What's in a Name
Chapter 13
The group was thinning even as he looked over it. Many had run after he had lashed out at Estonia and the other rebels, but if they didn't follow him to the last then they could go to hell for all he cared. This was retribution. England had disobeyed him, so he was going to be punished. And what better way to punish him than to target what he cared about most.
Belarus still stood at the front, watching him carefully, her eyes barely even blinking. She was loyal, even if the others weren't. Every now and then she would turn her head to look briefly at the boy who was now tied down in a corner, his face lit by one dim headlamp for her bike.
Peter looked smaller than ever. He was still dressed in his pyjamas from when he had been dragged out of the apartment by Belarus with Russia following closely behind, smiling that icy cold smile. Francis had quickly been shoved out of the way, given little choice but to watch them carry the boy away on one of the bikes as other members surrounded him, all carrying their signature lead piping. The leader had seemed even bigger than he had remembered, towering over the small pre-teen after knocking the door open and finding the boy sitting awake in his bedroom, games console in hand. It had been terrifying.
Russia followed his sister's eyes to rest on the boy again. His smile widened upon violet meeting the cool blue of Peter's eyes. "Don't look so scared. I'm sure your brother will be here soon. Your French friend will have made sure of that." He moved over to crouch in front of the boy, his smile unwavering. "You really look like your brother. Let me see." He tilted Peter's chin up, observing his face. "Hmm. Well, if your brother is England, and you being as small and insignificant as you are, then you must be Sealand. Children like you can't be countries after all." Peter glared up at the gang leader, causing his grin to grow even further. "Oh come now, we can't be having that. I might do something even more drastic." He pushed Peter's head back down, rising to take his place at the front of the group again.
"He will come, won't he?" Belarus spoke up, taking a step towards her brother.
"Oh yes." Russia looked across the group, as small it now was. "I'm counting on it. After all, we have his precious little brother." The female biker smiled, taking a seat on the platform next to where her brother was standing.
"You're a sadistic bastard!" Peter shouted from his place in the corner.
"Aah, you've inherited your brother's potty mouth." Russia chuckled, "Prussia, I know you're there. Shut him up or I will."
Gilbert emerged from around a corner at the back of the group, wheeling his bike alongside him, helmet hung over the handlebars. He leant his bike on the wall and made his way over to where Peter was tied down. He crouched down, wrapping his arm around the boy and whispered to him, trying to calm him down.
It was starting to get late, the time heading more and more towards midnight each time Russia checked the clock on his phone. He was a patient man, but this was taking far too long. He knew England was going to come, it was just a matter of waiting for when the man would find out what had happened and how long it would take him to get there, and with England being as irritable as he was, the wait would not be much longer.
"Here he comes." Russia spoke up quietly, just loud enough for the group to hear him. He saw Peter tense in the corner and Gilbert give the boy a quick squeeze, his red eyes fixed on the small opening to the courtyard.
The rumble of an engine was getting louder, echoing down the maze of alleys that led to the area. It truly was an obstacle trying to find the meeting grounds for the group if one didn't know which route to take. It was what made it so hard for the police to find them if they caused too much of a ruckus. Russia had picked it out knowing this, but knew that once the alleys were memorised then the members of the group would be able to get there without any problem. Indeed the only member who had ever had trouble finding them had been Latvia, but he had been dealt with.
There was a screech of brakes as the bike skidded around the final corner, its headlamp blaring down the narrow alley and practically blinding the people at the back of the group. The bike sped into the clearing, scattering the gang members as they scurried out of its path and came to a halt in front of the platform where Russia stood, totally unfazed by its sudden appearance.
"England." Russia greeted England as he stepped off his bike, removing his helmet. "I didn't expect you to bring a guest with you."
"Don't mind him." England glared up at the gang leader, the shadows of the area emphasising the furrow of his brow. "Your dispute is with me, is it not?"
"True, true." Russia nodded, his smile once again growing on his lips. "But I had hoped that it would not take as much as this for you to attend a meeting again."
"Let Peter go." England took another step forward, his eyes flickering between the giant man in front of him and his brother crouched in the corner with Gilbert.
"Hmm? But if I did that then you would just leave, and I can't allow that now, can I?"
"Look, I don't care what you do to me!" England yelled, causing Belarus to jump up from her position sitting on the edge of the platform. "Just let him go!"
"How reckless, England." Russia's eyes seemed to sparkle dangerously as he spoke, his grin unchanging. "Do you realise what you are suggesting?"
"Of course I do." The blonde spat out, now looking anywhere but at Russia or his brother. He didn't want to see the look Peter was wearing, or the smile that he knew Russia was wearing. "It's not like I have a choice."
"No, you don't." Russia's voice was suddenly very serious, though his expression hadn't changed. He moved away from his bike, leaning his trademark lead pipe against it, and approached the edge of the platform and crouched down, surveying the smaller man in front of him. "Your options are fairly simple though, England. I'm surprised that you haven't already realised what they are."
"Just get on with it."
"Fine, fine." He stood again, towering down over England. "It's your choice after all. Either you attend every meeting from now on without fail, or I'll mark you. It's as simple as that, and whichever you decide on I'll let you beloved little brother go. I know which one I'd prefer you to choose."
"Then do it." England stretched out his arm, still not looking up at the taller man.
"What? England don't!" Gilbert jumped up from where he had been sitting with Peter, the shock evident on his face. Belarus was behind him quickly, one hand covering his mouth, the other holding her own bar against the back of his neck in a warning, hissing threats into his ear.
"Very well then." Russia stepped down off of the platform, still looming over England, but seemed to be all the more dangerous. He pulled a knife out from underneath his long coat, flapping it back into place in one movement.
"Just tell me one thing first." England looked up, his eyes were calm but the rest of his face betrayed his panic.
"Yes?" Russia lowered the knife again, tilting his head in an almost childlike manner.
"If- if I do this…" He hesitated, turning his face away again and allowing his bangs to cover his eyes. "If I do this, will you give me my name back?"
Russia chuckled. The man in front of him looked so incredibly small looking down at the ground in such a manner. His arm was still raised, but had fallen slightly since he had first offered it to the gang leader. It almost looked as if he was going to change his mind. But England was proud and Russia knew that only too well. He had always made a note to learn the personalities of the members of his group, whether he liked them or not. And he most definitely did not like England.
"Oh, I don't know about that." Russia snickered. "Names are very valuable and I charge a hefty price for them. You should have thought more carefully about throwing yours away."
"Fine." England raised his arm again, keeping his head turned away and his eyes squeezed shut, anticipating the pain that was going to follow.
But it didn't come. Russia was frozen in place, his own bar held up to his neck. His smile wavered slightly but stayed in place. "Well now, this is a surprise."
"Touch him and I swear you'll come off worse."
Alfred had been totally forgotten while England and Russia had been talking and had used this to be able to get behind the gang leader. Even though he was still wearing his helmet it was easy to tell that he was angry. He was gripping the bar so tightly that his knuckles had turned white. He was shorter than Russia, but the gang leader didn't loom over him like he did with anyone else. England could just about pick out the blue of the younger man's eyes through the helmet visor, dark with anger and closed into slits so that the whites were barely visible.
"If you're going to grace our presence, at least remove your helmet." Russia remained calm, looking over his shoulder at the shadow of the man behind him. "It's common manners."
He pulled the helmet off with his free hand, making sure not to slacken his grip on the bar. Alfred's hair had been flattened slightly from wearing the headgear, but still managed to have the one cowlick still sticking up defiantly. Light glinted in his glasses, temporarily hiding his eyes from view before revealing the blue orbs to the group.
Belarus audibly gasped from where she was standing, stepping out from behind Gilbert so she had a better view of the front of the platform. Russia's grin, in possible, seemed to grow even further, though his eyes remained hard and cold. He finally forced Alfred into lowering the bar so that he could turn around and face the man behind him.
"Alfred F. Jones." The way Russia spoke sent shivers running down England's spine but Alfred seemed to be unfazed, meeting the taller man's gaze with his own glare. "Well, it really has been too long."
"Not long enough." Alfred's voice was stiff and forced, as if he was trying not to break.
England could only stare at the two men in front of him. How on earth could they know each other? Alfred was just some naïve kid who stuck his nose into other people's business and Russia was a violent gang leader. This was ridiculous!
But then, thinking about it, what did he really know about Alfred's past? He had met his younger brother, yes, and found out about his parent's divorce, but he didn't know the reason behind anything. No real details, no actual facts. And from looking at the situation that was now developing before his eyes, did he even know who Alfred really was?
"When did you get glasses?" Russia continued, disregarding Alfred's previous comment.
"Some time after then." The two walked in a slow circle until Alfred was standing next to England again, carefully positioning the bar between the two of them and Russia's still poised knife.
"I see." He looked the younger man up and down, surveying his appearance. "This really is an unexpected reunion, especially after the events, how many years ago was it now?"
"Three."
"Three years?" Russia's voice seemed reminiscent for a few seconds before he turned his attention back to the people standing in front of him. "And judging from your expression, you didn't expect to find us here either."
Alfred stayed silent, his eyes flicking to Belarus for a second before looking back at Russia. "No." He said finally, still frowning deeply.
"Well, this certainly changes things." Russia appeared to be considering the situation, adding up his own options in his head.
"Alfred, what's going on?" England finally found his voice, taking the opportunity to speak while the other two were silent. "You know each other?"
"You really know how to choose your friends, don't you Jones?" Russia chuckled at England's confusion, looking between the two men. "You never told him?"
"Of course not." Alfred spat back, "What did you expect?"
"What happened to your backbone?" He really did laugh this time, not removing his eyes from Alfred. "When did you become a coward?"
Alfred finally seemed to lose his nerve and looked away from Russia, not wanting to see the man accusing him of being scared. He had that nagging feeling in his mind telling him that the man was right, that he was indeed a coward, but he didn't want to admit it to himself. He was a hero! Someone who helped people. Not someone who ran away from their own past.
He braced himself for what he knew was coming next, gripping the bar he was still holding even tighter and feeling his nails dig into the palm of his hand around the piping.
"This kid," Russia began, finding pleasure in the pain this was obviously causing Alfred, "was my number two until the incident three years ago."
Alfred closed his eyes. It was finally out in the open and there was nothing he could do about it. He could feel the eyes of the entire group on him, but especially those of England's deep green ones and he knew that if he looked at them he would see that hurt expression that he knew only too well from other people. He couldn't stand the thought of England looking at him like that too.
"Is that true, Al?" England voice broke through the silence. It was shaking slightly, giving away the look on his face that Alfred refused to look at.
He nodded in response, still not wanting to look up and see the smug look he knew Russia was now wearing and the shock he was certain was present on England's face.
"Alfred Jones, Ivan Braginski and his half-sister Natalia Arlovskaya. The top three." Alfred's voice shook as he spoke, knowing that his former partner was grinning at his discomfort. "Are you happy now?" He glared up at Russia, all light vanishing from his eyes.
"Quite." Russia's smile didn't falter once; he remained as calm as ever, apparently content with the suffering he was evidently causing. "However I have one more spanner to add to the works. Did you really believe that I didn't know that you had moved here? Living in that dingy little apartment building and attending college. It seems almost too perfect for you." He waited for a response, but continued when none came, "You see Jones, Belarus- ah, Natalia saw you a little while back, and being as good as she is, she told me straight away."
Belarus beamed from where she stood, taking a few steps closer to her brother. "That's what it means to be loyal." She drawled, her pride seeming to peek.
"You haven't changed then." Alfred shot the comment at her but it just seemed to wash over her as she continued to revel in the attention Russia had given her. "And neither have you." He turned his attention back to the leader of the group, his brow furrowing further, "You're still as violent as ever. I thought that after what happened you might have reformed, but I see I was wrong."
"Which means that you haven't changed all that much either." Russia grinned back, his words dripping in malice. "I seem to have changed my mind, England." He turned to the smaller man, who started at his sudden address. "You can take your brother and go. But don't come back. You know what will happen if you do. You too Prussia." He glanced over his shoulder at the two who were still positioned in the corner. "Someone untie the boy." He jerked his head towards Peter, watching someone scramble out of the group and loosen the bonds that were holding him. "I'd go quickly if I were you, before I come to my senses. I want to have words with dear Alfred."
"But-" England began, reaching out to hold onto Alfred's arm but was brushed off.
"Do as he says." Alfred's voice lacked any of its usual warmth as he turned to face the older man. "You need to get Peter out of here. It's too dangerous."
"He's right, England." Russia cut in, his satisfaction seemingly growing. "I'd listen to the boy, if I were you."
"But-" He cut himself off this time, looking between Alfred and his brother, not quite knowing what to do.
"I'll be fine." Alfred seemed to know what he was thinking, but his voice wasn't reassuring in the slightest. "I've had to deal with this guy more than you know. Go home."
"C'mon." England felt the hand placed on his shoulder and whipped around to see Gilbert standing beside him, supporting Peter on his hip with the other hand. The boy was exhausted from the ordeal and had practically fallen asleep as soon as the ropes had been cut off of him. "I'll take Peter on my bike."
"I can't just-" England began but stopped when he saw the looks both Gilbert and Alfred gave him. He sighed, gripping his helmet tightly in both hands before pulling it back over his head.
Gilbert positioned Peter on the back of his bike, taking care that he was awake enough to hold on properly before he set off, the engine noises screeching loudly through the alleyways before disappearing with their last few echoes.
"Oh, and England." Russia stopped the blonde from starting his bike, "What I said about your name still stands, of course." He kicked England's bike into gear and let go of his shoulder, allowing him to drive back off into the night.
Russia glanced at Alfred, smirked, then sat back on the edge of the platform, surveying him. Once again Alfred was glaring up at him. He was still holding Russia's piping, not leaving an opening for the man to take it back and use it to his own advantage. He'd gotten England and the others out of there, that was the important thing. Now he just had to deal with whatever the gang leader wanted.
"I heard you'd disappeared from there." Alfred's voice was low and almost inaudible. "I got the blame for it all."
"That's what you wanted." Russia spoke lightly, as if the subject wasn't important.
"And what do you want." He was getting impatient. Not good. The way to deal with this man was to outlast his patience. Losing his temper was not going to do him any favours.
"You ask that, but you should already know." Russia raised his eyebrows, trying to goad Alfred into losing his cool. It always had been so easy to control the boy's emotions; it was like pulling the strings of a puppet.
"I'm not joining you again." Alfred's words were firm, losing all traces of the nervousness he had had minutes before. "I gave all of this up back then."
"That's a shame." Russia sighed, the smile still not leaving his face, "Even though I got you a present for when we finally met again." He nodded to someone at the side and they hurried out of sight. "Because I'm nice, I'll let you see it before you make your final decision."
The biker reappeared wheeling in an old burnt out motorcycle. Most of the dark blue paint had flaked off, revealing patches of rust off over the bodywork. The handlebars were bent out of place, the rubber grips missing completely. The headlamp was smashed and some of the broken glass was sticking out of the front tyre which was worn out and deflated, much like the back wheel. What wasn't rusty was covered in burns where flames had once lapped at the bike. Part of the seat had been blown off from when the fuel had set alight before the fire spread to the rest of the vehicle. It wasn't a pretty sight.
"We found it in the woods at the back of that old park that you used to visit a lot." Russia put a hand on Alfred's shoulder, following the younger man's vision to the old bike. "I was hoping that you'd appreciate the gesture."
"You're- you're sick, you know that?" Alfred muttered, his eyes not leaving his old bike. "There's no way that you think that this would change anything!"
"No. No, you're right there." Russia nodded, leaving Alfred's side to circle around the crippled bike, "You made up your mind when you set this on fire. What did you call it back then? Your 'Pride and Joy'? 'Liberty' wasn't it?"
"Shut up." Alfred hissed, glaring at the man in front of him.
"But then you destroyed your 'Freedom'."
"Shut up!"
"How's your brother, by the way?"
Alfred lunged forward, swinging the pipe around but Russia was ready and caught it easily, pulling it out of Alfred's grip and throwing it to one side before grabbing hold of the ex-biker.
Alfred heard the ripping sound as the knife made its way through his shirt, revealing the bandaging on his waist. "Ah, here it is." Russia tore the wadding off so that the scarring was visible. "You tried to hide it? Pity…" He ran his forefinger along the length of the white line, enjoying the discomfort he was causing. "I didn't even make this one." He noted. "You got it in the fire, didn't you? Before you ran away? Shame…" He moved the knife up, running the flat of it down Alfred's arm. "Guess what happens next."
He felt the knife turn in Russia's hand and travel down his arm, but he didn't really register what was happening. There was something hot and wet running down where the blade had been and moved his fingers slightly as it dripping off their tips. But his mind was blank. All he could do was what for the pain to end as Russia finally pulled away, looking as manic as ever, his eyes wild with sadistic pleasure.
The words that were said to him washed over his head and he didn't really hear them as he was pushed towards the exit of the clearing, guided by the gang leader's larger hand on his shoulder.
Then something was pushed into his hand and his mind was pulled back to the present.
"Give that to England." Russia smirked. "That's your reward for showing your face again." He let go of him, letting him stagger a few paces forward before calling after him, "Oh and you know where to go if you need to find me."
Alfred didn't really remember walking home. He remembered turning some corners and then being back in front of the apartment block.
There were lights on inside the building, despite it being so late at night. He walked the last few steps towards the front door before it was yanked open in front of him and he was pulled inside.
Someone loud was shouting at him in German, pushing him up the stairs to the third floor before he was shoved inside another room. "What the fuck do you think you were playing at?" Ah, he understood that sentence.
Gilbert was standing in front of him, hands perched angrily on his hips and his brows furrowed so deeply that his eyes had become red slits.
"He's bleeding, Gilbert!" Another, more panicked voice.
"Oh shit! Are you alright?"
His arm was pulled out in front of his as someone inspected the wound that ran down it. He felt himself take in a sharp breath as they touched the cut, the pain bringing him back to his senses.
"Alfred? I said are you alright?" Gilbert peered into his face, causing Alfred to jump back in surprise, hitting the wall behind him.
"He's obviously not alright!" Francis was there now, guiding him towards the sofa. "What is it with you lot and getting covered in blood? All this worry is going to make me ugly."
"Oh yes, and that's the worst of our problems."
"I did not mean that, and you know it!"
"Where's England?"
"Because the whole world revolves around your beauty" Gilbert's words were etched full of sarcasm.
"Oh please, cher. You're just jealous."
"Guys, where's England?"
"Why would anyone be jealous of you?"
"Guys!" Alfred's voice finally cut through the argument, though it was tired and hoarse. "Where's England?"
"You need to rest." Francis sighed, pushing Alfred back against the sofa, "The young master is looking after Peter."
"The young master is wondering what all the shouting is about." England was standing in the doorway of Peter's bedroom, looking between the three people occupying his living room. His hair was even messier than usual, looking as if he had run his hands through it numerous times and was sticking up in awkward places.
The others remained silent, Alfred averting his eyes so he didn't have to look at England's face. Gilbert fidgeted slightly, shuffling from one foot to the other and looking aimlessly around the room, knowing only too well that England's glare was directed mostly at him and Francis. The Frenchman, however, approached the younger man, looking around him into Peter's room, checking on the pre-teen.
"He's still in shock, I think." England muttered, turning to face into the room so that Alfred and Gilbert couldn't hear him. "He'll be okay, won't he?" Francis placed a hand on his shoulder, giving England a weak smile. "Can you take him to Tino and Berwald? I don't know whether Russia did anything more to him and I'm worried. They should still be at the surgery and I'll call ahead to make sure if you want me to."
"Shh. Shh. England, it's alright. I will take him." Francis silenced him, once again giving Peter a worried glance before heading into the small bedroom and picking up the boy and exiting. He grabbed the back of Gilbert's jacket as he walked past, dragging the German behind him, much to his discomfort. "Come on, you need to phone dear Roderich for once. I will not accept any complaints."
The door closed with a click, leaving Alfred alone in the apartment with England. The quiet was uncomfortable and Alfred could feel the pain rising in his arm again, the blood sticking horribly to the sleeve of his jacket and drying on the back of his hand where it hand run down his arm's length.
England moved further into the room before coming to a halt standing in front of the younger man. Alfred still couldn't look up, afraid of what he might see. England was probably glaring at him again and he couldn't blame him for it. He could see the man's feet in front of him, unmoving. He was probably waiting for him to say something, but he couldn't think of anything that would improve the situation. It was hard to believe that only hours before they had been laughing and having a good time while helping Peter with his homework and then they had kissed. But then he had wrecked it all by getting mixed up in all that again.
"Let me see it." England sat down next to Alfred, holding out his hand.
"What?" Alfred finally looked up, meeting England's gaze. To his surprise, the other man didn't look angry at all. Quite the contrary, in fact, he looked quite calm.
"Your arm." England spoke frankly, waiting for Alfred to comply. "He cut it, didn't he? I can see the blood."
"Oh. Yeah, alright." He removed his jacket, revealing the long red line running down him arm under his torn shirt. It was still bleeding slightly, the flow increasing when the jacket was removed, soaking into the remains of the shirt sleeve further.
"Don't move it." England stood up again, moving into the kitchen. Alfred heard him turn on the tap and get something out of a cupboard before returning to the sofa with a bowl of water and an old rag in hand and some bandages under his arm. "Hold still."
Alfred flinched, feeling the wet rag rub gently across the wound. England was obviously trying to be careful while he cleaned the cut, but absolute comfort was impossible considering the size of it.
When he had finished washing it, England began wrapping the bandages around Alfred's arm, taking care that they weren't too tight. He also plastered one to his waist where Russia had removed the one that had been there previously. Upon finishing though, he didn't let go of Alfred's hand, instead holding onto it gently, turning it over in his own hands while remaining silent.
"I'm sorry." Alfred said finally, looking down instead of making eye-contact with the older man.
"For what?"
"Not telling you about me and them."
England tilted Alfred's chin up so that he could look him in the eye, still looking as calm as possible. "You didn't want to tell me, so I didn't ask. You don't have anything to apologise for." He smiled a little sadly, brushing some of Alfred's hair out of his eyes. "But how long were you going to wait before telling me?"
Alfred sighed, this time running his own hand through his hair. "I don't know." He breathed out slowly, looking at the wrappings on his arm, "I wanted to forget about it all."
"I can understand that." England nodded, adjusting the front of the other's shirt into what looked like a more comfortable position. "But if I asked now, would you tell me?"
"You want to know?" Alfred looked at him through the corner of his eye.
England moved closer to the taller man, looking at his bright blue eyes and noting how they'd lost their usual shine. Alfred looked a lot older than he was when he was like this. He'd seen it before when Matthew had visited that time, but it was even worse this time round and it was awful having to watch him like this.
"Yes." He answered simply, leaning his head against Alfred's uninjured shoulder.
Alfred closed his eyes, breathing out again. "It happened three years ago…"