Obsession

A Hetalia story.

Chapter Six: Frozen

"Why didn't you call the cops?" The policeman could not wrap his head around it. He is getting paid to help people in Toris's position, and he chose instead to walk into the station in the late hours of the morning, caked in blood and dried dirt, only to tell him it was too late.

Toris's voice grows raw at the thought. "I don't know…" He whispers, his eyes glittering with fetal tears. "I have no clue now… I had a reason… but whatever the reason was... it was stupid."

"You do realize we are supposed to help people who suffer from this." He can't help but point out, clicking the pen in his fingers.

Toris gives a small shrug. "All the evidence was circumstantial... I couldn't prove he was stalking me…"

"But you had witnesses."

"Not anymore."

The conversation wilts. Toris scratches absentmindedly at a clump of mud on his wrist, as if he has forgotten what he is doing in the first place. The cop raises an eyebrow at him, but it seems the manager's memory is lost.

Awkwardly clearing his throat, the police officer gently prods the subject again. "You can keep going… if you want."

The strange man didn't seem interested in his existence anymore. Instead, he abruptly gets to his feet, the chair legs grating against the floor hard, causing the cops hand to instinctively jump to his holster. Toris approaches the wall opposite of them, his back turned to the officer, his fingers reaching to caress the cold cement. Seeing the danger has passed, the officer relaxes.

"Ivan didn't come back after he left." Toris randomly says, pressing his forehead to the damp wall. "But it was like he was still there."

"What makes you say that?"

The strange man shuts his eyes, as if he did not want to see the memory again. The air grows colder the more the silence progresses.

"I was thinking so much about it…"

And as result, Toris couldn't sleep. His body instinctively curls up, and tucked beneath the covers of his bed, he didn't feel safe. The beams of light that occasionally filtered through the window from passing cars had the manager out of bed in a heartbeat, a cold sweat developing all over his body until the comforter couldn't stifle his shivering.

Slowly lowering the covers that guarded his head, the Lithuanian glances at the alarm clock. 2 o'clock. Soon—too soon—he would have to get up and go to work, and face Ivan again. The idea causes him to gag on his own breath. He couldn't do it.

But he has to.

Tossing the covers off his freezing body, he swings his legs off the edge of the bed, and goes to stand; but his limp legs only roll out from under him and he crashes into the ground, the world spinning fast around him.

What am I even doing... he wonders, not finding the strength to get up again. There's no way I can go out on a date with my stalker…

Shuddering more, he slowly pushes himself up, grabbing a fleece blanket to wrap around his shoulders. He gives his legs a few test walks before he is sure he can make it without falling, before proceeding to walk into the hallway.

If I say no… will he hurt them though? His eyes flicker towards Eduard and Raivis's bedroom door. That's the problem… I don't know what he'll do.

As the manager makes his way to the kitchen, his eyes instinctively check the couch in the living room. A lump of blankets barely stirs, a distinct rise and fall of someone's breath. A faint smile captures his mouth.

"Dude what do you mean Ivan broke into your house?!" Alfred was shaking Toris so hard, he was almost sure he was going to throw up again.

"I came home and he was here. My brothers didn't let him in."

Alfred suddenly lets go of him, causing the manager to wobble a little unsteadily. "Alright then. I'm spending the night!"

"H-huh…?"

"Just to make sure Ivan doesn't come back." Alfred gently touches his shoulder, a concerned look lapsing over him. "But in all seriousness, are you okay Toris?"

At the moment, Toris felt better than okay; he had a friend that deeply cared about him, but the feeling soon passes. He can't be happy at the time like this: not when tomorrow is staring him down like a sliver of meat to a starved lion.

"Y-yes… I'm fine…"

Quietly, as to not wake the American, Toris sneaks through the living room and onto the cold tile of the kitchen, only to be met by another person, this one awake, and not Eduard, despite the late hour.

"Raivis…?" The manager speaks quietly, hoping that his voice wouldn't wake Alfred. "What are you doing up…?"

Raivis looks over, his eyes drooping with sleep, his hair ruffled and his favorite blanket tucked under his arm. He gives a particularly loud yawn and rubs his sleeve over his eyes.

"I can't sleep…" He mumbles, staring up at Toris like he could help him.

"Why's that..?" Toris kneels down to his level, straightening the fabric of his PJs out of habit.

"I'm scared."

Toris is a bit surprised by the answer, before a feeling settles in his stomach. Is he scared of Ivan? Did he realize what is going on? Nervously, he smooths down the bunched up sleeves of his brother's clothes, even though he would only mess them up when he went back to sleep.

"Why… why are you scared Raivis..?"

Raivis's blue eyes stare straight into Toris's green one, like an ocean devoured by a storm. The Lithuanian tries not to shudder as his little brother lets out another yawn. He gives a little shrug of his equally little shoulders, as if he should've known the answer.

"It's because you're scared Tori."

Toris could feel a blow hit his chest, clenching his air ways. He is letting it show too much, if Raivis could see it. Quickly, he tries to divert it.

"I'm not scared Raivis."

Raivis pouts, recognizing the lie. "You are scared, and it makes me scared too."

The manager didn't know what to say to fix this. It is obvious that straight out lying wouldn't work; but hopefully, the little brother's exhaustion might help to eliminate this conversation from his memory when he woke up. The last thing Toris wanted is for his brother to be scared.

"How about you go to bed. I'll come in to read you a story in a minute."

Seemingly satisfied that he didn't try to lie again like he most often did, Raivis nods and pads his way to his room, his blanket softly dragging across the floor. The manager sighs and rises to his feet, feeling like he's aged twenty years in one hour.

Toris, alert, hears a shuffle behind him, causing him to instinctively grip his blanket around him tighter. His heart beat sputters out of control before he can comprehend who was up now. He turns slowly, trying to breathe steadily but failing miserably. Alfred stares at him sadly, knowing what is going through his head. He probably had heard the full exchange.

"Toris, you have to tell someone. The cops; someone." Alfred looks so much younger when he didn't wear his glasses and there wasn't a uniform on his back. "They can help you. Coach could get you a restraining order…"

No, Toris couldn't let him go to such lengths for someone like him. He had already done enough, providing him with a well-paying job. He didn't want to burden his already busy life more than he had to, especially after he shown such mercy to the Lithuanian immigrant.

"It's fine Alfred." Toris responds, but it only makes the American frown.

"This is serious business you know. Ivan broke into your house, dude. Last time I checked, that's against the law."

The manager lowers his eyes. "It's probably the only time he'll do it—"

"Bullshit." Alarmed by the sudden language, he looks back up at his friend, only to see a flame burning in his eyes. He is dead serious, and Toris grows wary of it. "He freaking broke into Mathias's house, and now yours. I don't think he's going to stop."

Toris shakes his head, but he can't dismiss the facts. It all lead back to the cryptic messages that would never stop. If he i so persistent in getting in contact with him, what could prevent him from trespassing again? But if he went to the police, Eduard and Raivis would know something was wrong. They would become terrified in their own home, and the Lithuanian couldn't have that. After all, this was their first real home—he doesn't want them to feel trapped in it.

"He might have learned his lesson…"

Alfred grabs his arm, causing the manager to flinch. "He broke Mathias's arm. Have you looked at your neck lately? Ivan is capable of serious damage!"

The manager quickly puts a finger to his lips, trying to lower the volume of the conversation so they don't wake up Eduard too. Taking this as a sign that he should stop, the American sighs softly.

"What time do you have to go?" Toris knew he is talking about the date, but the manager didn't want to think about it. He is already frozen to the bone.

"Don't worry about it… you should go to bed. You guys have a game tomorrow." Alfred's eyes are pleading with Toris's, but he couldn't concede. He has to do this to keep his brothers safe.

Gently removing his hand from his arm, he nudges the American back to the couch before walking to Raivis's bedroom door. Alfred stays standing, watching him for a few moments before he sighs again and heads back to the makeshift bed.

Before Toris can open the door, he rests his head against the chilled wood, trying to relax his heart.

"I'm sorry…" He whispers to the hinges, before they creak softly, as if warning Toris to turn back. But his mind is made up. He would go with Ivan at 5 o'clock.

Work was dreadful. It isn't that it was hard to do; it was just every time Toris did something, his eyes would graze over the clock, and one second seemed to cause an hour to pass. Shutting down his computer deliberately and slowly, he looks up at the clock one last time. It's almost 5. He has to go.

Even though the manager is wearing two jacket, he still feels freezing, even to the point that his whole chest aches with numbness. He knows he is scared. There's no way to bring the warmth back.

Tucking his phone in his pocket, Toris briefly wonders if he should text Eduard, in case something happens.

That'll only worry them he reprimands, easing the drawer he got his phone from shut. Besides, it'll be okay… just imagine it's with Feliks."

The faded memory of a warmth captures Toris's face for a moment. He had really enjoyed his date with him. He could pretend that this is just a sequel.

You can do this. He encourages, and opens the door to his office, but whatever courage he has mustered flees. Lars is waiting for him, his neck wrapped around with a blue and white stripped scarf, and his hand buried deep in his pockets. The Lithuanian can see the familiar light in his eyes when he recognizes his face.

"Hello." He greets, his accent lightening the more he stays in America.

"Hello…" Toris nods his head, and turns to leave, but Lars takes a step in front of him.

"Um…" The Dutch player awkwardly searches for a topic. "Can you… tell me about teammates?"

The Lithuanian furrows his eyebrows. It is strange of Lars to ask that. Quickly, he glances at his phone. If he stayed, he would be late.

"I would love to Lars but maybe some other time? I'm going to be late." Toris tries to go around him, but the Dutch man holds out an arm to stop him.

"Wait..! I… I have important question."

Toris sighs. "Okay. What?"

"Um…"

The manager isn't sure if he should be annoyed or not. Lars is up to something; but he had no clue what it could be. He always seemed to be quiet and reserved. The idea that he is plotting something seems lost on Toris.

"Great job Lars!" Toris turns his head towards the voice, seeing the Gilbert and the rest of the Rebels rushing down the hallway. They must have been released before the game to rest up.

"What's this about…?" The Lithuanian asks when they get close enough, crossing his arms as a sort of defense from any touching. He isn't in the mood, not after exhausting himself from fretting for so long.

"You have to stay here to watch the game." Alfred says, his glasses shining from the overhead lights. So Lars was a distraction.

"I can't—"

"It's the Maple Leaves!" Mathias says, swinging his casted arm around to emphasis the point. "You have to stay!"

"You need to meet my brother too." Alfred interjects, but Toris shakes his head.

"I have a previous engagement. I'm sorry."

"Coach says you have to take stats." Even with a straight and unwavering face, there is one thing Berwald can't do, and that's lie.

"He said that Mathias was going to this game."

Everyone shots a glare, and the Danish player lets out an 'oh', like he had forgotten about that piece of information.

"Honestly Toris you can't go…" Ludwig says, his eyes filled with worry.

"Ivan is dangerous." Vash points to Mathias's arm, to clarify what Toris already knew; but he hadn't told the rest of the team. He looks at Alfred.

"I'm sorry bro…" Alfred lowers his eyes sadly. "I had to tell them."

Sensing something pierce his heart, Toris turns away from them. He hadn't wanted to get them involved at all. Look at his mess he is creating.

"I have to go." He says, slipping past Lars, causing the Dutch player to look to his seniors for orders. Gilbert runs after the Lithuanian, thrusting his arm out to close the entrance before he can make it outside.

"Something could happen to you." Toris stares straight at the albino, unable to feel anything else at this point but emptiness. He can see the car in the parking lot, the one Ivan texted him he would bring, the head lights shining and the engine purring. He is waiting.

"I have no other choice. I have to go." Softly, the manager grabs his arm, but Gilbert removes it with a sigh. He nods to the rest of the team discreetly, before moving out of his way.

"Okay." He concedes. Toris forces a small smile.

"Thank you." He says, before heading out into the parking lot. He doesn't hear the door shutter shut behind him. Is it stuck again? He turns to check, only to see the Rebel team following him.

"What…?"

"Can we call this a double date?" Gilbert grins, his arm slung around Ludwig. "You, Ivan, and the Rebels?"

"Guys…"

"This is what you get." Vash makes it sound like he has done a bad thing.

"What do you mean…?"

"When you're a part of the family," Mathias explains. "Then you are protected by the family. No matter what."

Had it been any other day, Toris would feel sentimental. But he could almost sense Ivan's frustration from waiting so long. He can't stick around. It would just make his brothers worse off.

"Look, guys." He starts, but the look on Alfred's face kills the words.

"You can't get rid of us…" He says softly. "We are either going home with you, or going on the date with you. You can choose."

Toris doesn't get to make that choice. Instead, the engine of Ivan's truck rumbles as he throws it into drive, and pulls up to the group, rolling down his window. His eyes look down on them, as if he knows he has the upper hand. Mathias moves to stand in front of him.

"Get lost." He glares, but Ivan only laughs, like he thinks his display is only cute.

"Nice cast." Ivan notes, his purple eyes gleaming with delight. "Aren't you going to have all your little friends sign it?"

Something about his cold hearted words makes Toris stop breathing. He almost got into the vehicle with this man, who would jump personalities with the drop of a hat. What could've happened if he had just pushed Lars and left? He sinks more into the bodies of his team mates.

"Are you ready to go Tori?" Ivan's spell is casted on the manager; he can't speak.

"He's not going anywhere." Ludwig speaks, causing the look on Ivan's childish face darken. It reminds the manager vividly of Mathias's party. That time, he has almost choked him to death. Imagine what he is capable of doing now. Toris could end up hurt, and then his brothers would defiantly be aware. Silently, he cheers the players on.

"He promised he would go on a date with me." The leather gloves on the man's hand creak when he squeezes the steering wheel. He's trying to contain something.

"Well, the dates off. You can get lost." Gilbert stands by Mathias, effectively blocking the Russian's view of Toris.

"You will regret this…" Ivan mutters darkly, but Gilbert waves him off.

"Yeah, yeah get lost. And never come around again!"

Furious now, Ivan slams his foot into the accelerator and takes out of the parking lot. The Rebels turn to their manager with smiles on their face, and Toris can't help but smile back. Maybe they could protect him. Maybe he should listen to Alfred and go to the police.

Over Mathias's shoulder, the manager can see a set of head lights entering the parking lot. Soon, the fans would be arriving. It isn't safe to be standing in the middle of the parking lot.

"Maybe we should go inside." Toris points to the car, causing the others to turn. They aren't thinking the same thing.

"Toris. Run." Mathias breathes.

"What…?"

"Run!"

But it's too late. Ivan, returning vengeful, presses his foot on the gas. They didn't even have so much as a chance to scramble before the Russian rams his truck into the group, and doesn't stop even when bodies crunch beneath his tires. Swiveling his head around, he puts the truck in reverse, and flees into the night.

Weakly, Toris tries to lift his head, but can't. Where are the others? All he can see is black, something wet oozing onto his hair. He reaches out blindly, hoping to find someone, instead bumping into something. He feels the chill of what seems like a metal wire, and when he traces his finger around it, he feels a smooth surface protruding from it. His mind sluggishly works to comprehend it, feeling himself losing the bit of consciousness he has.

It is a pair of glasses.

Alfred's glasses.

Let the tragedy begin.

-Soul Spirit-