Snow and Angel Dust
Rating: T (Will become M due to violence and explicit content)
Summary: Alfred did not know how or when he was taken from Heaven, or when he was going to get back. All that mattered now was staying alive and figuring out the devilish Russian scientist, Ivan Bragniski's, intentions on being overly friendly. Oh, if only he knew… RusAme.
Author's Notes: I do not own any of the Hetalia characters. In addition, some (most) of the scenes of this chapter were written by my wunderbar beta and Co-Writer, Bai-Marionette.
Chapter One:
Remember to Wake Up
The rays and warmth of the bright sun were eliciting the joyful laughs of two small children. One was running about with wildflowers, with a small and unfinished crown of flowers in his little hands. The other had a small crown of various and colorful ones on his wavy locks.
One made a move to take a dive down a hill, his little white wings barely having the strength to keep him from falling down and hurting himself. However, the other, the older one, was stronger. He took a hold of the other's hands and caught him. That bright smile, it could light up any darkness; banish any fear, and banish fear it did, as the smaller boy was put back safely to the ground.
The fields, surrounding the little boys, were of the greenest grass. The boys were now laughing and giggling, as they play-fought each other. Little bursts of air flew out from smaller wings, but pink faces told of a bigger joy and happiness.
The Garden was so peaceful…
The children were so immersed in playing, that they missed it when the stronger one's strength acted against the other boy, and knocked him back in the air. The little boy blinked, and then stammered his wings. Then, back to playing, as if nothing happened.
The sight of one boy nearly being hurt did not go missed by a certain parent figure. The soft, velvet grass tickled the larger Angel's barefoot toes, as he furrowed his bushy brows at the sight of young children running precariously around the trees and not paying any mind to the tricky ivy and the nearby creek.
Afraid his little boys might stumble, the bushy-browed Angel yelled frantically to catch his sons' attention. "Alfred! Mathew! Be more careful, you two!" Neither boy seemed to pay him any mind, more or less, nor feeling a slight indignant at that, the larger Angel made a move to leave the safety of the shadows in the Garden.
Before he could make it far, however, a pair of familiar arms wrapped around him. The smell of delicately aged wine and cheese was coming from the Angel behind him.
"Get off me, you wanker!" The bushy-browed Angel shouted. His voice rang out in the Garden, and the boys stopped playing to look around. Both stopped looking once they spotted the familiar sight of their two larger Angel Guardians.
"Mon amor, you are so vicious," the taller Angel smirked, as he opened his arms and held himself a careful foot in the air. He took small strides around the bushy-browed Angel, further infuriating the shorter. "What you need is a nice massage."
"Touch me," the shorter Angel growled, "And you will be short of a few things. Mark my words, frog, now get out of my way!"
The sound of laughter, and arguing, made the children laugh. It was a delicate and adorable blend of wind chimes and Angelic innocence. The older Angels looked over, and the identical looks of parental pride and happiness shone in each pair of eyes.
There was pride in emerald green. There was love in ocean blue. There was happiness in hydrangea purple. There was joy in sky blue.
However, there was also dark greed in another shade of purple. The shade no one saw from the other edge of the Garden.
The sudden switch of bright light versus the previous pitch-black awoke the only body in the room, and caused the young man's weary eyes to squint. His head throbbed at the blinding glow of the fluorescent lights upon the ceiling. Alfred attempted to shield his eyes, but he could not move his hands.
The blonde haired Angel looked down, and then saw his wrists and ankles bound to a stainless steel chair with leather restraints; both covered and stained a dark red color. He shifted his blue eyes to his attire and his blood ran cold. Gone were his pajamas that he was wearing the night before and in their place was a cotton examination gown.
It was completely drenched in the same red substance as the chair and restraints.
A coppery, metallic scent emanated from his position. "Oh my God, it's blood!" He screeched, as he started panicking at the thought of blood all over his body.
Whose blood is it? He inwardly wondered frantically, although he dreaded the answer, and regretted his later actions, as he looked closer at his bound limbs. His heart started to pound, as he saw infinite scars and bruises littering his marred skin. He could feel the years of abuse on his body and the dull aches of the bruises on his battered body.
What the Hell? His breathing was near borderline hyperventilation, as his chest rose and fell in quick bursts. They look old, but I was at home in bed last night! Where am I? How the fuck did I get here?
Do You Want To Know?
His head snapped up from his scars at the sound of the voice. It had sounded close, but when he looked around, he was shocked to find no one. There was no one else in the empty room. Only red-decorated mirrors and his own horrified face looking back at him.
Just as he was about to question aloud and ask how had just spoken to him, his head started to throb like a heavy bass drum. The voice returned:
Do Not Fear Me. Do Not Worry. I Am Harmless.
Then, it added on, in such a dark and even tone of voice:
Do Not Remember.
Alfred stopped trying to remember what happened, and just as he did, the throbbing ceased and his head felt light and empty. The feeling confused and scared him. He didn't want to be here. He wanted to go home. Home…
Where was home?
Where am I? He thought, as he made to look around. One glance at the walls of the room that resembled a hospital, or more accurately a lab, and he glanced at the wall in front of him. It was a plain white wall with a giant steel door like the ones in the movies. However, the adjacent walls and the floor were painted red with fresh blood. It looked as if buckets and buckets of the crimson liquid were splattered all over the wall.
Before he could think to question it, his ears picked up the noises of footsteps and hushed voices drew the blonde Angel out of his musings and he tried to break free of the restraints. He had to get away! His instincts were telling him to run. He had to run!
His efforts proved to be fruitless, as the giant steel doors slammed open, and a short woman who looked to be in her mid-twenties in a lab coat strode in with a clipboard. Dulled sky blue eyes did a double take, as he noticed red splatters all over her face and coat, making the woman look even creepier.
Her grey eyes were full of hardened venom, her pale face similar to that of cream. However, her presence spoke volumes of her intentions to the Angel strapped down. She was bad. She was very bad. She was going to hurt him. He needed to get free and run away from her!
Nevertheless, it was upon her cold gaze meeting his; that Alfred shrank into his seat like a child being scolded. He sunk down as much as he could. The woman glared her narrowed and cold eyes down at the terrified captive and let a sadistic smirk slip onto her features. The prisoner saw her nametag that read "Dr. Arlovskaya" when she leaned toward Alfred and snapped on her latex gloves.
"Let us see what new information I can gather from you, this time, Angel," she said. Alfred felt his eyes widen, as the doctor walked to a metal table – all of the stainless steel knives and needles lying under a small pool of red water – and retrieved a sharp and thin knife.
"I hope your old anesthesia is still in you," she said, as she turned around and began walking back. Alfred could not take his eyes off the knife, his toes curling and head shaking and building up speed. His eyes were already burning with tears that he refused to let fall, and his mouth was open in horror.
His voice caught in his throat, as the doctor smirked and said coldly, "Because I don't feel like giving you anymore."
Her shadow was cast over him, and the young Angel was barely being kept in the bolted chair with all of his thrashing. The doctor smiled so cruelly, "Let's explore your vocals today, Angel."
The voice returned, softly, but full of command:
Close Your Eyes. I Will Protect You.
Alfred whimpered, and closed his eyes in what he hoped was just in time for the voice to fulfill its promise. He waited.
The voice did not do a damned thing.
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