Matthew found his way in through an open kitchen window. Inside stood a small brunette, who, upon seeing Matthew climbing through glass, quickly ran under a table whining and begging him to spare his pasta. The blonde sampled the sauce, give the brunette a small smile, and exited through an archway directly opposite the window. The brunete was still crying and hiding by the time he'd walked his way into the next room.
Here appeared to be a large living room, it's ceiling two stories high and it's walls and couches decorated with gold trim. These Axis are loaded with cash. He thought grimly, as he walked slowly around the room. There were pictures covering the antique furniture and painting the room with color, but Matthew was reminded of his purpose and tore his eyes off the picture frames. Really, he didn't have time to be snooping into the Axis's personal lives when his brother could be in life threatening danger.
Behind him, the alarm was still going off and Arthur and Alfred were probably still trying to fight their way in. He focused his mind on his task and set down a narrow hallway. There were several doors, some pine wood and others painted glass. His purple eyes darted over to them and he gingerly turned those doorknobs, listening closely before peering into the room. Most were simply empty bedrooms, some appeared to be offices and one was a super deluxe bathroom.
Finding nothing on this level, he pulled a u-turn and, once he was back in the main room, ascended the stair case. Up here was considerably darker, lacking the brightness of the gorgeous chandelier. Instead, the walls were lit up with old, metal and mideval looking light fixtures, each glowing dimly every 20 feet or so. There were several more doors here, each one more decorative than the other. When he poked his eyes into these rooms, he found several things. One was drowning in pictures of the brunette from earlier and his obvious twin (though Matthew had to admit, with his own sibling situation he had to doubt this). Another was splattered in a sticky red substance, which after getting over the horror of the sight, Matthew realized was actually tomato juice. The last contained a large grand piano, and... nothing else.
Matthew hid himself around the corner at the end of the hallway, preparing to take his next right. He could hear faint voices somewhere nearby, and he knew his brother would be down here. This new area was small, and consisted of only 2 doors. Both were wooden and very plain, and both were darkly lit. He pulled out a flashlight he'd brought with him incase he needed to do some snooping (which obviously, he did), and shined it against the paint chipped wall. These weren't plain, however, each covered in hand painted portraits of 2 people. One was of a blonde man, bulky and blue-eyed with slicked back hair. Matt instantly recognized it as the Axis leader, Germany.
The other shocked him so much he had to bend over to pick up his flashlight. Once he had, he shined it back at the picture. Sure enough, a pair of daunting red eyes was staring straight back at him, a playful smirk lining this guy's face. His hair was silver, his skin ghostly pale... infact, he looked extremely firmiliar. Matt tried to convince himself that yeah, all albino's probably looked alike. However, the way the chin pointed sharply was way too similar, and there was a small yellow dot seemed to be added to the painting's head...
It reminded him way too much of Gilbert. No. Matthew told himself instantly. No no no no no.
The voices were getting louder now, and a bright light flicked on from inside the room directly in front of him. He pressed his ear to the door.
When he heard 2 voices, both of which sounded all too unreal, he gingerly opened the door.
"Seriously Gilbert, I'm sure your brother wouldn't mind too much if you at least loosened these ropes." Pleaded a desperate Francis. He was practically in tears, wiggling his hands around to give his wrists some space to breathe. He was going to have rope burn - he was going to have rope burn bad.
Gilbert was switching open and closed his knife, waching it idly as it clicked into and out of it's sheath. "No, he'll definately kill me. That bastard can choke you with his thumb and pinky finger. I'm almost proud to say I raised him." Gilbert replied non-chalantly, barely taking his eyes off the smoothness of the silver to glance at his captive.
Francis made a little whining noise as his skin brushed rather roughly against the strangling rope. "Come on, we used to be friends!" He continued his plead, hoping the other would turn his eyes towards him for more than 2 seconds so he could try out some puppy eyes. "Doesn't that mean anything to you?"
"Nope." The response was immediate. This time, he left his knife open. He grabbed a metal file from the dresser next to him and began to sharpen the edge of the blade. "Not anymore." He said, actually watching the Frenchman for a second while he scraped the knife back and forth across the file. It made a scathy scrathing nosie that made Francis cringe, however it seemed to be music to the albino's ears.
"You used to!" Francis exclaimed, trying to throw his arms up into the air but only managing to bump the chair legs up in the process. "Don't you remember that one time you brought me ice cream?"
Gilbert's incesant straching stopped breifly, as he stared dumbfounded at Francis. He hesitated for a second, slurring a 'y' for a little while while he thought of how he should probably answer. Finally, he said, "Yeah, I remember." His red eyes shifted to lock with the pattern of the carpeted floor.
Francis found this small little weakness and took it to his advantage. "Of course you do, I was at home pouting in my house after Antonio accidentally knocked me down some hill. And then you were all puffy cheeked and were like, 'here, just take the stupid ice cream'!" His eyes were sparkling as he thought of the adorable picture in his head; of a pouting Gilbert. Really, imagining him like that today almost made him burst out in laughter. But his determination not to die won that battle- the silverette was glaring him daggers.
"Yeah I remember!" He spat out quickly, dropping his knife down onto the bedspread he was sitting on. "But I'm not like that anymore." He hissed, stalking over to where Francis was bound. "I'd never give you some stupid dairy treat if you were to ask me for it right now. I'd toss it in your face!" He was laughing now, his seemingly bipolar behavior starting to freak the french man out. Well, more freaked out than he already was. "I like to fight now, see?" Gilbert rambled on, feeling giddy and happy all of a sudden. "I like to hurt people, to kill people. It feels good to know you're ridding the world of all it's problems, you know?"
Francis scooted as far back as the chair would allow him. He wanted to get away from this psycopath and now. "No, I don't know." He said matter of factly, his voice squeaking slightly at the end when Gilbert walked calmly back over to the bed and picked up the switchblade again.
Gilbert was now back to flipping the knife open and closed. "Speaking of getting rid of problems..." He drawled, finally opting to leave the knife open and instead planting it at the base of the stubbled neck. Francis gulped audibly, his eyes drawing downward to watch the movement.
"Oh nonononono, you don't want to do that!" Francis cried, trying futily to scoot even farther back into the wooden seat. Which sadly, refused to go back anymore and simply scooted itself closer to the tall man bent over behind him.
"Kesesesese~~" Gilber laughed, his lithe form shaking slightly as he did so, "But I do, you see? I love doing this!" He pressed the blade closer to the neck, drawing a small sliver of blood out.
Suddenly, a small noise from behind caught both of their attentions, and they both turned their necks to see who was going to be the witness. (Well, Gilbert's neck turned around. Francis kind of ticked it a fraction towards the sound.) Gilbert's crimson eyes suddenly widened and his jaw dropped as he saw who was standing there. Purple eyes connected with his own for what felt the like last time in a lifetime, they're edges brimming over with collecting tears. And he was holding a small black handgun between his constantly clenching and unclenching fingers. Not knowing how to respond to the situation, Gilbert stood there, knife still connected to the glistening skin below him.
Finally one of them decided to speak, his mouth barely opening wide enough for fear of connecting with a shiny silver object just below. "Matthieu, you're here to save me!"
AN:/ Because we all know Francis is a coward. I listened to Bullet for my Valentine and Godsmack as I was listening to this, both new CD's. Really, they're good bands to write to. ^^ Congrats to QueenCelestiaxyv, who guessed the whole 'memories were actually Francis' thing in advance. Seriously, my eyes almost bugged out of my head, 'cuz I was like, NICE GUESS. It took all my willpower not to message you saying, HOLY CRAP YOU'RE RIGHT. Disclaimer: Hetalia is not mine.
Hiatus notice: Hey guys, I'm so sorry about this. I've been getting really sick, I've missed 3 days of school and am about to miss 4, I've been bombarded by tests, homework, projects, and finals... and I just have no time to do anything else other than making up that crap. I haven't even started writing the next chapter yet, and I doubt any more will be up for a few weeks (if I even remember to continue this once summer starts). Again, sorry. I really hope you understand.