American Trains
Chapter 21: Fight or Flight
Warning: This story will contain: violence, character death, swearing, sexual acts (yaoi/slash/boyxboy, whatever you want to call it) and some sensitive material.
Hetalia and all its characters, etc. belong to Himayura Hidekaz. I own nothing but the plot, the cowboys and their horses. ;)
Beta-ed by ykwyh26 (Kay). :)
A/N: Yay! action-y chapter AT FREAKING LAST! xD It's nice and long too!
It feels really good to actually post this like 2 days after the last chapter. I feel awesome again. ;)
Anywho~
Reviews:
Kay: Thanks for the welcome back! Lol, I love our UsUk brainwaves being insync! :3 And doesn't every good cowboy sleep with his boots on? xD Slight lapse in my details there! Oh well! Nope, no Roddy just yet. Soon though! I have someone just as lovely for this chapter though. ;)
Trumpet-Geek: Lol Hetalia; polluting the minds of perfectly nerdy history buffs and tourists with sexual innuendos. :P
Glad you both really liked the dream. I had fun writing a scared shit-less Artie! :3
Aerrow4eva: Wouldn't it just be nice if all it took was a little 'shoo-ing' to get Ivan to leave our gay lovers alone? Hehehe
DL: Yay! *shamlessnotselfpromotion* I can't wait to see! :D
On to the story!
Alfred and Arthur slunk into the first alleyway they came across and paused for a moment, more for the limping cowboy than any other reason. He sighed and absently rubbed the terribly sore area around his wound.
The Brit swallowed, his eyes darting from the American to the open way.
"It's not much farther, Alfred."
"I know." The cowboy responded, tugging at his denims to see that the cut had managed to reopen and was oozing hot blood again. It wasn't a terribly deep wound, but it did look dreadful. That explained the return of the sharp pain.
Arthur watched the dripping wound for a moment before nudging Alfred.
"You can make it, can't you?"
The cowboy grinned.
"'Course!" He chimed and just to prove his point, he settled his weight even and started forward. He was through with the wallowing sense of weakness he'd felt ever since having been shot. Even though it sent shivers of pain up his nerves, the American held steady and didn't show it.
The Brit resigned with a sigh, acutely aware of the cowboy's show, even if Alfred was a decent actor. Over the few days he'd known him, Arthur was impressed with himself for being able to tell the cowboy's smiles apart, since the cheeky American never seemed to cease with those ridiculous toothy grins. It was like reading the crisp, fresh pages of a book for the emerald-eyed blond.
The duo proceeded to the alley edge and moved along the building's wooden perimeter to keep a low profile. Alfred led them, still forcing himself to walk evenly on his wounded leg.
As before, the trip was short and they soon found themselves at, save for the cross, the plain wooden door of Elise's home and practice.
The blue-eyed American rapped his gloved knuckles on the structure and tried to shift some of his weight off his throbbing leg, leaning his good shoulder against the building's front face. Perhaps pretending it hadn't hurt wasn't his best idea after all.
The thud of boots echoed even from outside as the presumed doctor approached the door and opened it with a bright smile that could have warmed even the most chilled hearts.
"Alfred! Arthur! I'm surprised to see you both back! Not that I wouldn't mind your-" She paused, and laughed softly as she sorted out a proper word for the uniquely strange cowboy and gentleman. "Your interesting company, that is." The doctor finished.
Alfred grinned broadly at her, momentarily forgetting about the pain in his limb at the woman's positivism.
"Not meanin' any offense, ma'am, but we was hopin' we wouldn't have to come and trouble ya again."
"Yes, I'd hoped things would proceed happier for you both. Ah! But where are my manners? Come in, no need to stand on the porch while the night critters come out!"
Arthur shuddered and glanced down at the ground, rather perturbed by the thought of any more imagined creepy crawlers toying with his imagination. He was quick to follow Alfred in, nearly brushing the cowboy's heels as he tread.
Pushing the heavy door shut, the shorter blond looked back to the doctor and Alfred. It was then that Elise ushered them over to the main room of the house and motioned for them to sit on the cushioned couch set before a small and homely fireplace.
Arthur took his seat at the very edge of the deep viridian stitched cushions, leaning against the wooden arm of it. Alfred perched beside him, or very nearly on top of the Brit, sitting close enough so that their thighs were pressed together warmly.
The Brit made a soft noise in the back of his throat, but didn't bother to move, since he didn't truly mind. This was Elise they were before anyway. Apparently she'd seen them kiss, therefore, what was a little innocent close contact now? Or as innocent as the Brit's wired and devious mind would allow, anyways.
Innocent? Hardly.The familiar voice scathed in the background of his thoughts. You are far from innocent in any form.The shorter barely suppressed his natural instinct to recoil from the sneering voice, but managed.
"So then, what is the newest plight you boys have come across?" Elise asked as she took her place in a comfortable looking armchair sitting neatly close to the blackened fireplace. "I assume you haven't been following my directions to stay bedridden either, have you?"
Alfred flushed at the good-natured accusation and kneaded his fingers against the sore muscles around his cut leg.
"Nah, ma'am! I had the best rest of my Western days just this 'noon!" The cowboy nodded whilst flashing a knowing grin to the Englishman by his side. Arthur merely scoffed, blowing off the implication.
Elise chuckled and shook her head; golden-brown locks fluttering about her shoulders.
"Then what, pray tell, is the problem?" She asked again, leaning forward some, her eyes widely curious.
"Cowboys, that's what." Arthur practically spat. "A whole bleeding lot of them."
Elise nodded, her expression blank.
"Yes, Mr. Beilschmidt informed me of your doings at his saloon. While I commend you for saving his life, I don't condone the practice of murder."
Arthur loosed a low growl but quieted when Alfred shifted obviously beside him. The agitated Brit complied with a pointed glare however.
"The man had it coming."
They all do.
"Still, I implore you, Arthur, to at least consider your actions." Elise sighed. "But this is a different matter entirely. Now then, what about these cowboys made you think I could help? I care for the sick and wounded, not for the rowdy and beastly."
Alfred interjected a hefty sigh. Really, was he truly and terribly so 'beastly?'
The Englishman couldn't help but chuckle and Elise smiled as well.
"You are a completely different breed altogether, my sweet brute." He murmured. "It must be the Eastern blood in you."
The cowboy shrugged his good shoulder and Arthur looked back to the lady doctor.
"Gilbert directed us here. He said you might be able to get us on a train, preferably without being recognized and arrested on sight."
"I have clients and friends who work the rail lines, yes. Also," The doctor paused and rose to her feet. She strode to the fireplace mantel and lifted a small leaden paperweight off a stack of what appeared to be telegram messages. Collecting the papers with a quick shuffle of her hand, she set the weight back and sat down again, using her free hand to decrease the ruffles in her dress.
"According to these, my lovely friend Feliciano should be arriving in Salina on his usual route fairly soon, perhaps even tomorrow. I was going to go visit him when his train arrived."
"Felicano?" Arthur cocked a thick brow.
"Yes. Lovely young man, though his brother's a whole other story. He's a conductor and worker for Mr. Ames and the Union Pacific. I met him when my husband left on his long trip to Kansas City."
Alfred grit his teeth at the mention of the city, which didn't go unnoticed by either Arthur or Elise. When the American picked up on the expectant stares he quirked his lips in a frown.
"Don't like Kansas City much. Stopped there before I made it to Texas and nearly got killed by a bunch a' wolf ex-confederates."
The woman nodded.
"Yes, my husband sends me telegrams about the fights that happen often in the streets. A shame, really."
"Yes, ma'am." Alfred responded somberly.
Elise considered the small lapse in silence. But before her thoughts could fully arrange, a sharp knock sounded on the heavy wooden door that guarded the doctor's home.
The sharp whinny of a horse and the shuffling of heavy boots could be heard faintly above the silence of the house.
Arthur and Alfred both looked to the door with suspicion.
The cowboys; it had to be.
The Brit narrowed his eyes and caught Elise's own mirroring toxic greens. He shook his head gravely and mouthed the word, 'don't' mutely.
Silently, she rose, which made Arthur scowl at the woman's willful disobedience, but she plainly ignored the glare. She motioned for them both to rise and took Alfred's good shoulder. Leaning up on the tips of her feet she whispered in his ear.
"You and Arthur, go hide upstairs. I'll deal with this." She finished and patted the cowboy's arm, before shoving him lightly towards the stairs.
The taller blond nodded and ushered Arthur ahead of him as they proceeded up the creaking wooden flight.
Elise waited until the pounding on the door returned and she was sure that her fugitives were squared away somewhere safe in one of the many patient rooms. Finally, when the knocking became an incessant frustration, she strode to the door and opened it.
Her gaze set upon a very tall man in a long tan coat and high buckled brown leather riding gloves and boots. She could plainly see the glistening blu-shined steel of a Navy Colt Percussion holstered on his hip as well.
The man flashed an eerie smile, far too childish and innocent on a man of that size and armament.
"Good evening, ma'am." He spoke smoothly.
"Good evening to you as well, sir. A pleasure to be met." She responded perfectly bowing her head slightly.
"Oh course. Dear lady, perhaps you can assist me?"
"How may I help, sir?"
"We've met before, haven't we? Please, I insist you call me Ivan."
"As you wish. Friends call me Elise."
"Ah yes, that's right, the doctor. Then Elise, I feel obligated to inform you that you're harboring a wanted man and his accomplice." He said, still smiling.
"You must be mistaken, Ivan. I only shelter clients here."
"Then one of your clients is a murderer." The Russian retorted, his eyes darkening as he stepped forward. "You don't mind if I come in, do you?"
Elise fell back in step and shook her head.
"Do." She said and opened the door wider for the tall bounty hunter to enter. She closed the door quietly behind him. With a twirl of her wrist, the lady doctor motioned to the seat where Alfred and Arthur had just been sitting but a few moments ago.
"Care to sit?"
"No, thank you. I shouldn't be long." Ivan said and scanned the room with his wild, violet eyes. There was nothing out of place, nothing to suggest anyone was here but himself and the doctor. The Russian knew better though; he'd watched his malevolent target and the bewitched cowboy enter this exact building.
"Now then, Elise, as I was saying, you have a madman amidst you."
"I beg your pardon, as I still believe you must be confused." She replied defiantly, stepping around Ivan, to put herself between him and the staircase.
Ivan hissed out a low, almost chanting like noise on his breath. It nearly escaped Elise, but it made an odd chill ice her veins.
"No, dear lady, I am not." He spoke up, and smiled wider at her, a terrible look in his eyes.
"You harbor a man named Arthur Kirkland, and foolish American named Alfred. You will tell me where they've hidden." He commanded, voice menacing.
"I will do no such thing!" The viridian-eyed doctor spat back and edged away as the tall Russian advanced.
"Compliance would be in your best interest, Elise." He hissed her name low, like venom seeping off his tongue.
Quite suddenly, the aforementioned doctor bolted up the stairs, surprising the violet-eyed hunter. She made it nearly to the top before Ivan sprinted after her with a furious snarl painted on his lips.
As her boot heel touched the top step of the upper floor landing, she pivoted and grabbed the handle of the first door in the hall; the very same she'd stitched Alfred's wound in. She silently prayed that they'd be in there.
Flinging the door open, she raced in, dress skirt fluttering wildly, and slammed it behind her. Glancing back she felt a tremendous relief settle in her chest at the two surprised men she witnessed.
Arthur, who had been leaning with his back against the wall across from the bed, unhitched himself and looked as if he were about to speak. The doctor cut him off however as the sound of heavy boots struck the old weak spot of the top landing and moaned beneath a heavy weight.
The blue-eyed cowboy was quick to his feet, eyes narrowed in a defensive seriousness.
"Alfred, the door!"
The cowboy lunged to the door, throwing himself against it with Elise just as Ivan tried to wrench the heavy wooden structure open. From their place pressed against the structure, the cowboy and doctor could hear Ivan's frustrated growl as their combined weight held him at bay.
Elise glanced back at Arthur.
"It's Ivan." She said with a morbid dread and Arthur sneered.
Alfred loosed a low groan of pain as the door thundered again from Ivan's strength, paining his bad shoulder.
The lady doctor pressed all her weight back against the door.
"Arthur, Alfred, I have an idea, but I need you to do exactly as I say."
The Brit nodded, and Alfred did the same past another wince.
"Alfred, do you think the both of us can hold him off?"
"I can try, ma'am." He hissed out as the door shook so violently it sent jarring waves through Alfred's body straight to his bones.
Elise nodded, and looked back to the tensed emerald-eyed blond.
"Arthur, in the chest-of-drawers are yours and Alfred's belongings I removed before I left your horses with the veterinarian."
Arthur moved to the chest and opened it, revealing the old saddlebags and Alfred's carbine.
"Take them, and while we distract Ivan, flee here and find a man named Feliks Łukasiewicz. He's a coach driver that lives only a few buildings across the way from here. He'll take you to Feliciano in Salina. From there, well-"
The door slammed hard again, shoving Elise back and shaking the blue-eyed cowboy as he struggled holding against the larger, uninjured Russian.
The brunette rushed back and pressed against the door again.
"From there, explain what's happening to dearest Feli. He'll take you somewhere safe on the train."
Arthur confirmed and pulled the saddlebags from the chest, slinging them over his shoulder along with the carbine.
"Why not just shoot the blimey bastard?" The Brit snarled, gripping the carbine's strap hard.
"No. I won't have murder in my house."
"You're sure?" He inquired, eyes dark with mixed emotions and a nervous panic searing his painfully constricted chest. Damn the woman! Shooting Ivan made their entire problem vanish with the smoke off the barrel when it was said and done.
"Yes. You can trust Feliks and Feliciano. They're good men, and my friends." She answered, both to assuring the quality of her friends and the less lethal approach.
"Very well then, good doctor. Thank you for this."
"Don't thank me quite yet, dearie. We still have to succeed in our plan." She locked her gaze on Alfred's glass-blue eyes and silently readied herself and hoped he would as well.
The American gave a little nod and they both jumped back from the door as Ivan slammed it again. As the weakening frame guard burst open and Ivan nearly fell in, Alfred reached forward and grabbed the white-haired man's collar, forcibly yanking him further into the room to clear a path for Arthur.
The Englishman recognized his chance and sprinted from the room, taking the stairs down to the ground floor two at a time as he raced.
Ivan recovered quickly, thundering a frustrated growl as Arthur escaped and latched his grip onto Alfred's wrist and twisted it painfully, forcing the American to release him with a pained gasp. He wrenched Alfred forward and threw him to the ground.
Hitting the old wooden floor, the cowboy rolled, and was almost instantly back to his feet, a fiery fighting look in his bright blue orbs.
The two men stepped sidelong and circled, neither gaining ground until Alfred managed to plant himself between Ivan and Elise, who'd stepped back.
Ivan smirked devilishly and cocked his head to the side.
"I'll give you this one chance, Alfred. Stop this silly game. Surely you know what Arthur's done, or has he lied to you?"
"Nah, I know plenty." Alfred retorted, teeth bared slightly.
"And yet you still choose to fight me, instead of hunting him?"
"By Hoyle, I do."
"He's a murderous devil! Nothing but some street mongrel with a taste for blood!" Ivan roared.
"Ya dun know 'im." Alfred rumbled back, his voice low.
"You're wrong, American. I know his kind all too well. He stole my sister from me!"
"M' sympathies, but that dun give ya the right to try and steal 'im from others."
The Russian laughed bitterly.
"And what imbecile would want anything to do with such an abomination like Kirkland? Obviously he's bewitched you, but what sane, unhampered person would? I will do the world a great favor when I see him hanged for his crimes."
"I ain't fooled. Artie's my friend, and I ain't never let a friend down."
"I'll make it a first." He snarled and lunged at Alfred. Despite his size, Ivan was remarkably quick and Alfred barely managed to catch the direct punch aimed at his gut.
Before he had a chance to attempt his own swing, he threw back his head and howled in pain as the violet-eyed man managed to dig his fingers into Alfred's wounded shoulder. His gloved fingers ripped at the careful stitching, shredded muscle and frayed nerves, probing violently.
Alfred couldn't retreat from Ivan vice grip on his shoulder, but valiantly attempted to tug away, even as he felt his knees buckle.
Forcing him to the ground, Ivan overpowered the wounded and pain-shocked cowboy and clamped his massive hands around Alfred's throat, crushing him to the wooden floor.
The American's hands scrabbled at the violet-eyed attacker's hands and he bucked and thrashed in wild desperation as the oxygen was severed from his lungs.
The Russian smiled down maliciously at Alfred, child-like in gloating victory as the cowboy's life dimmed beneath his grip. His thrashing lessened and Ivan grinned wider as even the cowboy's hands fell away from their vain struggle.
He was winning! He'd win and kill Alfred and then Arthur would be all alone. He'd be miserable and destroyed and it made Ivan's heart pound with sheer glee. It wasn't that he really wanted to kill the blue-eyed American, but if they were 'friends' then this was just too perfect to pass up!
Just as he was nearly sure the limp American had truly passed from this world a painful force struck his back forcing him off of Alfred.
He caught himself, a bit stunned by the attack. Before he could even turn to see his attacker, another blow caught him viciously over the head, sprawling him to the floor beside Alfred, who groaned and flickered back to consciousness.
No! He had to kill Alfred!
"Alfred, run!" Elise called as she cracked the cast iron frying pan she'd stolen from her kitchen over Ivan's back again as he tried to rise.
"Nah, ma'am." He groaned out while trying to catch his breath and fumbled to try and stand.
"Don't be stubborn! Just go!" She ordered with a fiery burn to her words that didn't allow any room for disobedience, but letting a lady try to fight off a man like Ivan while he fled like a coward would never have sat well with the ex-soldier.
On his knees, he tackled Ivan from the side, slamming them both against the metal framing of the bed. He cuffed the man's temple with the heaviest blow his strained strength would allow, striking it against the metal and Ivan went limp almost instantly.
The cowboy stumbled to his feet, gripping the frame for support as he wobbled up on shaky legs. The pain in his shoulder and leg left him winded for a moment as Elise approached him.
She tentatively placed her hand on Alfred's back as he panted, still gripping the bed frame with a knuckle-whitening vice.
"Brave, stupid boy." She muttered lightly on a relieved, soft laugh.
The cowboy smiled weakly.
"I been told that before, ma'am." The blue-eyed blond said between pants. "Ya pretty brave yaself."
She smiled but slunk her slim fingers to Alfred's bad shoulder, carefully peeling the torn shirt aside to assess the damage Ivan had inflicted. The stitching still held, if only slightly mangled, but the wound wept long trails of blood again.
"I'll be just fine." Alfred said, brushing off her hand. At least he hoped he would. He could already feel the bone-deep and soul weary fatigue atrophying his strength and sapping his muscles.
His sinking thoughts fled to Arthur. He hoped he'd be back soon with the coach. He doubted Ivan would stay unconscious for too long.
"Come." Elise beckoned and looped her arm with Alfred's to help him stumble out of the room and struggle down the stairs.
She sat him down on the plush couch, set her frying-pan-turned-assault-weapon back in the kitchen and went to the door. Leaning her form in the doorframe, her hands plucked absently at her dress as she waited in anxious anticipation.
It wasn't long however before the clatter of hooves and creaky wheels pattered over the dusty way and met the lady doctor's ears. She glanced back at the sitting cowboy and beckoned him over with a twitch of a hand gesture.
Groaning, he rose and limped over to her as she directed his gaze down the way with point of her index finger.
Alfred smiled lightly as the coach rolled up before the doctor's house, pulled by a pair of blocky looking bays, both with white blazes dappling their foreheads to their noses.
While Arthur was perched on the far side of the driver's bench, looking rather annoyed, another with brilliant blond hair was driving and clearly trying to make conversation with the annoyed Brit.
Alfred thought he couldn't have been any happier to see that familiar scowl.
"Artie!" he croaked out in his tired voice.
It distracted the chatty driver for just enough time for the mentioned emerald-eyed man to slip from the bench, move around the horses and jog up to the exhausted American.
The driver huffed, but Elise approached the bench and started speaking with him in an urgent tone.
While to driver smirked and downplayed Elise's worry with a few wild gestures and chimed words, Arthur merely stood in front of the weary man before him.
Alfred smiled and ruffled Arthur's messy hair, to which the Brit snarled feral-like and shoved his companion's hand away.
You nearly lost him. Yet again.
While he would have liked a detailed explanation of the occurrence, he could plainly see Alfred was beyond tired; he looked about to keel. Instead of probing, the shorter heralded him to the stagecoach, set his hand on the other's arm to steady him and aided him into the cushioned body seats.
Alfred gave a grateful smile as Arthur set his foot on the carriage step and stood on it, looking to Elise and their annoying driver, Feliks.
"You'd best be going." The doctor observed with a sad smile, turning her attention from the driver to the Brit.
He merely bobbed his head in acknowledgment.
"Thank you, ever so much. You've done so much for us, and you hardly even know us."
"It's my profession, Arthur, dearie." Elise responded modestly.
"Even so…"
"Think nothing of-"
"Can we put a wiggle on it? Please?" The driver interjected and sighed in overdramatic exasperation.
While Arthur glared death at the driver, who began to examine his nails, Elise laughed and stepped back from the stagecoach.
"I'll take care of Ivan. You boys go, and maybe come back to visit me some time?"
"Naturally." Arthur said and inclined his head, giving a little bow; he ducked back into the body with Alfred and their sparse luggage and shut the passenger door.
"Give Feli my best regards!" She called as Feliks cracked the whip on his horses and the coach started off.
She watched it until the black body melded into the night horizon before she finally turned to return to her home. The doctor walked back up the stairway and proceeded to the room they'd left the benumbed Russian in.
To her horror, when she arrived, the room was empty, save for the usual furnishings. No body, nothing.
She murmured a prayer under her breath and walked to the window that faced the main way.
If Ivan's still out there now, then please, help those boys find solstice. She prayed and clutched her hand over her heart. She'd done all she could; now it was out of her hands. All she could do was hope and wait.
Poland! It's Poland! Sorry I couldn't do his 'valley girl' dialect (1870 and all,) but the implication of being incredibly annoying and chatty to Artie made me giggle as I wrote this. :)
And yes, I have shoved N. Italy into this madness as well! I love little Feli! 3
History! :DDD (and fun facts!)
For once I had Elise act as a 'proper' lady. Bowing one's head to a man and their original greeting was very to the standard of the higher class of the 1870; Victorian, if you will.
Alfred's distaste for Kansas City stems from post Civil War bitterness in the city. After the war ended, it became a hot spot for pro-south sympathizers and ex-confeds. The city was practically a riot town with how many fights broke out from 1865 to nearly 1880. ex-confeds and ex-union boys would start fights over anything and everything.
The Allusion to Mr. Ames and the Union Pacific was actually the owner of the Union Pacific Railroad at the time and it's name. In 1869, the transcontinental railroad was completed and opened. It got a bit vague, but the rail head for Union Pacific was in Abilene, however I'm fairly certain there was a station in Salina too. Getting really specific with these old cowtown stops that likely don't exist anymore can be pretty vague. I apologize if this is inaccurate.
Ivan's gun is specifically a #553 Colt Percussion 1851 Navy Mfg. 1863 civil war edt. gun. For the non-gun knowledgeable, 'blu' is just the coating put on the metal work of guns to make them wear and rust resistant. It adds a very subtle shine to the gun too. ^^
Western slangs:
By Hoyle - like 'damn straight' or 'that's right'
Put a wiggle on it - hurry up