'ᴜɴᴅᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴇᴀᴛʜᴇʀ' || ʜᴇᴛᴀʟɪᴀ

10

"Pfft, you're too young to worry! Your hair will go white--"

"Like yours?"

"--and your face will be all wrinkly! You need a break, West! You can't keep running around like a mad man trying to fix every single little problem you come across!" Prussia affirmed, hands on hips, staring down at his seated sibling.

Ludwig had never looked so exhausted; his eyes were starting to go red, he'd yawned thrice in the space of two minutes, and he wasn't even willing to have a drink to wake himself up!

"Gilbert, I can't just stop. Not everyone is improving at the same rate, and what if some countries have a relapse?" Germany responded. "I can't call my scientists off, and I need to keep an eye on all four of you until I'm sure you're all OK."

"I can take care of myself," Hungary interrupted. She glanced up from her book at Ludwig, and slighlty arched an eyebrow. "I've been doing so for a while, as well as helping you with the others . . . And I hate to say it, but Gilbert is right."

"He is?"

"Yes."

"See?" Gilbert said smugly. "If Hungary agrees, you know it's know it's a good idea."

"But--"

"God, Ludwig, please just accept the fact that they will keep nagging you until you agree," Austria sighed from his own seat opposite Hungary in the youngest nation's living room. "There is no use in fighting it."

"He's right too, Ludwig," Italy remarked as he entered the room with a glass of water in his hand. "You more than anyone need to stop and relax."

"Are you all ganging up on me now?" Ludwig frowned. "I have already told you: I'm not going to take a break until I'm certain that things are back to normal."

Having asserted himself, Ludwig rose from his seat and left the room through the glass doors out into his Berlin garden. He was tired of being pestered and prodded by his friends and family. They all wanted him to stop--for the sake of the youngest nation's safety and sanity--but he didn't. He couldn't.

There was still that one nation that was too slow in their recovery for his liking, and it was a discrepancy that annoyed him more than Gilbert ever had. He wanted answers, reasons behind both the sudden pandemic and the sudden health that had bestowed themselves upon the countries of Europe as they pleased.

Was it the Ancients? Were they trying to test him and his mettle; trying to put everyone through their paces to make sure they're all still able and deserving of their nation status? It was an unhealthy paranoia and obsession, and Ludwig knew it, but all he wanted to do was help. He had seen the world through so many different wars that created damage that was both reparable and irreparable. He didn't want them to suffer more than necessary.

"You won't even stop for one day?"

"Nein, not until everyone is OK."

Roderich hummed. "Does this make you feel better about yourself?"

"What? Austria, this isn't--"

"You feel guilty about World War Two, we all see it," the Austrian said. He stood patiently by Ludwig but did not look at him directly. "You think this is a way to repent and make up for what happened . . . But you are wrong."

Germany let out a sigh.  He wasn't aware that he was so transparent. What Austria had said was not a complete lie; he felt guilty about World War Two, but that wasn't exactly the driving force. Not on its own.

"I just want to help. I don't see the problem."

"There isn't necessarily a problem . . ." Roderich mused, pausing for a moment. "You want all of us to be happy, but you can't see that the way you are pushing yourself makes us all the more worried and scared for you."

"You shouldn't fuss, I can handle myself," Ludwig responded, his tone unintentionally harsh. "You should all just worry about yourselves, making sure you're all healthy."

"This isn't the time for selfishness. It never really has been and never will be. We are a family,  a continent--a world altogether when we act like it--and we must stick together," the Austrian pressed further. "We just want what's best for you. I'll say no more, and let you think on it . . ."

And with that, Roderich returned back inside the Berlin house, into the company of the others. He couldn't force Germany to stop or slow down, or anything like that, but he just hoped that the young nation had at least taken his words into account. He couldn't bare it if he destroyed himself over it. The illness was never Ludwig's problem to solve; it never affected him directly, and so he had no duty of care or responsibility.

Ludwig didn't know what to do. Was he making the others more sick with worry? He didn't want that, but he didn't want them to physically get worse too! It was all so hard for him. He was not an inexperienced nation, but he felt naive in the eyes of those around him . . .

Maybe Austria was right . . . Maybe he needed to stop for just a short while, and gather himself. He'd keep everyone in his staff on standby just in case all Hell broke loose, but until then, he had made up his mind--he was going to make the most of the relax in pressure while he could. He didn't want anyone to get worse because of him . . .

The distant ringing of the home telephone echoed from inside the house. Ludwig didn't move, knowing that either Italy or Prussia would answer it, and he continued to gently breathe in the cool, crisp air of the outdoors. Everything seemed so peaceful, as if there was nothing wrong with the world, and he almost dared to give a small smile to no one. But this serenity was quickly destroyed when the quiet commotion of the others ripped him away from it all.

"Fratello? Fratello, calm down!" a distressed, panicking Italian voice yelled.

Germany didn't hesitate to move, and raced back inside to find out what was wrong and what Romano was saying. He had a terrible feeling all of a sudden, and it tugged painfully at his insides.

Gilbert took the phone from Feliciano. "Let me handle this," he said, and put the phone to his ear. "Alright, what the heck has gotten your knickers in a twist?"

"What the-- put my brother back on the line, you potato-fucking freak!"

'I wasn't aware you could even do that to potatoes . . .' Gilbert thought to himself, grimacing at the idea.

"Uh, no. No, I don't think I will," he replied. "You need to take a chill pill or something, and explain what the fuck is wrong, calmly and slowly."

Romano sighed in exasperation and shouted something into the phone before hanging up in his fury. Gilbert froze for a moment, staring at the wall, cursing under his breath.

"Bruder, what's wrong?" Ludwig asked after a few seconds. Gilbert muttered something inaudible, and his younger brother stifled a groan. "Gilbert, what's going on? What did Lovino say?"

Gilbert turned back around slowly, deep in thought, trying to get his head around what he'd been told, and he placed the phone down with an unnatural care. He couldn't quite believe it--he didn't want to believe it--but . . .

"Spain's gone missing." he said.