you're ridin' high in april, shot down in may;;
Title: Axis Powers: Funeral Party
Doctor: inuyashacooks
Characters/Pairings: Germany, N. Italy, S. Italy, America, US, UK, France, Japan + more; Germany X N. Italy, slight US X UK, implied S. Italy X Spain
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: language, severe stupidity
Summary: One day Germany collapses from overwork. The Hetalia gang jumps to conclusions as usual and assumes he's dead. Not surprisingly they do something stupid: instead of giving a traditional funeral, they attempt to give Germany a "going-away party."
☆"DEATH"
Today it was Japan, Germany, and the Italy brothers, for some reason all in Germany’s office while he was trying to do work. It was beyond him how things always turned out this way, but they did.
"AHHH! Japan! Help me! St-stop strangling me, Romano, I didn’t mean to call you ugly!" Italy wailed, struggling in his brother’s headlock.
"Romano! Stop!" Japan choked out, prying Romano off Italy.
Germany sighed- he was used to this, but he was just so tired. Everyday, this was how it went down: diplomacy with a whole host of nations who were constantly bickering over trivialities, an Oriental power who experienced debilitating shame at being within five feet of another person, and...Italy (there was no such vocabulary to describe the electric itch of stress that flared through Germany’s blood when he thought of Italy).
There was also an occasional sprinkling of Rape from France, and pointless belligerence that would result whenever Romano and Spain would come for a visit. Between ass-grabbing, tantrums, outbursts of tears, bloated declarations, demands for food, and balancing wills and resources in order to keep his country thriving, there was no time for rest...
Maybe it was just him. Germany had a feeeling that he should be able to endure more than this...this was just babysitting after all.
"Ah, thanks for helping me out, Japaan!"
"P-please don’t come so close to me!"
...Well, he’d try making a mental list- maybe that would work. List of things to do: first of all, tune out the noise. Second of all, explain to Japan that nobody was trying to compromise his maidenhood. Third, make sure Italy was fed/bathed/breathing/etc. Fourth...
The flow of the list went seamlessly in his brain, and the noise seemed to hush and stop its flow for a moment. A moment of bright white peace, a moment of thoughtfulthoughtlessness, a moment of-
"WHY WERE YOU SLEEPING NAKED WITH FRANCE!?"
Germany’s eyes cracked open at the sound of Romano’s grudging voice.
"...I sleep naked with everyone! Also, France is my friend!" Italy responded, like he was answering a question on a gameshow.
"Ah, I thought you were attached to Mr. Potatohead over there?" sneered Romano, giving Germany a horribly dirty look.
The list fizzled away and died off in Germany’s mind. Suddenly he couldn’t focus.
"Oh, him too! Of course, I love Germany!" Italy chimed.
Romano began to fume. "You’re horrible! Why does everybody like you better, you’re a slut!" he bellowed, "I would never do that to Spain!"
"...brother...never- Spain? Romano," Italy stuttered out, baffled and overwhelmed by the sheer force of Romano’s negativity. Germany blinked as well. Spain?...that seemed wrong to him. Ah, well.
"What, I- I didn’t mean that! I meant Elaine! I mixed them up, because, you see, the names rhyme! Ha-ha-ha-ha!" Romano laughed, the sound coming nervous and stunted from his throat. "ELAINE IS MY GIRLFRIEND-"
"...You said Spain," Italy pointed out again, sounding confused as all Hell.
Romano then lunged forward, grabbing Italy by the collar and shaking him like a marraca. "I am NOT sleeping with Spain!"
"I BELIEVE I CAN BE OF SOME ASSISTANCE," cried a deep and showy voice from the heavens- or at least from down the hall. France bust through the door, wearing a slick smile and a rose in front of his vital regions. Germany paused, wondering how France had broken into his house.
"No, you can’t!" Romano yelled. "Get outta here ya rapist!"
"Ah, France! Nice to see you," Italy said, voice lazy and spacey, giving a small salute.
"And you as well, ti lupe," France replied, with a dashing smile. "What’s this I hear of you sleeping with Spain?"
"You hear nothing, because nothing is going on!" Romano snapped.
"Well, we’re all good Catholic countries. There may be, you know, some penance involved? Because may I remind you, homosexual acts are frowned upon by the Pope," France reasoned, with an interesting quirk of the eyebrow.
Romano had many weaknesses, and one of them was the Vatican. "I, I," he stuttered, red in the face, "What the Hell? What penance would that be?"
France grinned happily. "Very, very simple! No pain at all. Here’s Penance Gameplan A: You, ti Italy here, me- mattress mambo. See? That’s all."
Silence fell over the landscape. Even Germany, whose mind was numbed and frozen, took the time to make a baffled face. France began to laugh triumphantly.
Italy broke the pause. "Ah, sounds fun! Is it a dance? Can Germany come?"
"You’re an idiot!" Romano barked at France, fists curling listlessly at his sides; then, light in his eyes like dog’s teeth gnashing, he turned his gaze to Germany. "This is all your fault! You bastard potato!"
Germany didn’t even have the energy to respond to that.
"Don’t say that, it’s not Germany’s fault," Italy pouted, putting a hand on his brother’s shoulder. "He didn’t know you were in love with Spain, after all-"
"Ah! You’re in love with Spain! How beautiful! This calls for celebration, mes freres!"
"I’m no-not in love with Spain, that’s sick, he’s a guy, you’re horrible, he raised me!"
"But you’re still sleeping with him?" France responded, looking a tiny bit confused.
"NO!" Romano yelled.
"Well, whatever makes brother Romano happy," Italy decided, his brain suddenly making an appearance from the depths of nowhere, wrapping his brother in a celebratory embrace that France decided to include himself on.
"Why are you all sleeping with each other," Japan wailed from a corner, shaking with shock as he watched all the sickness.
"You’re all bastards! I’ll kill you all!" Romano yelled, flinging both his brother and France off of him in an unusual show of conviction and strength.
"Oh no, Romano’s angry," Italy sighed; then ran over to Germany like a puppy, with a slight smile bright on his face. "Germanyyyy! Brother’s sick, can you help him?"
France, whose special talent was fishing in troubled waters, caught sight of Germany and bounded over to where he was sitting. "Ah! Hello, Germany," he said, sporting a smile similar to Italy’s, "I’ll still be expecting payment for my services, it seems I was called here under false pretenses-"
"You’re all bastards! You can go to Hell, you dirty Kraut!" Romano yelled from a safe distance, giving Germany the finger.
"This is, Germany-san, I need to speak with you, I’m sorry to say but I’m not sure if I can deal with this, I just find this behavior unnacceptable on so many levels, and I," Japan stammered through a heavy blush and a clogged throat, pushing past France to speak with Germany.
The conversations melted into one another. Under the dust and the hyper vibrations of the colorful atmosphere, words became jilted fragments that came to Germany’s tired ears in broken waves- receded and then pushed forward again-
"-never knew he loved Spain! We’ll go to the wedding, right, Germany? I wonder what I should wear- oh, they’ll have lots of good food at the reception! Paella, and pasta, and pasta-"
"-can also take payment in cuckoo clocks, seeing as your currency ugly and therefore useless to me-"
"-and stop seducing my innocent brother! You’ve got some nerve!-"
"-I feel as though my mind is going to explode, I’m sorry but I need to take a few weeks off in order to recuperate, that’s the only possible solution, unless you have one in which case I’ll humbly listen to your-"
The aching seemed to rush to an outro, seemed to sweep down to dullness and a shrill cry. A ghost of a feeling shuddered down Germany’s spine. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad- to just- sleep- for a while...His eyelids dragged shut like a tombstone walk. Yeah, that would be fine. The last thought he had was a vague wondering if Italy had already eaten, and after that a lullaby in his veins- down to sweet coffee blackness and one final honey note.
It happened unexpectedly: Germany’s head just suddenly dropped onto his desk with an iron thud. Literally dropped- it wasn’t an excersise in hyperbole, it wasn’t a gesture of exasperation. Everybody there was sure he’d gone unconcious at that moment. You could even see it in the relaxing of his fists- seconds earlier they’d been clenched with tightening blood...Everybody was in the midst of conversation still, but the words soon hushed and fell.
This time, France was the one to break the sudden silence. His easy laughter filled the ghost space between nervousness. "Well! I must be on my way. And, uh, Germany, you can just forget about that little service debt- mistakes are mistakes after all, let’s let bygones be bygones!" France leaned forward, reaching out a reluctant hand to poke Germany’s lifeless form. Feeling rigidity, France shuddered; then turned to the rest of the group with a salute worthy of America. "Well, then! My work here is done- make sure to send me an invitation to the reception, dear Romano."
And with those parting words, he mounted a bicycle that he seemed to pull out of nowhere. "Ciao, mes freres! Au revoir, mes enfants!" And with a bout of laughter and a scattering of roses, France disappeared from the house.
But enough of that. Left at the mouth of sudden disaster and its implications, Japan, Italy, and from a distance, Romano, stared quietly at the desk. Italy laughed nervously and reached over to nudge Germany. "Hey, Germany, wake up- go to bed if you’re sleepy," he urged, poking Germany...who just moved like a normal person would. If that person was dead.
Panic washed over Italy as Japan reached over, conservatively patting Germany on the head. "...Germany-san? Germany-san..." Japan paused; then, doubled his efforts. Germany made no response that would signify conciousness. Japan placed a hand on Germany’s back. There was no sign of breathing- it could have just been very shallow, but Japan couldn’t feel anything. "Ger- many...-san..."
Another bout of silence. Romano’s voice sounded from nearby. "’Ey, what’s with the Kraut?"
Italy’s eyes flooded with panic, and whatever frenzied energy he contained was concentrated in his hands as he grabbed Japan by the collar, shaking him like a puppet. "Japan! Japan! Do something! Germany’s dead, he’s dead! Japan! Do something! Get England, England’s a witch!"
"Italy! Jus-just calm down, Italy! Being irrational won’t help anything!" Japan cried, pushing Italy off of him and stopping to assess the situation. It did indeed seem that Germany was dead. He was unresponsive and not breathing- Japan was pretty sure that meant dead. If he was dead, then they’d have to have a funeral of some sort. Japan poked Germany again, just to make sure.
Well, if that wasn’t dead, he didn’t know what was. Like a true warrior, Japan paused nobly on the memory of a fallen comrade, the wind tousling his hair even though there shouldn’t have been any wind in Germany’s house. The scene would have been almost heroic, if it weren’t for Italy’s sloppy sobbing and incoherent wailing and Romano’s odd and inappropriate chuckling.
They would have to have a funeral, then. Waves of anxiety washed over Japan- Germany had been the nucleus of their power, and what would happen now? To put it succintly, Japan didn’t really think he could handle Italy. It was even hard for him to grasp that Italy was now wailing and bellowing and sighing in rainfalls of tears and mangled Italian phrases. Hands shaking, Japan crossed the room and made his way over to the telephone so he could call a funeral home or paramedics or something to that effect.
He noticed Romano beside him, even through this new dark cloud of thoughts. Japan looked at him curiously: Romano was leaning against the wall, caught in one of his braggart chuckling spells that seemed to last until somebody noticed him. "Eh, excuse me, Romano-san...why are you laughing?" Japan asked, having to raise his voice over the laughter and tears.
"I- just- this joke- haha- Mr. Potatodead," Romano sputtered between breaths.
Japan shot him a flat stare that said, "Lame joke." Romano covered up his laughter with coughing, then went to comfort his distraught brother while Japan tried to break the language barrier over the telephone.
What was funny, or actually not really, was that Japan was unable to overcome the German language. What ended up happening as Japan was about to tear his hair out with either worry over being discovered with a stiff in the office or with frustration over all the noise, was that he ended up dialing none other than America.
"Yes! America speaking, what can I do for you?" came America’s bright, cheerful voice through sonic waves on the other end.
Japan paused- a dark pause tense with violet and stress. "Am-American-san...I need...assistance," he managed to get out.
"EH? I can’t hear you Japan! Who’s that in the background? What’s wrong again?"
"I need an ambulance," Japan cried into the receiver, "Or a funeral home, or- or a babysitter-"
"All three!? Are you in danger!? Stay where you are," America advised, his voice immediately rushing with tones of high action and the thrill of rescue, "You’re at Germany’s right? We’ll be right over!"
"No, just, please dial, an- ambu..."
"Hang in there Japan!" America shouted triumphantly, and before Japan could get another word in, he’d already hung up.
Japan’s brain fizzled, died out like wires. Was this how Germany had felt during his short lifetime? Japan was sure he could feel the beginnings of a beesting headache in the back of his head...no, no, Germany was much better equipped to handle this, Japan had only recently come out of his shell- how was he supposed to deal with this? The two brothers were shouting over his thoughts and now the Allies would be here as well. The amount of sheer chaos in the room with increase tenfold with America alone...
"Shut up! ’Ey, you! Stop being a lazy bum and help me out here!" Romano yelled, visibly shaking as he clamped a hand over Italy’s mouth.
"I...there, there, Italy," Japan managed to mutter weakly, patting Italy on the head slightly. Italy’s face was sloppy, sticky with tears, and Japan just felt weak in the stomach. His eyes flickered over to Germany, hunched rigidly over his desk, and he wondered how he’d handle this. Then again, Germany had a different effect on Italy- and also, Japan didn’t want to indulge Italy’s caprices, because that would be no good for society and-
As swirling thoughts reached an orchestrated height, the door to the office bust open. Apparently America really needed to kick it down. He set one foot firmly on the ground, fist clenched before him, with France and England standing aloofly behind him. Japan took a moment to remark how much they looked like Power Rangers before America stepped into the room, eyes darting. "Japan! Thank God! It looks like we’ve arrived in time! What’s going on here? What’s the trouble? What’s all the crying about?"
England and France, on the other hand, had noticed immediately upon looking in, and stood frozen at the door with faces between "surprise" and "oh-shit-what’s-the-quickest-way-out-of-here," but mostly that second one. France’s eyes were a little shaded though, and he hoped that nobody would reveal that he had known about this...
Japan lifted a tired arm up weakly and pointed to the desk. America’s mouth turned in concern. "He needs an ambulance?"
"GERMANY’S DEAD!" Italy wailed ruefully, struggling out of Romano’s grasp. "Wh-who’s going to tie my shoes?"
"Hold up, I can’t think with all the noise," America responded, pushing up his glasses a little. "Now what’s the problem?"
England made a vague scoffing noise, tongue against teeth. "You’re really fucking stupid, aren’t you? He’s dead, you imbecile!"
America jumped back in surprise, bringing up an arm wildly as if to shield off black magic. "Oh- God- well, then," he stuttered. He reached out an unwilling hand and poked Germany lightly. "Eesh. Well, then! Let’s get this cleaned up. England, you call the funeral home, France, weep over the body, and I’ll start getting plans ready for the funeral."
"Oi, just wait one second! This isn’t my problem! I only came for my bloody pizza!" England snapped, jabbing America in the chest with an accusatory finger. "You can help them with the funeral, and I’m going to go eat my pizza alone."
"Excuse me, but you got a pizza on the way here?" Japan asked, slightly confused.
England gave him a considering glance. "Ah, yes, I had to pick it up, and it was on the way, so I came for the ride."
"He’s a Protestant right?" America interjected, as if he was some secretary just making sure, as he typed various things into his Blackberry.
"Who am I going to sleep with now?" Italy wailed, sobbing into France’s shoulder.
A hush fell on the room; France’s weeping stopped and his eyes became shaded. Everybody in the room recognized the look in his eyes to be a cross between, "wait, you two were sleeping together?"and "does that mean the position is open?" England let out a sarcastic "tch" and went huffily out of the room, coming back minutes later with his pizza box under his arm.
"Well," he said, rolling his eyes, "If I’m going to be forced to help you people I ought to be able to eat while I do it."
America smiled brightly. When America was involved with something, everybody else’s problems were absorbed into his energy- he’d invest as much in it as if he were Germany’s friend himself. It was just the way he charged into the situation. "That’s the spirit! Anyway, I wasn’t lying before. France, you can stop your weeping. Romano, be quiet please. The noise gets to me, I can’t think," he groaned, throwing his head back.
"If you could get Italy to stop crying, it would help," Japan suggested, thinking that they might know how to cheer him up. They were more similar in culture anyway.
England stared flatly at Italy as though he were staring at a complete anomally in the world of biology. "Eh, I’m just as clueless when it comes to him."
France smiled as if he was somebody who would comfort you when you were down, which was totally absolutely not true. "Aw, come on, little one, just turn to France when you’re down! I know all the right remedies," he said with a wink, holding Italy by the shoulders. But the tears didn’t subside, and there was a stale silence in the room.
But America, besides being Mister Captain Eagle Hero, was surprisingly good at solving problems. He’d throw around thousands of solutions, but at least one in all those thousand was bound to work. He moved gracefully from his place beside Germany’s desk over to England. "Hey, what’s your problem?- OI, my pizza!" England protested as America took two slices.
He chewed one over thoughtfully and then made his way over to Italy. Then, seeing an opening between random Italian prayers and worried tears, he shoved the other slice into Italy’s mouth. Italy’s expression paused quietly- then it brightened just a little bit, like he was pleasantly surprised...then the muffled crying halted altogether and he was happily chomping on his pizza.
Japan’s mind sighed. "I didn’t think it would be that...easy," he said, staring at Italy with hope-crushing disappointment. In that moment he pretty much lost any faith he’d ever had in Italy.
They talked of the funeral for a while: America, England, and France listened while Japan talked about what he thought was appropriate for Germany’s funeral. Romano would occasionally interject with a tasteless potato joke, and every once in a while Italy would finish his slice and somebody’d have to rush to get him a new one or he’d start the abysmal weeping again.
"So, just a normal western-style funeral should do," Japan concluded, with a pleasant, vague smile, "But it’s different here than at my house, so I may need some assistance."
There was a deep nod shared between the Allies; things seemed to be wrapping up. Besides, they had no more pizza, and nobody wanted to be around to hear Italy whining. America and England got up from their impromptu seats on the floor. "Well, then, that’s settled," America smiled amiably, "I’m glad we could help. I’ll make sure-"
"I’ve never really made sense of the western funeral," France interjected- his voice slow, turning some hidden idea. The rest of the group looked over to France. He paused, looking up to the ceiling. "It’s so...glum."
England quirked an eyebrow irritatedly. "Well, yeah, ya wanker, somebody just died," he said, making sure Italy had pizza firm in hand so that the waterworks wouldn’t go off again.
"I know. But I just feel that it shouldn’t be so depressing," France mused. "It’s just so...tasteless. You’re gathering to praise a soul’s returning to Heaven, after all- isn’t that cause for celebration?"
Japan knew that this conversation was going somewhere that he couldn’t relate to; England rolled his eyes. "Alright, Aristotle, thank you for your opinion. Are we clear? I’ve gotta be home-"
"I think you’re onto something there," America responded, startling alacrity vibrating in his voice, as if something that the great philosophe France had said had struck him deep in the heart. Everybody could see that the cogs in America’s mind were working- his eyes took on that blinded quality they had when he was on an energy rush. He quickly dove a hand down, snatching up the last slice of pizza from the box. "Because, you know-"
"That’s my pizza that I paid for with my money," England reminded him bitterly.
"Shut up for a moment England," America said sweetly, then concentrated his attention on France and Japan as England shouted wild protests, "I’ve always thought that the all-black thing, all that- if you’re going to Heaven- you’ve gotta go out with a bang-"
"I’m thinking, roses, trumpets, and the coffin should be decorated in jewels," France replied quick as fire.
"Right, and what we can do is we can have a tiered mechanism that’ll rise it- like a platform?- before we lower the coffin into the ground, also, if it’s at night, fireworks may be good."
"N-no, I don’t think-" Japan interjected, "I don’t think that’s what Germany would want."
"But it’s a Western affair!" America protested.
"That’s right, leave it to your big brothers to handle," France joined.
England was shaking his head as though this was all just a nightmare. "You’re all insane, all of you-"
Italy swallowed a pepperoni that had been dangling off his pizza by a thread of cheese; smiled like mist and daises, eyes lazy, and gave his dissertation. "I think that it’d be nice if it was like a party," he nodded, "Then it won’t be so sad to say goodbye to Germany."
There was a short pause. Romano scoffed. "Tch, I don’t give a shit how that dirty Kraut leaves the earth, just that he does."
So it was decided. Germany’s funeral would be turned into a going-away party. And Germany slept peacefully at his desk, for once without the crowd of thoughts cluttering his brain.
☆FUNERAL
"Eagles- platform- lift- are you serious?"
"Yes." America paused, blinking, then smiled. "Isn’t it awesome! I have to make sure that my funeral is even better though. Like, I’ll of course need fireworks and a giant robot to sprinkle my ashes across the Applachian mountain range..." The sun was melting light down into a torrid night, down to blackness, and the epic lighting just made America look even more ridiculous.
England’s jaw dropped slightly as he tried, for the sake of his sanity, to discern whether or not America was joking. America’s eyes just shone with the fire of an idea. So. He wasn’t joking. Hm. "You..." England let out, finally. "Why do I even hang around you?"
The sun was high and clear, and diamond-true it spat glitter off the water nearby. The weather was nice. Everybody was arriving by somber cars, but there was an...effervesence in the atmosphere that was completely inappropriate for a funeral.
For example, China was strolling along, dressed in an outrageously colorful outfit. A trail of people followed behind him, arms laden with different candies, steaming pots of food, and leftover Shinatty-chan merchandise. He scanned around quickly, until he spotted Japan and Italy, who were easy to find because they were the only people wearing black. "Aiiyyyaaa! So sorry for your loss, aru," China said with a bright smile, "It’s sad that he’s passed on."
"Oh, thank you for your condolences," Japan responded pleasantly, looking curiously at the crowd behind China. Italy was chomping down on some instant ramen noodles, so he didn’t have a mouth to respond.
"Was the coffin heavy though? He was a big one, aru," China said, completely disregarding any attempts at manners that he might have been playing at before. Japan blinked and Italy continued to eat. China gestured to the group of people behind him. "Ah, Brother! I forgot- I brought food! Where should I put this?"
Japan’s eyebrow quirked, and he pointed limply to a huge buffet around which some people were standing. "Ehh, over there."
"Aiyyaaa! So much food!" China exclaimed, his eyes shining. "Come on, guys!" With that he ran off toward the buffet, his crowd behind him.
Japan sighed, the anxiety beginning to rack his shoulders again. "This is completely wrong," he said, leaning against a Grecian-style pillar that France had decorated with velvet draperies and glitter, "I should never have allowed this to happen..."
Italy smiled between long slurps of ramen noodles. "Ah, I think it’s better that it’s a happy event, though," he said brightly. "That way, nobody’s sad! Right? And there’s so much food..."
Japan’s eyebrows were knit in worry. "Yes, I suppose- but this...Italy-san, forgive me if I’m talking out of line, but aren’t you sad?"
"Hmm? Yep," Italy said.
Japan paused. Italy smiled brightly at absolutely nothing, punctuated his words with a popping noise as he finished the last of the noodles.
Italy let out a small sound that seemed to be between a giggle and a song and dug his fork back down into his cup of noodles. The fork made an empty noise as it met with plastic. Italy paused curiously. "Huh?" he murmured, looking down into his cup...to find nothing.
Italy looked up at Japan, and Japan’s senses went on red alert as he recognized the spark of panic. "I- eh-" Italy stuttered. He hid his eyes behind his sleeve for a moment- then the full blown geyser came, coupled with desparate wailing and garbled Italian.
"Italy! Italy, calm down! Help! Someone-" Japan started, holding Italy by the shoulders.
But his sentence went unfinished, for the Allied Forces were prompt and efficient in the face of danger, or at least in the face of having to deal with irritating Italians. They seemed to swoop down from clandestine rescue points- England carried an armful of scones, America had a slice of pizza, and France carried a bowl full of fetuccini. "Target in sight!" America yelled, and as he landed, stuffed the slice of pizza in Italy’s mouth, stifling the crying sounds.
France wiped the sweat off his brow and handed the bowl of pasta to Japan. "Agh, what strife," France remarked with a note like sobbing in his voice, "The eagles aren’t even here yet, and Russia is getting rowdy with the sculpture of Venus..."
"I know," America said, watching Italy warily as he chewed down his pizza (all smiles and songs once again), "And the main event is scheduled for three PM sharp, so if they’re not here we’ll have to go without them."
"Nonsense!" France protested sharply, "How are we going to have the funeral without the eagles? They’re a key element, especially in combination with the-"
"OI! You bastards!" came a familiar voice, interrupting France’s speech- and then the faint hum of a motor...The group turned to see Romano, careening toward them at mach speed on a Vespa and tossing tomatoes at random. He panted, breathless, when he reached them; then looked up with a violent spark in his eye. "The Hell do you think you’re doing to my brother?"
"...Shutting him up?" America guessed.
"You keep shovin’ food down his throat, he’s gonna blow up like a fucking balloon!" Romano yelled. His words were met by confused silence. Romano sighed exasperatedly. "He’s gonna be FAT. I am not going to have a fat brother!"
"Oi, but doesn’t he always eat this much?" England asked, poking the Italian in question. Italy made a strange squeaking noise and then continued to eat.
"...Isn’t he eating a normal amount?" America asked, earning a collective disappointed sigh from the group that wordlessly said, "America, you fail."
Romano pointed at Italy with determination set in his eyes. "Snap out of it, you! You’ve been brainwashed by that macho potato!"
Italy paused, tipping his head curiously. "Ve?" he asked.
"Don’t gimme that crap," Romano said, then turned, his Armani scarf blowing heroically in the again rather misplaced wind. Set one foot on his Vespa, and gave all of them skeleton eyes- "I’ll be back! Don’t think I’m not gonna hold you people responsible when he turns into a whale!"
"Bloody wanker," England spat, watching Romano’s figure grow smaller as the Vespa hummed into the distance.
Japan seemed sincerely puzzled by Romano’s actions. "...But why doesn’t he do something himself?" he asked, as though it were a serious philosophical problem.
France’s laugh was slightly weak; he put a hand on Japan’s shoulder. "Don’t try to make sense of him."
"...Or the other one," England added.
The festivities went on- Korea was doing everything in his power to sexually harrass (and otherwise annoy the fuck out of) all the guests in attendance, and soon got into an argument with Russia over who invented vodka. They got into a fight, and then as though they were Pokebattling, Russia sent out a terrified Lithuania to fight. Poland was "like, so sad and stuff over the dead guy," and Austria was sipping tea and shaking his head in disapproval of this barbaric display.
And indeed it was the most vulgar of displays to anyone with any sense, but America and France’s eyes were glistening as they took in the sheer beauty of the display. And what to top off this cake? The eagles, of course- suddenly a Range Rover careened onto the scene, and a brusque man climbed out of the passenger seat, with a clipboard tucked under his arm.
America and France exchanged a flashing glance and squeaked like schoolgirls, skipping over to the man. He gave the two beaming nations a confused double take, then coughed professionally into his ledger. "Eh, uhm, I have some eagles here?" he asked, as if it were a normal thing to say.
"Yes! Those are ours!" America cried, pumping his fist into the air.
The man unloaded the cages onto the grass, and America turned to the group. "Alright guys! Listen up because what I have to say is very important!"
"Oh, fuck it, really?!" England huffed, rolling his eyes.
America’s sense of hearing did not extend England’s way; the flash in his eyes seemed to say that he was the sole audience to some triumphant marching band’s music playing in the distance. "We were in the shadows of doubt and sorrow, but fear not!- THE EAGLES HAVE ARRIVED!"
Japan looked to Italy uneasily. "Why did I have the feeling what he just said was extremely inappropriate?" he whispered, at which Italy shrugged and reached over for his bowl of pasta.
"Since we are no longer within those shadows of doubt and sorrow, the main event will go as planned in strictly five minutes! So, England, you stand so that you can pull the lever for the coffin platform when I give the signal; Italy, you stand around eating; France and Japan, position yourselves strategically so that you can release the eagles so that they can fly diagonally into the scenery behind the coffin- and..." he paused, seeming to think for a moment, but then brushed off the pensiveness with a bright smile. "I’ll just tell Lithuania to cue the band."
England bristled. "Oh?" he asked, walking toward America and poking him in the chest, "And what the Hell will you be doing?"
America’s eyebrow twitched and he pushed England by the forehead. "For your information, I have a eulogy to give," he replied. "It’s not easy being the mayor."
"What?"
"Nothing. So! Guys!" America continued, his eyes set, "We’ve got five minutes, so move to your assigned positions! I’ll tell everyone to gather by the coffin platform!"
Left with no further energy to confront all the ridiculousness, the rest of the group shrugged. This was a crazy enough idea to begin with- why not roll with it? It wasn’t going to change now. They moved to their positions, as America yelled for everyone to gather by the coffin platform. The sun was high and clear in the afternoon sky; the eagle delivery man was left wondering, "What, no tip? Fucking Americans..."
Everyone was gathered, huddled and clustered, in front of the thing America kept calling "the coffin platform-" it was just Germany’s open coffin (set up as though it were a wake) on some sort of small red platform that rose a foot or so off the ground. Some of the more sensible nations were solemn and silent (by "some," everyone knows "Austria" is meant). The...less sensible nations (read: "everyone else") were a bit agitated. "Aiiyyaa! In the middle of the meal, too!" China huffed, brushing crumbs off his fingers. "This better be good, aru."
&quo;It’s too bad Germany’s dead," Russia smiled sweetly, "Too bad, too bad! He never got to see the day he’d become one with me..."
But enough of that. America stood in front of the platform with a microphone in his hand. "Okay, everybody, may I have your attention? It’s time to shut up," he began (a rather wonderful note to begin a eulogy on).
There was a hush that fell over the crowd. The sun beat down happily on the grounds. "As you all know," America continued, "We’re here to honor the memory of our fallen friend, Germany. Sure, everybody knows he was sort of stuffy- but he was an important part of all our lives-"
"FUCK THAT! When the Hell was he ever important to-" Romano began, but Spain quickly put a hand over Romano’s mouth to shut him up.
Fortunately, America missed it. "-and his memory deserves to be honored." There was a dramatic pause- suddenly, quiet music began to play from the brass band by the coffin platform, like it was the Olympics or something.
"And what better way to honor the memory of a dear friend than to celebrate? Which is why France and I came up with the brilliant idea of throwing Germany a funeral party." America’s eyes glistened, and he clenched his fist. "We threw this party not for the delicious food or to show off my amazing engineering skills- but- simply- to do justice to Germany’s memory!"
The quiet was thick with puzzlement; the only audible noise was France’s audible weeping. "And it is for the sake of justice that before Germany goes, we’re going to raise his coffin as close to the heavens as we can, or at least a good twenty feet or so!
"So, my friends," America went on, nodding solemnly, "Don’t marvel at the awe-inspiring display you are about to see. Instead, pause in rememberance of our tall, hard-working, stuffy, emotionally handicapped friend, Germany!"
With this he turned to England with an expecting smile. England paused, seeming to go into palpitations, physical revulsions, when even extending a hand toward the lever. America’s face fell; an eyebrow arched.
"...Eh," America said, raising a hand.
"Agh, sacre coeur- stop being such a tsundere!" France hissed to England.
England paused, and then pulled the lever delicately, barely touching it as though it was filled with AIDs. Italy was distracted by the constant flow of food into his guts. And Japan was just praying, wishing, that it would all be over soon.
...The sweet darkness, the absence, the dark space- the respite was broken, though, by a sudden image-
It was that island again, that island where the sun shone violent white onto the diamond sand, where the sea breeze was mist inside the hot air. Italy was there; they were both swimming. Germany paused a second. What was he doing here? Hadn’t they hopped on one of China’s boats out of here...?
"Germany, Germany! Let’s have a breath-holding contest!" Italy said, tugging on Germany’s arm.
"Yes, yes," Germany replied- but there was the sudden closing feeling that the further they went, the less the chances of escape were...that was to say, the water became like air- it became inevitable, and he wanted to get out of it because he still had work to do-
"Ah, Germany-san, Italy-kun!" Germany looked toward the shore...Japan was there, waving, his sleeves rolled up.
Germany sent a questioning glance, a silent petition to help him out, but Japan just smiled sunnily. "We brought you the flowers," Japan said, "And the grapes..."
Flowers? Grapes? What the fuck? And who was "we"? Germany said something, but it faded back into his throat. And suddenly the water was an atom bomb, suddenly it was zero space around him- a solid sheath from the sun, enclosing him and Italy- and then they found that China had built a villa under the water- and then...and then....?
And then there was this screeching sound- just this powerful fucking shrill blast into his ears, it sounded like the sound you’d hear if you scraped a star, if you swallowed a black hole- his eyes shot open, and his blood pumped fast in his veins. He didn’t get up immediately, in case he was in the hands of some enemy...wait...was that...he recognized that melody.
Was that Aerosmith’s Crazy!? Played by a brass band!?
He blinked in disbelief, hoping to dear God that it wasn’t true. Where the Hell was he!? He heard an electric buzz behind the horn music, so he could hear it better. It sounded like a voice over a microphone. Wait, he knew that obnoxiously cheerful voice- wasn’t that America?
Aerosmith. A brass band. America. Something was indeed wrong.
"...And so, Germany, good luck in Heaven, and rest in peace-"
Germany had about seven heart attacks right then and there. Rest in peace- the Hell! Immediately he shot up, and looked around- and then saw that he was in the air.
A gasp of shock sounded from below- he peered over the coffin edge to see a whole cluster of people he knew. China, Russia, Korea, Lithuania, Austria- all the nations seemed to be in attendance. For his funeral! But he had just been asleep, godammit!
Although his blood pressure was skyrocketing with each passing second, he managed to take a quick look at the scene below.
And was not amused with what he saw.
A large buffet overflowing with colorful food was abandoned past the crowd...there were decorations- streamers and baloons and confetti...Neoclassical sculptures whose vital regions were (dis)tastefully censored with roses- and speaking of flowers, there was a whole fucking rainbow assortment of them all over the place. There was a brass band dressed in black, yellow, and red uniforms, and two Grecian pillars...and there was a banner between them, colored seizure pink, with with words:
HAPPY, UMM, DYING, GERMANY!!!
printed on it, and a rather crude caricature of himself under the words, and holy fuck, why was he in the air! He looked down, only to see that he was about twenty feet up, his coffin balanced on a red, white, and blue platform that looked like a wedding cake.
Germany was not fucking amused.
"TH- THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE!" he yelled, standing up in the coffin.
America looked up at Germany’s angry figure, and went pale. "Oh- OH MY GOD, GHOST!" he yelled, flinging the microphone aside in wild abandon- then flung himself at England, crying, "England! It’s a ghost! Get your fruity unicorn friends to banish it or something!"
"MY UNICORN FRIEND IS NOT FRUITY!" England replied, pushing him off, "And that’s not a fucking ghost! Germany’s alive you stupid git!"
"Fuck, he’s alive!?" Prussia and Romano cried in unison.
"You know, I invented funerals," Korea announced to no one in particular.
Austria seemed to sigh heavily, then looked up at Germany with a stern face on. "You have some explaining to do when you get home!" he yelled.
"What! What the Hell is this!" Germany responded, "How is this my fault! What the-"
Meanwhile, it took Italy five minutes longer to register signals in his brain as per usual, so he stared openly at Germany standing in the coffin before taking an appropriate action.
His face broke into a bright smile, and he flung the bowl of pasta aside. "Germany’s alive," he pointed out to Japan, voice happy and melodic.
Japan nodded. Then Italy laughed and reached over toward the coffin platform lever. He figured it would be fine if he just pulled it to the opposite side, anyway-
America looked up from his wrestling match with England just in time, or actually, just out of time. "NO ITALY WAIT-"
But as the narrative voice just declared, it was just out of time- Italy had already pulled the lever, and the platform shook violently. Germany gained his footing easily, but the platform was already collapsing into itself. "What the Hell kind of machine is this!?"
England took America’s distraction as an opening and punched him square on the jaw. "Oi, you idiot! What the fuck is your death contraption doing?!"
"Oh God- he pulled it to the self-destruct setting!"
"Why in God’s name do you have a self-destruct setting?" England responded. America took that as an opening and slapped England in the face, tried to scurry away...
The platform didn’t explode- it only dismantled, but twenty feet was a long way to fall- well, Germany figured that maybe the coffin would descrease the impact, or maybe if he was lucky, he’d really die this time and be done with all these lunatics...no such luck. The crowd was scattering like roaches with panicked cries as the metal pieces fell into each other- Germany fell backwards into the coffin, but Italy arrived just in time to...jump at him and wrap him in a fierce hug, saying, "GERMANY! I’m so glad you’re alive! I missed you for two days!"
Germany’s mind blanked. Well, this was okay too. "SOMEONE GET HIM OFF ME," America pleaded, "Owch ohmigod he’s biting me! Help!"
And for once, France was the one facepalming. But also taking pictures. ’Cuz that was how he rolled.
☆STARS
The sun was sinking low, burning down onto the earth, but there was this deep turquoise color that mingled with the flamingo pink that gave it a calm feeling. There were stars out already, dotted the sky with fireworks and something that seemed like heartsparks...Germany sat on the grass, turned away from the disaster scene as everybody was cleaning up.
After beating the Hell out of America and France and giving everybody a stern lecture, Germany organized the cleanup and assigned everybody jobs to do. The guests complained about cleaning up, but the culprits of the horrible Funeral Party asked Germany what they could do to make it up to him. After thinking for a moment, he decided on two conditions: one, that they provide a month’s supply of beer (a month’s supply of beer for Germany was a three month’s supply for everyone else, so it sufficed); and two, that they leave him the Hell alone for the next month. That was fair enough.
He sighed heavily and rolled his sleeves up; opened the first of many more free beers to come, took a thoughful sip. Seriously, who the Hell would give somebody a funeral party? Were all these people out of their minds?...Did he even need to ask that question? Well, they were trying to do something nice-
Wait, fuck that, no they weren’t. He took another sip and listened to England and France arguing over something trivial...
"Germannyyyy," came a familiar voice behind him, "Whatchya doin’?"
Germany looked over his shoulder; Italy collapsed into the grass next to him and began to randomly roll around. "Eh, drinking," Germany answered.
Italy sat up. "Ah! I got a free beer too!" he smiled, "But open it for me?"
Germany nodded, taking the bottle of beer and wondering vaguely that Italy seemed to have amazing resourcefulness when it came to weasling his way into free food. He opened it- that cool snap a hushed sound on the evening air- and handed it back to Italy.
"So, you were just asleep? That’s funny," Italy said, taking a gulp, "You were asleep for like three days. Germany must be really tired!" He latched onto Germany’s arm, staring into space.
"I suppose I was," Germany answered.
Italy nodded. There was a small pause that stretched out vertically...then Italy fell back on the grass. "I was really worried, though," he said.
"Hm? Don’t worry about me," Germany said, as though to dismiss the notion.
"I can’t help it though, I guess," Italy shrugged- some impression flashed in Germany’s mind. It was always amazing to him that Italy could say things like that so simply...
Italy seemed to remember something, letting out a small, "ah!" and sitting back up. "That’s right! Are we going to Romano and Spain’s wedding?"
Germany’s face fell. "...Are they really getting married?" he asked incredulously. The carnival lights died down darker into night, and some commotion was going down at the scene of the crime, but his mind wasn’t there at the moment.
"Eh? But that’s what you do when you’re in love with someone, right?" Italy asked, cocking his head.
Germany paused; then chuckled, took another sip of his beer. "I suppose so."
Italy smiled brightly. "Ah! You laughed. Maybe sleeping is a good thing, huh?" he asked, nudging Germany a little.
"HEY! Get a goddamn room, ya knob jockeys!" England bellowed from a distance, obviously sour from his argument with America (during which America had said, "I hate you, England! Your cooking is disgusting!" and England had replied, "You were a mistake!").
Italy blinked. "Eh, what did he just say?"
"I have no idea."
"Oh. Anyway- oh yeah!" Italy piped, reaching in his pocket for something- he pulled out a small white box. Germany looked at the writing- Greek? Italy flipped open the lid. "Greece gave me these because he said he couldn’t smoke because the funeral reminded him of the death of Socrates. Want?"
Ah, cigarettes. That was certainly very Italian...Germany paused. Well, smoking once in a while wasn’t too bad..."Sure," Germany shrugged, taking one from the box and holding it between his lips as Italy got out a match.
"We should invite Japan, he smokes a lot," Italy commented absently. Flash on fire, the sandpaper scratch- the flame lit and there was a short inhale, then the lazy smoke over eyes. "Ahh, I want pasta," he sang.
Germany paused; then smiled. That nervous electricity that had been in his mind before had died away- replaced by a calm lull. There wasn’t any clutter now. Smoking, drinking, sleeping...maybe he should do this relaxing thing more often (well, scratch that, he already drank like a fish). The sleeping part especially.
"Let’s do a toast to you being alive!" Italy suggested. His sharkwhite teeth flashed flower bright under the evening light...
Germany smiled and nodded. "Prost," he said.
"Salute!" Italy exclaimed. The glass lent a hollow click to the commotion in the background, and they both finished the bottles, putting them aside in the grass. Well, if a funeral party meant free beer, that was just fine by Germany.
NOTES;;
-"knob jockey" : it's a really vulgar british slang phrase that pretty much just means "gay"
-smoking section: Greece consumes the most tobacco in the world. Japan ranked 4th. Italians I think were somewhere in the twenties, and Germans in the thirties. (btw, Hungary was 2nd- imagine a chain-smoking Hungary? XD)
Thanks for reading!
Doctor: inuyashacooks
Characters/Pairings: Germany, N. Italy, S. Italy, America, US, UK, France, Japan + more; Germany X N. Italy, slight US X UK, implied S. Italy X Spain
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: language, severe stupidity
Summary: One day Germany collapses from overwork. The Hetalia gang jumps to conclusions as usual and assumes he's dead. Not surprisingly they do something stupid: instead of giving a traditional funeral, they attempt to give Germany a "going-away party."
☆"DEATH"
Today it was Japan, Germany, and the Italy brothers, for some reason all in Germany’s office while he was trying to do work. It was beyond him how things always turned out this way, but they did.
"AHHH! Japan! Help me! St-stop strangling me, Romano, I didn’t mean to call you ugly!" Italy wailed, struggling in his brother’s headlock.
"Romano! Stop!" Japan choked out, prying Romano off Italy.
Germany sighed- he was used to this, but he was just so tired. Everyday, this was how it went down: diplomacy with a whole host of nations who were constantly bickering over trivialities, an Oriental power who experienced debilitating shame at being within five feet of another person, and...Italy (there was no such vocabulary to describe the electric itch of stress that flared through Germany’s blood when he thought of Italy).
There was also an occasional sprinkling of Rape from France, and pointless belligerence that would result whenever Romano and Spain would come for a visit. Between ass-grabbing, tantrums, outbursts of tears, bloated declarations, demands for food, and balancing wills and resources in order to keep his country thriving, there was no time for rest...
Maybe it was just him. Germany had a feeeling that he should be able to endure more than this...this was just babysitting after all.
"Ah, thanks for helping me out, Japaan!"
"P-please don’t come so close to me!"
...Well, he’d try making a mental list- maybe that would work. List of things to do: first of all, tune out the noise. Second of all, explain to Japan that nobody was trying to compromise his maidenhood. Third, make sure Italy was fed/bathed/breathing/etc. Fourth...
The flow of the list went seamlessly in his brain, and the noise seemed to hush and stop its flow for a moment. A moment of bright white peace, a moment of thoughtfulthoughtlessness, a moment of-
"WHY WERE YOU SLEEPING NAKED WITH FRANCE!?"
Germany’s eyes cracked open at the sound of Romano’s grudging voice.
"...I sleep naked with everyone! Also, France is my friend!" Italy responded, like he was answering a question on a gameshow.
"Ah, I thought you were attached to Mr. Potatohead over there?" sneered Romano, giving Germany a horribly dirty look.
The list fizzled away and died off in Germany’s mind. Suddenly he couldn’t focus.
"Oh, him too! Of course, I love Germany!" Italy chimed.
Romano began to fume. "You’re horrible! Why does everybody like you better, you’re a slut!" he bellowed, "I would never do that to Spain!"
"...brother...never- Spain? Romano," Italy stuttered out, baffled and overwhelmed by the sheer force of Romano’s negativity. Germany blinked as well. Spain?...that seemed wrong to him. Ah, well.
"What, I- I didn’t mean that! I meant Elaine! I mixed them up, because, you see, the names rhyme! Ha-ha-ha-ha!" Romano laughed, the sound coming nervous and stunted from his throat. "ELAINE IS MY GIRLFRIEND-"
"...You said Spain," Italy pointed out again, sounding confused as all Hell.
Romano then lunged forward, grabbing Italy by the collar and shaking him like a marraca. "I am NOT sleeping with Spain!"
"I BELIEVE I CAN BE OF SOME ASSISTANCE," cried a deep and showy voice from the heavens- or at least from down the hall. France bust through the door, wearing a slick smile and a rose in front of his vital regions. Germany paused, wondering how France had broken into his house.
"No, you can’t!" Romano yelled. "Get outta here ya rapist!"
"Ah, France! Nice to see you," Italy said, voice lazy and spacey, giving a small salute.
"And you as well, ti lupe," France replied, with a dashing smile. "What’s this I hear of you sleeping with Spain?"
"You hear nothing, because nothing is going on!" Romano snapped.
"Well, we’re all good Catholic countries. There may be, you know, some penance involved? Because may I remind you, homosexual acts are frowned upon by the Pope," France reasoned, with an interesting quirk of the eyebrow.
Romano had many weaknesses, and one of them was the Vatican. "I, I," he stuttered, red in the face, "What the Hell? What penance would that be?"
France grinned happily. "Very, very simple! No pain at all. Here’s Penance Gameplan A: You, ti Italy here, me- mattress mambo. See? That’s all."
Silence fell over the landscape. Even Germany, whose mind was numbed and frozen, took the time to make a baffled face. France began to laugh triumphantly.
Italy broke the pause. "Ah, sounds fun! Is it a dance? Can Germany come?"
"You’re an idiot!" Romano barked at France, fists curling listlessly at his sides; then, light in his eyes like dog’s teeth gnashing, he turned his gaze to Germany. "This is all your fault! You bastard potato!"
Germany didn’t even have the energy to respond to that.
"Don’t say that, it’s not Germany’s fault," Italy pouted, putting a hand on his brother’s shoulder. "He didn’t know you were in love with Spain, after all-"
"Ah! You’re in love with Spain! How beautiful! This calls for celebration, mes freres!"
"I’m no-not in love with Spain, that’s sick, he’s a guy, you’re horrible, he raised me!"
"But you’re still sleeping with him?" France responded, looking a tiny bit confused.
"NO!" Romano yelled.
"Well, whatever makes brother Romano happy," Italy decided, his brain suddenly making an appearance from the depths of nowhere, wrapping his brother in a celebratory embrace that France decided to include himself on.
"Why are you all sleeping with each other," Japan wailed from a corner, shaking with shock as he watched all the sickness.
"You’re all bastards! I’ll kill you all!" Romano yelled, flinging both his brother and France off of him in an unusual show of conviction and strength.
"Oh no, Romano’s angry," Italy sighed; then ran over to Germany like a puppy, with a slight smile bright on his face. "Germanyyyy! Brother’s sick, can you help him?"
France, whose special talent was fishing in troubled waters, caught sight of Germany and bounded over to where he was sitting. "Ah! Hello, Germany," he said, sporting a smile similar to Italy’s, "I’ll still be expecting payment for my services, it seems I was called here under false pretenses-"
"You’re all bastards! You can go to Hell, you dirty Kraut!" Romano yelled from a safe distance, giving Germany the finger.
"This is, Germany-san, I need to speak with you, I’m sorry to say but I’m not sure if I can deal with this, I just find this behavior unnacceptable on so many levels, and I," Japan stammered through a heavy blush and a clogged throat, pushing past France to speak with Germany.
The conversations melted into one another. Under the dust and the hyper vibrations of the colorful atmosphere, words became jilted fragments that came to Germany’s tired ears in broken waves- receded and then pushed forward again-
"-never knew he loved Spain! We’ll go to the wedding, right, Germany? I wonder what I should wear- oh, they’ll have lots of good food at the reception! Paella, and pasta, and pasta-"
"-can also take payment in cuckoo clocks, seeing as your currency ugly and therefore useless to me-"
"-and stop seducing my innocent brother! You’ve got some nerve!-"
"-I feel as though my mind is going to explode, I’m sorry but I need to take a few weeks off in order to recuperate, that’s the only possible solution, unless you have one in which case I’ll humbly listen to your-"
The aching seemed to rush to an outro, seemed to sweep down to dullness and a shrill cry. A ghost of a feeling shuddered down Germany’s spine. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad- to just- sleep- for a while...His eyelids dragged shut like a tombstone walk. Yeah, that would be fine. The last thought he had was a vague wondering if Italy had already eaten, and after that a lullaby in his veins- down to sweet coffee blackness and one final honey note.
It happened unexpectedly: Germany’s head just suddenly dropped onto his desk with an iron thud. Literally dropped- it wasn’t an excersise in hyperbole, it wasn’t a gesture of exasperation. Everybody there was sure he’d gone unconcious at that moment. You could even see it in the relaxing of his fists- seconds earlier they’d been clenched with tightening blood...Everybody was in the midst of conversation still, but the words soon hushed and fell.
This time, France was the one to break the sudden silence. His easy laughter filled the ghost space between nervousness. "Well! I must be on my way. And, uh, Germany, you can just forget about that little service debt- mistakes are mistakes after all, let’s let bygones be bygones!" France leaned forward, reaching out a reluctant hand to poke Germany’s lifeless form. Feeling rigidity, France shuddered; then turned to the rest of the group with a salute worthy of America. "Well, then! My work here is done- make sure to send me an invitation to the reception, dear Romano."
And with those parting words, he mounted a bicycle that he seemed to pull out of nowhere. "Ciao, mes freres! Au revoir, mes enfants!" And with a bout of laughter and a scattering of roses, France disappeared from the house.
But enough of that. Left at the mouth of sudden disaster and its implications, Japan, Italy, and from a distance, Romano, stared quietly at the desk. Italy laughed nervously and reached over to nudge Germany. "Hey, Germany, wake up- go to bed if you’re sleepy," he urged, poking Germany...who just moved like a normal person would. If that person was dead.
Panic washed over Italy as Japan reached over, conservatively patting Germany on the head. "...Germany-san? Germany-san..." Japan paused; then, doubled his efforts. Germany made no response that would signify conciousness. Japan placed a hand on Germany’s back. There was no sign of breathing- it could have just been very shallow, but Japan couldn’t feel anything. "Ger- many...-san..."
Another bout of silence. Romano’s voice sounded from nearby. "’Ey, what’s with the Kraut?"
Italy’s eyes flooded with panic, and whatever frenzied energy he contained was concentrated in his hands as he grabbed Japan by the collar, shaking him like a puppet. "Japan! Japan! Do something! Germany’s dead, he’s dead! Japan! Do something! Get England, England’s a witch!"
"Italy! Jus-just calm down, Italy! Being irrational won’t help anything!" Japan cried, pushing Italy off of him and stopping to assess the situation. It did indeed seem that Germany was dead. He was unresponsive and not breathing- Japan was pretty sure that meant dead. If he was dead, then they’d have to have a funeral of some sort. Japan poked Germany again, just to make sure.
Well, if that wasn’t dead, he didn’t know what was. Like a true warrior, Japan paused nobly on the memory of a fallen comrade, the wind tousling his hair even though there shouldn’t have been any wind in Germany’s house. The scene would have been almost heroic, if it weren’t for Italy’s sloppy sobbing and incoherent wailing and Romano’s odd and inappropriate chuckling.
They would have to have a funeral, then. Waves of anxiety washed over Japan- Germany had been the nucleus of their power, and what would happen now? To put it succintly, Japan didn’t really think he could handle Italy. It was even hard for him to grasp that Italy was now wailing and bellowing and sighing in rainfalls of tears and mangled Italian phrases. Hands shaking, Japan crossed the room and made his way over to the telephone so he could call a funeral home or paramedics or something to that effect.
He noticed Romano beside him, even through this new dark cloud of thoughts. Japan looked at him curiously: Romano was leaning against the wall, caught in one of his braggart chuckling spells that seemed to last until somebody noticed him. "Eh, excuse me, Romano-san...why are you laughing?" Japan asked, having to raise his voice over the laughter and tears.
"I- just- this joke- haha- Mr. Potatodead," Romano sputtered between breaths.
Japan shot him a flat stare that said, "Lame joke." Romano covered up his laughter with coughing, then went to comfort his distraught brother while Japan tried to break the language barrier over the telephone.
What was funny, or actually not really, was that Japan was unable to overcome the German language. What ended up happening as Japan was about to tear his hair out with either worry over being discovered with a stiff in the office or with frustration over all the noise, was that he ended up dialing none other than America.
"Yes! America speaking, what can I do for you?" came America’s bright, cheerful voice through sonic waves on the other end.
Japan paused- a dark pause tense with violet and stress. "Am-American-san...I need...assistance," he managed to get out.
"EH? I can’t hear you Japan! Who’s that in the background? What’s wrong again?"
"I need an ambulance," Japan cried into the receiver, "Or a funeral home, or- or a babysitter-"
"All three!? Are you in danger!? Stay where you are," America advised, his voice immediately rushing with tones of high action and the thrill of rescue, "You’re at Germany’s right? We’ll be right over!"
"No, just, please dial, an- ambu..."
"Hang in there Japan!" America shouted triumphantly, and before Japan could get another word in, he’d already hung up.
Japan’s brain fizzled, died out like wires. Was this how Germany had felt during his short lifetime? Japan was sure he could feel the beginnings of a beesting headache in the back of his head...no, no, Germany was much better equipped to handle this, Japan had only recently come out of his shell- how was he supposed to deal with this? The two brothers were shouting over his thoughts and now the Allies would be here as well. The amount of sheer chaos in the room with increase tenfold with America alone...
"Shut up! ’Ey, you! Stop being a lazy bum and help me out here!" Romano yelled, visibly shaking as he clamped a hand over Italy’s mouth.
"I...there, there, Italy," Japan managed to mutter weakly, patting Italy on the head slightly. Italy’s face was sloppy, sticky with tears, and Japan just felt weak in the stomach. His eyes flickered over to Germany, hunched rigidly over his desk, and he wondered how he’d handle this. Then again, Germany had a different effect on Italy- and also, Japan didn’t want to indulge Italy’s caprices, because that would be no good for society and-
As swirling thoughts reached an orchestrated height, the door to the office bust open. Apparently America really needed to kick it down. He set one foot firmly on the ground, fist clenched before him, with France and England standing aloofly behind him. Japan took a moment to remark how much they looked like Power Rangers before America stepped into the room, eyes darting. "Japan! Thank God! It looks like we’ve arrived in time! What’s going on here? What’s the trouble? What’s all the crying about?"
England and France, on the other hand, had noticed immediately upon looking in, and stood frozen at the door with faces between "surprise" and "oh-shit-what’s-the-quickest-way-out-of-here," but mostly that second one. France’s eyes were a little shaded though, and he hoped that nobody would reveal that he had known about this...
Japan lifted a tired arm up weakly and pointed to the desk. America’s mouth turned in concern. "He needs an ambulance?"
"GERMANY’S DEAD!" Italy wailed ruefully, struggling out of Romano’s grasp. "Wh-who’s going to tie my shoes?"
"Hold up, I can’t think with all the noise," America responded, pushing up his glasses a little. "Now what’s the problem?"
England made a vague scoffing noise, tongue against teeth. "You’re really fucking stupid, aren’t you? He’s dead, you imbecile!"
America jumped back in surprise, bringing up an arm wildly as if to shield off black magic. "Oh- God- well, then," he stuttered. He reached out an unwilling hand and poked Germany lightly. "Eesh. Well, then! Let’s get this cleaned up. England, you call the funeral home, France, weep over the body, and I’ll start getting plans ready for the funeral."
"Oi, just wait one second! This isn’t my problem! I only came for my bloody pizza!" England snapped, jabbing America in the chest with an accusatory finger. "You can help them with the funeral, and I’m going to go eat my pizza alone."
"Excuse me, but you got a pizza on the way here?" Japan asked, slightly confused.
England gave him a considering glance. "Ah, yes, I had to pick it up, and it was on the way, so I came for the ride."
"He’s a Protestant right?" America interjected, as if he was some secretary just making sure, as he typed various things into his Blackberry.
"Who am I going to sleep with now?" Italy wailed, sobbing into France’s shoulder.
A hush fell on the room; France’s weeping stopped and his eyes became shaded. Everybody in the room recognized the look in his eyes to be a cross between, "wait, you two were sleeping together?"and "does that mean the position is open?" England let out a sarcastic "tch" and went huffily out of the room, coming back minutes later with his pizza box under his arm.
"Well," he said, rolling his eyes, "If I’m going to be forced to help you people I ought to be able to eat while I do it."
America smiled brightly. When America was involved with something, everybody else’s problems were absorbed into his energy- he’d invest as much in it as if he were Germany’s friend himself. It was just the way he charged into the situation. "That’s the spirit! Anyway, I wasn’t lying before. France, you can stop your weeping. Romano, be quiet please. The noise gets to me, I can’t think," he groaned, throwing his head back.
"If you could get Italy to stop crying, it would help," Japan suggested, thinking that they might know how to cheer him up. They were more similar in culture anyway.
England stared flatly at Italy as though he were staring at a complete anomally in the world of biology. "Eh, I’m just as clueless when it comes to him."
France smiled as if he was somebody who would comfort you when you were down, which was totally absolutely not true. "Aw, come on, little one, just turn to France when you’re down! I know all the right remedies," he said with a wink, holding Italy by the shoulders. But the tears didn’t subside, and there was a stale silence in the room.
But America, besides being Mister Captain Eagle Hero, was surprisingly good at solving problems. He’d throw around thousands of solutions, but at least one in all those thousand was bound to work. He moved gracefully from his place beside Germany’s desk over to England. "Hey, what’s your problem?- OI, my pizza!" England protested as America took two slices.
He chewed one over thoughtfully and then made his way over to Italy. Then, seeing an opening between random Italian prayers and worried tears, he shoved the other slice into Italy’s mouth. Italy’s expression paused quietly- then it brightened just a little bit, like he was pleasantly surprised...then the muffled crying halted altogether and he was happily chomping on his pizza.
Japan’s mind sighed. "I didn’t think it would be that...easy," he said, staring at Italy with hope-crushing disappointment. In that moment he pretty much lost any faith he’d ever had in Italy.
They talked of the funeral for a while: America, England, and France listened while Japan talked about what he thought was appropriate for Germany’s funeral. Romano would occasionally interject with a tasteless potato joke, and every once in a while Italy would finish his slice and somebody’d have to rush to get him a new one or he’d start the abysmal weeping again.
"So, just a normal western-style funeral should do," Japan concluded, with a pleasant, vague smile, "But it’s different here than at my house, so I may need some assistance."
There was a deep nod shared between the Allies; things seemed to be wrapping up. Besides, they had no more pizza, and nobody wanted to be around to hear Italy whining. America and England got up from their impromptu seats on the floor. "Well, then, that’s settled," America smiled amiably, "I’m glad we could help. I’ll make sure-"
"I’ve never really made sense of the western funeral," France interjected- his voice slow, turning some hidden idea. The rest of the group looked over to France. He paused, looking up to the ceiling. "It’s so...glum."
England quirked an eyebrow irritatedly. "Well, yeah, ya wanker, somebody just died," he said, making sure Italy had pizza firm in hand so that the waterworks wouldn’t go off again.
"I know. But I just feel that it shouldn’t be so depressing," France mused. "It’s just so...tasteless. You’re gathering to praise a soul’s returning to Heaven, after all- isn’t that cause for celebration?"
Japan knew that this conversation was going somewhere that he couldn’t relate to; England rolled his eyes. "Alright, Aristotle, thank you for your opinion. Are we clear? I’ve gotta be home-"
"I think you’re onto something there," America responded, startling alacrity vibrating in his voice, as if something that the great philosophe France had said had struck him deep in the heart. Everybody could see that the cogs in America’s mind were working- his eyes took on that blinded quality they had when he was on an energy rush. He quickly dove a hand down, snatching up the last slice of pizza from the box. "Because, you know-"
"That’s my pizza that I paid for with my money," England reminded him bitterly.
"Shut up for a moment England," America said sweetly, then concentrated his attention on France and Japan as England shouted wild protests, "I’ve always thought that the all-black thing, all that- if you’re going to Heaven- you’ve gotta go out with a bang-"
"I’m thinking, roses, trumpets, and the coffin should be decorated in jewels," France replied quick as fire.
"Right, and what we can do is we can have a tiered mechanism that’ll rise it- like a platform?- before we lower the coffin into the ground, also, if it’s at night, fireworks may be good."
"N-no, I don’t think-" Japan interjected, "I don’t think that’s what Germany would want."
"But it’s a Western affair!" America protested.
"That’s right, leave it to your big brothers to handle," France joined.
England was shaking his head as though this was all just a nightmare. "You’re all insane, all of you-"
Italy swallowed a pepperoni that had been dangling off his pizza by a thread of cheese; smiled like mist and daises, eyes lazy, and gave his dissertation. "I think that it’d be nice if it was like a party," he nodded, "Then it won’t be so sad to say goodbye to Germany."
There was a short pause. Romano scoffed. "Tch, I don’t give a shit how that dirty Kraut leaves the earth, just that he does."
So it was decided. Germany’s funeral would be turned into a going-away party. And Germany slept peacefully at his desk, for once without the crowd of thoughts cluttering his brain.
☆FUNERAL
"Eagles- platform- lift- are you serious?"
"Yes." America paused, blinking, then smiled. "Isn’t it awesome! I have to make sure that my funeral is even better though. Like, I’ll of course need fireworks and a giant robot to sprinkle my ashes across the Applachian mountain range..." The sun was melting light down into a torrid night, down to blackness, and the epic lighting just made America look even more ridiculous.
England’s jaw dropped slightly as he tried, for the sake of his sanity, to discern whether or not America was joking. America’s eyes just shone with the fire of an idea. So. He wasn’t joking. Hm. "You..." England let out, finally. "Why do I even hang around you?"
The sun was high and clear, and diamond-true it spat glitter off the water nearby. The weather was nice. Everybody was arriving by somber cars, but there was an...effervesence in the atmosphere that was completely inappropriate for a funeral.
For example, China was strolling along, dressed in an outrageously colorful outfit. A trail of people followed behind him, arms laden with different candies, steaming pots of food, and leftover Shinatty-chan merchandise. He scanned around quickly, until he spotted Japan and Italy, who were easy to find because they were the only people wearing black. "Aiiyyyaaa! So sorry for your loss, aru," China said with a bright smile, "It’s sad that he’s passed on."
"Oh, thank you for your condolences," Japan responded pleasantly, looking curiously at the crowd behind China. Italy was chomping down on some instant ramen noodles, so he didn’t have a mouth to respond.
"Was the coffin heavy though? He was a big one, aru," China said, completely disregarding any attempts at manners that he might have been playing at before. Japan blinked and Italy continued to eat. China gestured to the group of people behind him. "Ah, Brother! I forgot- I brought food! Where should I put this?"
Japan’s eyebrow quirked, and he pointed limply to a huge buffet around which some people were standing. "Ehh, over there."
"Aiyyaaa! So much food!" China exclaimed, his eyes shining. "Come on, guys!" With that he ran off toward the buffet, his crowd behind him.
Japan sighed, the anxiety beginning to rack his shoulders again. "This is completely wrong," he said, leaning against a Grecian-style pillar that France had decorated with velvet draperies and glitter, "I should never have allowed this to happen..."
Italy smiled between long slurps of ramen noodles. "Ah, I think it’s better that it’s a happy event, though," he said brightly. "That way, nobody’s sad! Right? And there’s so much food..."
Japan’s eyebrows were knit in worry. "Yes, I suppose- but this...Italy-san, forgive me if I’m talking out of line, but aren’t you sad?"
"Hmm? Yep," Italy said.
Japan paused. Italy smiled brightly at absolutely nothing, punctuated his words with a popping noise as he finished the last of the noodles.
Italy let out a small sound that seemed to be between a giggle and a song and dug his fork back down into his cup of noodles. The fork made an empty noise as it met with plastic. Italy paused curiously. "Huh?" he murmured, looking down into his cup...to find nothing.
Italy looked up at Japan, and Japan’s senses went on red alert as he recognized the spark of panic. "I- eh-" Italy stuttered. He hid his eyes behind his sleeve for a moment- then the full blown geyser came, coupled with desparate wailing and garbled Italian.
"Italy! Italy, calm down! Help! Someone-" Japan started, holding Italy by the shoulders.
But his sentence went unfinished, for the Allied Forces were prompt and efficient in the face of danger, or at least in the face of having to deal with irritating Italians. They seemed to swoop down from clandestine rescue points- England carried an armful of scones, America had a slice of pizza, and France carried a bowl full of fetuccini. "Target in sight!" America yelled, and as he landed, stuffed the slice of pizza in Italy’s mouth, stifling the crying sounds.
France wiped the sweat off his brow and handed the bowl of pasta to Japan. "Agh, what strife," France remarked with a note like sobbing in his voice, "The eagles aren’t even here yet, and Russia is getting rowdy with the sculpture of Venus..."
"I know," America said, watching Italy warily as he chewed down his pizza (all smiles and songs once again), "And the main event is scheduled for three PM sharp, so if they’re not here we’ll have to go without them."
"Nonsense!" France protested sharply, "How are we going to have the funeral without the eagles? They’re a key element, especially in combination with the-"
"OI! You bastards!" came a familiar voice, interrupting France’s speech- and then the faint hum of a motor...The group turned to see Romano, careening toward them at mach speed on a Vespa and tossing tomatoes at random. He panted, breathless, when he reached them; then looked up with a violent spark in his eye. "The Hell do you think you’re doing to my brother?"
"...Shutting him up?" America guessed.
"You keep shovin’ food down his throat, he’s gonna blow up like a fucking balloon!" Romano yelled. His words were met by confused silence. Romano sighed exasperatedly. "He’s gonna be FAT. I am not going to have a fat brother!"
"Oi, but doesn’t he always eat this much?" England asked, poking the Italian in question. Italy made a strange squeaking noise and then continued to eat.
"...Isn’t he eating a normal amount?" America asked, earning a collective disappointed sigh from the group that wordlessly said, "America, you fail."
Romano pointed at Italy with determination set in his eyes. "Snap out of it, you! You’ve been brainwashed by that macho potato!"
Italy paused, tipping his head curiously. "Ve?" he asked.
"Don’t gimme that crap," Romano said, then turned, his Armani scarf blowing heroically in the again rather misplaced wind. Set one foot on his Vespa, and gave all of them skeleton eyes- "I’ll be back! Don’t think I’m not gonna hold you people responsible when he turns into a whale!"
"Bloody wanker," England spat, watching Romano’s figure grow smaller as the Vespa hummed into the distance.
Japan seemed sincerely puzzled by Romano’s actions. "...But why doesn’t he do something himself?" he asked, as though it were a serious philosophical problem.
France’s laugh was slightly weak; he put a hand on Japan’s shoulder. "Don’t try to make sense of him."
"...Or the other one," England added.
The festivities went on- Korea was doing everything in his power to sexually harrass (and otherwise annoy the fuck out of) all the guests in attendance, and soon got into an argument with Russia over who invented vodka. They got into a fight, and then as though they were Pokebattling, Russia sent out a terrified Lithuania to fight. Poland was "like, so sad and stuff over the dead guy," and Austria was sipping tea and shaking his head in disapproval of this barbaric display.
And indeed it was the most vulgar of displays to anyone with any sense, but America and France’s eyes were glistening as they took in the sheer beauty of the display. And what to top off this cake? The eagles, of course- suddenly a Range Rover careened onto the scene, and a brusque man climbed out of the passenger seat, with a clipboard tucked under his arm.
America and France exchanged a flashing glance and squeaked like schoolgirls, skipping over to the man. He gave the two beaming nations a confused double take, then coughed professionally into his ledger. "Eh, uhm, I have some eagles here?" he asked, as if it were a normal thing to say.
"Yes! Those are ours!" America cried, pumping his fist into the air.
The man unloaded the cages onto the grass, and America turned to the group. "Alright guys! Listen up because what I have to say is very important!"
"Oh, fuck it, really?!" England huffed, rolling his eyes.
America’s sense of hearing did not extend England’s way; the flash in his eyes seemed to say that he was the sole audience to some triumphant marching band’s music playing in the distance. "We were in the shadows of doubt and sorrow, but fear not!- THE EAGLES HAVE ARRIVED!"
Japan looked to Italy uneasily. "Why did I have the feeling what he just said was extremely inappropriate?" he whispered, at which Italy shrugged and reached over for his bowl of pasta.
"Since we are no longer within those shadows of doubt and sorrow, the main event will go as planned in strictly five minutes! So, England, you stand so that you can pull the lever for the coffin platform when I give the signal; Italy, you stand around eating; France and Japan, position yourselves strategically so that you can release the eagles so that they can fly diagonally into the scenery behind the coffin- and..." he paused, seeming to think for a moment, but then brushed off the pensiveness with a bright smile. "I’ll just tell Lithuania to cue the band."
England bristled. "Oh?" he asked, walking toward America and poking him in the chest, "And what the Hell will you be doing?"
America’s eyebrow twitched and he pushed England by the forehead. "For your information, I have a eulogy to give," he replied. "It’s not easy being the mayor."
"What?"
"Nothing. So! Guys!" America continued, his eyes set, "We’ve got five minutes, so move to your assigned positions! I’ll tell everyone to gather by the coffin platform!"
Left with no further energy to confront all the ridiculousness, the rest of the group shrugged. This was a crazy enough idea to begin with- why not roll with it? It wasn’t going to change now. They moved to their positions, as America yelled for everyone to gather by the coffin platform. The sun was high and clear in the afternoon sky; the eagle delivery man was left wondering, "What, no tip? Fucking Americans..."
Everyone was gathered, huddled and clustered, in front of the thing America kept calling "the coffin platform-" it was just Germany’s open coffin (set up as though it were a wake) on some sort of small red platform that rose a foot or so off the ground. Some of the more sensible nations were solemn and silent (by "some," everyone knows "Austria" is meant). The...less sensible nations (read: "everyone else") were a bit agitated. "Aiiyyaa! In the middle of the meal, too!" China huffed, brushing crumbs off his fingers. "This better be good, aru."
&quo;It’s too bad Germany’s dead," Russia smiled sweetly, "Too bad, too bad! He never got to see the day he’d become one with me..."
But enough of that. America stood in front of the platform with a microphone in his hand. "Okay, everybody, may I have your attention? It’s time to shut up," he began (a rather wonderful note to begin a eulogy on).
There was a hush that fell over the crowd. The sun beat down happily on the grounds. "As you all know," America continued, "We’re here to honor the memory of our fallen friend, Germany. Sure, everybody knows he was sort of stuffy- but he was an important part of all our lives-"
"FUCK THAT! When the Hell was he ever important to-" Romano began, but Spain quickly put a hand over Romano’s mouth to shut him up.
Fortunately, America missed it. "-and his memory deserves to be honored." There was a dramatic pause- suddenly, quiet music began to play from the brass band by the coffin platform, like it was the Olympics or something.
"And what better way to honor the memory of a dear friend than to celebrate? Which is why France and I came up with the brilliant idea of throwing Germany a funeral party." America’s eyes glistened, and he clenched his fist. "We threw this party not for the delicious food or to show off my amazing engineering skills- but- simply- to do justice to Germany’s memory!"
The quiet was thick with puzzlement; the only audible noise was France’s audible weeping. "And it is for the sake of justice that before Germany goes, we’re going to raise his coffin as close to the heavens as we can, or at least a good twenty feet or so!
"So, my friends," America went on, nodding solemnly, "Don’t marvel at the awe-inspiring display you are about to see. Instead, pause in rememberance of our tall, hard-working, stuffy, emotionally handicapped friend, Germany!"
With this he turned to England with an expecting smile. England paused, seeming to go into palpitations, physical revulsions, when even extending a hand toward the lever. America’s face fell; an eyebrow arched.
"...Eh," America said, raising a hand.
"Agh, sacre coeur- stop being such a tsundere!" France hissed to England.
England paused, and then pulled the lever delicately, barely touching it as though it was filled with AIDs. Italy was distracted by the constant flow of food into his guts. And Japan was just praying, wishing, that it would all be over soon.
...The sweet darkness, the absence, the dark space- the respite was broken, though, by a sudden image-
It was that island again, that island where the sun shone violent white onto the diamond sand, where the sea breeze was mist inside the hot air. Italy was there; they were both swimming. Germany paused a second. What was he doing here? Hadn’t they hopped on one of China’s boats out of here...?
"Germany, Germany! Let’s have a breath-holding contest!" Italy said, tugging on Germany’s arm.
"Yes, yes," Germany replied- but there was the sudden closing feeling that the further they went, the less the chances of escape were...that was to say, the water became like air- it became inevitable, and he wanted to get out of it because he still had work to do-
"Ah, Germany-san, Italy-kun!" Germany looked toward the shore...Japan was there, waving, his sleeves rolled up.
Germany sent a questioning glance, a silent petition to help him out, but Japan just smiled sunnily. "We brought you the flowers," Japan said, "And the grapes..."
Flowers? Grapes? What the fuck? And who was "we"? Germany said something, but it faded back into his throat. And suddenly the water was an atom bomb, suddenly it was zero space around him- a solid sheath from the sun, enclosing him and Italy- and then they found that China had built a villa under the water- and then...and then....?
And then there was this screeching sound- just this powerful fucking shrill blast into his ears, it sounded like the sound you’d hear if you scraped a star, if you swallowed a black hole- his eyes shot open, and his blood pumped fast in his veins. He didn’t get up immediately, in case he was in the hands of some enemy...wait...was that...he recognized that melody.
Was that Aerosmith’s Crazy!? Played by a brass band!?
He blinked in disbelief, hoping to dear God that it wasn’t true. Where the Hell was he!? He heard an electric buzz behind the horn music, so he could hear it better. It sounded like a voice over a microphone. Wait, he knew that obnoxiously cheerful voice- wasn’t that America?
Aerosmith. A brass band. America. Something was indeed wrong.
"...And so, Germany, good luck in Heaven, and rest in peace-"
Germany had about seven heart attacks right then and there. Rest in peace- the Hell! Immediately he shot up, and looked around- and then saw that he was in the air.
A gasp of shock sounded from below- he peered over the coffin edge to see a whole cluster of people he knew. China, Russia, Korea, Lithuania, Austria- all the nations seemed to be in attendance. For his funeral! But he had just been asleep, godammit!
Although his blood pressure was skyrocketing with each passing second, he managed to take a quick look at the scene below.
And was not amused with what he saw.
A large buffet overflowing with colorful food was abandoned past the crowd...there were decorations- streamers and baloons and confetti...Neoclassical sculptures whose vital regions were (dis)tastefully censored with roses- and speaking of flowers, there was a whole fucking rainbow assortment of them all over the place. There was a brass band dressed in black, yellow, and red uniforms, and two Grecian pillars...and there was a banner between them, colored seizure pink, with with words:
HAPPY, UMM, DYING, GERMANY!!!
printed on it, and a rather crude caricature of himself under the words, and holy fuck, why was he in the air! He looked down, only to see that he was about twenty feet up, his coffin balanced on a red, white, and blue platform that looked like a wedding cake.
Germany was not fucking amused.
"TH- THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE!" he yelled, standing up in the coffin.
America looked up at Germany’s angry figure, and went pale. "Oh- OH MY GOD, GHOST!" he yelled, flinging the microphone aside in wild abandon- then flung himself at England, crying, "England! It’s a ghost! Get your fruity unicorn friends to banish it or something!"
"MY UNICORN FRIEND IS NOT FRUITY!" England replied, pushing him off, "And that’s not a fucking ghost! Germany’s alive you stupid git!"
"Fuck, he’s alive!?" Prussia and Romano cried in unison.
"You know, I invented funerals," Korea announced to no one in particular.
Austria seemed to sigh heavily, then looked up at Germany with a stern face on. "You have some explaining to do when you get home!" he yelled.
"What! What the Hell is this!" Germany responded, "How is this my fault! What the-"
Meanwhile, it took Italy five minutes longer to register signals in his brain as per usual, so he stared openly at Germany standing in the coffin before taking an appropriate action.
His face broke into a bright smile, and he flung the bowl of pasta aside. "Germany’s alive," he pointed out to Japan, voice happy and melodic.
Japan nodded. Then Italy laughed and reached over toward the coffin platform lever. He figured it would be fine if he just pulled it to the opposite side, anyway-
America looked up from his wrestling match with England just in time, or actually, just out of time. "NO ITALY WAIT-"
But as the narrative voice just declared, it was just out of time- Italy had already pulled the lever, and the platform shook violently. Germany gained his footing easily, but the platform was already collapsing into itself. "What the Hell kind of machine is this!?"
England took America’s distraction as an opening and punched him square on the jaw. "Oi, you idiot! What the fuck is your death contraption doing?!"
"Oh God- he pulled it to the self-destruct setting!"
"Why in God’s name do you have a self-destruct setting?" England responded. America took that as an opening and slapped England in the face, tried to scurry away...
The platform didn’t explode- it only dismantled, but twenty feet was a long way to fall- well, Germany figured that maybe the coffin would descrease the impact, or maybe if he was lucky, he’d really die this time and be done with all these lunatics...no such luck. The crowd was scattering like roaches with panicked cries as the metal pieces fell into each other- Germany fell backwards into the coffin, but Italy arrived just in time to...jump at him and wrap him in a fierce hug, saying, "GERMANY! I’m so glad you’re alive! I missed you for two days!"
Germany’s mind blanked. Well, this was okay too. "SOMEONE GET HIM OFF ME," America pleaded, "Owch ohmigod he’s biting me! Help!"
And for once, France was the one facepalming. But also taking pictures. ’Cuz that was how he rolled.
☆STARS
The sun was sinking low, burning down onto the earth, but there was this deep turquoise color that mingled with the flamingo pink that gave it a calm feeling. There were stars out already, dotted the sky with fireworks and something that seemed like heartsparks...Germany sat on the grass, turned away from the disaster scene as everybody was cleaning up.
After beating the Hell out of America and France and giving everybody a stern lecture, Germany organized the cleanup and assigned everybody jobs to do. The guests complained about cleaning up, but the culprits of the horrible Funeral Party asked Germany what they could do to make it up to him. After thinking for a moment, he decided on two conditions: one, that they provide a month’s supply of beer (a month’s supply of beer for Germany was a three month’s supply for everyone else, so it sufficed); and two, that they leave him the Hell alone for the next month. That was fair enough.
He sighed heavily and rolled his sleeves up; opened the first of many more free beers to come, took a thoughful sip. Seriously, who the Hell would give somebody a funeral party? Were all these people out of their minds?...Did he even need to ask that question? Well, they were trying to do something nice-
Wait, fuck that, no they weren’t. He took another sip and listened to England and France arguing over something trivial...
"Germannyyyy," came a familiar voice behind him, "Whatchya doin’?"
Germany looked over his shoulder; Italy collapsed into the grass next to him and began to randomly roll around. "Eh, drinking," Germany answered.
Italy sat up. "Ah! I got a free beer too!" he smiled, "But open it for me?"
Germany nodded, taking the bottle of beer and wondering vaguely that Italy seemed to have amazing resourcefulness when it came to weasling his way into free food. He opened it- that cool snap a hushed sound on the evening air- and handed it back to Italy.
"So, you were just asleep? That’s funny," Italy said, taking a gulp, "You were asleep for like three days. Germany must be really tired!" He latched onto Germany’s arm, staring into space.
"I suppose I was," Germany answered.
Italy nodded. There was a small pause that stretched out vertically...then Italy fell back on the grass. "I was really worried, though," he said.
"Hm? Don’t worry about me," Germany said, as though to dismiss the notion.
"I can’t help it though, I guess," Italy shrugged- some impression flashed in Germany’s mind. It was always amazing to him that Italy could say things like that so simply...
Italy seemed to remember something, letting out a small, "ah!" and sitting back up. "That’s right! Are we going to Romano and Spain’s wedding?"
Germany’s face fell. "...Are they really getting married?" he asked incredulously. The carnival lights died down darker into night, and some commotion was going down at the scene of the crime, but his mind wasn’t there at the moment.
"Eh? But that’s what you do when you’re in love with someone, right?" Italy asked, cocking his head.
Germany paused; then chuckled, took another sip of his beer. "I suppose so."
Italy smiled brightly. "Ah! You laughed. Maybe sleeping is a good thing, huh?" he asked, nudging Germany a little.
"HEY! Get a goddamn room, ya knob jockeys!" England bellowed from a distance, obviously sour from his argument with America (during which America had said, "I hate you, England! Your cooking is disgusting!" and England had replied, "You were a mistake!").
Italy blinked. "Eh, what did he just say?"
"I have no idea."
"Oh. Anyway- oh yeah!" Italy piped, reaching in his pocket for something- he pulled out a small white box. Germany looked at the writing- Greek? Italy flipped open the lid. "Greece gave me these because he said he couldn’t smoke because the funeral reminded him of the death of Socrates. Want?"
Ah, cigarettes. That was certainly very Italian...Germany paused. Well, smoking once in a while wasn’t too bad..."Sure," Germany shrugged, taking one from the box and holding it between his lips as Italy got out a match.
"We should invite Japan, he smokes a lot," Italy commented absently. Flash on fire, the sandpaper scratch- the flame lit and there was a short inhale, then the lazy smoke over eyes. "Ahh, I want pasta," he sang.
Germany paused; then smiled. That nervous electricity that had been in his mind before had died away- replaced by a calm lull. There wasn’t any clutter now. Smoking, drinking, sleeping...maybe he should do this relaxing thing more often (well, scratch that, he already drank like a fish). The sleeping part especially.
"Let’s do a toast to you being alive!" Italy suggested. His sharkwhite teeth flashed flower bright under the evening light...
Germany smiled and nodded. "Prost," he said.
"Salute!" Italy exclaimed. The glass lent a hollow click to the commotion in the background, and they both finished the bottles, putting them aside in the grass. Well, if a funeral party meant free beer, that was just fine by Germany.
NOTES;;
-"knob jockey" : it's a really vulgar british slang phrase that pretty much just means "gay"
-smoking section: Greece consumes the most tobacco in the world. Japan ranked 4th. Italians I think were somewhere in the twenties, and Germans in the thirties. (btw, Hungary was 2nd- imagine a chain-smoking Hungary? XD)
Thanks for reading!