American Trains

Ch. 2: Limeys and Loons

A/N: Wow, speed wrote this! I have to bump the rating now that I've introduced Arthur who I've deemed to have a filthy mouth. Teehee. Also, frustrated Al might be OOC; I just ran with it and besides, he's pretty PO-ed. Everyone's had a bad day... this is Alfie's. ;)

Warning: This story will contain: violence, character death, swearing, sexual acts (yaoi/slash/boyxboy, whatever you want to call it) and some sensitive material.

Hetalia and all its characters, etc. belong to Himayura Hidekaz. I own nothing but the plot, the cowboys and their horses. ;)

Beta-ed by ykwyh26 (Kay). :)

Mild warning for swearing! D:

Alfred blinked and pushed his glasses back to sit properly on his nose.

"What did ya call me?" He inquired, a confused look on his face. What in the name of Texas is a 'git?'

The tangled man on the ground just growled out a frustrated noise and thrashed more, slicing his legs open further. After one last final and defiant kick along with a deadly glare at the offending barbwire, he looked up at the cowboy looming over him upon a sturdy looking horse.

"Never mind, just help me out of this, would you?" The man sighed in exasperation, gesturing to his bloody, tangled limbs.

Alfred could clearly see the barbwire was heavily rusted but still painfully sharp and dust was caking around the open cuts, yet the man on the ground seemed more frustrated than in pain.

The cowboy voiced the thought as he dismounted and led his horse to a nearby bush and very loosely tied the loop of the reins about the main stalk. Not that the horse would wander off. The bright animal was well trained and was quite attached to Alfred, but still, caution was a good philosophy out here.

"You're a tough one, ain't ya?" Alfred commented with a tired chuckle. "Most folks stop strugglin' when it starts hurtin'." Kneeling, he gave the tangled mess of rusted metal, squirming legs and dirt a quick look-over to find a good place to start.

The other man swore again as Alfred settled his gloved fingers around a length of wire and tugged experimentally.

"That bloody fucking hurt!" He growled out, and Alfred withdrew his hand with a swift apology. The shorter blond dismissed the cowboy's apology with a grunt and let the man return to trying to untangle his limbs: the occasional tug or too-firm hand making him wince painfully and swear lowly.

Alfred worked sluggishly, exhaustion making his already clumsy hands even more uncoordinated. The silence besides pained noises from the tangled man wasn't helping his sleepy mind any either.

"You got a name?" Alfred asked, never raising his eyes from his work as he attempted to keep himself from falling asleep on his knees.

"Kirkland." The emerald eyed man grunted out in pain as Alfred pulled a sharp bit of barb from his knee.

"Huh?" The blond cowboy glanced up, eyelids heavy and the tangled man narrowed his eyes.

"I said, 'Kirkland.' My name is Arthur Kirkland." He said sharply, making sure the drowsy American heard him this time. Alfred bobbed his head in understanding and freed another length of wire from Arthur's limbs.

"Nice to meet ya, Mr. Kirkland. You can call your new hero Alfred." He said with a lethargic smile. "Alfred F. Jones, y'know, if you want the full thing?"

Arthur scoffed. "Hero? Hardly a fit title for a lowly cattle driver." He commented wryly, appearing to examine a weed sprouting up near his left hand. The soft tugging and hands at his legs suddenly stopped and the tangled man glanced to Alfred with a cocked eyebrow.

The cowboy had guessed his appearance had given away his profession, but still, did he really look 'lowly?'

Alfred fixed a stern, annoyed look on his face and a scowl to match it, but his clear, blue eyes clearly showed hurt and something else.

Frustration maybe?Arthur thought. Alfred rose to his feet and dusted off his chaps.

"Have fun untanglin' yourself, Mr. Kirkland, sir." He said stiffly and backed away to reach for the reins of his horse.

Arthur sputtered indignantly and forcefully swallowed his pride. Damn it, he would not be beat by a poor excuse for fencing and some dusty American bloke! "A-ah lad, err, Alfred, wait!"

Alfred glanced back, barely restraining a victorious grin.

"Huh?" He asked a bit too innocently and the emerald-eyed blond was quick to notice the twitch at the corner of his lips as well.

"Bloody Hell, American! You simply cannot leave me like this!" He shouted, thick brows furrowed. Alfred laughed and blinked sleep off again to walk back over to Arthur, kneel and begin to work again.

"Don't worry, I wouldn't have left ya. Wouldn't want the coyotes and snakes to get ya, now would I?" He commented over a yawn while completely freeing the tangled man's left leg.

Arthur sighed in relief, rolling his ankle and flexing his leg out. Once the first leg was liberated, Alfred found it much easier to free the other limb. Giving one final tug, he pulled the last length of fencing away before tossing it off into some odd colored bush.

"Finally!" Arthur breathed out and fell back onto his shoulder blades to look up at the clear sky in relief. His legs stung badly and the muscles and tendons in said limbs were sore and stretched and cramped all at once, but at least he was free of that awful length of barbwire.

"Thank you, Alfred."

The cowboy shrugged, though the smaller blond didn't see it.

"'s nothin'." He said casually and yawned again. "So how'd ya get all tangled up... and why do ya talk funny like that? You a foreigner or somethin'?"

Arthur sat up, fingers clenched in the dirt.

"I do not 'talk funny,'" Arthur drawled out darkly, imitating Alfred's light Midwestern accent. "I'm from England and back home we don't butcher the Queen's English as you beastly Americans do." He continued, switching back to his natural accent.

Alfred frowned deeply. The snobbish higher-than-thou attitude was starting to grate on his already raw nerves. The cowboy got back to his feet, glowering down at the Englishman, still on his back propped by his elbows. Arthur glared back up at him with a steady defiance and it only infuriated Alfred even more.

"Y'know what, ya tea-sippin' limey? I haven't known ya anymore than I've known that damned bush over there," he jerked his thumb to where he'd thrown the barbwire. "And I'm thinkin' I like 'im a lot more than you!" He shouted, eyes glittering fiercely under the starlight.

Arthur found that those angry, hurt eyes trapped him and he didn't speak for a moment but continued to stare the cowboy down, even if he was the one looking up. His shoulders shrugged.

"I don't need the approval of a brute like yourself." He finally said with a cocky smirk. He opened his mouth to continue but caught the feral glint in Alfred's eyes and suddenly shut his mouth, unable to bark out another insult under the intense glare.

The cowboy reveled in the fact the sharp-tongued Brit was silent and Alfred continued, his anger from the day releasing in waves venting out to the foreign stranger.

"I spend my whole day, every day, sittin' in a saddle, gettin' dust blown up in my eyes and cuts and bruises in some real uncomfortable places. I deal with the most sour, dirty-mouthed brutesya ever seen and I don't mean the cattle. They's a real piece a work themselves, and I do it all fer some money scraps to go boozin' on 'cause I can't afford nothin' else!"

By now, the American's chest was heaving as he shouted, gesturing wildly and he barely noticed as his hat slipped from his head but the leather tie and bead kept holding it around his neck. Somehow his glasses became askew as well and he found himself subconsciously fixing them.

"And then ya got the nerve to bash my job like I'm some kind a' low life just 'cause I don't got some clean job and actually work hard for my livin' while you got time to go a' walkin' the desert and bein' stupid and gettin' caught up in old wire like some sort 'a stupid rabbit pup who don't know how to keep out 'a hunter's trap!" The American found his usually light and controlled accent going wild with his words but didn't care much. He was more venting to himself and the desert night now more than to Arthur anyway.

When he finally finished he was breathing heavy, and had his teeth slightly bared in a rabid sneer. That had felt incredible: just shouting and screaming at the offending stranger and the desert. He felt like a terrible weight was finally off his chest and he dropped his head with a light sigh.

"You're a fucking loon!" Arthur suddenly exclaimed and burst into hearty laughter, throwing his head back. Alfred looked up quickly, fists clenched as his pent up anger flared back up, but it melted away again as he watched Arthur smile genuinely and get to his feet. Now he was just tired, the adrenaline from a few moments ago winding down.

The Brit continued to chuckle softly as he dusted what he could from his limbs. He limped forward and clapped his hand roughly on the taller blond's shoulder. Alfred watched him, dumbfounded.

Arthur seemed to take that as a means to continue and smirked.

"I'll excuse your attitude for tonight and blame it on the fact you look like Hell and likely had a poor excuse for a day." He said and clapped the American's shoulder again, moving toward Alfred's horse.

The shorter patted the mount as he approached and smoothed his fingers over the animal's neck. Before the cowboy could protest Arthur swung himself astride the horse, who shifted under his weight and swiveled its ears.

The American felt his jaw drop open and he stared in awe. This fellow had some nerve! Insulting me, calling me a bird, then borrowing my horse, who the Hell does that?

Arthur roused him from his thoughts with a snort.

"Well? Are you coming or not, git?"

The cowboy was just too tired to even argue at this point. The adrenaline spike the yelling had given him had worn out and the day's exhaustion hit him like a brick.

In silence he undid the tie of the reins, slid them back over the horse's neck and climbed up in the saddle in front of Arthur, who'd inched back to make room for the cowboy.

Shifting his hat back onto his head, not bothering to glance back at his passenger, Alfred set his horse back to camp at a smooth pace. This had definitely been a long, strange night.

This chapter has little to nothing to do with plot other than to glue Arthur to Alfie. ;) Oh well, I enjoyed making Alfie vent in a Midwestern drawl. Might be a lot more of that next chapter too, apologies in advance!

Reviews are oh so lovely, I found myself squealing at the first few I ever received!

A loon is a bird. Alfie didn't quite get the insult (blame it on the lack of sleep. Hehe).

Fitting two fully grown men on a single western riding saddle is a bit squishy, or so I'd imagine. I've only ever had another girl ride behind me and I felt like my personal space bubble was being suffocated. Haha, just a funny thought to imagine those two... *shrugs*