They were lucky, above all else, that England could teleport. Otherwise they'd either be walking or driving back to the location, and none of them wanted to do that.
Russia disappeared into the halls, carrying a girl that strangely resembled him, the beast among them disappearing as well, with Zaltana's prone form spread along the creature's thin spine.
Coahoma and Conner spoke works in languages long-lost to time, their expressions showing only that they were either angry or uncomfortable, or both at the same time. A sigh, and Conner rolled his eyes. A quip in return, and Coahoma hissed. That was all they had to base on for their conversation. Nothing good it could be.
"All we have gotten are either sick or injured," France whispered to England, and the other rolled his eyes, "and now that demon's hurt. They really can't expect us to stay here forever to help them with this."
He motioned vaguely around him, and England snickered.
"Norway is interested in them," he waved a hand, "he believes we'll get something in return."
"Think it'll be green?"
"I think we'll be paid in knowledge," England sighed, "that seems to be our only payment."
"Well," France let out a noise of exasperation, "I don't need any knowledge. Not from the likes of these people, at least. Imagine, what is there to learn? Even you, Arthur, know much more than these people could. We are Europeans, the epitome of knowledge. So why do you stay?"
England opened his mouth, before closing it, and shaking his head, "Don't call me by my human name."
"Really, what is it that draws you here?"
"Finally pay America back,"
"For what? The goddamn revolution? He doesn't care about that anymore, or at least I don't think. He's a petty brat if he does."
"Not that."
"You owe him money?" France laughed, his head going back. The sound echoed off the hallways, and both of the nations cringed. They were walking away so that nobody would hear them.
"No," England paused, "he is blaming me for something, and I never understood what it was. I think this might be my path to his trust."
"To his bed, you mean?" France purred, before giggling, "Russia might cut your head off."
"Russia doesn't care for him anymore," England crossed his arms over his chest.
"Ah, so you admit you just want to fuck the boy," France smirked, and England glared at him, a blush on his face, "or, knowing you, want to get fucked by him."
"You don't know me!" he exclaimed, and France grabbed him by his shoulders, pushing him up against the wall. He pressed a steady hand against the smaller chest.
"I don't?" France giggled, leaning against his body, pressing his lips against his ear.
Russia sat on the bedside. He was surprised he remembered where Alaska's room, yet after he started walking it got less blurry. Past the first two hallways onto the third and six doors down to the left. It was a dark, windowless room, with the only difference to the other rooms being it had immediate access to the ventilation system.
Her room was untouched, covered in a layer of dust and wolf fur. He wasn't sure if that was just how it had been left or if it was because of the time spent absent of it.
Now, at that moment, he wished that Juneau had been found alongside her. The wolf was her companion, and being without her would be difficult on the girl. Especially after the torment she had gone through.
He brushed the hair from her face, pulling through the knots. Her body was covered in blisters and welts, and she was bleeding from some parts of her body. He wondered for a moment if he should remove the medical dress from her body. There were parts of the white gown that blood was coming through.
He removed her from the bed, going to the nearest bathroom. There he dressed her wounds, sewing the worst of them. She normally hated it when she couldn't do something herself, but now she was asleep, her eyebrows furrowed in pain.
It was a horrible feeling, when your child was helpless and hurt. It was her that had made him remember the feeling of being a father. He knew it should have been Connecticut and Illinois, it should have been Guam and Rico, or York and Utah, but it was her. Of course it was.
He still remembered Alfred's face when he spun around to show her to him, the smile as he dipped her down a little, so he could see her face. Even with only a few strings of hair and her eyes closed, she had been the one so obviously based on him.
Maikoh leaned over Guam's sleeping form, her hands above him. Adany stood beside her, his eyebrows furrowed before he sighed.
"Come on, sis, it ain't happening," he said, putting a hand on her shoulder. She immediately smacked it away, grabbing it and looking at him with a rage only she seemed to be able to master. Something between looking at an angry puppy and an immortal being of pure destruction.
"Fuck off, I'm going to do this," she hissed, losing her eyes once more.
"You need to sleep, and rest, and maybe then you'll get your powers back," he leaned his head back and took in a deep breath before looking at her. She was staring at him, her blue eyes digging into his brown.
"Can you still do magic?" she asked, and he shrugged.
"Haven't tried for six months," he replied, looking over his shoulder at the door. Rico was the only other one in the room, looking at both of them like a child does- full of both fear and curiosity.
"Rico, why don't you go outside?" Maikoh said, kindly. This was not a topic many of them liked to talk about. The loss of magic was a big and horrible thing, and Rico was old enough to understand it was big and horrible. He probably didn't want to be in here any more than they wanted to be having this conversation.
"I... I don't want to go outside," he said, "I'm a big boy, I can handle it."
Maikoh narrowed her eyes. Even when she wasn't at her best she could always see a lie.
"What's the real reason, sweetheart?"
Rico wouldn't want to be in the same room of the people talking about weakness. He hated conversations about it. He'd hated it for just about forever. This was because he knew he was the weak one, and if they brought up weakness they would mention him. He was the link in the chain made of mercury.
"I'm scared of the nations."
Of course- America had bred a healthy fear and hatred of the nations in each of his children, but his usual methods did not affect Rico in the same way. Now he was afraid of everything that wasn't immediate in his everyday life.
"It's okay to be scared," Maikoh cooed, "but now is a time for the grown ups to speak."
Rico pushed himself off his bed, his feet meeting the ground before he walked towards the door. He put a hand on the knob before looking for confirmation from his aunt and uncle.
Adany nodded.
"Go see if York is okay," Maikoh added, as he walked out of the room. They could hear him running before the door shut behind him.
Adany held a hand out, taking a deep breath in from his mouth.
His hand fell, and he looked over to Maikoh, "See, I told you. We need sleep. There's a time and a place for that, but now we should be getting hunkered down in our comfortable beds..."
He practically moaned when he said that, rubbing his wrists. Maikoh looked at him like he was some sort of strange species, never before seen by the likes of man, before pushing past him.
"Fine."
Adany looked at Guam for a second, sighing before leaving. He was sure he wouldn't be able to immediately go to sleep, his room was probably dusty and in dire need of a roomba.
"And you are Conner Jones, yes?"
"That is the fourth time you've asked that question," Conner snarked, scowling at him. Germany shifted in his chair, giving an unamused expression to the American. The other didn't care, flipping him off.
"You are the Confederacy, correct?"
"I was the Confederacy, but that nation lost," Conner said, "bitch doesn't exist anymore."
"So is your national name Confederacy?"
"Is your national name Third Reich?" Conner smiled, his eye twitching. Germany flinched from the words, looking down at his notepad with shame on his face, "Do you call Russia the Soviet Union? Is France still under Napoleon in your tiny skull?"
They sounded like genuine questions, and Germany quickly scribbled down his next note on this personification.
'Jackass.'
"I am the South," his red eyes bore into his own, making a warning against ever making the mistake of calling him Confederacy a dire warning, "you can call me South, or Southern, United States, or just America."
"Why are you personified?"
"Why is Lovino? Why is Prussia?" he giggled, and Germany gave a look, "Oh wait! They have different cultures, don't they now?"
"What is your relationship with the United States of America?"
"I live here? I dunno, for a few hundred years they thought slavery was slick, and some of the fuckers still do."
"I mean America?"
"The continent?"
Germany scowled, leaning forward before whispering, "Alfred."
Conner looked at him like he was a drunk girl doing the dumbest shit humanly possible- also notably the same face someone makes when the person who wouldn't take either truth or dare actually licked the car tire.
"Why'd you whisper it?" Conner started giggling- and Germany would definitely have to say it was giggling, because he sounded like a schoolgirl after drinking hard liquor for twenty years.
"Etiquette, you don't just go around calling a nation by their human name, South!" Germany exclaimed, and Conner tapped his nose.
"Ya, but will they find out? I know my brother doesn't give a fuck," Conner shrugged, "and, by the way, my relationship with him is something I hold dear to my heart. He was my best friend."
"Then why'd you fight him?"
That question struck a nerve.
"Don't go around acting like you know what you're talking about," South's voice was a deep rumble, "because most of us ain't afraid to snipe a Euro-slut, Germany."
He said his name with such wrath it made the nation cringe away, watching as the American stood. Even after all the torture, it was obvious that this man was nothing to be trifled with.
Conner walked out of the room, slamming the door behind him. Germany sat there for a moment, staring at where he had left before going over his notes. Something he didn't, at that moment, realize, was that he should have been grateful the other didn't swing a punch.
Warrock had taken her all the way he could, and Coahoma carried her the rest of the way to her bed. For most personifications, you would want an IV or something to keep track of blood pressure and heartbeat, but Coahoma wasn't worried.
Mountains weren't most personifications. They didn't die, or at least not from something like this. They died slowly and painfully, over the course of thousands of years. Sometimes millions. Eventually, if they're lucky, a new personification gets born and takes their place.
She laid her on her bed, knowing that Zaltana was, for no better explanation, lobotomized. There was nothing she could do but wait, and she also knew that Zaltana hated company in her worst form, so she left, to go back to the mansion. It had always felt off to leave a personification to heal on their own merits, but she knew it was necessary.
York sat in his room, in the dark. He was at his desk, staring at the ceiling like it would grant him answers. He shouldn't have gone on that mission, because now he felt sick.
He'd only been under anesthetic before, so he'd woken up a few hours after he'd been found. He had a strange pain in his arm, and he hurt in a few places from him fighting the guards, but that was all.
Rico burst into his room before slamming the door behind him. York jumped up, looking at his little brother like he'd grown a few more heads.
The boy ran up to hug him, wrapping his arms around his waist. York raised a brow, before gently petting his hair. The kid was terrified of something, but York couldn't think of anything it could be. He wasn't exactly good at critical thinking.
"What's up?" he asked, and Rico looked up to him with tear-filled eyes.
"I hate the nations," he whined.
"Oh. That's nice."
Nevada sighed, rubbing Blackjack's wings. The griffin let out a purr, stretching out. He looked over the horizon- the sun was starting to set, framing the dark mountains.
Blackjack put his face into the lake, snorting water before drinking it. Nevada continued preening his feathers, pulling out the broken ones. Blackjack used to care, when he was still young, but now he didn't seem to feel it. There was a splash and Nevada jumped.
Blackjack charged into the water, pulling out a minnow and eating it without a second thought, coming back up and laying down in the dirt.
Nevada stared down at the ground, before looking around. There was a small grove of woods that they were in, and the entire area was desolate of humans... yet it seemed he couldn't calm down.
He pulled out a pack of cigarettes he'd found, lighting one with his lighter. He took in a deep breath. He hated cigarettes, but now he only wanted to calm down.
"I want to go home," he whined, throwing himself back into the dirt. It dazed him for a moment, but he pushed himself back up to take another drag. This was too much, it had all settled in. He wasn't invincible, he wasn't fearless... he was a scared little boy who wanted to run back to his mama.
Blackjack nuzzled against his neck when he said that, before stalking around in a circle. He had no idea what to do- he needed to protect himself. He needed to protect himself and his best friend.
He pulled his knees into his chest, and puffed until he burned his lips.