Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia. Evelyn, however, is mine.
"Artie, wait!" Evelyn scrambled to her feet attempting to go after the retreating Brit, but William was there before she could get far. He pushed her back into the seat with two firm hands on her shoulders. Voice took offense and pushed its way to the front.
"What the hell Scot?! I need to—" Voice began.
"Ye need to calm down. Runnin' after him now will only end badly." Scotland shared a look with Wales who nodded and left the room. He sent a slightly different look to Patrick. The teenager looked like was about to say something, but thought better of it and slinked out of the room pouting all the way. William shook his head. No doubt the boy was eavesdropping through the door, but he didn't have the inclination to run him completely out of the house. Arthur would rip off his head with his bare hands for his baby.
Voice watched nervously as they left. He knew (and how strange was it Evelyn now had thoughts other than her own?) Scotland could be violent whenever his brothers were hurt, but the brothers' presence kept the redhead mostly in check. Now they were alone. "Sending the witnesses away so you can beat on me?" Voice snarked trying to appear more confident than he actually was at the moment.
William gave a snarl and smirked. "I don't make a habit of beating up girls." He gave her an up-down look. "I thought we'd have a chat." The smirk turned sly as he lit another cigarette, the first long dissolved to ash.
"I need to talk to Artie! He thought I was dead! How could he think that? I've been shot before and been out for a while, but I can't die. I'm the United States of America for crying out loud!" Voice flung her arms out in emphasis growling at the man in her path.
The redhead blew smoke in her face causing her to choke. "The United States of Royal Fuck-ups is what ye are and he doesn't need you jabbering at him when ye don't understand anything!" Despite the emphasis in his voice, William wasn't yelling...yet.
"Why are you sending them after him then?" Voice whined/challenged still blinking away tears from the bitter tobacco smoke with soft coughs.
William sent him a withering glare. "You have caused my wee brother enough pain so now you're going to sit there and let his family help him like we have every time before. Now, I want to talk to the lass."
"I'm family too!" he slammed his/her hands into the table hard enough to sting.
"You gave that up! Give me the girl!"
"You say that, but too bad," the person in her head snarled. "I'm not going to sit here and let you yell at me or whatever while Artie's in the other room. I have something to say to him!"
Scotland slammed his fist on the table patience shot "Get your head out of your arse! If ye haven't noticed, ye're not you. Ye're in the body of a girl; a girl who has no damn clue about us. Ye're not just fuckin' up your own life anymore!" he yelled.
The two stared at each other daring the other to continue the fight. Evelyn felt when something shifted in Voice's thoughts. He wasn't being a hero. He was being selfish, but damn it all! He just...he had to talk to Arthur. Her shoulders slumped as Voice admitted defeat.
"Let me talk to her." Scotland demanded again with his voice back to calm fury. His cigarette dropped ash onto the table. Arthur's gonna be pissed, Evelyn thought absently.
Voice retreated grumbling though sufficiently cowed by the Scot. Evelyn subconsciously hunched under the redhead's gaze gripping the side of her chair until her knuckles turned white. She shook as her thoughts raced. What the hell was going on? They knew the Voice, they were talking to it...the others—Francis, Gilbert and Antonio—they told her to come talk to Arthur, but they couldn't have know about this. Voice hadn't come out yet, so there was no way for them... Or did they know? They hadn't told her everything; they had been hiding something from her. It could have been Voice! Why didn't they tell her? Hell, why didn't Artie tell her anything? Her knuckles tightened at the thought of the man who had for all intents and purposes fled the room. Did they all get some sort of sick joy from watching her panic, watching her run around trying to figure things out? Maybe they all had bets going to see how long it could last. She remembered what the gods in Olympus had done. Maybe she was these immortals play thing.
She snarled and Voice brushed her mentally. Somehow she actually found comfort in it for a second allowing her to see Arthur's kindness...she needed help, someone to listen. She needed a fucking straight answer.
"Who are you people?" She grit out between clenched teeth. She was still shaking every muscle tensed, unable to unclench her fists from around her seat. "The other three...they told me all of you are immortal. That's impossible. Right, right?" Her voice rose a few octaves on the last word desperately wanting him to tell her this was all a dream or some sort of horrible joke at the very least. It wasn't funny. She wasn't laughing. Well, she was a little, but that was bordering on hysteria.
"No we can die, but in human terms we are immortal." He looked at her with a cigarette clamped between his lips as a frown marred his face. He looked at her like she was a rather uninteresting insect in a case.
Evelyn launched herself from her chair finally giving vent to the pent-up adrenaline. She waved her arms around in a frantic manner as she paced in front of Scotland. "That's not an answer, dipshit!" She snarled at him. "I want someone for once to just explain what's going on in my messed up life!" Tears of frustration pricked the corners of her eyes threatening to fall.
Scotland watched her flicking his cigarette butte into an abandoned tea cup. He lit another one almost immediately. "We represent the land and the people on it. One of the others will probably have some fancy term for it, but I don't care to remember it. We are the nation and we can't die until that nation doesn't exist anymore. That means the brat shouldn't have died, but he did and there have been a whole lot of us trying to figure out how."
Evelyn continued to pace running her fingers through her hair and biting her lip nervously. "I don't get it. What does that mean, 'nations'? The others tried to explain it, but I still don't get it. How can there be someone representing all that? All that history-the wars, natural disasters and just all of it! It's unbelievable. It would drive someone insane."
The redhead burst into laughter. "Who says we're not? Ye're not the only one to think that. Our governments know about us. The monarchs grew up knowing about our existence, but since the governments started switching to democracies, we have to explain it to someone every few years or so." He smirked as he remembered some of the interesting ways his family had greeted new Prime Ministers. Some of them had tried to have the brothers thrown into mental homes, but that was a story for another day.
Evelyn fidgeted. She could feel that other presence in the back of her mind listening intently. It felt like a major invasion of privacy, a violation of her rights and...and...
Hey, you can't use that against me! I invented individual rights.
"Oh, just shut up!" the girl cried. She was American despite what Voice was bitching about and her rights fucking came first right now! William glared at her again. She waved her hands in front of her face as if to dispel it. "Not you. It! No, on second thought, you shut up too. Unless you're going to give me a straight answer, just stop talking." She paced a few more times before giving up and practically falling back into her chair hitting her head on the table. After a few moments, she lifted her head again meeting the Scot's are-you-done? expression. Sighing, she continued a little calmer, almost resigned. "Let's just say, for the moment, that I believe you. What does this have to do with me?"
He snuffed out his cigarette and leaned back crossing his arms. "That brat in your head is the personification of America. He was shot through the heart during a war in the seventies. I've had it happen to me before, only with a sword not a bullet, and while it hurts worse than hell, it's not fatal for us though it might put us in a coma for a bit. When he didn't, we started thinking he was really dead and we started looking for a new personification. Every country has one, no exception and since the country was still there..." he shrugged letting her draw the obvious conclusion. There was only one problem with that.
"So, where is he? I went to that meeting with Artie and there wasn't anyone representing America there. The French fry said there hasn't been one in years."
"Noticed that did you? That's because one hasn't shown up in all those years. That's where you come in."
Arthur stared out the window of his study completely lost in his own world. He held the letter Alfred's superior had sent after he had been shot. The normal ranks of the military didn't know about them. For all the man knew, Alfred was just another soldier who had died in the line of duty and he was informing the family. The git had always put him as next of kin since the First World War. He had gotten a few letters like the one in his hands over the years although most had just reported him injured. He hadn't given this one much thought. Originally, he had thought he had thrown it away. He thought the idiot would be at his door within a matter of days whining about the Communist threat.
He never came. The bastard never came. Arthur crumpled the paper in a tight fist throwing it to the side.
"So, are we going through the stages of grief again?" Bran sat at his twin's desk casually rifling through the papers there. "If so, I think you're almost to the drink-yourself-into-a-drunken-stupor bit. Oh look, here's the rum." He pulled out the decanter from the bottom drawer. "None for you Paddy, you're too young." Bran's nonchalant tone was making Arthur grit his teeth.
"Is it bad to make girl hell spawn cry? Because I think she's about to." Patrick had his ear pressed against the door trying to hear all the conversation. But his voice was completely serious. Someone was going to have to have a serious talk with the poor boy one day.
Bran shook his head. "Lad, what have I told you about eavesdropping?" Bran gave him a stern look that didn't reach his eyes. "Listen at the cracks in the door. They're not as soundproof." He poured a glass of the caramel-colored liquid holding it up for his twin. Arthur ignored him. "No? Suit yourself." He took a sip. He idly tapped the fingers of his free hand on the desk waiting for the break down.
Arthur wrung his hands and twisted his fingers. In days of old, he would have twisted rings, but without them, it left him pulling at his fingers. At least he wasn't pulling his hair out.
There was a gasping sound like someone couldn't get enough air, almost a hiccup in a breath, and Arthur was on his knees on the floor hands pulling frantically at his hair as he curled in on himself. Pained gasping sounds came from him as he attempted to hold back his sobs.
Bran flashed a look at Patrick who sighed and bitched about being run out of yet another room of the house he had grown up in.
Bran slid from the chair to the floor. Sudden movement would send Arthur into a frenzy that would result in Bran's bloodshed.
Arthur gave a loud gasping cry as his hunched figure fell until his forehead reached the floor. His hands pulled frantically at his hair in his grief.
Bran moved going to all fours and moving slowly towards Arthur.
Arthur slammed his head into the floor a few times his tears and gasping breaths muffled with his sounds of agony.
Bran moved hesitantly folding his legs under his body so he was squatting before tentatively wrapping an arm over Arthur's back and shoulders. If Arthur responded negatively he could spring away and make it out of this with some bruises instead of broken bones.
Arthur's breath hitched and livid green eyes met his as Arthur snarled at him. Bran froze pulling his arm back, but not moving from his brother. They started at each other for a moment before Arthur's hiccupping snivels returned. In a flash, Bran was on his ass with his twin trying to get into his lap. Arthur's tears and snot were on his shirt and Bran had a momentary thought to just shove the other off. He was tired of all of this shit. He was tired of Arthur tearing himself apart over a boy that didn't want him.
He shoved those thoughts away. Arthur needed him now. He could be a bitch about this later. Bran let himself fall back all the way so he was lying on the floor. Arthur now lay on top of him hands fisted in his shirt.
"Oh little brawd," he cooed. "Why are you crying? He's in the other room." He ran his hands through Arthur's hair.
"He's dead!" Arthur screamed suddenly fist connecting with the flooring dangerously close to Bran's ribs. New approach, Bran thought trying to school his features and heart not to show the fear racing through his veins.
"Arthur," Bran cooed as much for Arthur as for his own control. "Explain to me then, tell me," he tried without uttering the possibly fatal "what is wrong." Those words had almost gotten Alba's head removed from his shoulders back during the American Revolution.
"He's dead," Arthur repeated tightening his hold on Bran's shirt. "I accepted it."
"You're acting like you rejected it," Bran muttered into his brother's hair. He hadn't meant to say that and the crown of Arthur's head met Bran's nose. He gasped as Arthur followed though in the attack by straddling his brother and slamming his open palm hands into Bran's chest causing him to cry out instead of just gasping.
"Why do you mock me?!" Arthur screamed hands rolling into fists as Bran's eyes went wide and his face went pale.
"Arthur!" he cried out trying to reach through his brother's rage.
"What makes you think—" Arthur leaned down so their noses were almost touching.
"I love you!" Bran called out. "I love you and you threw it back in my face for that brat." Arthur's heated glare paused and his face relaxed in confusion trying to comprehend.
"I love you," Bran whimpered again. "Paddy loves you, William loves you, hell that hooker at least cares for you, but you threw us away for that brat." Bran was screaming from under Arthur now tears freely flowing down his face. "Why can't you see that?" He sniffled searching Arthur's eyes for an answer.
"I'm sorry," Arthur whispered. His hand moved wiping the blood from Bran's nose. "I'm sorry. It just hurts," Arthur whispered tears welling up again.
"I know you hurt, because I hurt too." Bran's hand came up and cupped Arthur's face. He smiled at his younger twin. Arthur sighed and let his body rest on Bran tucking his nose into the hollow of his throat.
"I love you too," Arthur whispered as Bran's arms wrapped around him. He fisted his hands in his brother's shirt and neither twin moved.
Evelyn gaped at him. "What? Oh right, he's in my head so just magic him out and then you can all leave me the fuck alone."
"You know for someone who doesn't believe, ye're making a whole lot of assumptions all of a sudden." William reached for another cigarette frowning when he discovered the package empty. Damn, so much for secretly quitting. Now he was going to have to start all over.
"You were the one leading a frickin' exorcism a few minutes ago. You obviously believe in all this voodoo, magic crap and if it will help me, I'm willing to believe in it. At least for a while." She added the last part for her own sanity. After this was all said and done, she didn't know what she would believe anymore.
"What we do is not some backwoods, kitschy theatrics for tourists. I don't need some doll to turn your insides inside-out." He grumbled about stupid teenagers and American teenagers especially. "Magic can do a lot of things, but we don't know how the brat got into your head so we can't just get him out. And from what everyone else is saying, he's not the reason you're involved in this. Nations can feel when another one of us is nearby. It's like an aura we're all attuned to. You've been emitting it off and on for some time."
There was silence in the room then Evelyn burst out laughing. "Good one!"
"I'm not joking lass." William practically growled. This girl had gotten away with a lot so far, but his patience was wearing thin.
"No, see you have to be because there have been tons of things that happened since I've been born and, by your own definition, I should've been like in pain or something during those times right? Well I haven't been so I can't be...like one of you. It has to be this Voice in my head. That's why. Yep, yeah. Totally it." She gave him an almost desperate half-smile begging him to agree with her.
"No, not it. The brat didn't have any sort of control until today. None of us entirely understand how it works. We don't remember how we were born. The land decided it needed a representation and it chose you. Now you have to deal with it." William stood going into the kitchen to get something to help his nerves since he couldn't smoke. Maybe he could send Patrick out to get him some. Was he legal now? He couldn't remember...
Evelyn sat in a daze. Voice tried to push his way to the front again, but Evelyn pushed back putting her entire will against it. It was her body, her mind. She was just having a slight mental break was all. It was college. She just got overloaded with work and when the crazies came along, she went with it because it was fun, a nice break. Now they were trying to tell her...tell her what? Some kind of chosen one shit? Join our venerable ranks and ruin your life? Nope, not going to happen. She didn't have to follow the crazies anymore. The only reason she came was because she thought she could trust Arthur, but Arthur ran when she needed his help most. Screw this. Screw all of it!
"No, I don't have to deal with it." She said suddenly sounding rather sure of herself.
William turned around unsure he had heard her right. The girl was gone and the front door slammed shut. Fuck, he was too old for this shit.
Patrick came into the kitchen then. "So now that she's gone, does that mean I can come back home?" Scotland cocked an eyebrow at him.
"If ye raid Arthur's smokes for me sure."
"Awesome!" Patrick smiled like shit didn't just hit the fan and disappeared. Scotland rubbed his forehead worrying about the boy being dropped on his head again.
A/N: Whew! What is the genre of this story again? So much angst...
Anyway, a big thank you again to my amazing beta Fall in Snow (right spelling this time) who keeps my characters in character even when they're falling apart. Also thank you everyone for your reviews/faves/follows/etc. If it weren't for you, this story would've failed a long time ago.
One last thing and I swear I'm done with this author's note. Anyone going to Anime St. Louis this weekend? I'll be there dressed as Pirate!England. I'll probably have someone from Mass Effect walking around with me as well so if you're a fan of both series, come over and say hello. Or just come say hi anyways.
Reviews are loved! Later!