Warning: Dark chapter. That's all the warning you're getting.
XXXXXXX
Chapter Twenty-One: Cark It
Canada drifted in a haze, unaware of the passage of time. He'd be content with that aimless drifting if not for the chill claiming his body and soul. He could hardly move, breath coming in short puffs of air, but a part of him that sounded strangely like America demanded that no, he was not going out like this, so get up and try dammit.
That voice was smothered under the sound of wind and the numbing chill of snow and ice. The cold deepened with every passing second, seeping over his every cell like frost. Canada dare not fall into it completely, knowing he might not come back if he did. Yet was it only Mantle's slow decay that froze him or something else as well?
He shouldn't accept this.
He should fight it.
He was tired of fighting.
Again and again his thoughts circled through the same old arguments and feelings. He should get up and try to stop this. He should tell someone. He should work. He should make arrangements. He should do anything other than lay there waiting to die. They always led back to the numbness and cold.
Kumajirou shifted in his spot against Canada's back and whined. "Cold."
I'm sorry, Canada thought.
Of course, the bear could not hear his apology. With a shiver, he snuggled closer against Canada. The nation couldn't feel the warmth of his fur. He supposed he was lucky Kuma had not realized just how bad off he was and run to tell the others. Then again, if he tried, Canada could just erase his memory with a touch and a 's tears froze on his cheeks.
Kumajirou flinched and whimpered again. "C-Cold."
I'm sorry.
The bedroom door creaked open. "So I heard you— ¿Qué demonios?"
Canada blinked lethargically. Had he started hallucinating? He swore that was Cuba's voice. But he would never come to America's house... Canada curled up more under the blankets, hiding the blurry figure in the doorway from view. Footsteps hurried to his bedside, accompanied by low muttering in Spanish. The blankets were torn from his head and maybe-Cuba gasped.
"What have you done to yourself?" The hand that touched Canada's forehead was burning hot. Its owner yelped. "You're ice! Stupid Europeans! They left you alone like this?"
Canada forced his eyes open— when had he closed them? Well, he tried to open them but his eyelashes were frozen together. He whimpered in pain and maybe-really-Cuba spat more curses in Spanish. The footsteps retreated and Matthew drifted once more. Something warm pressed over his eyes and he sighed.
"There you are." Cuba said, voice surprisingly soft.
Canada's eyelids peeled apart painfully and his vision slowly cleared, revealing his friend's worried face.
"You idiot." Cuba growled. "You are all idiots. Why aren't the others caring for you?"
Canada forced his dry, cracked lips apart. "They don't know. Hid it."
Cuba's eyebrows rose incredulously. "You hid this from them? You're literally frozen. You're blue and the idiots didn't notice?"
"Didn't… let them see the ice." Canada rasped hazily. "Stayed hidden… and ignored them… until they left me alone."
Cuba insulted the others under his breath, surprisingly leaving America out of his rant. "At least your asshole of a brother was smart enough to call me. Why are you so sick?"
"Not sick." Canada mumbled.
Cuba acted as if he had not spoken, glaring at him as he snatched the washcloth from his forehead. "Already cold." He muttered, standing up. Canada weakly grabbed his wrist before he could leave.
"Not sick." Canada repeated. "Dying."
Cuba dropped the washcloth.
Canada slowly realized what he had said. Something bubbled up in his chest and he shook, unsure if he was sobbing or laughing. Too-hot arms wrapped around him and he hid his face in Cuba's shoulder, tears freezing his eyelashes together.
The hug crushed Canada's walls and he broke down, telling Cuba about everything. Mantle, Atlas, Vale, Remnant, his Semblance, everything that happened to him in the past few months and how it was killing him now. The words poured from him with no filter, and Cuba listened in silence, not commenting Canada ran out of steam and fell into a chilled silence.
"You stupid jerk." Cuba choked, eyes suspiciously bright. "How could you keep this a secret?"
"I don't want to hurt them." Canada mumbled.
"So having them unknowingly stand by and do nothing while you die is better?" Cuba snapped.
"They'll only waste time trying to save me when they can't." Canada said dully.
His despair was distant now, still heavy in his bones but with a less firm grip on him than before. Perhaps he had finally moved past the initial depression and into acceptance. Could numbness be considered accepting his inevitable demise?
Cuba bared his teeth, firmly in the anger portion of grief. "I can't believe you. You've given up."
Canada flinched, dropping his gaze to his cold, blue-tinged fingers. "There's no point in fighting."
"To hell with that!" Cuba snarled. "You can do something! You said your asshole brother has fire-powers? Use him as a damn furnace."
That got a weak chuckle out of Canada. "That's not how it works."
"Maybe it is." Cuba challenged. "'Cause here's what I think. I think you've given up since you think you deserve this." Canada flinched but his friend ruthlessly continued. "You only got so bad after you accidentally hurt France. I won't say you're letting this happen to you—" Canada flinched again. "— but you're not damn trying to fight it. If you really don't want to hurt us, you'll do your damn best to get out of this and let us help. Isolating yourself and suffering in silence will only hurt us and you, amigo."
With that, Cuba lifted Canada off the bed, ignoring his yelp. The brown-haired nation marched to the bathroom and deposited him gently on the floor, turning on the tap. Steam wafted through the air, fogging up the mirror and Canada's glasses.
"We are going to try to get you warm." Cuba stated, daring Canada to argue. "And after that, we are leaving this room. We will go do something. We will drink hot chocolate. I don't care what the hell we do. But we are not going to sit here and let you ice yourself."
He crouched and gently cupped Canada's cheek, forcing him to meet his eyes. "You can decide whether to tell your family or not. I won't take that choice from you. If you stop this and fight again, understand?" His voice grew quieter but no less firm. "You're a survivor. You always have been. And I'd rather be dragged to hell than stand by and watch you let yourself waste away."
The guilt tried to strangle Canada. The chill did its best to assist it. But for the moment, Canada struggled past the weakness in his limbs and gripped his friend's hand with all his strength, meeting his dark amber eyes.
"I'll try."
XXXXXXX
Stone crackled beneath the car's wheels as it slowed to a stop. England put on the brake and exited the vehicle, leaning against the door as he waited for the others. The other nations— America, Prussia, Russia, and Australia— and Pyrrha got out as well, shutting the doors as quietly as they could. There was some space between themselves and their target's house, but if they could get some semblance of surprise on their side by not warning Russet Greenlee of their approach, America would take it.
He glanced down the road at the house their target resided in. It was surrounded by woods, much like America's mansion, though this house was much smaller, more like a cabin. It was equally isolated, however, and perfect for someone who didn't want to deal with neighbors. America checked his cell signal, noticing it was still good, but paused, glancing at Pyrrha.
"Does your phone work?"
"Yes." She replied after a pause. "It's not your Semblance boosting the signal."
America nodded. "Thanks. We're so far out I was worried we'd be unable to contact people."
"That would be inconvenient." England acknowledged. "I doubt we'll need backup but the situation can always go south."
"Are you sure we shouldn't have called America's boss so he could send agents?" Pyrrha asked.
"Yes, I'm sure." England stated. "We want answers, not for the man to vanish and never be seen again. Besides, if the man is from Remnant, he may have Aura. The agents would bring him down eventually but they would lose people before he'd fall."
"Meanwhile, we can take care of the naughty man with no problem." Russia said gleefully.
"Only if he's a threat. We need proof before we do anything." America reminded him.
"No promises." Russia said. "Regardless of his loyalty, he stalked you. I do not like that."
America smiled hesitantly, but went with his instincts. "Thanks for caring, dude." He teased, giving Russia a friendly jab in the ribs.
Russia blinked at him, and America swore his purple eyes softened. "You are most welcome."
"I hope he resists." Prussia said eagerly, launching himself between them and snagging an arm around America's shoulders. "I need some action. I missed the fight in Kuroyuri."
Pyrrha grimaced. "That was not a fun battle."
"All battle is fun." Prussia claimed.
The champion said nothing, lips pursed.
They began the trek to the front door, England taking point with America towards the back. He wanted to protest the set-up but knew Greenlee might bolt if he saw his target was on his doorstep.
"How are we doing this?" Australia questioned. "We can't go in guns blazing. Not that we brought guns to begin with."
"England did." Russia said cheerfully. "And I have my pipe."
"I'm sure you won't have to use it." England said hurriedly.
His phone chirped, emitting an irritating beeping noise. England took it out, glaring at it agitatedly, and did a double take. America leaned over to snoop but England shoved his phone back in his pocket before he could see. America pouted and was stiffly ignored.
"Is something wrong?" Australia asked.
"Nothing." England grunted.
"That isn't a 'nothing' face." America commented.
England scowled. "If you must know, Francis intends to make frog legs for dinner."
"Ew." America said, wrinkling his nose. "Most of his food is good but… ew."
"Agreed." England grunted. "Let's get this over with and go home."
Prussia giggled excitedly.
England pinned him with an annoyed stare. "Actually, Prussia; you can check out the perimeter."
Prussia wilted. "What? Why?"
"Because I don't trust you to refrain from causing a scene." England said bluntly.
"The awesome me would never—"
"Prussia." England growled through gritted teeth. "Perimeter."
Prussia huffed and stalked away, muttering angrily about ungrateful stupid Brits under his breath. They watched him go and continued towards the door. England grabbed America's arm.
"Stay out of sight for the moment." he advised, gesturing to the side.
America nodded and reluctantly went around the corner, peering at the others as they stepped onto the porch. England rang the doorbell and they waited. There was no answer.
Russia frowned. "Maybe he's not home—"
Pyrrha tackled the nation to the ground the instant before something flew through the door. America barely took time to register that it was a bullet before England smashed open the door, rushing through. The sounds of another gunshot and a scuffle rang out and America raced into the house, ignoring Pyrrha's warning cry.
England tussled with Russet Greenlee, playing a deadly game of tug-o-war with a rifle between them. It was telling that the nation's head-butt did little to stagger the man. Instead Greenlee reacted instantly, yanking the rifle free and bringing the butt end down on England's head. England fell to one knee with a grunt, freezing as the gun was pressed to his temple. The rifle jerked and Greenlee yelped as it was torn from his hands, flying out of view.
Pyrrha stormed into the house, green eyes blazing, and threw a metal chair at Greenlee, striking him head on. The man swore and staggered to his feet but America tackled him, bringing him back down to the ground. Greenlee kneed him in the gut, making him recoil, and yanked a knife from his belt. Pyrrha tore it from his grasp with her Semblance.
"Bitch!" was the man's first word to them. "I'll call the cops!"
Russia appeared at America's side and gently pushed the younger nation away, sweeping Greenlee up off the floor. The bear hug was literally bone-crushing and Greenlee's swearing was accompanied by the sound of a cracking rib.
America winced in slight sympathy. "Enough, Ivan."
"Nyet." Russia said 'pleasantly'. "He tried to shoot me."
"You're trespassing." Greenlee spat.
America scoffed. "You didn't have a sign. Oh, and New York is one of the states where you'd better have a damned reasonable excuse for firing. In fact, you can't ever shoot people for ringing your doorbell, you asshole. So that's zero for three. You should have looked up the laws better. Or maybe picked Florida to hide out in. At least there you could've pretended."
Greenlee glared at him. "What the hell are you talking about you psychotic—"
"Cut your baseless jabber." Australia snapped. "We know you've been stalking Jones."
"And we can tell you have Aura." England snarled, leveling his pistol at the man's head. "Otherwise you'd be out like a light."
Greenlee's eyes flickered from person to person, landing on Pyrrha. The recognition in his eyes betrayed him and the champion glared stonily back.
Greenlee gritted his teeth. "Fine. You caught me. I'm from Remnant."
"Atlas?" England asked, sharp as a whip.
Greenlee shut his mouth, lips thin.
"I'll take that as a yes." England said icily. "How long have you been stationed here?"
Greenlee glowered at him.
Russia chuckled unnervingly. "I would answer, my friend. You know who and what we are, da? If you do not tell us what we want to know, we will be forced to inform our bosses. They will not simply be content with information about this mission."
Greenlee grimaced but remained silent.
Russia tapped his chin. "Who do you think will want him? FBI? CIA? The NSA? They are all such nasty organizations. I should know. They captured many of my agents back during the Cold War. They love their information, you know, and will go to many inhumane lengths to get it. Kolkolkol…" He grinned, as sharp and deadly as a shark. "But your people are even more inhumane, da?" His hands crept up to Greenlee's throat.
America grabbed Russia's arm before he could start squeezing. "No, Ivan. We need him to talk."
Russia scoffed but released Greenlee. The man— the soldier of Atlas— fell to the ground with a gasp. He got onto his hands and knees and glared at them with utter loathing.
"I will never betray my Kingdom." He growled.
"Is that who is giving you orders? Ciel Soleil?" England demanded.
Greenlee's silence said it all. America did not know whether to laugh in relief or hysteria. He settled for biting his tongue to keep his rampant emotions buried inside. Despite his efforts, he must have shown some weakness because Greenlee focused on him, sneering.
"I was told you are Vale now. And yet you abandon Remnant." He snarled.
America recoiled.
Pyrrha's fist met Greenlee's nose with a resounding crunch. His Aura protected him but his head snapped back.
"Don't you dare." The champion said, voice low and shaking. "Don't you dare try to blame him for what you did!"
Greenlee shifted uncomfortably.
England saw him falter and pounced. "How were you told about Vale? That happened after you arrived here."
Greenlee's shoulders tensed, then abruptly slumped. His eyes sought America, glittering, and the nation was instantly on guard. "You're right. I was ordered to remain here and make a life for myself in case you and the other one managed to escape back to Earth. I've been getting orders and updates through a Scroll."
"Where is it?" Australia demanded.
Greenlee ignored him, eyes never leaving America. "I was told when you vanished from Beacon. Remnant needs you to save it, yet you selfishly fled back here like a coward, leaving Remnant to rot."
America couldn't find his voice. A chill went up his spine.
Russia gently grabbed the back of Greenlee's neck. "If you know what is best for you, you will stop saying such lies." He said in a cheerful voice, but America could hear the iciness underneath.
"Are they lies?" Greenlee challenged, glaring at America. "You were chosen to become a nation of Remnant. Out of all the people in both worlds, Atlas chose you to become our savior. Yet you acted like an ungrateful brat who fled as soon as—"
The rest of his words became a garbled mess as pain lanced through America's head.
When the cell door opened, America knew he was in trouble.
It wasn't Ironwood standing there.
It wasn't the kindly doctor.
It wasn't random soldiers.
It was the scientist who vivisected him.
Blue eyes locked with grey and the nation instinctively pressed his back against the wall of the cell, heart in his throat. The scientist smirked, slow and taunting, and stepped into the cell like a fox entering a chicken coop. His gaze never left America, and the blue-eyed nation dare not look at Canada, mentally praying that his brother would not speak or draw attention to himself.
"Good evening, Subject A." the scientist said in a falsely pleasant voice. "I am in need of your assistance."
Two soldiers approached, grabbing America's arms, and he tensed in their hold. Before he could try to fight, the scientist clicked his tongue.
"Remember your deal, Subject A." Grey eyes flicked to Canada, who stared back with an openly panicked expression. Thankfully, he said nothing.
Ironwood told him about that? America thought, heart sinking. …Of course he did.
America ignored the sting of betrayal and lowered his head. He allowed the soldiers to unlock his manacles and put him in handcuffs, the metal locking around his wrists with a soft click. The scientist stepped forward— making him flinch much to his shame— and plucked his glasses from his face.
"You won't be needing these." He turned to Canada and America's breath caught in his throat. To his relief, the scientist merely tucked the glasses into the collar of his brother's shirt.
Canada glared at him, hatred overcoming his fear. "Don't you dare." He hissed, and America swore he had never heard his brother so angry before. "If you touch him I swear I'll—"
"You'll what?" the scientist mocked.
Lips set in a snarl, Canada opened his mouth. The scientist lashed out, grabbing the twin's chin and jerking his head up. A glint of metal caught America's eye and he thrashed in the soldiers' hold.
"Don't!" he begged.
The scientist ignored him, laying the scalpel on Canada's tongue. "Well?" he crooned. "What were you going to say?"
Canada stayed silent and still but his expression said it all. If looks could kill, the scientist would be dead a thousand times over. The man laughed, enjoying his power over them, and America could see him considering slashing Canada's mouth just for the hell of it.
"Don't." he pleaded again, and the scientist immediately focused on him. He knew the man was the sadistic sort that preyed on the helpless so he took advantage of that, showing all his desperation so the monster saw him as the best victim. "We made a deal."
"We did." The scientist said pleasantly. "And now it's time for you to keep your end of the bargain."
He removed the scalpel from Canada's mouth, cutting the corner just the slightest bit. Red trickled down Canada's lip but he did not lose his scowl. His violet eyes locked with America's and the raw fear returned.
"Alfred, no." Canada whispered.
"It's okay, Mattie." America said shakily, forcing a smile. "It's going to be okay."
The soldiers blindfolded him and dragged him out of the cell.
America knew the path to the operating room by now, having gone there for 'little' experiments these past few… however long it had been. The scientists were never allowed to inflict mortal wounds on the twins anymore, only small cuts and pricks so they could track their regeneration under the doctor or Ironwood's supervision. This time, that was not the case.
He didn't struggle. He couldn't risk it. Not after Ironwood's threats.
America was strapped to the table, gritting his teeth around his gag as he was drugged with the paralytic by the assistant. His muscles grew sluggish but his mind remained brutally clear. The blindfold was removed, and he saw neither Ironwood nor the doctor were there. The General probably didn't want to face the brutality he had ordered.
Coward.
"Guard the hallway." The scientist ordered the soldiers.
"Yes sir." Said one, and they left.
The scientist wasted no time. He sliced America's Atlas-issued clothes off, dropping them into the waste bin. His assistant hesitantly approached, dragging an IV stand with him. He brushed alcohol onto the inside of America's elbow and paused. The head scientist noticed his stilted movements and glared at him.
"Is something wrong?" he asked neutrally.
"No, sir." The assistant said uncomfortably. "But I… The General said we aren't supposed to remove—"
"The General has no say in this." the scientist said coolly. "Now give Subject A the anesthesia before I decide it may interfere with the results."
The assistant quickly did as he commanded, attaching an IV to America's arm. The nation's blue eyes followed him and the man's shoulders stiffened, but he refused to look at the prisoner. America winced as the needle jabbed into his skin, but soon found himself drifting under the mixture of drugs pumping through him. The scientist leaned into view, his figure oddly fuzzy, but America could hear him clearly enough.
"Do not think I gave you that out of mercy. I just can't have you screaming and wiggling about." He grinned, and through America's drug-addled mind, his smile stretched like a demon's, showing too many teeth. "As you told the dear General, once you heal, it will be like this never happened."
America slowly realized what was going on. The scientist was not acting on Ironwood's orders. This surgery was completely off the General's radar. Ironwood did not know he was here, and the scientist was the last person to worry about his Subject's well-being. If he weren't drugged, America would be panicking, screaming and fighting with everything he had in order to alert someone, anyone to his predicament. Instead he could only blink lethargically, his pounding heart untracked by any machines that would shriek warnings. The scientists didn't care about tracking his heart beat. They needed silence and nothing to trace.
"Don't fret." The scientist crooned, making America's skin crawl. "You won't feel much. Perhaps a tug here and there while we sew you back up. We're removing a chunk of your liver today. You'll grow it back."
America blinked at him. A distant part of him screamed, but it was nearly inaudible even in his own foggy thoughts.
The scientist's grey eyes glittered angrily. "The secrets in your cells could help us regenerate limbs. You could be the key to curing all known diseases and extending human lives. And yet the General and Atlas intend to squander your potential so you can be hosts!" His fist struck the table by America's head and the nation was unable to flinch. The scientist took a breath, visibly calming himself. "But no matter. What the General doesn't know won't hurt him. I— unlike him— understand the scientific marvel you are."
America couldn't respond even if he wanted to. He stared at the light above him, trying to ignore the two scientists shuffling around him. The small part of him that was not in a floating haze was glad the lamp wasn't reflective. He wouldn't be able to see what they were doing.
"We'll have to use the clamps to keep him open." The scientist said to his assistant. "We can't have him regenerate too quickly."
America heard the words but failed to understand them, lost in the fog. He blinked at the pretty light floating serenely above him. It looked like a little sun. He missed the sun. It had been so long since he had been outside. He and Mattie should go to the beach. They could invite England and everything. But England couldn't swim. He wouldn't want to go. Maybe Japan would? He'd have to ask him when they went home. He missed home.
Why did he miss home?
Where was he?
The sun darkened and America breathed, the intake of air ragged and stuttering. He felt a strange tugging sensation below his ribcage, tugging that soon grew sharp and painful. He whimpered around the cloth in his mouth and the surgeon cursed. That was weird. Why was he having surgery? Had he gotten injured really badly again? Canada would be upset and sad with him. America always hated it when Canada was sad. It made him sad and then Canada would be doubly-sad and so he'd be sad and—
His abdomen was burning.
"—anesthesia too quickly." A muffled voice was saying.
"Give him more." The surgeon snapped.
"He could overdose." The other voice protested. "If he falls into a coma here we won't be able to hide what we—"
"Fine." The surgeon growled. "Leave it then. Keep giving him doses of the paralytic."
America wished his tongue wasn't so heavy. If it wasn't, he could tell the surgeon to give him the anesthesia. He needed it. The pain was becoming really sharp. In fact, he could feel the tools holding his skin open and the scalpel slicing through something inside him before a large chunk of something was taken out—
America's scream was muffled by the gag. Not his tongue. It wasn't his tongue that lay heavily in his mouth. It was cloth. He was gagged. He wasn't having surgery done. The man wasn't a surgeon oh God oh God OH GOD—
"Shut him up." The scientist hissed.
The assistant grabbed America's head, hushing him, but the nation sobbed and screamed, the noises barely audible past the gag. His fingers twitched and clawed at the metal table, brushing against wires, and he grabbed them just before the assistant expunged yet another dose of drugs into his system.
That paralytic did nothing to numb him. He could feel the wires in his grasp, just like he felt the scalpel slicing through his flesh, and he shut his eyes, begging someone, anyone to help as he felt the scientist lift something out of him.
SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!
The heart monitor wailed, causing the scientist and assistant to jump. The older man cursed, dropping something off to the side with an audible, wet splat. He pointed at the machine, revealing gloves that were covered in red.
"Turn that off!"
"It's unplugged." The assistant claimed, panicking.
"I know it's not attached to him, you fool. That's why it's set off an alarm!" the scientist snapped.
"No, I mean it's not plugged in—"
The lab door slammed open, splintering into shards of metal.
"What are you DOING?" Ironwood thundered.
Footsteps pounded into the room and the scientist screamed. America saw him soar away from him and slam into some equipment, sliding to the floor as they sparked around him. The assistant cowered against the wall, hands up and arms shielding his head, but Ironwood ignored him, storming over to the scientist and looming over him.
The doctor appeared above America, skin ashen and eyes wet with unshod tears. His eyes were green. A bright, vivid green like grass. America had never noticed before. He felt sharp pains in his upper abdomen and whimpered, glimpsing clamps tinted with red as the doctor removed them. The doctor pressed something against the slice and America cried out softly.
"You're going to be just fine." The doctor assured him soothingly, removing the gag with his free hand. "Let me stitch you up, alright?"
America couldn't respond. His gaze sought the scientist only to find him in Ironwood's grasp. The General had the man lifted by the front of his lab coat, his feet dangling above the ground.
"Answer me!" he roared. "Why have you disobeyed my orders?"
Despite his position and the fear in his grey eyes, the scientist glared at the General. "You and Atlas do not realize the treasure trove you have discovered. These creatures can regenerate. Think of the strides in science and medicine we could make if we study them."
"They are meant to be tested for compatibility, not used as an organ farm." Ironwood snarled.
"They'll grow everything back." The scientist retorted. "They could be the answer to transmutation, to longevity, to immortality! With them we could change the world by creating super-soldiers, by making it so our Huntsmen do not need to fear death. You are wasting their potential! Atlas and you, both! You are fools—"
BANG!
The scientist's head snapped back, blood trickling from the thin hole in his forehead. Ironwood released him with his other hand and his body crumpled, hitting the table as he fell. America stared at the scientist's corpse, unable to tear his eyes away from the puddle of red extending around his wound, and if he were less paralyzed he would be trembling. The doctor shifted so his body shielded America from the sight of the bloody corpse.
"It's alright." He soothed shakily. "You are safe now."
They both knew he was lying.
The doctor finished stitching up America's wound, and the nation realized he could move. Perhaps he could have before that moment, but terror kept him still and silent. As a couple soldiers dragged the scientist's body away, Ironwood's glare transferred to the assistant. The man flinched and covered his head, cowering against the wall.
"Please—"
BANG!
A single gunshot silenced him.
America trembled, heart in his throat.
Ironwood turned to his soldiers. "Find out who else was a part of this. I will deal with them."
Two of them nodded and left with the assistant's body. America watched them drag him away, eyes drawn to the splatter of red he'd left behind on the wall. He finally found his voice.
"You killed them." He said shakily.
Cold black eyes landed on him and he flinched, fully expecting a bullet to the head. Ironwood's eyes widened slightly— an indecipherable emotion flashing through his expression— and he turned his head away from the terrified nation, looking to one of his men.
"Take him back to his cell." Ironwood said neutrally. He then spoke to the room at large. "And let this be a warning not to allow this to happen again. We have our orders. Atlas will not be disobeyed."
The implied threat was for the soldiers and scientists, yet as America was lifted onto a stretcher and carried away, he couldn't help but wonder if it was for him as well.
America grabbed Greenlee by the front of his shirt, lifting him off the ground and slamming him into the wall. The soldier's Aura flickered and he gasped in pain. America barely heard it, fury burning like fire in his veins.
"Your country kidnapped my brother and I." America snarled. "They tortured us. They experimented on us. They dissected us. They messed with our souls. They put millions of lives at risk on Earth. My people's lives and my brother's. But you claim they're justified?"
"They did what had to be done." Greenlee stated. "Vale was dying. In order to save our world, sacrifices had to—"
America's fist connected with his stomach. Greenlee's eyes bulged as his Aura depleted in a flash of orange light. America dropped the man carelessly into a chair, glaring down at him as the others closed ranks around the Atlas soldier.
"Bullshit." America spat, shaking the man harshly. "I wasn't a savior. I wasn't some elite chosen one brought in to save you. I was a pawn. I was a prisoner. I was an experiment and a slave. Your people weren't on some noble quest to save Remnant. You were playing God, disregarding millions of lives as a necessary sacrifice while claiming you were doing this for the greater good. You drafted me into your war— and my brother, family and home with me— because you don't see the people of Earth as people. You think your lives are so much more important than ours that you'd slaughter all of us if you'd survive." He choked on a sob.
England squeezed his shoulder briefly and America instinctively struggled to smile for him, to show him he was fine. Before his very eyes, England's green irises became ice, lit only by the fury smoldering under his skin. It was at that moment that America realized what he had revealed to the nation: that England's fears that the twins had been dissected and tortured were indeed real. Watching his brother loom over the soldier, America wasn't sure if he regretted his transparency.
"Thank you for your input, America." England said pleasantly. "With that being said…" He calmly leaned forward and grasped Greenlee's chin, fingers tightening just above the man's trachea. "You can tell me what the hell your orders are and who is giving them, or I'll convince my boss and the United Nations to send nuclear bombs to blow up your bloody Kingdom."
England's tone never changed. His voice never rose. He remained calm and unflappable, seemingly not giving in to his rage. It only made his ultimatum all the more terrifying.
Pyrrha inhaled sharply.
Australia and Russia exchanged glances.
America did not know what to feel.
Greenlee paled. "You wouldn't—"
England grinned. It was not a pretty smile in the slightest. "Why wouldn't I? We aren't worthy of living, according to you. Why not see your Kingdom the same way as you see us: Expendable. And besides, Vale and Mantle are far enough away that they won't even experience any nuclear fallout. You harp on and on about sacrifices, but as soon as your people are involved, oh, the price is too high!" Finally, silky rage dripped into his voice, smooth, poisonous, and deadly.
Greenlee stared mutely at enraged nation, skin ashen.
Russia spoke before he could. "Even if England does not call his boss, I will call mine." He smiled nastily. "You declared war on us the moment you kidnapped the twins. And we don't have any truces with you when it comes to weapons of mass destruction, now do we?"
In the face of two ruthless nations, Greenlee's resistance crumbled. "That won't be necessary." He said in the tone of a man who could barely keep his voice from shaking. "I'll tell you everything."
England's disturbing smile became a small, triumphant smirk. "Well?"
Greenlee shifted, freezing when Russia smiled at him. "As I said, I was stationed here after the North American national personifications were… recruited."
"Kidnapped." Australia spat.
Greenlee's lips thinned. "I snuck into this country and tried to keep track of the other nations' movements to see how they were trying to find you. I was mostly unsuccessful, but was able to track… other intel through… other means."
He might not be working alone, America realized, a chill going up his spine.
Greenlee continued. "Eventually, I received word of you escape, followed soon by your new location at Beacon and agreement to complete the transfer."
America's nails bit into the flesh of his palms.
"Then the Battle of Beacon happened, and Atlas did not contact me for a while. It was months later that she finally texted me again, telling me you were back on Earth and without your memories. She informed me that we needed to jog your memory before… retrieving you."
"They're planning on kidnapping Alfred again?" England demanded.
Greenlee's posture was stiff. He ignored the blond-haired nation, to his visible ire. "I was given scripts that would hopefully trigger your memories. I didn't want to risk going to a different country again so I hired a conman to frighten you into returning to your own soil. Once you were back, I was ordered to follow you and send pictures of your movements to Atlas. My Kingdom asked that I send the photos to your 'big brother'—" His lips curled into a sneer. "—as well to make you think you were being stalked."
"Why?" England demanded. "That would only make us more protective."
Greenlee smirked. "Exactly." His eyes locked with America's. "We know your mind, Jones. We know how you think. If you informed your boss of the threat, he would smother you with guards and agents. You would become despondent and desperate to escape. And eventually, you would run off on your own."
America swallowed roughly, repressing a shudder. He could see the scenario play out in his mind. The agents lurking everywhere, stopping him from going outside, lingering in the corners like the guards at the lab and giving him no peace until he grew distraught enough to sneak out alone.
"We knew you were going to a government-issued therapist." Greenlee's smirk vanished. "You did not tell him about the 'stalker', so you did not receive guards. That plan was a failure."
Thank you, David, America thought as he recalled the therapist relenting on the issue and promising to keep his secret.
"What were you going to try next?" England demanded.
"I have not received new orders from my Kingdom yet." Greenlee groused. "However—"
He jerked in the chair and his head collided with Russia's nose. The nation staggered back, falling onto England and sending them both to the floor. Greenlee leapt to his feet and America launched himself at him. Before he could reach him, the soldier's palms opened.
Light flashed, blinding them all, and America staggered into someone. The other person caught him, hands tight around his wrists, and he yanked himself free, blinking spots from his eyes. His vision focused to see Pyrrha in front of him, Australia to the side, and England and Russia on the floor.
Greenlee was nowhere to be seen.
"What the hell was that?" Australia demanded.
"If I had to guess: his Semblance." England growled. He shoved Russia off of him and stood. "Fools! We were bloody incompetent amateurs!"
"I didn't even think about his possible Semblance." Pyrrha admitted, a slight tinge of guilt in her voice. "I didn't consider he might have one, or how quickly his Aura would regenerate. I'm sorry."
"It's not your fault. We all messed up." America said tiredly. He looked around the empty room and sighed. "We're lucky it wasn't something damaging. Pretty good for a quick escape though." He grimaced. "Is there any chance Prussia caught him?"
"If he did, we'd be hearing about it already." Australia pointed out.
America's shoulders slumped. "Great."
England hurried to his side, giving him a brief, comforting hug. "We'll find him. For now, we need to go home."
"Dude, we can still try to catch him." America objected.
England shook his head. "He will be long gone by now in those bloody confusing woods outside."
America realized he was right and sighed, struggling against the bitter bite of failure. "Damn it."
"Yo! All you un-awesome people!" Prussia skipped— as in literally sashayed— into the room, beaming and oblivious to the miserable atmosphere within. "I have an important announcement to make."
"You caught Greenlee?" America asked hopefully.
Prussia blinked. "You let him escape?"
America flinched like he'd been struck.
"Bugger off you bloody git." England snapped at Prussia.
Prussia ignored the insult, smirking. "The awesome me has become so awesome that I can now see magical creatures!" he proclaimed.
England gaped at him. "You— ?Y-You—? What?"
Prussia nodded happily. "I saw a unicorn outside. Ugly thing. It needs more awesomeness."
"You saw a unicorn?!" England shrieked. He balked, turning red with fury. "How dare you call it ugly!"
"Are you sure it wasn't just a horse, Prussia?" America asked tiredly.
He really wasn't in the mood for dealing with the egotistical nation right now. Not after everything that had happened. He hunched, blinking back tears as his mind slowly registered exactly what he had remembered. Pyrrha put a hand on his arm and he forced himself to smile.
Prussia didn't notice, too caught up in his accomplishment. "I will show you unawesome disbelievers." he sniffed. "This way."
He pranced out the door. The nations and Pyrrha eyed each other before following. They'd search the house after. If they didn't, Prussia would bug them until they went with him. The red-eyed nation led them towards the woods, halting near the car.
America saw nothing but trees. And more trees. And— oh my gosh— there were more trees. What a shocking twist. He kept his biting commentary to himself, knowing all he wanted was to lash out at the world and maybe burst into tears.
Did he mention there were many, many trees and no unicorn in sight?
"It was just here." Prussia pouted.
"Oh, I believe you. Or maybe you mistook a loose horse for a magical creature." England said sarcastically. He turned back towards the house with a huff. "Now, if you're done wasting our time, let's get going—"
"NOO-!"
Crunch
The male scream cut off with terrible finality, leaving a horrible silence behind.
The nations and Pyrrha stood in the driveway, frozen and united in their shock as they slowly registered the faint sounds they could hear coming from the woods. There was ripping and snapping, almost too quiet to hear. America knew what the sounds were. He knew. But his brain refused to comprehend it, remaining in a calm, safe haze of ignorance.
He exchanged a glance with Russia and Pyrrha and slowly they circled around Greenlee's house, the others trailing cautiously behind. Their footsteps were as silent as possible, not making the slightest crunch on the stone or grass, and they passed by a large pile of chopped wood, revealing movement at the edge of the forest behind the cottage.
Russet Greenlee's dead eyes stared blankly at the nations and Pyrrha, eyes wide and terrified even in death.
The 'unicorn' stood above him, head lowered to his torso.
It was as black as night and barely visible in the darkness of the woods, but the little light that revealed it showed strange, almost snake-like skin covering its horse-like frame. In the shadows, America could see the vague outline of a slightly crooked horn protruding from its forehead. If he did not know better, he'd swear the 'unicorn' was nuzzling the man.
He had ears.
He knew better.
Pyrrha tensed. Australia inhaled sharply. England's hand tightened around his pistol with a creak. Prussia's eyes widened with comprehension. Even Russia looked disturbed.
And America?
He really wished he'd brought Cobalt Striker.
"That's not a unicorn." England breathed.
The creature noticed its frozen observers. It slowly turned its head toward the nations and human, revealing a horned white mask set over blazing red eyes.
Pyrrha went bone-white. "That's a Karkadann Grimm."
XXXXXXX
A/N: For those that are curious, look up 'Karkadann' or 'Karkadann unicorn'. I'm going with the more 'horse-like' version rather than the 'rhino' version. Because evil unicorn Grimm. :D Come on, you know you want to see one of those in canon.
I hope the flashback wasn't too descriptive. I tried to keep it vague while keeping the horror. Do you understand yet why I was so reluctant to post the prequel by itself? I'm glad I'm doing it this way because of the darkness of the flashbacks, and because then readers won't have to choose whether to read a prequel before Weight of the World.
I sense incoming Atlas-hatred in three… two… one…