Prairie Blossom: Welcome to our fic, everyone! In case you didn't know already, I'm Prairie...
Arashi91: ...and I'm Arashi! This was an amazingly-fun collab to do (all of the credit for the idea goes to the epic Prairie here!) and we hope y'all enjoy it as much as we enjoyed writing it.~
PB: Also, I do not own Hetalia. Do you own Hetalia, Arashi?
A91: Oh no, though of course I wish I did. Pfff- I'd still be writing fanfics about it though.
PB: Yeah, me too. ^_^'
Silverfish
Prairie Blossom & Arashi91
…Chick…
…Chick…
…Chick…
Skilled hands brought the knife down on the dry piece of bamboo again and again, shaving off a shred of wood with each strike. Thumb and forefinger rotated the stick slowly, briefly revealing the smallest of imperfections to the vanishing light before swiftly slicing them away with a chick of stainless steel on the rod. Before long, the almost mechanical sound of the work slowed, and the silence between the moments the blade fell grew longer and longer until all that could be heard was the sound of wind blowing over the almost stagnant water.
From his seat on top of the rock poking a few feet above the sea, Ivan Braginsky craned his neck back and frowned at the high but thick cloud that wafted over the sun. A storm was coming, he knew. His instincts all but screamed this one single fact at him, a sixth sense even he didn't completely understand. Fortunately, his project was nearly completed. He laid the stick over the basalt stone and his lap so he could look down on the sharpened point and carefully, carefully reached beside him and picked up a bangle of cream-colored barbs: stingray tails wrapped in twine. Intently and expertly, he wrapped the point of the rod tight with the twine several times around, making sure to secure the cord well in the grooves he created before tying it all in a firm knot, completing his handmade spear with a quality that would have made indigenous hunters and warriors envious of the weapon.
Just as he finished, however, the hairs on the back of Ivan's head prickled to a distant sound, an unusual humming that emerged from the utter stillness in the air. He froze immediately, and two mauve eyes narrowed and scrutinized the view of the horizon. It was every bit as blank and empty as Ivan had always seen it, save for a small lone island protruding from the surface in the distance. Gripping his spear and his knife with one hand, Ivan cautiously slid from his perch into the ocean without making as much as a splash. Once the salt water was up to his neck, he edged around the side of his boulder and peered at an unusual sight for the area around his home.
"A speedboat," he muttered, though his voice was somewhat scratchy from disuse. Indeed, it was a speedboat, albeit a small one probably meant for afternoon thrill rides rather than actual work. Ivan ran a pale hand through his even paler hair; he supposed that a small adventuring craft was more likely to venture through his portion of the reef than a passenger or even a fishing vessel. After all, the unpredictable waves that might be calm for one minute and nightmarishly wild the next have smashed no less than seven unfortunate boats against the reef. Judging by the intruder's lack of regard for the dangerous hidden terrain below and the direction of the chilly wind on which the tempest was riding, Ivan guessed that the tally would soon rise to eight.
He made sure to stay concealed from sight behind the rock as his eyes trailed skyward, a gentle frown tugging at the corners of his mouth: the cloud that he had seen earlier had multiplied to cover most of the sky that occupied his periphery, effectively dimming the sun and his surroundings by a few shades. His gaze shifted then from the sky above to the speedboat that had caught his attention as the same strange tingles from before resonated within his head, knocking at malleable temples. "That storm is closer. It feels violent," he breathed, speaking to no one in particular.
The opaque, cobalt waters surrounding him began to roll with more vigor and gusto than just minutes before, forming picayune waves with choppy crests. The charcoal clouds above let loose a sheet of driving rain, drenching everything that happened to stay dry out at sea. Ivan's grip around his spear and knife tautened as he watched the speedboat bounce off of the tops of the newly-surfacing waves, approaching the reef at an almost breakneck pace. The breeze that lulled above the ocean seemingly moments before whipped itself up into powerful gusts within the span of a few seconds, tousling the bushy, argentine locks of Ivan's hair. "At this rate the wind will push that boat into the reef... I wonder if the driver knows about it?" he mumbled, the howling of the wind and the crash of laden water against water successfully muting him as if he had uttered nothing at all.
Within the span of the next few moments, chaos ensued: the waves broke against each other like hearty thunder rolling in the distance, one formidable gust of wind striking the boat as if it were infused with lead and noticeably turning the vehicle a few degrees more toward the reef. The distant urge to aid the boat piqued his thoughts in the back of his mind, but Ivan shook off the notion. He knew that there was nothing to be done, now that the boat so dangerously toed the line between open water and the shallows barely eclipsing the reef. The boat careened more toward the submerged ledge before its bow collided with the natural structure head-on, its stern popping off of the water for a moment before settling back in. Ivan didn't miss the body that had been catapulted from the manmade vehicle, barely avoiding smacking into the reef by a few inches; from his perch he could make out the distinct swatch of champagne-hued hair and the street clothes that hung from a narrow frame. I wonder if that person is dead... should I go find out?
He didn't have to, for a few seconds later a frantic splashing erupted in the turbulent water, though the effects of the struggle were weak and fought futilely against the strong currents in the ocean. Ivan retreated just a little further behind the boulder, though his muscles tensed up as he continued to witness the scene before him. The person was alive, he could tell that much for sure, but his or her swimming was very poor. There wasn't so much as a scream to clue Ivan in on the person's gender, just the smallest sounds of desperate gasps for air before they were briefly silenced as white-capped waves caved in and briefly knocked the poor person under. It wouldn't be long before he or she became too exhausted to stay above the surface and drowned, unless someone stepped in to rescue him.
That 'someone,' Ivan realized to his heightened apprehension, would not come from the boat. Another silhouette, this one with chestnut-brown clothes and sandy-brown hair, grabbed hold of the steering wheel and turned it hard back in the direction the vessel came from with a clearly masculine shout, away from his terror-filled companion. Fortunately for the boater, he was able to take control of his craft, and with a mighty roar of the motors he sped away from the reef before a similar misfortune had the chance to happen to him. Ivan reflexively gripped the crevices of the rock; the man didn't even seem to notice that the other person fell and unintentionally left him to his watery grave. "Swim, swim," Ivan found himself chanting under his breath. It was no use, though, as those hysterical arms pushed futilely against the torrent one last time before finally slipping into the deep.
"Chyort voz'mi," he swore and slammed his spear and the dagger back on top of his perch before diving into the water. From there he raced as fast as he could to the spot he saw the blond submerge, not even breaking to the surface once. His eyes darted to and fro, but mostly to the sea floor, trying to find any sign of the man: a red shirt, golden hair, or a bubble of breath leaving lungs. Ivan was just about to give up and declare his efforts pointless when he caught a glimpse of some movement in the lower-right corner of his vision: tiny ripples as if something—or someone—was caught in the seaweed. Ivan immediately swam to investigate, not expecting to find anything, and so his heart stopped when he did.
Both of the man's (for it was a man after all) legs and one of his arms were tangled in the kelp, and although Ivan was able to make quick work of the bindings by ripping through them with his bare hands, he still felt a small pang of regret for not having the knife with him. However, the moment the man's arm was torn free, his body began to sink again to the sandy bottom. Ivan lunged after him, grabbed him by his shoulder, and dragged him to the surface with every ounce of strength he had. He still feared—couldn't help but fear—that his efforts were all in vain, that he was too late and all he would be able to offer this person was a meaningless wish to rest in peace before returning the body to the ocean that claimed this life. But against all odds, when Ivan broke the surface with the blond in his firm grasp, he was rewarded with the smallest wheeze of an inhalation in his ear and the warmth of an exhalation against his cheek.
Amethyst eyes scrutinized the unconscious young man in Ivan's grasp as he adjusted his hold to make it easier to swim: his gaze swept across the slight, blunt features of the blond's face, noticing in passing the odd curly strand of hair that stuck away from his head though his hair was soaked, alighting on closed eyes and slightly parted rosebud lips. I can't leave him out here, but I can't take him to the nearest city either... ah, he looks very calm, like he's sleeping. That thought was accompanied with a small, tender smile.
Ivan's head jerked up at the sound of a seagull lingering in the distant sky above an island that he frequented, blanketed by a dense forest and bordered by velveteen, white sand beaches. He nodded to himself then, arms tightening around the narrow frame of the young man as he started toward the deserted land mass. I'll have to leave once I find a place for him to rest without the animals disturbing him, and without risking heat exhaustion, then I must stay out of sight... I wonder how he will get home?
The answer blindsided him, echoing in the vast cavern of his mind as if someone else had responded instead of the inner machinations of thought: he won't. An enigmatic grin piqued the corners of Ivan's mouth as he came within feet of the island's shore. "I haven't had a friend in a long time. This should be fun," he hummed under his breath as he rested the flaxen-haired man against the sand in the shade of a fan-like palm tree, far enough up the shore so that high tide wouldn't touch him. "Sleep well for now... my pet."
To be continued…
Translations:
Chyort voz'mi—Russian: "Damn it"