A/N: I know I have quite a few readers from Austria and Germany and I would just like to warn you that the end of this chapter may upset you. Please know that it is not my intention and I am sorry if I offend anyone! All of the events described by me are purely FICTIONAL and created solely for the purpose of this story's plot. I do not wish real harm upon anyone living where I mention, nor destroy landmarks. I would cry.
...xXx...
The soft soil squished beneath the soles of his feet, causing him to sink down into the earth. The blades of grass licked at his skin, leaving wet trails that tickled his ankles.
What is this? Blood?
A rumble and a gust of wind hit him, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. Was that gunfire? A canon?
The feeling hit him again and he took another step across the wet lawn. A streak of light lit up the sky, illuminating dark clouds all around him and terrifying black figures etched against the mist, surrounding him on all sides.
He spun around as a crackle erupted behind him, angry dogs nipping at his heels. He fell backwards with another gust of wind, ears going numb as echoes of more dogs screamed in the night. The saturated ground caught him with ease and his gaze caught another brilliant ray of white light snaking its way across his vision. A heavy boom followed close behind the serpent and rocked his ribcage, stealing his breath away with the wind. More blood drops rained down upon him from the side, drenching him as yet another canine howled its malicious pleasure.
He struggled to cover his face from the violence, squeezing his eyes shut against the horrors around him.
He felt something warm grab him under the arms and he found himself being slung across someone's back. He grasped around the person's neck and clung to him tightly, watching as his savior swung a mighty silver blade that sliced clean through the wall of dark silhouettes. The figure ran faster than the cutting wind, taking him deeper and deeper into the dense forest and away from the battle.
The foliage began to lighten with topaz and emerald colored light, trees and ferns dissolving out of the dark mist. The figure's tattered cloak flittered behind them and he turned to glimpse a quick profile of thick lashes. Slowing down in a clearing, the figure set him down gently on the dry grass, leaning him up against a stone jutting from the soil. His savior had his back to him for a moment before turning to face him with the same glowing emeralds as the trees and ferns.
The figure knelt down and pressed a firm hand against his chest and spoke his language in a familiar, if thick, accent.
"Ich werde dich immer beschützen."
And then he opened his eyes.
The musician blinked, lifting a hand to block the harsh rays of sunlight biting at his eyes. He yawned and rubbed his face. By how much the sky was lightened he could tell it was around early morning or so. Wait. How could he see the . . .
Austria sat up quickly, hissing at the tugging stiffness in his back, and widened his eyes.
He was lying in the center of his back yard.
How did I get out here? He leaned back on the damp grass and sighed, smoothing out his hair. He forced his mind to think back to the night before.
Switzerland had given his last amount of medicine for the night and left him to sleep. He'd woken up sometime in the night with an incredibly dry mouth and got up to get some water. He remembered walking downstairs, his house was dark and a massive thunderstorm was raging outside his sliding glass doors. He stepped over to the glass to get a better look at the lightning and—
"I must have wandered outside," he murmured, confused. Why would he do such a thing? He sighed again. "Ah well, I guess it doesn't matter now, at least I'm in one piece."
Austria stood up carefully, minding the stitches in his back. He stretched a bit and heard his joints cracking loudly. He gave a sigh and glanced around him. Despite the raging storm the night before, the morning was gorgeous. There wasn't a cloud in the bright blue sky and birds were chirping around him in the trees and bushes. There was a dewy chill in the air and the wind was picking up, but he stood there happily enough and enjoyed the wholesome feeling in his chest, instead of the normal pains. He listened to the way the breeze rustled through the trees and looked to see their limbs rocking and swaying like some kind of ritualistic dance. The red and yellow and orange leaves rustled against each other as nature's chimes and rhythmically ticked against the ground in tune with their brothers in the trees.
The Austrian gave a small smile and turned away from the tiny melody, starting towards his house. He slid the glass door open slowly—thankful he hadn't locked himself out—and peeked inside. The house was quiet and warm, showing no sign that anyone was up yet which kind of surprised him considering how early he's seen her get up. He stepped quickly inside, slightly grateful for the climate change, and locked the door behind him before heading for the staircase. He probably should change out of his damp clothes, maybe even take a shower to get the dirt smell off of him.
So he spent about an hour cleaning himself up, minding his stitches of course, and getting dressed for the day as the sun rose steadily into the sky. After he was done and felt fresh and awake, he began his way towards the kitchen to see to his growing hunger. Since he was starving, having not really eaten since lunchtime the day before, he was looking forward to breakfast with extra vigor.
He opened up the fridge and was met with bare shelves. He looked inside the containers that he put the leftovers from the other day in and spotted just enough for a meal left. I suppose Switzey and Liechtenstein had the rest last night, he thought to himself, grabbing out the containers. He scooped out the rest of the gulasch and the last dumpling onto a plate. He placed the plate into the microwave and punched in a time before pressing start and walking back upstairs to make his bed while he waited for the food to heat up.
Austria stopped in the hallway for a moment and gave a peek inside one of the other bedrooms. He spotted Liechtenstein curled up, sleeping soundly despite the light shining in on her face from the window. He silently left the little girl to her peaceful sleep and backtracked one over to the room across from his. Creaking the door open cautiously, he gave a quick glance at the sleeping blonde buried under a mountain of comforter and blankets. Switzerland was sleeping deeply, undisturbed by the sun as he had pulled the thick, velvet drapes closed across the windows.
The musician was just about to shut the door and leave the Swiss to sleep when he heard the man gasp loudly and flip over onto his side. Blinking in confusion, the Austrian tiptoed to the bed and peered over in concern. Switzerland's face was flushed and creased with what looked like pain, his bangs slick on his forehead thanks to some perspiration. He sat down on the edge of the bed.
I hope he's ok, he thought to himself. Maybe he's having a bad dream. Or . . . Austria's heart surged with a sudden panic. What if he's sick? What if I made him sick?
He quickly pressed his palm to the blonde's forehead to see if he had a fever, but since he was running one himself he couldn't tell for sure. He exhaled in frustration and pulled his hand back. He could go grab a thermometer and see if the Swiss had one that way, but he didn't want to risk waking him up. The only other way to tell if he had a fever would be to . . .
Kiss him.
Austria could feel his cheeks warming just at the thought. The lips were the greatest way to tell if someone was running a fever or not, because of the sensitive nerves under the skin. Actually, now that I think about it I believe that Vash was the one who told me that, the aristocrat thought, trying to distract himself. It wasn't like it would be the first time they'd kissed, though they'd never kissed on the lips. Switzerland obviously had to kiss him whenever he was sick—for fever's sake—and vice versa, not to mention the quick little cheek pecks he'd manage to sneak by when they were younger.
And the kiss he'd given him the other day on the forehead.
So, that's what he would do. He would just give him another kiss on the forehead to see if he had a fever. Nothing more, nothing less.
The Austrian leaned closer to Switzerland's face, gently brushing a few blonde strands of hair to the side. He bent down quickly and pressed his lips softly to the man's forehead, ignoring the emotions heating up inside him while he focused on the temperature. Relief filling him as he felt nothing but coolness against his lips, he couldn't help but press another sighful kiss to the blonde's forehead before pulling away. It must be a bad dream.
Switzerland's face seemed to relax afterwards and he muttered sleepily, rolling onto his back, his hands moving to rest on his pillow. He spotted pink sleeves hanging loosely around the blonde's arms, lace embroidery around the wrists.
So this is the infamous present that Liechtenstein gave him. The aristocrat gave a soft chuckle and lightly traced underneath the Swiss's eye, happily thinking, I'm glad his black eye is finally gone. The musician let his finger run down a silk-skinned cheek and across his bottom lip. His cut is better, as well, and the bruises on his neck. He continued to brush against the blonde's face, forgetting the world around him.
Austria's heart and limbs froze as he witnessed the fluttering of eyelashes next to his finger before dark forest green orbs peeked out from under the black curtains. "Hey . . ." the Swiss murmured, his voice thick with blissful sleep, and leaned into the country's hand on his cheek.
What? Austria mind came screaming to a halt, his cheeks heating up a tad. For a second, it looked as if the man was about to smile, but then suddenly green eyes widened with a mix of realization and horror.
"What the—?!" Switzerland's shout was cut off as he hit his skull on the headboard in his attempt to spring away from the Austrian. Grasping his head in pain, the blonde paused and glared up at him, growling, "What the hell are you doing in my room?!"
And there he is. Austria was silent for a moment and couldn't think of a reply. He was a tad too occupied with staring at the chest revealed beneath the open buttoned shirt, his mouth beginning to salivate at the sight of flushed skin and a little pink nub peeking out. Switzerland seemed to notice where he was staring and his face went beet red all the way to his ears.
"G-Go away, you—you idiot!" the Swiss stammered, pulling closed his shirt. He seemed to notice something else and somehow his face got redder as he took the comforter and pulled it up to his neck self consciously. He glanced at the clock. "Scheisse, it's only 6:30! What are you doing up so early?"
"I only woke you up so I could ask where you put my medicine," Austria said calmly, literally spitting out the first excuse that came to mind. He didn't want to state the real reason he was in the blonde's bedroom. Or what he had been doing.
Switzerland seemed to calm down slightly, his eyebrows furrowing. "Did you have another episode?"
"Ah . . . sort of," Austria muttered reluctantly, finally looking away from the Swiss. Now he was wishing he hadn't said anything to him.
The blonde's face became concerned and he sat up, still holding his shirt closed. "Tell me what happened," he said.
"Go back to sleep," Austria replied instead, standing up slowly. He smoothed back his hair and headed for the door. "I'll just get it from you when you wake up later."
"I can't go back to sleep now," the Swiss grumbled, rubbing his eyes. He waved his hand at the musician, shooing him out of the room. "I'll bring it to you in just a second, but let me wake up first."
The Austrian couldn't help but chuckle again and nodded, leaving the blonde's room. His heart failed to calm down from the scare that had just went through him. If the Swiss had known that he was kissing him in his sleep he would have definitely hit him and given him the scolding of a lifetime. His mood fell somewhat at that thought and he suddenly became nostalgic. They didn't have to worry about little things like a kiss when they were younger, and now that they were older they barely acknowledged each other.
But the way that Switzerland had reacted to his touch when he woke up was . . . encouraging. Maybe—just maybe—there was something still there. The aristocrat laughed to himself and ran his fingers through his hair. The only good thing that came about from his illness was the fact that it brought the Swiss to him again.
And he wasn't going to let him get away.
…xXx…
He heard footsteps coming up behind him as he dried his hands, already finished with eating breakfast and doing the dishes. The Austrian turned around to spy a certain Swiss standing in the middle of his kitchen, and was delighted to see that he hadn't changed out of those pink pajamas of his. Unfortunately, though, the shirt was now buttoned, but it really did suit him, if that wasn't mean to say. Switzerland mumbled a tired and late "Guten Morgen" and rubbed his eyes, a pill bottle in his other hand.
The musician frowned.
"You know, I don't really need to take those today. I feel fine, actually."
"Liar," the blonde sighed. "You just got through mentioning that you had another episode . . . Which, by the way, you've yet to have told me what happened."
It was Austria's turn to sigh and he pushed up his glasses. "Forget about it. You don't need to know." As soon as the words left his mouth he instinctively cringed, knowing full well there was about to be an argument.
Because his words hit a nerve within Switzerland, and his small hand came up to rest upon a pink covered hip. "What do you mean I 'don't need to know'?" he snapped, his disheveled hair swishing. His mood was already foul partly because it was still so early in the morning and he hadn't quite woken up entirely just yet. "Of course I have a goddamn right to know what's going on with you—why else would I be here if it wasn't to keep an eye on you?"
The aristocrat returned his anger with a steely gaze, hiding the pang of hurt that flashed through his chest. Right. Switzerland and his sister were there just to keep an eye on him for Hungary, nothing more. That fact saddened him a little.
"Why should I tell you?" he asked coolly, his voice slightly hardened.
The Swiss stuttered for a moment, trying to regain some composure. He pinched the bridge of his nose and groaned in frustration. "It's because," he started, green eyes looking back up at him. "It's because I'm concerned for your health."
Austria's expression changed as he tried to hold back a smile, snickering and pointing at him. The blonde shook his head in confusion.
"What?"
"I'm sorry, but . . . I just can't take you seriously in that outfit."
Switzerland's face flamed and he let loose a stream of insults at the musician, self consciously smoothing out his shirt as the Austrian began to laugh. There was a long, tense pause that was filled with the man's chuckling and the Swiss gave a pout, a growl, and threw his hands up in the air. "Gah! You're an impossible man, you know that?" He turned around and started heading out into the hall. "I'll go change if it bugs you that much! Stupid . . . idiotic . . . moron noble . . ."
"No, no, wait," Austrian said quickly, catching him by the shoulder. He managed to halt his laughter and instead gave him a charming smile, gesturing to the pill bottle. "How about we make a deal?"
Emeralds glared at him cautiously. ". . . What?"
"I'll take my medicine peacefully," he said, a glimmer in his violet eyes, "if you promise not to wear anything else but that for the rest of your stay here, hmm?"
"Hey!" Switzerland pushed him away as he fell into another laughing fit. "You're absurd! I can take you poking fun at me every once in awhile, but this is a little too far. My sister made me this, and I will not have her be made fun of."
The brunette raised his hands in surrender. "I'm not making fun," Austria said, smothering his next chortle. He looked at the hardwood flooring as he calmed down and covered his mouth as his cheeks warm up a little in embarrassment. "I actually do really like you in those pajamas. I swear on my honor."
"You have no honor," the blonde muttered in vexation. He gave a great heave and thrust the pills toward the aristocrat. "Here, just take the damn things before you give me an even bigger headache."
Austria grabbed the bottle without question and kept his gaze on his fellow country as he took his morning pills.
Switzerland's frown deepened. "If you expect me to keep my end of that ridiculous bargain, you're going to be disappointed."
The Austrian gave the man back the bottle. "Now who has no honor?"
The Swiss rolled his eyes up to the grand painted ceiling, as if begging the marble carvings to fall on him and spare him from the lunacy of it all. He waved a frill bordered hand in dismissal and began to walk towards the staircase. "Whatever. I'm going to go get dressed now and when I get back I expect you to tell me what happened."
The aristocrat exhaled loudly. "When you get back we're going to go to the market," he said, catching the blonde's attention. "I need groceries if you two are going to be staying here for awhile more. We'll pick up some things for breakfast for you and Liechtenstein while we're out, too."
"Alright then."
"Do you want her to come with us?" Austria asked.
Switzerland stood a moment on the step, thinking. "No," he said quietly. "She usually doesn't sleep this late so she must be tired." He began walking upstairs again. "We should let her sleep."
Austria nodded in agreement and watched the man disappear up the staircase. He went back into the kitchen and grabbed his car keys from beside the fridge before heading towards the sliding glass doors in the dining room.
He stood there for a moment, looking outside at his yard, his eyes ghosting over the trees and the rolling hills out behind his house. The sun was surprisingly bright that morning, even though it was only a little past 7 o'clock. There were no clouds at all in the sky—having rolled away from the nighttime storm a few hours ago—and the sky was a light baby blue with a touch of grey and pink from the risen sun.
The distant trees were displaying gorgeous colors of reds, oranges, yellows, browns, and even a touch of violet amongst the plethora of leaves they still held onto. It was autumn and the colors were starting to fall, painting the grass with odd patterns. And he knew that a little ways into the painted forest there was a small drop off that led to a river that flowed throughout his entire property. It was probably swollen now from the constant rain over the past week and the musician could imagine the banks overrun with fast moving water.
The thought of the water gave him a chill and Austria realized it was pretty cold in his home. He slipped on his shoes and stepped outside, quickly traversing to the right and across his line towards a small greenhouse. He payed no mind to the flowers for the moment—he would feed and water them when they got back—and instead stooped down beside the door where there was a pile of chopped firewood. Grabbing a few pieces, he made sure the greenhouse door was shut tightly and returned to the house.
Switzerland was just making his way back down the stairs as he entered, fully dressed in his green uniform and hair neatly combed. He looked at him quizzically, inquiring, "What are you doing?"
Austria walked by him into the living room, saying, "I'm going to get the fire started. It's a little chilly in here, don't you think?" And he did just that.
The Swiss waited patiently until he was done and the fire was roaring before asking, "Haven't you got a thermostat or something? This seems a little old fashioned."
The aristocrat blinked at him, raising an eyebrow and giving him a look that practically screamed 'Are you blind?' The brunette comically gestured to himself and his home, the house creaking to add effect to the point he was making.
And he could swear there was a hint of a smile on Switzerland's lips as they walked to the front door. "At least even you can admit that you're a bit outdated," he murmured as they pulled on their coats and scarves.
Austria rolled his mauve eyes but smiled as they left the house, glad the Swiss' mood had alleviated a tad, and continued towards the garage.
…xXx…
The drive to the market went smoothly but they had to park a ways away from the store due to traffic. There were more people about than you'd think there would be on a Saturday morning, but that was alright for the two countries and they took their time walking the rest of the way, enjoying the cool air and the sunshine.
"So, where is this market we're heading to?" Switzerland asked, peering into a confectionery at all of the sweets and cakes.
"It's just a few blocks away." Austria gave a small chuckle at the man, catching the blonde's attention.
"What?"
The brunette motioned towards the shop the Swiss had been staring into. "We can go in, if you like, Vash."
Switzerland visibly twitched at the use of his name again, but let it slide since they were in public. He shook his head, glancing at the candy wantonly one last time before turning away. "No, I don't need sweets right now. I haven't even had breakfast yet—" The man gasped when a hand caught his wrist and he found himself being tugged into the shop. "Hey!"
"It doesn't hurt to look," Austria said to him jovially, releasing his arm once they were inside.
Switzerland grumbled something quietly into his scarf and smoothed down his jacket, looking around. The confectionery was quaint and homely, a few other customers inside, along with the cashier, that were happy to be out of the cold. He couldn't help himself as he inhaled deeply, taking in the many aromas that were thick in the air: the sharp scent of cinnamon and pure vanilla, the warm smell of cocoa and rising flour, and the sweet perfume of delicious fruits like raspberries and oranges. The shelves were stocked with various kinds of chocolate bars, candies, and gummies while the display cases were full of many different cakes, truffles, ice cream, mousse, and even some pretzels covered with gooey goodness. All of it handmade.
The blonde's heart fluttered.
The Austrian watched in amusement as the man went about roaming through the store. His mood was totally changed, and he had a softer look across his face and those gem eyes of his gleamed. I guess our love for sweets is another thing we both have in common, he thought. The Swiss was completely dazzled by the shop.
But he didn't go crazy by grabbing armfuls of candy or anything—not like he wanted to—and instead Switzerland settled with a couple of chocolate bars, some sour looking flower-shaped gummies, and two caramel covered apples. After purchasing his stash he strode back over to the Austrian and handed him an apple.
Eyes widened behind wired spectacles in surprise as Austria grabbed the stick the apple was perched on slowly. "You didn't have to."
The Swiss scoffed as they stepped back outside, sliding his candy carefully into his jacket pockets. "It's not like it cost me a fortune, idiot. And it's the least I could do to repay you for the concert," he said nonchalantly holding up his apple. "Plus you're the one that dragged me in there . . ."
"Vielen dank," the musician hummed warmly. The Swiss just waved off his thanks and swiftly darted out his tongue to catch a drip of warm caramel before it fell.
Austria had to peel away his gaze from the sight, his chest growing warm, and began to eat his own apple.
The blonde paused a moment and glanced up at him. "By the way, I've been wondering . . . How on earth did Gretta have outfits for Lilli and I ready so soon? We didn't even know we were going until the day of."
"I called her why you were in the bath after you got to my house," the brunette said, glimpsing a small blush form across the Swiss man's nose. "I asked her if she had anything put away that she could use for you—which she replied that she had a dress and an old suit stored away and that she would see what she could do."
"Yeah, but," the blonde said, "She got our sizes dead on and only had to adjust it a little."
"It was just luck, I guess."
"Mmm."
They strolled calmly down the sidewalk for awhile, peeking into other shops and finishing up their snack before arriving at the supermarket. It all went pretty smoothly, in the Austrian's opinion, and they didn't have a single fight while they were out up until that point. And of all of the things to fight about—
It had to be cheese.
"I don't see why you insist on buying such expensive cheese!" Switzerland hissed, glaring at the questioned object in the man's hand.
"And why shouldn't I buy this?" Austria scowled down at him.
"You don't have to impress me, idiot. I know you practically hoard every cent you can get."
"Oh, and you're any different?"
"Well, I—I mean, that's not my point here." Both were staring exasperatingly at each other, attracting much unneeded attention from other patrons in the market.
"I like this cheese just fine, the price doesn't matter to me."
"It should—it's over 11 Euros!"
Austria sighed in frustration but kept the cheese in his basket. "Alright then, what kind would you like to get?"
Switzerland held up a block. "See here? This kind is just as good as that."
"Doubtful."
"And it's only 3 Euros!"
Austria rubbed his temple, squeezing his eyes shut against the moody Swiss. When he opened them again a quick flutter of fabric out of the corner of his eyes caught his attention. He discreetly glanced to the side and noticed two men standing a few aisles down from them, their backs facing him. One was big and burly with a bald head and wearing a trench coat while the other was small with a black sweatshirt on.
And then he noticed the bandanas tied around their arms. One blue. One red.
"If you want it that bad then I'll get both, ok?" the Austrian whispered harshly, grasping the blonde's arm tightly and pulling him towards the checkout.
"What? Don't get both, that'll just cost you even more—"
"It doesn't matter, keep your voice down!" the brunette shushed, peeking behind them. He saw the smaller figure turn around and he got a glimpse of fierce grey eyes. His heartbeat sped up as he quickly led the confused Swiss around another aisle.
"What's going on?" Switzerland asked. Sensing movement, the blonde looked behind them to catch sight of two men following them. His eyes narrowed and his hand instantly went to his hip where he had a pistol concealed. "Are they—?"
"Yes," the musician huffed, his eyes searching around them for somewhere to go. He spotted a door nearby and quickly made a beeline for it.
Switzerland felt all of his muscles tensing as rage began to seep into his veins. These were the bastards who had hurt the musician not two days ago, giving him those horrid lacerations on his back.
Oh, they have some nerve to be showing their rotten faces around here so soon, he thought, fuming.
He barely had time to growl out a curse before he found himself being yanked into a tiny, dark room. Austria closed the door against the bright supermarket, bathing them in blackness. "What are you doing?!" the blonde snapped before the Austrian covered his mouth with his scarf.
"Shh, Switzey, we mustn't be discovered," the aristocrat whispered, his face very close to his. Not only that, but because of the limited amount of space in the room they were in—some small broom cupboard or the like judging by the brooms and mops they were leaning on—their bodies were pressed flush up against each other and they barely had any wiggle room. The grocery basket was digging into both of their sides and Switzerland didn't dare try to reach for his gun, lest he touch something else accidentally.
The only audible noises were that of the market customers and the sound of heavy boots scurrying by, some choice words following them. Neither of them dared to breathe until they were absolutely positive that the men had gone, in which they both sighed with relief.
Switzerland tried to adjust his position, but froze when it caused the two men's thighs to rub against each other. Austria gave a short cough at the movement, covering it with his hand, and looked down. His chest was still heaving in and out from the exhilaration of running away, his shoulders shaking slightly. Both of their faces were flushed with adrenaline and embarrassment—and anger.
"Why did we hide?" the blonde snapped, trying to ignore the feelings pooling down in his gut. "You should have let me confront those bastards!"
"Be quiet," the aristocrat muttered heavily.
"No, I won't. They're gone already," the Swiss spat back quickly, avoiding looking at the other—though that was nearly impossible. "They deserve to be shot, and don't tell me I'm wrong!"
"B-Be qui—"
"Oh, if I could just get my hands on one of them," the man continued to rant. "I swear I'd make them wish they'd never been born!"
"Vash!" Austria gasped, all of a sudden lurching forward. The blonde caught the man around the waist as a heavy head rested on his shoulder, hot breath wheezing against his skin.
"Whoa, what's wrong?" the Swiss asked, concern filling him rapidly as he supported the aristocrat between him and the wall.
"B-Be quiet," the man panted. "I-I just need a moment . . ."
"Austria." The musician didn't answer him as his breathing got softer and softer, until it was nonexistent. "Austria?"
Switzerland's heart gave a painful thump.
"Roderich!"
…xXx…
Liechtenstein yawned and rubbed sleep from her eyes. The light coming through the windows to her left was blinding and she could hear birds chirping on the other side of the glass. She rolled over lazily and stretched her limbs across the huge queen bed she was in. She yawned again and glanced at the bedside clock.
8:13 am.
The little blonde squeaked in surprise and shot up out of bed. "Ah, I slept too late!" she fretted, flying across the bedroom towards the closet. When she and Switzerland had arrived the few days before, Austria had insisted that they make themselves at home and that the closets and dressers were at their disposal. So she had taken the liberty of hanging up all of her dresses and uniforms in the massive walk in closet her room had.
Liechtenstein quickly picked out a lavender dress with red lace to wear and went in the bathroom to get ready. This messes up my whole day, she moped. She was going to get up extra early and surprise Mr. Austria with a clean house and a nice breakfast to try and cheer him up. She was going to dust the furniture, polish his piano, do the dishes and laundry, sweep the floor . . . She sighed as she buttoned up the back of her dress. I hope they won't be angry at me for sleeping so late, she thought while brushing her hair. Though brother is probably just getting up by now.
The tiny country slid on her matching red and purple stockings, securing them above her knees with the use of garters, and stepped back into the bedroom. She crossed back over to the bedside table for her ribbon and spotted a slip of paper lying underneath it. Tying the plum string in her hair, she picked up the note and opened it, spying her brother's handwriting.
Lilli,
We went to the store to pick up some groceries
but we'll be back soon. Keep your Sphinx close
and remember not to answer the door for anyone, ok?
-BB
The girl couldn't help but smile down at Switzerland's note in her hands. He always signed the notes he gave her with BB—Big Brother. Her shoulders relaxed somewhat and all of her hasty thoughts from a moment before disappeared. I guess they got up pretty early.
Liechtenstein grabbed her twin Sphinx pistols—a gift for her birthday from her brother a few years ago—out from under her pillow and slid them onto the garters beneath her skirt. She knew not to part from them, otherwise Switzerland would have a fit and fuss over her not being protected. It would probably surprise many of the countries around the world to find out she was always concealing like her brother, and not just guns, either. She always had a small knife strapped to a belt under her skirt that she could access in a moment's notice.
Her big brother made sure she could take care of herself.
After finishing up her morning routine, the girl made her way downstairs with the intention of still getting some cleaning done while they were out—but first she'd need some good music.
Reaching the bottom of the stairs, she noticed the hearth was lit and went over to stoke the embers, bringing the flames back up. Then she made her way across the hall into the family room that was situated behind the dining room towards the back of the house. It sported a more modern looking black leather couch and loveseat, a flat screen television, an old record player, and a huge stereo system with three shelves full of CDs and cassette tapes. There were framed records all along the wall with pieces of paper inside the glass, signatures written on them. Big names in classical and modern music like Mozart, Haydn, Salieri, Michael Jackson, Elvis, Johnny Cash, Elton John, The Beatles, and many others.
The tiny country knelt down in front of the shelves and scanned through them, her eyes widening.
"Mein Gott, his collection is astounding," she whispered to herself, slightly envious. He had a whole shelf dedicated to classical music with many of the discs consisting of the before mentioned composers and many others from all around the world.
The second shelf had modern day artists, that ranged everywhere from Celtic to Pop to Rock & Roll to Jazz. There were names such as Rammstein, Whitney Houston, E Nomine, Celtic Women, Shania Twain, Klangkarussel, Swedish House Mafia, Cro, Celine Dion, Cher, and—wait a minute, was that Falco? The Falco? She pulled out the disc, and giggled when her guess turned out to be correct.
Her heart jumped in happiness when she saw Bastian Baker's name and instantly plucked it off the shelf. She stared at the Swiss musician's picture on the cover of his album, and smiled. He was considered a heartthrob in her big brother's country; having gone from playing ice hockey to making music, and she had to admit he was pretty good. She quite enjoyed listening to him at home.
Liechtenstein popped the disc out carefully and slid it into the stereo, eager to hear his voice. She turned it up as the starting track began to play and she began to hum along with it. She set the case down on top of the stereo and bent back down to look at the final shelf of music. Mostly cassette tapes lined those shelves and she pulled out a couple to look at them. They all had handwritten titles on them like "Strings #3," "Winter Piano, '79" and "Orchestra #355," and some of them just had dates on them.
As she was making sure to put them all back in their proper place, she spied a curious title on one of them. Plucking it out of the order, she glanced down at the cursive scrawl:
"Edelweiss."
Curious, but respectful of boundaries, Liechtenstein was just about to put the tape back when she heard a loud thump at the front door.
…xXx…
"Come on, Roderich, stop messing around."
Switzerland's heart pounded as he shook the musician in his arms, trying to get him to wake up. When the brunette didn't respond, he began to panic—something he wasn't used to. He adjusted the heavy weight of the man, shifting his arms around his chest and hugging him close to support him. "Roderich?" he whispered in the Austrian's ear desperately. No response. "Roderich, please stop this. Answer me, dammit!"
The lack of reply seemed to prick at his heart and for some reason he felt his eyes burning. Is he . . ? The Swiss shook his head in disbelief and held the man tighter to him, burying his face into the aristocrat's neck. "Roderich, please . . . Please wake up," he murmured, feeling his throat constricting and his voice getting thick.
Why? Why is this happening now?
"R-Roderich, please, you can't do this. Not now. Y-You can't. You can't 'cause I-I . . . just no. Please . . ."
He called the man's name a few more times and remained quiet after that, sinking deeper into the heavy silence that surrounded them in the small room. It felt like the darkness had truly closed in on him. Shrinking and pushing in on his ribcage until it squeezed out a choked, high pitched noise from him, his vision blurring and his body shaking. No, he's not . . . I won't believe that. No, no, no . . .
"No!" He slammed his fist into the man's chest angrily and the tears fell from his eyes, the world crumbling around him. "Wake up!"
A large cough escaped from the Austrian's lips, causing the Swiss to jump in surprise. He blindly stared, wide-eyed, at the closet wall, feeling the man heave and gasp wildly, fighting against the blood gushing from his throat. The blonde just held onto the musician, supporting him as he struggled to catch his breath. His arms were like vice grips. Despite the relief flooding through him at the man's revival, even as he felt warm blood begin to pool on the side of his neck in between the skin and his scarf, he didn't let go. He couldn't.
Switzerland let the aristocrat get it out of his system, staying quiet until he had regained control of his lungs. "Don't you ever do that to me again," he whispered harshly, squeezing his eyes against the flow of tears that were streaming down his cheeks.
"I-I'm sorry," Austria wheezed softly, his words barely audible. He lifted his head up slowly, shaking, and the Swiss glimpsed the appalling sight of blood rushing out of the man's mouth and down his chin. It was like something out of a vampire horror flick.
The blonde held him up with one hand as he untied his scarf and went to wipe away the blood—giving his mind something other to do instead of focusing on the scare he just endured. In the faint light coming from around the door he could see the Austrian's eyes crinkle in confusion and he grabbed his wrist. "Your scarf . . ." he said hoarsely.
Switzerland shook his head and easily pulled out of the man's grip, beginning to wipe at the man's face. He repressed an old memory coming to the surface of how he used to do something like this all the time, and just kept himself calm, fighting to stop his tears. He felt the musician place a hand on his cheek, a thumb slowly brushing away the tears trails on his cheeks.
Dammit, the blonde thought. I was hoping he wouldn't notice.
"I'm sorry," the Austrian repeated, his eyebrows furrowing some more. "I'm so sorry, Vash. I must have worried you."
The Swiss stiffened and stopped wiping after the blood was all gone. He glared at the man's own scarf, as if it was the garment's fault that the country nearly died. "Damn right," he hissed halfheartedly, feeling his eyes well up again. "Nearly scared me half to . . . t-to—"
The aristocrat just wrapped his arms around the blonde, standing a little straighter to try and take some of the weight off of the smaller country. No words were said for quite some time and that was okay. The Austrian was still recovering from his attack, breathing labored, and the Swiss was trembling and trying to stay composed.
After awhile, Switzerland pulled away, his face dry, and stuffed his scarf into his pocket. Keeping his head down, he asked, "How are you feeling?"
Austria covered his mouth as a slight cough jumped its way out—causing the Swiss to freeze in fear, praying that he wasn't about to fall into another attack. Nothing happened, though, and the musician gave him a small apologetic smile. "I'm better now, sort of. Thank you."
"For what?"
The Austrian stroked his cheek again. "For being here."
Switzerland's eyes widened in the dark and he looked away at the door, his heart racing. "Yeah, well, how about we get out of here now, huh?"
The aristocrat attempted a chuckle, smiling down at the blushing blonde. "Well, no matter how we exit this here cupboard, I guarantee it'll be awkward. We should get a few curious stares." He chuckled again, throat rumbling.
The blonde frowned. "Stop joking, this is serious."
"I know. That's why I'm joking."
The Swiss just rolled his eyes, shifting his hand towards the doorknob and trying to open it. He jiggled the knob a few times before muttering out a curse. "It's locked."
"Now it's going to be even more awkward," Austria huffed.
Switzerland gave a long, drawn out sigh and thumped his head against the wall. "What do we do?" he mumbled, completely exhausted.
"We could call out loudly and bang on the door, maybe moan a few times," the musician quipped, regaining some of his personality and general pain-in-the-buttness back.
A thought popped in his head and, ignoring the man's lewd suggestion, pulled his phone out of his pocket. Guess I have no choice, he thought and dialed the most familiar number to him.
…xXx…
Liechtenstein's heart gave a great lurch as someone pounded on the front door again. She padded her purple dress quickly and took out one of her Sphinx pistols, turning off the music playing behind her. Another thump sounded before she could hear someone fiddling with the lock.
Perhaps it was just her brother and Mr. Austria outside with their hands full of groceries, unable to open the door.
No. That thought instantly struck her as wrong. Her stomach began to tighten up and she did the only sensible thing she could think of.
She hid.
Ducking around the corner into the living room, Liechtenstein slipped in among the antique furniture, crouching between one of the couches and side tables. Flicking the safety off of her pistol and tucking down against the wall, the girl heard the front door open and heavy boots shuffle in.
Heartbeat thudding loudly in her ears, Liechtenstein held her breath and kept still.
"Oi! Warum bist du so langsam, Bruder?"
The tiny country nearly fainted when that voice echoed through the wall behind her. Confusion spilling into her skull, she immediately got up from her little niche and put her gun away. She strolled carefully around the corner into the main hall, peeking to see Prussia kicking his boots off while a disgruntled looking Germany came in from outside.
"Mr. Germany?" Liechtenstein chirped, drawing attention from the three standing near the door. The man looked liked he was just about to say something when all of a sudden an excited brown blur whizzed by him straight for her.
"AUSTRIA!"
The brown blur—whom she quickly deduced as a certain eccentric Italian—smashed into the poor tiny country and picked her up, hugging her tightly. Squeaking, her dress fluttering, Liechtenstein tried in vain to pull away only to see Italy actually looking at whom he hugged and set her down.
"Ah, I'm sorry, la mia piccolo bellezza," he gasped. "I thought you were Austria. But sìì! You're cute, so I'll hug you, too!" And with that, the blonde girl found herself being hugged again by the Italian, though a little less forcefully. She just giggled at the man and patted his back.
"Italy," Germany chastised quietly, eyeing the display with a mixture of exhaustion and anxiety. The Italian parted from her and turned to look back at the two Germans staring at him.
"Ve?"
"What are you guys doing here?" Liechtenstein questioned, twiddling her fingers nervously as she did so. The Italian she didn't mind so much, as he was carefree, kind, and nothing if a bit of a sweetheart. However, she felt herself shrinking in the shadow the two Germans cast as they loomed above her. And from the mixture of looks between them—one cocky and mischievous, the other tired and uneasy—she began to feel her heart beat quicken again.
She kept reminding herself that her guns were only a skirt lift away. Her knife less than that.
"So, where's your host?" Prussia asked loudly, strolling past her down the grand entry hall, raising his arms up above him. "I'm here to cure him with my awesome!" He looked around the room distastefully, as if the paintings and carvings insulted him. "I bet he's upstairs doing that yoga thing he's so fond of, practicing his Flexibilität for whatever."
Liechtenstein heard a sigh come from behind her, along with a muttered, "How am I related to him?" She turned to see Germany pinching the bridge of his nose.
The blonde man looked at her apologetically. "I was kind of, uh, ganged up on. And that's why we're here now."
Ignoring another giggle rising from her at the thought of the tough German being 'ganged up on,' she called after the Prussian, "Mr. Austria and my brother aren't here right now."
Prussia turned around, scarlet eyes wide. "Really? Huh. So, they just left you here all by yourself? Alone?"
The way he uttered that last word sent a shiver down her spine and her mind flashed back to the incident between them in the conference room. She unconsciously stepped closer to Italy beside her, resting a hand inconspicuously on her hip where she knew her knife was. Answering with a calm she didn't think she possessed in that moment, she said, "Yes. They left to go get groceries and left me in charge of the manor."
"Oh, pity," Prussia snorted. He stretched his arms above his head, his joints popping loudly. "After we came all this way, too. I guess we'll just chill here until they get home."
The tiny country felt herself getting a tad annoyed. "I do not believe I gave you permission to stay here—"
"It's not yours to give, twerp," spat the silver-haired man, grinning playfully at her with narrowed eyes.
And now she was a tad offended. "Even so, I believe that Ms. Hungary told you not to come—"
"Ms. Hungary isn't here."
"That doesn't mean that you can just come in here and—"
"I'm awesome and can act however I want, wherever I want."
"It's still not your home—"
"It's not yours either."
"—and it will never be yours." Liechtenstein leveled her own glare to his and held her ground. She didn't care if he was twice her size and stronger than her, she would not tolerate any disrespect to her or Mr. Austria.
An uncomfortable silence fell between the four countries and Germany was just about to step in and difuse the situation when a phone went off, scaring everyone in the process. The dirty look erased from the girl's face as she pulled out her cell from some hidden pocket in the fold of her violet dress and read the caller ID.
Mein Bruder.
She put the phone to her ear, answering with a, "Hello?"
It was silent for awhile and Germany stalked over to Prussia, hitting him in the arm and scolding him. Italy stayed near the tiny country, but kept his attention glued to the two Germans. It was only when Liechtenstein spun around to face them, as well, did he spare a glance to her. Her face was contorted with worry and she caught the man's attention instantly with the pleading tone in her voice.
"Mr. Germany, I need to borrow your car!"
…xXx…
"What the hell were you guys doing in there? Bloodplay?"
"Ve? What's bloodplay?"
Austria sighed at the laughing Prussian and oblivious Italian as he removed his red-stained scarf and necktie. Liechtenstein had shown up to let him and Switzerland out of the convenience store janitorial closet, towing along Italy, Germany, and the silver-haired buffoon. The young girl looked ready to throw a fit at the sight of the two men walking out of the closet: faces and shirts all bloody and looking haggard. The Swiss was currently doing his best to try and explain the situation to his fretting sister while simultaneously grilling into Germany on what exactly they were doing there.
The Austrian, however, was still trying to regain his composure from his massive attack, his mind whirling on what possibly could have caused it. He glanced around the aisles and noticed something strange. There were no people around their small little group, no gawkers at the fact that two men just stepped out of a closet covered in blood. The back aisleway of the store was completely barren.
He gave a cough and cleared his throat of all of the gobbledygook stuck in it, handing his grocery basket to a distracted Liechtenstein. He wove his way around a still laughing Prussia and down one of the aisles toward the front of the store.
"Austria, where are you going?"
Oh. So they were no longer on a first name basis, good to know. The brunette shook his head and stuffed his soiled necktie into his jacket. The worry Switzerland had expressed for him was foreign, but pleasant. The only person he was used to fussing over him nowadays was Hungary. Her and Germany—but Germany was a whole different matter entirely. It was just strange for the blonde to act that way toward anyone but his sister, especially since they haven't been on the best of terms lately. But now the Swiss was back to his usual stone exterior, remaining vacant, if a bit annoyed, around the other countries.
He missed it. He missed how they used to be. How they didn't care for anyone else but each other.
So the musician would just pocket their moment in the closet until he could review it at a later date.
Austria felt more than heard the group of countries following after him as he rounded the corner at the end of the aisle and stopped.
All of the patrons from the store, employees and customers alike, and even some people filing in off the street, were gathered around the cashier in a large mass and all looking up at a big television. Flashing across the screen were photos and videos of a massive wildfire taking place somewhere and the reporter rambling on about rescue attempts by the local firemen.
His gaze would have only lingered on the TV for a moment if the news hadn't flickered to a map of his whole country to show the size of the fire. Austria's mouth dropped open and he heard a gasp beside him.
His whole border with Germany was lit ablaze.
It all made sense now; his attack, and why the two Prussian extremists had showed up. They wanted to mock him, pin him down and make him watch himself burn. His eyes flashed quickly over the map as his heart rate increased—from the Dreieckmark all the way to the town of Bregenz on the Bodensee. Towns and forests on either side of the border were lit aflame by what seemed to be a massive arson attempt.
People in the crowd were murmuring their sympathy and distress. Some were crying and trying to ring up relatives in the areas shown. Some were even remarking on how there was no way that fire was caused by man, that it was an act of God himself. Photos from the dead forest of the Dreieckmark area appeared on the screen and various towns as well. And the reporter was saying that in some areas the blaze had travelled as far inland as 32 km (20 miles), and was swallowing up cities like . . .
Salzburg.
The Austrian's hands flew to his mouth in horror as the television showed photographs of bakeries on fire, parking garages, theatres, schools, hospitals, cars, and homes.
He felt strong arms catch him as his legs gave out and he managed to tear his gaze away from the sickening newscast to look into cobalt eyes. Germany just looked back at him with a combination of alarm, confusion, anger, and sadness. He could almost feel the man's pain pulsing out of him and mixing with his own. It was not just Austrian cities that were on fire, but Germany's as well. Landmarks, history, and culture on both sides were being burnt to a crisp.
Austria managed to regain his feet and grasped his brother's hand on his shoulder, squeezing it tight to help keep the both of them grounded.
And they snapped into action. Whipping out his cell, the musician quickly made his way through the mob of spectators around the television and out of the store, as did the German. He heard the others race after them and while Germany was calling up his boss, Austria tried instead to call Gretta.
As he put the phone to his ear and suffered through the agonizingly long rings, he was met with one of those snarky answering machines. Dread started to creep into his nerves and his hands began to shake as he redialed the number at least a dozen times. He muttered a curse and finally decided to call up his own boss, striding down the sidewalk and swiftly heading for where he had last parked his car.
Germany followed close behind and called back to his brother, pausing from his phone conversation, and tossing him his car keys, "Look after things for awhile, ja?"
Prussia just stood agape at him, barely catching the keys. "What the hell's going on?"
Germany just shook his head and ran after the Austrian.
Switzerland glanced at the Prussian and then at the two men practically jogging down the street, and then at his sister. She stood beside him, holding the grocery basket, her big green eyes wide. He shuffled his feet anxiously and looked back at Austria's retreating form. He felt a hand touch his.
"Go on, Bruder, I'll be alright," he heard Liechtenstein say.
And that was all he needed to get his feet moving. He vaguely remembered shouting for her to be careful and that he'd be back soon, but the only thing he was truly focused on was catching up to that purple coat fluttering in the distance.
...xXx...
Ich werder dich immer beschützen – I will always protect you
Sheisse – shit (or Sheiße some times)
Vielen dank – Thank you very much
Warum bist du so langsam, Bruder? – Why are you so slow, brother?
La mia piccolo bellezza – My little beauty
Sìì! - Yay!
Flexibilität – flexibility
Mein Bruder – my brother
Ja - Yes
Bruder – brother
I have a firm headcanon that Austria is a fan of music - shocking, I know! Not just classical, which I'll acquiesce is most definitely his favorite, but he's a fan of all types which is why I made a point to list so many. Even Falco! (which if you don't know sang "Rock Me Amadeus")
Anyhoo, I hope you all enjoyed regardless and will stick around!
~WhisperWeeper