a/n: thank you Daisies, minoki and Tamer Lorika for your reviews! edited chapter five, hope it explains stuff properly, yup. anyway on to the story!
"If I attain possession of the Crystal, I can bring you back to life... I'm sorry, I failed you, I swear, I won't fail you again, my love... Please, hold out, just for a while more... Please..."
Canada awakens to the sound of murmuring. These days, he hears the same thing, France begging someone to wait for him. Was it a woman or a man he was begging not to go? He doesn't know, but just as France is pining for a lost love, he too is pining for someone. But who exactly is he pining for? America? England? Or France? Maybe, just maybe, insanity will be better than his current state of mind.
"Canada?"
Canada hears footsteps coming closer and squeezes his eyes shut in anticipation of more torture when his blindfold is torn off and he is allowed to see his captor's face for the first time.
"You've been doing well, mon petit lapin," France smiles and Canada stares, transfixed. France's beauty matches up to his voice, as he had expected. "For that, I shall reward you..."
The blue eyed witch's hands slip down Canada's body, stroking, caressing, fondling. He presses against his familiar's growing erection and soon, his mouth covers Canada's hardened length, licking, sucking and his familiar whimpers both in pleasure and fear, wondering if he should thrust forward into the heat or if he should lie still. France teases his tip, lips brushing against it, teeth scraping gently and Canada moans, wondering if it is too good to be true but the pleasure, oh the pleasure... Canada's hips buck forward as France takes him in, deeper, deeper, humming, producing a lovely vibration that is just enough to send him over the edge...
And back into the mind numbing hunger. But it doesn't end there. As Canada writhes about on the floor, France conjures up shackles, binding his familiar's wrists together and his ankles to the ground. Canada howls but France gags him; his bindings are far too powerful for Canada to breach and he howls again, feeling the metal bite into his skin.
France presses his boot against Canada's limp cock, stimulating it, rubbing against it, teasing it patiently until it becomes erect once again.
"My sweet, sweet, Canada," France produces a bottle of oil, slicking up his fingers, undoing his trousers. He plunges three digits in at one go, preparing himself and looking at his familiar, he licks his lips, stretching himself. Moments later, he impales himself on Canada's cock, hips jerking forward, moving of their own accord, hitting his prostate. France wraps his fingers around himself, stroking rapidly and when he goes over the edge, Canada follows shortly after and screams through the gag, the shrill cry echoing throughout the dungeon.
"Enjoy the feast I've prepared for you, mon cheri," France whispers as he tangles his fingers in his familiar's blonde hair.
Canada struggles against his bonds, which refuse to break no matter what. France purrs, sounding pleased as he gets off him. He straightens his clothes and smiles, satisfied as he leads his familiar out of the dungeon and into the light.
"Germany," England frowns as he makes his way to the clearing in the midst of the forest. "Do you-"
"Canada's here," America hisses.
"Canada?" England raises an eyebrow. "Then that means-"
A tall, familiar looking blonde man steps out in front of England.
"Angleterre," France smiles briefly.
England's jaw nearly drops open, but he regains his composure quickly. "France," he nods in acknowledgment. "I see that this is a challenge?"
France shrugs and Canada appears by his side. England's eyes widen slightly, but strangely, the sudden turn of events doesn't surprise him. Except Canada is shaking with hunger, exuding energy so potent it nearly knocks England off his feet.
"I accept your challenge," England steps forward, taking a deep breath.
"Since when did you have two familiars?" France asks, tone mocking.
"I don't have to answer to you."
"Very well. Canada," France calls out to his familiar. He gives a sharp nod, signifying the beginning of the duel and with that, Canada's bonds fall away. The wendingo leaps forward, charging towards Germany and with a snarl, he transforms into a panther, ready to engage in the duel but America stops him.
"This is my fight. Stay away," America warns, but Germany doesn't back down.
"This is my fight," America repeats staunchly. "Defend England."
Germany stares at him, large eyes unblinking.
"You are his familiar, aren't you?" America does his best to keep his awkward and indescribable feelings of contempt, condescension, hurt and betrayal out of his voice. He thinks he has his answer, but the fact that England had chosen another over him still stings. "Protect him. I will fight Canada."
Germany relents and dodges as Canada takes a swipe at him, which America intercepts.
"Canada," America shivers, looking at how gaunt his brother has become. His eyes are no longer the same clear shade of blue and his skin, deathly pale.
Canada doesn't seem to recognise America, growling, trying to rip a hole in his brother's body and America finds himself saying "Canada, wake up, wake up, please, wake up."
"Canada," America repeats, almost begging, hoping to awaken his brother's sanity. "Canada!" he grabs him by his shoulders and shakes him hard and Canada sinks his claws into America's back.
"No, Canada, no, please, no," America repeats it so many times that it sounds like a mantra; he doesn't want to fight back, he doesn't want to hurt his brother so he takes a deep breath and kisses him hard and suddenly, Canada's eyes change from a glazed midnight blue to a light shade of sky blue. "Canada," America whispers, relieved, hugging Canada.
"Ame... Rica?" Canada asks weakly, before nearly collapsing to the ground, taking his brother with him. "What are you... Doing here?"
"Your witch is fighting against England," America says dully. "Leave with me, Canada. I'll set you free," he promises, despite knowing that it was impossible.
"America," Canada says, breathing heavily. "I can't."
"Does he love you?"
Canada pauses, then shakes his head and moans, feeling the pain from denying his hunger sear his brain.
"You love him."
"I will be content to stay by his side for eternity, even if he doesn't love me."
"Even if all he does is to take from you."
Canada pauses, then nods.
"You cannot keep giving. You will die," America's voice comes out sounding strangled and Canada winces.
"America," Canada hesitates for a moment, choosing his words carefully. "Have you ever truly loved someone?"
America's eyes narrow slightly. "Of course."
Canada smiles. "Then you will understand why I'm doing this."
America feels wave after wave of pain assaulting his senses and he falls to the ground, coughing blood. "Canada," he looks up at his brother, eyes widening in horror.
"I'm sorry."
Austria stands in a field of edelweiss, laughing softly, facing Hungary.
"I never thought I'd face you here," Hungary's gaze hardens. "Who was it who said that he was never one for fighting?"
"Immortality can make you change your mind."
"You haven't really changed, have you."
"I will do what is necessary to acquire what I want."
Hungary sighs, frustrated. "Austria," he pleads. "Don't do this. You don't want to die, really, you don't."
Prussia so desperately wishes to yell 'Damn right!' but he holds his tongue. He doesn't know anything about Hungary and Austria's relationship, but whatever it is, he doesn't really like it. In fact, he's starting to feel a wee bit of... Jealousy. He shudders.
"Hungary," Austria pronounces his name slowly, agonisingly. "When you have nothing worthy of remembering when you look back-"
"Don't speak of your life like that!" Hungary cries out, green eyes flashing. "You-"
"We were once together. You and I. Before all of this," Austria cuts Hungary off. "Maybe it was happiness. Maybe it was bliss. Maybe it was just a dream and I was seeing things, behaving like the fool I have always been. Look at me now. Nothing remains," Austria laughs sardonically.
Hungary flinches, but keeps his eyes on Austria. Turkey is by his side and for once, his mask is off and he wonders if it means he has stopped pretending and stopped hiding his true power.
"It doesn't matter any more, does it?" Austria asks. "Well. Let us begin."
Canada slashes wildly at America, who dodges, escaping barely each time when a boy and girl wanders into the clearing.
"Fuck," America swears. "Get away, get away, damn it!" he hollers at the top of his voice, but they don't hear him. He looks about desperately, England is engaged in battle with France and Germany... Germany is whimpering in pain on the ground, taking each hit for England and while it doesn't look like England is losing, Canada is so lost in his hunger that he cannot feel pain.
The boy looks up for a moment, he's dressed in a white sailor shirt with blue trousers (or was it shorts?) and he's blonde; America wonders why the fuck does he look so much like England and then he wonders what the fuck are they doing here so he yells once more "Fuck off! Get away, damn it!" but they can't hear him.
The girl's chocolate brown hair is tied into a side ponytail, she's wearing a white blouse, shorts and a tank top; she's holding the boy's hand, America doesn't know what the hell are they doing but they look so damn fucking cute together and oh how America wants to hold them close and protect them and keep them away from the big, scary world when France notices Canada. A dazed smile spreads over the blue eyed witch's face as he mutters a spell under his breath and a shield spreads across Canada, preventing America from advancing. He feels the hunger screaming at him to join his brother, to feed on mortals but at the same time, every bit of his sanity tells him that he's better than that, he's stronger than that, he can fight it, England didn't give him a part of him for nothing.
To his utmost horror, America realises that maybe, the two children aren't walking away because they cannot see him, Canada, or Germany. There are bushes with bursting ripe berries nearby, they are walking towards them but somehow they deviate from their intended pathway. "Canada, no, oh fuck, no," America moans, clutching his side, feeling his injury from before throb with pain as he tries to fight against France's shields. From the corner of his eye, he sees Germany tearing at it - he doesn't know when the panther has shown up by his side but America appreciates the effort anyway - but somehow he is unable to create an opening.
Canada turns his gaze towards the two children, Germany is furiously clawing at the force field but he's weak, the fur on his back is soaked with blood and Canada, Canada is covered in blood but he doesn't notice and America feels his heart break. Part of his sanity slips away as he vows to get revenge and finally, he manages to break the shield with sheer brute force. Germany growls something vaguely incomprehensible and motions for America to proceed and he does, only to find that he is too late - the two children are gone, Canada is panting heavily, the flow of blood has stopped but nonetheless, the grass is stained scarlet. Germany collapses as he sustains the crack in the shield so that the strawberry blonde can pass and America catches sight of a scrap of pink material on the floor and with a howl, he charges forward as Canada looks up at him, eyes still glazed.
America goes berserk.
"Why, France?" England screams, keeling over with pain. Germany has taken far too much damage on his behalf, there is no way he can subject him to anything more. "You can't bring the dead back to life, even if you use the Crystal, all you'll get is just a bloody shell, you and I both-"
"Shut up!" France shrieks, blue eyes wild and crazed unlike anything England has seen of him before. "Do not speak as if we are on the same level. I am not like you, I have never tried-"
"Bollocks," England laughs shrilly as he clutches at his side, unsurprised that blood is flowing freely. "We both know what you tried to do back then. You would've never joined the War Games if you didn't know that whatever you might've tried would be a failure-"
"Shut up!" France shrieks again. "Shut up, shut up, shut up!"
"No, France," England's smile spreads into a maniacal grin. He lifts his hand and forcing whatever power he has left out of him, he creates a tiny orb of energy, aiming it at France. "You shut up."
"Finland," Sweden stops in the middle of laying the table for dinner. "The damage has been done."
Finland looks up at the turquoise eyed witch quizzically.
"Two children have been killed," a look of terrible sadness crosses Sweden's face and Finland shudders, because he knows who he is referring to. The two children who they treated as their own, because their parents often left them in their care, but once the War Games started, the family left, moving away to the countryside, and yet...
"Sweden," Finland hugs the taller man, burying his face in his chest.
"Finland," Sweden's voice sounds far away and oddly distant. "Do you know why I've never made you my familiar?"
"Because you don't want to participate in the War Games?"
Sweden smiles and shakes his head, tightening his embrace. "No, love. It is because I don't want you to be bound to me. Love will only be love if it is given freely."
Finland's eyes widen, then he smiles, cheek flushing slightly. He looks up at the turquoise eyed witch, eyes shining. "I love you, Sweden," he tiptoes and kisses him.
"I love you too," Sweden mumbles against Finland's lips before deepening the kiss, all thoughts about dinner completely forgotten.
Turkey transforms into a wolf, circling Prussia with lithe grace, sizing him up. Prussia is disturbed by how he is brown, not the usual gray (he wonders why, but it doesn't really matter actually because what is more disturbing is the fact that Turkey seems to be slightly larger than him) and when Turkey pounces, aiming for his throat, Prussia narrowly dodges with a leap into the air, landing on Turkey's back, tearing away at the soft flesh.
Hungary whips out a frying pan and Austria resists the urge to smirk.
"Some things don't change, huh," he whispers under his breath as he summons Ghost Fire, which Hungary easily deflects with the frying pan. Austria frowns as he side steps, narrowly avoiding the rebound. He summons water next, which Hungary raises an eyebrow at and they exchange blows, engaging in what looked like swordplay except with a frying pan and a rifle. Metal meets metal and Austria considers it a miracle that the muzzle of his rifle is still straight as he deflects a blow from Hungary.
Hungary remembers lying beside Austria, kissing his brow, telling him how important his frying pan was to him because it brought him luck and he remembers how Austria showed him a secret compartment in his rifle, where he kept a bullet which nearly shot him in the heart... And it creates the opening Austria needs to wound Hungary.
Turkey howls as wave after wave of pain assaults him, from both Prussia's unrelentless attack and from the damage inflicted on Hungary. Prussia is no better, his fur is too, dripping with blood. Turkey snaps at Prussia, who attempts to back away to dodge the attack but he moves a second too late and sustains yet another injury.
The duel is far from over between Austria and Hungary, as both summon orbs of energy, pelting one another's shields with it. Austria wonders how long can the both of them hold out - not long, maybe a few more minutes - when Hungary stops suddenly and Austria is blown backwards, landing a few metres away, coughing blood. Hungary collapses, blood flowing from his nostrils.
"I've lost," he admits, sadness filling his green eyes momentarily. "I hope to see you after this though. Please, do not kill yourself."
With that, Hungary disappears and so does Turkey.
Austria feels no great joy from his victory as he scrambles over to Prussia's side. His eyes widen in shock as he finds the albino immobilised, curled up in a ball on the ground. "Prussia," Austria cradles his familiar in his arms. When he finds blood all over, his cheeks turn deathly pale. "Prussia, I-"
"Stupid aristocrat," Prussia tries to laugh, but ends up coughing instead.
"Prussia, are you-"
"I'll be fine. My awesomeness will heal me."
"That is a pathetic excuse for a joke," there is a pained expression on Austria's face and Prussia reaches up to stroke his cheek.
"Don't frown," the albino shakes his head disapprovingly. "You look awful when you do."
"You speak as if you're dying," Austria bites his lip hard enough to draw blood, then kisses Prussia. When he pulls away, Prussia's lips are stained a brilliant hue of scarlet. "You won't die."
Prussia closes his eyes and shakes his head. "You're one to talk."
"Perhaps," Austria carries his familiar in his arms almost effortlessly.
"Stupid aristocrat."
It ends quickly.
Canada is pinned to the ground, America over him, tears falling, wetting his brother's cheeks.
"America," Canada says softly, bright blue eyes looking straight into his brother's sapphire ones. "What have I done?" he asks, squeezing his brother's hand, sounding scared, exactly like how he sounded, small and frightened after he fed for the first time so many years ago.
America doesn't reply, crying harder. He hasn't cried in years, no, he hasn't cried since Canada pointed out all his faults and reduced him to tears a few years ago and now... "Canada," America wonders how long his brother can hold out before slipping into insanity again. "Canada, I-" he finds that the words are stuck in his throat, somehow, he can't bring himself to say them. Instead, he gestures to his neck and leans forward. Cradling his brother's head in his arms, he lifts his head and presses his lips to his throat.
"No, please, no," Canada shakes his head, body convulsing in America's arms. "Please, I beg you, no, please, no..."
America wants to kill the monster who turned his brother into a complete wreck, but resists the urge because he knows that even if he consumes France, the witch will live on within him as a spirit, haunting him. "Canada, it's me, America, I'm your brother, remember?" he asks. "Drink, Canada, please, you'll feel better after that, please..."
"No, please, no, don't hurt me," Canada shrinks away from America's touch and America feels a huge part of him die inside.
"France," England looks at the fallen witch, lying on the ground, bleeding. "It's over. You've lost."
France doesn't reply, merely shrugging.
England leaves to tend to America and Germany.
Hungary lies languid in Turkey's arms as his familiar reaches for him again, touch feather light and gentle.
"You did well today," Hungary murmurs as Turkey nods, grinding against his ass as his touches grow in intensity, teasing but remaining frustratingly slow.
"Hungary," Turkey slips in and Hungary moans, back arching as his familiar fills him completely once more. "Why do you bother with the War Games?" he withdraws, leaving only his tip inside before thrusting in again.
"I had a feeling Austria would enter this time," Hungary manages to answer between his soft cries of pleasure. "Besides, you had fun, didn't you?"
Turkey speeds up his thrusting, but his touches remain ever so slow and patient. Frustrated, Hungary grinds against his palm, only to have him remove it, hand reaching upwards to tweak his nipples, eliciting more moans.
"Turkey..." Hungary moans, trying to sound threatening but failing.
"Mm," Turkey nips Hungary's earlobe affectionate as his touches resume and his thrusting grows quicker, bringing the both of them to completion.
"Canada," France takes in the sight of his familiar's bruised and battered body.
Canada doesn't dare to look up at the blue eyed witch. As much as he longs for his caress, he knows he has failed him. He supposes he will be lucky if his punishment is something lighter, hopefully not the brand, oh how it hurts when the scorching hot iron burns his skin. Canada curls up into a ball by the corner of the dungeon, shaking in fear.
"Canada," France's voice is a broken whisper as his fingers trace Canada's wounds, from the red welts caused by the whip he had used on him to the injuries he had sustained in his fight with America. "My sweet Canada," his voice is soft and mournful. Canada doesn't dare to breathe as France places his hands on his shoulders so that he can look into his familiar's eyes.
Canada lets out a choked sob as France traces his cheekbone, thumb rubbing against the tiny cuts on his face.
"Canada," France kisses his familiar, who shrinks away from his touch.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, please don't hurt me, please," Canada murmurs, begging.
"Canada," France shakes his head, stroking his familiar's hair. "No, it's fine, Canada..." the blue eyed witch holds him close, then conjures a tub of hot water and a small stool for Canada. "Sit," he soaks a piece of cloth into the water and his familiar obeys. He wipes the dirt and blood off Canada's beautiful porcelain skin and with each mewl of pain his familiar fails to hold in, France feels his heart break. It reminds him of how, not too long ago, he used to dress another's wounds, tend to another's injuries and he remembers the warmth, the laughter, the feeling of being loved... He looks at Canada, quivering and broken and he hates himself for breaking him like that, but the damage is done. Even so... Perhaps England was right. The dead was dead, nothing could bring back a soul, no matter how one tried. He stares at Canada, who looks up at him, eyes full of uncertainty and he wonders if he can learn to trust another again. More importantly, he wonders if he can let go of his past. His familiar cocks his head to the side and suddenly, France feels himself being overwhelmed with warmth. He smiles.
Maybe, just maybe, he can learn to love him.
a/n: ahhh that was painful. i'm so sorry Sealand and Wy were introduced so that i could kill them off /gets shot. anyway... review?