Tonight was not fated to be a good night for Kyle Redglass. Of course, if one believed in karma, then rightfully so.
His day hadn't been that great either, if you asked him. There was little point in doing so, however, for Kyle was just one of those men. Nothing ever went his way. His job didn't pay enough, the price of gas was always too high, the government was run by people whose agenda was to make him obsolete, farm his job away. A chronic complainer, a long winded one if you let him. Nothing was ever his fault, either. As said it was always the government, or his boss, or perhaps even his mother's fault for not loving him enough so long ago. His misfortunes were never his doing, never the result of a man who'd prefer to scheme and cut corners and dream of a better life without working for it.
Oh he had the American dream alright, but he sort of missed the point where you woke up, rolled up your sleeves, and got to work achieving it. Of course, he'd certainly managed to surpass the two-point-five kids bit with no trouble at all. Even then, however, it was just something else to complain about. Too many mouths to feed and a good for nothing wife who might as well serve dog food with as well as she cooked, what joy. Thank God for beer.
Beer was pretty much his agenda for the evening as he stomped his way to the porch of his house (that was bleeding him dry to own and wasn't the government supposed to be bailing out homeowners like him?). Pop open a cold one, plant himself in the den in front of the computer, and waste his night away on illicit internet sites while ignoring the brood stinking up his 'castle'. Some king he was. Oh right, no kings in America!
To make his night that much better, Kyle dropped his keys, swearing profusely as he warred with a pronounced beer belly when he bent down to retrieve them. Where were his brats when he needed them? Picking things up were what he had the little punks around for. He kicked at the door for good measure, enraged that no one had come to greet the breadwinner (even if arguably he wanted to see his family even less than they probably wanted to see him). Still... it was oddly quiet. Maybe God had smiled on him and the wife had taken off with the brats, dragged em all off to the grandparents' house. Hell, maybe she'd never bring em back.
'Yeah right,' he thought as he snorted and shoved his way in the darkened house. 'If she left then I'd just have to pay fucking child support.' He shook his head, calling his wife a few colorful names as he fumbled for the light switch. They couldn't have left a damn light on for him? Half the time he came home to every damn light on in the house, wasting his money further.
The light switch did nothing when he flicked it, however, and oh how that started a tirade at everything and everyone and no one, the postal service coming notably under attack, because of course they must have failed to get his electric bill to the proper place on time. Shit, did this mean his beer was going to be warm? Stomping towards the backdoor, heading to check to see if it was just blown fuses, Kyle just never stopped complaining. Granted, that wouldn't have helped. He could have gone back outside silent as a mouse and he still wouldn't have been ready for the strong arms that reached out to grab him, never would have stood a chance against the feel of the blunt object colliding with his head.
This was only the start of Kyle's bad night, and no one really cared.
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England walked down the hall, face drawn and unreadable, eyes cast down as if tracking his own footsteps was the most important thing on his mind right now. He was 'late', if you wanted to put it as such, arriving to this very particular location after everyone else who was supposed to be in attendance. If the even way he walked was any indication, however, he was not upset about his tardiness in the slightest. No, this had been somewhat intentional on England's part. He'd forced himself to come later, to arrive well after the kidnapping had been done... to arrive no doubt some time after interrogation had begun. He'd had to come late... because England simply wasn't certain he could trust himself at the moment.
He wasn't certain he could trust the others, however, and that was perhaps worse. If he could place his trust in anything, it'd been in the fact that they were doing what they had to do. A Nation wasn't sinless, a Nation would bear his or her fangs to defend their country, and England was never one who'd shied away from staining his hands. This time however, this time, even if America was in danger and lingering feelings of brotherhood screamed for England to lead the charge... he wasn't the one most deserving of it. His relationship was nothing when compared to what Germany and Italy Romano faced... and England could bide his time in this.
"I'd thought you'd be in there already," came that damnable frog's voice, drawing England's gaze from the floor up to the blue eyes of the other Nation. He was leaning against the wall beside the door, arms crossed in a manner meant to be casual yet obviously anxious. It seemed France had no intention to enter and participate in the interrogation, or even watch it. Instead he'd waited out here, and part of England denied that he'd been waiting for him. This worry and concern from the frog was getting old. Old, tiresome, and very much unnecessary. Perhaps he'd just ignore him.
France sighed, shaking his head slowly, well aware of this age old song and dance between them. If they weren't going to awkwardly work together, then it was more than likely they'd fall to senseless squabbles. It was not what he wished for tonight, even if being ignored by England irked him deeply. France would be the bigger Nation tonight, he'd take the high road. "He has been our guest for a couple of hours now... though Germany and Romano only entered a half hour ago."
England paused right outside the door, staring at it and almost surprised he didn't hear the sound of shouting and violence coming from the other side. No doubt it was a very thick door, but England had a feeling no significant harm was being done at the moment. This was an interrogation, not torture. The risk of false information rose significantly in torture situations... but England wasn't certain just how long emotions would remain in check if Germany and Romano did not get the answers they wanted.
"No one is in there, to watch them?" England arched a brow at France, watching the other Nation snort and roll his eyes. Restrain them was the more appropriate word, probably.
"Spain and Canada are in there, though I doubt they're inclined to step in to stop any violence." France pushed away from the wall, staring down at England carefully. Lashes dipped low, blue eyes looking at England not with lust, but with something quite sober. He dropped his voice, a low inquiring whisper. "Are you?"
England would never admit that he'd been asking himself that very same question. No, that'd be like admitting the frog knew something, wasn't just spewing nonsense. With barely a glance at the other Nation, not caring that France seemed resigned to guard duty tonight, England entered the room. There was no need for the door to be locked, not with this many Nations here, not with all the security precautions they'd taken to ensure they wouldn't be disturbed tonight. Their location was remote, discreet, and deep within the heart of America. The only one who might have come rushing to see what was going on here was precisely one of those unable to.
As his green eyes adjusted to the low lighting of the room, England took a moment to peruse what techniques the other Nations may have already employed. The man certainly hadn't been in their possession long enough for anything like sleep deprivation, though the small sound system present may have been tuned to play white noise before the interrogating Nations had entered. It didn't seem as though any drugs had been employed, though it was difficult to say for certain. Their target was seated in a chair, restrained but not forced into any sort of stress positions, and Germany's tone as he spoke was modulated, in control.
The room itself was little more than a concrete square, what would have been a cold unpleasant office in a warehouse type structure. As this facility was currently abandoned and out of use, the walls were bare, the only furniture here provided for their guest. A sickly row of lights had been set up overhead, though all bulbs but one had been removed to keep the place dim. Otherwise, there was nothing. Just cold grey, dim plain walls, and now five very unhappy Nations dealing with one traitorous human man.
There was no time to attempt the technique of presenting themselves as the only allies this man was about to have, no time to sway him into believing that when things got ugly, he was going to be glad he'd passed on anything he knew. It was a solid technique, and of course Germany would know it well, but it was not suitable to their situation. Besides, Mr. Redglass here seemed to be making his position very clear, repeatedly.
"Oh sure, come on in. Look, it doesn't matter how many of you freaks comes in here, you're not getting anything out of me!" He spat, not able to project far enough to land a hit on Germany, but enough to get Romano to seethe and bristle. Germany seemed unaffected, and England continued in. Well, their captive was stubborn, but fairly stupid. At least he wasn't feigning ignorance. England was fairly certain that he had probably tried that route without success to begin with.
No doubt by this time they'd already covered the mundane basics, names, charges and such. It was a bit of a bother to be a little behind, but England wasn't here to suddenly take over. Not at all. Still resolved to let Germany and Italy Romano handle this, England moved to stand by the walls, near Spain (and Canada he almost jumped to realize). The human American watched and rolled his eyes. "If I hold out long enough I'll have the whole fucking world in here, huh?"
The slap rang out before England could even blink. Honestly, he was a bit impressed. He'd always known Romano had a horrible temper (and personality... and so on and so forth...), but the Italians had always sort of been branded as cowards. To see how viciously he'd lashed out, smacking the human across the face... was a good reminder that the Italies weren't quite so easily dismissible. The man was stunned, slumping in his chair since the restraints kept him from falling. He shook his head, obviously not expecting the little brunette to pack such a punch, and England felt just a bit satisfied. Humans really didn't understand the differences between them sometimes.
Romano, however, didn't seem satisfied at all, leaning in close to the man, yelling and cursing at him in fluent furious Italian. When Mr. Redglass recovered enough of his senses, he tried to put up a tough-guy front again. "Blah blah blah hey why don't you go make me a fucking pizza asshole! I don't speak Italian!"
The Italian Nation nearly lunged on the man, held at bay only by Germany's quick move. The German moved right up into the man's face, hand fisting into the man's shirt, lifting him and the chair just slightly. The man squirmed a bit, no doubt in pain anywhere the chair was essentially hanging from his body due to the restraints. Germany's cold eyes had narrowed, trapping the human with his gaze. "You do not speak it but you recognize the language." The man rolled his eyes.
"Yeah, so?" Germany lifted the man just a bit higher, his fist gripped just a bit tighter, and England just waited for him to say exactly what he was also thinking.
"Because you recognize him." Germany gestured at Romano. Perhaps if the man didn't seem like the poster boy for American stereotypes it wouldn't have seemed so doubtful that he wouldn't recognize Italian when he heard it. But the man nearly slipped up, a smirk hitting his lips as his head started to nod. The first nod had barely been made when the man's face went red and he vehemently shook his head instead, glaring daggers.
"No, uh uh, I ain't sayin' nothing!" England shook his own head, frowning. For such an idiot to be part of these 'terrorist' plans... the organization must not be trusting him with much information. 'They must have also coached him to simply refuse to say anything.' The man certainly wasn't clever enough to talk his way out of his guilt.
Germany let the chair drop suddenly, jarring the man. Before Mr. Redglass could begin to bitch and moan, the German leaned down, placing his hands on the arm rests and getting right in the man's face. Put so close to the anger the German Nation was displaying, the human lost much of his nerve, sitting back as straight as he could to try to escape this wrath. "You will want to talk. And you will not want to lie to us."
The human shook in his seat, licking his lips and frantically trying to seem brave. "You... you can't do anything to me. If you hurt me, you'll be starting a war!"
Germany's face didn't change at all. "Is that what you were told?"
The human's shoulders shook, his forehead dripping with sweat as he contemplated whether or not to answer or evade. England shifted where he stood, hoping the idiot would try to press his advantage. Anything he let slip about the inner workings of this organization was valuable. Redglass swallowed hard, jaw twitching from how tightly he clenched it. Germany gripped the arms of the chair tightly, jarring them, giving them a shake. The sweaty smell of fear was ripe in the room.
"You can't do anything!" The man declared again, this assurance apparently all he really had to cling to. Silly foolish little man. Obviously, the organization saw him as expendable.
"Why the fuck not, bastard?" Not satisfied playing spectator, Italy advanced closer. Considering the last slap, Redglass leaned away slightly.
"Because I know what you are, and you freaks are more than just some foreign guy kidnapping or murdering me! You guys are more, so if you do it, it means more! You wouldn't dare!" Yes, England could hear the doubt in the man's voice now, that first little nagging 'what if they lied to me' creeping up, and perhaps even 'why aren't I being rescued?'.
Italy sneered and chuckled, taking his turn to lean in when Germany took a step back. For apparently hating each other (well, on one side at any rate), they were moving through this interrogation in remarkable harmony. Romano pulled a gun from a shoulder holster, pressing it right up to the man's forehead, between the eyes. The man let out an undignified squeak. "Seriously asshole? You really think your country would go to war for a shitty nobody like you?" Romano pressed the gun against his head, much harder, forcing Redglass to angle his head painfully to try to escape the pressure. "After you kidnapped your own?" Romano's finger seemed to tremble, as if it itched to fire.
"You can't do this!" Redglass yelled out, frantic. The Italian stared him down, and as the human sought out all other eyes in the room, he was met with nothing that gave him any hope. "You can't! You can't!"
Italy Romano pressed the gun in harder, and for a moment England wondered if he was actually going to do it. That... would make this a bit of a waste. Satisfying in a small degree, but a waste. Still, Germany wasn't moving, as if the two had this all orchestrated. At length, Italy stepped back, eyes full of venom and a smirk on his face. Redglass seemed torn between wanting to smirk and gloat, and being terrified at that expression. Romano just shrugged, putting his gun away. "I could kill you right now and no one would ever find out, bastard. There are ways to make people disappear, and I know plenty of regular people to make it happen if I don't feel like getting my hands dirty on you." It was probably an empty threat, but the man seemed honestly terrified that the mafia would be after him if he ever got free.
Germany moved back into the man's focus, crossing his arms over his chest and looking down on the human. "Tell me, is what you're doing worth dying for? What did they promise you to make you so willing to die for it?" Germany was holding onto civility by a thread. Redglass seemed to see this at last.
"Look... look you can't..." The man licked his lips yet again, finally reaching that great deciding moment. Cooperate or dig a grave. Save his skin or die for the cause. The man's internal debate seemed to end when his body went limp, when he sagged in his seat. He wasn't smirking when he stared at those in the room, but there was something nasty and hateful in his eyes. "It's all your fault. You freaks. We can't fucking change anything because you all won't let us. No more, not any fucking more. We don't need all of you, we just need one of you... who'll work for us! And when we win, I'm gonna be rewarded for my hard work!"
The Nations assembled shared looks, frowning. England brought a hand up to cup his chin in thought. They only needed... one of them? Old habits couldn't help but make him think of Russia, but that Nation seemed unlikely to have anything to do with this. No, this was no scheme hatched by one Nation to take over, and though seemingly disinterested, Russia had been assisting moderately in the searches. Still... England wasn't sure what to make of this revelation. They wanted just one Nation... who would serve them? Was that the point of the kidnappings? Capture a Nation, try to bend it to their will... and grab a new one if the old didn't work out? No... that just... didn't seem to make sense. It didn't paint the whole picture.
There was also the matter of what happened to all the other Nations, and the man's words couldn't really be any more clear on that point. If any wars were being declared here, it was by this man and his group, against the Nations of the world.
"Everyone," Germany's voice broke the tense silence, commanding attention. He was glaring down at the man, perhaps having followed a similar path to what England had. If they were kidnapping until they found a suitable Nation to use... then Prussia and Italy were most likely... "I will finish acquiring information from this man. Alone."
"No you're not you fucking potato bastard!" Romano's face was bright red, but resolute. Germany said nothing, didn't cast him a glance. England was half of the mind to stay and watch... but decided to oblige Germany in his request. Having a moment to think, to revise the conclusions he'd drawn, would be useful. In his short words, the man had spewed some pretty definite inaccuracies about what Nations were, and their relation to their people. Control them? This man had been deliberately misled on many things, or their enemy had terrible information.
Spain was already leaving the room, pausing near Romano for a moment to offer him encouragement that the Italian pushed away. Canada... was he already gone? England shook his head, not entirely sure if the Nation was in the room or not now. He didn't need to tell Germany to make sure the man gave up everything he knew. As the German began to fix his gloves, it became quite clear that the German would be getting what he wanted, one way or another.
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'Well... this is new...' As America was strapped into the seat he'd be in while giving blood, he couldn't help but stare over at Prussia. The Nation was, as he'd been since he'd been taken here, lying on the cold table, naked and a tangle of straps and monitors and tubes. But unlike the last times America had seen him, he wasn't asleep. He wasn't just a breathing corpse. No, this time, Prussia was awake. Awake but delirious, or so America guessed.
The ex-Nation was singing, his eyes sweeping in a daze at anything or nothing. They seemed glassy and unfocused, as if Prussia didn't even know he was awake, or that he was singing at all. The tune was loose and rambling, like a song you'd expect to hear someone break into when they'd had too much beer. America couldn't understand the words though, which was weird, because he figured he should recognize at least a few German words here and there. But as the technicians prepared to drain his life fluid away, America realized he didn't really recognize the sound of the language at all.
Another technician came in the room briefly, checking on Italy and rolling his eyes. In Spanish he spoke to the tech working on America, muttering something along the lines of 'he's still singing?'. The other tech could only nod, muttering that he didn't see why they couldn't just sedate the ex-Nation. America snickered, which earned him a rather rude manipulation of the needle in his arm. The blond had to remind himself to play nice and not retaliate. Oh well, at least it seemed that Prussia was pissing them all off today, even if he wasn't aware of what he was doing. America had to admit, it was sort of awesome.
As America sat there, the tech supervising the blood draw, he let his eyes wander the room. He'd stared at everything in this room each time, trying to see anything that could spark a plan, but he'd always been hampered by the fact that Prussia and Italy were comatose. But... now that he really looked at the two of them, it seemed like they were doing marginally better. Perhaps now that they were draining America dry they wouldn't need to decimate what was left of the two Nations. It was a bittersweet and depressing thought.
"Hey, blond guy," Prussia suddenly sang, and America blinked. He looked vaguely at the techs in the room, noting that neither had blond hair. America let his gaze move to Prussia's face, but the other wasn't looking at him, still singing that weird song of his in that language he didn't recognize. "Hey you hear me right? Don't be un-awesome and answer me, but you hear me eh?"
America nearly couldn't contain his sudden excitement when he realized what Prussia was doing. That tone, that very same inflection he'd used to communicate with Oliver for the first time. That special way Nations could understand each other... Prussia was using it! It was weird as hell to have communications sung out, but hell, America would have jumped up and done show tunes if it meant getting out of this place. God that'd be weird, some song in dance in this little room. Wait, focus America!
Prussia kept up his silly song, voice raw as hell, but pushing on all the same. "Good boy. Geez, you really do need the awesome me to come up with a plan, huh?" A bit of laughter got into the song, and man it was hard for America to keep his face neutral. In some small way, he was glad the blood drawing was making him start to feel lightheaded. "Anyway, listen up. I'm gonna fill you in with what I know... and then I'm gonna find a way to make you useful!"
America really wanted to roll his eyes, but he was so happy to have Prussia awake and as an ally that he'd make sure he didn't mess this up. So he listened intently, trying not to wince as the horrible things done to these two were related in a singing manner.
A/N:
So yeah, if I've magically happened upon your exact name for our kidnapper here, I'm sorry, no horrible harm intended! The name is just a mockery of a reference to David Greenglass, who honestly has no bearing on this story.
In case there's any confusion, Prussia is singing in an extinct language. You can wikipedia that if you'd like (and fun enough, there's an entry for 'Old Prussian Language' listed under West Baltic Languages). I'm not going to specify which language exactly Prussia's belting out here, but that's why he can sing pretty freely. Poor baby America here probably wouldn't have much contact with some of the extinct European languages (though he has plenty of his own extinct ones!), hence his not recognizing it. Of course, the fact that I'm pointing at wikipedia here should show clearly I'm not claiming to be an expert here. At ALL. So cut me some slack, please. =)
Anyway, this should be one of the last 'set up to the rescue' chapters. I say 'should', because sometimes I misjudge these things. But, yep. Hope you enjoyed.