What's in a Name
Chapter Seven
Alfred woke to find himself in a very green world and panicked slightly before realising that he had opened his eyes underneath a discarded duvet. Realising where he was, Alfred tossed England's bedclothes to one side and groped around on the desk to find his glasses where the other man had placed them the night before.
It was only then that Alfred registered the smell that was emanating from the next room. Burning. Something was definitely burning.
He exited the room in a hurry, worrying that the flat had actually caught fire, only to find a number of people sprawled around the living room. Gilbert and Peter, having finished their fighting, had fallen asleep on the floor rather unceremoniously, Peter resting his head on the cushion he had been using to pummel the albino with, and Gilbert using Peter as his pillow.
Antonio and Lovino were still huddled up together on the sofa, something that they had both gotten used to over the last few days. Alfred found himself surprised by the peaceful expression on the younger man's face. He'd only ever seen Lovino looking grumpy before then. He noticed Antonio's head move slightly and saw that his eyes were open and looking at him. Antonio smiled towards Alfred and motioned to be quiet with a finger to his lips, before gazing fondly back at his partner.
There was movement coming from the kitchen, which brought Alfred's attention back to the burning smell that had spread throughout the flat.
Sure enough, England was standing in front of the oven, cooking something that Alfred thought probably should have resembled bacon and eggs, but was now just a smouldering mess in the frying pan. Alfred yawned loudly (receiving a hissed "shhh" from Antonio) bringing England's attention away from his failed breakfast.
"G'morning." He said briefly and turned back to the hob, cursing under his breath as one piece of black bacon crumbled when he touched it with the tongs he was using to attempt to turn it over with.
"You want a hand?" Alfred inquired, completely bewildered as to how England could have turned even the eggs into a burnt mess.
"Don't bother, Al." Antonio called over, propping up the now bleary eyed Lovino onto a cushion before joining the two blondes in the kitchen. "I don't know why he bothers, to be honest with you. All he ever does is turn the food to ash."
"Shut it." England grumbled, emptying the contents of the pan into the bin. "I thought I'd be able to do it this time." He genuinely looked put out at his failed attempt of making the group breakfast, which had obviously not been the first time that he had managed to destroy what should have been fairly easy to prepare.
Antonio helped himself to a carton of orange juice from the fridge, pouring both himself and Lovino a glass and offering the rest of the carton to Alfred.
"You want some cereal or something?" England cluttered about, clearing up the mess he had made of the oven. "It's about the only thing I won't set on fire..." He added, mumbling in his embarrassment.
"If you're offering." Alfred chuckled, taking the cloth England was using to scrub the worktop and taking over the job while the smaller man retrieved the cereal and a pile of bowls. "Thanks."
Antonio had taken to holding Gilbert's nose to try and wake him up, greatly enjoying the struggling that ensued when the other man's red eyes flew open at the realisation that he could not breathe. Peter, on the other hand, did not find the experience overly funny when Gilbert threw his arms to the side, hitting the younger boy in the face.
"I don't have time for this..." England sighed, taking a last spoonful of his cereal before discarding the bowl by the sink. "I'm going to work." He announced to the room, leaving Alfred in the kitchen to collect his helmet.
"What?" Peter stopped fighting back against Gilbert to watch his brother, "But it's the weekend!"
"And I've still got to make deliveries." England answered Peter without looking at him, not wanting to show him the tired look on his face. "Clean up when you're done messing around."
England slammed the door as he left the apartment, leaving the rest of the room in a stunned silence.
"Wait a minute. England!" Gilbert broke the silence, running out of the door after his friend. Alfred heard the front door bang downstairs and turned to look out of the kitchen window, noting Gilbert catching up with the irritable blonde who was inspecting his motorbike.
"I should probably get going too." Alfred shuffled from his place in the kitchen towards the door, ruffling Peter's hair as he moved passed the boy. "I'll see you around, okay?"
Peter didn't move and continued to stare at the cushion he was still holding, a distinct frown present on his face (making him look all the more like his older brother).
Antonio clapped Alfred on the back, "See you at college, if not beforehand." He flinched slightly when he moved his injured arm, but hid it behind one of his warm smiles. "C'mon Peter, give us a hand cleaning up, or your neat-freak brother will have our heads when he gets back."
Peter threw the cushion back onto the sofa (or rather Lovino, who was sitting there) and retreated back into his bedroom, ignoring the concerned expressions on both Antonio's and Alfred's faces.
"I can stay to help, if you want." Alfred scratched the back of his neck, rolling his shoulders to try and relax them.
"No, it's okay." Antonio shifted his hand through his hair, looking between Lovino, sitting on the sofa, and the door Peter had just stormed through. "He'll be alright. You've got stuff to do, don't you?"
"Do you honestly have to work today?" Gilbert wouldn't let the subject die, much to England's annoyance.
"Yes. Now leave me alone." He tried to start his bike again, already expecting the engine to cut out almost instantly. "Oh, for fuck's sake!" He kicked his machine, wishing that for once violence would actually solve a problem for him, rather than causing one.
"But you're never around anymore!" Gilbert pulled the angry blonde away from his bike before he could get the chance to break it any more.
"I have to get money somehow!" He shoved his friend away, returning to his bike, deciding to actually try and fix whatever the problem was this time, rather than lashing out any further. "I need to go out anyway, or didn't you notice how empty my fridge was when you were going through it last night?"
"You're too stubborn for your own good, you know that?" Gilbert leant against his own bike, wiping dirt off of the red paint-work.
"Better than being an ego-maniac." England hmmphed, ignoring the profanities that were shot back at him. "Oh will you just shut up and let me fix this thing! It's hard enough as it is!"
"Fuck it." Gilbert swung himself onto his bike, glaring at his friend as he pulled his helmet on. "I'm going home."
He sped off, leaving England to grumble about fixing his bike.
It had broken before and he'd been able to fix it then. So why couldn't he now?
The oil was fine, it had enough gas, and nothing looked like it was broken or cracked, so why wouldn't the starter work?
He gave up and slumped down on the ground, trying to decide whether to make the deliveries on foot, or to phone up the manager to say that he couldn't make it after all. It all seemed like a lot of effort for the weekend.
"You're not kicking the starter hard enough."
The voice came from behind him and England jerked around to see Alfred standing by the front door.
He'd gotten changed, and tried to tame his hair (leaving that one bit sticking up again).
"What do you know about bikes?" England scoffed as the taller man made his way over, dropping his backpack onto the floor next to him.
"Oh please." Alfred rolled his eyes, laughing at England's comment, "I'm nineteen. It's not as if I haven't played around with my fair share of this kind of junk." He swung himself over the seat of the bike and stomped down hard on the starter pedal, revving the bike into gear. "See? Easy as pie."
"Shut up, git." England got to his feel, pushing Alfred out of the way.
"That's a fine way to thank someone." Alfred laughed, not taking the irritable man's words to heart.
"Whatever." He pulled his helmet on, revving the bike.
"Hey," Alfred tapped England on the shoulder, still grinning (like an idiot). "I was heading to the store; you want me to pick you up anything?"
England looked at Alfred through his visor. The taller man's smile was plastered to his face almost permanently, it seemed. It was surprisingly refreshing, England found himself thinking, compared to what he was used to, Antonio fawning over Lovino, who pushed him away unconvincingly, Peter being just as stubborn as himself, and Gilbert being Gilbert – the 'awesome' prat.
He felt himself flush and had to remind himself that this was the man he'd called a brat the first time they had met. So why was he being so friendly towards the people who had threatened him?
"Idiot." England concluded as the answer to both his and Alfred's question and sped off out of the car park, kicking himself inwardly for the feeling that Alfred's smile had given him.
"And then he left?"
Alfred had met Toris and Felicks in the town while he was out shopping.
He'd caught them just as Felicks was dragging his partner out of one of the street's clothes boutiques, shopping bags in hand, and looking extremely pleased with himself as he munched on a strange looking snack.
"Yup." He mumbled with his mouth full of burger.
"That's, like, totally rude!" Felicks commented, his mouth equally as full as Alfred's, "He just, like, left you standing there? Totally rude!"
Toris sighed as Felicks started to wave his fork around to demonstrate how annoyed he was at how their friend had been treated by some other guy.
"You need to be careful with the bikers around here." He interjected, dodging Felicks's spiralling cutlery, "They're nearly all involved with gangs."
"I know." Alfred nodded at Toris's concern, "And England's not any different."
He knew he'd made a mistake instantly.
Toris and Felicks both stared open-mouthed across the table at him, both looking a little like goldfish. The awkward silence was broken by Felicks, who, evidently, could not keep quiet for more than ten seconds. "Wait, wait, wait! Did you, like, say England? As in big eyebrows, always totally pissed off by everything?"
Alfred nodded.
"That's, like, really bad! Totally bad!"
"How is it bad?" Alfred couldn't understand their reaction. Sure, England was involved with a bike gang, and he was as grouchy as an old man, but he was a good guy. He looked after Peter, went to work and all that kind of stuff. So why did they look like he had said something truly awful?
"Look, Al." Toris cut in before Felicks could speak, "I know England. Not very well, but I know him. And you can't trust him or anyone from that gang." He looked down at his plate, feeling all the worse for speaking against Alfred. Felicks took his hand under the table and squeezed it reassuringly. "I was in that gang."
Alfred dropped his burger. Now it was his turn to stare. "Y-you were?"
"He isn't anymore." Felicks spoke sharply, almost glaring at Alfred. "I, like, made sure of that. Even if he does, like, have the scars to prove it." Felicks unceremoniously pulled up Toris's sleeve, revealing a long white line running up the length of his arm. "That guy, like, totally loves to leave a mark."
That was something that Alfred could tell only too well from the state that Antonio had been in a few days back. It was unnerving to be told that he shouldn't trust the people he had just spent the week getting to know. It definitely didn't feel right to be told not to trust England, the man who had given him a cup of tea so that he could sleep better.
"Although," Toris pulled his arm away, hastily hiding his scar again, "England and his lot were picked up not too long before I left, and even then the boss didn't really like them. They were different from the others." He sighed and stood up to leave, "But that doesn't mean that they won't do the same things as the rest of the group." He strode away from the table, only allowing Felicks to say a hurried goodbye, and leaving Alfred sitting stunned at the table by himself.
"It's good to see everyone is here." Russia stood with his back to the group as always. He didn't need to look at them in order to intimidate, the very tone of his voice was enough, and he exploited this to the fullest of his ability. "I have a number of tasks for you this evening." He smiled, despite knowing that they couldn't see it. "For starters, Latvia step forward." A small teen stepped forward timidly, his mousy blonde hair plastered to his face due to the pouring rain. "Good." Russia turned to stare at the boy, his violet eyes boring into him. "I know something about you Latvia." He bent down closer to his face, "Something interesting." He stood up to address the rest of the group, "You may have noticed that our group has been greatly diminished as of late." there was a murmur of agreement, "Well, that is all due to our good friend Latvia here." He placed a hand on the boy's shoulder, squeezing it threateningly, "He has been reporting our members to the police, have you not?"
Latvia's eyes widened. He swivelled harshly, trying to break from the giant man's grasp but was held in place. His face had gone white, making him look like a ghost in his maroon jacket.
"So it is true, isn't it Latvia?" Russia smiled, still holding the shaking boy still. "England, Belarus, I have a job for you two." Belarus strode forward proudly, only too glad to be chosen for the job at hand. England was not so pleased, knowing what was coming next. "Take him somewhere, and make sure he isn't inclined to come back." Russia practically threw Latvia down at the two, where Belarus took charge of escorting him away. "The rest of you may leave."
Alfred stumbled down the streets in the dark. He'd been out for a lot longer than he had planned after running into Toris and Felicks. What they had said about England had really gotten to him and he couldn't work out why.
Sure, it was strange to trust someone who had almost beat his brains out the first time they met, but England turned out to be alright, didn't he? He had put his trust in a complete stranger to take his little brother home from school, so why shouldn't Alfred trust him in return.
And what was so bad about him being in this bike gang, anyway? They can't all be as intimidating as that girl who had gone to meet them that one time. If Antonio and Gilbert were anything to go by, the gang could be quite pleasant.
But then there was Toris's scar and the wound that Antonio had received. That just proved that the boss of this gang wasn't someone who should be taken lightly. Only someone with a true intent to harm would hurt people that badly. Only someone with an evil mind...
That thought shook Alfred more than any of the rest of it. England was involved with a person who did that to people. He tried to shake it from his mind but kept remembering England standing at the bottom of the stairs supporting the unconscious Antonio.
He finally reached lamp-lit street near the main road after turning yet another corner. Why did it have to get dark so fast?
The scene that he walked in on, however, was not what he had expected to see.
There was blood spattering the wall of the nearby building under the streetlamp and a long object leant up against it. There were two figures there, one lying on the ground, the other slumped against the wall.
Curiosity got the better of Alfred and he edged closer to the people. It wasn't pleasant. The figure on the floor was covered in blood, which had stained his mousy blonde hair crimson. There was a gaping hole in his right arm in the same shape as both Antonio's and Toris's scars. He was a gang member...
Alfred bent down to see if there would be any lasting damage to the boy. He didn't look any older than fifteen, which hit Alfred hard, he was so young! Too young to be involved with this kind of thing.
A stifled sniff brought Alfred attention to the other person, causing him to drop his shopping instantly.
His blonde hair was messier than usually as he hid his head in his arms, hugging his knees tightly. A knife was discarded a few metres away from him. Alfred stared at the familiar man, not sure what to think. He'd never expected to see England cry, even if he was trying hard to hide it.
"England...?" Alfred leant in closer to the distraught man, placing his hand on his shoulder. There was blood on his hands and face, which had been transferred onto his clothes. "England, did you do this?"
His face snapped up to look at Alfred. Shadows were cast over his startling green eyes, which had been made even more apparent by the addition of his tears, which had left tracks running down his face.
"I..." he choked, voice breaking, "I cut him..." He buried his face once more, not wanting to look into Alfred's concerned face, and those eyes which looked like they could see through anything. He couldn't lie to him. It was impossible. "I called an ambulance." He mumbled, "Be here soon. She got away." He wiped his face with the back of his hand, "She hit him with that." He motioned to the pipe which was leaning against the streetlamp. "No fingerprints. Wore gloves." Fresh sobs erupted from where he had hidden his face, "I didn't-"
Alfred pulled him into a hug. "It's okay." He squeezed the smaller man reassuringly, "I know you didn't want to. You didn't have a choice." England was warm in Alfred's arms, unusually so. "England? Are you running a fever? England?"
The sobs continued but England didn't respond. He slumped forward into Alfred's shoulder, his hair hiding his eyes, which had slid shut as his breathing hitched as he continued to cry even after he had passed out.
Alfred ran his hand through England's bangs, feeling his forehead to check for a temperature. He was definitely too hot. "We can't have you being caught for this..." Alfred mumbled, hoisting the unconscious man onto his back, careful to avoid touching the boy who was still out-cold on the ground, so as not to provoke any further bleeding. He picked up his fallen bags, adjusted England's weight on his back, and hurried to finish his walk home.
So much for not trusting them...