AN: Deanon from the kink meme. I wasn't planning on deanoning this, but it was mentioned at the pimp-post there and that made me deliriously happy. The lyrics are the Latin ones for the European Union's anthem, "Ode to Joy". It's Greece-centric and deals with the current European financial crisis- some of the character's opinions mentioned in this fic about the debt are not necessarily my own. Also, warning for some foul language.

Unity in Diversity

Est Europa nunc unita

"I'm going to see Germany tomorrow," Greece says. His words are slower than usual, calculated- perhaps from fear of enraging England further, or simply due to how sick he's starting to feel. "What do you suggest I do? I have a feeling that it isn't going to be easy."

"Whatever made you think it would be?" England scoffs. He's seated at the end of a large, empty oak consulting table- surrounded by his siblings, eyes narrowed and arms folded. The arms of his brothers and sister are folded too, their eyes equally as harsh, their uniforms regulated and breathing in time. "You should have planned for this when you entered the Union. You should have been aware of the risks when you took on the Euro."

Greece sighs, sinks into his chair. "The British are all bitter."

"Of course we're bitter," England says. He flings out his arms and his siblings catch them. "We're leaving, the next chance we get. We'll be gone before it collapses."

"Are you sure that's the right thing to do?" Greece asks.

"You," England snaps, "are the weakest link in an already weakening chain. How can you sit there and judge us for our decision to attempt strengthening ourselves?"

His brothers and sister sigh and rise onto their toes, Scotland's hands pushing through England's hair, Wales still clutching England's arm and lifting it up, Northern Ireland twisting until she's wrapped her own arms around England's shoulders. And they are, in that moment, one, united - Greece wonders, then, why they are so opposed to the union of the continent.

"Does your debt hurt you?" England asks, quietly, as his brothers start to chuckle softly and pull him backwards from his chair. "Ours is awful, truly awful."

"I'll be fine," Greece says. He's smiling. "You don't have to worry about me."

"We can assure you," England says, as Wales and Northern Ireland hold him in the air and Scotland runs a hand down his spine, "we're not."

et unita

Bulgaria is one of the oldest states in Europe. He might just be Greece's oldest neighbour, but Greece has always thought it rude to ask- and he doesn't necessarily want to ask, either, content with simply accepting and existing. This is not, however, something Bulgaria finds easy to do.

"How are you coping?" Bulgaria demands- always one to fire off a thousand questions, always one to forget that he cares about the answers. "I'm getting poor 'cause of those fat cats in Berlin. Are you going to say something when you see him? Are you going to tell Germany we're starving?"

"We're not starving," Greece says. "Just... sick."

"Ha," Bulgaria says. And that's all he says.

"Your economy is growing," Greece says. "That's a good thing, surely?"

"You need to stop giving old people money," Bulgaria says. "Their pensions just might kill you." Greece smiles, sleepily, even though he doesn't want to- but there's something about the irony that gets to him. He doesn't get the chance to mention it; Bulgaria stares at the ceiling and sneers, "I really hate Italy's face."

maneat;

"Control your Government's spending," Austria says, "and you'll be fine."

He runs his fingers along the keys of the piano but they're not producing sound. He's frustrated, desperate, but he still can't quite manage to release those notes into the air. They're all sticking, lost, to the skin of his fingertips and the material of the instrument.

"It's too late," Greece says. That's all he needs to say.

"You rioted against the austerity package," Austria reminds him. "And your rate of debt is expanding. So it's your own fault if it's too late."

Greece is silent, watching, as Austria continues to force his fingers against the piano keys, irritated beyond compare. His shoulders violently jerk as his arms lose all the grace, all the poise, that a musician should have. That he's always insisted a musician should have. His face contorts, a flash of sheer rage across his features.

"Why won't it play? Why won't it work?"

una in

"You're such a tiny boy," Greece says. "Why are you here?"

"I'm not," Latvia replies.

He keeps checking over his shoulder, head angling every few seconds. To those that are chasing him, demanding repayments. Threatening to hate him, and much more. There are vast continents out there and he can't remember who owes what- it's a mess of money, money, money and the crisp banknotes are losing their freshness every time he runs his thumb along the edge. He never cuts himself on those edges- he's being extremely careful.

"I'm not tiny," Latvia clarifies.

diversitate

"There's a term for us two, you know," Ireland says, grinning. "The term is fucked."

Greece laughs. He doesn't very laugh often at all but Ireland's face is funny- it was withering before, but now it's fine, and that sudden change amuses him. She no longer looks like a corpse. That's good.

"I've made cuts," she says, proud of herself. "To the budget. Kenny can't tell me what to spend."

"Good," Greece says. Everything's good, everything's fine.

"When you took their help," Ireland says, her smile decreasing in size, "how did you feel? Did it feel like a trap? How quickly, do you think, will Europe want it all back?"

pacem mundi augeat

Finland and Sweden are selling things to each other.

Greece observes and makes mental notes. The scene is typical. Finland and Sweden are seated in their usual places at the kitchen table, and they have goods on one side and debt on the other. They exchange their goods, and debt, and everything else in between, before they kiss each other goodbye and start to feel dizzy.

"It's getting worse," Finland says, because Sweden doesn't talk anymore, not even at Summits. "We won't make your mistakes, though. Thank you for showing us what to fix."

"It's alright," Greece says.

(If he's an example to learn from, he's still technically making contributions.)

Semper regant

The room is crowded with Europe's finest (they're all Europe's finest, France assures them) but there's enough oxygen to go around. That's one thing Greece still has enough of, at least.

"I'm stable," Poland says. "Like, check my economy. I totally don't understand why you guys are all so worried right now about finance."

(That doesn't equal stability.)

Greece still likes to think he's relatively stable. He hasn't been seeing things yet, he hasn't been imaging saviours and reverting to fairytales. That's what people do when they hit rock bottom, isn't it? They pray.

See, their fingers fit- like this. Greece raises his hands and interlocks his fingers to demonstrate, quite forgetting that Poland can't actually read his thoughts. And Greece manoeuvres his hands until his palms are flat against each other in a motion of benediction.

Poland is a very religious country.

(France is not, but he still tells those that listen all about how he has God on his side.)

in Europa

Denmark is going to join the Euro.

He tells everyone. He is proud of his decision and he thinks it's a good currency. The coins are simple, he thinks, but they're effective, too. He's not big on art- he doesn't know much about masterpieces and the like- but he really thinks the coins are something special.

Greece doesn't. He thinks the most gorgeous currency in the world was the drachma. The coins he had in the days of the Ancients, though- those were masterpieces. Athena never looked so impressive.

"Hey Greece," Denmark says. "I'm going to join the Euro! We all will, someday."

Greece nods. He does it slowly.

fides et iustitia

Romania is a tiger.

He hunts by sight, deciding which targets he likes the look of before he follows them to the ends of the Earth. He is no longer the child of Nicolae Ceausescu and he's not going to be restrained by someone like him ever again. Romania is crafty and he's dangerous, too, drawing his claws across the flesh of those he finds until they bleed, writhing, thanking him for his advice and dying slowly as they give him a genuine smile.

Romania is a tiger.

He sleeps, and people leave him lie because nobody knows how he would react to being woken in the dark. He dislikes the moon, he's made that very clear, and he's never understood his association with creatures of the night when he much prefers the sunlight. That way, he can see perfectly the faces of everyone he slaughters.

Romania is a tiger.

He doesn't suffer fools gladly because he was a fool, once- but he's moved on, grown up, flourished as the world around him collapsed. So he's tasted arrogance and he's known victory. It's an addictive taste, comparable to a narcotic, dragging him backwards into the realms of disbelief when people tell him they can't pay him back just yet and beg on their knees for forgiveness.

Romania is a tiger.

(People call him a tiger because his economy is fast and sly.)

(Greece likes cats.)

et libertas

The Netherlands believes in the concept of Laissez-faire. He doesn't let his Government interfere with the financial dealings of his people and he thinks that's the best way to go about things; if people don't ask questions then they'll never, ever hear things they don't want to hear. If people don't go searching through the world they'll never see its evils.

He's not innocent by any means, but he wants to give innocence to his people.

Ignorance isn't bliss. But ignorance is a choice. He's in favour of letting people make their own decisions entirely, relaxed and calm when his citizens choose things for themselves- and if they want to let themselves slide into ignorance then who is he to stop them?

"I'm just their country," he says. "I'm not their role model."

"You're not their country," Greece says. "You're their history. That's what we all are."

"History?" the Netherland says. "You think we're all history? The debt isn't that bad. Yours isn't even that bad."

"No," Greece says. "We're all their histories. We're meant to teach them."

He ends the conversation there because he doesn't like talking. He ends the conversation there because he wants to sleep.

populorum

Everyone knows that Portugal is scared but nobody's asking him why. He stands there, fidgeting, adjusting and re-adjusting his tie until finally Greece takes notice, wondering if Portugal is nervous because of money problems like the rest of the world or nervous because he's slipping into obscurity.

(He'll never be forgotten. Greece thinks he should remind him of that, but he has no motivation for playing the knight today.)

"We're brothers and sisters," Portugal says to those gathered in the Chambers. "Aren't we?"

We don't speak your language, Slovakia says.

We don't understand, Slovenia murmurs.

"But we're all working together," Portugal insists. "So we have to be able to communicate and make sure nobody gets left behind. What works for one of us should work for all of us. That's how we're supposed to be run."

I can't work you out, Slovakia says.

Try talking slower, Slovenia suggests.

"Portugal, I understand you," Greece says. Portugal gives him a grateful smile, so Greece thinks that maybe being the knight isn't so difficult.

in maiore patria

"This fucking anthem," Hungary says.

It's the first time Greece has heard her say anything so obscene. She has sick thoughts and a murky past but she's a good girl. She has a heart of gold- it's just a shame she can't sell that gold and use it to settle some old scores. They're holding her down, ancient debts and the feeling of loyalty to her former associates.

(Because she hasn't spoken to Austria in a decade.)

"What's wrong with it?" Greece asks. He's kneeling, looking down at the floor- he doesn't really care what Hungary has to say but he doesn't want to be alone, so he strikes up conversation.

"Fatherland," she says. "Why is it about a Fatherland? Can't it be Motherland?"

Motherland sounds nicer, homelier. Greece's father was a terrifying bastard. The obscene words erode the ice.

Cives

The Czech Republic is fond of beer. He drinks to forget but all he does is forget that he drinks. Greece finds him entertaining in a twisted sense, though he's never had the courage to say outright that maybe the Czech Republic is in trouble. Because the Czech Republic drinks and he drinks, and he makes sure that he milks the engineering circuit of his nation for all he can get, and he makes sure to stay out of the Euro as he doesn't think it's healthy-

(it's the Czech Republic that isn't healthy, his citizens are leaving and they're moving to other countries and he drinks, drinks, drinks)

-and sometimes he says he's got many friends because he's part of the Friendship Pipeline. That's not how you build up foreign relations, Greece is sure.

floreat Europa!

Cyprus wants to be part of something. He's not poor and he wasn't poor before he joined the European Union, but he saw Greece joining and thought it might be nice to follow in Greece's footsteps.

His problems are very different to those of his fellow Europeans. He isn't concerned with power, he's just concerned with having happy people and good food. Both his country's climate and his investment climate are high- something he takes pride in. But he always has to be part of something, always has to put in a few words.

"I'm undergoing," he says, when he hears everyone else telling each other their problems, "a very serious water shortage."

He's surrounded by the sea and still he's lacking in water.

Greece doesn't like talking to Cyprus because Cyprus looks so much like Turkey- and that hurts, that hurts to look at and it hurts to breathe in that familiar scent.

floreat Europa!

A lot of Malta's money comes from tourism. (Beaches, foreigners, sandy slopes and holiday romances. Heaven in the ocean, but the ocean goes on forever so she could just be an illusion.)

"What can I get you?" she asks- joking, flirting- when Greece walks in to see her for the first time in what feels like eternity.

(She is surrounded by eternities. Never-ending. She's a mystery. Greece doesn't think any of her mysteries need solving, but then again, he's not exactly the active type.)

"Get me," Greece says, "nothing."

"See, our problem there is," Malta says, clicking her fingers like she's undergoing some grand epiphany, "having nothing is what got us into this mess to start with."

opus magnum

Snap, snap; business. Luxembourg is busy and he mindlessly blames Greece for many of his problems.

"We're in the Eurozone together," Luxembourg complains, "so why do we have to include such an irresponsible and frankly uncooperative country like Greece?"

Belgium defends Greece. Though Greece doesn't know why she does it, he just knows that she always does it.

"We're in this together, like you said," Belgium retorts. Standing up, hands on her hips. The definition of motherland, just like Hungary wanted. "So if we go down together, then so be it. If you don't like it, leave."

Luxembourg blinks, rapidly. "I never said I was considering leaving. But surely we're only as strong as our weakest point, and if that's the case, what sort of standard is he?"

Greece's ears burn. He wants to sleep again.

vocat vos

Every time he sees Greece's face, Spain panics.

They are similar in many ways. They're famous for their cultures and their way of life- easy, laid-back, good fun to be around and very fond of rest. It's not their fault, the weather is always beautiful where they come from and the sunlight is intense, making anyone that dares wander into its domain feel ever so sleepy.

"I don't want to be like you," Spain says. He's not being malicious because he doesn't mind Greece- he's just worried about his country's economy. "I don't want to be that low, not again."

(Is it really just Greece making him panic? That doesn't seem fair.)

"I'm going to help you," Spain says. He offers a hand. "Because if I don't, you and Romano will both be on my mind but this time, you won't be smiling."

Stellae signa sunt

Lithuania is gorgeous. He's picturesque. Greece doesn't usually care much about who he has sex with, but Lithuania would definitely be a conquest to be proud of. The landscapes of his country and the contours of his body blend together in their aesthetic value.

(It's a shame about the bruises.)

"I'm not doing too badly," Lithuania says- smiling in Greece's direction, but only because he wants to reassure himself. "I'm not going to get it wrong that much."

Greece doesn't speak.

"And if I do go wrong," Lithuania says- laughing nervously, "then..."

"Then what?" Estonia says, when Lithuania trails off. "What; what's your idea?"

Estonia is just as breathtaking when his cities are examined; the architecture of his buildings and the definition of his skin are both appealing. His scent is one of clear air and uncertainty- just like his neighbours.

"I don't know," Lithuania says.

Greece hears him continue, saying there's always suicide, but Lithuania would never say such a thing and Greece worries that he, Greece, is suffering from a mind that is making him morbid.

in caelo aureae

Italy cries. It's a common occurrence now, but it never used to be. Yes, he let the tears fall when he felt down about something or needed attention, but he's been crying more than ever and Greece finds it annoying.

Though, irritation isn't something that builds up in Greece's head. He doesn't store it. He lets it go instantly.

So he can listen, through paper-thin walls, to Italy's tears for hours. And he can hear him asking, whispering, what happened to his friends. Italy's place in the world, his plans for the future- where did all his debt come from? Why does he feel so sick?

And then Italy smiles, when he's purged himself of his worries and gotten them out into the open- to vacant air, to nobody in particular.

(He thinks nobody hears him. Greece does, and Greece remembers it all.)

quae iungant nos

"Who would have thought it? Decades after the War, Germany is now effectively in charge of Europe anyway."

Greece has heard a few people say this. News reporters, newspaper journalists, media busy-bodies with nothing better to do than comment on things they don't quite understand as they stupidly equate happiness with money. Greece doesn't like them, but he doesn't dislike them either. Neutral, as he is with so many other things.

Germany sighs, the weight of the world on his back. The weight of his corner of the world, anyway. He can't possibly be running Europe when he looks so permanently tired.

"We're here to discuss," Germany says, to make sure everyone knows why they're assembled, "ways in which we can assist Greece, Italy, Ireland, Spain and other European countries at risk of a financial crash..."

(Greece is so, so confused.)

(Wasn't the European Union created with the intention of lessening debts?)

"I trust we will all support each other in these difficult times," Germany says, "for they will bring us closer..."

(Greece can somewhat agree with that.)

(Lately, he's been meeting with countries he never would have met with before.)

"There's unity in diversity," Germany says. He's frank, just for a moment, when he says, "For a little while."

fin