Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia. Sadly. Being Hidekaz Himaruya would be totally bitching.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
There was something up on the roof of the train car. A brief glance outside of the window yielded nothing, but he still backpedalled, waiting for the inevitable. His breathing quickened slightly and unconsciously, he dropped into a loose crouch, hands held up defensively.
For a moment, nothing.
And then there was the xylophone glissando of shattered glass as the window behind him exploded, sending shards in every direction like shrapnel. Something whistled through the air toward him and he threw himself into a roll, whatever that had been aimed at him sailing over his head close enough to graze his hair with a searing heat. Bits of glass dug into his arms as he lay sprawled on the floor, but the minor cuts were preferable to what seemed like the inferno that had just blown overhead.
Sparks flew and one of the tall poles that lined the aisle of the carriage fell to the ground, sliced clean in half. Before he could pull himself to his feet, something struck him with enough force to lift him up off the ground and slam him into the opposite wall of the carriage.
Agony shot through him and he heard the screech of twisting metal as the wall dented from the impact with his body. Beside him, another window shattered, filling his ears with the furious howl of the wind. Wrenching himself from his personalized crater in the wall, he fell forward on all fours, broken glass tinkling beneath his knees and digging into his palms.
There was another grating screech and he looked on with wide eyes as the carriage itself was unceremoniously cleaved in half, sending it rattling backwards down the tracks even as the remainder of the train continued to chug forward, oblivious to the fact that it was missing its last carriage. His shock quickly gave way to pain as another shockwave rolled towards him, tearing through the air with an audible crack and snapping apart the remaining poles lined on either side of the aisle like twigs and blasting him ass over kettle through the empty window pane.
Landing with a crunch onto the gravel, he lay there for a time, covered in cuts and bruises and wondering just what the fuck had happened. "Did I lose?" He groaned.
The answer to his query came in the form of a tall, blond, bespectacled young man with a boisterous grin stretched across his face. "Is the sky still blue, motherfucker?" Alfred Jones, his boss, (mostly ineffective) elder brother figure and personification of the U.S.A. quipped.
Adrián Aguilar, personification of Puerto Rico groaned and dropped his head back, accidentally smacking it against the ground, adding to his misery. "Ow," he said dispassionately. "And yes, it is blue. Very blue. So, so blue."
Alfred grinned even wider and folded his arms behind his head. "That makes it how many times I've kicked your ass in our little play fights?" He asked, looking as though his bladder would detonate on the spot from his sheer glee.
Adrián sighed. "Five," he began.
"Yes?" Alfred urged.
"Hundred," Adrián continued miserably.
"Yes?" Alfred stressed, eyes wild.
"And thirty three times," Adrián finished.
Alfred pumped his fist into the air. "Oh yeah! America wins again! Man, if this was a video game, I'd teabag you, but since it isn't…" Trailing off, he proceeded to produce a magic marker from the pocket of his bomber jacket and, holding Adrián down with one hand, proceeded to scrawl all over his face with the other. After a few minutes, Alfred nodded in satisfaction and pulled Adrián to his feet, only to pull a mirror out of his trouser pocket and shove it into the younger teen's face. "Behold the masterpiece that I have painted on the blank canvas of your face!" He declared.
Adrián's eye began to twitch violently as he took in his reflection. His right eye had been coloured so as to give him the appearance of having a black eye, whilst his left had several ridiculously long lashes drawn on it, reminiscent of Alex Delarge from A Clockwork Orange. Three whiskers had been drawn on each of his cheeks, which were somewhat incongruous with the Pagliacci-esque tear lines also trailing down from each of his eyes. To complete the random mash-up of designs scribbled across his face, he also had a smiley face drawn on the tip of his nose, an arrow pointing towards his mouth (which had been made to resemble that of a Botox addicts'), that had the directions "Insert bill here" written above it, a handlebar moustache, and what appeared to be a butt drawn on his forehead.
"…You're a real cockass, you know that? If douchebaggery was money, you could afford to pay someone to lick your cat's ass for it to spare it the trouble."
Alfred let out a hearty laugh. "You're just mad that I beat you again. Which is fine…Because you can't beat me. You're silly weapons cannot harm me…Because I'm AMERICA, BITCH!" He thundered while splaying his arms wide in a "get some' gesture.
Sighing, Adrián pinched the bridge of his nose, looking dignifiedly disgusted despite his drawn-upon face at the other nation's antics. "Please, don't quote My Way Entertainment. Seriously, if you're going to taunt me, at least be original about it."
"How's this for original?" Alfred said. Several awkward minutes went by, punctuated occasionally by a thoughtful grunt from Alfred and an irritated eye-roll from Adrián.
"Well?" Adrián demanded after checking his watch and confirming that they'd been standing there for ten minutes.
Alfred held up a finger. "Hold on," he said. Then, he snapped his fingers whilst wearing an expression of utter comprehension. "Well beat my dick while wearing boxing gloves, I've got it!" Alfred exclaimed.
Adrián tapped his foot impatiently. "One, thanks for sharing your Friday night hobby. And two, hurry up and say your stupid one-liner already; I think some of this ink is starting to seep into my bloodstream."
"Duck," Alfred said, tapping Adrián on the head.
"Uh…"
"Duck," Alfred repeated, tapping him on the shoulder.
"What the hell are you doing you Peter Parker-looking son of a-
"Duck," Alfred said again, spinning Adrián around in the opposite direction.
"Don't make me sue you again-
"Caboose!" Alfred shouted, running up and punting Adrián in the ass like a pigskin football, sending him flying off into the distance with a smoke-trailing footprint embedded on the seat of his trousers.
As he sailed peacefully through the sky, Adrián placed his chin in his hands, staring at the passing clouds and looking thoughtful. "Oh, because caboose rhymes with goose." He snorted. "Alfred's such a tool." He snorted again, louder this time. "Does anyone even use the word caboose anymore besides octogenarians? Mormons, maybe? Hmm." Yawning, Adrián somehow turned himself around in mid-air so that he was lying on his back with his arms behind his head and his left leg crossed over his right. "Welp, overall today was a pretty productive day. Got involved in a train brawl with Alfred, got thrown through a fortunately broken window, got my ass literally and figuratively kicked, once again had it confirmed that Alfred is an unfunny twat waffle, and now I'm flying." He scratched his head, looking troubled. "Shit that train fiasco is going to cost some serious collateral damages. I don't wanna work as a male dancer again! I always needed like three showers after I got offstage!"
So horrified was Adrián at the thought that he'd once again be forced to don an uncomfortably form-fitting pair of leather chaps in order to shake his good and plenty's in front of a crowd of randy middle-aged women, he barely noticed when he crashed into one of the docks at the Port of San Juan. Until he realised that he was lying in the arms of a burly fisherman who bore a terrifying resemblance to Pop-Eye and whom was staring at him as though he'd just won the lottery, at which point Adrián let out a scream that would have done a soprano opera singer proud and bolted, leaving behind a very disappointed fisherman who would have to console himself with a manatee for the fifth time that week.
X X X
Adrián sat on a park bench in Cañabón with his head in his hands. He was sick to the teeth of having to deal with Alfred, even if the immature nation generally didn't mean any harm. He was sick of visiting Antonio and listening to him getting sappy and fighting him off when he clingy after too much wine, of being molested by Francis, of talking trade with Arthur, of losing at negotiations with Govert, of following Gilbert's blog, of arguing with Lovino, being dragged around by Feliciano, drilled by Ludwig, paired up with men by Elizabeta, yelled at by China for slouching, reading Kiku's increasingly bizarre manga, getting drunk with Matthew over their shared misery of dealing with Alfred, constantly telling Ramon that he didn't know how many flavours of ice cream America had…He was sick of life.
Unconsciously, Adrián rubbed his still-smarting ass while grudgingly congratulating Alfred for having gotten him back for the last time he'd snuck a scorpion into his bed. "But still," he said aloud, "I just want a break from all of the madness! Is that so much to ask?!" He shouted up at the sky. The response he received was a drop of rain splashing onto his face.
Within minutes, the scattered droplets became a deluge, the sky awash with churning grey clouds that seemed intent on drowning everything in their path, forcing him to jog for the cover of the row of small shops lining the street across from the park.
"Well, at least the rain's washed away the marker," Adrián muttered as he stared down at the sleeve of his jacket to see it smeared with black ink. Shaking his hair out, he began to walk towards the shops again, only to turn around when he heard a light, tinkling laugh.
"You'll catch cold walking around in the rain without an umbrella."
The girl standing in front of him couldn't have been any older than he physically appeared, anywhere from fourteen to seventeen. The resemblance was slightly furthered by their shared dark hair and light skin, although her hair was so dark as to be blue-tinted and her complexion paler, giving her a slightly eerie not to mention conspicuous appearance. What really disconcerted him, however, were her eyes. In stark contrast to his own bright green irises, hers were a startling shade of crimson, the likes of which he'd only ever seen on the albino Gilbert. Pretty as she was, Adrián couldn't help but think that she seemed oddly familiar, as though he'd seen her somewhere before.
His rambling thoughts were interrupted by her raising her eyebrows at a jaunty angle before stepping beside him, holding her umbrella over the both of them. "I'll walk you over to one of the shops," she stated in a way that made it seem as though she were asking a question.
"Oh, uh, sure," Adrián agreed as he continued to speculate over where he'd seen her before. She certainly didn't look like any of his citizens, to be sure… "Thanks," he added awkwardly as she began to steer the two of them towards the shops.
"Think nothing of it."
They walked in silence for a while, the only sound the wet slapping of their feet against the puddles forming on the pavement. The silence was so thick that Adrián almost wished for the rumble of traffic, but Cañabón was a small area, hosting just barely over six thousand people, and traffic noise was in short supply.
"You look rather troubled," the girl noted, effectively breaking the silence. She nodded towards him. "Care to talk about it?"
Adrián shrugged helplessly. "Well, you know how these things go…Pain in the ass friends, general stress, you know."
"Ah." She smiled, sending a shudder coursing through his spine. "Yes, I daresay that I know all about that."
A/N: Ooh, suspense. Not really, though. Hrm.