Hetalia-Worldwide Plague Outbreak

Tiny Bit Too Late

A shrill scream brought everyone to attention. It was nearing 10am, so Russia was on watch. Belarus and Hungary had been playing cards in one of the seats (which had been turned into a table and chairs), Canada was still asleep, America was sitting at a window, watching nothing outside, and England and France were chatting quietly in the first class seats. It'd been Canada that'd screamed.

Canada was shivering hard, stuttering the tiny words that squeaked out his mouth. America was at his side instantly, feeling his forehead. "He's burning hot!" The American called. Everyone was surrounding the two brothers.

"C-Canadian ice c-cold," Canada whimpered, "n-need a...blanket...p-please...," .

Hungary and Belarus, the doctors of the group, spoke at the same time, the same tone: "no."

"GIVE HIM A BLANKET!" America yelled, then dropped to his knees and burst into tears. Hungary softened in the slightest bit.

"If we warm him with a blanket, he might overheat and die faster," Hungary implied. Canada whimpered. "He's worse."

Canada suddenly went limp. "Everybody back up!" Hungary yelled, and knelt beside the still Canadian nation as everyone backed up. Hungary checked Canada's pulse, and her eyes went wide. "Belarus! Get a morphine drip started!" The Hungarian barked as she clasped her fingers together and began CPR on Canada. Belarus nodded and rushed to the back of the plane, where they kept the medical supplies, surgical gear, antivenoms and medicines. She came back with a bag of clear liquid, then attached a tube to the bag, a needle to the end of the tube and inserted the needle into Canada's wrist. Hungary was still doing CPR. "R-rapid CPR," Hungary panted, wiping sweat off her forehead, "it's difficult as shit."

Belarus pulled Hungary's jacket off as the sweating Hungarian continued rapid, forceful CPR on the weaker Canadian nation.

Suddenly, Hungary stopped. Pulled her hands back. Yanked her jacket back on. Carefully removed morphine drip from Canada's wrist.

"H-Hungary...? Why are you stopping?" America asked weakly. Hungary's voice was strong and icy cold:

"Time of death, 10:08am."

America broke down in tears. "Kill me now, please just kill me nooow!" He cried. England's jaw dropped. France's eyes went wide. They had one son. Not two sons, just one. No America and Canada. Just America. The two fathers rushed to their remaining live son and hugged him tight. France was hit hard. Canada was mainly his son, a French-speaking nation. France had raised Canada. Loved him. Now the Canadian country was gone, the years of loving and caring and raising fallen.

Hungary picked up Canada. "Ottawa fell, and Canada's population was already dropping like a stone in water. It was just a time bomb, and the explosion meant death for him," Hungary said, a hint of sadness in her voice. "Belarus...?"

Belarus nodded. The two nations stood, Canada in Hungary's arms. Everyone knew where they were going. To cremate Canada.

"Wait....." America whimpered, tears streaming down his face. The American nation stood, walked to Belarus and Hungary, and brushed Canada's hair out of his eyes. "I love you, brother," America whispered. "I always have." He sat back down.

France stood next. "Mon petit Matthieu," he said, "I raised you, I cared for you, I loved you, and I'll never stop no matter what," he sat.

England stood. "My...my...Canada," he breathed, holding back tears. "I'll never forget you." He couldn't stand it. He tried to say more, but the tears caught in his throat and he choked on his own breath. Sat again. Belarus and Hungary crawled out the hatch carefully carrying the dead country.

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The two days following Canada's fall were quiet ones. Hungary's voice had the same ferocity when she spoke, but she spoke less. Everyone knew the routine anyway. America didn't crack his usual uplifting jokes anymore. England and France spent much more time together sitting in corners, talking in hushed whispers, crying a little and patting each other's backs sometimes. Russia was Russia, nothing changed in him; he sat in the cockpit, staring out the window, humming to himself (and shrieking loudly if Belarus got him). Belarus and Hungary still spent lots of time together, talking, laughing a bit, swapping stories and playing cards. But there was a gloom set on the entire group with the missing Canadian. They'd all forgotten him while he was alive, but now that he was gone, he was the only thing on everyone's minds. Nobody could forget him, and everyone cared greatly for him, even if the caring was just a tiny bit too late.