Lol I got this chapter out super fast. Perks of being grounded over the summer.
Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.
"Alfred?"
"Hm?
"Are we lost?"
Alfred gazed out at the endless miles of sand and shrubs. After burning through more cigarettes than the American could count on both hands, the boys were, in fact, lost.
"Nawww!" Alfred snorted.
Arthur glared at Alfred but gave up when he had realized that Alfred was as sensitive as a chopped off finger. They rode at their easy pace, leisurely walking in the hot Wyoming sun. Arthur began to wander in his thoughts, steadily recovering from the shock of the murder he had committed. He thought about the eagle in the air, envying the aura of independence that radiated from it. He envied the freedom it represented, the freedom he so badly wanted. He thought about his life in England and how he resented it. Sure, it was nice to be rich and pampered, but his family life was far from satisfactory. The Kirklands had more money than they knew what to do with, and with that came more expectations than they knew how to handle. Consequently, Arthur was forced upon standards that he hated. He didn't mind the sports or even the hunting, but he absolutely despised the enormous pressure his father put on him to carry on the Kirkland name. Arthur never felt any actual love from his parents, only love for his position in society. He had been raised to love his achievements more than himself.
"As I was a-walking one morning for pleasure,"
Arthur snapped out of his trance.
"I spied a cowpuncher a-riding along."
He stared at the American with knit brows.
"Whoopee ti yi yo!"
"What the blazes are you singing?"
"A song." Alfred inhaled and bellowed out, "Git along little dogies!"
His voice startled a few birds on the ground into a frantic flight.
Alfred smirked. "It's your misfortune and none of my own!" He yelled after them. He turned to Arthur. "Next line's yours, bud."
"I'm afraid I don't know the lines to your little composition," he declined.
Alfred pouted. "Aww c'mon, Arthur! Ya gotta! All cowboys know this song!"
"Since when was I of your breed?" Arthur retorted.
"Since... Since... Since ya pissed on that cactus three cigarettes ago!"
"You're impossible," Arthur sighed.
"Blah blah blah my-name's-Arthur-and-I'm-a-stupid-asshole-who-refu ses-to-sing-with-his-devastatingly-handsome-friend ."
Green eyes widened in offense. "You take that back, you bloody yank! I am no 'stupid asshole' nor are you my 'friend'."
"Sing with me, stupid asshole," Alfred grinned.
For a few milliseconds, Arthur was taken aback by Alfred's seemingly perfect smile, but recovered quickly. "I told you, I don't even know the words. And who gave you permission to address me as 'stupid asshole'?"
Alfred ignored the question. "Okay! I'll teach it to ya!" He cleared his throat. Arthur rolled his eyes. "Whoopee ti yi yo, git along little dogies! Now you say it!"
"Don't assume that you can just tell me what to do, Alfred. You do know that I practically own you," the Englishman declared with a superior tone.
"We won that war a long time ago. Ya don't own me, ya pay me. Now quit being such a stubborn 'ole mule and sing with me."
"Fine," Arthur gave in, "Err, uh, whoopee ti yi... Yo... Git along little dogies," he half-heartedly recited.
"Don't be so reluctant, bud. Ya gotta sing it!"
"This is ridiculous."
"C'mooonnn!" the cowboy whined.
"Whoopee ti yi yo!"
"Louder!" Alfred encouraged.
"Alfred, I'm not used to yelling like that. It's an irritating American trait," Arthur protested.
"What? Can't hear ya, yer talking loud enough for only yer butthole to hear."
Arthur sighed.
"GIT ALONG LITTLE DOGIES!" he hollered.
Alfred gave Arthur a huge smile that was apparently contagious, for Arthur was grinning in no time.
"For you know Wyoming will be your new home!" Alfred sang with a grand finish, sending more birds up in the air.
He and Arthur laughed for no apparent reason. For once, Arthur felt good. He had never sang, yelled, and laughed this loudly before, and he felt good.
The two men settled down and made a small camp in the sea of dirt and shrubs. Alfred stretched out on the ground and rested his head on his hands. Arthur shedded his overcoat and sat on it. They remained in a comfortable silence with only the fire speaking in crackles as they gazed upon the stars.
"Help! Help!"
Arthur was annoyed by the sudden break of peace. "Alfred, what the hell are you saying?"
"That wasn't me."
Both of them looked around for the source and reached for their guns. The cries for help grew louder, but it was too dark to see anybody.
The scene was all too familiar in Arthur's mind. He jerked his hand away from his rifle, not wanting to shoot someone innocent again. The bitter taste of vomit made it to his throat, but he managed to push it back down and control himself. The yelling intensified until they saw arms flailing ahead of them. Alfred cocked his repeater and aimed.
"Please! Help me! They've got my brother and I don't know what to do!"
Alfred continued to aim and Arthur remained frozen and conflicted.
"Slow down, boy! Ya better not come running up here unless ya want to get yourself shot! Walk up to us where we can see ya," Alfred commanded.
The other voice was talking between sobs. "I'm sorry... I just don't know what to do and they've got Lovino. Please... You have got to help me! I don't have money or anything but I'll do whatever it takes to save my brother."
The light of the fire revealed a young man with auburn hair with a wild curl sticking out and a tear-streaked face. Alfred kept his gun aimed.
"Yeah? What's yer name? And where ya from? Did someone send ya?" Alfred questioned.
"I'm Feliciano Vargas. My brother and I came here to earn some money for my family back in Italy. Please, mister, you have to help me get Lovino back! He's all I have in this big, scary country!"
The American took a few moments to analyze the stranger, his blue eyes scanning him for any potential danger. "Anybody send ya?" He asked again.
"N-no, not to you, at least. My grandpa sent us to America with all the money we had left," the Italian sniffled.
It seemed believable. Alfred lowered his gun. "What happened to yer brother?"
Feliciano's eyes started to well up again. "Bandits! Lovino told them to 'fuck off' and that they were 'money stealing bastards' and they took him! I couldn't chase them because they took our wagon, but I was able to sneak off. I know which direction they went in. I can show you if you come and help me!"
Arthur relaxed when guns were no longer being pointed at anybody. His heartbeat eased and he let out a breath of relief.
"We'll help ya!" Alfred offered, without even consulting the other.
"Excuse me, but who granted you the right to make decisions for me?" Arthur shot.
The American pouted. "Please, Arthur? Ya gotta! Why'd ya come to America if ya ain't gonna take up any chances for adventure? And plus, I'm a hero so I have to help. What are ya gonna do if I leave? Sit here?"
The Briton used all the strength he had to resist the self-proclaimed hero, but he caved. Arthur wouldn't admit it, but he thought that Alfred's pouting face was too cute to reject. Instead, he came to a conclusion that the cowboy's persuasive skills were blessed by some sort of odd magic. "Fine," he sighed.
Both Alfred and Feliciano's faces lit up. "Really?" they said in unison.
Arthur could barely believe what he was about to say. "Really."
"Okay, Feliciano, where'd ya say they were headed?"
The three of them were riding in darkness, only being aided by the moon and the stars. Feliciano rode with Alfred, seeing as he had no horse.
"Um, over there." He pointed to the north and they charged onward.
After a few minutes of galloping, Alfred motioned for Arthur to slow down. In the distance, they could hear whooping and hollering.
"Bloody Americans are so loud," Arthur mumbled to himself.
"Is that them?" Alfred asked the person behind him.
Feliciano made a noise of affirmation and the three pushed on.
When they were close enough to see them, the runaway wagon had come to a stop. The three boys left their horses a few yards away so that the creatures would be undetectable. As they crawled in closer on their stomachs, they strained their eyes and ears. The wagon was surrounded by people. They seemed to be celebrating their capture, for they sang and danced about. But one thing struck Alfred and Arthur as odd.
"They're all women," Arthur said.
The wagon was, in fact, surrounded by women. Their voices were higher than the boys had expected and a the wild flapping of dresses and skirts gave their genders away.
"Well shoot," Alfred said, "I can't fire at a bunch of ladies."
"You could take a shot at their wagon and try to scare them away," Arthur offered.
"No! Don't!" Feliciano cried.
Alfred and Arthur exchanged confused looks. "Why not?" Arthur asked.
Feliciano looked around nervously. "Well, um," he began, "the wagon is full of explosives."
There was a moment of stunned silence before Alfred whispered, "Explosives?"
The Italian nodded.
"Ya sure yer saying the right word? Explosives? Not tomatoes or rabbits or anything? Like things that go 'boom'?"
Feliciano nodded again.
Alfred's face lit up as Arthur's fell.
"That's amazing!" Alfred exclaimed. "Where the hell did ya manage to get explosives? And why are ya stuffin 'em in your wagon?"
Feliciano was taken by surprise by the American's excitement. "Lovino and I work for a man who wanted these delivered. And uh, one more thing... The women are armed."
To Arthur, that was enough information to make him want to leave. "Well, looks like there's nothing we can do, Feliciano. I'm truly sorry about your brother, but we can't shoot the women nor can we shoot the wagon full of bloody explosives. I'll be well on my way now, dear. Goodbye." Arthur got up from the ground and turned to leave.
"No!" Feliciano cried.
"Wait!" Alfred said right after.
Arthur narrowed his eyes. "Look, I'm actually very sorry about the state your brother is in, but like I said, there's nothing we can do."
"What if," Alfred said, "What if there was something we could do? Devise a plan of some sort, ya know? Not everything has to be solved with guns."
The Briton was skeptical. What a surprise. Who knew that Americans could solve problems without involving a firearm? "Yeah? They have weapons, Alfred. If we don't shoot them, they'll shoot us. What are we going to do? Woo them into giving us back the wagon?"
Arthur's sarcasm was answered by two pairs of determined eyes. He really didn't like where this was headed.
"What?" he asked nervously.
Arthur was walking toward the very wagon he had learned to hate. How did I manage to get myself into this? He took a few more nervous steps forward. I'm no savage American. I'm a well born British man, and I should not be subjected to this kind of treatment. Despite his inner protests, Arthur continued to put one foot in front of the other until he was facing the group of confused women.
"Erm, hello, ladies," Arthur coughed.
He did a quick count. Seven. Seven pairs of eyes full of curiosity and danger assessed him. One of them spoke up.
"What you doing here, cutie?"
Even though they addressed him in a way that was meant to flatter him, Arthur only felt violated. The all too familiar feeling of fear crept into him as his heart beat faster. What was the plan again? What was I to say to them?
"Hey! Scone bastard! Help me!" a male voice from inside the wagon cried.
Scone bastard?
"Someone shut him up," a woman, whom Arthur assumed was their leader, barked. "Now, what exactly are you doing here?"
Arthur could hear the wild protests between the man in the wagon and the woman sent out to silence him.
"I'm lost, to be honest. I figured that I needed some gentler company than this rough land. Hopefully you ladies are willing to provide me with some," he recited as genuinely as possible.
"Isn't it pretty weird that you're out here all alone without a horse?" the leader questioned with hostility in her voice. Arthur mentally slapped himself. Of course it's strange. How would he have gotten there in the first place?
"I, um, about that..."
The woman took a step forward. "Yes, what about that?"
Arthur was almost positive that she could hear his pounding heart. "It died," he quickly added.
The woman stood in silence and stared at the Englishman for what seemed like forever. Her brown hair swayed gently in the wind as her green eyes pierced through his.
"Do you have money?" She finally asked.
Arthur exhaled in relief. "Yes, a lot of it."
Soon enough, Arthur was surrounded by the women, only this time they were out cold in a drunken slumber. He had not drank any alcohol himself, claiming to want to remain sober in order to remember a night with such beautiful ladies. The man inside the wagon had not spoken since Arthur had arrived. When he assumed it was safe, Arthur called out, "I'm a stupid asshole," to signal Alfred and Feliciano that the coast was clear.
The two came running as silently as possible. Alfred looked like he was about to fall over from laughing. "I can't believe ya actually said it," he said.
Arthur slapped him, but Alfred continued to laugh. Feliciano, on the other hand, was too busy retrieving his brother.
"See? What did I tell ya? Women like these love British folk," Alfred beamed.
Arthur ignored him and went to help Feliciano. The wagon was, indeed, full of explosives and a very angry Italian boy. Arthur concluded that he was Lovino. The two brothers were rapidly speaking in Italian, so Arthur figured he wasn't needed and exited the wagon.
When he looked outside, his eyes widened. Instead of only Alfred, there were now two figures in the dark. One held a gun up, and the other held hands up.
AN: A lot of British immigrants were surprised by how loud Americans were. They thought it was weird that American women laughed out loud instead of quietly behind a hand like British women did. Also, cowboys were known to have measured trips by counting how many cigs they burned through (kind of like how many songs it takes for us to get to school)
Anyway, I dunno how long it'll take to type out the next chapter. I'll try to get into a routine of a somewhat established update time. Gotta get crackin on summer assignments, as well :c
blazes- hell