Thanks to Jalie96, Jetfires girl, CuteLikeMomiji, Deikuru, and phomma-chan for the reviews!
And I would reply to them but I don't know if I'd only be bothering people.
AND TY TO JALIE96 FOR THE PRONOUN ERRORS I SUCK AT THAT SORRY I LOOK AT TWO THINGS AT ONCE.

Chapter 5: There's no escape from you
Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia. I wish Tokyopop didn't crash so I could have bought volume 3.

My favourite thing is to go where I have never gone.
Diane Arbus

The sound of shattering glass was a most deafening sound, the crunch of hard metal against the tree the finale and the sound of the car horn only a small addition to the symphony of disaster. The air bags had failed to deploy, but Arthur was okay because some where along the drive Alfred had sobered up and stated that even though they were heroes, no hero was too good for a seatbelt. Arthur finds himself in a totally surreal state, still not able to fully comprehend anything probably because he is still drunk. But somewhere in his brain he knows that something is wrong, but he feels alright. He starts to laugh, only adding to the blare of the horn.

"It's a miracle Alfred! Everything is fine. Now you've got some war scars to show that girlfriend of yours."

Arthur's conscious is thanking God, thanking God for keeping him and Alfred safe. It seems like the right thing to do. But Alfred still has yet to say anything.

"Alfred?"

There is still no response.

Arthur turns to the right, turns towards the passenger seat, turns towards Alfred. Immediately his thoughts that God has protected them have vanished, and his belief in God has disappeared as well.

Arthur opened his eyes and stared at the tiles of the ceiling. It was the dead of the night, but in his peripheral vision he noticed a soft glow. His gaze traced to where the light was coming from, and there he saw Matthew sitting at the edge of the bed, a hand covering his ear. In the dim light Arthur saw the corner of Matthew's mouth quirk into a smile.

"Don't be giving him a hard time, eh? I called him and asked him to check up on you, so stop bitching at him, I can hear you all the way in Belgium." A brief pause and Arthur heard sharp squeaking sounds, which was enough evidence to let him know that Matthew was talking on the phone.

"Be nice, okay? He's my friend. And no, no Soviet Russia jokes." Matthew paused, contemplating something else. "And don't you dare think of sneaking out either. How would I know if you snuck out?... I asked him to watch you for a reason, and I told him that he may even use… physical means of keeping you there. Yeah, he'll call me even if you thinkof sneaking out. And by any chance you do sneak out, you'll have to face me,and I promise you I'll be even worse then him."

Matthew's tone had an unusual tinge of something that Arthur had not heard before. He couldn't quite place how, but Matthew's speech had changed, along with the air around him.

"Thank about it this way; you'll be like Joan of Arc. Oh god, do you honestly not know who she is? She's like my hero! Oh yeah, there you go off again, spouting your hero shit again. I can't believe you don't know who she is, we even read a novel about her."

What was added in Matthew's way of talk, besides the insistent swearing? Matthew sighed, but it wasn't one of exasperation, but one filled with nostalgia. As if this conversation reminded Matthew of better times.

"Of course the only thing you would remember was that she had big and lovely breasts. Whatever, just research her. Oh fine, I'll spoon feed you like the little baby you are. She was a virgin, just like you,and will stay that way forever."

Now Arthur knew what was different. When speaking to this person Matthew was more intimate and spoke more like a teenager. He spoke with an absolute fondness, and he was careless with his speech, and the aloofness that guarded Matthew like a brick wall was gone. It was replaced with what would seem to be a genuine happiness. At this moment, during this dark hour of the morning, with whomever this may have been and for the first time throughout all the time Arthur had been with him, Matthew seemed so realistic, so vulnerable, so human.

It was unnerving.

"Oh, you really have to go now? Okay, yeah I don't mind. I'll call you back later." Stay. That's what Matthew's tone of voice pleaded, and though the word was not said out loud, Arthur knew that was what he meant.

"I love you too. Bye." There was the clack of a phone closing, and Arthur saw that Matthew was placing the phone on the nightstand, next to his glasses. Arthur continued to lie on the couch, not daring to move. He did not want to show any indications that he was awake; he felt as if he were an unwanted guest, an intruder who had just eavesdropped on a very intimate moment. But the light of the night stand did not go off, and Matthew sat there on the bed, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. Then he turned to the couch.

"How much did you hear?" What should Arthur do? Pretend he was asleep? That probably would have been the best idea. Instead he replied.

"Not much." Only too much.

"Sorry for waking you." No, thank you Matthew. You've spared me from reliving the most dreadful moment of my life. But those were unspoken, and instead he said, "Who would call you at such a late hour?"

"Someone across the ocean. Someone in Detroit."

Matthew stared out the hotel window, as if perhaps he could see North America from Belgium. As if he could see Detroit.

"Who were you talking to on the phone?"

The lamp was turned off with a pull of the string and Arthur could hear the ruffling of bed sheets.

"Go to sleep" Matthew stated, avoiding the question. "We have to get up in 6 hours."

But Arthur did not sleep. He couldn't, not with that turbulent feeling in his stomach. And the rustling from the bed had told him that Matthew was restless as well. Was he perhaps still very sick? Should Arthur try to comfort him, or would he be stepping over the boundaries of friendship? Once again, against his better judgement, he slipped under the covers of Matthew's bed. If he was awake, he made no protests.

They were only friends, this was all meaningless. Arthur repeated that phrase in his mind until he was able to fall asleep.

They were now walking through the streets of Antwerp, this being their final time. Matthew was only wearing a light jacket, and fall was nearing right around the corner. Didn't Matthew have school?

"I didn't think Europe was as cold as Canada." Ignorance was bliss, or in Matthew's case, death.

"Here" Arthur said, as he undid the buttons of his trench coat. Matthew immediately realized what he was doing and sped up his pace.

"I don't want your coat." Stubborn brat.

"You're sick."

"So?"

"So take better care of yourself, git." The coat was off, and Arthur tried his best as he could to catch up with Matthew, his luggage trailing behind him.

"You're not immortal!" He called out to him in a last desperate attempt, which worked because Matthew paused and turned around.

"And because we are mortal, the world is so beautiful. The moment we are born, we are doomed to die."

Arthur was dumbstruck and Matthew used this as an opportunity to take the coat, but he didn't put it on, he merely held on to it.

Finally recovered, Arthur stated, "If I had written down several of the things you have said to me, and said nothing about your age, people would have mistaken you for someone old, or someone who is about to die. Or maybe someone stuck in an infinite sorrow. You're a depressing person to hang around."

To this, Matthew laughed.

"I am a mirror. I reflect the personality of the person I'm with, which would make us two boring people."

Was that a compliment or was it an insult, because Arthur felt insulted. And it was odd. Whenever Arthur spoke to Matthew, he felt as if the conversation always sounded as if they were reciting the stanza's of a poem. A poem where someone has lost something important, something they couldn't live without. But they both must have lost something. Young people aren't supposed to be so cynical.

The train was fairly large but wasn't extravagant. Four seats were going down in rows and an aisle dividing them into two columns. Arthur and Laura sat beside each other, and were among the lucky passengers to get a seat with a table in front. Laura's wheel chair was neatly tucked under the table and she sat at the window seat. Opposite and sitting diagonally across from Arthur was a young man with short black hair with an unusual curl sticking out, and dark brown eyes that were focused on the laptop on the table in front of him. He was furiously typing and taking advantage of the wifi before the train would pass through another tunnel.

Beside him sat a girl with short blonde hair that was held back from her face with two blue clips. The first thing Arthur noticed was that her blue eyes were staring fondly at a picture she held in her hand. But if Arthur was honest, he would have said that the first thing he noticed was that she had big breasts – there was no point in using fancy words to get around it. Laura seemed to notice them as well, because her eyes were fixated on them. No, Laura and Arthur weren't perverts, it's just that this girl's breasts were so large they just couldn'tbe seen.

Because Matthew had bought his ticket separately from theirs, he was seated up at the front. Arthur had no qualms against using Lars' ticket that he bought; it was crack money after all. His only problem was that he felt as if he had swindled Matthew out of a free train ride. He would pay him back, some how. Speaking of Matthew, how was he doing? He was still sick, wasn't he? And Arthur would only be a gentleman if he checked up on him, correct?

Arthur politely excused himself and walked up to the aisles near the front. He spotted Matthew's blonde hair and made towards him. Matthew was seated beside a young man who seemed to be of oriental descent, but not the same as the one that was on the laptop. This young man also had black hair and dark brown eyes and had earphones plugged into both ears. The sound was loud and blaring something indistinctly Japanese. Arthur's eyes went over to Matthew, whose head was up against the window and his eyes were closed. Arthur beamed, because Matthew had laid Arthur's trench coat over himself like a blanket.

"Do you need something, Mr…" Arthur looked down and saw that the young Asian man had unplugged one ear phone and was staring directly at him. Remembering his manners, Arthur stuck out his hand.

"Kirkland. Arthur Kirkland."

The Asian man hesitated, and then took Arthur's hand.

"Ah, hello Kirkland-san. I am Kiku Honda." A Japanese accent. No doubt this man was Japanese, or as Alfred would have put it, No shit Sherlock.

"Do you need something?" Kiku repeated, his eyes wandering about.

"No, I was just checking up on my friend." Arthur gestured towards the sleeping figure beside Kiku.

"You are a friend of Matthew-san?" Don't you mean Williams-san? If he's Matthew-san, why aren't I Arthur-san? You can't know him that well we've only been on this train for three hours and the lad is already asleep.

"Yes. We have been travelling together for quite some time now." Arthur eyed Matthew's sleeping figure again. "Hopefully, one would not take advantage of Matthew while he's asleep, or I'll have quite a mess on my hands." A subtle threat that Arthur would be sure to follow through.

Kiku seemed to notice the warning tone because his reply was polite but unmistakably cold.

"It never crossed my mind to do such to Matthew-san, if that is what you were implying. And sometimes it is those who we have known the longest that can harm us the most." Kiku's eyes stared directly into Arthur's. "You would do well to remember that, Kirkland-san." Kiku made an extra-emphasis on the Kirkland part and Arthur knew that he had over stayed his welcome. He nodded, and trudged his way back to his seat, holding on to the back of chairs for support. Laura awaited Arthur's arrival eagerly.

"Welcome back Arthur. Look! I've made a friend." Laura gestured with her hand towards the blonde girl. Obviously it wasn't the Asian because he was still entranced with whatever he was doing on his laptop.

"Arthur, this is Sofia Braginski. Sofia, this is Arthur Kirkland."

Arthur shook hands with Sofia, who had kind eyes and a meek smile. Then the two girls went back into their conversation previous before Arthur's return. He pulled a journal and pen out of his bag, hoping that he would be able to come up with something for a story. He couldn't help but over hear their conversation though.

"Ooo" Laura cooed. "So you were born in Ukraine, then your parents moved to Russia and had your little brother."

"Yes," Sofia responded, still looking at the photo in her hand that Arthur had seen her staring at before. "My parents then left us with our grandparents to vacation in Belarus. My mother had a bit of an affair, and soon my youngest sister Natalya was born."

Arthur tried to block the two out as he jotted down ideas for a story, but none of them were sticking with him. What could he write? He briefly looked outside the window for inspiration but gained none. All he noticed was how the scenery passed by like a blurb. And then it hit him like a train on a track. An adventure, he would write an adventure. About what and who though?

"Why aren't your siblings traveling with you?"

Sofia softly sighed. "Natalya is currently studying in America. Ivan was supposed to come with me but there was an emergency and he had to head to Detroit."

Sofia had a soft voice, one almost as soft as Matthew's. But Arthur tried to block out that thought. What could Arthur write about? Then he thought about Alfred. He cringed at the thought, but continued to think. The pain in his heart was still as constant as before, but Arthur was used to it. Alfred went on many adventures. He would always boast about that. There was one adventure that had intrigued Arthur the most though, and it was one where Alfred said he had ran away from home and hopped on the subway, going as far as he could. Even though Alfred would call Arthur almost every day during that time, he believed it all to be a lie. Alfred was just as good as telling stories as him. Still, for a lie, it all sounded pretty interesting.

"What kind of emergency?"

"A close friend of ours is in the hospital. I really wish I could have gone with Ivan, but he insisted that the business meeting was important and that I stay."

Didn't Alfred also say that he met the love of his life during that little trip? Arthur would be sure to do them both justice and write her in. But what did she look like? What did she act like?

"That's unfortunate. I'm sorry."

"It's okay, he's a strong man. I'm sure he'll tough it out and will be better in no time. I truly hope he does."

At that time the waiter came by with a selection for lunch. Arthur wasn't particularly hungry so he only ordered fish and chips. Laura and Sofia both had a sandwich while that young Korean man (Arthur had heard the young man had swore under his breath in Korean) was too immersed in his laptop to notice the waiter.

"Sofia you speak English so well. Did you take a course somewhere?"

"You think my English is good? I don't. But I studied in Canada for quite some time. I am proud to say that I am a Canadian citizen."

Alfred did once mention that his girlfriend was soft spoken and shy at first, but the more you got to know her, the more open she had become. Now what would she have looked like?

"Arthur, your food is going to get cold."

"Thank you for reminding me, Laura."

Arthur set his journal down on to the table next to the photo that Sofia had finally let go of so she could eat her sandwich with both hands. When Arthur saw the photo, he felt himself pale.

"Sofia, you wouldn't mind if I took a look at your photo?" Oh bloody hell, bloody, bloody hell.

"No, not at all."

Arthur picked up the photo cautiously as Laura watched with profound interest.

"What's wrong?" she asked, because she had probably noticed the frown tugging at Arthur's lips. What's wrong? Nothing. Nothing at all. This was just an ordinary photo of Sofia and her younger brother, because they shared the same hair colour. But there was someone standing beside Sofia, his arm draped over her shoulders. Someone with blonde hair, eyes as blue as the sky, glasses, and a bomber jacket. And not to mention that would strand of hair that stuck up where his hair parted. A boy that looked like Alfred, a young Alfred. One who was probably only 15 or 16. Laura peered over Arthur's shoulder to take a look at the photo as well, since Arthur was at the moment being non-respondent.

"Oh Sofia, you look so small! Was this photo taken at a carnival?"

Sofia chuckled and smiled. "Yes, that photo was taken three years ago at the CNE in Canada. My brother was visiting me that time, and a few friends had invited us to join them. "

Arthur remembered three years ago Alfred had called him on the phone just to announce how much fun he was having without him, and that Arthur was a pussy for not coming. To which Arthur replied that it was impossible to get to Toronto from London within a span of one hour and no, he could not just call upon his trusty horny stallion (it did exist and it was Arthur's best friend until he met Alfred, it wasn't a part of his imagination) to bring him there.

Arthur could see things, and Alfred had refused to believe him, even though he and Alfred both once helped some ghost in Switzerland named Basch find his little sister in Liechenstein (But that's another story, starting to get off topic here)

Arthur didn't want to ask who the blonde boy was. He really didn't. Because if he did…

"Who's the blonde guy? You guys look pretty close." Laura pointed towards the Alfred look-a-like in the photo.

"Him? He's a really close friend." Sofia politely asked for the photo back and gazed at the definitely not Alfred but just looks like Alfred guy.

"His friend won him that bomber jacket at one of the games, and I don't remember a day when I didn't see him wearing it."

She lightly traced her fingers over the photo and seemed as if she were about to burst into tears at any moment. Laura should just drop the subject and forget about the not Alfred. Arthur wasn't interested in talking about it, and neither was Sofia.

"Do you still talk to him?" Drop the topic Laura. Drop it.

"As often as I can. While I studied in Canada he visited very often, even though he lived in the states."

"What's his name?" Damn it Laura, you're lucky you're already a cripple. And don't answer that Sofia, don't say it. Don't you dare think about -

Sofia then burst into tears. "Feliks Lukasiewicz." She sobbed.

That sounds nowhere near Alfred F. Jones.

Arthur felt himself relax and then noticed his knuckles had gone white from while he was clenching them in anxiety.

"There, there," he said, as he reached over to stroke Sofia's hand reassuringly.

"He's in the hospital right now- Ivan is visiting him. I just wish that I was there right now, I heard he's not doing so well."

"Hush now, lass." He reached into his bag for a tissue. Hope you're happy Laura, you should have let the topic go, but instead you just had to be so bloody nose. Laura managed to find a tissue before him.

"I'm sorry" she muttered with a look of intense regret and apology on her face. She leaned over the table and dabbed at Sofia's tearful eyes with the tissue, like the way a mother would to a crying child. The young man beside Sofia took no notice to the situation, too busy playing whatever he was playing.

"I'm –I'm- I'm going to visit him as soon as I'm done with my business in Sw-Sw-Switzerland." Sofia cried.

"I'm sure Feliks will be fine. " Arthur stated.

Sofia looked up from her pitiful state with a confused look on her face.

"Feliks?..."

Arthur looked to Laura and she understood why.

"I heard Feliks too." She whispered.

Arthur turned back to Sofia.

"feliks. The blonde boy in your photo. The one with the bomber jacket."

Sofia looked at Arthur quizzically, her shoulders shaking as she sobbed. Then she half laughed half cried.

"Oh I'm sorry, I mixed up the names. I'm meeting Feliks in Switzerland." She wiped away her tears with the back of her hand, but more gushed out of her eyes.

"I meant to say Alfred. The boy in that photo is Alfred F. Jones."

At that moment the young Korean leapt up and triumphantly swung a fist into the air and yelled, "Don't mess with me bitches, I'm Im Yong Soo, king of Starcraft!"

This was a good thing, because it gave Arthur an excuse to scream.

Lars Von Dijk is Netherlands
Laura Von Dijk is Belgium
Sofia Braginski is Ukraine