Hetalia - Down the Rabbit Hole

Chapter 8, and oh boy...hope you like blood, because there's lots of it.

Review Responses:

LesMiserabbits: Welcome to the party, just as we are boarding the pain train! Chu! Chu! ha- but seriously thank you for the lovely review, it's so nice to know that my work isn't unreadable. In terms of this story, I to noticed that there aren't that many story heavy superhero AU works and since I firmly share the philosophy that you should write what you want to read, here we are.

Chiisaioni: Hey old friend! Glad you could catch up! Happy to know that you are enjoying this series as much as my other one (which is on break, sorry about that) and while they aren't exactly connected, I like to think that this story and my other series exist alongside each other as parallel worlds. Different, but still share a few constants ;)

Now, without further ado, let's get into it,

Enjoy!

Spades District, University of Gaia, The Gymnasium

A wet, bubbled choke interrupted the sodden rhythm of Alfred Jone's sobs, and caused him to freeze. Hesitantly, too scared to dare hope, Alfred blinked away his tears and stared at the body before him. 'Don't fool yourself Alfred. You're seeing things. Britannia is dead, and he is dead because you couldn't save him.' His darkest voices taunted; the same ones that had spoken to him after their parents had left.

Except Alfred did not listen to them this time, for all his attention was on the faint rise and fall of Britannia's ribcage. He was alive. Resurged energy bolted through Alfred as he shot forward and jammed his finger against Britannia's pulse. He found it weak. Another sob threatened to escape as Alfred leant closer; the rusty smell of Britannia's blood that filled the gymnasium made his stomach churn with each shallow inhale.

'Britannia! Britannia, oh god. Please, please answer me. Britannia, please!' Alfred cried out, when a clear beeping tone bounced off the grey walls. The sudden noise caused Alfred to jump and pause for a moment before his hands scrambled to locate the source. Blue eyes fell on a pocket on Britannia's utility belt, and (after sternly reassuring himself that he was not looting) his hand reached into it to retrieve a small communication device. The beeps emitted began to increase before Alfred cautiously thumbed the singular button, half expecting the device to explode from the urgency of it's frantic frequency.

'H-hello?' He stammered with a hoarse throat, and was answered by tense silence.

'Who is this, and why do you have Britannia's communicator?' The deep voice on the other end slowly growled.

Alfred shivered at the unspoken threat that lay beneath the question. 'I-it's Columbia. He- Britannia, he's— he's hurt real bad.' He croaked. Understatement of the century.

'Britannia, is he conscious? Can he speak?!'

Alfred glanced down to Britannia, whose blood pool had now expanded to the extent that it reached his knelt knees; staining the navy blue fabric of his suit. He gulped down the bile scaling up his thorax. 'No. No— he, he got slashed o-on his back. He's losing allot of blood.'

An explosive clatter of metal and glass erupted from the speaker, causing Alfred to wince and when the voice spoke again, it was hard as gravel.

'Carefully move Britannia out of sight outdoors. I'll be at your location in three minutes.'

'Wait!,' Alfred cried before he could end the call. 'I don't know who you are.'

'Allistor Kirkland.' The voice curtly stated over the sound of a key in the ignition, and cut the call, giving Alfred alone to follow his instructions as a soldier was expected to follow his commander's.

Spades District, 221 Baker's Street, The Kirkland Penthouse.

'Get him inside! On the table!,' Allistor Kirkland yelled as he kicked open the front doors to his family's penthouse and then the door to his med room. Alfred charged past him, Britannia's body steadily growing colder as it lay limp in his arms; fat gouts of blood splattered to the floor behind them. 'Reina! Call Seamus and Dylan!'

As gently as he could with violently trembling limbs, Alfred lay Britannia down on the steel operating table central of the med room; a massive spotlight hung beyond the station whilst impeccably clean glass cabinets of bottles and counters of medical instruments lined the sterile room. Allistor Kirkland marched in with the professional decisiveness of a master and nodded to the metal fridge that was behind Alfred.

'Get me an XXL bag of blood on the top shelf and a morphine pack from the bottom,' Allistor ordered as he pulled on a set of latex surgery gloves, and picked up a pair of scissors to cut away the tattered rips of fabric that had been the back of Britannia's suit. Now apparently a qualified nurse, Alfred gulped down the lump in his throat and forced himself to move as instructed. 'Hang them on the IV drip and then turn around.'

'Why?' Alfred dazedly heard himself ask as he hung the plastic bags. A humming sound filled the small room as Allistor turned on the respirator installed below the operating table and took out it's connected clear oxygen mask.

'Because I need to remove Britannia's mask.' Allistor snapped at him, and Alfred turned his back. Despite the horrific circumstance, the temptation to peek was all too real. There was the sound of shuffling as the masks were exchanged.

'Right. Now I need you to drag over that trolley with that bottle of antiseptic, sponge and cloth on it.' Allistor directed again, pointing to appropriate cart resting in the corner when Alfred turned back around. Britannia now wore the half face oxygen mask, revealing a golden globe of chopping locks while a strip of white cloth had been laid across his eyes to conceal them. Dual needles linked to the bags Alfred had hung had been inserted into a vein in his arm, and the respirator rattled with every strained breath he told. The built in heart monitor softly, but slowly beeped!

'HEY!,' Allistor shouted with a snap of his fingers to wrench him out of his stillness. 'I need you to focus, every second counts here!'

'R-right!' Alfred stuttered, his feet scuffled in clumsiness before finding themselves again, and brought over the trolley. The second it was within reach, Allistor grabbed the folded cloth and spread it to completely cover the length of Britannia's back; immediate patches of dark red blossomed where it touched.

'You're going to want to hold him down for this next part.' Allistor warned darkly as he unstoppered the antiseptic, the grimacing smell of disinfectant flooding the room. Alfred had a second to anchor Britannia's shoulders and hips before Allistor tipped the bottle over.

Alfred nearly lost his grip as Britannia thrashed in agony as the sterilising liquid soaked into his back through the cloth. The American bit down on his lip as he forced himself to hold on, moisture built in the corner's of his eyes as Britannia spluttered and whimpered between the breaks of his screams as wave after wave crashed down on him.

This…Alfred could of never even imagined it: Britannia, who was collectively agreed as the most skilled, most powerful, most badass vigilante, writhing broken. His hero, his idol, actually capable of weakness. There and then, as he held him and Allistor began to stitch back the flayed flaps of skin together, Alfred Jones' perception changed. Britannia was not longer some far off star he could never hope to reach. He was, and always had been, human; a remarkable one yes, but inarguably a human none the less. The Angel bled the same as everyone else did.

Silently, Alfred swore to himself that he would never allow Britannia to suffer this way again. No one would ever torture him to this point a second time, not as long as Alfred still drew breath…

Allistor's sigh brought him back, and Alfred blinked to see that the stitching was neatly done (Alfred vaguely remembered that Arthur had said to him that Allistor was a surgeon.) and Britannia was still. The heart monitor's beeps and the respirator's rattles, were regular. After carefully cutting the thread, the eldest Kirkland brother dropped the bloody needle into a bowl in the sink behind him. He peeled off the latex gloves drenched in red, tossing them into the small bin by the door before examining the monitors and IV drip. Once finished fiddling with the drip rate of the morphine, Allistor gave out a heavy relieved sigh and slumped onto the metal stool beside the sink, wiping away the sweat from his brow that trickled down; exhausted.

'He's stable,' He panted, his voice cracked at the end, 'he's stable.'

The temperature of the room finally began to die and the stone that had formed in Alfred's gut dissolved massively, a choked laugh escaped from his lips as the tears formed in the corners of his eyes finally broke free. Alfred sniffed with a wobbly smile as his moved his goggles to his forehead (that was also drenched in sweat) to swipe them away. A tissue box appeared in his peripheral, and Alfred nodded gratefully to Allistor as he took one. He blew his nose loudly as the other watched him with a raised thick brow.

'Honestly, I never imagined that we would meet again like this,' Allistor mused, a knowing smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

Alfred frowned, before he realised his awful slip: his goggles were still resting on his forehead. His identity was blown.

'I—' Alfred's mind scrambled for any excuse, but was cut off when Allistor raised a hand for silence.

'Now that the most urgent matter is resolved, I will speak first. My name is Allistor Kirkland, and I, alongside Seamus and Dylan are the Britannia Angel's coordinating and support team. This apartment is our base of operations and has technology, weaponry and features built into it all designed for Britannia. This med room a prime example.

Everyone in this household are highly trained combatants with skillets that you couldn't dream of possessing, skillets that, if you were to ever threaten our peace, would be used to destroy you without mercy.'

After he'd finished, Alfred wished he had had a stool to collapse onto to. Instead, he gripped onto the nearest counter ledge. His mind was having difficulty processing it all coupled with the shock of losing his secret identity. Questions raced through his mind a mile a minute, but there was one that left his tongue before thought could catch it.

'Arthur—'

'Yes, but not quite the same as the rest of us. Whilst he is trained and close with Britannia, Arthur is not part of the team. His reasons for why are personal and his own.' Allistor answered, and Alfred gave out a pent up breath, feeling a confused blend of relief and slight jealousy; relieved that he wasn't putting himself in the danger that came with hero work; jealous that Allistor had described him and Britannia as close. Just exactly how 'close' were they?

'You look like you have more questions.' Allistor offered with a soft smile, and Alfred rubbed his hands together before pressing them over his eyes.

'Yeah, a ton, but I mean— Jeez where to start y'know?' He breathlessly laughed and Allistor mirrored it.

'No need to rush anything lad. Though, I would like to hear your story as well,'

Alfred pressed his lips together, when there was a thunder of fists that threatened to break down the front door. Allistor pushed himself out of his stool and shuffled around the table. He clapped a large hand on Alfred's shoulder as he passed.

'But first, let's reassure my brothers that Britannia isn't dead.'

Ten years ago, Japan, Tokyo.

Arthur winced as he brought his bō staff up with both hands to block, the collision of wood on wood sent a jar down his already shaking arm. His mother's face was neutral as she began to push down, forcing Arthur to bend down under the strain. The young Brit gritted his teeth, sweat plastering his bangs to his forehead as his back curved, ready to collapse when the pressure was gone. His mother spun her staff, and in one fluid motion, swept Arthur's ankles out from under him and jabbed the end into his exposed abdomen.

He cried out as he was slammed against the training mat, spread eagle on his back as his mother masterfully flourished the weapon before holding it out to be taken by one of the dojo's attendees. The dojo of paper and wood was silent save for Arthur's heavy pants that filled the semi open space; the cold crisp air of the snowy mountain air wafted in between the sliding screens. Traditional kanji scrolls lined the walls above the display stands that held katana blades and other ninjutsu weapons, and in front of them sat on provided cushions, Arthur's three elder brothers watched his sparring match alongside the attendees with bald heads and yellow robes.

His mother, Victoria, stared down at Arthur with critical amber eyes before she looked over to her stepchildren, not a golden hair out of place. 'Who can tell me what Arthur did wrong?' She asked aloud.

'Too slow!' Dylan answered with a skyward stretched hand.

'He thought he had a chance against you.' Seamus smirked, and gave a squeak when he got boxed on the ears.

'His footwork was off, leaving his lower half exposed.' Allistor corrected with a glare at his brothers and Victoria gave a curt nod before turning back to Arthur, now back on his feet rubbing his stomach. It was bad enough that his mother's taxing spartan styled training left his body battered and bruised, but the added humiliation of his watching brothers made it all the more worse.

'Quite right Allistor, proving that once again, Arthur hasn't been paying attention in lessons,' His mother frowned, and Arthur knew better than to make a scene; one of the first lessons she had taught him was disciple. Instead, he kept his eyes glued to the floor and eventually heard his mother sigh. 'Allistor, Seamus, Dylan, one lap around the compound. Go.'

The respective boys immediately rose and filed out of the room, exiting onto the wooden porch that ran out into the snow covered zen gardens. Victoria raised a hand of dismissal and the other attendees followed suit, leaving her and Arthur alone. Arthur gulped around the lump that had formed his throat as he felt his mother's eyes bore into him.

'Arthur—'

'I'm sorry! It wouldn't happen again.' Arthur cried and bent over low, only now aware of how his fists trembled. The mistake had been ridiculously stupid of him, and shame kept his head bowed. When no answer came, Arthur minimally raised his head, and blinked when he felt a tender hand cup his cheek and tilt it up. His mother's face had lost the hardness it had had whilst training with him, and so rarely let slip away. The emotive tenderness that softened her gaze as it met his was the kind that she reserved solely for him and his father. Victoria traced the light dusting of freckles that painted his cheek with her thumb.

'My child…what ales you?' She asked quietly, and a shiver rode down Arthur's spine. How could he possibly put it into words?

'Nothing, Mother,' Arthur replied as silently as she had with an averted gaze. A run around the freezing compound seemed vastly more appealing than admitting failure to the one person who believed in him most. He knew how high she had her standards for him, well above those she held for Allistor, Seamus and Dylan; they were all her sons, but Arthur was the only one who carried her blood. 'My head isn't with me today.'

'Arthur, please—'

'Ma'am, pardon the intrusion but she insisted—' A high voice exclaimed just before the door connecting to the rest of the manor was pulled open, and a woman strode in; a horde of protesting attendees on her heels. The woman was tall and voluptuous under her cameo kevlar armour, her hair was bobbed and platinum blonde with arms that were tree trunks. Her heavy combat boots boomed throughout the previously quiet dojo, and the hard mask was instantly back on Victoria's face. Her hand dropped from Arthur's cheek and moved to subtly move him behind her, placing herself between him and this newcomer.

'Maria,' His mother greeted, through her squared jaw told another story. 'What brings you here?'

The woman, Maria, cast a surveying scan about the room and raised an eyebrow. 'Business, Victoria. Private business.' She said with a pointed look back at the furious crowd she had drawn. Arthur watched as his mother dismissed the resentful attendees, and tightened his hold on his bō when the woman Maria approached them. When the doors finally shut, Maria glanced down at him. An unspoken statement in her suggestive look.

'He stays.' Victoria stated without negotiation.

'Талантливый сын, я полагаю?' The talented son, I suppose? Maria snorted in Russian, and Arthur narrowed his eyes at her. Victoria placed a hand on his shoulder, almost as though she read his mind.

'И свободно говорит по-русски.' And fluent in Russian, She rebuked in his defence and Arthur felt smug when he saw surprise skim across her face.

'I see…I will report it back to my brother. I know he takes great interest in his progress.' Maria smoothly replied, switching back to English.

A dangerous glint flashed against Victoria's eyes and the hand on Arthur's shoulder tightened it's grip. 'Quite. I've changed my mind, we will talk business in my room. Arthur, you will mediate alone for today.'

There was nothing to be done, except watch as his mother left with the rude Maria woman. Arthur stared down at his knuckles that were white on his bō from gripping it so hard, before lowering himself to sit with his legs crossed, and closed his eyes.

When Arthur next opened them, he was in a meadow of colourful flowers. Warm sunlight shone from above in a clear sky and from it's golden rays, spritely fae lights emerged to dance towards him. Arthur giggled as they zipped around him, tickling his nose and ears.

These were the quaint delights that filled his mindscape, his own Wonderland where he was able to dream and experiment with reality as he pleased. Mother thought that he was only able to access it through deep mediation, but it was easier than that for Arthur. Wonderland came easily to him, so much so that there were times of the day when he sworn that he could see parts of Wonderland manifest itself in the real world; flowers and grass would bloom in impossible places, magical creatures like unicorns and sprites would walk beside him, reflections would have delayed reactions.

Mother had told him that he and her were special, that they were part of the fantastical one percent; they were Lucid, completely aware and awake to all and every dimension. Their minds worked differently from others, and they could train them to converge the third and fourth dimensions together to ignore and manipulate the laws that bound them. The result from Bleeding was solely unique to each person who was Lucid and never truly replicable; each to their own a crafted style, as it were.

This was the real purpose behind Arthur and his mother's mediation sessions; for Arthur to refine his style, one that was as flexible and powerful as Victoria's own weapon summoning one. On the day he had turned ten, Arthur was proudly able to say that he had it: Magic. His mother had been as pleased as anything, and Arthur had never felt prouder to be her son. After the breakthrough, Victoria had nearly always accompanied him into the fourth dimension to encourage the refinement process. A process, that was as aggravating as it was amazing.

See, Arthur's magic worked by a set of intangible rules, and Arthur would only be granted a flash of them would he came to use them in the real world; as though someone were holding out a book with all the rules written down for him to read, only when he came to actually focus on it, they would snap it shut. Some elements of his magic came naturally with minimal Bleeding, such as his telepathy and pyrokinesis, while others had him straining. There was one solid rule of Bleeding that his mother warned him about every time: never try to manipulate your own body's shape, else it may never return to what it once was. There were other rules that she hadn't taught him yet, and thus she would always try to keep a tight hold on what Arthur did while in the fourth dimension, but well…

'When the cat's away,' Arthur impishly grinned to himself when a sudden breeze swept through his meadow, rustling the long grass as it skimmed through. The young Brit looked around with wide eyes.

'Hello?' He called out. 'Is someone there?'

There was a moment of silence before the grass rustled again.

'Hello?' An indivisible speaker echoed back, and Arthur scanned the field for them, lingering along the edge of the tree line. Was it another creation like his faeries?

'Where are you? Come out!' Arthur exclaimed, and smiled when he saw a shimmery humanoid outline appear at the edge of his meadow, in the shadows under the trees. 'Over here!'

The outline hesitated, before it took it's first step forward, bluebells and dandelions bowed as it approached. Arthur gave it a toothy grin as it's outline became clearer, it's shape no longer mirage-like but substantial and defined; darker in colour so that it resembled a shadow. It was a creature of Wonderland! A new friend he could learn from!

'What is your name?' Arthur politely asked and frowned when the shadow did not move. Hm, a different approach was in order.

'It is alright if you are shy. Why, um, why don't we get to know one another over some tea.' He continued and finished with a clap of his hands. Immediately, a long elegantly clothed table appeared at the centre of the flowered meadow. Cushioned chairs bordered the table's length and delightful delicacies such as creme puffs, turkish delight, strawberries and cream, all plated on fine china decorated it. Lilac, baby blue and white tea sets doted between the tea time treats.

Arthur reached out and took the shadow's hand to lead it over to the head of the table, where a high backed arm chair sat. Gently, he lowered the shadow into the plush seat before taking the one to his right. Once sat, he selected one of the many steaming pots and poured them each a cup.

'Here,' Arthur offered as he pressed it into the shadow's hand and held up his own; pinky extended. 'Now, we toast as fellow gentlemen. Cheers!'

The shadow looked down in it's hand, and then to the wondrous boy who had given it to him, who had done what no one else ever had; seen him, given him a face, an identity. Shakily, as a babe taking it's steps, it moved it's lips to mimic the expression on the boy's face.

'Cheers.' It echoed and chimed their cups together.

And the mystery thickens...

So! Secrets out! Alfred has been rumbled by the Kirklands and we have versions of Arthur's past and more elaborate explanations of his powers and what it means to be Lucid.

Allowing myself a humble brag, actually rather pleased how this chapter turned out. I felt the fast movements and slow ones threaded quite well into each other and that we have some solid character development. Originally, this chapter was going to be longer, but I felt it had more weight to leave it on this note. Fret not, I do have the next chapter written out on paper and just need to type and edit on screen, so it shouldn't be that too long of a wait.

Next time, more secrets will be revealed, not just on Arthur's side either. Our sunny boy has a few skeletons in the closet of his own that I brushed over in this chapter ;)

Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed this chapter! If you are enjoying this story and want it to be updated faster, please consider leaving a review telling me your thoughts, opinions and questions. Once again, thank you for reading and as always,

Until next time folks!