MW: I'm back! With fanfiction! I'm sorry that I'm really late on getting this up, but like I said in the FB update, I missed the deadline and real life hit. Nonetheless, it is here now and I hope you can all enjoy.
So onto the important stuff. This is the last installment of the Fanseries. That being said, you have to have read The Fangirl and The Fanboy in order to understand this. I apologize for the inconvenience. Additionally, I broke my own rule of fanfiction and have more than two point of views in this. I think it's pretty obvious which is which, but here's a guide nonetheless.
The Fangirl = Sherry's POV
The Fanboy = Larry's POV
The Fandom = Third Person
I hope you all enjoy this story and please leave your thoughts. I love hearing from you guys.
Story Summary: So let me get this straight—Himaruya Hidekaz is still alive and Hetalia is in danger once again and the only people who can stop it are a rabid fangirl who hates Seychelles and a homophobic Hetalia hater. Yeah, we're screwed. –Satirizing the Hetalia fandom—
Chapter Summary: Our heroes wake up to find themselves back in their old bodies.
Warnings: Strong language, homophobia, sexual references
Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia. The opinions of the characters within do not directly reflect that of the author.
~Chapter 1~
Once More to Hetalia
"The rabbit-hole went straight on like a tunnel for some way, and then dipped suddenly down, so suddenly that Alice had not a moment to think about stopping herself before she found herself falling down a very deep well."
-Lewis Carroll, British Author, Poet, and Mathematician
The Fangirl: Saturday
The instant my dream shocked me awake, I sat up and grabbed the waste basket by my bed. Even though it was a warm summer morning, I was shivering in cold sweat. Admittedly, that dreaming that I was falling off the clock tower again wasn't the worse nightmare I've had, but it was a lesion nonetheless. It was still a puppet show of everything that I didn't want to happen again, everything that had happened to me in the past, everything that was grafted onto my flesh like a parasite.
Six years sure is a long time to hold onto something.
I held as much of my orange poof of hair in my hand as I could as I leaned over into the basket, prepared to see last night's dinner once again. I learned a long time ago that if I didn't wake up to my mom begging to know why I was screaming, I was going to lose my stomach instead. It wasn't all that bad, though. It was better than losing my head.
I sighed, placing my forehead on the far edge of the basket. I had to stop thinking like that. If I wasn't so damn pessimistic about everything little thing then I would have been over this long ago, but no. I had to have this irrational fear of strange Japanese men possessing Estonians and sexually harassing my friends all while stabbing me in the shoulder and pushing me off of high places. It didn't make any sense at all- I didn't even stab the asshole and yet I sometimes dreamed that I saw Himaruya lying in a pool of his own blood. And it was so real too . . .
When it didn't seem like I was going to be sick, I carefully slid out of my bed. It was five in the morning and the only sound the house should be hearing is my brother Larry's alarm clock. Right on cue, the obnoxious buzzing echoed from down the hall. Five seconds later, I heard it click off. I stood in my room, listening to the shuffle of clothes as he changed into gym shorts and sneakers. Then, at last, his feet patted the stairs as he hurried to start his morning jog.
That was nothing strange thing- Larry and his obsession with working out. Well, it wasn't working out, per say, but he was really big on being fit and agile. It started three years ago when he got his second girlfriend (we don't mention the first and we especially don't mention that his twin brother, Jerry, once had a major crush on him). The guy could scale walls and throw knives. If that wasn't a sign of something being wrong mentally, I didn't know what was.
Once I lost interest in Larry's well-being, I finally took my bottle of apple juice off my desk. My hands were clammy as I unscrewed it. I took a long swing. The sweet juice filled my mouth and informed me that, yes, I am awake. This is not a dream.
I frowned, wiping my mouth with my arm. Why did I always have to do this? I placed the bottle back on my desk. Shouldn't I have learned better already? I went onto my knees by the bed, feeling the bottom of the bed frame until my hand touched a white envelope. I had taped it there years ago.
I tore it off.
Sitting cross legged on the ground, I ripped the paper open, letting a key fall harmlessly onto my lap. I wasn't sure why I always did this. I knew it was dangerous, yet I always had to check and see if Himaruya's glasses were still in their drawer in my desk. And sure enough, a turn of the key revealed them to be sitting harmlessly on the light wood. I picked it up and scrutinized the perfectly clear lenses, seeing the reflection of my blue eyes.
Six years ago, I woke up to find myself in Gakuen Hetalia in my most-hated character's body: Seychelles. I didn't really want to be there, but I could not leave unless I was able to get either France or England to fall in love with me (ironic, considering that 'FrUk' is my OTP) within a five day period. My one partner in my quest was Sadiq. He was contracted by a man named Himaruya to help me and, if I can fulfill my task, he would be able to keep his soul.
Look, it's a really long story, one I've been trying to get over. Things got really complicated towards the end and even I'm not really sure what happened. I just know that Sadiq stabbed Himaruya until he was dead. Before I left, Sadiq slipped me the only thing of Himaruya's that remained- his glasses. I've tried multiple times to destroy this Goddamn thing, but . . .
I threw it at my wall, watching it land harmlessly on my bed without a single crack.
. . . it's indestructible
Suddenly, I felt my stomach jump. I lunged for the waste basket, barely sticking it beneath my chin before throwing up the apple juice. I squeezed my eyes shut and coughed violently. My mouth tasted like acid. I wanted to cry.
Sadiq once said that you couldn't taste anything in dreams.
Sometimes, I wished that I was still dreaming.
When I was sure that I wasn't going to barf all over myself, I took the waste basket to the bathroom to wash it out. The mirror on the wall painted me to look like the results of Miley Cyrus and a wrecking ball, minus the nudity and chances of being laid. Dark circles lingered under my eyes and, even though puberty had long passed me over, I still had zits and their scars gouged into my pale face. My hair looked like a rat's nest, an impossible mat of orange strands woven together. I dragged my hands down my face.
Dad was coming home today. He was finally retiring from a long and successful career as a traveling journalist. Mom was planning to leave this morning and bring the man I haven't talked to in about a year home permanently. It was odd- having him finally pinned down like I always dreamed. In a way, I wished he just stayed away. Isn't that what he does best?
But nothing was going to change. Dad's coming home and that's that. I might as well try to look nice for him, since, hey! I'm too fat to even dream of cosplaying any of the good characters, or so said that one guy on deviantart. I admit that my thighs are huge, but they're not that bad . . .
I took a nice, long shower, washing away the sweat and the bad taste in my mouth. The warmth was soothing, the steam the only intoxicant that can take me out of those dreams.
But that's some depressing shit. What am I: Edgar Allen Poe? Not only am I not a nineteenth century poet who banged his cousin, but I also was not a drunkard who filled little teenage heads with morbid images. I liked to live like Monty Python, always looking towards the bright side of life.
Today's bright side was when I came down the stairs in a pair of shorts and a purple tank and saw my mom already awake and drinking her first cup of coffee. Mom was the exact opposite of me- pretty and skinny with an adorable round face that made her cheeks extremely pinchable. That is, if she let me. Children aren't allowed to pinch their mother's cheeks. "Morning Sherry," she greeted, digging her spoon into her daily Jell-O pudding cup. "Sleep well?"
I shrugged, walking around the white tile counters to the coffee machine. "Fair enough. Is the other brat up yet?"
She shook her head. "No, fast asleep and thank goodness for that." Mom huffed and placed her spoon on the table. "I have enough to worry about with Larry and everything."
I pulled a mug from the cabinets. "Larry?" I didn't like the tone in her voice. It was her frustrated one, the kind she used when I was little and rambunctious. She would wag her finger in front of my face and firmly scold me for being rude. I poured myself a cup of the black wine for the sleep deprived. "What do you mean?" I asked.
Mom sighed, turning in her stool to the glass French doors. I followed her lead; leaning into the counter and watching the sun create sparkles of yellow and white in the water of our backyard pool. "Well your grandfather, Grandpa Harry, fought in the Second World War. He never dealt with it well. In some way of coping, he instilled martial law upon himself, constantly training for the next fight. Of course, when Korea hit he was the first to decline, but he always kept that air of wariness around him." She placed her hands around her mug and sighed. "I grew up with that. I know it when I see it. Your brother-with all of this running and fighting he's doing- is preparing himself for a war."
We were silent for a long moment. I stared into my coffee, letting my reflection stare right back at me. A war? Larry likes to argue a lot, but he's not the type to consciously hurt people. He does it, but his ego is too big for him to see the damage. Why would he want to fight someone? But, now that I think about it, there are times. Sometimes, when I'm too afraid to sleep, I'll stay up to paint or draw away my fears. I would hear a soft knock at the door and Larry would invite himself in, armed with a laptop. He always says that he couldn't sleep, giving me laconic replies to further questions. But that couldn't be preparations for a war, could it?
Mom took a long drink of her coffee, giving a sing-song sigh of relief. "Just ignore me, sweetie," she said. "I'm just an old woman rambling again. Don't tell your brother about this. It'll only make him defensive and then it'll get messy." She gave me a look, one that spoke of equal maturity. She's been giving that to me more and more often, ever since I left for Southern California for art school. She was treating me like the adult (twenty-one years old? Might as well marry my fictional husband now and get the loss of fun over with) I was.
And I hated it.
I nodded and tried to drown myself in coffee, but my head was too big for the cup. Damnit. Foiled again.
"Good morning." If I wasn't long used to his soft voice, I would have thought it was my imagination. Maybe it was and I was truly a psycho strapped down in some mad house. Was that why I sometimes think that my name is Melissa?
Back on the topic, climbing steadily down the stairs was Jerry. He's grown, a good few inches taller than me, but still very slight. A pair of glasses sat on the bridge of his nose, precise like the flat orange locks of hair on his head. He was still in his pajamas- a pair of plaid pants and a white volunteer shirt riddled with holes. "Good morning Jerry," Mom greeted, digging back into her morning pudding. "How are you?"
He kissed her cheek and grinned. "Good." I watched with confusion as he bounded for the pantry, retrieving a box of Bisquick. The kid was going to study culinary arts at Canada's most prestigious cooking schools on a full scholarship (if you know why Canada would want to give an American homosexual a free ride through college, text me) (wait, maybe it's for the marriage equality) and he still insisted on using boxed pancake mix. Heh, lazy. "Do you want some pancakes, Sher?' Jerry asked merrily. "I was thinking of making blue-berry."
I rolled my eyes and poured myself another cup. "You seem to be in a good mood," I said. "What's the occasion? Finally got laid?"
"Sherry!" I smiled largely at my mom, reminding her that I was so not ready for all of the adult responsibilities she had in mind for me.
Jerry, meanwhile, flushed; the tips of his ears were a bright pink. "T-that's not it!" He stuttered out, shyly playing with the ends of his shirt. He realized what he was doing the second he did it and, very hurriedly, busied himself with pulling his ingredients from the fridge. "It's just that, well, Dad's coming home today and he's going to hear that I'm gay-"
Mom made a 'pfft' sound, taking another drink of coffee as she waved him off. "Honey, your father and I have known that you're gay from the moment you were born. He held you in his hands and said, 'Mary, this one's going to be too beautiful for women.'"
We stared at her. "Mom, Larry and I are identical," he replied
"I'm your mother- I can tell the difference."
I shrugged. "Whatever." I looked back at Jerry, asking, "As you were saying?"
He looked up, trying to remember what exactly it was, before regarding me anxiously. "Since Dad's going to know," he said. "I figured that I should come out of the closet for Larry."
Mom and I immediately shot each other wide-eyed looks. Jerry and Larry may have looked alike, but their similarities were only superficial. While Jerry was mild and always flustered, Larry was prideful and ambitious. And an egotistical pain in the ass. A little experiment of mine years ago involving the Ouran twins and my own brothers led Larry to get this stupid idea in his head that homophobia was a good thing. Of course, he's become more moderate with the years, but it was still pretty bad.
"Jerry, are you sure that's a good idea?" Mom asked, trying to rid herself of the unsure tone ringing in her voice. "It's very sudden- it'll be quite the shock -and I'm sure that he'll understand better if your father's here to help."
"What do you mean?" He asked testily. "You and Sherry figured it out for yourselves! I'm sure he's had some whiff of it already. And besides, he's been getting better."
That was a fun day- Jerry stumbled over his words for a whole five minutes before finally spilling the metaphorical beans. Then, Mom and I cracked up laughing and told him that his confession made Darth Vader being Luke's father look like an actual plot twist.
"You're forgetting one thing," I told him. "Larry's an idiot. How he's blind to whatever he doesn't want to see."
He groaned. "But I have to tell him! Connor's coming over for dinner tomorrow night and he's gonna wanna be able to introduce himself as my boyfriend!"
"We'll get it sorted out before then," Mom said. She opened her arms, signaling for Jerry to come hug her, but he immediately immersed himself back to his cooking. She frowned for a moment before dropping her arms. She sighed. "But it's your closet you're coming out of, so how you do it is your choice."
He pulled a bowl from the lower cabinets, smiling softly. "Thanks."
The knob of the front door turned with a loud click and, in some strange God-play, Larry pushed it open, holding his leashed cat in his arms. Half a head taller than Jerry, he was a looming form drenched in sweat. His hair was as orange as ours, but it was shaggier than Jerry's and straight like Mom's. A pair of rectangular glasses sat on his long and large nose. The years had made his face hard, a somewhat fitting compliment to his muscular arms and legs.
Really, he wasn't all that muscular, but I could see the veins bulging disgustingly in his forearms and his arms and legs did look defined.
If he wasn't my brother, I might actually think he was hot.
Anyways, Larry forced a strained grin as he greeted us through pants. "It's hot already," he said, placing the cat, Sokka Jr. (because, apparently, there was a senior?), on the ground. He bent over to unclip the leash. "Sokka got tired pretty quickly, so I had to carry him for most of the way."
"You deserve it," I said, reaching for the pot of coffee again. My frown felt thick on my face. "What kind of idiot runs with his cat?"
Larry smirked. "That kind of idiot who-" He pulled an envelope from the waist of his gym shorts. "-just got tickets for his girlfriend to see Chicago." He pushed the door shut with his foot, gracing us with a satisfied look. "Am I an amazing boyfriend or what?"
"I think that you're an egotistical bastard with his head too far up his rear," I said bluntly. "But that's just me." I took a long sip of coffee, barely surprised when Mom and Jerry gasped in surprise.
"Sherry!" Mom placed her spoon onto the counter noisily and sent me a sharp glare. "How many times do I have to-"
Larry rolled his eyes and waved me off. "It's fine, Mom." He sauntered across the living room and into the kitchen (open floor layout, whatcha going to do about it?). He placed Sokka Jr.'s leash back in the pantry, saying, "Some of us are just immature and in denial that she's an adult already and needs to stop freaking out over everything freaking little thing." He sent me a mockful smile. "But that's just me."
Before I could crush his neck in my hands, Jerry cleared his throat. "Hey, uh, Larry?" His brother turned to him with a raised brow, taking his glasses off his large nose to wipe the sweat off. "Can we talk about something?"
Mom abruptly stood, throwing her arms up into the air. "I have to go pick up your father now," she announced hurriedly.
Our mouths hung open as she plucked her purse off the couch and ran for the front door. "Already?" Larry asked, scrunching his brows together. His visage was just as confused as ours, but he lacked our horror. Was Mom really bailing before her own son came out of the closet? "Dad's plane's not landing until noon."
"Well it's a three hour drive," she replied, swinging the door open. "Sherry's in charge, by the way, but you're all old enough not to set the house on fire, right?" We nodded hesitantly. Mom blew us a kiss and wished us one final goodbye before escaping to the comfort of Californian highways.
When the door clicked shut behind her, an unsettling silence reigned throughout the air.
Larry sighed, reaching inside of one of the cabinets for a glass. "That was weird," he muttered, taking it to the fridge for ice and water. "But you were about to say something, Jerry?"
Jerry immediately looked down, his frayed nerves showing in his eyes. He clasped his hands in front of himself, wringing his fingers incessantly. "Well, um, you see . . ." I watched as he slowly brought his arms to his side and took a deep breath. He closed his eyes. "There's something I've been keeping from you."
Larry raised a brow, taking a quick drink of water before asking, "And that is?"
"Well . . ." He took another deep breath. In and out. I couldn't help but to gulp nervously. I sent him silent, positive messages, encouraging him to spit it out already. He grinded his teeth, finally stomping his foot on the ground as he shouted, "I'm gay."
Larry immediately choked, quickly placing his glass on his counter and pounding his fist on his chest. "W-what?"
With the metaphorical cat out of the equally metaphorical bag, Jerry seemed more confident. His ears remained their bright red as he nodded fiercely. "Mom and Sherry have known for years, but I've just been afraid of telling you-"
"How long have you been gay?" Larry demanded, his eyes wide and bewildered.
"Well, um, I . . ." Jerry shrugged. He sounded just as panicked as he said, "A long time."
"And you never told me?"
"I didn't think you'll want to hear it!"
Larry slammed his hands over his ears and squeezed his eyes shut. "Know what, Jerry? Just stop it." His brother grew very still as he gave him a look of a twisted sort of confidence. "I don't know what you're thinking, but this isn't funny."
Even I felt the sting of his words. I pressed my lips, forcing myself to keep silent as Jerry looked ready to cry. "But I'm not joking!" He practically replied, defeat resonating in his voice. "I am gay! I have a boyfriend!"
Larry shook his head and started to make his way to the stairs. "Yeah and Robin Thicke is a feminist. Now I'm going to go change into not sweaty clothes for breakfast and when I come down, you're going to be sane again."
Jerry's hands were clenched into tight fists as he watched Larry climb up the stairs, his white and brown cat trailing behind him. He was shaking with fury; a shaking can of condensed power. Right as Larry touched the top step, Jerry ran to the bottom of the staircase. He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, "While you're up there, check my drawer. You'll find lube!"
Oh.
My.
God.
It was my turn to choke. My coffee clogged in my throat and I had bent over the counter to unplug it. Jerry rushed to my side and gently rubbed circles into my back as I coughed away the bitter liquid. "Sorry," he said softly, perhaps a little sheepish as well. "I just got desperate."
I nodded, giving him a thumb's up. I coughed a few more times before finally feeling ready to speak again. "That was just, unexpected," I said at last. I gave him a skeptical look. "So you and Connor have-"
"We're doing it safely," he assured, holding his hands up in the air. "I mean, we've only done it a few times, but when we do . . . you know."
I nodded sympathetically, standing back straight as I went for another cup of coffee. "I get it." I punched his shoulder, grinning largely. "Congrats on the sex, boy. He has the fine ass of a Spaniard-"
He looked at me, unamused. "Please don't make Hetalia references right now."
"-but now we just got to get Larry to believe it."
He let his annoyance dropped in favor of a tired sigh. "Well knowing him, he's going to change first and then curiosity is going to get the best of him-"
Right on cue, Larry's shrill (but still incredibly manly) scream ripped through the air. "What the frack?" His door slammed open and he came running down the stairs again. His gym clothes were switched for a pair of jeans too long for him and a red shirt. He had the decently to wipe his sweat away with a towel, though he still reeked of spoiled milk. His hair was wild, flying around him like a mad scientist. He skidded on the wood floors, barely catching himself at the island. "Who's the asshole?" He demanded frantically.
Jerry stared at him. "What-"
"Who's the asshole that's been- oh frack, who have you been using that stuff with?"
Jerry gave me a sideways glance before lowering his eyes to the ground. "Connor."
"The paperboy?" Larry looked up horrified. "How . . . why . . ." He ran his hands over his face, muttering a few curses. "Holy shit, this is not good."
"How is that not good?" Jerry demanded, his voice finally gaining volume. Anyone who knew the kid could tell you that it was not easy to make Jerry mad, but when it happened, you had to run to the hillsides. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" He screamed. "I thought that you changed! I thought that you weren't going to throw a big hissy fit over this!"
"How can I not?" Larry demanded bitterly. "The last time-" He shook the idea out of his head. "It's not natural. Next you're going to tell me that you're like Antonio and have a crush on me!"
"And what if I told you I once did?" Larry and I both went cold as the boy finally said what we all insisted remained silent. Jerry laughed hollowly, embracing his newfound power. He slithered towards Larry, pointing a finger at him. "And what if I told you that my feelings for you is the reason why I first found out I was gay?" He jeered. Larry looked at him with wide eyes, bent lower than him as he stumbling on his feet as he backed away. "Does that make you uncomfortable? I hope so because it's hell when your own twin brother's homophobic."
Larry snatched Jerry's finger in his hand. He pulled his brother closer, his free hand pulling an unsheathed knife from his pocket.
I screamed, dropping my mug on the floor as I backed into the counter. "What the fuck are you doing?" I screamed.
He didn't listen to me. Larry flashed it before Jerry's face, holding the blade horizontal to his eyes. The gleam reflected the fear. "Shut up," Larry growled, straightening his knees and returning to full height. His face was hard as he looked down at Jerry with cold eyes. "You're disgusting."
Jerry lost whatever power he had. In an instant, he ripped his finger free and flew back up the stairs. I saw his tears staining long veins down his face. He slammed his bedroom door shut behind him, every plate and glass inside the cabinets rattling in shock.
I stayed at the counter, trapped behind an ocean of broken glass and spilt coffee, as I watched Larry with equal parts of fear and hate. He stood in his spot for a long moment, his eyes trained on the staircase. Then, realizing what he had done, they went wide and trained down at his weapon. Larry stared at it incoherently for a long moment before yelping and letting it fall to the floor. "What the hell?"
That scared look in his irises, made me hesitant at first, but I pushed it away. There was no way I was going to let that bastard of a brother get away with those words (and pulling out a knife! For God's sake, what the fuck is wrong with him?). I carefully stepped around the glass shards before stalking to my younger brother. I slapped him.
Larry yelped, bracing himself on a barstool. "What the frack was that for?" He demanded harshly, glaring through skewed glasses.
"For being an insensitive prick," I replied hotly. "I don't know about you, but that had to be the rudest, douchey-est response to a coming out speech I have ever seen."
He rolled his eyes, rubbing his cheek as he straightened his specs. "Shut-up, Sherry," he growled, his eyes never leaving me as he picked his knife off the ground. "No one wants to hear it."
"Well I'm sure that Jerry didn't want to hear you say all of that shit! Like, really? You might as well have told him to go jump into a ditch or something."
"I said shut-up!" Now he was the one getting upset, his face turning the same shade as his hair. He snapped, "I didn't mean it like that."
This time, I was the one to roll my eyes. "Yeah, right. Then why else would you have said it, again?" I slowly walked towards him, unflinching when he gave me an oddly defeated- weak -visage. "For amusement?" Step. "An ego boost?" Step. I was right in his face. "How about because you're a selfish prick who cares about no one but yourself?"
His hurt dissolved in an instant. Larry pressed his lips, yelling as he shoved me away. He pointed the knife at me, not in the threatening way, but like one would wave a fork around when talking at dinner. "You have no idea what the hell's been going on with me. You have no idea what it's like!"
I stumbled back a step, feeling a sudden ache in my shoulder, the same one I was stabbed in all those years ago. I placed a hand on the pain, grinding my teeth as I rubbed the imaginary wound tenderly. I gave him a frigid glare. "This isn't about you," I growled. "This is about Jerry. Stop making it-"
"Well it's always been about you!" He paced around the room angrily, throwing his hands up into the air, screaming at the top of his lungs as he ranted ferally. "It's always been what Sherry wants and what Jerry needs and never what Larry even thinks or what he feels or why maybe he can't sleep at night!" Without even turning to look, he threw the knife and it spun in the air mere inches from my face before embedding into the cabinet wood. I screamed and rubbed my face to make sure all of it was still there.
The moment I realized that what I was doing, I groaned loudly. "Know what? You have to been the most selfish asshole I have ever met in my whole Goddamn life!"
"And what about you?" He turned to me and jammed a finger at my chest. His eyes were lit up in a blazed frenzy. The glare they sent me was piercing, sending me back into the cabinets. "Miss-Screams-A-Lot? Miss-I-Don't-Want-To-Grow-Up? Miss-Begging-For-Pity?"
"I don't beg for pity!"
"Then what do you do, hmm?" He asked cruelly. "Tell me: what do you do?"
Another scream floated to my mouth, but I stopped it. I pressed my lips with frustration, trying so hard to be rational. Seychelles taught me this, didn't she? Try to imagine this from Larry's point of view. But no matter how I tried to slip my feet into his sneakers, I could not figure out why he was having this reaction. Maybe it was what Mom said about war- he was preparing to fight some invisible demon only he could see. Maybe he was struggling like I once did when I first woke up and realized that I was going to be Sherry Sue for the rest of my life.
Or maybe he was just a selfish dick. Either or.
I swallowed thickly, feeling myself calm considerably. My eyes narrowed, I spoke in a low, commanding voice. "Just get out."
He curled his lip. His hands were in tight balls of fists as he marched past me. I watched anxiously as he yanked his knife out of the cabinet and sheathed it back into his pocket. He had the last words.
"You're not an adult."
With that, he turned on his heels and stormed back up the stairs. He definitely couldn't go into the bedroom he shared with Jerry, but the slamming of the door told me he still found a place to brood.
I marched over to the living room, taking a pillow off of the couch and burying my face into it. I screamed, letting myself fall onto the cushions and curl into a ball. Everything should be getting better with Dad home. Larry was supposed to stop being irrational, Jerry was going to be free, Mom no longer lonely, and me at peace. But everything was fraying, shattering into pieces and falling to the floor like rain.
I screamed again, feeling the tears seep from my eyes. Sending me back was supposed to be the best decision, Sadiq. So why does it continue to be the worst?
The Fanboy: December 25th
"I love you so much." I squeezed my eyes tighter for a moment, not quite sure why there was a drilling in my head or warm touches on my stomach. I moaned, trying to roll over onto my side. The voice above me paused and the touches stopped. "Liechtenstein, what's wrong?" he asked quietly. "Are you okay?" The touch moved to my cheek. His soft fingers sent a seizing wave of panic through me.
I screamed, shooting upright as I opened my eyes.
I was in a small, neat apartment. The lights were dimmed, the light of the fire at the fireplace coating the small space in a gentle orange glow. It was a generally messy room, complete with a small kitchen, table, and T.V. Not a single speck was out of space on the impeccable green carpet, the main source of color for the room. My eyes scanned more, quickly locating three other doors-one that was sure to lead outside- and a closed window that was lined with pure white snow.
I blinked, taking a moment to realize that I was lounging on a couch with a skinny brunette leaning over me.
I placed a hand on my head, fighting away the swirling vertigo. "W-what the . . ." I paused. My voice was light and feminine. I've heard it once before, nearly three years ago. Ice filled my veins, making me stiff like a statue. It can't be . . .
The man place another gentle hand on my cheek. His brown eyes were large, filled with hurt and concern. "Is there something wrong, sweetie?" He asked, thin eyebrows raised. "You suddenly froze and . . ."
Delicately, I grabbed a lock of my hair. Already, it felt different, like satin compared to sandpaper. I brought it to my face, not surprised to see it chin length and blond. I closed my eyes again, taking a deep breath. Finally, it was happening again.
I, Larry Ebenezer Sue, was back in Hetalia.
The air left my lungs. Holy shit. Now? Why now of all times? Why three years? Right after I argue with my siblings? When Dad's finally going to be home? Why now?
"Liechtenstein?" The man peered at me curiously, swooping a bit closer to my face. "Vee, are you alright?" I blinked a few times, taking another moment to realize the situation.
I was in Liechtenstein's body again in order to fight the last battle against Himaruya, Alfred, and Rodderich. By the look of the room, I was in modern day times. I had a guy, who I must admit looked a tiny bit familiar, leaning over me, his clothes as equally ruffled as my- Liechtenstein's -cranberry sweater and unzipped jeans. He was just as out of breath as I was, though I was sure that my heart had been racing long before I entered this body.
Sadly, there was only one conclusion to be made: Liechtenstein and this punk were in the middle of sex. I scowled, old habits reemerging when I looked up. "Liech, what happened to Gilbert?" I asked silently, half annoyed and half disturbed. "Isn't he the love of your life?" I waited a long moment, hoping to hear her sweet reply circulating in my head.
Nothing.
A new wave of panic flushed over me. "Liech? Are you there?" I asked quickly. "Liechtenstein?" Still, my head was silent. Not good. Why wasn't she replying? Was our connection severed? I couldn't even feel another presence in my head. Did Himaruya do something to her?
The man placed his hand on my cheek again. "Do you want to stop, Liechtenstein?" He asked quietly. "We can watch a movie instead."
Then again, this punk seemed to be a hundred times more respectful than Gilbert. "Good job, Liech. You scored well." Again, she didn't reply. It looked like that, for the moment, I was on my own. I closed my eyes and nodded solemnly. "Yeah, I'm not in the mood tonight," I said.
The man immediately backed away. He sat crossed legged on the couch awkwardly, giving me a moment to sit up straight and rearrange my clothes into modesty. The poor guy looked a little sad, and he was biting his tongue to keep silent. I played with my fingers. I needed to get this guy off my back until I can find Antonio, but I didn't want to damage his relationship with Liechtenstein. He seemed like a nice enough person. I searched my head for a reasonable motive to leave the scene, something that I would give one of my characters.
Years of writing served me well and an idea immediately sprouted.
I sighed, leaning back into the plush cushions. "I'm sorry about this, sweetie," I said, trying to mimic the kind and caring nature of the girl. "Why don't you go hang out with some of your friends?"
The man sniffled, wiping his arm over his nose. "But it's Christmas."
Ouch. I must sound completely cold hearted right now. I reached over to gently rub circles into his back. "And I'm feeling just a tad sick. Don't you have a friend who'll be lonely right now?" I asked.
Immediately, he jumped to his feet, bright with an idea. "I'll go hang out with Germany!" He declared proudly. He dashed across the apartment, gathering his shoes and wallet. "Germany's always lonely, but he never says so but I know he does anyways so it's going to be really fun to just hang out with him- we can have Christmas pasta and . . ."
I propped my chin on my hand, releasing a content sigh. I liked his blabbering- my girlfriend, Sayaka, never did enough of it. She was the quiet type, getting to the point in the most laconic way possible. Sometimes, it was good to hear someone ramble unnecessarily, like Alfred.
Fear wrapped its cold arms around me.
Alfred . . . if there was one person I was going to get revenge on, it was going to be him. He was my nightmares, earning my loyalty and then playing me on puppet strings. He used to ramble like this man, saying nonsensible speeches about heroes and villains, wearing the mask of one to hide the latter.
A kiss on the cheek brought me back to reality. "Bye sweetie!" The man called, running to the door. He paused to wave merrily, only closing the door when I half-heartedly waved my fingers back at him. Even when the door in the far corner clicked shut, I was afraid to move. The moment I did, the very fact that this was all real would come crashing down in a suffocating pile.
I wasn't ready yet. I wasn't ready to go back. I still had to train. I had to strengthened my muscles, perfect my throwing. I had to ensure that Sayaka and Jerry and Mom and Sherry would be safe. I needed more time. I lowered my face, placing my hands beside me on the couch as I reminded myself to breathe.
My fingers brushed against cold glass. Raising an eyebrow, I looked down and saw that my glasses were resting safely next to me. Odd, how did they even get here? After my fight, I went upstairs and . . .
I couldn't remember. A primeval fear bore through my gut. I felt sick, ready to barf, but found my throat strangely cold. Why couldn't I remember? The only way to get into Hetalia was by making an agreement with Himaruya or one of his cronies. It was vital- there would be no way I would naturally forget.
I stuffed the glasses into my pocket and sprang to my feet. I needed to find Antonio. I needed to sort everything out and finish this as soon as possible. I was going to have to make every second count and spend as much time with Antonio as possible. I was going to have to pack some clothes. Returning here every day to change outfits was only going to hinder our mission.
Meandering around the apartment, I quickly figured out which of the other two doors led to the bathroom and the other to the bedroom. Each was as equally neat and painted with the same off-white was the main room. I found a backpack in the closet and shoved a couple of pairs of jeans, shirts, and underwear. I knelt by the bed, stuffing in as much as I could as I tried to think of the next step for my plan.
Obviously, I had to find Antonio but I had no idea where he would be. I frowned, pausing in my work. Liechtenstein had to have left some sort of record for me, a summary of everything I needed to know of the era, like a letter or map or journal- of course!
I turned to the king-sized bed, sticking my hand beneath the mattress. I felt around for a moment, feeling a small well of victory when my fingers brushed a leather book. I pulled it out, thankful that she told me her journal's hiding place all those years ago. Greedily, I flipped to the latest entry, working my way backwards to get a general idea of the situation. Unsurprisingly, she wrote as if she was writing letters to me, addressing me directly.
According to Liechtenstein, everything had been normal since my departure. She was with Gilbert until nearly two years prior when their personalities started to clash too much. Then Italy and her ended up going out and she's been happy since. Lars has been the same, though he grows more and more agitated each day knowing that Matthias was still under Himaruya's control. Antonio's been his usual self, though he's been the best at pretending what happened back then never did. He missed me.
Liechtenstein mentioned a few other people, like Turkey and Belarus, but I read the words with no meaning. Antonio missed me. They've all been waiting for centuries for me to return, depending on me to break the chains Himaruya had given them. Once they knew I was here, they would be happy, rejoiced even.
I was not sure how to feel. Part of me was anxious, knowing that the war Antonio preached was starting at last. It had been three long years of waiting. Once it was through, I can be at peace. My nightmares will stop. I wouldn't be afraid for my family every waking moment. Yet, at the same time, I wanted to scream in frustration. Jerry- I left him behind without being able to explain myself. I reacted badly to both him and Sherry. The moment he revealed his big secret to me, my head went to another place and years of resentment flushed out of me.
Not that it mattered, though. Jerry might forgive me, but Sherry will be nothing short of a bitch. She'll carry around that scar for the rest of her life, rolling up her sleeves to remind me of it whenever she could.
Frack, I needed to tell them the truth . . .
I shook my head. Not now. There were other things to worry about. Himaruya might know that I'm here and may be waiting for me outside. I had to move quickly.
I laced up a pair of boots, pulled on a brown coat, and slipped on a pair of black gloves. It looked cold out there and a white Christmas was only going to make it worse. With my bag over my shoulders, I went to the same door Italy exited through, peeking out a head first to ensure that no one was waiting for me outside. Nothing, the narrow hallway was empty.
Still, I felt as though it was too easy. Maybe the paranoia was just speaking, but there had to be something waiting for me out there, lurking in the shadows, poised for the pounce. I closed the door shut. Okay, so new exit.
A quick glance out the window revealed a snow covered overhang a few feet below me. If I played it right, I could carefully maneuver my way down onto the streets. I pushed the window open, carefully slipping a leg over the sill. It was a weird thing to say, but I've had a lot of experience climbing up and down houses. Connor the Paperboy (and, apparently, my brother's gay lover) had a little game with me. Like every house in our neighborhood, he threw the newspaper into odd places, but he made sure to make it especially difficult for me. Then, when I returned from morning runs, I would climb up trees or scaled the pale yellow walls of my house to retrieve it.
I inched myself onto the overhang, making sure that my boots didn't slip on the snow. I took a deep breath. Doing great, Larry. I looked down, trying to find the next foot hold when I paused. Right before me was a stone cobble street, filled with merry-making people bundled in coats and tacky Christmas sweaters. They were illuminated by strings of gold and red and green lights that extended from the line of buildings the apartments were on, over the street, and to a pole at the other side. Beyond that was a black mass- the ocean.
I stared at it, gazing beyond the gently falling white specks to stare at the billowing waves. Even with the snow, cloudy night, and modern buildings; I could tell where I was. When the Romanov was captured, me and five others rowed ourselves to a port-side town on the American coast. This was where I first lost Alfred and first met Antonio. And, three years later, I found that I've returned.
"Hey!" I looked down, a wide grin stretching across my face when I saw a familiar pair of green eyes. Waving his hands above his head, Antonio stood by the door of the apartment building, dressed in a tacky Christmas sweater, complete with matching gloves and hat, and long tan slacks. Puffs of white streamed from his mouth, making his cheeks seem more flushed than they really were. Antonio laughed merrily. "You were supposed to take the stairs, Larry!" he called up to me, his hands cupped around his mouth. "What are you doing up there?"
I could not help but temporarily forget my pains in order to chuckle at the tanned man. "I just like the view," I replied. I checked my footing again, making sure I could make it safely to the ground. "You might want to step back."
"Don't worry- I'll catch you!" He stretched out his arms and looked up at me hopefully.
I hesitated. Antonio would catch me- no doubts about that -but he might hurt us both in the process. Nonetheless, he was bright and confident and who was I to argue with that? I threw my bag down to him first, letting him swing it over his shoulder before gently slipping myself off the ledge. The free fall was over in a second, Antonio having caught me safely.
He smelled like spices and salt- the way I always remembered him to.
Antonio grinned at me, satiating himself with my embarrassed look. "That was pretty graceful for a two-story fall," he said. "You know, I'm supposed to be the cat here, not you."
I groaned, squirming my way out of his arms and onto the wet ground. "I've been practicing," I told him as I tugged at the ends of my shirt and jacket. My face burnt.
I'll make one thing plain: the last time I saw him three years ago, he was head over heels in love with me. I kissed his cat-form and ended up breaking some spell that could only be broken by a true love's first kiss. While I admit that Antonio's a good rock to have, that little stipulation made me weary. He didn't quite understand that I had a girlfriend and that I am perfectly happy with her.
Heck, I'm not even gay.
"How did you know that it was me up there?" I asked, accepting my bag when Antonio offered it to me. I hoped I didn't sound too awkward.
My mood went right over Antonio's head. "I can sense when people are possessed others, remember?" He folded his arms over his chest, smirking. He sort of looked like he was glaring, but it was put off by the laugh that was threatening to spill from his mouth. I gave him an odd look when he finally burst, holding his side as he laughed merrily. "I'm sorry, it's just that- oh hell, just give me a hug already!"
He wrapped his arms around me, bending down to Liechtenstein's short height. I could feel his hand on my hair, pressing my face into the nape of his neck. I felt the excitement in Antonio's skin, in the tight grip he embraced me with, but I could not move to return in. I had responsibilities to another person. Still, he refused to let go, merely keeping me close to his side. When he spoke, it was in such a small voice that I could barely hear it. "I've missed you so much, Larry. It's been . . . too long."
I awkwardly patted his back. Now he was just making it uncomfortable. "It's fine, I'm here now," I told him quietly. "I've missed you too, bro."
I could feel him sober up. Such is the power of names. Nodding, he pulled away and gave me a strained smile. "Yeah, it's been a long time. You said three years, right?"
I shrugged. "Yeah, but that's not nearly as long as you."
"I'm used to it."
I decided not to acknowledge the pitiful gleam in his eyes. He was feeling sorry for himself, for a fact that he could not dare to change. I instead looked at the street, watching the people stroll by in holiday leisure. All of their faces were painted with easy smiles, beaming at those who will become part of their precious holiday memories in years to come. A weight landed on my chest, stealing all air from me. I looked away guiltily, focusing instead on the piling snow. I fisted my white-knuckled hands. "We're really going to have to finish this war here?" I asked distantly.
I could feel his eyes trained on me, making me want to fidget in my skin. "By the looks of it. We've all been living in this town for a few months now." Antonio sighed, patting me comfortingly on the shoulder. "Our bosses ordered it, you know? It's not too bad, though. I have a cafe now." He grinned. "It's very popular," he boasted. "And I make the best coffee in the town."
Still, I refused to look at him. I felt nauseous. I could taste something warm and metallic in my mouth. My fingers wanted to check my pockets for one of the knives I usually carried around, but I knew I wouldn't find them. Those knives were the ones that I bought, the ones that I trained myself to use (which required a year of professional instruction and another two of youtube videos). Himaruya would be absolutely insane to allow me to bring them.
Then again, he never had been a particularly stable person.
Antonio drew me back from my thoughts, nudging me gently down the street. He held his hand on my upper arm, a gentle squeeze, as he said, "Let's go. I'm sure that you have a lot of questions right now."
I nodded dumbly, finally forcing myself to meet his eyes. His green irises were so comforting. Alright, Larry. No more moping, no more self-pity. Now was the time to get serious. I asked, "Yeah, like how did I even get here? I haven't had any contact with Himaruya or Bud and Erwin since last time. I didn't even sign a contract. How did they bring me back?"
"Someone sold you out," Antonio replied casually. "They made a contract that required you, thus dragging you here into the fight without consent. It's happened before."
The cogs in my brain turned, quickly processing the information. "So we have another person here who is contracted?" I asked.
Antonio nodded. "Yes, but I'm not telling you who."
The only force that kept me walking was his hand. My mouth hung open as I gaped at him, stunned. "What do you mean?" I demanded, my girly voice pitching in annoyance. "Why can't-"
"It'll go against the true creator's plan." His response was curt, even a little irritated. It made me balk for a moment. He sounded serious. His face was contorted coldly as he stared at the passing pavement beneath him. Brows furrowed, he was the very definition of a burdened man. For a moment, I considered letting the matter drop.
But then I remembered that the last time I didn't interrogate someone completely, I basically found out that they were secretly working against me and became my mortal enemy. Freaking Alfred. Sighing heavily, I pulled my arm away. "Antonio . . ." I stepped in front of him, making him pause in his steps. He looked up at me with a curious gaze. "Please listen to me," I said. "You and I are working together now. If this true creator guy is half as important as you make him out to be, then I either need to meet him or understand what the frack you guys actually have planned."
He pressed his lips. "You will with time."
I didn't believe him. There was more logic in him keeping me in ignorance until the very last second- that is, if I was lucky. I gritted my teeth. But there was no way I was going to win at this. For now, Antonio was going to have to be in control whether I liked it or not.
Then again, maybe it was better that way, or so said a sensible part of me.
The Spaniard did know more about this situation than I did, and I was not reckless. Only a fool would refuse his knowledge or guidance. I closed my eyes and sighed. If the plan's off the board, there were still other things I had to sort. "Okay, so one last question: why can't I hear Liech inside of my head anymore?"
Antonio looked uneasy for a moment before finally shrugging again. "I'm not sure," he said. "Perhaps Himaruya has her captured somewhere."
"In that case, we'll have to fight him to get her back." I scowled. I've been here for less than twenty minutes and yet Himaruya already has some sort of leverage against me. The smart thing to do would be to disregard Liechtenstein completely and leave her to the wolves, but I couldn't abandon her like that. The girl had done so much for me. There was no way I could leave her behind. "Fantastic. What kind of an army do we even have?"
He counted his fingers. "You, me, and Lars."
"Great." I sighed and looked angrily down at the ground. "Speaking of which, where is the guy?" I asked.
Ridiculously good timing struck again.
A large roar stretched throughout the air, shaking the ground. I lost a bit of my balance and knocked right into Antonio's chest. Screams filled the air. "What the frack was that?" I demanded, twisting around in his arms. Down the street I saw a burning building, the windows blown out with gangly orange fingers made of fire extending out of it. People rushed all around us, some running towards it and others away. I swore. "Shit- did something explode?"
Antonio nodded. "By the looks of it." He looked down at me "I have a feeling that's Lars."
The stench of smoke filled the air. Ashes mixed with the snow, creating a disgusting gray slush on the ground. I placed a hand over my mouth. "What makes you say that?"
"The police of this town are Alfred, Mathias, and Gilbert."
I ground my teeth painfully. Alfred. He had a position of power here? Not only that, but he has mind-controlled Mathias with him? I could suddenly see why that idiot of a smoker would blow the place up. Lars would do whatever was necessary to save his old friend. But Gilbert? Gilbert drank a very dangerous vial in order to help him- there was no reason for Lars to put in him in danger. Unless. . .
"Has Himaruya done anything with Gilbert yet?" I asked, pushing Antonio away effectively.
Antonio shook his head, dusting the ash off his pants. "Not that I know of."
I flashed him a determined look. "Then we have to stop Lars before he does anything stupid." I sped toward the growing heat, waving a hand at Antonio. "C'mon. The building's going to collapse soon."
Antonio didn't have to say anything for me to know that he was following after me.
The Fangirl: December 25th
When I first opened my eyes, I barely noticed the fair man peering down at me.
My vision drifted between blurry and clear, some areas defined by lines and others by fuzzy blobs. I groaned, lifting my hand to my forehead. What happened? The last thing I remembered was lying on the couch and crying tears of frustration. My previous anger returned. Stupid Larry, that fucking prick. I couldn't decide if he was either an idiot or a jerk or both.
Probably both.
A voice suddenly said something. I flinched, trying to blink my vision back, as a hand lightly patted my cheek. "Are you alright?" the fair man asked, apparently for a second time. "Seychelles, can you hear me?"
My world turned off.
. . . Seychelles?
Did I hear that right? Did he just call me Seychelles? Was I . . .
Everything crashed down upon me with a suffocating weight. My body went rigid and the world finally became clear. It was far too detailed for my comfort. I could see the cold, hard wood floors on my back, feel the heat of the heater, the fabric of my satin dress. Red walls created the scenery, their rich hue creating a sort of cage. I could see a rather messy living room with a plush couch, dining table, and stacks of old newspapers. I could see another blond man lingering to the side, his hand at the phone, looking at me with vivid green eyes.
Most of all, I could make out the face of the fair man: France.
All air vacuumed out of my lungs. I seized up and started to squirm away, my heart beating frantically in panic. I was really back? France stared at me with his ocean-deep eyes, his small mouth open in shock. He carefully stretched out a hand toward me, "Seychelles, dear. What's wrong? Why are you-"
I looked down at my hands. My skin was soft and dark. Noises akin to whines left me as I felt my face, realizing that I had a more slender nose and less round cheeks. I grabbed at my hair, seeing that it was also dark and straight. I flew back furiously, my back hitting the wall. I screamed.
I was . . .
Tears welled up in my eyes.
I was . . .
I placed a hand over my mouth to stop the sobs.
I was . . .
I hid my face, trying to disappear from existence.
I was . . .
France was suddenly in front of me. Squatting on his toes, he stared at me with the fullest concern any father could have. That's right- I was his daughter again. Once again, I was stuck in Seychelles's body.
The blond bit his lip before stretching his hand towards my face. He said something again, but I could not hear it, understand it. His fingers brushed against my cheek. They were gentle and caring, but they were more than enough. I screamed again, swatting his hand away. "No! Go away!" I yelled, huddling further into myself. I held my arms in front of my face, looking at him through the cracks. "Get the fuck away from me!"
France's jaw drop. "Seychelles, what are you-"
"I want Sadiq!"
He froze. The life drained out of his face, leaving behind only a ghostly complexion. Trepidation consumed his hand. The poor limb quivered like a scared animal before he finally let it drop dead at his side. France shook his head. "Oh no . . ." He rose to his feet. "Not again- Oh God, please not again . . . England!" France ran out of sight, muttering a colorful stream of swears under his breath.
I curled into a tight ball, pressing my face into my forearms. Six years of building walls of comfort and security were wrecked in a matter of seconds. I wasn't safe here. I wasn't safe anywhere. Himaruya- a dead man -was always going to find me and drag me down into the water. I choked for a moment before finally lowering my face. Pathetic wails left me. I felt like I was fifteen again: dumb, small, and weak.
I wasn't sure how long I stayed like that on the ground- a mess of a girl rolled up in a tight package -but either way, my isolation had to come to an end. A few times, I vaguely noticed France and the green-eyed man walk in and out of the room, always lingering in a small corner and whispering to each other. My consciousness faded with them and time passed by in a blink of a second.
Before I knew it, someone was grabbing my shoulders.
I opened my mouth, prepared to yell my surprise when a surprisingly calm voice spoke. "Do not scream." I froze. I almost didn't believe it when I heard it, but then warm hands gently touched the arms I hid behind. Slowly, very slowly, I lowered them and peered cautiously.
There he was- Sadiq. There he was with his tanned face and stubble chin, his gold eyes and curly brown hair. There he was in a green jacket, wearing a calm face and terrified eyes. There he was, my mentor and friend.
Sadiq gulped, doing his best to stay calm as he delicately lowered my arms. "I know that you are a little scared right now," he said, forcing himself to sound even. "But this is no time to scream."
I teared up again. Trembling, I lowered my face in shame. "Sadiq . . ." I whispered, barely loud enough for even myself to hear. "I . . ." I cracked a brand new sob and buried my face in my hands, my palms kneeing my eyes. "What am I doing here?"
"So is that Sherry?" I shot my face up. Ari stood behind Sadiq, looking down at me through the bangs of his silver hair. He wore his usual stoic, bored expression, but there was a weariness in it. Ari held his hands in front of a thick, blue sweater and pressed his lips. I fidgeted under his gaze.
Sadiq looked up at him for a long moment. "Who else could it be?" he demanded aggressively. His brows were furrowed, creating creases in his forehead. "Sherry's the only one who's been here like this."
"I think Iceland's concern holds some weight." The green-eyed man standing next to France stepped forward. Through his refined black suit and equally dark eyebrows, I made out the drawn face of England. His eyes drifted between the three of us, scrutinizing the scene. "If I remember correctly, Himaruya can and will do anything to trick us."
Ari nodded approvingly, leaving Sadiq to release a long breath. "True, but . . ." He sighed, closing his eyes as he shook his head. "Okay, you win," Sadiq said. A new sort of worry swelled in me, flooding me from gut to heart. "What should we do then?"
France stepped next to his boyfriend, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Well there has to be something that only Miss Sherry here knows," he said. "So we should ask her a question like that." The moment he finished speaking, all eyes turned to Sadiq.
"Why the hell are you all looking at me?" He demanded.
"You're the one that knows her the best."
Sadiq's mouth dropped a little further. "But-"
Ari rolled his eyes. "I swear to God, Pops- if you don't ask her something then I'm going to throw all of your masks into a pile of cow shit."
"Please don't. They're collectibles."
"Then ask her!"
Sadiq pressed his lips. Even with the teen's threat hanging in the air, he reluctantly turned back to me. He stared me in the eyes, seemingly searching for something to ask. He pressed his lip for a long moment. "Um . . . what's my favorite movie?"
The men groaned. "Sorry to break it to you, chap," England said. "But everyone knows it's the Titanic."
Sadiq closed his eyes and released a tense breath. "I know, but can't I pretend that no one does yet?" Ari coughed loudly, breaking his composure in order to send him piercing glare. Sadiq held his hands up. "Alright, alright- calm down, kid. I got something." He turned back to me. For a moment, he did nothing but scrutinizing my face, taking in Seychelles's brown eyes and smooth skin. Whatever seriousness he had suddenly dripped off his face. "Oh fuck," he swore, his voice sounding more like a breath. "You look so naive."
I knew what he meant. Way back then, back when I was first here, Sadiq and I were in the nurse's office, my mentor confined to a bed. Gripping a golden pocket watch with white-knuckled hands, he told me the story of his contract, ending with such a contrite statement: he knew that I wasn't Seychelles since there was a youthful, innocent, naive look gleaming my eyes.
I stared at him with an open mouth, at a loss for words. The drying tear-trails on my face made my cheeks itchy, but I didn't have the will to wipe them away. I wanted to tell him that I really was Sherry, that I was the girl he met six years ago, but I didn't know how. I didn't want to say it and make it concrete.
I really didn't want to know that I was back.
Ari coughed again, his impatience rising. "Pops!"
He snapped out of his trance. His memorial over, he painted a hard look on his face, peering at me skeptically. "Alright then, so you're Sherry, right?" he asked. I nodded dumbly, my back erect. I didn't want to mess this up. "Then what was the last thing I ever said to you?"
The last thing he ever said to me? That was easy. I was fading out of the void, returning at last to the real world. In a moment of panic, I stretched out a hand to him and Seychelles, hoping that they'll keep me there with them a little longer. But, just as I was no longer able to hear the sound of that world anymore, his lips moved to two last words: Goodbye, Agatha.
I didn't know who Agatha was, even if she had my middle name. That didn't matter, though. What mattered was that I had to steal that cold, worried look from Sadiq's eyes and make him happy again. I had to- I've never really seen him truly happy before. So, with a slight raise of my chin, I swallowed and repeated his words.
The results were instantaneous.
Sadiq immediately wrapped his arms around me, holding me close to his chest like a safety blanket. Even after all of these years, he still smelled like sweet apples. I buried my face into the warm crook of his neck, taking fistfuls of his jacket into my hands. I could feel him trembled. "It's you," he whispered, barely loud enough for me to hear. "You're back."
I bit my lip, holding back a new flood of tears. I nodded thickly, saying, "Yeah, I'm back."
"So you really are Sherry." Sadiq and I looked up at Ari with curious looks. He held his chin between his fingers, frowning as he searched his brain. "If you're back, then that means Himaruya isn't dead."
It was as if we died- Sadiq and I. We both froze, more still than statues, and the color ran from our faces. Sadiq turned his face away, staring out the window with hollow eyes. The wrinkles the years had given him creased his face. Sweat dampened the back of my neck, some drops even falling down the sides of my face. A sort of emptiness rooted in my stomach and, with such space deep inside, my body could do nothing other than shake.
Himaruya was . . . alive?
"Iceland, I think you're jumping to conclusions far too quickly," France said, straining a smile that looked only like a grimace. He wore a mask of affirmative placidity, but it was cracking by the second. "There could have been another way for her to get back here. Like maybe Sherry has a super power."
I shook my head before grabbing my quivering arm and pinning it to my side. Calm down, Sherry. This might even be a dream, you know. You could have fallen asleep on the couch and just be living some fantasy my stupid head created. Jerry's going to shake me awake any moment now.
England rolled his eyes. "There's no point in arguing it," he said, all high and mighty. "That Himaruya guy's back and he took our daughter and now we need to get her back."
"Do I have to repeat myself?" France threw his hands into the air. "We still don't have any proof, my little bunny."
"Well there has to be some sign of his existence somewhere," Ari said. He looked off to the side, resembling The Thinker as he sorted through the files in his head. When I was fifteen, I always thought that he brain was like a google search engine. But by the unsettling silence that stretched throughout the room for an entire minute, it now seemed more like yahoo. At last, he snapped his fingers, looking pleased. "Pops, check your pockets."
Sadiq knitted his brows. "Why?" he asked, dropping a hand from me to shove into his pants (okay, that could have totally been worded differently). "I didn't make a contract so-" he went silent. I could feel him take his turn to shake, a new line of terror coursing through him. He didn't have to say anything for us to know what he was going to pull out.
A golden pocket watch.
I have to admit, I was feeling pretty dizzy and lightheaded. At first, I thought that I was going to be the total wimp here and faint. But just as my vision started to fuzz, England let out a shrill- girly -shriek and swooned into unconsciousness. France caught him before he hit the ground, the couple resembling the Gone With the Wind poster except neither weren't brunettes or Southern racists.
Well you could argue that Hetalia is racist, but that's beside the point.
Ari ran to help them, taking England's ankles in his hands and helping France carry him to the couch. I stood, ready to offer some help, when Sadiq grabbed my hand and pulled me back down. "Sadiq, what are you . . ." I trailed off, looking at his face.
The stone face I knew well was staring at me, trying to look stronger under the circumstances. But there was an equally familiar glint in his eyes, one that read of panic and fear- haunted. He stood, barely paying the other men heed as he pulled me to a mahogany door at the other side of the room. "Let's go."
I grabbed the hem of my satin green Christmas dress, trying to step over the junk scattered on the floor. And I thought Seychelles was a neat freak. "Where are we going?" I demanded.
He didn't even bother to turn back to me. "Out."
I closed my mouth. He wanted to talk in private, away from undeserving ears (even if those three helped us defeat Himaruya the first time). It's been six years and the man has been the way he's always been. It was comforting in a way- I knew how he was going to react. Sadiq dragged me through the front door and down the hall of a nice apartment building. I waited until we were inside an elevator of wood walls and tiled floor to try to speak. "What do you want to talk about?" I asked, playing with the ends of my pigtails. It was cold in there. I should have grabbed a coat on my way out.
Sadiq didn't let go of my wrist, seemingly squeezing it harder. "Are you sure you didn't sign any contract before coming here?" he asked, staring determinedly ahead. "None at all?"
I shook my head. "Of course not."
"Seen any signs of . . . it?"
I sighed, pulling my hand free. "Sadiq, it's been six years and I haven't seen his ugly ass-"
"Six years?" He snapped his face towards me, bewildered. "Sherry, it's only been eighteen months." I stopped breathing. A year and a half? Has it really been such little time? Could there really be such a time difference between us now? When I didn't say anything, Sadiq resigned himself to leaning against the wall. "So how old does that make you now?"
The door dinged and the slid open, revealing the foyer of a rich building, complete with salmon-colored marble on every freaking inch of surface and an grand, gold chandelier. The attendant at the desk peered at us intriguingly. Wow, Seychelles sure was well off.
I drew my attention away from the room- nonetheless, the falling snow piling outside the glass doors -and shrugged. "Twenty-one."
He whistled. "Damn. I can tell." He looked down at me, forcing an easy grin. His warm hand wrapped itself back around my wrist. "You're a lot more mature."
I frowned. But I don't want to be mature . . .
The Turk lead me to the front door, pausing only to unzip his jacket and drape it around my shoulders. I held it close to me like a child to her baby blanket. The snow outside was cold. The very air made popsicles of my hair. Sadiq now held his hand on my shoulder, leading me down a bright lit street of Christmas lights. I sighed, a puff of white forming around me. "Why exactly are you taking me out here?" I asked.
Sadiq looked down at the ground. We turned down a street, revealing an impressive ocean spanning from a wooden boardwalk. After a few paces, he let his feet die, pausing in front of a clothing shop. I stopped with him, looking up at him with large eyes. C'mon Sadiq, you can tell me anything. You know that I'll try my best to help you.
You know me.
"Because. . ." Sadiq closed his mouth, closing his eyes to take a deep breath. He tried again. "Because I'm scared. I want to just get out of there, away from Iceland and England and France just to get something honest from you."
"I'm always honest with you," I said.
"We both are, but right now, I . . ." His honey-colored eyes started to shine and, for a moment, they looked like one of the gold light hanging over us from lamp post to lamp post. But then the sparkle spread down his face and a painful sound came from his throat. "I'm sorry," he said, voice barely above a breath. He cupped my cheeks in his warm hands, the edges of his black sleeves tickling my face. "I'm just so scared-"
An impossibly loud boom! pierced through the air and, without warning, Sadiq was pushing me to the ground, shielding me with his body.
MW: And that's the first chapter. I was really worried about it being too serious, but I promise that the following chapters will contain more humor, including Sherry's wild narrations. So I know that a lot of you guys were anticipating Jerry being the main character for this one, but I've been planning for these two to have the final story themselves. Hopefully it ain't too much of a disappoint.
...I'll hopefully kick my butt into making cover art for this soon.
So feel free to fave/follow/review or whatever you guys enjoy doing. I would like to thank you all for reading and I hope you share your thoughts on this.
Notes
"Melissa" The joke here is that in the early stages of story planning, Sherry's original name was Melissa. I changed it once Blue recommended a rhyming scheme.
Next Chapter: The police station is under attack and our favorite idiots go inside to save Lars.
Happy Belated Thanksgiving Everyone!
