A/N: Alright Chapter 8! I am fairly sure this is the halfway mark! xD There will be another flashback part in here so look out for that! Enjoy! ^.^d
Finland dashed up the eighth stairway, feeling his knees bend every third step at the growing weariness he now felt. He felt embarrassed for finally admitting to someone, Prussia of all people, that he did indeed have feelings far greater than friendship or a strong bond for Sweden. Why hadn't he seen it before?
The times Sweden baked him heart shaped cake, Sweden refusing to get a cell phone and saying letters were more personal, Sweden always wanting to go to places with Finland, always leering at whomever took the Finnish man's attention from himself, always backing up Finland and defending him from scary people like a drunk England or a perverted France. He had been so incredibly passive and dense; seriously, how did Sweden find the strength to suppress himself from writing 'I Love You 'in a big poster board for Finland to see? The man probably thought of that but Finland must have thought it was for Sealand somehow. It must be so stressing to fall for such a passive person such as himself.
As he made it to another door to open up to finally reach the ninth floor, he heard someone from the stairs above.
"Who is it!" demanded Finland with an angry tone as he sharply turned. He was not letting anyone get in his way to reach his beloved Sve.
Katchak.
Wha . . . what's that noise? It sounds like . . .
"Get on your knees and put your hands up," grinned America from a flight of stairs above where Finland stood. He relaxed his arms on the rail as he pointed a gun at Finland with a cocky grin almost. This seemed different from the almost indifferent America he faced in the car. Finland's eyes shook at the gleaming weapon.
"Belarus would like to speak with you," mumbled a robotic Japan, which was odd considering how he usually sounded, coming from a door upstairs, "all the doors are locked; no one can get in or out of this stairway unless we let it," he said as he flashed Finland a key in his right hand as he stood next to America.
He narrowed his eyes angrily at America's smirk; he wasn't going to let them intimidate him.
Finland raised both arms high above his head; "I will not speak with her unless it's about Sve."
America snickered, "who are you to call the shots? I'm the one with a gun," he said waving it at him.
"You don't understand, America. Why would Russia want to 'mess with me' and waste my time? I'm here to take Sve and go home!"
Before America could begin to laugh wildly, Japan grabbed at the man's brown bomber sleeve.
"Don't tip him off," whispered Japan, "he mustn't suspect anything."
America tried suppressing his laughter but found it too irresistible. He let his mouth open wide, letting childish and mocking laughs echo in the cement stairway.
What a fool! If only he knew the evil Russia is capable of! His still-controlled mind remembered.
"What's so funny?" asked Finland as Japan bit his lip, sure that the boy had caught on.
"I have a freaking gun; I can and will kill you," said America as he regained composure. The patch at the back of his head was peeling off slightly from wear. Japan sighed as America recovered the cluelessness he put Finland back in again.
"I'm not afraid of y-!"
"Hello there," echoed Belarus's calm voice. Finland shuddered; he's never heard the girl so . . . normal.
"F-Finland! Mom! Help me! They have dad! Finland! Help! They tied me! Dad is being hurt! They told me so! They are-!"
Sealand's cries were tuned out as the noise of struggle and a muffled mouth probably from a handkerchief tied around his mouth made the boy mute.
"S-Sealand! Sealand!" cried Finland as he moved from his spot.
Kachak.
Finland stared back at the end of America's gun remembering he had to stay still or else.
"Why do you have Sealand? What's going on here! Why do you have Sve! Answer m-!"
He remembered the boy's cry: "Dad is being hurt!"
"I demand to get answers!" he shrieked angrily as he went for the stairs. As he angrily grabbed at Japan's sleeve, from behind, America grabbed his ally and kicked at Finland's hand. The boy stumbled downwards as America raised his gun at his head, holding the frightened Japanese man behind himself.
"Watch yourself boy," mumbled America indifferently.
"You want Sealand back," stated Belarus. Finland raised a brow.
"Of course I do!"
"You want answers too," she stated again.
"Of course!" cried Finland seething with rage. A click noise of a button was heard on the speaker. Instantaneously, Japan took out a roll of duct tape.
"Sit," he commanded as he stood in front of Finland. Finland stared back at the Japanese man startled.
"For one, this is much much bigger than you think. And another, I can't give you cake and let you eat it too," smiled America darkly.
"W-what do you mean?" asked Finland as he felt sweat forming in his palms and all the color in his face easing away.
"You have to choose between us telling you where Sealand is or information about what's going on," explained America.
Finland gulped as he gave a nervous smile.
But I already know where Sve is! I don't need them to give me information-
"And trust me, whatever you do know isn't even close to what you have to know," the American snickered. Finland gulped, feeling like his mind had been read.
"Save Sealand . . . or save Sweden. Your choice."
"Y-you can't do that," Finland immediately voiced out his displeasure, "please, you can't do that!"
Keeping it together is harder than it looks like; I envy you Sve.
"We can wait as long as you want," stated Japan coldly.
Finland felt his eyes sting as tears began to pour down. He covered half of his face.
What should I do Sve?
Germany, Spain, Romano and Italy ran through the fifth hallway, the elevator having been stopped dead in its tracts by a monotone Belarus warning the elevator was in need of maintenance so they needed to get out. As soon as they did, a mob of very agitated guards and nurses awaited them. They made another run for it and currently hiding in a closet.
"This isn't working; we have to distract them somehow," mumbled Germany as he made himself more comfortable in the tightly packed janitor closet. They could see the shadows of legs of the mob searching after them walk past by.
"Ask him," whispered Romano as he kept pestering Spain. The stubborn Italian comfortable sat on top of Spain's shoulder's, too annoyed to want to crowd with the other three below. Spain sighed and shook his head to cease.
"Alright alright!" he whispered. He then made a small cough so as to get the German's attention.
"Yes?" the man asked understanding the gesture.
"May I ask how is Belarus . . . brainwashed . . . as you say she is?" asked Spain nervously, not knowing whether it would agitate the German.
"-Sigh- As I explained before, Russia is a doctor of sorts that is known in the human world for making such . . inventions . . if you will. One of them is to be able to control people for a while. He's using Belarus for his dirty work. We have to stop him. Someone is going to seriously be hurt by his actions," mumbled Germany shaking his head desperately, trying to avoid any past images of the Russian staring down at his stark naked body like before, " he won't stop until we make it stop."
"Does anyone else know about these kinds of things Russia is trying to do holding Mr. Sweden?" asked Spain curiously as Germany sunk lower into the wall he reclined on. Behind, Italy patted his friend on the shoulder to give him some reassuring the man visibly needed.
"M-my brother does too. Russia gave us both the same trouble. So does Lithuania," mumbled Germany lowering his head.
" . . . Germany . . . was it . . what I think it . . ?"
Germany quietly nodded; Spain understood now.
He had heard rumors about things Russia had done to Lithuania and Prussia. He never knew if they were true or the full extent of the 'light' version of the story he and many of the older nations received in an important document about the awful things he had done. He never read about Germany though.
Romano and Italy looked at each other confused; of course they were, they weren't given such appalling information to know about.
So then . . . does that mean Sweden is going to be. . ?
"My god . . . ," mumbled Spain as his eyes widened.
"Italy, can you distract the mob?" asked Germany as he snatched his glance away from Spain's face, not wanting to see another person come to terms with what will probably happen to Mr. Sweden.
"I . . ," Italy mumbled startled as he looked up at his brother. Romano shrugged at his brother, not knowing what to say to the Spaniard and German's quiet moment of sharing glances, "sure!" he finally squeaked to give a more bright atmosphere. He flinched as he realized how closely packed they really were when the German turned to face him, his arms straight up and leaning on the wall as he looked down at him. They were so close, Italy actually sucked in air as his body touched Germany's so closely.
"Listen, you have to get the mob as far as possible from us. Whether we reach Sweden quickly doesn't matter. If we can reach Belarus just as sure we'll be able to free her from Russia's control and she can go and practically slaughter Russia himself. Spain and I will split up so I can help Sweden. Can you do that?" asked Germany as he stared desperately into Italy's brown eyes.
"I never thought of that! Of course Germany! This is (he leans closer into the man) important to you and so is it to me!"
Germany immediately pulled his whole body away from Italy and now against Spain. Annoyed, Romano placed his feet between his Spain and the blond.
"Alright you guys, gimme some room! You're about to see the master of fast!" plotted Italy as he rubbed his hands together in a scheming way. At his eagerness Germany cracked a smile despite the older Italian's unwanted closeness with the Spaniard and himself (Germany).
Italy opened the door and bolted out like mad; "FREEDOM AT LAST!" he cried as he ran down the hall. A nurse poked her head out in the hallway the Italian in blue pants ran.
"THIS WAY!" she cried as a mob behind her formed and caught the sight of the boy. The three inside the closet heard the crowd running off as the noise died down.
"Do you know where Belarus is Germany?" asked Spain as he let Romano down.
"She's probably in the security room at the way top of the building. You and Romano head up there and try to blend in with normal patients; she won't be able to do anything too drastic then. I will head to Russia's room. We should travel separately to have the element of spread numbers on our side. After Belarus is secured meet me in Russia's room," read the German thru his mind as he touched at his temple. Spain nodded eagerly.
"Yes sir!" he nudged Romano.
"Whatever!" the boy cried, still a little annoyed, "and my stupid brother better not get hurt or else there'll be hell to pay!"
Spain opened the door as the too sped walked down the hallway, "don't worry Romano, there's no chance of that happening," smiled the man as he looked down at him.
In the far back, Germany glanced around, poking his head beyond the closet's door and began to walk impatiently down the hallway to head into a different stairway from that of four that existed in the whole building, located in all four corners, so as not to jeopardize the likelihood of all being caught together.
Romano frowned, "How are you so sure?"
"If he's anything like me, he'd never let anything bad happen to the one he cares about most," the man smiled as he panted. Romano's cheeks turned pink.
"What are you trying to say idiot, that he digs my brother?" he asked irritated.
"He does," said Spain as if it were obvious, which it was if he noticed.
"But you just said that if he's anything like you that-," Romano's head plugged in words and dialogue and a little light bulb went off his head.
"Y-you . . . . me . . . . ?" he asked, his eyes widening as he stared nervously into Spain's smiling face.
"Maybe later Romano," he managed to say as he rubbed the boy's hair, the two turning a corner to another hallway.
Hurt. There's a lot of it around these days.
"Hey Russia, I was wondering if you wanted to go to France's home and look at some wea-"
"I'm busy."
"Oh," uttered America in disappointment as he stared down at the white ground.
The two men stood outside in the snow, the khaki colored tents filled with soldiers ready for war. Russia was busy sitting on a tree stump writing in a notebook, his back facing America. It was another early November morning with cruel winds and deep white snow. It's been a whole year since Russia left Germany after the man lashed out at him 'for no reason', so Russia claimed. America had been trying to talk to the man in a friendly manner, but with no luck.
"Why are you talking to me?" asked Russia bluntly, not even bothering to turn around. America stared at the man nervously not knowing how to react to the sudden questioning of his actions.
"Well," he stared as he rubbed the back of his neck nervously, "because I . . . I-!"
"I don't need your friendship. I can take care of myself out here," Russia stated in an indifferent voice. He had noticed the American's lame attempts at befriending him, probably to make up for his 'tardiness' to help Russia fighting Germany in the war. He wasn't all too happy with England either.
"But Russia, it's not like that-"
"I know what you're trying to pull," the man mumbled as he stood up from the stump," and I (he turned to face the American) don't need (America noticed Russia's annoyed expression) you."
The man grabbed his leather messenger from the ground, re-adjusting a hat he wore and walked away towards the direction Alfred was facing.
America bit his lip as he stared down at the ground. He then looked up startled to see Russia approach the Nordic nations who were helping them (the Allies) with their camp.
He became angry as he saw Russia flashing them his trademark smile. The man grabbed Iceland's shoulder as he forced himself into their private conversation. Seeing he was scared at the man's touch, Denmark raised his fist, threatening Russia to back off.
As America began to run, determined to protect him, he halted in his tracks a good four meters away to see Sweden calm Denmark down, pulling the blonds' fist away from Russia's startled face. He shooed his fellow Nordics away and grabbed Russia's shoulder.
"Leave them be, I don't want any trouble," mumbled Sweden with his usual scary stare.
"It's okay, I'm not scared," giggled Russia. He and America stared baffled as Sweden shook his head.
"It's not that; I don't want you getting hurt," he mumbled as he turned to catch up to his friends.
"S-Sweden!" exclaimed Russia following after Sweden. America felt his legs tremble at anticipation of Russia's sudden, and nervous, outburst.
"Yes?" mumbled Sweden turning around raising a brow.
"May I join you?" asked the Russian as he rubbed the back of his neck a little bashful. Sweden's frown seemed like a straight line now, "to lunch I mean (!) . . . . . later today?"
"Sure," said Sweden with a sudden response, "sit next to me though. Don't want you feeling alone."
Sweden turned back and continued to walk. He waved his hand for Russia to follow. Almost excitedly, the Russian quickly made his way to catch up and walk behind the man, the man's smile poking out from beyond his white scarf. America turned his whole body away from the two, too distraught to even keep looking at Russia.
He then noticed Finland, just like him, staring at the two tall countries walking off, his body hiding amongst the tents.
Their eyes, their confused and sadden eyes, met for a second. Finland seemed nervous with pink creeping up his cheeks.
America broke their long distance stare as he walked off to the direction he had come from. He stuck his hands into the pockets of his coat.
Him too?
In the inside of his right pocket a crumpling of paper could be heard. He took out a note and looked down at a crumpled letter. He narrowed his eyes as he crushed it further and dropped it in the snow.
America ran off back into the camp to catch up with England whom he told to wait up for him in one of the tents.
The crumpled letter fluttered onto a pile of snow as a shadow cast itself over it.
Hurt. Pain. Embarrassment.
It creeps up every time I am near him. I'm afraid I will never be able to have to have the guts to tell him.
But I must still hope for my feelings to come through . . . . one day.