Cupcakes on the Doorsill part 2

Mathew woke up, and immediately wished that he hadn't.

Some people wake up groggy. Some even have no knowledge, or rather, take some time to remember what might have happened right before they fell asleep, or in his case, get knocked out; but, he wasn't one of those people. It didn't take him a while; not at all. Mathew woke up with the full memory of what happened before. And, on that frilly, girly pink bed he suddenly found himself on, he tensed knowing that whoever had left him that note, and he thought he might know just who would leave a basket of cupcakes, that meant that those people would likely be in this room soon, and he really had no idea what they could want with him.

But, then again, if it was who he thought it would be, it would certainly not be anything fun for him….

However, if they weren't who he suspected, after all, humans always did do rather crazy things, and maybe another nation had gotten him, then he couldn't fathom the reason he'd be taken. Besides being a country, Mathew didn't think there was anything really that special about himself. And Nations were mainly just figureheads after all, it wasn't like he could do anything should they have a specific goal in mind. What was this person, or perhaps people, after?

Mathew closed his eyes and breathed out slowly, carefully counting to ten on each inhale and exhale, hoping it would calm him down.

But closing his eyes was a big double-whammy of a mistake.

One, it only seemed to make him more aware of how fast his heart was racing. How was he supposed to keep his head if he was letting his fear get a hold on him? He had been trained extensively, he'd even had training in how to handle being tortured, but if he was right and he'd been kidnapped by Oliver…

Maybe his training wouldn't hold up.

…Maybe not even being a Nation would save him from permanent death here.

Mistake number two?

It stopped him from hearing the door quietly open and shut.

Mathew opened his eyes again, once he'd gotten his heart rate under control, and sent it rocketing up like one of his brother's precious space crafts, and screamed. It was mostly in reflex to the face he saw far too close to comfort in front of him, but it held true notes of terror within the tones.

So close he couldn't see anything besides that grinning impish face and its smattering of freckles across its small button nose, which was how he knew, even before he had focused on the brightly glimmering blue eyes, so different from the England that he knows vivid green….that his hopes had been shattered even more than he would soon become.

It was Oliver.

"Oh good, poppet, you're finally up. Are you ready to play?"

The slight pixie-like boy grinned maniacally, but his eyes held blood in his future, and so Mathew stayed silent.

Was it too much to still hope this was a nightmare?

"Look at all of these lovely toys I've gathered together for us." Oliver continued, and gestured at the bedspread.

Mathew's attention was directed to the row of knives circling the two of them in a semicircle, and blanched.

Those were the "toys" Oliver wanted to play with?

Why couldn't he have been tortured by a human if this had to have happened? As a Nation himself, and a 2P at that, Oliver would know how to draw this out as painfully as possible and wouldn't even be tricked into stopping him from dying or burying him later if he did die on him anyway. It was very unlikely that he could get out of this situation without some kind of assistance. But who would help him? Who would even know if he was gone or not? While world meetings between the Nations were encouraged by their leaders, it wasn't mandatory, and who just stopped by to talk to him? Netherlands during the Tulip Festival, Alfred, Arthur and Francis occasionally, but how long would that take for them to house call?

"And look," Oliver was still talking, pleasantly enough, as if every word and action he made wasn't rooted in some psychedelic insane asylum patients mind. "I've even gotten some stuffies to practise on first."

He stuck out his tongue and winked, giggling. "Just kidding."

A wickedly hatched knife was picked up and twirled, its blade coming down to rest on Mathew's cheek, the tip drawing a bead of blood which welled up and trailed its map down his face.

"Who needs practise when I can just experiment as I go along?"

At last, Mathew found his tongue. "You're mad…" He whispered in awe. Somehow, he hadn't ever thought he would have to deal with the insane version of his once-father figure. After all, the 2P's lived in their own world, inaccessible besides with magic. Arthur had even used stories of Oliver's exploits as a bed time scary story.

But now he was stuck in his own.

"No, not mad, my dear." Oliver paused to bring his knife up and licked along its edge, lapping up the blood that had gathered and ran down from its sharp point, and pooled in its jagged ridges along the way. Then the knife was brought back down to settle against the side of Mathew's neck.

"I just have my own idea of sanity."

And the point was drawn across, its edges catching and tearing more than cutting its way across Mathew's carotid artery.

Mathew woke up in a pool of his own blood.

And, surprisingly, still in that same room. Damn fast Nation healing powers...

Oliver was still there too, quietly humming what sounded to Mathew like "Three Blind Mice."

Suddenly, the humming stopped, and Oliver's head, which had been bent down over the bloody knife he'd been playing with, snapped up and uncannily fell straight upon Mathew's awake, and slightly alarmed, face.

"Oh good, you're up." Oliver cooed.

Mathew though, also struggled to get in the first word.

"W-why?" He paused to take a breath, wincing. Alright, maybe Nation healing powers weren't that fast. "Why am I here? Out of everyone you could have taken, why me?" Might as well get straight to the point of the matter, eh?

"Well," England's smile would have fit right at home on the Cheshire Cat's face. "I found after a number of years of spying on your world that I have become quite besotted with you. And, truly, what's the point to not taking what you want?" His expression turned dreamy. "You're so complacent. You're the kind that is strong enough that they could put up a fight, but won't because of principle. I can't begin to describe how attractive that is."

Mathew disgustedly thought that Oliver even looked aroused by what he was saying.

Oliver continued, "Do you know how soft your flesh looks?"

The knife he'd been twirling around his fingers again came down to rest on Mathew.

"While you were reviving, I explored it for myself. I." The knife jabbed down. Barely pricking Mathew. "Will." This time the knife left a small cut on Mathew thigh, sometime when he was asleep, he'd been changed out of his regular casual jeans and red button up shirt into a pair of grey shorts and white T-shirt. "Cut."

This time, it left a deep scratch down the side of his left calf. The one closest to where Oliver was now crouched over him.

"Here."

The blade swept up, and plunged into his chest. Missing his heart. But cutting a large hole in the once pristine shirt, and staining it red.

Hiiiiiiiiii

I'm sort of back. So, the thing about this story is that three chapters are typed up and ready, yes, that's what I've been working on. But, I cannot find the first chapter, the fourth one I did, anywhere. But hey, this has been sitting long enough. Enjoy it for now. I'll post the first chapter when I find it somewhere. over. the rainbow.

Anyways, please please please review. It feeds the fire of my soul. So that I can rargh and turn into a dinosaur typing machine. True story, peps.

Have a great day everyone!

HUGS and WUVS

North