Disclaimer: It's not mine, Hetalia is Himaruya Hidekaz's work. I'm not that imaginative.
Warning: Blood, Gore, Mentions of attempted rape.
I felt kinda insane writing this. I don't know why I suddenly wanted to do a dark fic...
Days, Weeks, Months.
He wasn't really sure how long he'd been here, wherever here was.
The room was pitch black, without a single sliver of light invading the darkness.
It was thick, an inky black so dark that he couldn't even see his own hand in front of his face, so thick that sometimes he wondered if he was actually dead and that this is what death felt like.
Drip, drip, drip.
The sound of water dripping into this cold, dark, void of a room was slowly making Romano feel insane.
Drip, drip, drip.
The constant dripping noise echoed around the room, making him feel like the dripping was everywhere around him instead of in one single location.
Drip, drip, drip.
The room was damp, and cold, but he had long adjusted to this temperature given that he had been sat in this room for what felt like an eternity.
Stomp, stomp, stomp.
A different sound, this wasn't the sound of dripping he was accustomed to. These were something else, footsteps.
Who else was here?
The footsteps grew louder the closer they came to him; the sound of one pair of feet grew into the sound of a group of feet. There was more than one person coming here.
Who was coming?
Why was he here?
Why hadn't they come before?
Why wait this long?
Questions continued to stream into his head as the footsteps approached the room he was held captive in. The people outside the room conversed with each other, their conversation only coming out as mumbles to Romano's ears.
The door suddenly opened, light streaming into the dark room, the light nearly blinding Romano who had been sitting in the middle of the room with his knees to his chest.
"Hello there lovely."
The voice was deep, scratchy; no doubt the voice of a heavy smoker.
Romano looked up into the faces of his captors. The group of men before him were large, scary looking men, though to him most people looked quite scary, but he'd never vocally admit that.
His body began to shake, no doubt fear that had decided to make itself known at the sight of these intimidating men. His grip on his legs tightened around the dirty and damp material of the clothing he wore. He kept eye contact with the man stood at the front of the group; this man was quite obviously the leader of this pack of men.
The man walked over until he was stood before the trembling Italian, kneeling down onto one knee so he could look the younger looking man straight in the eyes.
"And how are you, Mr. South Italy?"
This man knew.
How did he know?
Is that why he was here? Because he was a country, did they want to experiment on him? Find out all the secrets about the personified countries?
"I suppose your wondering why you were brought here."
Romano couldn't answer, fear had shut down his ability to speak, so he was stuck just staring at the man, unblinking.
The man stared at him for a while, an unnerving silence between them, before a sadistic smirk snaked its way across his face. "Not answering, little one? But as I'm feeling generous today I'll tell you anyway. You've probably been guessing already, but you're here for a little bit of… let's say experimentation? When we found out that your kind existed we were quite frankly sceptical at first, but then you appeared. We want to know more about your kind, for example where are the other countries located and if you're…injured does that affect the actual country, simple things like that." The man explained to him, the grin never leaving his grimy wrinkled face.
"We left you here for a while so you could get adjusted to your new home, aren't we kind?" Another man said, joining into the leader's one-sided conversation with the terrified Italian.
Romano was suddenly grabbed roughly at the arms, dragged to his feet by the leader. He started to struggle, gaining a bit of courage in doing so as he began to thrash around violently, screaming in frustration as he tried to free himself from the painful hold this man had on him.
"There's no use in struggling boy. You aren't going anywhere." He said as he slung the thrashing Italian over his shoulder and out of the room.
Months, Weeks, Days.
These things didn't seem to matter anymore, who knows how long he had been here. Things had only just started getting worse since the men had made their appearance and started their 'experimentations', but they might as well have called it torture, as that was what it was.
They broke his limbs.
The pulled off his fingernails.
They electrocuted him.
They used water torture on him.
They stabbed his eye.
And here he was now, lying in the darkness of his stone prison, looking merely like a broken doll.
Drip, drip, drip.
The tears he once so easily shed refused to come out anymore, all of his tears dried up, just like any hope he had of escaping this hell.
Did the other Countries realise he was missing?
Did Veneziano?
Did Spain?
They probably didn't. If they were looking for him wouldn't he be free by now? They probably pushed the matter aside and carried on as normal, after all it's only South Italy.
South Italy isn't nice.
South Italy is Violent.
Why couldn't South Italy be more like North Italy?
Italy didn't need two personifications.
Stomp, stomp, stomp.
Here they came again, the demons in human form.
The door swung open, and in the doorway stood a lone man, it wasn't the leader, Romano realised.
This man was just one of his henchmen, he'd seen him at plenty of his torture sessions, but why was he here alone? Whenever they came to get him for some experimentation it was always the leader who came to retrieve him, so why was this man here by himself?
The man slowly began to walk into the room; his eyes never leaving Romano's broken form, the man looked him up and down, his tongue darting out of his mouth to wet his cracked lips.
"I always thought you were a pretty thing. I've been resisting up until now, but a man's only got a certain limit of restraint, you understand?" The man said with a lecherous grin on his face that only reminded him of the perverted country of France.
But this person wasn't France, and Spain wasn't there to save him from these glances. His heartbeat began to quicken as he realised what the man was hinting at. He watched with wide eyes as the man reached down to undo his belt.
Romano's breathing quickened; if it were to go any faster he would be hyperventilating. The man, after unravelling his belt began to approach him.
no.
No.
NO.
And suddenly his world turned black again.
He slowly opened his eyes as he returned to the land of the living, grunting at the pounding in his head. The room was light, why was the room light? Where was the darkness he was used to?
He looked around him; he was still in the same room he had been confined in, except the door was open, that being the source of the light as it shone in from the hallway.
Why was the door open?
He looked around frantically before his eyes stopped on the walls.
Blood.
Why was there blood smeared on the walls?
He slowly got to his feet, looking down to see that there was also blood on the floor.
Who did the blood belong to?
He made his way out into the hallway, taking small careful steps, almost as if he was relearning how to walk after the long period of lying down on the hard floor of his cell.
There was blood out there too. But this blood was more like a trail, as if somebody had been dragged down this hallway, bloody and broken. He could hear his own heartbeat clearly.
Thump thump. Thump thump.
He followed the trail down the hallway, into another room which he guessed would be the men's recreational room as the first thing he saw was an old television.
Walking further into the room he looked around before his whole body froze at the sight before him.
Dead bodies.
There was a pile of dead bodies on the other side of the room. Looking closely at the bodies he suddenly realised who they were. These people were his captors. The people who had kidnapped him and held him captive here for all this time.
How did this happen? Who did this?
In shock he pressed his hands to his cheeks, only to recoil when he felt a warm, wet and sticky sensation on his face. He removed his hands from his cheeks and stared down at his hands.
There was blood on his hands.
Blood.
Where did that blood come from?
He hadn't touched the blood that was in his cell.
The blood was still warm.
At close inspection he realised that there were clumps of flesh buried underneath the few remaining nails he had.
Was all this….his doing?
Did this make him….a murderer?
Yes….that's what he was now. A criminal. A killer. No better than these people who had kidnapped him.
He killed them.
He did.
Tears he forgot he had slowly clouded his vision before he let out a gut wrenching scream that tore apart at his vocal cords and echoed all through the building that he had been held captive.
"I killed them…"