Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia, make no claim to creating it, and will be forced to cower and hide should anyone come after me for borrowing such wonderful characters for this modest little fic.
Author's notes to follow at the bottom of the fic.
His breathing was labored, every draw of air a monumental effort. He felt delirious, disoriented, each heart beat a force that shook his chest and reverberated through his ears. Sweat trickled down his face, from temple to cheek, a millimeter per agonizing second. The sensation was maddening, the itch and tickle he couldn't reach up to scratch.
Eyes blinking at a snail's pace, brilliant blue orbs moving as if bathed in molasses, he tried to stare up at his jailer, at the one who had him trapped and bound in some sort of unholy half stasis. It was so very difficult to move, to process and think and focus. He was aware of the world around him yet horribly not. Out of touch, out of synch, there was a dull hum to everything that left it so surreal.
"There now love, you really should try to rest…" A voice so familiar crooned at him, so very familiar yet gut wrenchingly wrong. A gloved hand reached down, never touching his chin, merely ghosting beneath it. America would have given anything for the strength to turn his head down, to snap at those fingers. As if sensing this and the Nation's rising frustration, his captor laughed.
Backing away, his green eyes sparkling in smug confidence, the other smirked. "You've done well, I'll admit. Most would have been crushed by my power by now. You put up a good fight, not that it will do you any good in the end." Words tinged with an accent that was absolutely wrong mocked him even as they seemed to praise him. America could hear more than see the other walking about the room, walking about America's own basement! Moving his head was just, frustratingly enough, impossible.
"It really does seem a shame though… disposing of you like this… you do wear his face after all… you're so very similar…" The steps grew louder, the figure drawing close again as hands reached out. As fingers moved and slid down his side, as they curled and squeezed at his waist, America hissed, lips and tongue useless for once. The other laughed at him. "Although it seems no one here has succeeded in curbing that tremendous appetite of yours, hmm? Oh don't look so scandalized… it's… cute."
America managed a rather pathetic growl, and his captor simply tapped his head, the force seeming to reverberate and make his ears ring. Steps carried the intruder away, off towards the very edge of America's peripheral vision reached. The green-eyed doppelganger strolled over to a rather large clock, propped up against a chair. A gloved hand ran a finger almost lovingly along the rim, the sensation somehow feeling like nails dragged over the Nation's skin.
"Regardless, we cannot have you getting in our way, not when we've made it here. Not when we've found a new home at last…" The intruder took a seat, smugness never leaving his face or voice. "Go to sleep… you're no longer necessary."
- s - p - a - d - e - s –
The conference room was, predictably, a riot of noise. Arguments, insults, petty banter and meaningless chatter filled the air. Typical, so very typical of course, for any sort of World Conference. Nations were clustered in small groups, the meeting for the day essentially over, personifications merely lingering for a short while after. Some had already left, yes, but the room was still quite full.
From his spot by the wall, Canada watched it all with a faint smile on his lips. He was tired and worn out from the meeting, but not terribly so. It wasn't as though he was able to participate in any of the more vigorous debates, what with the world persistently acting as though he was invisible. It was more tiring trying to get everyone's attention than it was anything else. With a tiny sigh, he was ready to call it a day. He'd head back to his hotel room, cuddle Kumatani, and get some sleep.
As the figure of America started striding over, however, Canada paused in his plans. He wasn't sure why exactly, as getting singled out by his brother could be a nightmare. Especially in a political environment. The last thing Canada needed was to listen to his brother rant, listen to another horrible robot or super hero filled idea or… worst of all… possibly get dragged into any of his southern brother's 'great ideas'. However, there was something in the way America was looking at him… honestly looking at him, that kept Canada rooted to the spot.
America seemed in a good mood at least, grinning away and wiping at his eyes beneath his glasses as if he'd been laughing so hard he needed to wipe away the tears. As Canada watched him approach, he wasn't exactly able to put his finger on what felt wrong about the other Nation. There was that same confidence in his steps, as if he was on top of the world and had every right to be. Still that overwhelming aura that screamed entitlement.
Yet, perhaps that was it in a way. His brother had been a bit diminished of late, understandably so in the world right now. No, his brother hadn't been depressed… but he'd certainly been showing a few signs of fatigue under that obnoxiously upbeat personality. Watching America approach him right now… well… you'd never know there were any sort of economic problems in his country, or any other problems really…
"Ah… this is hilarious…" America said as he came to lean against the wall beside Canada, and the northern Nation quirked a brow. There… there was something else… a very strange tick in America's voice. It wasn't exactly an accent… yet he didn't sound right… didn't sound himself. Canada had only picked up on it a little during the meeting proper as… strange now that he looked back, America hadn't actually said much during the meeting.
"… what is?" The Canadian murmured back softly, wondering if he'd get a response of if America thought he was alone right now. It wasn't as though his brother didn't talk to himself now and again.
"This!" The reply was swift, blue eyes locking onto Canada with precision. He really truly was talking to Canada.
"… I suppose?" This all felt a bit surreal. A little frightening, really, though in a 'what's wrong with America now' sort of way. "It's… pretty much the same as ever, eh?"
"Hahaha… yeah… yeah I guess it is! Still… I mean… wow… how has the world not fallen apart, ya know?"
He… wasn't really sure what to say about that. His brother watched him for a moment before shaking his head, waving a hand dismissively. "Ah never mind, not like a Two would know anyway."
Canada frowned. What? Had he heard that right? His brother was making less sense than usual if so.
"America… America, there you are!" England's voice cut over the noise, said Nation raising his hand to get America's attention as he tried to fight his way through clusters of Nations. At his side, Canada noticed his brother stiffen. A very strange look crossed his face, one that seemed utterly out of place and foreign. Canada wasn't able to puzzle it out before it was masked with a smile. America gave him a pat to the shoulder.
"That's my cue to leave, cover for me! Later!" And with that America escaped from the room, a very irate England ranting after him, passing Canada as if the Nation didn't exist. For now, the Canadian wasn't bothered, instead distracted by his own questions. His brother was… either up to something… or…
Or what?
- s - p - a - d - e - s –
He found it was slightly easier to remember things, to get lost in the past, than it was to try to focus on the future. Heck, it was easier than paying attention to the now as well. Whatever that clock was doing to him, it seemed mostly focused on keeping him from interacting with the world. For a Nation that loved to dream of the future, for one who craved freedom in his bones, this was agony, plain and simple.
America was in hell, and he had no idea how to escape. He didn't really even understand how he'd wound up in this situation, really. He'd been rushing around his house, haphazardly packing his suitcase so he could catch his flight to the World Conference… when he'd heard this sound outside. It hadn't been a boom… or a pop… or any simple noise he could define with one syllable. It had been very loud, however, and a strange loud noise rarely meant anything good.
Taking up his trusty sidearm, he'd headed outside, expecting terrorists or maybe monsters or possibly zombies…
He'd seen himself. Or… someone who looked just like him (or… maybe what's his name… Canada?) and England. They'd just been standing there, dusting smoke from their strangely antiquated and fancy clothes, speaking in some weird sort of gibberish that made America's head hurt. Or maybe staring at his clone was making his head hurt. He hoped he wasn't in the middle of some sort of sci-fi story, where if you saw your double you died or something. Sci-fi or horror.
He'd shouted out to them, being totally bold and heroic as always of course, asking who they were and what they were doing on his lawn. At first they'd stared at him like he was crazy, but then the weird England with the tiny top hat cocked on his head had started to mumble and mutter something. It hadn't made any sense to America… but after that, the two 'strangers' had at least started to speak English.
"Where are we?" The not-real-America had asked him, and how weird was it to see and hear yourself speak with some weird accent?
He'd proudly declared where they were, of course. The glorious United States of America! That… that had been… when things had turned weird. Very very weird. That had been when, well, a short while later… he'd found himself trapped. Deep down in his basement. Guarded over by fake-England and literally stuck in time. There were golden chains looped about his limbs, but those seemed more of a formality than anything else.
No matter how much he strained his muscles, tried to use that 'super strength' of his… he wasn't moving.
At least he was aware right now… his consciousness seeming to drift in and out thanks to whatever fake-England was doing to him. He was aware and drifting through his memories mostly. Voices above him gained his attention, however, and heroically he strained to focus. Listen to this… listen to now… come on America, you can do this…
"… inept, incompetent… it's amazing! You'd be struggling not to laugh, watching them all squabble and stuff."
It was the fake-him talking.
"Well, it's all for the best, the, isn't it? One never likes to work too hard to clean up their new home."
Fake-England sounded a little too cocky for America's liking.
"True enough… but still… this looks like it's gonna be way too easy. Nothing stands a chance of stopping us!"
The conversation seemed to cease… or perhaps America drifted off again. But as his mind swam in and out of the dark, as his awareness drifted through memories good and bad, one phrase kept surfacing in his mind, haunting him like some horrid specter. Perhaps one of his captors had said it, or maybe his mind was playing tricks on him, using the strange pattern and motif the two wore to create some sort of nightmare. All the same, every time the phrase echoed through his mind, his body wanted to shudder.
"The Kingdom of Spades shall rise again."
Author's Note:
Annnd… why am I not working on my other fics? No 'good' reason. I haven't been writing at all. Trying to remedy that.
In regards to this fic… I've been wanting to do something with the cardverse so very much… and finally broke down. This is mostly taking place in the typical Hetalia-verse though… sort of a cross-over if you will. The only thing of note I do want to point out is that if you find the King and Queen of Spades to be out of character (as in, they don't act just like America and England), it's on purpose. I'm writing them more like OC's, not clones of the US and UK. If that bothers you, I'm sorry.
Other than King of Spades/Queen of Spades, I haven't considered any pairings for this fic.
I have no beta for this fic, so please excuse any horrible mistakes. My time for writing is not very high, so expect sparse updates with no set frequency.
Feedback is always loved though. Later!
