Hungary’s POV
I lay in the hospital bed, my head panging slightly from my concussion. My feet poked from under the covers of the duvet, as my hand touched my head. Where Gilbert had kissed me… Snapping out of my daydream, I saw a small note on the coffee table on my right. It was folded neatly and the words “Eliza” were written messily. ‘Gil’s beautiful handwriting,’ I thought sarcastically. I began to read it in my head, eyes scanning the paper:
“Hi Eliza,
Do you remember anything? I came to see you last night and you were in good spirits. The doctor will bring you breakfast around nine o clock. If you need the awesome me, I will be in the café downstairs, feeding Gilbird :P As far as Adeline is concerned, I won’t leave without you and Alfred and Arthur have gone to find her.
Gil
P.S .Antonio and Francis wanted to see you, and so did that pompous twit, Austria. They will be here soon. “
My eyes narrowed at the last few sentences, I didn’t want to face those perverts- and Austria. I sighed deeply to see a young woman enter the room. She wore green uniform and carried a tray of what I assumed was a revolting hospital breakfast.
“Ms. Hedervary, here is your breakfast. If you need anything just shout ok?”
I nodded and sat up as she placed the tray on my table. Inside the tray was a bowl of cereal with stale looking milk, a just-out-of-the-packet croissant that was hard and dry and a glass of orange juice. ‘Lovely’. As I was about to start eating, a faint tapping sounded outside the door.
“Come in,” I said loudly. None other than Gilbert Beilschmidt strolled in. His hands were hiding behind his back. Seeing the curious look imprinted on my face, he smirked.
“Oh… this?” he teased, bringing a crumpled paper bag from behind his back to my face.
Like a savage, I tore through it to reveal a very appetising breakfast sandwich, containing egg, bacon, hash browns and of course, tomato ketchup. Additionally, there was a bottle of Tropicana Orange juice and a buttery smelling croissant that was warm in my palm. Immediately, I embraced the Prussian.
“I see you are taking an interest in my breakfast.” He stated, hands on his hips.
I stuck my lower lip out and narrowed my emerald eyes at him, dropping the ever-so-delicious looking croissant. Then something unexpected happened.
“Kesese~ you actually fell for it! It’s yours; I know how revolting hospital food is! Kesese~” Gilbert chuckled loudly, as I felt an irk mark indent my forehead.
I sneaked my hand underneath my pillow to reveal a smooth, black handle. Attached to it was my precious, frying pan. In one quick swing, I hit the crazy ex-nation in the arm and he yelled in pain.
“Don’t mess with me Beilschmidt,” I snarled as he clutched his arm, his eyes brimmed with tears. Being the softie I am, I felt a pang of guilt in my stomach and apologised.
“It’s ok.” Gilbert forgave, smiling widely. A moment of silence passed. Then, as quickly as it came, the silence left, interrupted by loud shouting from the corridor.
“GILBERT! ELIZA!”
Italy’s POV
Something is really wrong. I can sense it. The sun rose to begin another day, the third day I've been on the run. China has no Chinatown here, no pot stickers. No Doitsu, Japan... no one. I'm alone. It reminds me of that dream I've been having recently.
*Dream*
"Hey fratello! There's a mansion over there that I've never been to before. I bet they serve free pasta!" I excitedly yell to Lovino, who grumbles and rolls his eyes.
"Let's call Doitsu, Kiku, Big Brother France, Big Brother Spain, Gilbert, Alfred and Arthur! They'll love it! Oh and that guy who looks like Alfred... Canadia or something?" I continue.
"Not the potato bastard! He is so violent..." Lovi angrily shouts, punching the air.
An hour later all 10 of us head into the mansion. It is dark and the sky is starless and moonless. Beads of sweat trail down my forehead. At least I've brought my white flag. I grip it tighter than ever.
When we enter, the fear that was buried inside me dissolves. It is brightly lit, a large carpeted room with a long clothed table lies in front of us. My eyes light up to see a certain dish. PASTA!
"Wait! Italy!" Doitsu cries out to me, as I launch into the tomatoey delicacy.
I stop to see a chandelier dropping down onto my head. Screaming, I run out of the way as it shatters into hundreds of glassy shards.
"Look!" Kiku warns, pointing to a slip of paper that lies in the rubble.
Written in thick, scarlet blood are the words:
"Welcome to HetaOni."
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Sowwy for not updating, I will try and do it more often.
England: *narrows eyes* NOT GOOD ENOUGH
Me:*cries*
I am attempting to do a spin on HetaOni, which does NOT belong to me. And neither does Hetalia. But yay, I've introduced Romano and Japan.
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Run (A Hetalia FanFiction)
FanficSomeone out there knows everything about the countries, and is after them. No one can be trusted and the only gleam of hope is our English protagonist who is in the firing line. After a chain of misfortune, there is nowhere left to hide. Just run.
