Feliks stared at the wall.
Where do I start? Who do I turn to? France? Italy? Hungary? Austria?
He frowned into the relentless darkness, unable to make up his mind. Out of all the people who knew 'Germany' – was that even his original name or a pseudonym, he didn't know anymore – the people closest to him were people that Feliks wanted to spend the least time with. Austria and Prussia. Austria could have been anywhere, but Prussia was close enough at hand.
But I can't see him without Germany knowing and taking me down there himself. He countered.
It was hopeless. He only had one solution. Grumbling, Feliks flicked on his work laptop, grabbed a package of pocky and started to do a little 'research'. By the time he'd finished the sun had begun to peek over the skyline of Berlin, casting it's warming glow over the world. Despite winters grip the day was already looking promisingly warm. From the balcony Feliks watched the world turn, thoughts spinning in his head.
France said that he was part of a set of brothers. There was him and this other kid. Germania watched over both of them 'till France was snatched by Rome. Germania raised the other kid. But Germania disappeared around the same time that Rome did. So what came after Rome then, time-wise? That would be...Holy Rome? That little kid? But...I know he looks like Germany but are they really the same? No way that little brat was as old as France – he was way too young to be Germany at that time. So what the hell happened to Germany when Holy Rome was around? Is he Holy Rome or someone else entirely? That doesn't make sense though, that pipsqueak kid should have been about France or mines size by the end of it all but he didn't change one bit – despite being hundreds of years old. Huh...but when Germany showed up he was about the right age – but I didn't see him at all for those hundreds of years? Like, what the hell happened back then...
Growling with frustration Feliks determined that if anyone could sort it all out it would be the wine-loving 'big brother' of western Europe. Keeping that in mind as much as he wanted to get to the bottom of this tale of intrigue he still had two rouge armies invading his land.
"After the meeting, I'll totes have to talk with France again..."
The trail led into the deep forests, Ivan following the crimson path as it jaggedly dodged between trees and over boulders, winding itself into the growing darkness of night.
It wasn't normal. It wasn't right. This human and his seemingly endless endurance. It was as if he were living on pure will alone. But will can only take you so far, everything has a breaking point beyond which it cannot pass without destroying itself. Ivan was certain that here in the cold, with the snow swirling around in the approaching darkness that Adler would reach that end. And in the wind was an ominous groan; deep and threatening. A whispering breath that chilled the nation to the bone. He had to find his little lost bird and bring him back in one unfrozen piece.
Father winter would turn him into a crystal statue if he found him.
Ivan stepped faster through the piling drifts, searching for someone that did not want to be found. The first trap caught him completely off guard. His feet slipped out from under him and he had thrown himself sideways in order to avoid falling into a deep pit.
He didn't have time to dig that. He must have found it as he went...clever.
But no matter how clever his patience was being tested and as far as Ivan could tell it was a test he was failing. And with each trap, each ruse he felt his anger burning hotter.
Then he saw the flapping of an old coat and lunged forward. Adler tried to swing only to have the arm caught in air.
"You-" Ivan hissed, violet eyes cold and unforgiving as steel. "You have come to the end of my pleasantness. Even a bit more trouble from you and you can give up any hope of remaining in this world."
Alder glared back, defiance in his face that only angered the Russian more.
"Do not continue this foolishness." Ivan spoke lowly with a terrible gruffness that convinced his once-again recaptured prisoner of his complete seriousness in the matter.
A burst of frozen air hit them. The forest was silent. No birds, no wind, not the creaking of snow burdened trees. Their breath was the only sound.
Ivan held still and quiet, eyes staring into the darkness. Adler, weak and weezing as he was focused his attention in the same direction – both having completely disregarded the others presense for just a moment. Something wicked was coming toward them, icy prickles racing along their skin. And there was a tinkling like small glass bells. The trees became lighter and began to sparkle and crackle as they were sealed unforgivingly in a solid layer of glacial ice; ice that crept ever closer as the forest froze.
And like a breath from the abyss, a ghostly sigh in the arctic wind came a voice.
"...Россия..."
Russia moved, he didn't think about saving Adler's life as he threw him away from the on-rushing wind. Adler couldn't understand why the world was spinning or how he'd ended up at the bottom of a slope on his back, watching helplessly as a blast of arctic snow and ice raced overhead — engulfing the tops of the trees above and locking them in ice prisons. He could scarcely hear the sound clashing metal, pipe against sword as he lay shaking in the cold unable to move or feel anything other than the relentless pain. Pain from his recent fall, from his wounded side, from cracked ribs and sick lungs. Pain in his head from lack of sleep, from too much battle, from despair and hopelessness.
So he didn't really register that he was standing, moving, trudging back up the slope. It was all just a bad dream that wasn't happening in this world anymore — a world he could no longer feel at all. There was a black haze around the edges of his tunnel vision and a numbness in his nearly destroyed body.
Ivan fought with all his strength, not letting up for an instant. Life and death hung by a thread every time he clashed with the General. He'd wanted to get home, inside, before this happened. But the helmed and bearded foe continued his assault, the sword inches from cutting through flesh and bone. A tattered uniform whipped in the harsh wind. The steel pipe was starting to break apart. It wasn't meant for this — it wasn't even really a weapon. In the best of circumstances he would have a hard time fending off the master of winter with his own sword, but with a pipe — impossible.
The ghostly form dodged to the side again and again. Ivan fearlessly cut him off each time and they clashed, the sound of metal echoing through the dark forest.
He keeps trying to flank around me. It isn't working — if he comes in for a direct attack I can't hold him back with this flimsy thing, so why is he hesitating?
Ivan tried to stare into the cold dead eyes, his heart seizing up when he realized that those pale glacial orbs weren't even on him. The General charged, ramming into the solid nation who didn't have time to recover and instead felt himself pushed back and with another strike sent stumbling to the side. In a whirl of ice and snow the phantom was past him.
"Run! Get out of here!"
Adler couldn't move. There was no time.
Russia dove, feeling the weight in his arms as he sheltered the small and frail human from the elements.
The sword hovered in air, just a fraction of an inch above his pale blonde locks. Snowflakes drifted down around them as gently as blossoms falling in spring as General Winter stood just as towering and immobile as a great grey mountain before them.
"Идите."
"Нет." Ivan responded with an emphatic shake of his head, clutching the man closer.
The figure breathed ice and whispered something so soft that Ivan could hardly tell what he had said. Then the General did the unthinkable — he took a step back, slowly walking away from the nation and the human before him. As he did his uniform rustled like wind in snow covered trees, and amid the blinding snow Ivan's eyes landed on a thin horizontal slash in the fabric.
I didn't think I had hit him, I suppose a pipe is a good weapon after all. But how could it cut?
After the General had faded into frigid mist the nation looked down at the rebel lying unconscious in his arms.
"You are very lucky, human, that your death gives me more trouble than your life."
With a disgusted grimace he shifted the man to make him easier to carry back to the car. Ivan was already dreading the long walk back through the thick snow and the dark and loathed the prospect of his coat being once again covered in blood. It was so difficult to wash out properly; though he reminded himself that the cold and snow would help keep it from drying. If Toris was careful he could do it without too much hassle.
Toris, who was still waiting for him by the car — alone and unguarded.
Stifling a curse he lifted the man to his shoulder and actually said a curse as something sharp jammed him in the side. He glared at the mans sleeping face.
He's out, so it was not on purpose.
Cautiously he looked for the pointy object and soon found it clutched so tightly in Adlers hands that the nation realized he couldn't pry it loose without breaking something.
How..so he had a knife the whole time? Not surprising, he is a fighting man after all.
But the image of General Winter — fading back into the darkness in the swirling snow with a slash across his chest sprung instantly to mind and Ivan stood, staring dumbly down at the clutched blade.
I thought it was strange that a round pipe could cut through cloth.
He closed his eyes, trying to remember.
He had jumped as soon as he had seen where the General was running and threw himself in between him and the human he was carrying now. Adler had raised his hand — Ivan thought it was just a flinch.
No. There was movement before that too.
Ivans mind ran backwards. When the General had reached that spot he had struck, there had been a sharp sound and then he raised his sword over his head to cut down the man. That was when the Russian had jumped into the fray.
General Winter struck first, hit something other than Adler.
The blade was halved. A second look confirmed that it was cut very neatly in two near the point as if it had come in contact with something far stronger and sharper than itself.
"The Generals Sword." Ivan tensed, removing the man from his shoulder to regard him more carefully.
Lightly, he brushed a strand of hair from the mans face.
Then cradling him he continued back to the car; the look on his face tense and frighteningly stern as the wheels in his head began to turn.
Ludwig took his place behind the wheel. He didn't want to talk about where he'd been for the last hour and sincerely hoped that the man climbing into the back seat didn't ask. He normally wasn't late for his appointments, especially not an important one. Feliks didn't question anything. He was lost in his own muddled thoughts. The last few days had been an absolute whirlwind – the last week especially so. He didn't want to think about anything, the past, the future, and definitely not the present.
And Ludwig found himself in complete agreement. So in a bid to steer the subject away from delicate matters he asked a very simple question that had been on his mind since the last war had ended.
"Do you mind if I ask about something."
"Like, go for it." Feliks shrugged, grateful for a distraction.
"Why...I mean...what is your reasoning for wearing your particular choice of clothes."
"...you mean why do I dress like a girl."
Ludwig avoided the mans eyes in the rear-view mirror, very pointedly keeping his eyes even more on the road than normal. He felt relief when Feliks laughed from the backseat.
"No worries dude. It's like, totally a legit question." He responded with a girlish flip of the hair. "What would you think if I said it's because my legs are totally cute in tights?"
"That's your reason? Hm. I suppose that's legitimate."
"So you admit I got some cute gams?"
They nearly plowed into the car ahead. The driver flustered, now looking right at his passenger through the mirror. "That's not – please be serious for one moment! You know what I meant!"
"Serious huh?" Feliks repeated as his laugh slowly quieted and he began to think over the question a little more. "Do you really want to know? Why I dress like a girl?"
Ludwig sighed. "Do I ask anything I do not want to know the answer to?"
Feliks gave a quick laugh. "Nope. I guess you never have."
There was a pause, the only sound the traffic outside the car.
"Have you ever seen a pretty girl on the street? Have you seen how people treat them? They could walk up to a total stranger and get the time of day. For any question, any reason they can strike up a conversation and people will talk along with them – a stranger they don't know. Pretty girls have a remarkable ability to make friends with almost anyone. And a lot of people hesitate before saying or doing anything to hurt a pretty girl. And if someone does it's only because they're a total scumbag villain."
Feliks gazed out of the tinted window. "If you're a pretty guy, you're weird or weak. Not worth giving the time of day or spending any thought on. And no one goes out of their way to protect a guy – we're always expected to protect ourselves; even when we're not strong enough to. We're told to 'man up' and deal with everything. But pretty girls spend their lives being protected and helped by people they don't even know, making friends as they just go through life. People go out of their way to help them without realizing they're doing it. And sure, some people get jealous of pretty girls, or way too protective of them. But others will stand up for them to try and balance it all out."
After this he paused, smoothing his skirt over nicely shaved legs and took a moment to eye his daintily painted nails.
"I guess I dress this way because being a guy sucks. As a nation I have to be strong for my people. And far too often I have to do it on my own. Other nations have tried to beat me up and take what was mine just because they could – without any thought to how I felt about it. I've been dragged away as a prisoner, tortured and almost killed; by far too many nations to think about. It's become so routine I'm not even surprised when someone stabs me in the back anymore. But when I go out with my cute little heels, with my makeup and skirts and nice nails and pretty hair it's like the world is mine – no one wants to hurt me or see me hurt. Everyone just wants to make me happy. And...I can pretend for just a little while that that's how it always is – even when it's not."
There was a long silence as Ludwig mulled over the answer. He honestly hadn't been expecting such a heartfelt outpouring – he'd hoped to keep the conversation light!
Feliks smiled. "So, now that I've answered a totally serious question for you you gotta answer one for me!"
"I agreed to no such thing!"
"Don't be, like, a total killjoy. Just do it! Come on - I won't ask you anything really embarrassing like how much do you 'like' Italy. Though you could totally answer that one if you wanted to."
Feliks added the last line with a sing-song voice hinting at a schoolgirl that knows all about another classmates 'secret' crush. And he found it immensely satisfying when Ludwigs face went red.
"Why does everyone...no. We're just friends."
"Okay."
"I mean it."
"Uh-huh hon. So let me think up a good question for you since I already know the answer to that one."
There was a groan from the driver.
Feliks snapped his fingers. "Got it."
"And?"
The Pole gave a soft sigh, his face growing so serious that Ludwig was afraid he'd ask a loaded question; one that might start a screaming match in the middle of the street. He suddenly had a horrible vision of him and Feliks arguing like a disgruntled couple until someone called the police.
Please don't let him ask anything controversial...like how I feel about the war or what I plan to do about the situation in Greece...
"Could you tell me..."
For a moment Feliks had a thought, the first question that popped into his head.
...are you really, truly Him...
But his courage failed him and he sputtered out the second question that had plagued him.
"Why don't you ever smile?"
"What? I smile."
"When?"
"Occasionally when I'm out doing something enjoyable I'm certain I smile."
Feliks raised an eyebrow. "You're certain you smile? I've never seen it."
"You aren't normally there when I'm having fun."
"So who do you go out with?"
"Japan, or Italy. Sometimes Canada."
"Canada? Really?"
"Well he and his brother can make for an interesting time in any case. Of course there's also Brazil and Argentina."
"Uh huh. So don't you spend time hanging out with Russia then?"
"Not if I can help it."
The nation in the backseat sat up a bit. "But I thought you two were getting all close. You totally seemed to be working on your relationship."
Ludwig sighed. "A business partnership and a friendship are completely different. Yes, we are beginning to mend our relationship but it's not so close as to spend our free time together. I'm not entirely comfortable around him – and I have the feeling he's the same way."
Feliks nodded. "I guess you're right, it is a little too soon to be BFF's."
Ludwig mutely agreed, not really understanding what a 'BFF' was. He had trouble with Polands slang on a good day.
"So you still never answered me."
A bit flustered, Ludwig tried to not think about the question at hand. But he knew Feliks would keep asking until he got something, anything out of him. So he took a moment to gather his thoughts.
"You know, you're not the first person to ask me that. In fact it seems more often than not people assume that I don't know how to have fun, or smile, or laugh. And frankly I don't understand why."
He stared up at the red light, wanting it to turn green so he could get to their destination that much faster and avoid all of these questions. Questions were uncomforatble; they could always be answered wrong and then there was the fallout to deal with.
"Maybe it's because you're stiff and mechanical most days. You're totally like some wind-up soldier." Feliks bit his lip the second his mind caught up with his mouth. He really hadn't wanted to go anywhere near anthing to to with wars because it was too dicey.
But then, it's almost impossible to avoid isn't it? Like a mountain in your backyard you can't help but bring it up even if you don't try.
At first Ludwig was quiet so long that Feliks figured that he wasn't going to speak to him again for a good long while. But then after a few minutes had gone by the driver spoke again, his voice soft but reflectful.
"I guess...I am that way sometimes. I've spent so many decades at war I don't think I remember what true peace is like. And it's not just...the war...it's all of them. Before the great wars there were the Napoleon wars, the Succession wars. Wars everywhere; it was all about fighting. And I was the crossroads. If my bosses weren't involved in starting it they would jump in half-way through. If they didn't jump in they stood to gain or lose something from the outcome and would try to tip the odds in their favor. And I had so many Kings, Princes, or politicians pulling in different directions that I didn't know which way to turn. I finally get my head on straight and everything goes to hell. I've figured out that if the system is working then it's best not to do anything to upset it."
He sighed. "You don't rock a steady boat. You don't upset the cart by fooling around on it. You do what you have to, what you're told to and leave everything to those in charge even if it doesn't seem like it makes sense. Because fighting so many heads out to bite one another is just too tiring."
After this he paused only a moment before going on, looking back at Feliks through the mirror.
"I guess that 'soldier' part of me is still working. But I'm not fighting with guns or bombs – I'm going to battle in the boardroom, in the conference hall. And it's still just as serious as it ever was. Because I've seen what poverty does to my people and I want them to be wealthy. I've seen what oppression does and I want them to be free. It's all I ever really think about. And they're worth it – I believe that even if no one else does, or if others resent them for how far they've come. I can hardly believe it myself how much they've turned things around for themselves in so short a time. And I want it to stay peaceful, to stay calm so that they don't have to suffer like the generations before them.
I guess...I don't smile because I'm trying so hard to make sure that my people can...I'm not really used to doing things just for myself anymore. It's a habit of mine of sorts."
Feliks gave a slow smile. "Then I guess that's something we'll have to work on right? I can't have you totally bringing down my good vibes. Not cool."
"I'll try to keep it in mind." Ludwig replied, the barest hint of a smile tugging at his lips.
"See, better already."
Slowly, the car rolled to a stop. Deep down Feliks was glad for the traffic that had made the going rather slow, he felt their talk had been very cathartic. Well, he felt better anyway. He hoped his neighbour did too.
True to his role as chauffeur Ludwig diligently made sure every window was rolled up, that the lights were off and that the car was parked properly before turning off the engine. Feliks would have laughed at the over-seriousness of it all but he'd had a car roll off on him before, so he wasn't one to talk.
Exiting, Ludwig took a few steps to the passenger door to let Feliks out, the nation swinging his legs toward the door in 'proper' fashion with a grin on his face as he pulled his thick dark green winter coat closer.
"Like, thanks! You should totally drive me around more often. Ludwig rolled his eyes but a smile slipped through. Stepping out, Feliks took a moment to rearrange his skirts – making sure everything was lying straight.
His head cracked, he felt the impact in the back of his skull as he fell back, the roof of the car suddenly above him again. In the time it took him to hit the seat he realized he'd been pushed backwards rather ungracefully into the car.
"Hey!" He yelled, the sound muffled by the slamming door. "What the hell are-"
A sound like hail and sharp whistles echoed through the car as it rocked back. Feliks curled in the seat, knees pulled to his chest as he covered his head with both arms, ducking as bullets ripped through the vehicle. He felt puffs of air race past and once felt a sting in his hip. Then all at once it was silent excepting a muted chorus of yells outside. Slowly, the Pole uncovered his head. Due to some smart engineering the glass hadn't shattered, but it was clearly dotted with numerous large holes that matched ones in the other window. Even the door bore marks, though not as many as the glass above the steel.
"Holy hell! What was that!" Feliks yelled, sitting all the way up. Outside the tinted glass he couldn't see much. Slowly he reached for the handle, wondering if it was safe to open the door. But outside he heard yells, the words 'police!' being yelled over and over by different voices along with the sound of feet running back and forth. The gunfire; however, had stopped. Slowly, Feliks dislodged the door and opened it just enough to step outside.
There was pandemonium out there, people yelling and crying. Pointing and calling on phones for the police. He couldn't tell if others were injured though he thought he saw one or two prone forms – one of which eventually rose to it's feet, stunned, to stagger away from the area. Moving just a bit, his foot tapped something and a wave of cold dread came over his entire being. His eyes moved to the right, around the door and couldn't stop staring at the other nation that lay quietly in the street.
Feliks' mind halted, suddenly and jarringly. His mind couldn't handle it, couldn't explain it. Ludwig had to be playing to keep up appearances. A human would fall but not a nation. A regular weapon shouldn't even break the skin of a healthy nation – only a country in it's weakest state could be injured by a human weapon. But there was no mistaking that Ludwig was slowly bleeding into the roadway - his body still as stone. Feliks moved to the fallen nations side, holding his breath as he fell to his knees. Ludwig was entirely on his side, one arm under him, the other draped limply to the front.
"Hey...we got to get out of here. We don't have time, you gotta get up." Feliks shook Ludwigs shoulder, but there was no response.
"Oh come on..." The man whispered. "I've shot you way more times and you always got up before. You can handle this! So get up already and stop jerking around!"
Panic was starting to set in as he shook the other mans shoulder and suddenly he saw it – the wide holes that cut through him, larger than any bullet he'd seen.
Wait...that glass was supposed to be bullet-proof. That's why it didn't shatter like it normally would have. The doors must have been armor plated too – this is a car used for high level government officials. Those bullets shouldn't have gone through one, let alone both doors!
"Ludwig?"
The nations eyes were still just slightly open, as if he'd been completely caught unawares.
He can't be...no.
In years gone by he had actually hoped for a moment like this, conspired for one and it had never even come close to happening. And now, when there was light at the end of that dark tunnel – when some sort of normalcy with Germany seemed so close at hand – it was suddenly ripped away.
Like a horrific nightmare words echoed mockingly in his head.
"Feliks someone was trying to kill you!"
"Kill me?" Wondered Feliks, loosening his grip.
"Intelligence intercepted a plot for an assassination attempt on you and several other officials while you were here in Germany."
An assassination...
Feliks tried to lift Ludwig from the ground but only managed to raise his torso, the other nations head rolled limply onto his shoulder. There was blood in the blonde hair, running towards his half-closed eyes. Guilt and sadness crept into his body in waves pulling at his mind.
If he dies it's my fault – they were trying to kill me, they would never hurt Germany on purpose!
Sitting in the cold street, listening to the approaching wail of sirens, feeling the warmth of the bloodied nation in his arms Feliks couldn't help it. He felt hot tears on his cheeks and his vision blurred before he he regain control. and all he could see were images in his mind.
Germany helping Austria pick out gifts for Hungary, Hungary flagging down her former brother in law at a meeting. Italy clinging to Germany's arm so bad he almost tripped. Germany yelling at America to stop dancing on the conference table. Bringing in gingerbread close to Christmas, awkwardly wearing a set of bunny ears that Lichtenstein made him at Prussia's request.
So many memories; so many years of being neighbours – of fighting and making up and fighting again...
"Don't you dare...don't die on me. Come on! GET UP!"
Don't die because of me...
Authors note:
Wow. I don't write in forever and then unleash the floodgates of WTF. I'm one of 'those' authors as my roommate puts it. ^.^; Part two should be up and running soon! Thank You for reading!