'ᴜɴᴅᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴇᴀᴛʜᴇʀ' || ʜᴇᴛᴀʟɪᴀ

6

"Those who are here on behalf of other nations, declare yourself now and state who you are here to represent."

Upon Ludwig's instructions, six nations including himself stood up. The first to speak was Russia, who was representing the Ukraine; Hungary was there for Austria; Belgium for France and the Netherlands; Romano for Spain and Italy; Germany himself for Prussia; and Iceland for the rest of the Nordics, including Sweden for now. They all sat down again.

"I will also quickly add that America is supposed to be here," Ludwig said, "but has called in advance to say he will not be with us. It seems as though England worsened over yesterday, so he has decided to stay with him for the time being. So far, eleven nations are currently affected, and the rest of us seem to be immune to this unknown illness."

"But why?" Belgium asked. "How is that possible?"

"Everyone's different. Different genetics, different immune systems, so on and so forth," he explained. "It just looks like some of us are less fortunate."

"No shit, Sherlock," Romano sighed heavily.

"Have we got any ideas as to what the problem is?" Iceland questioned next. "Not everyone has the same symptoms, after all."

"Nein. I have people trying to work on it so that an antibiotic of some description can be created, but progress is frustratingly slow."

Around the room, thirty or so countries--all European--began to discuss what was happening among themselves while the six nations representing the affected continued to talk over their plans, and evaluate how their friends and family were doing.

Hungary said that Austria and Prussia were coasting. They hadn't worsened at all, and Gilbert was at least trying to act like his usual self. Belgium and Russia agreed with this statement; France was just like he normally was and Netherlands was doing his best to act like nothing was wrong, and she admired that about them. Similarly, Ukraine's spirits were up, and according to Ivan, her temperature had gone down slightly when he checked that morning.

"So maybe this is only a temporary thing," Emma suggest hopefully. "If people are getting better, maybe it's only a matter of time until everyone is back to normal!"

"We shouldn't get too hopeful," Ludwig said. "Some are still getting worse . . . Italy for one doesn't seem to be improving. Is there else, besides him and England?"

Emil nodded. "Mathias has confined himself to his room since yesterday, and Tino was so exhausted when I spoke to him this morning that I thought he was going to topple over." he reported, doing his best to conceal the fear for his closest friends and family, "A-And my brother's cough seem to be getting more chesty and hoarse . . ."

"Hey, I'm sure they'll be fine," Hungary said, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder, having clearly seen through his thin front. "They're all strong people, and with you helping them, they'll be better in no time."

"I hope so . . ." he muttered. "How's everyone else?"

"Spain is trying to act as if everything is perfectly fine," Lovino said with what others perceived to be boredom in his voice, "but he's not. I think he got an hour of sleep last night . . . He can't even hold a smile for longer than six and a half seconds at the moment . . ."

"That's oddly specific."

"So what? I counted!"

"But the point is, not everyone is improving," Ludwig said with a light sigh. "We need to monitor all eleven of those affected, and keep each other updated on any developments, good or bad. Maybe it will help us solve the problem quicker."

The group mutually agreed. There wasn't much else for them to discuss really; they knew the current conditions of the Eleven, and were set on keeping each other posted constantly. Germany had taken the helm in the crisis, that much was obvious, and he offered his support to anyone who needed it over the next week or so, depending.

The European countries who were only there to find out more as opposed to representing others on their behalves left fairly quickly once Ludwig called off the meeting at about 1pm. They had no reason to stay. The others, on the other hand, quickly exchanged private numbers-some more reluctantly than others-and formally promised to keep each other in the loop. It may have been the only way to ensure everyone got better as soon as possible.

Iceland was the third of the smaller group to leave the meeting room, soon after Romano and Russia had departed. He wanted to get back to Oslo as soon as possible and update everyone with what had been agreed, and an anxiety about the whole situation fidgeted in the pit of his stomach. For three hours, that anxiety pestered him, and Emil only found distraction in a collection of music that drowned out the negative emotions with those of empowerment. He arrived at the door to Lukas' house listening to Fall Out Boy.

Cautiously, he opened the door, hoping he wasn't disturbing any of the residents. The last thing he wanted to do was have an axe narrowly miss his head, courtesy of Mathias. Turning off the music halfway through the chorus, Emil walked through to the living room to find a figure sleeping soundly on the sofa, their form gently rising and sinking as they breathed. Iceland left Norway to it, figuring he needed his sleep, and ventured further to the kitchen-he needed a drink.

'I hope Tino got some sleep, thinking about it . . . He looked like a zombie is morning . . .'

The kettle came to the boil rapidly. With a gentle clunk, a white mug was placed on the kitchen side and just over a spoon of coffee granules were tipped into in with a satisfying flash flood of tip-tapping against the porcelain sides. Emil took a slow and deep breath and he poured the water into the cup. Coffee smelt amazing, he could never deny it. He blamed his brother for his love of the stuff, really.

Two minutes later, Emil was back in the living room. Mathias was still upstairs, he presumed, and he had heard muffled sneezes from above along with a deeper noise, which he could only assume was Berwald speaking, so that explained where the others were hiding. But he decided to leave them to it. On the sofa next to him, Lukas stirred uncomfortably, and he felt sympathy. He knew it was hard to sleep when one was in constant need of coughing and clearing out one's system . . .

He placed the cup down on the side table, and abandoned the room briefly, tip-toeing upstairs to retrieve blanket from one of the cupboards in the hallway. Unfolding it silently, he threw it over his brother and let it softly fall over Lukas, providing him with some comfort. It seemed to work. He'd settled again almost straight away, and Emil couldn't help but give a small smile when he saw that he was doing something helpful.

'I just wish he was actually awake to see it . . .' he mused to himself.

He sat back down, close to Lukas, and picked up his drink again. Deep down, he wanted to be recognised as a capable and responsible adult by everyone, especially Lukas, but he also wanted to ensure that they didn't think less of him for wanting that. He sighed quietly, and sat back in his seat, glancing over at Lukas and bowing his head slightly.

"Sleep well, bróðir," he said. "Sleep well."