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.
Wooow, this one's late. Sorry, no excuses for this one. To make up for it, this chapter is slightly longer. As always, thank you so very much for the feedback (and favourites and follows)! Enjoy the chapter.
Chapter Ten: Demurral
"Where exactly are we heading, thief?" Matthew asked, "Realize that if I detect the slightest suspicion, I will not hesitate to kill you where you stand."
However, Francis just chuckled before replying,"Only if you're certain." Turning his cerulean eyes towards the road, the thief continued, "A friend of mine is a doctor, though he is also a rune specialist. He can determine the severity and the type of Slave Spell, which should give us a good indication of where to start looking..."
Matthew slowly tuned out Francis' chatter, nodding on occasion. They were walking down an abandoned street, no one nearby other than the occasional drifter. Rather than his normal silky robes, Matthews wore a simple white cotton shirt and black pants, topped with a worn out pale blue trench coat. It was his commoner clothes whenever his Master ordered him to spy on the civilians.
It has been four days since he and Francis made the deal. The previous days had Francis testing waters with Matthew's seal and providing some introductory knowledge of it. While Matthew told Francis he already knew everything he explained, he couldn't deny that he learned a few useful facts from it. He had to admit, if only in his head, that the thief had done his homework.
Not that it matters, Matthew thought quietly to his earlier threat. He'll end up dead by my hands eventually.
That silver-tongued thief was probably just another con artist, if not a well-informed one, trying not to leave empty handed. His so-called research was just another trick he was attempting to do to gain his trust.
A memory of silver hair and a gentle smile suddenly flashed through his mind.
He would never fall for something like that ever again.
With a rising anger from the thief's audacity, Matthew suppressed his urge to kill and assured himself of the thief's eventual end. The wait would feel immensely more worth it then. He raised his arms and rested his palms on the back of his head. He even suspected that his Master might further extend his privileges once he learned about the deed.
"It should be around here..."
Breaking out of his thoughts, Matthew noticed that Francis began searching for something on the ground. His expression soon lightened, brushing away the snow when he found what he was looking for: An iron black plank with a small handle attached that was blended in with its surrounding stony road. Francis held onto the handle and yanked it open, revealing a set of stairs which the thief began to descend on, only to stop when he didn't hear following footsteps. He turned to see Matthew still at the top of the staircase with folded arms and a questioning glance towards him. Francis said with a smile, "I'll explain later. Just close the door. Quickly."
The teen raised an eyebrow but Francis simply beckoned. Sighing in defeat, Matthew entered in and closed the door. They were in stone-built tunnel that had an arched roof. Along the walls were torches, lighting the tunnel with a flickering dawn yellow. The tunnel seemed to be a man-made tunnel presumably created during the days when the North was populated with mining towns.
"There are a couple of people who know of my friend's work that want him dead," the thief explained as he walked forward at a casual pace. "Since his work is still in the research stages, he lives an isolated area. This is one passageway to get there."
Coming to a fork in the tunnel, the thief took the left.
"Despite how long I've been here, I never knew such a passage existed."
"That isn't surprising," the older blond replied. Matthew inwardly felt the smallest jolt of surprise at his response, having realized that he voiced his thoughts aloud. "This tunnel is mainly used for underground smuggling and other black market trades."
"Is that something you should be telling me?" Matthew asked, to which the thief responded with a laugh.
"Of course, you're right," Francis agreed with a smile, his head turning back to face him. "Normally, I wouldn't tell anyone about this place, especially to a Northern soldier."
The ice user hardened his stare, subtly preparing himself for whatever ambush the thief had prepared. However, upon noticing the teen's tense movements, Francis' grin widened and he faced back to the front.
"Although, should said Northern soldier just happen to be a member of the family... well, I would have to make an exception, wouldn't I?"
Matthew remained silent, his expression as blank as ever, but on the inside, he was laughing. So family was the reason, was it? He retracted his previous underestimation of the thief. It was certainly a well-crafted excuse; almost no hesitation in his tone. He could almost believe in his words - that is, if he didn't know better.
If it hadn't been the same family that led to his miserable state.
"By the way, Matthew. When you're free from the Slave Spell, have you ever thought about what you might plan to do afterward?" Francis asked.
Killing you is steadily getting to the top of the list. "No," Matthew responded out loud. "And even if I do manage to break it, what I may decide to do afterwards is none of your business."
As it was chalking up to be a common response to his curt words, the thief laughed yet again. He then suggested, "If you have no plan in mind, would you consider partnering up with me with a life as a thief?"
Francis was met with a stunned kind of silence as he pivoted his heel to face the teen and continued walking backwards (which he still managed to make look graceful, to Matthew's mild irritation). "I'm sure you wouldn't jump at the chance to live with your brother and Bushy-brows-I mean your father." The younger blond unexpectedly felt the urge to snicker at his "father"'s nickname, but successfully held it back. What was wrong with him today? And to add insult to injury, the thief managed to catch a glimpse of his momentary lapse.
"Yes, life might not seem so glamorous, but worry not - I have enough glamour to make up for it!" He said as he stopped in his tracks in a pose that Matthew could only assume the thief would make to present himself on a stage. "And with your skills, you would make quite the thief. That is, after I help you break out of that so-called Master's hands, which undoubtedly reek of fish oil." He then held out his hand. "How about it?"
The ice user stared impassively at the offered hand as he decided to humour the thief by asking him a familiar question. "Why would you do so much for me?"
"Isn't it obvious? Because we're family," Francis answered before telling him with gentle eyes. "I care about you."
Gentle lavender eyes.
Matthew knocked away the offered hand along with any thought of humouring the thief any further.
The thief looked at him with those - eyes of his, asking, "Is there something wrong?"
That was when he noticed the temperature quickly dropping. All of the torches in their immediate proximity died out as ice crystals spread out from beneath the ice user's feet and onto the walls. The older man glanced at the boy before him with a strained smile, clearly trying to defuse the situation in vain. "Was it something I said?"
The Ice Mage didn't deign him with an answer, instead, raising his palms where an ice dagger appeared.
"Easy, now-"
The thief was immediately cut off as the ice user lunged forward and thrust his dagger at him. Francis managed to swivel to the side, but not without retaining a cut across his arm. Wincing from the wound, Francis drew out his rapier and took a defensive stance. Matthew continued to fiercely swipe his dagger at Francis, the thief only forced to defend. A mental clunk sounded every time their weapons collided.
"Let's not be hasty here..." Francis said, trailing off to defend from each of the ice user's attacks, "You need to...tell me...what's wrong! What...did I say?"
The teen jumped back and stopped attacking. He raised his dagger, which was repairing the earlier cracks as if it was skin.
"Oh, Francis. You can stop your act now," Matthew said with a bitter smile. "Caring? Family? You and I both know that means nothing to either of us." He began to slowly walk towards the thief with the dagger pointed. Francis followed by talking a steps back of his own.
"Not to you, because you and I just met less than one week ago. You aren't even certain if we really are related."
One step forward, the other stepped back.
"And not to me, because the fact that I'm here right now..."
One step forward, the other stepped back.
"Clearly shows how much my father -"
One step forward, the other stepped back.
"And my oh-so wonderfully gifted brother..."
One step forward, the other stepped back.
"And... that person...cared for me." He ended in a harsh whisper.
While the thief was briefly stunned by his words, the Ice Mage took the opportunity to blast a gust of chilly air at him, to which his target immediately raised his arms as a feeble form of defense. When he opened his eyes again, the thief looked down to see that ice had instantly froze his body from the waist down and a dagger to his face with an angry ice user on the other end. Once again, the teen's expression was an icy calm.
"And this is where we part ways, Francis Bonnefoy. Do you have any last words?"
The thief looked no less alarmed than he did the first time he was immobilized by his ice. In fact, he looked even calmer than he did before, his shoulders relaxed and a sad smile on his face as he softly said, "I apologize for not having lasted long enough to help you, and wish you all the best in freeing yourself from the Slave Spell. I...I hope you find what truly makes you happy someday."
Francis closed his eyes and braced for impact. He felt a strike his face. Again, scratches in several directions were made across his nose. While the knife was definitely sharp, it was nothing near the death blow the thief was expecting. Opening his eyes, Francis saw that the hand that held the dagger against him was shaking. Though Matthew's eyes were hidden by the shadows of his bangs, tears streaked down his cheeks. Soon after, Matthew dropped the dagger, his body falling to its hands and knees with it.
"Matthew!" Francis called out. However, Matthew held out his hand to stop him. His hands fumbled around the floor in search of the dagger, finally grasping it and raising his arm after a few moments of failed searching. Bracing once again, Francis waited for Matthew's second attempt. He didn't feel anything at first but soon, his legs gave way. He had been freed from his ice casing but still felt a freezing numbness, making his legs difficult to move. No doubt they would start hurting excruciatingly once the numbness receded. Again, he reached his hand out toward Matthew, only for him to slap it away.
"Matthew..." Francis looked at the ground, unsure what to say next.
"...leave me."
The older blond's gaze snapped back up to the teen as he opened his mouth to try and speak again, only for the younger boy to cut him off.
"Right now," his trembling voice began lowly, the words building up to end in a yell. "Or so help me gods, I will not hesitate next time!"
Startled, Francis slowly stood onto his feet. Although his legs were still having trouble moving, he looked at Matthew one last time before making his way back to the tunnel entrance as quickly as his legs were able.
Matthew sat on his knees in the now empty tunnel, letting silence and the frigid air engulf him.
The next night found the Ice Mage leaning back on his chair in his study, signing the last of the national documents before taking a sip from his freshly prepared Terran blossom tea. He frowned at the bitter taste, setting it down to add his own personal flavour. He took out a small glass bottle of Vechnayan Maple syrup from one of the drawers in his desk and slowly poured in a small amount before stirring the drink with a silver spoon. Upon taking it out, the brown liquid reflected an image of himself after the ripples settled down, which only served to remind him of a certain thief who shared similar features.
Remembering the night before, Matthew placed the teacup onto its saucer and rested his head on one of his hands which was propped up on his desk.
It was obvious that the thief wouldn't be coming back, he thought as he ran his fingers through his hair. He had tried to kill him three times, after all. If he ever did come back, he would have to assume that the thief had a death wish or something. Bringing his hand down after a pause in his mind, a small voice in his head said, I was lucky that he came back after the first time.
A small tap came from the window.
He squashed the thought as soon as it came. What was he thinking? It wasn't as if the thief was honestly trying to help him; he was only trying to string him along into a false sense of security so that he could take the vase. Afterwards, he would have dropped him faster than a piece of hot coal and headed for the nearest pawn shop or foreign informer, ready to provide all the details that anyone could use to kill him. In retrospect, he really shouldn't have let the thief live. Any moment now, that action was going to bite him in the backside, which begged the question-
Why did he let the thief live?
The thief's words (his words) answered him.
'I hope you find what truly makes you happy someday.'
But why did those words affect him so much? Why did they make the kill so different that he of all people couldn't go through with it?
His mind didn't provide an answer this time. Instead, the small voice from earlier spoke again. Even if he was after me, even if he didn't care for me, I was the one that started the fight. It wasn't his fault.
The window made a louder tapping noise.
Matthew absentmindedly looked towards the window. Maybe whatever happened the previous day was for the best. Francis Bonnefoy would be able to continue to live his carefree life as a thief with no strings attached, maybe even tell the tale of how he met General Winter and lived.
The ice user leaned against his chair again. Of course, he would have to kill him if rumours got out of hand.
Suddenly, the window was yanked open.
Already on his feet, Matthew faced the open window in a defensive position, only to spot the backside of a person he assumed he saw the last of the previous night. Upon passing through the window frame backwards, Francis Bonnefoy turned around to meet the very rare expression of shock on the Ice Mage's face.
He sheepishly explained, "Ah, my apologies. If it were anywhere else other than the north, a rock would have had an easier job of trying to get your attention. Seeing as I would have had to dig rather deeply to find something resembling dirt, I decided to throw a few pieces of ice at your window instead. You didn't respond, so I thought it was for the best if I saw myself in."
Still showing no sign of response, the older man walked up to Matthew and asked, "Oh? Are you impressed by how I managed to climb such an amazing feat while still managing to retain my gorgeous appearance? Well, Matthew. You see-"
Matthew grabbed he thief by the collar and pulled him in. "Why are you still here?"
However, the older man laughed in that way that he just knew was going to start irritating him very soon and his grip on the front of the thief's coat was loosened. "You underestimate the great Thief Lord. As if a little snow could keep me away! We still have a very important appointment with a certain doctor, after all."
Matthew tried with all his might to keep the look of incredulity off his face. For some mysterious reasons only known to the thief, he decided to come back. Either that, or he really was a glutton for punishment. He doubted he was going to get an honest answer out of him, but the ice user tried anyway.
"Let me get this straight: I tried to kill you. I've already given you life threatening injuries. You could have gotten away and never have to deal with me again. So why do you keep coming back? Is that vase really worth it?"
However, Francis merely smiled and removed the teen's hands from his clothes completely. "True, I didn't know what I was getting into at the time, but a wonderful woman once gave me some advice and told me that good things come to those who follow through with their deals, no matter the cost. So far in my life experiences, that advice hasn't led me anywhere wrong. It's led me to some strange places, yes, but never anywhere intrinsically wrong. So if it hasn't gone wrong for me, what's to say that following through with our deal will lead you wrong? For all you know, me and that advice could lead you to good things."
"But it's as you say. You have an equal chance of leading me somewhere bad."
"You'll never know until you try, though, will you?" he said with a wink. "I endure your...harsh treatment for two weeks, and in return, you trust my judgement for the same two weeks. That would be a reasonable clause to add to our deal, wouldn't it?"
Once again, the thief held out his hand as an offer, and once again, Matthew paused.
The offer seemed reasonable enough, much more believable than that caring nonsense he was spouting earlier. But it didn't provide any answers as to why he was offering his services in the first place, except for a some vase Matthew made as a child and a vague philosophical sense that "something good" would happen to him. Either way, Matthew was intrigued enough to see where exactly trusting the thief's judgement would lead him. He doubted it would lead him anywhere good, but it was guaranteed to be interesting at the very least.
And should it lead to a completely undesirable position, he was absolutely certain that he could find his way out of it while ending the thief once and for all, two weeks be damned.
"I... suppose it would be agreeable," Matthew calmly responded as he shook the offered hand before him.
Was whoever was in there done yet? The boy wondered as he wasn't too sure how long it had been since he left his uncle's side. What he was sure of was that his guardian would have been fuming mad by now. Not wanting to damper his mood any longer, the boy knocked harder on the door.
"Open up already!" the boy shouted as he banged harder on the airship's washroom door, ignoring the startled looks of the surrounding people.
To his surprise, he felt his body giving way as he fell backward from the opening door. After landing on the floor, the boy glared up at whoever was the culprit for his long wait in front of the washroom. Above was a lanky man in a dark En-styled attire, lazily holding a large sniper.
"Okay, everyone. This place is on the terf of the Windam Raiders. Now, if you upstandin' folks wanna remain in one piece but slightly poorer than when you got on, I suggest you guys stay quietly in your seats."
Frightened whispers began to break out, but it only took a shot from the man's gun to have dead silence. Only the sounds of the traveling airship and muffled shouts from the unusually crowded floors below them were heard but then suddenly hushed. Still trying to get over of the nearby gunshot, the boy looked back at his guardian who was seated stiffly halfway down the aisle. He seemed to remain composed to the average eye, but the boy recognized it was different from his usual expression. For the first time in his life, he saw fear in his guardian's eyes. He didn't even think it was possible from that old stick.
"Hey, you!" He heard the man shout. "Stop!"
The boy turned around to the general direction of the shout and spotted a man who he previously saw sleeping across the aisle from his seat slipping out and towards the stairwell that led to the cargo hold.
"Go after him. And bring another hostage!" the supposed commander barked at his underling. With a nod, he finished scanning on eye level, then looked down to see the boy down on the ground.
"Never mind, this little shit'll do," he sneered, as he grabbed the boy despite his protests.
He heard his guardian distant shout in concern as he smacked his arms on his captor's grip. He didn't budge as the gang leader headed in the same direction as the man from earlier. Upon opening the door to the cargo hold, his captor immediately started shouting and shooting at whatever disturbance was ahead of them. The boy assumed him to be an amateur since all his shots missed the man at the far end of the cargo hold. He wasn't even gaining his attention.
The man in question lay on his stomach surrounded by his bleeding and hopefully unconscious captors with a sniper rifle pointing at the open bay doors on the floor in front of him. The man who the boy recognized to be the sleeping man from earlier seemed to be shooting at... The boy squinted at the hatch in front of the man that opened to the sky where he saw a large flock of giant yellow chicks. Volatilis filius. It was quite a rare sight to find one, let alone a flock as large as this.
Pushing useless brain vomit aside, the boy would have sighed again if his life wasn't in danger, and if there weren't more pressing questions to ask, one of them being:
Why was the sleeping guy shooting game in the middle of a hijack?
"What do y'think you're doing?!" The boy's captor shouted at the man, repositioning his gun as he walked past crates and luggage, as well as the bodies of his subordinates and stood on the other side of the open hatch in front of the preoccupied man.
"Turn around or I'll shoot the kid!" Although out of his line of sight, the boy whimpered when he felt the barrel of the gun pressed to the back of his head. However, the man at the far end of the room paid no attention, still shooting at those birds.
And to think, this all started because he butted in an absurdly long line to go to the washroom. The boy didn't know whether to laugh or cry at what just happened. The latter, maybe, if it wasn't him who had a gun to his head.
"Listen to me when I'm talking to you!" He shouted before shooting towards the bird. The captor's flew faster than the other man's bullet and scared the other bird off.
This definitely caught his attention. The man looked up to face the boy and his captor. He was wearing a hooded coal-coloured cloak that made it difficult to see his face but did little to hide his muscular stature.
"I want you to slowly stand up, drop your gun and come here with your hands up."
The cloaked man dropped the gun, alright. In fact, he dropped it so hard that it bounced on the floor and shot the captor in the stomach. The boy was dropped too, falling through the open hatch, but was able to grab a hold of the edge at the last second. Unfortunately for him, the high speed winds made it difficult to pull himself up. However, the boy was able to look behind him to see the man toss his screaming captor down the hatch. There was more noise coming from the direction of the cargo entrance as more henchmen ran up to take on the cloaked attacker.
After a series of gunshots, grunts and collisions that the boy couldn't see, more henchmen were continued to be thrown behind him into the sky with terrified screams. The boy would have felt sorry for them if their actions hadn't ensured how angry his uncle was going to be at him. Using his remaining strength, the boy pulled himself up to see why all the noise had stopped.
The man in the cloak looked perfectly unscathed. He bent down around and picked up a fallen gun to continue shooting those birds, who were slowly drifting out of view. However, a henchmen that was hiding behind a nearby crate snickered before whipping out a pistol and pulling the trigger.
"Mister!" the boy cried.
But it was too late as the man fell to one knee. A crazed look appeared on his assailant's face as he approached the man in the cloak with the gun pointed at his head.
"I don't know what kind of monster you are to take down all my comrades, but you won't live longer for me to find out!"
The man only responded with a dark smile.
Suddenly, a large black dog emerged behind a large crate and bit the remaining gang member. Before the boy could see the gory details, he was pulled away by the arm out of the cargo hold and up the stairs to the first class passenger's hold. On the way up the stairs, his mind finally began to register what just happened to him, and he found himself looking up at an airship employee who led him back to his very frazzled-looking guardian.
And soon enough, the boy found he couldn't breathe as he was caught in his guardian's tight hug.
"That guy in the cloak - he's still down there," the boy struggled to say to the airship employee, who nodded and made his way back downstairs.
"With what just happened, Peter, the only way I'm ever going to breathe right again is if I never let you out of my sight," his guardian said before he began his lecture which drifted to vaguely related topics such as the recent upsurge in travel caused by the destruction of Westerius, thus indicating that Peter should start tuning out right about now.
As his guardian continued to lecture, the shaken attendant who checked the cargo hold interrupted, "There's no one there!"
"No, he must be there! I saw him there!" Peter replied before starting to move out of his seat, only to be pulled down by his guardian. "No way, mister. You've had enough adventure for one day."
Peter grumbled as his guardian continued his lecture, not noticing the man and two dogs run off the wing of the airship and jump onto a smaller merchant airship flying past his window.