Author's note: I was reading fanfics yesterday evening and stumbled across this very long and good one (go read it, it's Ash Song by Reveren) which sparked the writer in me. And when I tried to go to sleep, this idea kept pestering me until I wrote it down. So I wrote it down. And this abomination came out. I hope you like it. Enjoy.
Run, I need to run. That's all I know right now. And that's all I need to know.
"Oi, would you mind looking where you're going?" someone protests as I bump into them. I don't mind them and just keep running. "Wanker," I hear them call after me. I pant as I turn a corner. The moon isn't visible through the rainy dark clouds, making the night darker than usual. I was working until late at night again. I need to pay more attention to the time.
"Watch it!" An annoyed and drunk woman and her friends. I look over my shoulder, not to apologize, but to see if they are there. They aren't. Good. I look back in front of me. The streets are slippery and wet, rain is dripping into my face and soaking me through and through. Wish I had brought an umbrella. Or a rain jacket.
I turn a corner and almost slip, but I keep going. What am I even wearing? My pyjama trousers, a random jumper and sneakers. Not even a jacket or socks. And it's cold. Oh, so cold. Even for a late October night, it's cold. But I need to run. I need to get away. And I need help.
"Sorry," I apologize quickly, having stomped someone's drink out of their hand. But I keep running ahead. Who should I call? I don't know. Who's close to where I am? Well, no one really. Westminster Abbey appears in front of me. I know where I need to go now. Waterloo station is only on the other side of the Thames.
"Oi," another bystander I bumped into. If I could just get on a train, any train. I don't care where it takes me. Preferably away from here. I turn a corner again, the Big Ben looming high to my right as I run towards the Thames, The London eye becomes visible to my left and Westminster bridge is right in front of me. I look up to see the time on the Big Ben, it's 2:40 in the morning. I look briefly behind me again. I can't see them. Good.
My legs and lungs can't keep up anymore. I need to slow down a bit. I know I can't afford it, but I have to. I slow down to a jogging pace. I start crossing Westminster bridge. The Thames is almost silently flowing underneath me, reflecting the light of the buildings around us and the London Eye. No stars, stars aren't visible in a city like London on a rainy night.
I suddenly realize something. Did I take my phone? Did I take any money? Did I take anything really? I slow down to a walking pace, I pat my pockets and feel for something. In my haste, I seem to have not taken anything. But to my relief, I find my phone in the pouch of my jumper. Glad it didn't fall out halfway.
I start jogging again as I go through my contacts, there's a lot of them. Who do I contact? Everyone who is close to me is probably sleeping. And anyone who is awake is either too far away or not someone I would like to call. I quickly look over my shoulder. I can't see them. Good. But a flash of pink hair catches my eye. How are they this close?
"There you are," they say cheerily. I drop my phone. They grab onto my arm and grin widely.
"Let go," I protest. My goal, the station, is in sight. So close, but yet so far. The Thames is still flowing peacefully underneath us.
"No," they reply simply. People are watching. His eyes shine bright in the moonlight, a sinister blue.
Run, I need to run. That's all I know right now. And that's all I need to know.
Run, I need to run. That's all I know right now. And that's all I need to know.
It's an instinct, a feeling deep within me. I jump upright from my sleep and find myself on Westminster Bridge, above the Thames. At night. The moon is shining brightly above me. There are some stars. Not many, just some strays who are persistent and bright enough to be seen in this light polluted city.
"Sir? Are you okay? You were sleeping on the ground," an elderly woman is looking up at me with a frown. I look up at the Big Ben, it's 9:20. Probably evening too. What happened? Oh. Right.
"I'm- I'm fine," I quickly reply to the woman. She doesn't look like she believes me. "I'm- going to-" I vaguely gesture at Waterloo station. "Go," I finish after quickly scanning the floor. Where's my phone? I'm sure I dropped it here somewhere. I can't see it? When is it even? I feel like some time has passed, but how much? A day? A year?
"Alright," the woman shrugs defeatedly and walks on. I need that phone. Otherwise, I can't contact anybody. The streets are bustling. I can surely lend a phone. But do I know anyone's number? Not really. Only one. But first, I need to get out of here. I really do. I quickly start jogging towards Waterloo station.
I shiver from the cold and my stomach stings. The people are wearing thicker clothes. It's even colder than before. How did I not notice that before? It's probably winter. How much time has passed? I hope the train is warm.
My feet are cold too. Why? And why does the ground feel so rough? I look down, I'm not even wearing shoes. Oh. Right. I really need to call someone, right now. But I need to get away first. That's my first priority.
I reach the station. People are staring at me. I must look ridiculous. A bobbie notices me.
"Sir? Are you alright?" he asks. Ah, bollocks.
"Yeah, I'm okay. I'm fine," I quickly reply before looking at the board to see which trains are leaving and coming in. Two trains are at their tracks right now. One going to Paris, one going to Southampton. Without a passport, I won't make it to Paris. Southampton it is.
"Sir, you are bleeding," the bobbie is persistent. Why does he keep- Wait what?
"I'm what?" I turn towards him. I don't have time for this.
"Bleeding, on your stomach," the man points out. I look down. I don't recognize these clothes. These aren't mine. And they're filthy, torn and- and bloodied. Now that he mentions it, my stomach has been stinging for a while. Oh. Right. But I don't have time to pay mind to that.
"I'm fine," I quickly reply before checking the board one last time. The train I want is on platform 6. I need to hurry and get there.
"Oi, sir," the bobbie is very persistent. I ignore him. I can't stay still, I need to keep moving. My stomach starts stinging harsher now that I have acknowledged the wound. But I have to keep moving. I hear footsteps chasing me. I panic. I start running. The train is already at the platform. I can't waste time. I need to get out of here. "Sir! You need medical attention!" they point out. Aye, whatever.
What I need- what I need is to get away. Far away. I need help. But not from any police force. From a nation.
I slam on the button to open the doors and slip inside the train. The bobbie tries to grab my arm to pull me off but I kick him away. The conductor whistles. The doors close. The man on the other side of the doors yells, but the train is already leaving.
My stomach stings. My feet are numb. And now that you mention it, I am very hungry and very tired. I quickly go find myself a seat. There's a lot of people on this train. There's a guy weirdly staring at me. I ignore it. There, a friendly-looking woman.
"Ma'am, could I- could I lend your mobile phone for a minute?" I ask. She's reluctant. But she gives it to me. I sit down in the opposite seat from her. Shit, who do I call?
Who do I call? I know only one number by heart. Unfortunately. And that's because he made me do it. Now I'm grateful that German is so paranoid. I type in his number. I bring the phone to my ear. The phone rings.
"Hallo, Ludwig Beilschmidt," comes from the other side in German.
"Ludwig? Am I- am I glad to hear your voice," I say into the phone in a low voice. But in truth, his voice is so much like his that an uncontrollable shiver runs down my spine.
"Who is this?" Germany has understood I speak English and switches over.
"It's me, Arthur," I reply. "Look, I don't have much time to talk. I just need your help and I didn't know who else to call. In fact, I- I only know your number by heart. Because you made me at the-the meeting a couple of years back," I start rambling on the phone.
"Arthur?" the man on the other side sounds more surprised and confused than I've ever heard him.
"Yes, we've already established that, yes. Anyway, I am kind of in trouble and illegally on a train to Southampton with no shoes and what I'm certain of is a stab wound in my abdomen. So, yeah, I need help," I conclude. The woman across from me looks at me weirdly. "Anyways, you wouldn't happen to have any of my brothers' numbers, would you? Because I lost my phone so I – I don't," I finish.
"Arthur, how-" Ludwig sounds out of character. "Scheiße, Arthur, hold on. I'm coming to you myself. Get off that train at the first stop and wait for me there. But call me again to tell me where you are so I can pick you up. I'm nation hopping over in an instant," Ludwig sounds more serious again. And focused.
"Yeah, well, hurry up. Because I don't feel good about this," I conclude as I look around the train. I can't see them. Good. I hang up the phone and give it back to the lady. She's very concerned and confused. I ignore her completely as I push myself upright with a lot of effort. That wound in my stomach is starting to really hurt now. I look down to see the blood has spread out on the jumper, colouring it red instead of grey.
"Approaching Woking," I hear them announce. They say other things too. But that's all I need to know. I quickly go to the doors and wait impatiently for the doors to open. I need to keep moving. On second thought, a train wasn't the best idea. I'm so closed in here. It's so risky. It's dangerous, I don't feel safe.
I'm cold. I stick my hands in my pockets. My left hand bumps into a cold iron surface. Is that- is that a phone? I quickly grasp it, but it's not a phone. It's thicker. It's more like a-a knife. And it's wet. Oh. Right. I quickly decide not to pull it out of my pocket and look outside to see we're already at the station. I keep my hands in my pockets and quickly jump off the train. My feet hit the cold floor and I wince. It's too cold. My side also stings.
"Excuse me, could- could I please use your phone for a-a moment?" I ask a teenager. They agree already less reluctantly. I call Germany again.
"Arthur?" is the first thing he says.
"Yes, it's me. I've arrived in Woking station," I curtly say as I slide down to the floor, clutching my stomach as it stings. The teenager now looks worried too.
"Arthur you sound weaker," Germany points out. I growl annoyedly.
"Stab wound in the abdomen? Remember?" I reply sarcastically. "Just hurry and get over here, I don't feel safe," I say before hanging up and giving the teenager his phone back.
"Not to be rude, sir. But shouldn't you call an ambulance?" the teenager asks. I simply shake my head. I then pull myself to my feet again and start making my way slowly to the exit. Once there, I look for a place to sit down and warm my feet. In the end, I just collapse on the floor in front of the station.
"Arthur?" someone is calling for me. I open my eyes slightly to find Germany leaning over me in a thick winter coat and a scarf. How I long to have a scarf. And shoes.
"Germany," I bring out weakly, still half-asleep. But I can't find the energy to fully wake up.
"Let's get you somewhere safe," Germany simply says before picking me up and taking me to his car.
Run, I need to run. That's all I know right now. And that's all I need to know.
I open my eyes abruptly in my panic and look up to find myself in an unfamiliar house. My panic worsens and I quickly jump upright and stumble out of the bed I was in. I need to get away from here. I need to- I need to get out. My stomach stings, I feel weak. I ignore it. The adrenaline pushes me forward. I slam the door open and find myself face to face with bright blue eyes.
Blue eyes. They're looming over me.
"I'm you, you're me. It's simple as that," they say. They're looming over me, a shining object in their hand. It's a knife. I need to get away-
"Calm down!" someone shakes me back to my senses. I freeze and look straight in Germany's eyes. He's holding my clenched fist by the wrist, but there's already a red spot on his face. Oh no. Did I punch him? "That's it," Germany's voice is soft, so are his eyes. Nothing like their eyes. I look over my shoulder to see they are not there either. Good.
"Comes back after a year and three months and then punches his saviour in the face," another voice speaks up beside us. "Classic England," Prussia laughs.
"A year?" I ask softly. I didn't know it's been that long. Sure, I knew some time had passed. But a year? Wow, that's- that's a long time.
"Have you calmed down?" Germany's voice is still soft. I appreciate it. It calms me down a bit. I look back at the taller blonde nation and relax my arms. Once the German notices I've relaxed, he lets go of my wrist and smiles softly.
"It's been that long? I didn't know," I mutter to myself. "Sure, a couple of months but a year?" I look down at myself. I take a deep breath. Compose yourself, Arthur. Focus.
"Where were you even?" Prussia approaches and his smirk fades down to a neutral line.
"That's a good question, really," I reply neutrally.
I look at myself in the bathroom mirror in Germany's house. I've become even lankier than before, some ribs poking out from under my skin. There are also scars. Lots of them. And some fading bruises. Some fresher. It's from all the-. No, let's not think about it. There's also the stab wound in my abdomen Germany stitched for me.
My hair had grown longer, but Prussia was so kind as to cut it for me just now. The German brothers also helped me pick some new clothes and shoes. I'm forever grateful to them. I'll put the clothes on after I have showered.
I look up into my own eyes. A calm forest green. As they've always been.
Not anymore, they're blue now. My reflection smirks at me. The hair is pink and they're sucking on a lollipop. "There you are," they say. Before winking.
And I'm staring back into my own green eyes. I panic.
I punch the mirror and shatter it into pieces. My hand hurts but I could care less. They are gone and that is all that matters to me.
"England, Gott. Why did you punch the mirror?" Prussia comes barging into the bathroom.
"That was the mirror?" Germany is also there. But I can't help but feel cornered in. My attention isn't with them though. I'm still staring at the shattered mirror. At my broken reflection. My heart is thumping loudly.
Run, I need to run. That's all I know right now. And that's all I need to know.
I fidget with the hem of the jacket Germany lend me. The knife is in my pocket, I hid it from Germany and Prussia and smuggled it with me. I just feel safer with it.
I'm outside the conference room, waiting for them to let me in. Germany arrived late to a meeting for the first time in his life because of me. He's meeting with the G8 today. And he's first going to tell them about me before letting me inside so he can break the news of my return to them softly.
I pace around the hall. I need to pee. Where are the toilets? I find toilets and quickly enter a stall.
As I finish and go to wash my hands, I am confronted with a mirror. I stare into my own eyes again. They're just green. I sigh and quickly wash my hands. I don't feel comfortable in front of a mirror. Not after the last incidents. My knuckles sting from the small cuts I made while smashing the mirror. I ignore it.
"Have you forgotten me already?" a voice speaks from the mirror. I look up to see them again. They're grinning widely. They laugh. In a flurry of panic, I punch the mirror again. They disappear, and so does the mirror. It's loud and I'm sure they could hear it in the meeting room if they weren't yelling at each other.
"England, was that you?" Germany is running closer. No, no, no. He can't come here. We have to run. We have to get away from here. This is how it happened last time too, I'm sure of it. But Germany is already here. As he sees me standing in front of the broken bathroom mirror, he rushes over and grabs my hand.
"Why did you punch the mirror again?" He questions sternly. "You're lucky, it doesn't seem any of the glass got stuck in your hand this time either. Just some minor cuts." Germany isn't aware of the danger.
"You can't- we have to-" I stutter, not able to get out of my words. My heart is still racing. I look at another mirror. Now both our reflections are there. Oh no, not him too.
"It's no use really, mirrors enough here. But you know what, I'll spare you the effort of punching all these mirrors. How about we just come out," they say as they reach forward for the edge. My heart is beating even faster now. I watch as they climb out of the mirror, very slowly. I finally find the energy to move. I turn Germany's head towards the mirrors where he is confronted by them. One with pink hair and blue eyes. The other with blonde hair and violet eyes, a scar over his cheek. Both coming out of the mirror.
"What?" Germany is confused but I just grab his arm and start running away. Once we're out of the toilets, I can see France and America out in the hallway, looking at us.
"England?!" America exclaims loudly as she sees me dragging Germany out of the toilet. I ignore him and push past him into the meeting room.
Run, I need to run. That's all I know right now. And that's all I need to know.
"We have to get out of here, no debate, no questions. Just RUN!" I say frantically. The meeting room is completely silent, everyone just staring blankly at me. I look around hopefully. But no one jumps up to start evacuating.
"Are all of you retarded?" I rant as I hear a giggle. I look to the side right on time to see them running up to us.
"Arthur, darling, why are you running from your dear Oliver," Oliver, my counterpart says right before tackling me against the door of the conference room.
"England!" I hear someone call out for me in a panic. I look up as I hear Germany grunt. Lutz punched him in the guts and now he's doubled over in pain.
"Fucking twat! Get off me you psychopath!" I curse as I struggle to get Oliver both off me and get my knife.
"Oh, profanities! Please keep it to a minimum, darling," Oliver says in a sickly sweet voice.
"G-Germany, are you okay?" Italy asks from behind a chair as America and France work Lutz away from the German nation. Oh, great, not helping me then? But someone does help me, and it's a giant wearing a scarf and wielding a faucet. He hits Oliver over the head and Oliver falls off me. I quickly scramble away and grab my knife. I flip it open and point it towards Oliver and Lutz.
"Ah, verdammt. I'd hoped for a longer fight," Lutz sounds disappointed. "Hey, soldier boy," he looks at Ludwig, "come on, you and me. One on one. Mano a mano. I want to see who's stronger. The uptight and strict Germany," he points at Ludwig, "or the better and more awesome delinquent Germany," he gestures at himself from where he's being held by America and France.
"Delinquent?" Japan is clearly confused.
"Yeah, that's what Luciano always calls me at least. If he talks to me," Lutz says casually.
"What are you doing here?" I demand frantically as I push a knife up to Oliver's neck. It feels good to finally be able to do that. After that year of torture.
"Oh, dear, isn't that my knife? The one I left in your stomach right before you escaped?" Oliver asks casually. I growl and push the knife harsher against his throat. "No need to get so offensive, Arthur. I'm only asking. But if you really want to know, I could tell you," Oliver smiles innocently.
"Then tell me," I snarl.
"Oh, we're just here to stall, really. You see, honey. There's a mirror right there. And-" a hand comes out of the mirror- "that's who we were stalling for," he then finishes. He giggles and I stare at the mirror as Kuro comes walking out, head held high and back straight. His hand is already on his katana.
"Sorry for intruding," Kuro bows softly before looking Japan in the eye. "Who am I kidding," he then says and unsheathes his katana. Francois is right behind him, smoking as usual. AS Francis and Francois' gazes cross, the counterpart scoffs and spits out his cigarette before stomping it out with his heel.
"Thank you, by the way, Arthur," Oliver speaks up again. "For opening the way to your world so sloppily it never closed again. Now we can finally come here," Oliver laughs like a maniac.
"That's right, and now we can take over this world and live in the better place," Luciano comes walking out of the mirror. Followed by James with his hockey stick in hand. And James is of course accompanied by his brother Allen, carrying his signature bat.
"Hey, look James. It's that wuss of a counterpart of yours," Allen says to his brother.
"Tch, you can't even call him a Canadian," James answers, slamming his hockey stick down on the table right in front of poor Matthew.
"Oliver, I beg of you, send them back," I turn to my own counterpart who is grinning wildly.
"What are you talking about Arthur? I didn't bring them here," Oliver laughs as Zoa and Viktor come out of the mirror last. Viktor takes one look at his counterpart with the faucet still in hand and scoffs.
"What kind of a retarded Russian carries a faucet around? Shovels are so much more efficient," he states as he stomps his blood-covered shovel on the ground.
"You brought them here, Arthur! You are the cause of this! You opened a gateway here for yourself, but also us. And we have to thank you for that," Oliver says loudly so everyone can hear.
"Arthur, you didn't escape us," Allen swings his bat around as he approaches me and Oliver. "We let you escape at a weak moment so you would make mistakes," he reveals and cackles.
"Well, enough chit chat now, let's take over this world," Luciano announces.
I stare in pure panic and dread at our counterparts as they each start targeting us. I know this is very bad. They're going to take over our positions and imprison us in their world. I can't- I can't be imprisoned there again! I- I need to-
Run, I need to run. That's all I know right now. And that's all I need to know.
Endnote: Open ending, yay. Personally, I love them. It gives my brain something to churn and think about. I hope you liked it too.
Once again, go read Ash Song by Reveren, it's great.