8. adventures in deutschland, pt 2

"Arthur, being lost isn't always a bad thing," said Francis lazily as he scrolled through the pictures on his camera.

The Brit shot a sulky glare at his partner. They were sitting on a bench, resting and trying to figure out what to do. Or, Arthur was. He wasn't really sure about what Francis was doing, exactly.

"Easy enough for you to say, you stupid frog," muttered Arthur. "You do realise that we have to go back so we can go back to Britain, right? And if not then we'll be stuck here forever with no money and no resources."

"That's not entirely true," replied Francis.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Arthur snapped.

"Whatever you want it to be."

Arthur made a noise between a growl and a snarl and crossed his arms again. "Bugger it all, bugger this stupid frog—"

"I don't appreciate you calling me that," Francis said finally, with a slightly cross look on his face. He put his camera away. "So let's calm down and think for a second. Have you got your mobile?"

"No, left it in London," said Arthur grumpily. "It wouldn't've got service here, anyway."

Francis frowned and patted his pockets. "Merde," he swore. "I've left mine on the bus."

Arthur groaned. "Great." A whole day to spend with the frog without any outside contact—exactly what I needed!

Francis checked his watch. "Well, since we've really got nothing else to do, why don't we go find something to eat? It's past noon—"

He was interrupted by a loud growling noise, and Arthur quickly gripped his torso. Dammit. Even with that heavy breakfast, he was still hungry. He wondered rather angrily where the sudden appetite had come from; he was used to not eating much at all. God, he remembered times in Liverpool where all he'd ever have to eat for the entire day was a tiny, mouldy biscuit. That was before he met Roma. Damn you, Italian!

Francis merely chuckled lightly and stood up. "Come on, why don't we get going? Food isn't going to walk itself here."

In the end they went to a fast-food place with a long German name, rather like the ones that Alfred F. Jones the American went on and on about (though Arthur didn't really see what was so great about McDonald's—their fries were tasteless and their burgers a complete mess... not that he liked burgers to begin with), except they served wurst on bread. The sausages were oily and slippery and Arthur nearly dropped his. Francis laughed. The bloody frog laughed at everything he did. And to make it worse, Francis took out his camera and began snapping photos of him.

"Arthur, the faces you make are so drôle!" Francis laughed, as he twisted the camera this way and that, pressing the shutter rapidly.

"They are not funny!" Arthur growled before thinking.

Francis paused and lowered his camera, a curious expression on his face. "You know French?"

Arthur cursed his bloody big mouth silently. "N-no. I don't," he said as firmly as he could, but Francis shook his head like he wasn't fooled.

"Tch, tch," he chastised Arthur playfully. "Je sais que tu sais que je dis!"

"I do not!" yelled Arthur before realising his mistake, and Francis laughed.

"Lapin, lapin, arrêtez-toi être bête!" he teased and Arthur groaned.

"Si tu parles français, poudrais—poudrais-tu me aider avec les devoirs?" he stammered in broken French.

"Bien sûr," replied Francis pleasantly. "Mais tu dois répondre à ma question."

"What?" Arthur said irritably.

"Pourquoi est-ce que tu étudies français?"

"Why do you like to know so much about me?" Arthur retorted. "First, you want to know why I hate you, and then you want to know why I'm taking French?"

Francis shrugged. "Making conversation," he said, and if Arthur's ears weren't playing tricks on him (which they usually weren't), his accent seemed slightly more pronounced.

"How about," the French boy continued, "if we play a game of sorts?"

"A game?"

"Oui," said Francis. "I will ask you question about you, and you will answer truthfully. One question only. Seulment," he added, with a teasing grin at Arthur, who scoffed. "Then in turn, you will ask me a question about me, and I will answer truthfully."

"That sounds like a stupid game."

"Oh, Arthur, don't be a drag."

"Don't call me Arthur! Or a drag!"

"Sure, lapin."

Arthur narrowed his eyes and considered his options. He could refuse, of course, but what good would that do, really? He had a whole day to do nothing with this frog, and as much as he hated Francis, that sounded awful. He figured that maybe he could just go with it... didn't people always say to "Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer"? It sounded like a reasonably valid argument to him.

"All right," Arthur said. "I'll play the game. But you can't ask me why I hate you."

Francis gave him a long look in that second, and shrugged. "D'accord. I'm not sure if I really want to hear it anyway."

Good. Arthur's secret was safe.

"Would you like to go first?" Francis asked.

"No, you go."

Francis shrugged and leaned back in his chair. "All right. Why are you taking French if you hate French people so much?"

Arthur grimaced and crossed his arms. "Mfff..."

Francis cocked his head. "Didn't catch that, sorry."

"Roma made me," the Brit mumbled. "Kind of a tosser, he is."

Francis looked like he wanted to say something, but shut his mouth. "All right, your turn."

Arthur thought. "Why do you live in Englandif you're French?"

The French boy laughed. "My father is British," he said. "But he had a long stint doing work in France, and that's where he met my mum. I lived in France until I was eleven, and then we moved to the U.K."

Arthur nodded vaguely. Quite an interesting answer, actually.

"So, who is Roma?" Francis asked. "Who is he to you?"

"That's two questions."

"Oh. My bad."

"Roma..." Arthur suddenly got a comforting feeling in his stomach and he felt his whole body relax—he hadn't realised how wound up he was before; Francis must've done that to him. "He's this bloke that I met in Liverpool... he taught me how to play guitar."

"Your mentor, then?"

"Something like that, yeah." Arthur laughed, thinking about the crazy, brunet man with an infectious joy. "He's crazy and Italian, but he's great, really great."

There was a small click and Arthur opened his eyes to see Francis studying his camera intently with an expression that didn't seem happy or sad... just intense. It was only a split second that Arthur saw that face, which was then quickly replaced by a brilliant (and very French) grin in his direction. "Sorry about that," Francis said, hastily stowing the camera away. "It was your turn, was it?"

"Er... yeah," said Arthur. "Uh... well, um, why do you wear your hair so long?"

"Oh, this?" Francis tugged one strand of blond hair. "I dunno, that's just… well, I went to Paris last summer and that's just how they cut it," he said, shrugging. Arthur noticed that he said "Paris" like "Paree," with that funny French 'r' that Arthur could never manage.

"How do you do that?" demanded the Brit, forgetting the game for a moment.

"Do what?" asked Francis.

"That odd little 'r' thing," Arthur said. "The weird French r."

"You can't do it?" Francis looked like he was smothering a laugh.

"No."

"Non? Comme merci, Paris, chéri?" On every word the 'r' rolled off Francis's tongue, and Arthur slammed his fists on the table.

"Stop it!" he said, trying to stifle his own laughter that was threatening to bubble out of his stomach. "Stop it and teach me so I don't get marks off when I read!"

Francis scratched his chin. "I'm not really sure how I do it, exactly… I suppose it's a bit like gargling water at the back of your throat, but without the water."

Arthur thought about it. Then he tried. The sound that came out of his throat was more like a hacking cough than anything else, and Francis put his head down on the table, shoulders shaking.

"Oh god, you're a riot," he said in between gasps of air, and Arthur reddened slightly before laughing with him. He wasn't sure what made him start, but he laughed and God knew it didn't feel as horrible as he thought it would, laughing with Francis.

Afterwards, Arthur didn't remember what they did, exactly. They laughed and they talked and they bickered for bickering's sake. Arthur tried more bits of broken French, which was really limited to "Do you like to play tennis?" and "Could I have more tea?" Francis freely made fun of his atrocious pronunciation, and somehow Arthur didn't hate that. Hell, Arthur seemed to forget everything in those hours that he promised to himself that he wouldn't forget and he felt himself, just a little bit, starting to like Francis. Just a bit. He didn't know what it was, exactly, but he didn't bother with it. He just sort of… went with it. And it felt okay.

The sun travelled across the sky, and it was comfortably bright when somehow, Arthur ended up taking pictures of Francis doing rather explicit things to a statue. Then he heard a yell from behind.

"Oyyy! There you guys are!" Gilbert came running down the pavement, waving his arms stupidly, his blond hair nearly white in the afternoon sun. "Francis, what are you doing to that statue? Lad, if someone catches you doing that, they're gonna kick your arse back to the Eiffel Tower."

Francis laughed and untangled himself from the bronze statue. "Nope, these are just souvenirs for myself," he said, laughing, and Gilbert grinned back.

Arthur lowered the Francis's red camera and handed it back to the French boy. The buzz that he'd felt before (was it a buzz? Was it?), laughing and floating, had all but faded away, and something… something very heavy and unsettling remained in his stomach. "Here you go," he mumbled, chest clenching when Francis's fingers brushed his.

"It's nearly seventeen o'clock," said Mathias, who'd been trailing Gilbert the whole time. "We ought to go get dinner."

"This early?" Gilbert complained, but Francis shrugged agreeably.

"That sounds fine to me," he said, and they headed out, Gilbert babbling on and on about his usual nonsense, and Francis laughing with him. Mathias fell into step beside Arthur. "You all right?" he asked.

"Yeah, why?"

Mathias looked up at the sky and laughed. "Ah, well, spending six straight hours with someone you hate? That must really be horrible."

Arthur shot him a surprised look.

The Dane shrugged. "Let's just say I know the feeling."

Arthur hesitated. "Well, I dunno. It wasn't too bad, I s'pose."

Mathias raised one eyebrow. "I see. Did you have any time to finish that worksheet?"

"Not really, no," said Arthur, oddly embarrassed.

"Well, you can copy mine."

"All right."

.

It was dark when something extremely large and heavy jumped on Arthur's bed. "Artie!" someone whispered in his ear. "Get up and put on your skinny jeans! Let's goooooo!"

Arthur gagged at the smell of alcohol-heavy breath in his face. "Gilbert," he groaned. "You're pissed, dammit. And now I'm awake."

"Me too," said Mathias from the top bunk, rolling over.

"And me too," said Francis, jumping into Arthur's bunk also, a huge French grin on his face.

"Fuck!" groaned Arthur, writhing between the two boys. "Get off my bed, wankers!"

Gilbert licked Arthur's face (Arthur seriously hoped that Gilbert was drunk at this point) and rolled off, giggling. Francis, instead of rolling off, rolled onto Arthur, grinning madly.

"That's hot," remarked Mathias, laughing. He'd climbed down from his bunk and had his hands on his hips.

"Piss off," growled Arthur, trying to ignore Francis's proximity (which was becoming extremely uncomfortable) by breathing in as little as possible. "Get off me."

Francis winked (which sent peculiar shuddering feelings through Arthur's insides) and rolled off obediently with a thump on the floor. Arthur sat up to see Gilbert looking up at him.

"What now?" grumbled Arthur.

"Let's go to Lido now!" the German squeaked back in an uncharacteristically high, bubbly voice. "Lido, Lido, Lido!"

Mathias picked up his mobile and squinted. "It's all the way in Kreuzberg! D'you really think we'd have time to get there and back?"

"'Course!" said Gilbert with wide red eyes. "My cousin got me tickets, let's go, go, go!"

Arthur rubbed his eyes. "Well, all right," he agreed grumpily. "But only because I want to see those bloody bands."

"Yayy!" Gilbert cheered and clapped his hands while Arthur slipped out of flannel pants and into jeans. He hoped that it was dark enough that the bloody frog couldn't see, but even still, he ducked behind the bunk to change.

When they were all ready, Gilbert bounced out of the room, Francis skipping along after him, humming something that sounded vaguely familiar, and Mathias chuckled. "Wonder if they're always this hyper when they're drunk?" he muttered to Arthur.

"Wonder where they got the alcohol to begin with?" Arthur countered. "We're barely fifteen to begin with."

They went by train, but as soon as they got off they had to walk to the club. It was really very plain-looking, with a simple concrete façade and odd, wide grooves carved into the sides, and windows plastered with flyers and posters and all sorts of other things. Gilbert walked straight up to the bouncer, saluted goofily and handed them their tickets, ignoring the line of university-age kids who were complaining angrily at them, and they filed in, Arthur trailing, because he was still ogling at the neon-blue cursive letters on the top, flashing Lido.

Arthur had been in clubs before, since he'd played with Jager and Sadik in places around London, but he wasn't any less impressed by this alternative and hip place, with such an electric atmosphere and laser lights and good, loud music, even if it was heavier and maybe more industrial and metal than he was used to. Maybe they didn't play this sort of music every night, but it was good, and the crowd was eating it up, and it was fantastic. Arthur could close his eyes and just picture himself and Gilbert and Mathias standing on that stage, bright hot pink and blue lights flashing behind them, mist everywhere, microphones and everything. God, it was brilliant, bloody brilliant.

"Doo!" screamed Gilbert from beside him. "Do hahsst! Do hahsst mich!"

"What are you yelling?" shouted Arthur.

"It's Rammstein!" Gilbert yelled back gleefully. "Du hast mich!"

Judging from the amount of cheering and dancing, Arthur guessed it must be a big thing in Germany. The guitars were loud and deep, so much that Arthur could feel it vibrate the floor and up to the tips of his ears. He couldn't help but relax and laugh and enjoy the music, because even if it wasn't something he wasn't used to listening to, it was the first good live music that he'd listened to in a long time.

The lead singer's voice was deep and rich and guttural, though Arthur figured that was really because of the German. He also seemed to have a certain kind of stage presence, what with his leather pants and facial piercings. His hair was styled in this extremely punk manner, with a sort of thick flop of bleached-blond hair on top and more natural-looking brown hair under it. His eyes were dark against the bright stage light, and an intricate pattern of ink up his arm.

He was amazing. He owned that stage, grinning devilishly and screaming into the microphone so loudly that Arthur thought for one frantic second that his ears had blown out. Either way, the bloke was fantastic and Arthur found himself wishing he was as good as performing as that man. It sort of reminded him of someone he knew, the way the chap sang and danced on that stage…

"Bloody hell!" screamed Gilbert into Arthur's ear. "Bloody hell, that's my cousin Will!"

"Who?" Mathias shouted.

"Wilhelm!" Gilbert screamed.

"Who?" Francis shouted again, laughing.

"My cousin, idiots!" screamed Gilbert. "The guy who got us tickets! We have to go talk to him, we totally do!"

"How would we do that?" yelled Francis.

"Henn cool out from nut!"

"What?" Arthur and Mathias said at the same time; Arthur with a frown on his face and Mathias with a laugh.

"Let me go out for a minute!" Gilbert repeated, and with that he waved his mobile in their faces and moved away. Francis shrugged, and disappeared also, but it seemed like he was heading the opposite direction, so it was just Arthur and Mathias in the club, with the music and sweaty German crowd and heavy industrial metal shaking Arthur to his bones, so heavy that he could almost taste its saltiness and its strong bass, its rough-edged vocals. It was great, and Mathias threw an arm around Arthur's shoulders, his laughter lost in the ending clash of the drums as the song ended.

Francis came back with a drink in hand and offered some of it to Mathias. It smelled sweet and alcoholic and Arthur gagged. God knew how much Francis had already drunk, and Arthur really didn't want to deal with a drunk frog.

"Hey, all right, I got us all in backstage!" Gilbert yelled. "Come on, let's go!"

He grabbed Arthur's wrist roughly and led him through the throng of bodies, through a door, and out of the throbbing dark and into more normal, eye-friendly light Blinking, Arthur saw that the room was occupied by the same people who'd been onstage playing the metal music. Some of them were lounging on the low couches, some of them leaning against the wall, but either way they were surrounded by women and beer and dressed in denim and leather.

One of them looked up and immediately broke into a huge grin. It was the lead singer from before, with bleached hair and strong features not unlike Gilbert's younger brothers. Now that Arthur could see him up close and in proper lighting, he noticed the singer had deep gray-blue eyes and a slightly too-wide mouth, which was studded with steel piercings. He straightened his leather jacket and stood up. "Gilbert!" he cried, and a rapid stream of German followed, which annoyed Arthur because he couldn't understand it.

Gilbert grinned and returned the rapid stream of German, and then embraced the boy.

"Lads, this is my cousin Wilhelm," he said, arm still casually around his cousin's shoulders. "Will, the cranky bloke with the eyebrows is Arthur, long hair is Francis, and gelled stand-up hair is Mathias."

"Very nice to meet you all," said Wilhelm in accented English, giving a nod in their direction.

"If you don't mind me asking," said Mathias. "What were you saying before in German?"

Wilhelm laughed. "I was just saying how Gilbo's got a Scouse accent in German."

"And I was saying Will's a right bloody bastard," retorted Gilbo, and they laughed. Arthur smiled for appearance's sake, but he couldn't really shake the feeling he didn't belong with them, standing here in the makeshift green room (or so he supposed), surrounded by all these people. It was an awfully lonely feeling, especially when n he was standing so close to his bandmates, people he knew well.

"…so Arthur here had me learn bass, and I was really, really horrible at it at first…"

Arthur landed back on Earth to hear Gilbert babbling on and on about their band. Great, he thought. Another opportunity to look like idiots. Bloody idiots.

"He's brilliant, he is," Mathias chimed in, and Arthur cringed. If they were talking about him, well… as much as he liked to be called brilliant and such, he somehow didn't want to feel brilliant, not in front of these people. Oh god, what were they going to do now?

"Really?" asked Wilhelm, looking very interested. "Let's see it, then, ja?"

"See what?" said Arthur, feeling very alarmed. What were they going to do?

"You." Wilhelm waved his hand awkwardly. "Your skills. Something."

"Show him that new song we're doing!" Gilbert suggested (rather forcefully, Arthur thought).

"What song?" asked Francis, and Arthur scowled at the French boy, who was all curious, wide eyes.

"The one Artie wrote all by himself!" Gilbert said. "What's it called again?"

" 'J-Just Pitiful,'" mumbled Arthur.

"Yeah, play it!" insisted the German boy.

Wilhelm nodded. "Yeah, let's see it."

Arthur looked around awkwardly to see everyone in the group looking at him expectantly. "Uh.. well, I dunno, it's better when Gilbert sings it…"

"Yeah, but you're good too," Mathias said. "At singing."

"Here, you can use my guitar," said Wilhelm, and he picked up a red acoustic guitar and handed it to the Brit. It was really a nice guitar, with a comfortable weight that wasn't too light or heavy, and a fretboard that wasn't too long or wide or heavy or clumsy, and the sound hole was decorated with a flowery design.

Arthur sighed. "Well, if it's acoustic, then you don't mind if I play something else that I've worked out, do you?"

"'Course not," said Gilbert. "Anything that comes out of your head'll be brilliant."

Arthur reddened, tucked the guitar under his arm, and closed his eyes. His fingers found A major, and he began to play.

"Oh hold me close to you, lavender dear…"

He felt really awkward singing those lines, especially since when he closed his eyes he could see his mum's face clearly in his mind's head, but that quickly faded away. He was playing for his mum and that was it, really. He missed her and he'd written a song about her because he missed her and loved her and that was that. He squeezed his eyes tighter shut and poured his soul into his voice and into the guitar.

When he finished, he paused slightly to let the chord ring in the air, then realised that there was no background noise of talking and laughing and drinking. He opened his eyes to see that everyone in the room was staring at him, but not in a bad way—they were all… for lack of a better word, spellbound. They looked at him appraisingly and in amazement, and he swallowed the awkwardness and smiled weakly. "Er, hi," he said.

Wilhelm grinned and began to clap. The rest of the room followed, and Arthur turned red.

"Hey, that was, as Gilbert puts it, brilliant," Wilhelm said enthusiastically.

Mathias punched Arthur in the shoulder playfully. "He's not lying either; that was bloody beautiful."

Arthur shrugged. "Yeah. I dunno. Sure."

"No, don't undersell yourself," said Wilhelm, stumbling over the words awkwardly in his rush to get them out. "That was amazing. There's something about you that I think will go far. Very far."

"Willie, you should see us all together," said Gilbo, and Wilhelm laughed.

"I should," he agreed, and Arthur gulped.

"Yeah, sure," he said, still slightly in awe of Wilhelm's praise. "Yeah, I guess."

"When did you write that?" asked Mathias. "I hadn't heard that until you played it just now."

"No, I think he was… he was humming that on the plane ride here," said Gilbert.

"I was?" said Arthur incredulously.

"Yeah, you were."

"That's adorable," said Mathias.

"Shut up," retorted Arthur. "I wasn't."

"Yeah, you were," repeated Gilbert. "While you were sleeping."

Arthur groaned. "You can't be serious."

"I am," said the German boy with a straight face.

"It doesn't matter, really," interjected Wilhelm. "But why don't you try and have a go with this crowd? I think I can get you on, maybe for one or two songs?"

"Seriously?" Gilbert's eyes shone.

"That'd be great!" Mathias said.

Francis patted Arthur on the back, and Arthur swallowed the shivers, trying to ignore the French boy's smile. It didn't work as well as he thought it would.

Wilhelm disappeared with a nod, and when he returned he gave them only a grin and began herding them towards the stage. "I tipped the man a couple extra euros, so you can do maybe one song, and that's it," he whispered in their ears. "This is your chance! Don't waste it!"

Arthur stumbled out onto the stage, the cool mist swirling around him and the bright vivid laser lights of the club flashing at the edges of his eyes. He blinked several times to get rid of the dizzy feeling in his head, and looked out at the crowd, a sea of pink-ish faces illuminated by the stage lights. A guitar on a stand sat near the edge, beckoning with a long pick guard and steel strings. He looked back at his bandmates, they stared back at him with a question. He answered.

"You can never go wrong with the Fab Four," he told them, picking up the guitar and settling the strap over his shoulder, feeling the hum of electricity and music in it. " 'She Loves You' in ten and counting."

Gilbert nodded, as did Mathias. The Dane twirled his drumsticks and waggled his eyebrows. The German cleared his throat and hummed a quick scale.

"One, two, three four," Mathias said, clacking his sticks together in time, and they launched into the song.

"She loves you, yeah, yeah, yeah; she loves you, yeah, yeah, yeah…"

The song was one of Arthur's favourites. It was fun to play, full of happiness and elation, and Arthur could feel himself starting to smile as he sang in harmony with Gilbert. It was a cheerful, upbeat song, and he could feel it in his blood and in his bones and in his fingers and in the guitar strings and in the crowd, and he couldn't help but laugh at the sheer joy and wonder and amazement in his limbs. The crowd loved it, too. It'd been so long since they'd performed properly on a proper stage with a proper crowd and proper amps and volume, but Arthur could feel it flowing back to him now, like water rushing down a waterfall, with all the sharp tingle of electricity of rock music. God it was fantastic, and he didn't want it to stop…

But then he found himself standing at the edge of the stage, holding sweaty hands with Gilbert and Mathias and throwing them up and them bowing down to an enthusiastic, cheering crowd.

"DANKE!" Gilbert shouted to them, but he was barely heard among the cheers. "Danke!"

Yeah, Arthur thought, blood pounding in his head so hard he felt dizzy and adrenaline rushing through his veins so fast he felt too awake. Danke, Berlin.

Danke.

author's note:

I just realised that Francis completely drops his 'French' accent in this chapter. Trololol.

Wilhelm (Gilbert's "cousin") isn't actually anyone from Hetalia, but if you must, you can think of him as Brandenberg. :3

Songs featurrrreedddd: "She Loves You" by The Beatles (of course) and "Du Hast Mich" by Rammstein. Which is a German industrial metal band. (Kisses to handbehindthepen for telling me about them, lol)

Pulling back that French knowledge from last year, ugh:
"Je sais que tu sais que je dis!"—"I know you know what I'm saying!"
"Lapin, lapin, arrêtez-toi être bête!"—"Rabbit, rabbit, stop being silly!"
"Si tu parles français, peux—peux-tu me aider avec les devoirs?"—"If you speak French, could—could you help me with the homework?"
"Bien sûr... Mais tu dois répondre à ma question."—"Sure... but you must answer my question."
"Pourquoi est-ce que tu étudies français?" —"Why are you studying French?"

And danke means 'thank you' in German. :) So, uh, reviews please? XD

* 05 decembre 2011: fixed it up a bit... shouldn't be as many awkward sentences now :) Also, would someone so kindly volunteer to be my beta? I'm sure you've noticed the 23489374983274 grammar mistakes/awkward weirdness/inconsistencies throughout this story... It'd be really helpful, swear!