The Hetalia Global Warming Crisis; Get Out Alive

29— The Basement


"They are what!?"

Alfred winced. Maybe it wasn't the right time to tell him…

The Brit had been healing the American's wounds while the story had been told. China had offered to back up parts that America had forgotten. When they got to the part where Canada, France, and Russia had gone to the basement, England exploded, forgetting America's wounds.

"Why did you let them leave, you git?" he demanded. "And where are Germany and Japan and everyone else?"

"Canada tried to stop them once. Now that Canada's gone, they left in search of that Rocky dude."

Arthur stood in silence for a moment to let it all sink in. Alfred guided the Brit's attention back to his wounds. Arthur absent-mindedly continued healing.

"Your magic seems a lot stronger now, aru," Yao observed quietly.

Arthur blinked at his glowing hands. "You're right. That bloody block in my magic has lifted. Is it because I defeated the tiger, perhaps?"

Alfred opened his mouth to speak, but instead felt like his throat had suddenly clogged with blood. He coughed, the reek of death and bile thick in his nostrils. Yao and Arthur glanced at him in concern.

"Are you alright?" Arthur asked.

Alfred lifted a finger. His stomach was churning uncomfortably, as if he were about to throw up. He reached out to contact his brother, eyes closed and imagining tendrils of power stretching out across the distance between them, down to the basement…

With a yelp of shock, he was thrown back, as if blocked by a mental force field. He recoiled and his blue eyes snapped open as he sat, shivering.

"What happened?" demanded Arthur, instantly realizing what America was trying to do. "What's happened to Canada?"

"I don't know…" Alfred replied shakily. "We have to go down there…"

He got up, face set into a grim expression of silent determination as he strolled over to the storage room and rummaged around inside. He came out and tossed a white shirt at England, putting one over his head and covering his scarred chest. He didn't have time to allow the wounds to heal properly, but at the same time, he hoped the scars would remind him of his brush with death.

The shirt was skin-tight, showing off the powerful muscles that rippled beneath his skin. In contrast, England's shirt seemed loose over his lanky form. Arthur made a point to take a thorough look at Alfred and the American could feel his face heating up. Without his glasses and dress clothes, he probably looked a lot younger, realizing it probably reminded England of the past…

Alfred turned away and unlocked a safe with a key at his belt. He withdrew two pistols, loading the chambers with fresh ammunition and tossing one to Yao.

"Are you alright with your magic?" the American asked stiffly without glancing at Arthur.

"Yes, I believe so," the Brit replied quietly, flexing his fingers and muttering wards under his breath.

"Alright, then. Let's go," Alfred growled, feeling stronger as he shook away the nostalgia and marched past the older nations.

No one dared hurt his brother and got away with it.


Matthew lay on the ground, refusing to surrender so easily. Arrows darted out into the mass of zombies from behind Ivan, keeping them at bay while the Russian took them on, several at a time. Matthew was scared of Ivan, but also admired his fearlessness. The cold-hearted nation seemed to be enjoying the battle, the sensation of his metal pipe against soft flesh. Although Ivan couldn't kill them, he had decapitated or crippled most of the Undead, causing them to slow down their attacks.

In desperation, the younger nation clutched his three remaining arrows, refusing to let them loose and risk losing his weapons. He glanced up at Ivan, whose violet eyes were dark and hooded and a savage, Cheshire-like grin was spread across his face. He was drenched head-to-toe in blood that did not belong to him, giving him an insane, butcher-like appearance. Matthew could see, in the cold and darkness and a river of blood, Ivan was in his element, the biggest, strongest, deadliest country in the north.

Suddenly, a deep, commanding shout reverberated through the basement. All the Undead seemed to drop dead at once, leaving Ivan, Matthew, and the RedWolf standing, stunned. Rage slowly began to register on the demonic wolf's face as she realized she had dragged it out too long. In a last, desperate attempt to get to Canada, she lunged at Ivan.

Russia was strong, but slow. He raised his pipe to counter one bone-jarring blow, but was not fast enough to dodge the lightning-fast swipe from the RedWolf's other paw. He gasped with shock and pain as the curved hook-like claws snagged his cloak and pulled him closer, followed a split-second later by the straight-edged talons that sank deep into his right side, slicing right between his ribs. Matthew watched as Ivan's blood splattered his face, eyes wide in bewilderment and dismay. There was a moment of silence as the wolf stood motionless, Ivan's body hanging limp in her claws. Matthew let out a horrified wail and the RedWolf drew her talons out in a smooth, wet schlik sound. Russia crashed into the wall and slid down beside Canada, coughing up globules of blood.


He could smell the choking scent of death. It hit him like a tidal wave. England and China were covering their mouths and noses with their arms, which told America that at least he wasn't imagining it this time.

Moments after England had said a spell that would release the souls of any Undead, a blood-curdling wail echoed through the basement, turning the three nations' blood to ice.

"CANADA!" America howled, and leaped down the stairs into darkness, taking the steps four at a time. By this point he was numb to any pain. He felt a flame of power blazing in his heart, like a phoenix had just unfurled its blazing wings. He bared his teeth and hit the ground running.

He would kill anyone, as long as his brother was still alive.


Matthew stared, unseeing, at Ivan on the ground beside him. The vision he saw in his dreams what felt like years ago had made itself into a reality. The RedWolf was laughing madly, turning back into her human form, ears and tail spiked and long hair hanging down over her face.

"How does it feel, Canada? To lose one of your own?" she lowered her head and grinned. "You should have joined me when you had the chance. Then none of this would have happened!"

"Why…?" he whimpered, never taking his eyes off Russia, who was struggling to breath. "Why have you done this? What are you trying to accomplish?"

The RedWolf hesitated, drinking in the sad sight before her. She cocked her head and hissed between her serrated teeth.

"I'm going to take away from America what he took away from me!" she declared, her body dissipating into the shadows, voice ringing in the air. "I lost my family, my home, and my dignity as a human. Now, by Hell's fires, I condemn America to a damned life worse than death!"

Canada shivered. Her curse hung in the air long after she was gone into the darkness.

Ivan turned to Matthew. "She can't curse anyone without knowing their True Name…" His voice cracked and he coughed painfully, blood splattering the floor. Matthew dragged himself over to him and put his arms around the taller nation's blood-soaked waist.

"Don't speak, Russia," he murmured, fighting back tears. "Your wounds will heal if they're given a chance…"

Ivan shook his head slightly. "There are some wounds even we can't survive." He drew a long, shuddering breath and put an arm around Matthew, stroking the other nation's long hair gently. "There's no other nation like you… Canada… You and I… We have hearts of Winter… We could rule…"

"Russia, please!" Matthew whimpered. "Don't speak! Russia! You're just going to hurt yourself more…"

"Ca… nada…" Ivan gasped, his breathing fading, his eyes closed. "I…"

"Russia…?" Matthew drew closer, his cheek brushing Ivan's jaw as he strained to make out the words. But the tall nation was already unconscious, his life slowly but surely draining away.

Matthew buried his face in the other nation's neck and breathed in the crisp, frosty scent. Russia had finally noticed him after all those years, and now the great nation was dying. He rested his head and listened to the slowing heart beating in his chest. No matter what the other countries said, Russia did have a heart, and Matthew had a feeling he had finally won it… only to end up losing it so soon.

He heard footsteps and heard America screaming and shaking him. Matthew refused to let go of the body, which had grown cold some time ago.


I stood on the surface of that black lake. Beside me stood Waabishki on an island of white ice. We were both looking into the pool, staring at Kumajiro, America, England, and China, who were trying hard to shake Russia and me awake. It was like watching a tragic movie with no happy ending. It didn't seem like that life belonged to me.

Quietly, without a sound, Waabishki turned and walked away, leaving drafts of freezing air in his wake.

I simply stood, staring at Russia, the Arctic nation. Like me.

Ivan… Braginski…

I said his True Name.

I just couldn't bring myself to say "goodbye".

Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya

RedWolf Rocky and WhiteTiger William belong to me~



And what does she do? She fast-tracks anyways ALSKFNAKJGBAJBGAKJGB!

Sorry for the delay. Me has a KILLER TEST on Tuesday for English. I cannot begin to express my hatred for "Wuthering Heights".

Right now I'm supposed to be working on a documentary film. Lol nope xD

I love ya'll! No matter how long it takes I won't forget about you guys! Thanks so much for reading!