The Crap Hetalia Book

The Plague

Feliciano shot upright coughing. To his side, Lovino was flinching in his sleep, forehead lined with thick beads of sweat.

"Fr... fr... fratello" he gasped in between coughs. There was no movement other then the steady rise and fall of his brother's chest.

"Feli?"

Sebastian appeared next to him, candle in one hand, face twisted with worry. He hadn't been hit that bad by it, but it was starting to take it's toll. In one hand, he was holding a glass of water out to him. Feliciano went to wave a hand of rejection when he started coughing again and took it, trying not to look at the darkened skin on the back of his hand. It was almost black in colour and swollen. Lovino was worse, the spots almost covering his body. Anytime now, either one of them could die.

"Better?"

He nodded and lay back down, staring at the ceiling. They didn't know whose fault it was they were dying, they just knew it wasn't theirs. When the plague had first hit, Lovino had blamed Feliciano and his merchant ships in the Venice canals. Now neither of them were too sure. It had something to do with the rats though. Wherever there were rats, there was a larger case of the plague. They had started to creep Feliciano out a little. He used to feel sorry for rats, hated by most, but now he was starting to feel a loathing towards the dirty rodents with their long front teeth and flee ridden fur.

Sebastian mirrored the nod and took the glass away to the kitchen where he refilled it, returning it to the side of the settee where he was resting. "If you need it refilling just shout si?"

Feliciano nodded again to let him be, but he could do it himself. He wasn't that weak just yet was he? His little brother had been looking after the both of them for months now and was only just starting to show signs of the illness. Who'd look after him when he really became ill? Sebastian wandered off, leaving them and the candle. Again, Feliciano glanced across at Lovino.

"Fratello?"

Again nothing. If he was sleeping, it was a deeper sleep than ever before. Usually he could be woken up by a change in the direction of the wind or a whisper of a passing person. Now, he was just silent. Silent and blotchy.

For not the first time since the plague had appeared, Feliciano's thoughts strayed back to his people. Did they have people looking after them? How many of them were dead? He could feel them dying, each time like an invisible paper cut slashing across his finger, just enough to draw invisible blood, just enough to hurt. He felt at least ten dying every day, but he was sure it was more. He couldn't count or feel the deaths when he was asleep.

In Firenze, at least half the population had already been wiped out, the situation similar in Venezia and Pisa. When most of the population in big cities went, he felt it as a punch; a stab; a sharp pain that he never quite knew why was there until he thought.

He had a lot of room for thought now, stuck in this dark room on this uncomfortable couch, staring up at the ceiling, listening to the pained breaths of his older brother, just happy he was still alive. Every so often, they'd stop for a minute and he'd panic, then they'd start again and he'd breath a sigh of relief. Maybe, one day they'd just stop all together and then he'd... no, however bad the situation was outside, it couldn't possibly be that bad... could it?