Scattered
Synopsis: Alfred, Matthew, and several others have forgotten that they were once nations. Now, spread out across the world and with their ages altered, the other nations are trying to find them.
Rating: T for language mostly
A/N: I don't own Hetalia. Also, this is in first person and my first shot at something like this. So I hope you enjoy!
1
Jamais Vu
I had the hiccups so bad I swear my brain was about to explode. Matthew, my kid brother, was sniggering like it was the funniest thing he'd ever seen. I told him to shut up and all he did was do that stupid sniggering harder and cover his mouth. I don't know why he covered his mouth like that, maybe to hide his mouth or braces 'cause he's modest like that.
"Shut up!" I said, letting loose another annoying loud hiccup. He doubled over and continued to laugh. I was annoyed and all that by that point so I got up and picked up a cup and filled it with water from the tap. The water spilled over my fingers and I shook them off, sending the glistening water drops flying everywhere. Matthew had calmed down now so I sat back by him. He smiled, showing those thick braces. He was only thirteen but he was so smart he was in high school. He's the opposite of me. I'm dumb so I dropped out when I was a junior so I could care for Matthew. That's what I tell him, but really school was just a lot of morons that thought papers were more important than I don't know what. Like I said, I'm dumb.
The hiccups were gone so I wrestled Matthew on the couch, grabbing his head and he scratched at me. "Hey, hey Al! That ain't fun!"
I didn't stop, though, and I continued to wrestle him. We were only kidding around. "Hey you're still in school, punk," I laughed, "Use right grammar!"
"Alfred, it hurts!" Matthew said, but he was still chuckling and all tickled up over it. I got off after a little bit and leaned back on the couch. It was the only couch we had and it was old and saggy and mournful-like. We had a coffee table all bruised up and stained, with a radio on it. Our home that we shared since we have no parents was this little apartment in a network of them in this tall building.
Matthew picked up the book that he dropped and buried himself in it again. That kid, he really loved reading, I'll tell ya. I used to too, I think we got it from our uncle. We lived with two uncles when we were little kids, but we were separated for a lil' while. He went to the French one 'cause I guess Uncle Francis pitied him for being so thin and I got the one in London so I lived there but I never picked up an accent. I stayed there for two years only and I thought the accent was stupid and lame so I didn't want to pick it up. I told you I don't read anymore, well it's 'cause I work two jobs and I have no time for it, but sometimes Matthew reads to me to remind me of it all.
"Whatcha readin', kiddo?" I asked, peering at his book.
Matthew smiled again and tucked a loose strand of his mousy hair behind an ear, "It's a book for school. I really like it."
I nodded and rubbed his back. He was really small and he never really got over being so thin. I rubbed his bony shoulder blades through his red sweater he always wore. I offer to buy him a new one but he refuses. He's a good kid like that.
Matthew continued to read and make notes in the margins while I watched over his shoulder. I didn't know what the story was but from what I read it sure had a lot of characters thinking and being mean to each other. After a little I got real bored so I pulled a packet of cigarettes and started towards the balcony. He was watching me real close so that I could feel the hairs on my neck start to stand up. I looked at him.
"Whatcha lookin at, Matty?"
Matthew got this batting in his eyes, which were partially hidden by his glasses, and shook his head. "Nothing."
"No you wanted something, I can feel it."
"I was…" He paused, "I was wondering if I could try one of those?" He pointed at the packet.
I felt this sudden fury, not at Matthew but at myself, rise up in my chest, but I laughed it off. "Nah, you can't have any til you're at least sixteen. By then at least you'll get the stupid temptation out of your brain. God, sometimes your head is too full of calculus and shit to think some common sense."
Matthew nodded and apologized, going back to his homework. I shut the balcony door behind me and stood outside. A cool breeze brushed past me and I was thankful for it 'cause it was smarting with how humid and hot it was. I leaned against the edge of the balcony and I could see a stretch of land below me. I lit the cigarette and blew out bluish clouds of smoke. The good thing about this crummy apartment is the view. We're at the very end so we can see pretty much everything outside down below, like the clear land with prickly plants. Across the field and behind a hill there were red and purple and blue lights flashing. I could hear the dull throb of rock music. There was a concert down there and I wondered who was playing, maybe some cheap band trying to earn a few bucks. I had a weird flash of memory.
I saw a sweaty guitar player throwing his guitar around his neck and screaming into a microphone. The crowd was screaming and crying and throwing shit up at him. I swear I've never been to this place and I must have seen it in a movie when I still could go to the theater, but it felt so goddamn real. I could see every little bead of sweat and his irises. I blinked and shook my head. Sometimes I had these really weird flashes of memories that I swear I've never experienced. Matthew sometimes has those two. It ain't nothing like déjà vu, actually it's sort of the opposite of it. With déjà vu you swear you've seen it while now I swear I haven't seen it and it makes my head smart and spin and all that.
I walked back in when I was sure the smell of smoke had faded. Matthew was looking at me, his book closed with his thumb jammed in his place on his lap. I smiled at him all friendly like and he smiled back, getting up and stretching, the book still in his hand.
"I had one of those memory things again," I said. Matthew raised an eyebrow.
"You mean jamais vu?" He asked, tidying up his stuff and pushing it into his back all slapdash.
"What? You know I wasn't taught French, you know how Uncle Francis took me."
"It means never seen," Matthew spoke French fluently. But he never got mad when I asked him to translate. Like I said, he's a good kid like that. "I had one, too, but it was that I'd already read this book."
I nodded solemnly. We had already eaten dinner, a small steak I had been saving up for, so I pulled my shirt off and put it in a hamper. I waited at the doorway, in between the only other two rooms in the house; a small bathroom and the bedroom. We had a big bed, a king sized on. We got it from Uncle Francis. Matthew followed me, slipping into the room. He wriggled out of his pants and sweater so he was just in his shorts, and crawled in, setting his glasses on the bedside table. I gently shut the door and went into the bathroom. I flicked on the lights and saw myself in the mirror, I caught my blue eyes and felt a weird tingling sensation in the back of my head. So I ignored how I looked except to fix my hair. One of the few things I like about myself is my looks. I have these big muscles from my jobs and this short blonde hair. Except there's this bastard hair that always sticks out in the front no matter whatever the hell I do to it.
I also had this chain necklace around my neck that I don't remember ever owning or getting. I washed my face and brushed my teeth real quickly, leaving my own glasses on the counter. I left that room and turned off the lights, plunging the rest of the apartment into darkness. When I slipped into bed Matthew wasn't asleep yet. I put an arm around him and held him close. He's young and he doesn't, and I don't, remember our mother. I like to cuddle with him 'cause I love that goofy smile he has when he does it. The guys back at work would call me a sissy or a wuss for doing it but I didn't give a shit, I love my brother too much.
"Have you talked with Uncle Francis?" I asked. Uncle was a touchy subject for us both but I was itching to ask that so I stared at him expectantly.
Matthew shook his head, "not since he sent this bed over."
I nodded and he dozed off. I didn't for a long time. I stared at the silvery light pouring in from the window and coating the room like a thin veil. I can be poetic when I want to.
That night I dream of a canyon. It dug real deep and people were on the outside. The sand and rocks were red, not red like blood, but crayon red. The sun was hot and I could feel it. The people crossing it were in these old-time outfits. You know; the hats, the shoes, no cars in sight. I felt like I was looking over at them, like a bird, but then I was with them.
I woke up feeling really nostalgic for some reason. The sun had started to come up and Matthew was already sitting up, yawning and patting around for his glasses.
"Oh yeah, I remembered something," Matthew said when he finished yawning. "There was this teacher, I don't know him, but he asked if I was your brother and I said yes. He asked why you weren't at school."
Yeah, that's right, I dropped out last year. I'm seventeen now and I'll be eighteen soon. I would be a senior now and I honestly couldn't give to pennies worth of damns for that old, dusty teacher who was just waiting to fail me. So I asked Matthew: "What did you say?"
"I said that you didn't want him to know so I ran off and sort of merged with the crowd. I accidentally stepped on this real nice girl's foot. She said she was sorry even though I stepped on her and we were fumbling like that for a long time… She was real pretty, though, too. Anyway I went to art afterwards and then I had history and I had another one of those flashbacks. He was talking about Jeanne d'Arc and I swear I've heard her story before, but like Uncle Francis telling me it…"
Like I said, he's a great kid, but he has his problems. He either talks way too much or says nothing at all. When he talks too much he says all these little details and tends to talk more to himself while when he says nothing at all it's always terse and all. Matthew scratched at his chin where he had all these red, irritated zits. He also had a really bad complexion. I felt bad for him. Not that I cared, really, about how he looked. I just cared that he could get tossed around at school and get teased. If he does get bullied, he never says anything, so I have to keep a close eye on him and all.
"It feels like they've been getting more frequent lately," Matthew commented when I didn't answer.
"Yeah, probably nothing. Get ready for school, kiddo," I said and got up. I let him take the bathroom first and went to make breakfast. I can't cook really elaborate meals with duck and sauces, but I can make some mean steak for dinner and eggs and bacon for breakfast. In five minutes flat the place was rich with the smell of cooking bacon and scrambled eggs. I put them on two different plates and set them down. I found some orange juice and poured some for both of us, plus a piece of chocolate by Matthew's because I like being nice sometimes.
Matthew walked out all ready for school, his backpack slung over one shoulder and his hands were hidden in his sleeves. His nails were really short and red because he can't stop biting at them. There were drops of blood on them and I knew right away that he was stressing. He usually bites them harder when he's nervous for something. He caught me staring and understood. We have this terrific ability to tell what the other is thinking just by exchanging glances. It saves a lot of breath.
Matthew sat down and sipped his juice before explaining. "I get my tests results back today."
"It's the last day of school before summer break," I reminded him and he nibbled the bacon all polite like. I continued, "I'm sure you did great, kid, you always do." We wiped our plates clean in silence and he washed the invisible stains in the sink. He picked up his backpack and started towards the door. "Do you want a ride?"
"Nah, I'll walk. It's warm out." Matthew waved his hand and shut the door behind him. I could hear his steps and the elderly woman next door say good morning. I hardly heard Matthew's response because I was getting ready for work. I got a wife-beater shirt on because I liked how it made my muscles stand out and some cammo pants. I thought I looked tough as chains in that. I'm still a kid, after all.
I pulled open the door, jingling the keys in my hand, when I saw someone walking up the stairs. It was this really thin, Japanese-looking man. I don't mean that in an offensive way, he just had the dark hair and round face and dark eyes that reminded me of it. When he saw me his face lit up with a sort of relief. I locked the door and walked over to him, my lips tight and unsmiling.
"So he was right when he said you live here," the man observed.
"Sorry, but who are you?" I asked. I didn't want to sound rude, but I was kind of scared about who knew my address. We had only moved in not long ago and we have no close friends to give the address out to.
"Ja… Kiku," the man said and held out a hand.
"Nice to meat you Juhkiku." I shook his hand stiffly. He frowned.
"Kiku, Kiku Honda. I had a slip of tongue."
He had a serious expression and I regretted joking. But I already let those words out so there was no way of getting them back no matter how hard I tried.
"Alfred," Kiku began, taking a step back and observing me. "Alfred how long have you lived here? Where did you live before?"
"I've been here since I dropped out. I used to live in another apartment before."
"Describe it, then."
I stared at him, my lips parted and my heart pounding. I couldn't recall a single damn thing about my last apartment.
