England cowered behind Russia. "I-I'm sorry...I was suppose to shoot anything that came through that hatch, and I did," England squeaked, and regretted the words as soon as they left him.
"I meant VICTIMS! Me and victims are completely different!" Hungary roared, and the six other countries could swear the windows rattled at her screaming. The Hungarian nation had fought all twenty-some victims out there, killed them, and returned safely. If she'd gotten too close, she'd contract the disease and die almost instantly. Then gotten shot by someone from her own group as a thank you gift. They expected her to be covered in black welts, ready to burst and spew acidic liquid at any moment. Instead, her clothes were grimy and ripped, her jacket was covered in dry blood, there was a long slash across her belly where she hadn't zipped up her coat and her legs were bleeding badly. (Not to mention the fresh bullet wound in her right shoulder that England had given her.)
Belarus hopped to work. She was the doctor of the crew of seven. Russia was the muscle, Belarus was the doctor, America was the joker (he could make them all laugh regardless of the situation and took a bit of the stress away), Hungary was the leader, Canada was the runt of the group, England was the brains and the strategic one and France made sure everything was clean and sanitized.
Belarus helped Hungary lie down, then eased the Hungarian's leather jacket off and inspected the large, deep wound in her torso that was oozing thick blood. "Gonna need stitches," she concluded, and Hungary groaned. "The cuts on your legs are just little clips and nicks, they don't require surgery and can heal easily on their own. The one across your stomach, however...," she trailed off quietly.
"How the hell are you suppose to stitch me up if we don't have any needles or any of that shit?" Hungary asked frantically. Belarus sighed and shook her head.
"I don't know. But if I don't, you'll bleed out for sure," she said. She needed to knock Hungary out for this. Belarus raised her fist, and socked the Hungarian hard in the temple.
"OW!! WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT FOR?" Demanded the angry Hungarian nation, rubbing her bleeding temple.
"Oh...I needed to knock you out, I forgot you're made of goddamn iron." Belarus picked up a safety bar that'd been attached to the bars on the railing of the stairs leading off the plane.
"Hey...whatcha doing there...," Hungary backed up nervously, her eyes darting from the bar to the one wielding it.
"Knocking you out for your operation. It was this or let you bleed to death, thank me later. Night night," Belarus said, then whacked Hungary in the side of the head. She felt guilty the instant Hungary dropped onto the isle of the plane, her body limp and unconscious. She was a great leader, and they'd be dead without her, and it was kind of cold to hit her like that, but she needed it. She'd suffer much more if she was awake. Belarus threaded a few of her hairs through a sewing needle that she'd found in the cockpit. Lifted Hungary's shirt up the slightest, revealing the entire gruesome slash across her stomach, stretching from side to side diagonally. Pus was forming around the edges of the skin, and the cut was slowly oozing thick blood. It was so deep that Belarus could see her stomach. Hungary'd been quite lucky. Whatever had pierced her skin, it'd just barely missed her stomach, liver, colon, intestines and kidneys. It was just a deep skin wound, was all. But it was still infected, and bleeding. Belarus waved the other countries to the front of the plane, then got to work.
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She threaded the needle into the skin on a side of the cut, then pulled it over to the other side, causing the split-open skin to drag closed. In. Out. In. Out. Until all of the skin that'd been slashed open was closed. Belarus tied off the ends of the hairs she'd substituted as string, and wrapped the cut in bandages she'd scavenged from a local abandoned hospital. Belarus next moved to the bullet wound in Hungary's shoulder. This was a difficult one. It'd hit Hungary in the good shoulder, her shooting arm. She'd be weak in that arm for a little while. Belarus had to get the lead out of the Hungarian's shoulder, this'd be the gruesome part. Belarus put two fingers on each side of the wound, then pulled. A stretching and popping sound echoed through the small plane, and the other countries shivered. Belarus but her lip. Hungary would love to see this, she loved gore and torture. In fact, the Hungarian was probably dreaming about ripping England's shoulder wide open that very second.
Belarus inserted a pair of needlenose pliers into Hungary's shoulder, and the little plink of metal-hitting-metal was heard. Belarus squeezed the pliers, and pulled. A silver bullet was in the pliers when they came out of the Hungarian's shoulder, and Belarus sighed with relief. The muscle tissue was damaged, but could heal on it's own. Belarus bandaged up Hungary's bullet wound, and lay her down on a seat. All six awake countries sat around their leader, waiting for the girl to wake up.
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"Angleterre, why would you shoot our leader? May I remind you--,"
"Shut up, French frog! Not like I TRIED to shoot her, I was instructed to shoot anything that came through the hatch and I did as such! I was just following orders," the Brit said matter-of-factly.
"Yes, Angleterre, but you need to think. Our leader goes out to fight, and comes back. That's the only way she could get in, and she gave a few signals," France replied.
"Like what?" England snapped.
"If she was a victim, she would be making gurgling, choking sounds and calling for help in a strained voice. She was panting," France answered calmly.
"Okay, but she said to shoot-hey, how did you know what sounds she was making? That was MY shift, you were asleep!" England said.
"Actually, Angleterre-,"
"You WATCH me while I'm on my shift! You creepy perverted frog, do you know how eerie and stalkerish that is? You WATCH me when you're suppose to be asleep and I'm on my shift!!" England exploded.
"Yes, but you must admit, you look quite cute. Just sitting there, staring longingly out the window, your beautiful eyes darting from the hatch to the outside world...the gun perfectly entwined in your fingers, your index curled around the rifle trigger, the pale moonlight just barely illuminating your face...," France sighed.
England was about to attack the Frenchman with a verbal war, but then froze. "I-is...do you mean that?" He asked.
"Every word, Angleterre."
England blushed madly. Don't give in, you're the stronger man, he told himself. "Well...I-I...don't care." England turned away.
YOU ARE READING
Hetalia-Worldwide Plague Outbreak
FanfictionA brutal virus has wiped out most of the countries. A few countries remain, and are under quarantine. Most countries have been destroyed, and the remaining ones are close to anarchy. Will England find love, or lose the fatal game? The countdown begi...
