A short drabble-fic that I came up with while I was on the toilet, and quickly wrote down once I got off. I always get my best ideas on the toilet or in the shower, it annoys me. Oh well. This fanfiction is intended as a one-shot, and it will probably stay that way unless I can pull my finger out and finish off my multi-chapter fics I have to update at a superhuman speed.
Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia in any way, shape or form. All characters and such to to their respective owners, I just own the idea of the Twin-Trigger murderers and the stray plot bunny hopping around my head somewhere.
Warnings: Mass murder/Serial killing, swearing, lots of emotions.
"... and now for an update on the murder cases. Over to you, Suzie."
"Thank you, John. The 'Twin-Trigger' murderous duo has been spotted in Alsace-Lorraine in Frane, their false identification documents found buried in the back garden of their abandoned abode in Moscow, Russia. The two men were spotted by CTV cameras at the airport in Vladivostok and witnesses have been able to identify the two men."
"Hey, Francis!" You call out, looking over the back of your deep green armchair as you call for the man.
"Oui, moi Angleterre?" He sings from the kitchen, the sound of a blender stopping momentarily.
"They know who those bloody 'Twin-Trigger' wankers are!" You roll your eyes as you hear something clatter to the floor, the sound of bare feet running against floorboards being audible before the sound of slight panting behind you. Ever since the Twin-Trigger serial killer duo had left Russia after murdering 72 gay couples, your husband has been very wary of the whereabouts of the two men.
"... and we return from this add break to reveal to you the faces of the 'Twin Terrors' serial killers. Over to you, Bill."
"Thank you, Suzie." The man smiles fakely, his fake white teeth, fake hair and fake everything very quickly annoying you in your sudden state of impatience.
"According to portraits done by professional, case-assigned artists and CTV footage identified by witnesses, the identity of the two men are as follows-" You grab Francis' hand in anticipation, impatience and lust for knowledge building inside you at a crazy rate.
"Ivan Braginski. The man was last seen wearing a long, tan trench-coat and a purple scarf at the Eiffel Tower, Paris." You look over at your husband, watching as the colour slowly begins to drain from his face.
"Mon dieu..." He mutters, his head falling into his hands.
"The ringleader of the serial-killer duo, the 'Twin-Triggers' was last seen wearing a brown bomber jacket and matching dark green button-up top and pants. He goes by the name of Alfred F. Jon-" The noise of the TV is cut off as gunshots are heard from down your street, your heart seeming to stop in your chest, Francis bursting into tears before you. You hear a pained sob escape your throat as the TV displays two perfectly-drawn artist pictures - one of your son, one of his e-boyfriend from Collage, Ivan Braginski - a crazy Russian with a long history of genocide, murder and assault You bite back a panicked noise as you hear the gunshots very quickly advancing down your street, towards your house, the noise of peoples' screams as their bodies collapse onto the ground, dead, filling your ears, blocking out any conscious thought processes you had. Your brain goes into shutdown as you hear doors being kicked down, murderous giggles and yells being thrown around as more gunshots deafen the unprepared and innocent. You quickly gather the sobbing Frenchman from the floor, doing the one thing you can do in this situation - run. You sprint down the hallway, throwing both you and your lover into the basement before deadlocking it, jumping behind an old couch with the shaking body of your husband pressed against you. You jump as you hear the door of your house being kicked down, frightened tears streaming from your eyes as you press your lips to your lovers' forehead gently, mouthing silent prayers to a got that doesn't exist as you hear the mens' hushed voices as they run through your house.
"They still live here, da?"
"Last I checked..." You wince and curl into a ball around Francis as you head your sons' voice - the menacing, insane edge to it making you want to cry, scream and run away as fast as your little legs would take you. All you can do is sit there and pray for the best as the two men begin kicking in doors, yelling commands for somebody, anybody to come out, said words barley coherent between giggles of insanity and the audible lust for bloodshed by their own hand. You clench your eyes shut, knowing that the old, holey couch you're hiding behind isn't going to shield you from their field of vision, you blood running colder than ice when you realize that this is it. You cling to the man in your arms as you bury your face in his chest, the noise of racking and snapping as the door is kicked off its hinges being the one to seal your fate. You open your eyes slowly, only to see bright red-purple eyes staring into yours intently, a loud click resonating through your ears and out the other side as the man grins.
"Don't move." It quickly becomes apparent that this is not the man you once called your son. This is a monster.
The last thing you hear is the sound of a single gunshot, insane laughter fading with colour before everything disappears entirely.
-END-
A/N: Wasn't that a wonderful story, children? Somebody shoot me for referencing Spy Kids 3D there. Anyways, I hope that went alright, it was an on-the-spot kind of idea. Please and rate and review, hopefully I can make somebody feel something, no matter what it is, by reading this. This is just a filler while I work on chapter two of 'My Brother and I' and chapter 6 of 'Don't Give Up.' I'm off to continue writing and drink some more milkshakes, I'll talk to you all later!
-Nimu.