Disclaimer: No, Tomatoes and Turtles do not own Axis Powers Hetalia or the idea of the fanfiction at all. Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya. The original concept was inspired by a prompt from Hetalia kink meme (though there is a major difference between that and our fanfic) and premise of the fanfic belongs to Alowl. All we did was take her idea (with permission, of course) and ran in the opposite direction. However, the prologue and the first two chapters are based scenes from her original story.

Okay, we're a little late here, sorry about that. Holiday preparations and exam prep can be very distracting. Still happy to know that people are reading this and enjoying it. Hope you guys like this one too!

Chapter Five: Collaborators

The self proclaimed "Awesomest Man Alive" had a nasty grin on his face as he wildly ran through the forest. Now, while he may have been grinning, Gilbert Beilschmidt was in a rotten mood. The albino man had actually been minding his own business (literally – he was looking after the Gilbirds and everything!) when a bandit stole his bag of money that had fallen off of his belt for the umpteenth time that day. Luckily for the bird keeper, he caught sight of the thief just as he made away with his hard earned money.

There were pros and cons to consider, he thought as he ran through the forest. The con being, if he didn't catch this bastard soon, he'd miss the closing time for food businesses in the village – which meant that he would have to hunt for his dinner the old fashioned way. The pro to this was that he liked a good chase now and then – especially if it was challenging. Eventually, Gilbert had stopped at a clearing to catch his breath – and because he knew that the bandit was nearby. His blood red eyes scanned his surroundings. Moments passed, when suddenly –

There!

He saw a flash of red – the same dull red the bandit was wearing. Incensed by the lead, the former Implacable Man moved faster than he did in the past few minutes he was chasing the man. When he saw the back of the bandit, he pulled his sword out and jumped, ready for the slash. Not many could block his attack, so it was a pleasant surprise when the thief turned around and managed to throw him off.

"You're pretty good - you know, for a thief," he sneered at the men dressed in red. The apparent thief had blond hair and an expensive looking outfit, albeit it was more battered than what he usually saw on nobles. But he does a crappy job of taking care of his stuff, he inwardly commented.

"Thief? I think you've made a mistake," the man in question replied with a defiant smile on his face. He strengthened his stance and pointed his sword at Gilbert. Suddenly, a barrage of fire balls emerged from the sword. "The only thief here is you!"

The bird keeper swiftly evaded the bombardment, hanging on a branch to help gain him some momentum before his next attack. At the highest peak, he let go of the limb and raised his sword above the blond warrior, using gravity to strengthen the blow. "Whoa, whoa, hey, man! You're the one that stole my money!"

The maybe-thief quickly met the attack, holding up his sword in front of him to defend. In the brief second when the steel swords clashed, the enemies met each other's eyes, red meeting blue in determination. The not-bandit then quickly fended off Gilbert's sword, the albino tripping a few steps back before regaining balance again.

"I'm not the kind of guy that would want money," the probably-not-the-thief continued to launch more fire attacks at him. "What I do need is the dagger you took from me!"

The bird keeper knew that not everyone could fight that well against him – the fire magic packed quite a punch, and the kid wasn't too bad for a beginner (Gilbert could just tell that the kid was self taught). This definitely wasn't the thief – but that wasn't going to stop him.

This wasn't even about dinner money anymore; now he was just doing it for fun. Gilbert tried provoking the boy by dodging the blows nonchalantly with a smirk on his face. It was probably successful, as the fire user degraded into using physical sword slashes instead of fire attacks.

But judging by the earnest determination on the kid's face, he was having just as much fun as he was.

"Come on!" he grunted between blows – blows that Gilbert continued to dodge. "Stop dodging and face me!"

"No," Gilbert drawled as he got more artistic in evading his blows. An actual thief (that he wasn't looking for) he knew would be proud. "I think messing with a newbie like you would be more fun." Gilbert thought that would've provoked him even more, but hearing the taunt somehow resulted in the inexperienced fire user to abruptly stop his blind attack.

"Hey, do you know what would be more fun?" the not-thief eagerly asked as he panted. "Settling this with last one blow – no magic. What do you say?" Ever the combat pragmatist, Gilbert considered the pros and cons. And then he threw it all out the proverbial door – because it sounded challenging, of course.

"Sounds interesting," he smirked yet again. He walked with purpose to one end of the forest. "So? Let's get started."

"Now we're talkin'," the fire user did the same.

The not-thief readied his sword in position. Gilbert did as well. The air was tense. The very forest shuddered in anticipation of what was to happen. The reckless fire user ran, yelling a battle cry. The albino did the same, but with no battle cry – because that wasn't practical (and because it didn't sound cool). The two's swords were about to collide when suddenly –

A chorus of cheers rang through the forest.

The unnamed fire user and the red eyed man stopped in their tracks. A rough slur could be heard from where they were standing.

"Good work, men! They fell right into our trap! They're fighting it out as we speak! " A roar of laughter could be heard from the forest on Gilbert's left.

"Now we've got their bag of loot and this dagger."

Gilbert and the not-thief exchanged a look that said, 'ah-ha!'

"Hey, boss! Can we watch them kill each other?" a voice asked. Gilbert and the fire user gave each other another look of silent acknowledgement. They quietly headed in the direction of the voices.

"I've got a better idea, boss! Let's go steal the rest of their stuff after they kill each other," suggested another. At that point the previously squabbling men saw their targets in their sights and placed their blades lightly at the throats of the nearest bandits. That was when the celebrations quieted down to the point where you could hear a pin drop.

"We've got an even better idea, scum," Gilbert said with enough malice to send a shiver down the bandits' spine.

"How about you give us our stuff back and we won't hurt you," the no-named fire user suggested with a mischievous grin. "Too badly, that is." At that, the thieves whimpered and begged for mercy. But if they knew the two men, they would've known that it was futile.

"Hey kid," Gilbert said over the many whimpers. "How about a new game? The guy who catches the most bandits wins."

The kid's grin widened as he replied, "Awesome! Let's do it!"

And so, this was how Gilbert Beilschmidt and Alfred Jones spent the rest of the afternoon. When they rounded up all the thugs, it turned out that the contest ended in a tie. They retrieved their stolen possessions and brought the thieves back to Alfred's campsite. It was getting dark by the time they got there. When they finished settling down, all of the captured bandits managed to escape – not that the two fighters cared, or anything. It was just a competition, after all. It was nightfall by the time Gilbert and Alfred settled down in front of the fire as both previously agreed to hunt for food for their dinner.

"So what's a guy like you doing all the way out here?" Gilbert tore into the cooked deer leg, his mouth full as he spoke. Alfred, who was used to doing the same, was able to understand him well enough, gave him a surprised look.

"What do you mean by that?"

"I mean, you're obviously a rich guy – or you wouldn't be wearing such high quality material and waltzing around with such a valuable looking sword." He shifted into a more comfortable position on the log he was sitting on. "Guys like you have easier ways of travel and take better care of their fancy outfits – so what's your story?"

Even if he did it often, Alfred didn't like lying to people – and he didn't like keeping secrets from them either. He also knew that Gilbert was a formidable fighter – the kind of guy that he and Arthur were looking for. He could introduce him to Arthur just to prove him wrong about being incompetent.

As he spent most of his day waiting for the paralysis spell to fade away and then getting lost in the forest, it gave him time to think about how Arthur had a point about his behaviour. For the time, he admitted that he had a point, but no more. He swore that he would be productive and that he wouldn't argue with Arthur anymore if it continued like the way it did earlier. And maybe if Alfred told Gilbert about his situation, he might agree to join them. With that in mind he began to tell his story.

"Did you hear about how the North decimated Westerius?" The light mood became heavy as Gilbert had a dark expression of recognition at the news.

"Yeah. I heard that barely any of them survived. Apparently, no one can find the King or Prince – who I hear was some fire magic prodigy." Gilbert's grim expression turned into a face of confusion. "Why'd you bring up the subject?"

"You saw how well I used the fire today, right?"

"I'll give you some credit, kid," Gilbert admitted. "Not many guys could fling fireballs around like that."

"Would you believe me if I told you that I was the missing prince?"

He gave Alfred a good look in the eye as if he was looking for any trace of a lie. "I might, but you're going to have to convince me on this one." Alfred was surprised to hear that he being given a chance.

He was grateful for Gilbert's willingness to listen. Truth be told, the bloodthirsty warrior was smarter than he looked, at least, according to the prince. Thankful that he had been given a chance, the alleged prince recounted the tale of the sins of a father, the delayed reaction in the form of an invasion, and Arthur's supposed plan to fix everything.

It wasn't easy telling this to a stranger that he had just met, but as he continued to tell his story, Alfred realized that just talking about his troubles made him feel slightly better – better than he'd felt ever since his kingdom was destroyed. And somehow, he had a strange feeling that telling Gilbert would mean no harm.

"Quite a story you got there. And it sounds like it's got some truth to it."

"I'm not the kind of guy to look a gift horse in the mouth, but what is it about the story that got you to believe me?"

As Alfred told his tale, Gilbert instantly knew that he wasn't joking around. It was the way he spoke about his brother that convinced him of the authenticity – and not because his story really hit home (more than he would admit). He didn't go about actually telling him that, but brought something else to the prince's attention.

"Because it sounds a lot like your brother's under a Slave Spell," Gilbert grimly answered. Alfred's face paled at the conclusion, prompting his next question.

"How do you know?"

"It's the markings on the neck you mentioned. There aren't a lot of spells that leave marks there. And take my word for it," he bitterly said. "The guys from the North are one of the only ones who still use Slave Spells as a normal practice."

"Then I really do need all the help I can get – to save my brother and to avenge everyone who died because Arthur made the stupidest decision of his life." The prince's face had none of the sunny mask he usually wore and was full of determination instead. "You're a strong fighter, and you're the type of guy who could really help us out. What do you say?"

It was an understatement to say that the albino didn't mind the opportunity presented to him. This was the opportunity he didn't know he was still waiting for - A way to overthrow that fur coated megalomaniac and stop all of the atrocities that his followers had done, he thought, a vicious sneer ready to form on his face.

He looked at the boy in front of him. It was true to say that Alfred was a fire prodigy and that he could use a sword well enough, but if he wanted to fight against the North, he still had a long way to go with his swordsmanship. Instead of the sneer threatening to break out on his face, a sly smile curled on instead.

"Why not? Sounds like my kind of fun. And besides," he tapped the golden hilt of the plain sword beside the prince. "Somebody's gotta teach you how to use this thing properly."

It was just as planned.

Francis really wanted to say that at the moment, but he knew that his career could never be predictable enough to stick to plans. Life always seemed to have a curve to throw or a snag to pull. Even so, that never stopped the Thief Lord from trying.

Yes, Francis was a thief.

Which was why income was so hard to come by. But he really wouldn't have had it any other way.

Take today, for instance. He had planned to go to the infamous and impregnable Zimoi Fortress in Vechnaya Zima – better known as the Northern kingdom. He was supposed to sneak in from a hidden passage and find the room that his target resided. The objective of the heist was something the Terrans called un-meltable ice. It was something so rare in the Southern queendom – because it was apparently great material for magic users to work with – that it would be able to make enough money to support him for years.

While it would be quite lucky for him to successfully pull the heist off, his luck was starting to run out yet again, seeing as his informants gave him the wrong room. Then whatever fortunes he had left turned rotten when he heard someone – more likely to be guards – coming his way. That was another thing that his informants got wrong as well – they'd sworn that no one patrolled, or even came down this hallway – ever! So in a panic, he swiftly sneaked into the first room he laid his eyes on – which led him to the current snag that life pulled.

Unfortunately, he locked himself into a bedroom – with an occupant sleeping in it! That was where Francis drew the line. He decided to find an exit and try to get his prize again some other day. Francis started to look around for potential escape routes when he laid his eyes in the corner of the room opposite to him.

That was when the thief felt his luck coming back. In that corner was a vase – but not just any vase. It was a vase made of un-meltable ice! He tiptoed as quickly and quietly as he could to the table where his one-way ticket to a work free year was located. He was about to make a grab for it when he heard a whimper coming from his right.

It was the occupant, and now that the thief had a better look, it was revealed to be a young man, obviously suffering from a nightmare. Francis began to wonder why the boy was here in the first place. Everyone knew for a fact that the "Master" of the North did not want to have children. As the boy settled down, Francis got curious and decided to get a good look at him.

He seemed to be in the middle of his teen years, with a pale face, almost like snow. The boy's hair was almost like his – wavy and blond (albeit a little darker), ending a little past his chin. In fact, the younger blond looked a lot like him when he was his age. He bet that if the boy was awake, his eyes would be revealed to be some variant of blue – like almost everyone in his family. His train of thought was suddenly stopped when the boy's blank face twisted into panic yet again. Fearing that the boy might awaken, the thief backed away into his original corner. And as he did so, he could hear the boy whimper and moan in his sleep.

"H-help me… Alfred…Father…please, make it stop…"

Now he was really curious. Alfred? A boy who eerily looked like him? It couldn't be a coincidence. He couldn't possibly be…

He snapped himself out of his thoughts yet again as he internally slapped himself for not focusing on his escape. He heard nothing coming from the hallway, so he assumed that the people who passed by earlier left. Taking a deep breath, he felt as if he was ready to use the door (which he really hoped that wasn't locked anymore). Francis' hand was making its way towards the glass doorknob when –

"How did you get in here, thief?"