Warning(s): Language is a bit vulgar, vague guy on guy, and... I think that's it, really. Pretty tame stuff. Can't imagine it offending anybody, but I should still probably say something ahead of time.

Disclaimer(s): I don't own anything related to Hetalia, The Clash, or Robin Thicke.

An Entirely Casual Drive Home

Out of town, down that long pothole ridden road that snakes around the cornfields, daylights death throes hacking up on the tinted rear view window, in the backseat of Arthur's shit car.

Alfred was looking at the arm rest because it was a really cool arm rest, and Arthur was looking down at him for a similar reason. Probably. He leant down. Knocking foreheads and meeting lips and clashing teeth. Arthur didn't think there were many things in life more satisfying than kissing him like that. It wasn't but three minutes in when Alfred broke away from it and shifted underneath him. He tried looking up to meet his gaze but ended up laughing instead, turning his head. It always felt weird to him when Arthur was being all intense, like he was trying absorb his face through willpower alone. Maybe he was even having some success with it. Alfred said, "Uhm, so I'm all for spontaneous staring contests, but..." And Arthur sat up. Shut his eyes before they went rolling out of his head. Opened them. Worked at the button to his slacks, only pausing in his effort to race to the ninth cloud when Alfred sat up and stretched through the pass between the front seats.

He fiddled with the knobs to the radio.

"You know that drains her battery." Arthur's words couldn't have gone more unheard, but really ought to have been heeded. His car wasn't the most... Well. Alfred called her a "really pleasant looking death trap", which was strangely tactful of him, but the most accurate description yet given. Ellen. Coughing metal hag on rubber stilts, peach paint and, though Arthur was beginning to regret this particular decision, beige seats.

Regardless, Alfred surfed the stations like he hadn't ever witnessed the car croak just from being yelled at. She was delicate. They'd end up stuck in bumfuck nowhere if- Arthur snorted. Pun unintended. But, they'd be miles from town, stranded until some thick dude with a passion for plaid swung his truck around the bend and picked them up ever so graciously.. Only to splice them together by the knees in the government institute undoubtedly being built under that suspicious blur of a factory sitting just on the horizon.

Alfred muttered about needing music to get into the mood. Said it was a process. Arthur dragged a hand down his face.

He'd be asking for a sunlit picnic on the moon next.

"Alfred we can't ju- wait, wait, turn it back." Radio fuzz, some classical station, radio fuzz. Alfred settled it back onto the station that had piqued Arthur's sudden interest. As the song came through, Alfred's own dropped immensely.

"--ckin the Casbah! Rock the Casbah! The shareef don't like it, roc--"

Alfred twisted the dial. "Dude. That's not mood music. That's like, anti-mood music's cousin. And it's loud and I can't focus and blah blah blah, Lost Without U is on."

Arthur didn't usually argue with him, not if he wanted to fool around without a hitch in the ever time consuming "process", but that was The Clash. London Calling, The Guns of Brixton, Rock the fucking Casbah? How Alfred could manage to be so unimpressed was beyond him. He tried to squeeze himself by him, reaching for the dial himself. "It's like, two minutes long for God's sake. It's probably almost over anyway."

"We're not gonna do it to the B-52's or whoever the fuck-"

"That wasn't Rock Lobster, you absolute-"

"-whoever the fuck they are."

And it's all fine and well until somebody gets jabbed in the eye. Which happened, albeit unintentionally, more often than what could be deemed healthy for a relationship. Arthur spat, "Jesus, Alfred!" And drew back. Alfred followed suit, quickly setting out on a quest to find something to alleviate the slow coming swelling, but only finding stray socks and an ancient jersey that had been snagged under the seat. His. He sniffed it. Dropped it, grimacing to himself like somebody had just told him Welch's jam was made by grape smashing trolls with horrifying foot infections. He said, "Does it hurt?" and winced immediately afterwards, because he wasn't very good at reading Arthur, but some expressions are universally understood. "Oh, no. Feels lovely actually. I honestly can't stand a man that doesn't make an honest effort to blind me on a regular basis."

Arthur touched the lid lightly. Flinched. Grunted. Left the car suddenly aching for a cigarette. And Alfred might've said, "You promised you'd quit", but he looked like he was busy feeling soul crushingly guilty.

Smoothing the wrinkles out of his dress shirt and shifting his socked soles against the cement. He smoked.

Leaning against his car, watching the stars come out. He smoked.

And maybe he'd have slid back into the backseat if there wasn't an insistent banging in his head. Like a gavel coming down repeatedly on the back of his left eye. Sex just isn't enjoyable when you actively want to strangle the person writhing underneath you. Unless you're into that. Would Alfred be into that? Probably not.

Arthur dropped into the driver seat. Alfred hesitated before climbing into the passenger side. Seat belts clicked in, they headed down the quiet little road to nowhere.

Neither said much until a man standing in the road came up in Ellen's headlights. He had... Strange, eyes. Strange, cloudy eyes. Like stretched lard draped over crystal or boiled yogurt smattered on strips of film. He seemed to sway. Waver, like he was just a trick of the light, not really there at all.

Arthur hit the brakes. Alfred made a noise in the back of his throat not unlike the one he'd make when he was being touched below the belt, or when he'd just done something mind bogglingly stupid... Like buying diesel at the gas station and spending five minutes trying to shove the too big nozzle into Ellen's tank. It was a noise he made when he was nervous. And, being afraid of specters in the dark could've had something to do with his sudden clamminess, but the man wasn't a specter. Just old and.. Apparently, stranded. Though, Arthur was curious where his car was and why he'd be walking away from town.

The man in question looked beyond the glare of the brights, hunch in his back seeming to twitch. He then shambled forward, like a pregnant roach skittering on legs liable to buckle. He stopped by the driver side. Arthur rolled the window down manually as Alfred stared straight ahead and tapped his foot noisily.

"Hello... Thank you so much for... Stopping. I've been having trouble... Car.. Trouble.." There was something slick about his skin... Like he'd spent the last fifty years of his life bathing in gasoline religiously. The skin beneath his cheeks seemed to bulge. Arthur smiled politely and focused on the space between the man's eyes. "Sorry to hear that. My- My ah, friend... He's a bit of a guru with cars. Maybe he-" Alfred cut in, voice shrill and unnaturally high pitched, "Actually, I'm terrible with cars! I don't even know how to open the hood, haha! Hah.." Arthur shot him a sidelong glance. Sighed and looked back to the man. "I'm not so bad with them, either. S'pose I could take a look if you'd like?" The man rasped a heavy exhale. Nodded jerkily. "Yes, yes... That's... Fine. Such a kind young man. Such a... Strapping... Young man. It's just up ahead." And the man shambled off. Arthur rolled up his window and put the car in drive. Alfred said, almost as if it were a serious question, "Are you insane? Like, legitimately? That guy was so fucking... Weird. And the way his eyes-"

Arthur held up a finger. "You're always complaining about how we need to be a bigger part of this backwater shithole. Pardon me, community. Bake pies and get to know neighbors and all that... I finally offer to help someone and you-"

"But-"

"-And you insult the poor man for having cataracts. And what's he going to do anyway? Smack me over the head with his bible? Honestly, I'm more likely to get roughed up by you than some bloke old enough to remember when the world only had one continent."

Alfred muttered, "I didn't mean to. You know I didn't. Christ." But that was that.

They drove after the man in the dark.

Strangely enough, when they finally did reach a car, the stranger was nowhere in sight. Arthur furrowed his brow and parked in front of it. Lights flashing, hood raised, toolbox left on the road. He said, "That's funny." Alfred said something possibly irrelevant in reply that Arthur didn't bother catching.

He stepped out of his car, only pausing to glance at Alfred. Alfred, who had crossed his arms over his chest and was glaring at the glove compartment. "You think horror movies are soo stupid, but this is exactly what happens, isn't it? Abandoned car, disappearing weirdo, dark night with nobody around for miles to hear you scream...We almost had sex too, which has significantly decreased the likelihood of either of us surviving. I'm not leaving this car, man. No way." He bit the inside of his cheek momentarily. Looked to Arthur as his voice lowered, "Can we just... Can we go home?" Arthur rolled his eyes, but a smile twitched on his lips.

He laughed.

Alfred threw his hands in the air uselessly, "I'm serious!" but, Arthur just couldn't see him as a reasonable adult when he was pouting. It was either adorable or outright annoying. Bit of the former at the moment. Bit of a turn on too, like that sharp note fluttering in his throat... He shook his head. Mind out of the gutter. He was supposed to be in good Samaritan mode. Practicing Southern hospitality. Later, sans an elbow to the face. "It's... Sweet, that you worry about me, but I'll be fine." Alfred looked like he was about to say something else, but shut up the minute the keys hit his lap. "Keep them safe from any other dark, evil things lurking about. Be back in a tick, yeah?"

And Arthur was off wandering. Alone. He didn't mind it but he'd spent so much time with Alfred these last few months that it felt bizarre not having him trying to grab his hand or having his ear talked off about animal shelters or upcoming events in the community or that big, terrifying, "m" word. The last one made him shudder. He loved Alfred, sure. Couldn't see himself waking up to anything but the man's awful falsetto in the shower. They'd known each other for a ridiculously long amount of time. Had traveled together, this particular move being anything but permanent (thank God). But...

His train of thought derailed at the sound of crunching gravel. He called, "Sir? Are you alright?" But upon getting no reply, made way for the fleeting footsteps. They seemed to be getting quicker, lighter in weight and yet... Louder... As though he were chasing a sonic boom trapped in steel boots. Whatever was making them slipped into the cornfield, and following, his heart began to punch at his rib cage with enough force to wind him.

He didn't know how far he'd gone... But he couldn't keep up after a certain point. Shit, Alfred was right. He should quit smoking. Tenth try's the charm.

He began to slow and lose a desire to discover what he was running after. Chest tight, throat burning. Moments later he'd stopped altogether, hands on his knees... Heaving. Close to blowing chunks, spots in his vision. And, after catching some of his breath, he realized just how alone he truly was. Surrounded by stalks too tall to see over. His blood paused in his veins at the mere idea of actually having gotten lost out there. And, it was easy to tease Alfred for being so scared of things like the dark, but... He swallowed thickly. Heart hammered.

What kind of an old man moves like that anyway? He swore he could still hear the footsteps, though they were farther away now... Ugh. Clearly he'd been chasing a spooked animal. Too fast to be some man in his seventies. Laughing a little, sweeping his fringe out of his calming eyes. He nodded. An animal. Right. Obviously.

He headed back the way he came, breathing heavy from the exertion of running for the first time in years. He didn't worry about getting disoriented; his sense of direction was fantastic enough for the both of them. Though... Alfred wasn't there to drone on about not remembering whether the sun set in the East or the West. It wasn't difficult to navigate, that was true, but as great as he was with direction... He slowly began to feel like he wasn't heading the right way. How long had he been chasing after that animal? Five minutes? Ten? He was lost. Undoubtedly. Shit. Shit.

He laughed again. Stopped for a smoke to steady his nerves. He'd quit tomorrow. Or the day after that. 'Inhale. Exhale. You're fine... Just a bit turned around is all.' He couldn't be as far as his rising paranoia was insistent on having him believe. In fact, he was sure he could see headlights now. Bright. Alfred should've cut Ellen off for fuck's sake. Poor gal.

As he stepped into what he thought would be the road, his fingers nearly lost their grip on his cigarette.

Alfred didn't like waiting for long periods of time. Drove him straight up a wall. And though he wouldn't have unlocked the car doors for anyone (save for Arthur, of course), he was going stir crazy just sitting there in silence. Well. Not complete silence. There was the sound of the wind, at least. Maybe a muffled far off band of crickets. He bounced his knee. Arthur hated helping people. He hated their neighbors, he hated going to barbecues, he despised babies and sometimes, small furry creatures, depending on the likelihood of being bitten by one... But he just had to start being a good person on a dark night away from town. Figured, didn't it? And don't get Alfred wrong, he liked when Arthur was friendly with strangers. He liked when he was selfless. But. Now? He chooses now? Seriously?

Alfred groaned. Dug his palms into his eyes in a possible attempt to shove them to the back of his skull.

Okay.

Maybe he was overreacting. So some weird guy had disappeared out of thin air, and his boyfriend had followed him. Totally normal. No need to panic.

Arthur was fine. He was fine. Everything was fine.

Except for the fact that he'd elbowed him in the face. Again. That wasn't so fine. Probably grounds for breaking up with somebody if Arthur hadn't been dealing with it for the better part of a decade. It was never on purpose. Alfred was just... Clumsy. Incredibly clumsy. Too clumsy to have hands as heavy as his. But. In his defense, the car was cramped. It was also the very reason they were in their current situation. They had a place to live. Like an actual, solid brick house now. Wind chimes and a porch and a bed. Finally, a nice, big bed, but noo. Arthur wants to bump uglies in the backseat of his car like they were still on the road and couldn't even afford a shitty motel. And the guy would swear up and down that Alfred was too gooey about romance but they just had to do it out of town, in the middle of a cleared out field, during a sunset. Yeah. Alfred was the sap. Right. He should've put his foot down about it. They could be at home watching that snooze of a show Arthur liked right now. That lame baking one set in Britain with absolutely no understanding of what a real competition was. Just people baking. But, even that mind numbing activity would be more enjoyable than sitting in the car concerned about the current state of his boyfriend's soul.

Alfred sighed.

Car sex, he realized, would probably be what killed the both of them in the future, if not the present. He could see it now. He'd be on his hands and knees, with Arthur's hand holding down the back of his neck. Alfred would complain (or try to, maybe having some trouble with words) that he was getting chaffed in his jeans because he hadn't had the room to get them off in the, again, too cramped backseat, and then, boom.

Meteorite would strike them both dead.

Or something like that.

Imagine the shame they'd bring to their families. It'd be on the news: "Homosexual couple struck by freak meteorite mid-coitus." Oh God what if-

Knocking. Alfred flinched. Glanced at the driver side window. And, heart calming, he smiled. Reached over to unlock the door. Settling back into his seat, he brought a knee up to his chest and dug his chin into it. "So I was thinking about what would happen if we were killed in some horrible accident and it was put on the news. I mean like, if the accident happened while we were... Ya know, doing it or whatever. I know your old man's still kind of pissed you chose me over going to- well, anyway... So like, if he saw that's how you died..." Alfred trailed off, though it wasn't due to a lack of desire to keep rambling. In fact, he might've continued if Arthur hadn't been so uncharacteristically quiet. He'd at least grunt every now and then even if he was only pretending to listen. "What's wrong?" Arthur shrugged. Held out a hand for the keys. "Was thinking about something... Couldn't find him. What were you saying?" Alfred hesitated. He felt as though he'd just missed something important. Huh. He handed over the keys and looked out the passenger side window as he stretched his leg back out.

"Well, I was wondering what our families would..." He trailed off again, glancing back at Arthur as Ellen sputtered to life. Green glow of the radio lit the cabin dim. He tilted his head some, "...That's funny, your eye's all better."

Arthur shrugged again, "Yeah, s'pose it is. What's that hero with regenerative powers? Wolverine? Maybe something like-" Alfred laughed and held up a hand to stop him in his tracks. "Dude, you're like, the last person I'd compare to Wolverine." Arthur laughed some himself, glassy eyes focusing on the road as his fingers gripped the wheel. The skin to them, Alfred thought for a moment, seemed to bulge outwards, like smaller fingers were kneading it from the inside.