Disclaimer: If you still don't know this, I'd be concerned, but I'll say it again anyways- I don't own Hetalia.
Cat and mouse is a game that Matthew never desired to play- yet for the next week, play is exactly what he did. In this instance, Gilbert played the role of cat while Matthew - Ivan too, of course- were the mouse.
Determined to get back his interesting new toy, Gilbert chased the other two around campus with an enthusiasm that seemed almost unnatural. Ivan, on the other hand showed a stubbornness beyond his years as he dragged his small Canadian friends all over the school in an attempt to avoid his German rival. While the large Russian ended up succeeding in hiding Matthew away most of the time, nothing could be done about first period physics. It became the regular routine in the mornings for the two older boys to race and see who could get to Matthew first and drag him to his morning class. If Gilbert got to him first it went like this:
"Hey, Mattie!" A German voice startled Matthew as he locked up his car, his eyes focused on the ragamuffin kitten eating tuna in his passenger seat. Spinning around, he saw Gilbert standing only a few inches behind him.
"Oh, g-good morning, Gilbert," the Canadian stuttered as he maneuvered around his odd friendemy- but Gilbert wouldn't let him get away that easily.
Grabbing his arm gently- Gilbert always learned from his mistakes- the albino steered them towards the school building, setting them a fast pace. "Lets get to class quick- before your large and rather scary stalker shows up."
Not knowing what to do, Matthew let Gilbert pull him along until they sat next to each other in the back of physics class.
If Ivan got to him first it went something like this:
A hand landed on Matthew's shoulder as he turned away from a begging Kumajirou in the driver side seat-h(e wanted more food). Jumping nearly a foot in the air, Matthew looked up to see it was only Ivan. A look of relief replaced his previous expression of shock and fear.
"Come on comrade Matvey, let's get you to your first class," Ivan said as he led his tiny friend through the crowded halls. "Try to avoid that albino ublyudok."
Once again not knowing what to do, Matthew let Ivan pull him along and supervise him getting settled in his desk. Throwing Gilbert one last glare on the way out, the Russian left to get to his own class. At the end of the period he would be back to carry Matthew away before Gilbert could attempt to make plans.
Physics quickly became Matthew's most nerve racking class.
"Roderich~" a sing-song voice called from outside Nurse Edelstien's door. After a moment of silence when no reply came, in pranced Ms. Hedervary- here to see her not-so-secret crush.
"Hello~" she called/sang. Doing a little spin that sent her hair and long skirt twirling, Ms. Hedervary came to a stop in the middle of the room. Fridays always put the Hungarian girl in a good mood. But apparently the looming presence of the weekend hadn't effected Mr. Edelstien.
The Austrian sat at his desk staring at nothing with an expression that revealed a raging internal conflict inside him. The happy-go-lucky, paint splattered Ms. Hedervary seemed shocked- usually he would've politely greeted her in his gentlemanly way and then reminded her not to get paint on any of his stuff.
"Roderich?"
At hearing his name called once again, Mr. Edelstien seemed to snap out of his reverie. After looking around for a moment, Roderich's eyes landed on Ms. Hedervary.
"Ah, Elizabeta welcome. Please refrain from getting any of your paint on my belongings," he said as he stood. "Was there something you needed?"
"No," Elizabeta replied, crossing the room to take a seat in one of the extra cozy chairs. "I just came to visit- today is Friday, you know. You're supposed to relax. You look like your going to cause yourself a brain hemorrhage from how hard you're thinking. What's bothering you?"
Sighing, Roderich walked over to the chair next to his friend and- gracefully- collapsed into it. He sat in silence for a minute, trying to think of a way to answer the question without actually telling the heavy secret he had been carrying the whole week. Finally he spoke.
"What would you do if you knew a secret that had a fifty-fifty chance of hurting or helping someone if revealed?"
Without hesitation Elizabeta replied "Gather more information until I was positive of the outcome, and if that wouldn't work take matters into my own hands and beat up whoever is causing the problem."
Roderich raised an eyebrow at his slightly eccentric friend's answer and let the silence relapse as he thought it over.
"Who exactly are talking about?" the Hungarian asked after a few minutes of quiet.
"A student," the stressed nurse simply replied.
At this Elizabeta raised her eyebrow. "You're usually so strict about medical situations- what could it be that you couldn't bring it out into the open? In any normal case you go straight to the parents, unless-" she stopped and gasped when she came to a realization. "It's not-"
"It is," Roderich cut off the shocked woman before she could say it aloud. He had already said it to himself so many times, he didn't want to hear it anymore. But even if no one said it aloud, he could still hear it chanting in his head- abuse, abuse, abuse, abuse, he's being abused, abuse, abuse . . . "I just don't want to talk about it. I'll figure something out. I can handle this."
At this moment, in walked the principle's secretary. "What can you handle?" the rather short Icelandic man said as he strode into the office. He tried to run his fingers through his silver-blonde hair, but it seemed to no avail- he had a permanent case of bed-head.
The Austrian threw his friend a warning glare as if to say Speak and you'll regret it. "Nothing Emil," he answered. "One of the students wouldn't take some medication for his stomach ache so I had to send him home early- stubborn child. It caused a few problems, but it's all in my weekly report," he gestured towards his desk when he spoke of the report.
"Well, as long as it wasn't anything serious," Emil said as he walked towards the metal desk to retrieve the report. Scooping it up, he began to scan it while he spoke. "If the parents have complaints or the boy gets worse please let me know- we'll have to make a statement. Hmm . . . What did you have to use bandages, butterfly bandages and pain ointment on? Was it something serious?"
Roderich could feel Elizabeta drilling holes into him at this statement, but he kept his eyes on the secretary. "No, it wasn't serious. The student was an excessive bleeder, so I was overly cautious in my treatment," he lied quickly.
"Okay then, everything checks out- thanks Roderich," Emil gave out his stamp of approval and headed out the door. When it closed behind him a tension flooded the room.
"What are you doing Roderich?!"
"I don't know Elizabeta! I don't know." With a weary groan, the Austrian let his head fall into his hands.
Seeing the man she had loved for nearly two years now in this state gave Elizabeta a shock- she had never seen him so disheveled or so worried. She instantly regretted snapping at him. Wanting to comfort him, she started to rub his shoulder with the cleaner of her two paint clad hands.
"I have a new student this year that you would love," she attempted to cheer him up. "He's a genius- knows how to draw with anything you could ask him to. Just your type of prodigy- he's a little too quiet for his own good, and a little too nice too. But he's as smart as they come."
Lifting his head a little, Roderich gave the kind girl by his side a smile. "He sounds stupendous- what's his name?"
"Williams. Matthew Williams."
Roderich's brow furrowed in concentration- that name seemed so familiar. Where had he heard it before? As he fished through his memories, Elizabeta kept talking.
"I'll admit, a large amount of his work has a depressing undertone but it's still beautiful. I know you love people who can be sophisticated in their art- and this kid can definitely do that. But he also has these pieces that are just overflowing with joy. And I swear, this kid has some weird quirks. He always wears long sleeves and he's got this funny curl that hangs in his face. I really like this kid, I think he could go really far, if I could just get him to be confident in his own skin."
Sitting up straight, Roderich pushed his friend's hand aside. All the color drained from his face as he remembered where he had seen this boy before. He looked at his friend with an expression full of pity and understanding. Elizabeta stopped her rambling as a feeling of dread started to spread through her.
"You're not saying- he's not-"
"Yes, he is."
Matthew slowed his car to a complete stop before he punched in the code to open the gates at the entrance of his neighborhood, Maple Grove. He still had a faint smile on his face as he drove through the wide streets beyond the metal bars that slid back into place behind him. Speeding back up, he headed for his house (although mansion would be a more appropriate word). Today had been good, other than stressing about the Ivan vs. Gilbert situation- he still didn't understand why the two Juniors were so determined to keep the other from being close to him, or why they wanted to be close to such a useless person in the first place. But other than that almost nothing bad had happened all week- the cut on his hand had healed nicely, he got A's on both the pop quizzes, and most importantly his father left on a business trip.
Yes, an entire week without a beating- it seemed too good to be true. Matthew's father wouldn't be back until Sunday which meant that for the first time in five years he could have a peaceful Saturday morning all to himself. The young Canadian could hardly believe his good luck.
Yet as the meters left until he got home turned to yards a feeling of dread started to grow. As yards turned to feet, dread turned to fear. And then he turned the last corner which blocked the view of his house to see- sitting in the driveway like a metallic, poisonous, hemiptera bug- his father's car . Thoughts of a restful weekend fled at the sight of his father's silver Corvette.
"Faire foutre! Pourquoi est-il de retour si tôt?" Matthew whispered to himself as he drew closer and closer to what awaited parked his car as best he could with his hands shaking and slowly made his way to the front door. The terrified teen dropped his keys twice before he managed to unlock and then open the wooden barrier.
Stepping inside, Matthew nearly fell over, overwhelmed by the smell of vodka and throw-up. As he hung up his coat, Matthew gently closed the door behind him and locked it. While he set his backpack down on the kitchen table he heard the clanking of bottles being disturbed and a voice called out-
"So my fucking pussy ofa son is fin'lly home?"
"Yes Papa," Matthew answered, as loudly as he could.
"Well, get tha fuck in 'ere!" The slurred voice called again.
Silent but swift- that's the way Mr. Williams likes things done, so Matthew rushed into the living room, careful not to trip on any of the empty or broken bottles that littered the floor.
I have to clean soon, Matthew thought as he looked around the trashed room that had been spotless this morning. His eyes moved from the hard wood floors covered in wrappers and bottles to the coffee table where a puddle of . . . something sat, and finally to the couch where his father sat, his red unfocused eyes trained on his son. With his unoccupied hand he reached up and grabbed the cigarette that had been dangling from the corner of his mouth. The wasted man lurched to his feet, swinging his arms to get his balance back and clutched his bottle of Absolut tighter. He took one, two, three staggered steps towards Matthew then stopped.
"D'ya know why'm here early?" he asked, his breathe making Matthew's eyes tear up. As he spoke he leaned forward and put his cigarette out with a twist on a sliver a skin exposed where Matthew's shirt had shifted out of place. The boy gasped through gritted teeth, but managed not to cry out.
"No Papa," Matthew answered, his quiet voice dropping even lower in pain and fear.
Without warning, his father drew back his arm and punch the small boy in the gut as hard as he could.
"D'n't got time to try'n hear your fuckin' quiet-ass voice," his father said while he watch without emotion as his son crumpled to the ground, clutching his stomach. "M here cause some fuckin' dumbass fucked up m' schudle, so ma meetings not 'till NEXT-WENDS-DAY!" For each syllable he shouted, he placed a kick in Matthew's side. Curling up into a ball, Matthew lay on the ground and waited for the next blows to come. But they didn't.
"Get up," he father commanded in a winded voice. When his son didn't move (because he couldn't) his face became redder and he leaned over and grabbed a fistful of Matthew's blonde hair that had come free of its tie. Yanking hard enough to drag a quick scream out of his son, Mr. Williams pulled Matthew up onto his feet. When he pulled his hand away hairs he had pulled out at the root twisted around his fingers. Leaning back his head and tilting his bottle he took a swig of vodka before leaning in until his cheek pressed against Matthew's.
"M fuckin' pissed," he hissed.
This time grabbing his arm, Mr. Williams threw Matthew down onto the couch and started to take off his belt.
"If 'nly you wera woman, then I would just fuck ya," his father muttered to himself as he wrapped one end of the belt around his hand and started using the metal end to hit his son's back over and over.
At first Matthew tried to hold in his cries, but soon he started to scream. Each place where the belt hit left a spot of red on the thin fabric that slowly spread outwards.
"S'il vous plait Papa! Arrêter!"
The moment the words past his lips, Matthew regretted them. His fathers eyes grew dark as he reached into his back pocket and pulled out a switch blade. He leaned over his son who lay panting on the couch.
"I never want to hear the language of that fucking slut come out of your fucking mouth again," he growled as he used his blade to cut off Matthew's shirt. "Of course, that's what I get for trying to marry some French bitch," his voice took on a cynical edge that erased the slur he'd had. He began to dig into the pale, soft skin of Matthew's back with the edge of the knife, leaving shallow long lines of red behind.
Matthew bit his tongue until he tasted blood, determined to stay quiet. He just had to last until his father got bored and that wouldn't take long. In fact, only a few minutes later, Mr. Williams straightened up, wiped his blade clean on Matthew's pants, and headed for the door
"I'm out of here," he muttered as he snatched up his keys and walked out the door, slamming it shut behind him.
For a moment, Matthew could only lay there gasping for air. But with the threat of his father's return hanging over him, he forced himself to get to his feet. In a daze he stumbled up the stairs, into his room and fell to the floor. Silent tears started to stream down his face. The battered Canadian didn't have the energy to stand again so he crawled over to his dresser where all his first- aid supplies sat neatly arranged.
"Ointment, hydrogen peroxide, bandages," Matthew mumbled to himself the name of each thing he grabbed. Squeezing a fair amount of the pain-relieving gel into his hands he spread it across his bruised ribs and as much of his back as he could reach. He leaned his head back against the solid wood drawers behind him and waited for the remedy to start working. One specific welt from his father's belt continued to ache right between his shoulder blades even when all the others started to go numb. With a sigh Matthew leaned forward again and grabbed to bottle of hydrogen peroxide. Unscrewing the cap, Matthew took a deep breathe and braced himself as he poured the contents of the bottle down his back. His eyes clamped shut as the fizzing liquid hit all his open cuts- stinging like hell as it fought off any germs that had slipped in. Finally he wrapped as many of his wounds that could be reached in bandages and crawled over to his bed.
It took the last of the poor boy's energy to pull himself up onto the mattress and under the covers. Drying his tears on his pillow, Matthew lay his head down and slipped into a blank unconsciousness.
Hopefully tomorrow would be better for the unfortunate child.
Translations::
Ublyudok- Bastard (Russian)
Faire foutre! pourquoi est-il de retour si tôt?- Fuck! Why is he home so early? (French)
S'il vous plait Papa! Arrêter!- Please Papa! Stop! (French)
Authors Note: I don't know why this chapter turned out so long- I just had the idea of what I wanted to happen and couldn't bring myself to take anything out. Sorry. Maybe I should've split this in half . . . I don't know. I started to loose momentum around the beginning of the beating scene, so if it sucks I apologize. I have decided on FrUk at the urging of some of my friends so that's decided! Also, my hinting at AusHun wasn't so subtle was it?
One last thing, were any of you surprise to see Iceland? Yep, all the Nordic states are going to make an appearance at some point or another . . . . .
If Google Translate screwed me over I apologize.