, would this still have happened?
Yes, of course it would have. A small gesture of goodwill wouldn’t have stopped them now, he thought. It was too late for things like that. In fact, it probably would have made things worse.
“A-America?” asked Canada, dreading that the other Nations might have taken him with them.
“Oh, it’s you,” he heard from behind some toppled chairs in the corner. “You’re too late. The meeting’s over.”
Canada flicked on the light switch and started slowly to the corner of the room.
“But if the meeting’s over, I’ve got to wonder…”
Canada took slow steps toward the chairs. He was close enough to see a foot propped up on one, and came closer until he was finally close enough to see his brother’s face.
“Why am I still here?”
Red streamed from America’s nose, white from the corners of his mouth, dripping in a river down his neck, smeared across a torn white shirt and onto that cross dangling from his neck. So much red, so much white, like some sick patriotic joke set up just for Canada to find.
“Oh God…” Canada kicked the chairs out of the way. He didn’t know what else to do besides take a handkerchief out of his pocket, kneel down, and try to wipe that blasphemy off America’s face. He hadn’t wanted to hurt him more, but he had to wipe hard over bruised skin to have any affect on the caking fluids.
“America, I —” What was he going to say? That he hadn’t known? Of course he had known. Russia had even invited him personally, and all Canada could do was decline. They all knew they wouldn’t even have to lift a finger to keep Canada quiet.
This didn’t have to happen. He could have stopped all this, given more of a warning, kept him from going, thought Canada, dabbing over a split lip, only to find that all over America’s teeth was more red-and-white mockery.
“I’m —”
“Don’t say it,” said America, wearily, “If you say ‘I’m soooreee’ in that funny accent of yours, I’ll laugh. I swear I will.”
In any other circumstance, Canada would have shouted some retort, but instead he just noticed that the handkerchief wasn’t helping at all — all he was doing was smearing pink across bruises.
America propped himself up on his elbows, leaning forward, hauling himself up.
“What am I supposed to say instead?”
“I don’t know,” said America. He stepped around the chairs, Canada finally seeing what they’d done to America’s jeans, what they’d done to him, and all the bloodstained denim between his legs. America spat pink to the carpet. “Whatever you want, I guess. I’m going home. You should too. The meeting’s over.”
“You can’t go out like that!”
“Why not? People will see?” There was no mocking tone to his voice, no sarcasm. Only tiredness.
Canada’s next words die in his mouth as America opens the door wider.
“At least let me take you home,” said Canada, “Please…”
“I’ll be fine,” said America, “Always am.” He flicked off the light switch on his way out, leaving Canada alone in the dark.
oops
(Anonymous) 2009-03-18 09:36 pm (UTC)(link)artist!anon here
(Anonymous) 2009-03-18 10:12 pm (UTC)(link)Re: A bit of an afterward
(Anonymous) 2009-03-19 03:24 am (UTC)(link)Re: A bit of an afterward
(Anonymous) 2009-03-19 04:27 am (UTC)(link)and humbly ask for a continuation!!Re: A bit of an afterward
(Anonymous) 2009-03-20 12:31 am (UTC)(link)Also, this is my first time writing Japan. I hope I did a good job...
---
“Did you hear what happened to Japan?” asked Canada. America sat on his bed, hunched over an old color gameboy, falling bricks reflecting off his glasses. Canada sat on the other side of the bed. There was something so usual about the way America hadn’t noticed him walk in twenty minutes ago. Maybe he hadn’t even heard Canada, but there Canada sat anyway, the new pair of jeans he’d brought for his brother in his lap.
“He’s under observation… or something. Something like he didn’t eat for a while, just locked himself in a closet with some comic books. So now they’re watching him, making sure he’s not going to hurt himself —”
“And I did this to him,” said America. So America had heard his brother speak. But, if Japan had locked himself in all week, he couldn’t have been at the meeting.
“That’s not what I was trying to say.”
“But it’s true, isn’t it?” asked America, the music from the gameboy gaining speed.
“No, it’s not true.”
“Then who did?”
Canada swallowed. People selling seemingly stable investments, giving mortgages to high-risk customers, inflating a real-estate bubble for profit and profit and profit until it inevitably popped had done it. And their headquarters had been Wall Street, just under America’s right earlobe.
Canada had no answer. He stood up, about to say he was going to the bathroom, but then he didn’t think America would notice, so he left without saying anything at all into the hallway and found a nice crook in the wall to stand in.
He took his cell out of his pocket and dialed Japan. It only rang once before it picked up.
“Moshimoshi?” The voice was too deep to be Japan’s. Perhaps he’d dialed the wrong number?
“Hello? Can I… can I speak with Honda?” asked Canada. He hoped this was the right number, or else he may be given to the wrong Honda.
“Hello?” No, it was the right Honda on the other end of the line.
“Japan, it’s Canada.”
“Ah, Canada-san. Hello.”
“Umm,” said Canada, completely forgetting why now he called. It almost seemed
like the world was falling apart again. “How are you holding up?”
“I’m fine, and though I appreciate your concern, I feel I must remind you that while it may be a timely hour in Ottawa, it is four AM in Tokyo.” Even through his even, calm tone, Japan’s voice sounded hoarse, almost as if he had been crying.
“Oh, sorry… and actually, I’m in D. C. right now,” said Canada.
“I see.”
“You… heard what happened, right?”
“Yes.”
“Who told you?”
“Nobody needed to tell me. They may have confiscated my computer, but I still have a phone. Russia-san posted pictures of the act to his livejournal.”
“Russia, he…?”
“Yes. He’s rather famous in the Russian blogosphere. His people were entertained by his stories of us, thinking them satire. According to the most recent comments, though, his fans are no longer amused,” said Japan.
“Oh, God…”
“Would you like me to text you the link?”
“No. No, I don’t want it.”
“Canada, I understand that you are upset, but I believe that if I remain on the phone much longer, my observers will begin to think there’s been an international incident,” said Japan.
“I could have stopped it,” blurted Canada. Even though he’d thought it and thought it, it sounded strange in his own voice.
“And America-kun could have stopped making risky loans, but there is little use dwelling on what could have been done. Good night, Canada-san.”
“Good—”
But Japan hung up. That small sign of discourtesy seemed to speak volumes. How had everyone managed to remain so civil in the thirties?
Wait, no, they hadn’t remained civil at all. Perhaps nothing like this had happened, but what happened instead was so much worse. It wouldn’t cure an ailing economy, but maybe if everyone vented earlier, it wouldn’t happen again. It was a price, but averting disaster always came at a price…
It made Canada sick that he was even thinking that way, and sicker when he thought that he was probably right.
The whole damn world needed a support group now.
An Afterward Part II
(Anonymous) 2009-03-20 04:07 am (UTC)(link)Re: An Afterward Part II
(Anonymous) 2009-03-20 04:35 am (UTC)(link)still wants moreWow...just wowRe: A bit of an afterward
(Anonymous) 2009-03-20 05:45 am (UTC)(link)/still wants more tooI freaking love this, your writing, your America. Your Japan was spot on, by the by.
Re: A bit of an afterward
(Anonymous) 2009-03-20 06:10 pm (UTC)(link)Anyways, poor Canada. Poor America.
I think everyone needs a support group indeed. Will we see a continuation?
Re: A bit of an afterward
(Anonymous) 2009-03-20 11:38 pm (UTC)(link)It will probably continue. Thank you all for the comments. :)
Re: A bit of an afterward
(Anonymous) 2009-03-21 01:04 am (UTC)(link)Could we have more?
PLEASE?
Afterward Part III
(Anonymous) 2009-03-22 12:21 am (UTC)(link)---
America was asleep, as he had been for about two hours. Once the gameboy’s batteries had run out, he dug a half-bag of potato chips out from under his bed, finished them off, and climbed between the sheets. Since then, Canada had spent his time calling other Nations he’d known wouldn’t have been at the meeting —Taiwan, who’d tried to hang herself last week, so was under observation like Japan; Southern Ireland, who never went anywhere she knew England would be; Sealand, who never got invited to anything; and Cuba, who he thought would have been too disgusted with America to even be in the same room with him. When Canada had tried to talk to him, though, Cuba yelled at him for being America and hung up.
Canada had never known doing nothing could be so exhausting. By then, his cell had nearly run out of power. He set the phone down on the nightstand by Texas, and took off Quebec and put them on the nightstand, too, and climbed into bed. Immediately, America got up, took his pillow, and lay down on the floor, quickly enough for Canada to realize that America had never actually been asleep at all.
“Come back to bed,” said Canada.
“I’m fine here,” said America.
“No, you aren’t,” said Canada, throwing back the comforter to make space. America sat up, picked up the pillow, and paused.
“There’s more than enough room for both of us,” said Canada. Without looking at his brother once, America put the pillow back on the bed and climbed in, curling up, facing the wall. At the hem of his shirt, Canada could see the beginnings of a bruise. Lightly, he pulled the fabric away to see where it ended, but couldn’t find
America winced.
“Have you been to a doctor?” asked Canada, tugging again at the shirt, trying to get him to roll over, but America didn’t budge.
“No.”
Canada let go of the shirt.
“I could have gone if I wanted to,” said America. Canada put a hand on America’s stomach, but instead of coaxing him closer as he’d intended, America curled up tighter.
“That… that’s what’s so great. I could go if I wanted to. There’s no waiting list or anything.”
“You’re mumbling into your pillow, America.”
“It’s not a socialist system… I could if I wanted…”
“Talk to me, not your pillow.”
“But… I don’t… want to…”
Canada pulled America, forcing him onto his back. America just let out a sharp gasp, but nothing more, as Canada tugged at the shirt, trying to find where that goddamned bruise ended. It had to end somewhere, after all. As he searched for it over America’s stomach, he heard a strangled sound.
It was America, choking on nothing, eyes frozen to the ceiling. Slowly, Canada pulled the shirt back over America’s stomach and took back his hands. Perhaps he didn’t need to find where that bruise ended after all.
“I-I’m sorry, I—”
But Canada was interrupted by America’s laughter. America laughed hard enough to wake the President’s daughters, and Canada, for the life of him, could not understand why.
Re: Afterward Part III
(Anonymous) 2009-03-22 12:56 am (UTC)(link)When Canada had tried to talk to him, though, Cuba yelled at him for being America and hung up.
Poor Canada, even his voice sounds like America. D:
The last sentence creeped me out. America is definitely getting darker and darker with Canada having no idea on what to do. Can't wait to see more of this!
I can't wait to see Canada interacting with England, Russia, etc etc and how it goes. I can imagine lots of yelling and arguing. @____@
Re: Afterward Part III
(Anonymous) 2009-03-22 01:01 am (UTC)(link)America has a better memory than most give him credit for. I mean, he remembers the Alamo and he wasn't even there.
Re: Afterward Part III
(Anonymous) 2009-03-22 03:29 am (UTC)(link)Re: Afterward Part III
(Anonymous) 2009-03-22 03:26 am (UTC)(link)I wish I could give you better reviews, writer!anon! But I love this, and....hope you... continue, sob.
Re: Afterward Part III
(Anonymous) 2009-03-22 04:23 am (UTC)(link)Re: Afterward Part III
(Anonymous) 2009-03-22 12:12 pm (UTC)(link)Afterward Part IV [1/2]
(Anonymous) 2009-03-22 06:51 pm (UTC)(link)Here, have some France, being himself.
---
“Ah, mon fils, I haven’t seen you in so long,” said France, curiously keeping his hands to himself today.
“Two weeks,” said Canada, curtly, watching the small bottle of antibacterial gel on the table instead of France himself.
“Would you like some?” asked France, picking up the bottle, “Everyone’s so sick. It may be wise.” Canada saw all the boxes of tissues on the table, now a mainstay, and put his hand on the table face up. Instead of pouring some gel into his hand, though, France poured gel into his own hand and began rubbing it into Canada’s palm. Perhaps Canada should have stayed home too — he could feel bile rising in his throat.
“I trust you are still well?”
“I was in D.C,” said Canada. And he would have still been there, too, if his bosses hadn’t advised him that he couldn’t just stay there all week, that he still had a job to do.
“For too long, likely. You may have caught something,” said France, “You can never be too careful, these days, especially if you must sit so close to me…” Canada hadn’t chosen to sit so close, but that was where the placard had placed him that day, just between France and Switzerland. He tried to pull his hand away, but France tightened his grip, moving up and lingering on Canada’s wrist.
“People forget to wash their wrists, you know. It’s disgusting.” His fingers continued upwards, into Canada’s sleeve, into what could barely be considered ‘wrist’ anymore. Again, Canada tried to pull back, but France just wouldn’t let go.
“I know what you are thinking,” he whispered, “I did not touch him. He is a leper. I-I couldn’t.”
Canada swallowed hard and wondered how far he could scoot to the right before Switzerland would shoot at him.
“He may be the worst, but there are so many lepers now. I can’t touch any of them. It’s very… lonely…”
Canada yanked his hand away, finally freeing himself from France’s grasp.
“At least let me get your other hand,” said France. Canada shook his head and put his hands in his lap. But France’s hand followed, caressing his fingers. “Please.”
Canada scooted away, seeing the obvious lust in France’s eyes, and kept moving farther and farther to the right until he hit a shoulder.
The mouth of a pistol jabbed against his cheek.
Scrambling back again, Canada found himself neatly in France’s arms. Canada couldn’t decide which was worse, the gun in his face or France’s hands, slick with antibacterial gel, the man kissing each newly-sanitized spot. Canada tried to calm his breath, wanting to move to another seat, knowing if he did, he’d likely get sat on by one of the stragglers —
And suddenly, France was yanked away with a yelp. England had walked in, carrying an itinerary, and as he’d walked by, had pulled France off of Canada by his hair. England threw down the itinerary near his placard and said, “Bloody Hell, where is everybody today?”
Afterward Part IV [2/2]
(Anonymous) 2009-03-22 06:52 pm (UTC)(link)“Mexico’s been told not to leave her house,” said Spain, leaning back into his chair, sniffling into a tissue.
“And Germany’s at home with a bad cold…” said North Italy. Everyone began to mutter about sickness and flus as France’s gaze returned to Canada.
“Japan and Taiwan are not well, aru,” said China. Such an inspecific term, probably exactly what Japan’s observers had told him to say.
“And then America is probably —”
At home, watching TV with the girls, gorging himself on potato chips he can’t taste, the girls yelling at him to make room for them on the couch, while little did they know that that strange kid they called Alfred was not well —
“—Staying out of this in protest of environmental regulation. So I guess that accounts for everyone,” said England, sitting down, “We should probably begin, then.”
As England started off the meeting, most of the other Nations paid more attention to their colds and tissues than to their itineraries. Spain had even fallen asleep, making soft sounds of congested snoring.
“Your other hand, mon fils,” said France quietly, bottle in hand. Looking at all sick Nations across the table, Canada saw little choice but to give it to him.
Re: Afterward Part IV [2/2]
(Anonymous) 2009-03-22 09:48 pm (UTC)(link)Francis I know what you did, don't touch him! >O
I hope for more?
Re: Afterward Part IV [2/2]
(Anonymous) 2009-03-23 08:15 am (UTC)(link)Sort of hooked, here, man. Waiting on more with bated breath.
Re: Afterward Part IV [2/2]
(Anonymous) 2009-03-24 11:23 pm (UTC)(link)I kind of want to see Matt go all hockeyrage on ArthurRe: Afterward Part IV [2/2]
(Anonymous) - 2009-04-12 08:31 (UTC) - ExpandRe: Afterward Part IV [2/2]
(Anonymous) - 2009-06-12 16:54 (UTC) - ExpandRe: Afterward Part III
(Anonymous) 2009-03-31 01:31 am (UTC)(link)Though it looks like Japan really was at the meeting in the comic, and I hope that when artist!anon gets back to it, she doesn't take Japan out. We need more Japan/America, even if it is non-con.But it looks like some nasty stuff was done and said at the meeting.