Thanks to Dragonfire78, mayday237892, Miss Akiyata, animefanlover985 and BloodLily16 for reviewing.
Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.
Chapter 19: Scarred
And so, another round draws to a close.
And it appears that Black still has the advantage.
…
Patrick finally reached the kitchen. While it might not have been his destination, it was familiar, and he could find his way back from there.
…
Felic finally removed the bottle, once all the contents had been poured down Feliks's throat.
Feliks coughed, the action of being force-fed liquid while lying on your back not going down easily. Red droplets escaped his mouth, the glass having made a few cuts along the way, and those still lodged in his throat being aggravated by the coughing.
"What shall I do to you now?" Felic asked.
Feliks looked at him with fear, and the blue-eyed man cocked his head to the side, curiously studying his prey.
"There is still some vodka and glass left," Felic said offhandedly, looking at the bowl that he had put aside. "Tell me, are you still thirsty?"
Feliks shook his head frantically, fear in his eyes.
"Really? But look, your throat is so dry, you can't even speak. I think you're still thirsty."
"N-no," Feliks croaked, coughing again.
"Oh, so you can still speak? I think we'll have to remedy that, don't we?"
He took out a small knife, and Feliks turned even paler than he was.
"Sorry to interrupt," a familiar sounding voice said.
Felic turned around to see Francois.
"What are you doing here?" Felic asked. "And how are you even here?"
"Experiment," Francois said. "It would seem that their Jamaica knows how to interfere with us."
Felic frowned before he shot Feliks a look.
"Then I guess we'll have to continue this another time," Felic said. "Also, if I see you wearing a dress again, your punishment will be worse."
He disappeared, and Francois shot Feliks a look before he himself disappeared.
…
Feliks opened his eyes, the green orbs darting around the room.
He was in his room at Romania's castle. He was safe.
He coughed, tasting the blood. His throat had received cuts, and the vodka only made it burn worse.
He felt movement next to him, and turned to see Lithuania, whom appeared to be shivering. That was when he noticed that there were way too many blankets over them.
He tried to stand, but the alcohol was already making its way through his system, and he had to grab onto the bedside table, where his egg was resting.
'I hope you hatch soon, little guy,' Poland thought.
…
Jamaica couldn't decide which room he should go to next. But he had to choose fast.
Eventually, he chose the room that appeared to be occupied by Poland and Lithuania. The blonde was already awake, and looked like he was trying to get his bearings.
So, naturally, he approached Lithuania, and slipped into the brunet's mind.
…
Toris looked up in fear. What would his counterpart do now?
Tolys also seemed to be wondering about this, for he appeared to be deep in thought.
Tolys smirked, and produced a lighter.
"Ever wondered what would happen if someone near-frozen was exposed to an open flame?" Tolys asked. "How painful it must be, or would the fact that you're numb now block that pain? Only one way to find out, right?"
Toris's eyes widened, and he could do nothing else. His limbs ached, frozen in place. And the other was closing in on him.
Before he could do anything, a hand closed around his wrist, surprising both Lithuanians.
Tolys whipped himself around to look at the man that was interfering. His eyes narrowed.
"Who are you?" he hissed. "And how are you able to interfere?"
"The name's Jamaica," the newcomer answered, and Tolys's eyes widened fractionally. "And Wales asked for my help, since dreams are my specialty."
Tolys snarled before he shot Toris a look.
"You're lucky this time, but next time…"
And with that, he vanished.
Jamaica immediately made his way to Toris, who gasped at the warmth of the other Nation.
"It's okay," Jamaica whispered. "You'll wake up now."
"T-thank y-y-you," Toris stuttered.
…
Toris opened his eyes, feeling the heavy weight on him. He looked to see that there were many blankets on top of him. He was still shivering, but his body now had a chance to recover the heat it had lost.
He heard a cough and looked to the side to see Poland sitting up, feet on the floor.
"Y-y-you o-okay?" Toris stuttered.
Feliks flinched and turned to Toris.
"Glass," he whispered, and Toris's eyes widened.
"W-we n-need to s-s-see if s-some-o-one can h-help y-you," Toris said. "Th-that c-c-can't b-be g-good f-f-for y-you."
…
Vlad watched as Marius's eyes narrowed, looking to the side, as though he was concentrating on something else.
And Vlad was struggling. The dark-haired Romanian had perched himself on the light-haired one's stomach, preventing another attempt at escape. With Vlad's wrists still bound behind him, his arms were starting to fall asleep with the weight of two bodies pressing into them.
But Vlad's eyes remained trained on the dagger that the other was twirling in his hands. He knew that Marius was angry, and he really hoped that it wouldn't lead to another 'feeding'.
"Tell me something," Marius said, eyes once again completely focussed on Vlad. "Of the Nations with the magic touch, who is good at dream magic?"
He was caught off guard by that question, and paused in his struggles.
"Shouldn't you know?" he snapped.
"Since it would appear as though our histories are not the same, there is a possibility that other things are different as well."
"You're sitting on one that knows this magic," Vlad spat. "I might be rusty, but I'm familiar. And I don't know who else. Heard there was another, but never bothered to find out."
Marius's eyes narrowed, before he smirked.
"Then I guess we'll find out soon, won't we? In the meantime…"
…
Jamaica couldn't decide between Norway and Romania. While Norway appeared to be the one in pain, Romania's fear seemed more urgent. Then there was the fact that he could feel a dark presence coming from the Romanian.
He didn't have to struggle with the decision for long, though.
…
The tears were streaming down Lukas's face. Sigurd had finished with him and had retied his wrist.
The white-haired Norwegian was sitting on another chair, eating the bloody skin that was now in a bowl. The skin had been completely grated off of his fingers, and in the case of one or two fingers the bones were showing.
"This is really good," Sigurd said. "Do you want some?"
Lukas pursed his lips and looked to the side, an obvious refusal. The other shrugged.
"Oh well," he said. "It's interesting to taste oneself in this way. You should really try."
"No," Lukas said.
"Suit yourself. Well, I should probably get going. That bothersome little brother of mine might try to get in my mansion again. He tends to do that."
Lukas's eyes widened at the contempt in the voice. Did the other not like his brother?
That sparked another thought: were the relationships the same?
"Tell me something," Lukas said, startling Sigurd. "What kind of relationship do you share with Iceland?"
Sigurd's eyes narrowed.
"He's an annoying brat that won't stop calling me 'big brother'," Sigurd replied. "It's bad enough to be related to him, but he must constantly remind me of that."
'Not the same as Emil,' Lukas thought. "What about Romania and Moldova?"
"Hate each other."
"And England and his brothers?"
"…They're inseparable, basically. One of the closest families. But if you can't trust family, who can you trust?"
"Spain and Romano?"
"Spain can't stand him. The only reason he hasn't killed him yet is because of Italy."
"Prussia and Germany?"
"…They tolerate each other, but…" Sigurd's eyes narrowed. "Why do you want to know the relationships, anyway?"
"Curious. Especially about a particular set. What about Russia and Belarus? Does she want to force Russia into a marriage, like our Belarus does?"
Sigurd looked at him oddly before shuddering.
"Now I need to get that mental image out of my mind," he said. "Thanks. And here's how I'll thank you."
Sigurd kicked the chair, forcing Lukas back, without a way to stop. The ceiling was entering his line of sight…
BAM!
…
Lukas opened his eyes, a little concerned with the fact that his head was pounding and that his vision was swimming.
His hand stung, but in spite of that, he reached for the bedside table, where his phone was resting.
A whimper made him look at Romania, and he was concerned with the fact that he was deathly pale.
But he also knew that there was nothing that he could do. So he dialled the familiar number.
…
Jamaica sighed with relief when he saw Norway wake up. Now it just left Romania.
As Norway reached for his phone, Jamaica made his way into Romania's dream world.
…
Iceland groaned as he was so rudely brought into the realm of consciousness by the annoying device called a 'phone'.
He picked it up and glared at it. He glared at the caller, and the time displayed.
"Do you have any idea what time it is?" he snarled into the phone as soon as he answered and brought it to his ear.
"Emil," Norway said, "I need you to call me 'big brother'."
"You called me for that? You know, you can…"
"Vennligst."
There was something in that voice that made Emil pause. It sounded so desperate, so fragile, so scared. Something happened.
Emil realised that this was a call from someone that sought comfort. But, what could have happened to cause Lukas to need comfort so badly.
So he sighed, and his anger ebbed away.
"…Big brother."
He heard a relieved sigh on the other side.
"Takk. Sorry for bothering you. I just…"
"Lukas, what happened?" Iceland demanded.
"I can't tell you. Please, understand. I'm sorry. Good night."
Before Iceland could say anything else, he heard the dial tone.
What was going on?
Well, now he had to go and wake the other Nordics.
…
Vlad's eyes were shut tight. He didn't want to see this. It was bad enough that he had to feel it.
Marius was carving something on his chest, using the dagger. He didn't want to know what the other was carving, but he knew it was bad.
"Stop!" an unfamiliar voice called, forcing both Romanians to look in that direction.
Vlad's eyes narrowed in confusion. He recognised the Nation in front of them from the meetings, but a name escaped him. But apparently, it didn't escape Marius.
"Judging by your appearance and accent," Marius said, "I assume you're this world's Jamaica."
The other's eyes widened.
"What do you mean 'this world'?" Jamaica asked.
"Ever wondered what's on the other side of mirrors? The sick and twisted things that happen behind the glass?"
Marius stood up, and yanked Vlad up with him. He turned the bound Romanian to face the newcomer, and the dagger instantly made its way to his throat.
"Leave him alone!" Jamaica demanded. "You wouldn't want to kill him."
"Not here, no," Marius said. "I know what might happen. Well, if he dies while I'm still here. If I leave him here to die…"
Jamaica growled, and Vlad could practically feel Marius's smirk.
"We'll finish this later," Marius whispered. Marius continued to whisper something that made Vlad's blood run cold.
The beginnings of a summoning spell.
"What do you want?" Jamaica demanded.
"Nothing," Marius said. "This is just a little bit of fun in the middle of the Cold War. And it's nice to see you, Jamaica. Our Jamaica, while technically being North, is too close to the South, and along with the rest of the Caribbean, decided to be neutral. And we don't want a neutral entity when everyone is waiting for North and South to have at each other."
It was very faint, but Vlad could tell only because he was so close to each other. There was a tiny hint of worry.
Cold War? Was that what was going on?
Vlad gasped when a tiny cut was made along his neck, and he was pushed forwards, into Jamaica's surprised arms.
"Are you alright?" Jamaica asked.
Vlad looked back to see that Marius had departed, and he sighed in relief.
"I think so," he said.
"Good," Jamaica said. "Then it's time to wake up."
…
Northern Ireland finally made his way to the rooms. He first went to England's room, having heard the screams of his younger brother earlier and wanting to check on him.
England was sitting up on his bed, Scotland's arms wrapped protectively around him. The blonde appeared to be trembling.
"Is he alright?" Patrick asked.
Scotland looked up, an annoyed look on his face.
"Where the hell have you…"
He stopped when he saw the state Patrick was in.
"What the bloody hell happened to you?!"
…
Jamaica sighed as he returned to his own body, in his own room.
What he had seen concerned him. Doppelgangers of familiar Nations, and each of these doppelgangers physically abused the Nations. He had seen the state they were in, and in some cases even saw what was being done to them. If the Romania-look-alike was anything to go by, then it was all for the sake of 'fun'. This was cruel. How could it be considered fun?
And something else concerned him. The Romanian said that he was from another world, and that Jamaica also had a doppelganger. Would his doppelganger also do that to him?
…
They were now in Poland and Lithuania's room. Wales was healing Poland's wounds. They usually wouldn't do it, since healing spells were draining to the one that was casting them, but Poland's wounds were a little more serious than the others.
Prussia had cleaned his own wounds, and his left arm rested in a sling. He would have to be careful with that.
France looked pale, and he was sucking on an ice cube, trying to soothe the burns in his mouth. He was also massaging his scalp, a few of the strands pulled out, and there were small spots of blood on his head.
Scotland was tending to Norway's wounds. His eyes looked blanker than usual, and he appeared to be lost in thought. He was trembling slightly.
Lithuania was taking a shower, with Northern Ireland standing nearby, in case he needed help. Lithuania was washing away the blood on his back and cleaning the wounds, all while he was trying to get his body heat back.
Spain was trembling, but was otherwise alright. He couldn't stand, though, and his arms were terribly clumsy.
England's burns were mostly healed by Ireland, so they wouldn't leave scars.
And Romania was aghast by the fact that there was a pentagram carved in his chest, and with the summoning spell that he heard Marius whisper, there was a chance that Marius would be able to pull him through to his world.
And he didn't like that prospect at all.
"We really need to do something," Scotland said. "This is getting ridiculous."
"It's getting scary," Spain said.
"Hey, Spain," Prussia said. "If you want to be awesome, try falling asleep while you're drunk. I mean, if you can scare Sweden…"
Spain looked up, contemplating the thought.
"Si," he said. "That might be a good idea. Put me on the same level. And I think we need to figure out a way to get other Nations in our dreams."
"Why?" Romania demanded.
Spain sighed.
"Alejandro is somewhat scared of South Africa, Brazil and India, and he mentioned that Mexico, Italy, Portugal and America were nasty as well."
"With the exception of Italy," Romania mused, "they all could probably help. South…" He looked thoughtful. "Marius mentioned something about a Cold War, but it wasn't anything about East or West. It was North and South."
"The Southern Powers," Spain said, eyes widening. "South Africa must be like Russia was during the Cold War, leader of the Eastern Bloc, or in her case, South."
"If that's true," Romania said, "then they'll react the same way Marius did with Jamaica. He was worried by his presence. It's because Jamaica is too close to the South, while being considered North."
"We also need to get Iceland and the others," Norway said, voice blank. "Sigurd said that he doesn't get along so well with his Iceland, and some of the other relationships are also poor."
"Are they the ones that attacked us?" Ireland asked.
"I don't think so," England said. "I think it's something else going on."
"Well, I don't know about you," Prussia said, "but I am not waiting for that Commonwealth meeting to go talk to Canada!"
…
Canada sneezed. He wondered if he might be developing a cold.
He shrugged, before he climbed into bed, Kumajiro cuddling next to him. He wished things could always be this comfortable.
He wondered if there would be any negative effects, since both South Africas now know about the other world. And he wondered what would happen if those two were to meet.
The calm and the storm. The torturer and the guerrilla. Cold and warm.
And both quite intimidating.
…
Mexico smiled as she waved goodbye, going towards her car, prepared to drive back.
America sighed. He was still upset that she had a habit of simply walking into his house, but now there was something else to worry about.
What was going on with England? He didn't know Wales that well (or at all), but he could tell that he wasn't pulling his leg, and he wasn't crazy.
Something was going on, and what kind of hero would he be if he didn't do something to help?
…
It watched the boy sleeping soundly. The bear might be able to sense it, but the boy, their pawn, couldn't.
It was completely concealed, and couldn't be seen, heard, or smelt by anyone, unless it wanted to.
And it didn't allow itself to be known by anyone. None of them did. While the others proceeded to attack the ones that could pose a threat, it decided to keep an eye on the Canadian, and occasionally weaken the boy by attacking those that dwell in the boy's land.
It was all a game of chess, and their original pawn also acted as the king. And now, it was time to get the other pieces in play. The eight pawns were still playing against each other, and now the more important pieces should be played.
The king is on the board, and so are two bishops. The knights still remain, as well as the rooks.
But the most important piece would be the queen. And it was time to get her on the board.