Disclaimer: Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himayura
Ten years later
Francis wished he'd taken an easier assignment. Not that there had actually been any other options. He would have just declined the idea of going on a mission at all, but Elizabeta had threatened to take away his rights to go outside, along with confiscating his wine. Although even with that horrifying prospect, was this even worth it?
Of course it is, Francis thought to himself, his mental voice resolute. There might be a lot of gorgeous boys and one gorgeous girl in the Collection, but none of them were very open to my charms. Without wine, I would go mad with boredom cooped up with them.
Despite that, he was now cold, wet, dirty, and sitting in a tree. This was not desirable in the slightest. His shoulder length blond hair hung into his face in thick, dripping strands, his blue eyes were dull with exhaustion, his pale skin was chalky and clammy. His usually stubbly chin was even more unshaven than normal, a testament to his current state of dishevelment. He shivered as another gust of wind doused him with a wave of rain.
Ok. So maybe it wasn't worth it. At all.
But there was no way he was going to return to the Collection, sulking and whining, and receive nothing for his efforts except looks of contempt and a confiscation of his rights. No, Francis would see this through the end.
He sighed miserably, curling in on himself a little more. Why did the guy have to live in a forest? And on top of that, he didn't even have the civility to show himself. Meaning that the blond Frenchman had to sit in a tree of all things, hoping he would appear.
He spent another good thirty minutes there, watching and waiting, the only thing keeping him from being completely soaked to the bone being an unattractive poncho draped loosely over his figure. It was at that point that he decided that the chances of his man walking by that particular tree on that particular day were slim enough that continuing his watch wasn't worth it at all. With cramped, wearied limbs, he clambered down from the tree, muttering French curses under his breath, and made his way out of the forest. The only plan in his mind was of going back into town, having a strong drink, and figuring out how to locate his objective once his hangover had worn off the next day.
Two days later found him sitting outside of the small town's convenience store. The shop was also equipped with a small restaurant, of which Francis was in the outdoor seating area. In his hand he held a glass of wine, which he had judged not as good as French wine, but good enough to tide him over.
It had been that very same convenience store where he had gotten his information when he'd first arrived, leading him to his long, rainy vigil in the woods.
"'A blond man with dark green eyes and a grumpy expression name Vash?'" The clerk looked thoughtful. "I don't know about the name, but I've seen someone who fits your description. He always looks aggressive and his hair is fairly long, like you said. And he is a little suspicious – he comes here every so often, but he doesn't live in town. I think he comes from the woods, but I'm not sure." He looked curious. "Why are you asking?"
"I'm looking for a friend," Francis replied smoothly with his default answer, the Swiss language rolling off his tongue a little awkwardly, but understandably. "I heard that he lives around here, but I wasn't sure where… Anyways, thank you for your help."
"No problem!"
Since his stakeout in the forest, Francis had remained in town, hoping that the man he was looking for would just happen to feel the need to come by the convenience store. It was a long shot, but there was no way he was going back out into the forest again.
And somehow… it worked.
Francis cast his head back, basking in Switzerland's fickle sun, shaking his hair out of his face. When he looked back down, his fingers closing around his wine glass, something caught in his peripheral vision, and he turned to see a figure entering the store.
A very familiar figure.
He rose gracefully to his feet, his chair scraping against the cement as it was pushed backwards. His hand flew to his pocket, snatching a piece of paper out as he moved to the door the other man had disappeared into. He flung it open, and there he was – green eyes browsing purposefully over the shelves, seeming to glare at everything that wasn't what he wanted.
Francis held up the paper, comparing the man in front of him the picture printed on the slip. It looked like a perfect match, even though the picture was only a simplified cartoon version of him.
A smile spread across Francis's perfect lips, his thumb brushing thoughtfully against the light stubble on his chin. Finally. Time to turn on the charm.
Stuffing the paper back into his pants, he sidled up the man at the shelves, casually invading his personal space. The man immediately stiffened, spinning around. "What-"
And then he stopped, his eyes catching on Francis's, and Francis inwardly smirked. He had him.
"W-what are you doing?" he finished, his cheeks flushing bright red. "Get away…"
Francis's voice was low and seductive. "But I don't want to…" he breathed, moving closer so that he almost touched the other man. His blush intensified. "I haven't seen you around here, cher. You caught my eye..."
He knew that this was hardly quality seduction, but he was tired. He'd been stuck in this tiny town for days with nothing to keep him company with nothing but Swiss wine to keep him company. He was ready to get out, and if it meant that his flirting wasn't up to his usual standards, then that was fine.
The Swiss man looked like looked like smoke was about to blow out his ears. "I- I don't like men!" he yelped, pressing himself back against the shelves, trying to escape the awkward situation.
Francis chuckled. "I never said you did. Although, your blushing begs to differ…" He ran a finger over the Swiss man's reddened cheek, causing him to swallow hard.
"I can't… I mean, I don't…"
"How about we go outside? You can finish up your purchases later. We can find somewhere more private, and you can tell me all about yourself…" Francis proposed, licking his lips as he watched the momentary indecision in the other man's eyes. He was surprised the man hadn't already thrown himself on him – it showed an impressing strong will. He could respect that.
"Alright," the Swiss agreed, straightening his back as if trying to assert himself. Silly. You're wrapped around my finger, Francis thought amusedly. "But it has to be quick. I'm on a tight schedule."
"A busy man. I like that…" Francis let his hand travel down to entangle in the other man's fingers. "Shall we?" he asked, his voice dripping sex and suggestion.
The Swiss man nodded curtly, and only a minute later, they were behind the store, the man shoved up against the wall and Francis letting his hands explore the other's body as his tongue mapped his mouth. He couldn't help but smile against the man's lips: he was well muscled, and quite pleasant to grope.
Francis pulled back momentarily. "Before we really start," he began with a mischievous grin, his eyes half lidded and dark with lust, "may I know your name, handsome?"
"Vash," the man gasped, moaning as Francis's fingers slipped under his shirt. "Vash Zwingli."
The Frenchman's smile broadened. "What a lovely name," he purred, leaning in again. "Vash" closed his eyes in anticipation.
But instead of his mouth being met with soft, lustful lips, Vash found a cloth being jammed between his teeth and over his nose. He gasped around it, his eyes flying open and his mind kicking into overdrive, clearing of all sexual thought with ease that required years of training, his hand reaching for the gun that he always kept hidden in his baggy pants. But the moment his eyes focused on Francis's, the struggling stopped.
"Sleep," the Frenchman purred, and there was nothing Vash could do but submit and allow darkness to take him as he breathed in the scent of chloroform.
"You didn't do anything too bad, did you?" Elizabeta asked, noting the rumpled state of the man's clothes.
"Of course not," Francis responded, sounding mildly offended as he took a dainty sip of his real, French wine. "What do you take me for?" He ignored the dry stare Elizabeta flung his direction. "Besides, the quicker that job was over with, the quicker I could get back to you, mon cherie."
She made a little sound in the back of her throat, her fingers twitching, and the Frenchman wisely stopped talking.
An Austrian man with deep purple eyes and dark brown hair, a single large curl sticking up above the rest of the orderly strands, cleared his throat. He sat in a chair at the edge of the room, his posture as straight and proper as his clothing (which was, by the way, very proper). "He's waking up," he said in smooth, bossy voice. "I suggest you be ready."
Elizabeta glanced down at Vash, stretched out of the large white bed. Indeed, his eyelids were starting to twitched, his fingers quivering. "It's about time."
"He's not going to be happy," the Austrian warned.
"Don't I know it," the Hungarian girl sighed, brushing a strand of long, wavy brown hair out of her face.
"If you like, I can simply seduce him again?" the Frenchman offered, but Elizabeta shook her head.
"We're trying to give him as warm a welcome as possible. I'd say that being molested by you doesn't exactly fall into that category… now shush."
Vash's eyes flickered open, taking in the plain white room around him. He didn't move until his eyes landed on Elizabeta, who was staring at him with a hopefully friendly, soothing looking smile on her face, and the ensuing motion was explosive.
He rolled out of the bed, hands flying to where he kept his gun, only to find it not there. He cursed, and launched himself at Elizabeta, attempting a harsh punch to her abdomen. Despite the long, puffy skirt she wore, she dodged easily out of the Swiss man's way, overpowering him easily in his still disoriented state. Feeling his strength as she held him in an armlock, she decided that she really wouldn't want to fight him if he were in a better state.
"Bitch!" he yelled, struggling against her hold. "Let me go, you-" He dissolved into a variety of Swiss curses, which only intensified when he caught sight of Francis, who gave him a little wave.
"Vash Zwingli," the Austrian man called out, his businesslike voice cutting through the tirade of Swiss. He had risen to his feet, and now stepped in front of the struggling man, face firm. "Please calm yourself and allow me to explain."
"Like hell!" Vash spat, trying to kick Elizabeta, but she held him firm.
The Austrian was unfazed. "If you don't cooperate, we will be forced to sedate you, and next time you come to, you will be strapped to the bed. Either that, or we'll have him calm you down," he gestured to Francis, who looked a little too excited, "and I'm sure that's not a desirable option either. I assure you, we mean you no harm."
Vash resisted a few moments more, but realizing it was futile, he relaxed his movements, glaring at the Austrian. "Speak."
"Thank you," Roderich said once he was certain Vash had stopped fighting. "My name is Roderich Edelstien. You met Francis Bonnefoy earlier, and the girl who is holding you is Elizabeta Héderváry. We are all part of what we currently called the Collection, a gathering of a group of people with very special abilities."
"What the hell does that have to do with me?" Vash snarled.
Roderich looked him over. "I think I would be correct in assuming that you have a special ability yourself."
"I have no clue what you're talking about."
"You hide it – no doubt that was why you were out in the woods. But Elizabeta, is this the right person?"
"It is. He does have an ability."
"Exactly." He nodded at the girl. "And if Elizabeta says it's true, then it must be true indeed."
"What, so whatever she says is the truth?" Vash scoffed. "Yeah right."
"But she isn't wrong, is she?" Roderich looked him over, taking in every aspect of his figure. "I would venture to guess that someone found out about your ability and wanted to exploit it. That's why you were hiding out in the woods."
Vash glared, but no longer bothered to deny it.
"You can stop looking so agressive. I meant it when I said we mean you no harm. We will not be experimenting on you or exploiting you. We only offer you a safe place to take refuge, and hope that you will help us in our cause."
"That sounds close enough to exploitation to me," the Swiss man muttered.
"See it as you like. Whether or not you help us will be completely voluntary. However, more importantly than your support of our cause, we cannot have you falling into anyone else's hands." Roderich's gaze hardened. "Because they will not give you any choice in the matter of helping them."
Vash let out a sound of acknowledgement, carefully watching the Austrian.
"That is why I'm afraid that although your cooperation with our cause is optional, we cannot allow you to leave here," Roderich finished. "At least not until we can trust you not to run away. Then we will grant you leaving rights…"
"Like hell you won't let me go out!" Vash roared, pushing against Elizabeta's hold once again. "No way am I going to stay here!"
"The living conditions are wonderful, and no harm will come to you," Roderich informed him. "You do not have to interact with the other people here, and you will receive your own private room. Why not take this opportunity? Unless…" An idea sparked in his eyes as he watched the Swiss man's thrashing. "Did you perhaps leave someone behind in those woods? A sister, maybe?"
Vash's green eyes flashed, and he attempted to knock his head back into Elizabeta's. She pulled back quickly, but maintained her grip. "No-"
"Yes, he did," Elizabeta confirmed, her voice slightly strained from restraining Vash. "His adopted sister, born in Liechtenstein."
"That's not-"
"Wonderful." Roderich clapped his hands. "Then let's dispatch someone immediately."
"Don't you dare touch her!" Vash shouted, drawing Roderich's attention again.
"I promise," he said firmly, "no harm will come to your sister. Nor anything inappropriate." He rolled his eyes at Francis, who suddenly looked disappointed. "We will not be sending Francis after her – no, we'll get someone a little more safe. It's too bad that Kiku is out…"
"He'll be back soon," Elizabeta offered.
"We'll see. Either way, we will bring her here, and you can both live safely and happily."
The offer must have been somewhat tempting, because Vash stopped struggling, although his expression was still aggressive. "She'll be gone by now," he told them. "I told her that if I didn't come back, she needed to move out. She'll be far away by now."
"True, you were out for a day," Roderich pondered, frowning at this new piece of information. "May I know her name?"
Vash hesitated, then gave in. "Lili," he said, and his tone seemed to soften a little.
"Lili," the Austrian repeated. "Not one of Himaruya's suggested names, but a very commonly used fan-term." He shrugged. "I suppose that'll work fine."
"Fan-term?" Vash looked confused. "What…"
"I'll let Elizabeta explain it to you." Roderich went to the room's single door, opening it. "Francis, come with me. We'll find someone to go search for Lili."
"Oui," Francis agreed, rising from his seat, wine in hand. He winked suggestively at Vash as he left, causing the Swiss man to shudder. The door closed behind him with a soft click.
"If I let you go, will you attack me?" Elizabeta asked carefully, watching Vash with apprehension.
"…No," he answered, after a second of hesitation. She released his arms, and he quickly stepped away, turning to face her.
"So, Vash," the Hungarian said, sitting on the white bed and casually patting the space besides her. He did not take a offered seat, instead nodding stiffly for her to go on. "I'm sure you have a lot of questions, like the whole name thing, how we knew where to find you, how Roderich guessed you had a sister."
"Yes."
"Well, there's this Japanese comic, called Hetalia…"
The thug held the knife out in front of him, proud that his arms were only trembling slightly. A small shiver was better that the state of the people who had previously been his allies, all of whom had already pulled a full retreat; some wailing in fear, all running at top speeds. He was far braver than any of them.
Several feet away from him, a figure stood, brushing off his jacket and casually flicking a strand of blond hair out of his face. At his feet, another one of the thug's comrades lay curled in on himself, unmoving. One of the weak ones.
"Well," the other person said, and the sudden sound in the eerily quiet dusk was enough to make the thug flinch. He regained his composure almost immediately, but it was enough to make the man in front him chuckle a bit as he continued. "Looks like he'll have a few cracked ribs, but it's nothing too serious. A lot better than what I did to that guy a little while ago…" He scratched the back of his head sheepishly. "Well. I seem to be improving, anyways…"
"Shut up!" The thug's voice came out a little weaker than he intended, but he pushed on. "Scram if you don't want to get hurt, bastard. I don't have any problem with killing."
The relatively friendly expression on the man's face dropped, and he sent a deadpan look at the thug. "Well, I have a problem with people who don't have a problem with killing."
"I'm warning you, kid," the thug warned, gripping his knife and trying to make his voice deeper, more menacing. "Stop trying to be a hero and run while you still can."
The man seemed to hesitate a moment, and the thug didn't wait to see if he'd actually flee. He launched himself at him, weapon outstretched. He was one of the fastest in his group – before the man could even realize he was coming, the attacker was at his side, dodging under his arm to plunging his knife into his side, burying the blade so deep in his skin that its silver glint could no longer be seen…
Except before the knife could make its fatal contact, an elbow connected hard with the thug's head, and he stumbled to the side, stars flashing in front of his eyes. He didn't wait to recover – he hurled himself straight back at his opponent, knife slashing.
He was on the ground in seconds. His weapon, lying on the ground a few inches from his outstretched hand, was kicked away by a combat boot. It spun out of his range of vision, which was shrinking quickly.
"Well, that's definitely gonna be a concussion," a voice above him noted. It was a little fuzzy, and sounded strangely apologetic. He tried to focus on it. "Oh well. That's what you get, I suppose." The combat boot stepped away, and the thug felt his consciousness slipping. Before blackness could completely take his mind, though, he heard one last statement from the voice.
"And by the way: I don't have to try to be a hero, because I am the…"
"Crap, crap, crap."
Right turn, left turn, past a yellow car, right turn, right turn, through a store, right, left, left, right, left, right… Wasn't that the same yellow car he had just passed?
"Dammit!" the boy shrieked. Why was this place so confusing? Why did all the buildings look the same? Damn, why couldn't he just…
"Detene!" Pounding footsteps could be heard behind him. He flinched, running in another direction.
"I don't fucking speak Spanish, dammit!"
Why did he have to take the bread? Sure, it had looked so tantalizing, just sitting there, and it wasn't like anyone was about to eat it, and he was just so hungry… But still. He wished he could punch himself in the face, although he decided that that would have to come later.
Air scraped up and down his throat, his lungs feeling like they were bursting. His legs burned and his feet throbbed every time they slapped the ground. He was tired, he was hungry, he was thirsty. Shit, I can't keep this up, he realized with despair.
He rounded another corner, and was faced with… a wall. A solid, brick wall. No way over, no way under, no way around.
A dead end.
They were close. He could hear their shouting. He couldn't backtrack now. He was trapped here, with nothing but the loaf of bread he had tucked under his jacket to defend himself with.
Pathetic.
His stomach churned a little, a telltale sign that his ability was acting up again. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. As much as he didn't want to get caught, the last thing he wanted was for that to happen.
Looking around, he noticed a few doors in the small, dead end alley. He rushed to one, pulling on it, but it didn't budge. Then next one: still nothing.
They were practically rounding the corner.
He was about to grab the handle of the third door, his hands shaking with adrenaline, when it swung inward of its own accord, and something grabbed his shirt. He let out a startled cry, which was muffled by a swift hand clamping across his mouth as he was dragged inside the building. The door closed behind him with a soft click.
He immediately began to thrash, catching a glimpse of his captor; but before he could make out any real details, he was being shoved behind something, and a voice was hissing, "Stay there and don't move."
"What the hell-" he began, but was cut off by a harsh shushing noise. Hearing footsteps outside the building, he elected to keep my mouth shut.
There was yelling, and pounding, and various sounds of confusion and frustration. He held his breath, trying to slow his rapid heartbeat and still his trembling limbs, but now that he wasn't moving, he registered just how riled up he was. And how all of his insides seemed to be swirling inside of him. Not a good sign, dammit… calm down, calm down…
But realizing what was about to happen made him even more frantic, and by the time a fierce knocking sounded at the door of the building, he was already fading out of consciousness.
"Have you seen a man with brown hair and pale skin running down this way?"
"No, I'm afraid I haven't seen anyone over here all day. Why?"
"Well, you see, we're just trying to catch a thief… He's been around for a while, snatching all sorts of things, and this is the closest we've ever come to catching him. But if he's not here, I suppose we should look elsewhere… Sorry for the bother."
"Oh, it's no trouble at all. I wish you luck!"
The blonde looked up from where he'd been hunched over his homework, watching his brother slouch into the room. "Hello, bruder. How was work?"
The albino waved a hand, slumping onto a nearby couch and covering his eyes with his arm. "Boring. Annoying. Jeffery was being bitchy and went home early, so I had to do it all on my own. And then one of them was feeling rather chatty today…" He groaned. "I never want to hear that much about someone's sex life ever again."
The younger man nodded before returning to his papers. There was no sympathy in the gesture – it wouldn't have meant anything to either of them. Just understanding.
They spent a couple of minutes without speaking, the silence only filled with their soft breathing and the light scratching of the blond man's pencil.
"Do you think it'll all end? Some day?" the albino sighed, uncovering his face to cast his red eyes up to the ceiling. The other man shot him a puzzled look.
"End? We'll all die someday. And…" He nodded slightly, as if alluding to something unspoken. "I doubt any of this is going to go away until then."
"I know that," the man on the couch huffed in frustration. "I mean… we're just sitting around here dealing with all this shit. Doesn't it mean something? Shouldn't we have a really important role in the world or something?"
The blond man watched the other carefully, then shrugged. "I don't really feel like getting into a philosophical discussion with you right now."
"This isn't a philosophical discussion!" he insisted, but he had already lost the blonde's attention. He grumbled under his breath, rolling to face the couch cushions and closing his eyes.
Surely something was about to happen. Something big. Something real. Something… Awesome.
Well, that's the first chapter.
I'm very concerned that I'm making characters OOC. There are some characters that I'm kinda comfortable with their personality, while others... not so much. With any luck, as I write with all these guys more I'll get better, but or now...? Forgive me if I'm making your favorite character act a little off. If you have any suggestions or can point out a point where they're acting OOC, feel free to tell me.
Also! For anyone who bothered to keep track... yes, this story is actually set in the year 2020. That is, in the future. The fact that it's in the future doesn't really matter... so I'm just writing it as though four years from now, the world will be no different than it is right now. I didn't plan to make it in the future, but when I looked at, like, when Hetalia was released and everything... well, it just sorta had to be.
Finally, one more point - I am taking Spanish classes. However, I am far from being fluent, and I did not know what the verb for "to stop" was. According to Google Translate, it's "detener", and using my limited Spanish skills when it came to commands, I made it "detene". So, for anyone who actually speaks Spanish - is that something a police officer might shout at, say, a thief? Am I conjugating it right? Is it reflexive, so I'd say like "detenete" or something?
Anyways, next chapter should come in two weeks or so. I hope you enjoyed!
~Whisperwing~
