Warning: Dark!Hetalia. This fanfiction will be contain boy-on-boy sex, swearing, violence and gore.
Summary: The Third World War has literally split the world into two opposing sides, and has been going on longer than anyone cares to remember. No one is allowed out of their house at night, everyone has bomb shelters built into their basements, and even asking your neighbor to borrow a cup of sugar is suspicious enough to land you in jail. At the age of sixteen, every able-bodied boy is recruited into the military, most to never be heard by from their families again. And in the middle of it all, Matthew Williams, personification of Canada, gets taken prisoner by the irritatingly charming Prussian, Gilbert Beilschmidt. Despite being from opposite sides and having polar personalities, the two realize they share similar opinions about the war at hand, and soon they can't deny the attraction building between them- but is love worth the risk of their own lives and betraying their allies?
Notes: This fanfiction is mostly PruCan, but its possible that later on there will be mentions of other pairings like USUK, Spamano, SwissAus, Rochu or some others, or some small scenes that take place between other Nations when neither Prussia nor Canada are around, but that will only happen when it is relevant to the plot. Also, this fanfiction is slightly AU, and exists in no definite time-period, though has both steampunk and modern traits. You'll notice things like Kumajiro being able to change his size of Gilbird being able to take the form of a Prussian Eagle- just go with it, its there to make things interesting.
So, please enjoy and thank you for reading!
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The sky was a sheet of black, only the light of an ominous moon turning each flake of snow in an unending expanse of white to a glowing beacon. There was nothing to be seen for miles- no trees, no buildings, no people. Civilians weren't allowed to be out the late, anyhow. After the war had begun, a strict curfew had been placed, preventing people from leaving their homes after dark. Things hadn't been in the same for years. No one trusted anyone, governments monitored everything more closely than ever before, and every night people slept in make-shift bomb shelters constructed in their own basements.
The world had changed in such a short amount of time all those years ago, earning it the nickname the Over-Night War. What had started out as seemingly a small disagreement between a select few countries had been blown out of proportion, causing nations to choose sides until the world seemed split completely in half.
The night was the worst, the time of day Matthew Williams hated the most. The night belonged to the soldiers and to the war. As soon as the sun went down, the air would be filled with the sound of planes flying low overhead, and in the dark it was impossible to tell from the ground whether they were friend or foe. The pavement would echo with the sound of marching as soldiers patrolled the streets with guns slung over their backs, and warrants permitting them to arrest anyone out after curfew
And on a winter night like this, half-hidden behind a snowbank, a gun clutched between frozen fingers and no civilization around for miles, the world had never seemed so cold.
Shocking amethyst eyes narrowed behind a pair of wire-rim glasses, straining as they stared out into the distance. Every muscle was crouched in anticipation, an index finger pressed readily against the trigger of a loaded gun. How long had he been sitting there like that, completely unmoving? It must have been three hours since he had last even blinked.
The unmistakable sound of a gunshot sent a jolt straight through Matthew's heart, and it took him several seconds before he realized he had been uninjured, and instead his musket had been blown out of his hands and lay in a splintered mess several yards away. Matthew whirled around quickly, his eyes darting in every which direction. Impossible... he couldn't see anyone, and there were no hiding places better than the occasional snowbank, no higher than a foot or so off the ground.
Then, a new sound was carried to him over the howling of the wind; a harsh, hissing laugh that seemed to surround him, yet at the same time come from no direction at all.
Matthew's eyes narrowed in frustration. "Alright, whose there!" he demanded, his numb fingers clenching and unclenching at his sides. He hadn't thought to bring another weapon, aside from the pocket knife tucked into his boot, but god dammit he wasn't going down without a fight.
"Keseseses!" there was that peculiar, rasping laugh again, although this time it was followed by a reply. "What do you mean?" the voice was heavily accented, though in the heat of the moment with his adrenalin rushing and the blood pounding in his ears, Matthew couldn't place it. It grated on him, though; it reminded him of sandpaper or the voice of someone who had been smoking for a good amount of years. "You really can't see me? Look closer,"
Matthew hated the way that voice tormented him, mocked him. If his gun hadn't been blown to pieces, he'd blow the source of this voice straight to hell. Still, he did as it instructed, squinting his eyes and turning his head every which way.
Then he saw him.
At first Matthew thought he may be an angel, with a face more handsome than any he had ever seen, hair as silver as the moonlight and skin whiter than the snow underfoot. But looking more closely, he knew that couldn't be it. This mans eyes glimmered the color of blood, his the corners of his mouth were lifted in a cold smirk.
It made sense now why Matthew hadn't been able to see him at first. This man wore a long black coat to protect himself from the blizzard, which blended in perfectly with the onyx sky, as well as a black scarf and gloves. His boots were as white as his hair and skin, and at a distance could easily be mistaken for snowflakes.
"Mon Dieu," Matthew's breath escaped him, and he took an automatic step backward. It wasn't that he was a coward, but he had suddenly remembered the stories he had heard of a man whiter than winter, and eyes red with blood-lust. "белый дьявол," he had heard Russian shoulders speak of this man, who they nicknamed 'The White Devil'. He would single-handedly take out entire bases by attacking at night and during a snowstorm, when it was easiest for him to blend it. Matthew couldn't help but wonder what he was doing all the way out here.
"You're... you're Prussia, aren't you?" Matthew asked quietly, watching the albino's smirk stretch wider. He hadn't been expecting to meet another country that night, especially not one who was on a different side than he was. But what struck him as strange was that this man was alone, without his army. That was very dangerous for a Nation these days, although Matthew had elected to do the same that night.
"Keseses! Why am I surprised?" the albino took a step toward him, tossing an ebony musket back and forth from hand to hand. "Of course you've heard of me! Even Canada knows of my awesomeness!"
Matthew wondered briefly if he ever got tired, lugging that big ego around with him all the time. The man reminded him of his brother, Alfred, although Matthew didn't want to blow his twin's brains out... well, at least not all the time. He opened his mouth to retort, when suddenly realization struck a cord. He peered at the albino suspiciously. "You... know who I am?" it wasn't like him to make conversation with his enemy (Matthew hated hurting people, and getting to know them first only made it harder), but he was defenseless and needed to stall for time. Plus, he needed to learn why the personification of Prussia was in his country, and if that meant an impending attack from a powerful army.
He snickered again. "Don't look so flattered. The only reason I know your name is because your my enemy." he took another step toward Matthew, a sadistic gleam in his eyes, like a hunter cornering his prey. "Capturing Canada could give us a great upper-hand in this war."
Matthew tensed at the words, until he saw a flicker of movement behind Prussia. He was careful not to react, not wanting to alert his adversary. "I don't see why," he retorted, deciding the best way to distract him was to carry on the conversation. His heart was hammering wildly in his ."I wouldn't tell you anything, even if you tortured me."
The albino's smirk stretched a little wider, and Matthew could have sworn he saw him run his tongue over his lips. "You sure about that, Vögelchen? Torture is one of my sp-" in a blurry of movement, something enormous and white plowed into Prussia, throwing his several yards, where he landed in a crumpled heap. His gun was sent skittering across the snow, turning the tables on the two of them.
"Scheiße!" Gilbert swore when his back hit the snow, the surface of which was frozen over and hard as cement. "What the-" he lifted his head, scarlet eyes widening when he saw an enormous polar bear, roughly the size of a horse, charging him a second time.
He watched the animal scrape its wicked-looking claws against the hard snow, preparing for a second charge. Gilbert scrambled back a few feet, pressing his front teeth to his bottom lip, letting out a sharp, shrill whistle.
Matthew didn't understand what the Prussian was doing, but he couldn't imagine it was good. "Kumajika!" he shouted to his bear (he had a habit of forgetting his name), running forward and scooping up the gun that had been dropped. He clutched it tightly in his fingers, watching as the giant white animal charged for the albino.
Just then a piercing cry filled the air, followed by a loud rushing sound. Something enormous and jet-black was plummeting toward the ground, almost invisible against the night sky and moving almost faster than Matthew's eyes could follow. He was able to make out what looked like a some kind of eagle-falcon breed as the creature got closer, pulling up from a steep nose-dive and heading straight for Kumajiro.
The two met each other head-on, talons and claws scraping at feathers and fur.
"Kumakichi!" Matthew couldn't help but cry out, worried for his pet. He was so focused on watching the animals fight, he didn't see Gilbert charging him until it was too late.
The albino caught him in the jaw with a left-hook that could have permanently injured an ordinary human, sending Matthew staggering back several steps. The wind knocked out of his opponent, Gilbert didn't hesitate to go in for a second blow, punching Matthew hard in the stomach. The Canadian doubled-over reflexively in pain, just in time to see the Prussian's leg lift and slam into the side of his head in an expert round-house kick.
For a moment Matthew swore he saw stars. His body seemed to fall in slow motion, his vision flickering to black and dragging him into unconsciousness before he even hit the ground.
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Translations:
Mein Liebling in Ketten- German for 'My Darling in Chains'
Vögelchen- Birdie
Scheiße- shit
белый дьявол- Russian for 'White Devil'
(If any translations are wrong, sorry- I used google translate.)