HELLO EVERYONE. Chibi Cho no Gaara is back with a vengeance and with a new obsession. No, not just Hetalia. 2P!Hetalia. And I am here to grace you with my presence.

I hope that this story as wll as the 2p stories that I hope to make in the future will awaken the 2P!Hetalia fandom and bring more people to the darkside: Literally.

Alright so what is 2PHetalia? Well let me just steal this rrom an explanation one of my besties made.

'2P stands for 2nd Player. I believe it was to be based off a game and how the original character has a darker second. For an example: Super Smash Bros. Ever try choosing the same character twice? One is darker or a different colour? Basically that.

Himaruya made the Axis and Nyotalia Allies and Axis 2P!Characters.'

Meaning that 2P!Allies and other characters haven't been made yet… but there have been multiple fanons for all of them. :D

This story is basically like that. It is starring 2P!Alfred and 2P!Matthew (As humans not countries)

Basically 2P!Alfred is … well again quote from my friend.

'2P!America is more serious that regular America. He curses excessively and is a health nut. He despises all food that is bad for you. He carries that bat for defense, if it wasn't already obvious. . . And twitches when he comes in contact with 2P!England.

He doesn't really care much for 2P!England, if anything, he's quite nervous and freaked out by the daft Brit. He also feels that way for 2P!Canada. Who is said to have a nasty temper and won't hesitate to crack 2P!America one with a hockey stick.

Really, 2P!America is just a very cold, sadistic person. A sociopathic jerk, if you will. He talks trash but won't 'dish it out' until you've really angered him. Upon hurting someone, he's fond of the splattering of blood. It relaxes him and brings him to a state of content. Especially when you've finished the job and cracked the skull. Plus, he enjoys baseball and often visits the batting cage for practice, on and off field.'

As for 2P!Canada, He is quiet but that's because he greatly dislikes talking to people. However if he does speak to you be becomes very angry if you don't acknowledge him and will not hesitative to take his hockey stick and damage your body with it. He greatly dislikes his brother for his smart mouth and wise cracks and even if not provoked by him he will kick his ass just for the fact that he's being annoying. He doesn't put up with any of the shit that Canada puts up with and his bear is extremely violent…

Need more info? Look it up or message me.

Summary: Alfred is stick of it. Every single time he was the one to be laying on that hard wood floor, soaked in his own blood. Every single time. He couldn't take it anymore. Someone had to die, and he wasn't going down without a fight. And si he began to plot the Death of hid brother Matthew.

Click. Clack. Click. Clack.

Alfred heard footsteps. Footsteps belonging to someone he knew very well. I man he hated with a burning passion.

Click. Clack. Click. Clack.

They got louder and closer. Alfred could tell that he was walking, but slowly the footsteps began to pick up the pace.

.

He was running now, Alfred tell that just from the sound his shoes made when they hit the hard wood floor. There was no escape Alfred knew that, but he would be damned if he went down without a fight.

He would be /damned/.

Before this, Alfred didn't have the balls to do it. After all how could he harm the man that he had been with for the majority of his life? But he was so sick and tired. Tired of being the one to be pushed around, tired of being to one hurt and tired of being the only one to shed blood.

No, not this time.

This time was different, so very different.

Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Click. Clack.

….

Silence.

Dead silence.

Alfred knew exactly what this mean. The man that he had been hiding from now knew where he was. It was time to get ready. He grabbed onto a worn out wooden bat with nails sticking out of it. Some of them had rust, obviously old and worn out. However there were some that were gleaming bright silver in the dim light provided by the crack underneath the door. By the way the shined it was easy to tell that they had just been placed inside the bat recently. Not to mention that they were standing straight up and weren't bent to the side like the rusted ones were.

"Al…fred." It was a soft whisper. One that could barely be heard even though it was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Somehow the soft whisper had made Alfred's blood run cold and something that was hardly seen in the American was present in his eyes; fear. Yes, he was scarred but in his defense he had every fucking right to be. This man had no mercy, no love, no compassion. Sure Alfred had very few of those things if any.

"Alfred…" The voice said again the door opening slightly, though Alfred was lost in his thoughts.

But he didn't understand.

How could you do such things…to your own brother?

"Found. You." The whisper said stressing all of the syllables found in those two little words. He turned off the lights a dark and emotionless look placed on his face. The man was holding a wooden hockey stick stained with dried blood, most likely belonging to Alfred.

Alfred stared up into those merciless eyes of his, and hesitated for a bit. He didn't want to fight him. Not only because he would probably loose, but because his brother was all he had. He had no one else in this world to turn too. Without his brother he was completely and utterly alone. How could he attack him?

But then he sat there and remembered. This man wasn't his brother by blood, only by adoption. Nor did this man care for him. Hell he was one hundred percent sure that he hated his very existence. Why the fuck should he give a damn and show any compassion for someone who wasn't even willing to try? This little piece of shit pissed him off to no end. Fuck, he would be better off alone.

"Hello to you too Mattie, you annoying little fuck." Alfred sneered.

'And in that moment he decided.'

Matthew twitched. "What did you just say? And how many times did I tell you not to call me that? Who the hell do you think you are?" He said in a clam but dangerous tone.

Alfred gave a dark smirk. "I think I am Alfred motherfucking F. Jones. And I think you are a little prick who needs to learn some manners." He said simply.

'There was no way he could win this battle.'

Matthew glared. "I see you have a death wish 'Alfred motherfucking F Jones'. Shall I grant you your wish?" He asked rhetorically.

"My wish? Sure," Alfred began, "But the only wish I have is for the obliteration of your existence."

'But he would win the war.'

Matthew snorted. "Is that so? Well then I'm sorry but your wish can't be granted." He said as he raised his hockey stick. "Now enough talk, it's time to end this." And with that he brought the hockey stick quickly down upon Alfred.

'Or die trying.'

However Alfred rolled, dodging the attack and held onto his bat firmly. "Fuck you Matthew." Was all he said before he lounged towards Matthew.

And they fought. They fought for a good half an hour. Matthew was greatly surprised by Alfred's sudden decision to fight back. Blood was shed on both sides, however Matthew was still stronger for he had much more experience.

Once again, Alfred laid on the ground bleeding while Matthew talked out of the room with only a few cuts and bruises as well as a few nails inside his body, but those could easily be removed.

However something was much different about Alfred, something had changed. However Matthew left to quickly to see it.

Alfred sat on the ground, his eyes darker, sick grin on his face as he laughed quietly to himself.

There was no going back now, for Alfred had already decided. He could no longer live like this.

Someone was going to die.

It was going to be either Matthew or himself.

And he would be damned if he went down without a fight.

He. Would. Be. DAMNED.

And so, this is how Alfred began to plot his brother's death.