Authors: Manic Misha and Hetawolf.
Fandom: 2P Hetalia.
Characters: Matt, Al, and Oliver.
Chapter 3
Al nodded to the question about the mirror, "Yeah. I've named him Tommy." he replied.
Matt stared in horror, knowing that Oliver had nicknamed his son, Al, 'Thomas' when he was first discovered, thus giving him the nickname 'Tommy' after a while. "... Tommy that was your original name. You haven't went by that in years." Matt breathed out. "Remember, you decided to go by Al after seeing that—"
"STOP! MY NAME IS AL!" was screeched before Matt could finish his sentence, those red hues beckoning a fight as if he hit a nerve.
Matt shook his head and barked. "Whatever. Did he do that to you?" He pointed to his shoulder.
Al shook his head, then paused. "yeah—" He finally admitted it.
Matt nodded, "Did you fight back?" Al shook his head, "Screamed at him..."
Matt stepped closer and smacked him right across the face, the mirror seeing everything as he stared down at him. "Al! You need to fight back! You need to get angry about it!"
Almost crying, his older brother had never smacked him so abruptly. Matt did it now and then, but this time Al only felt the hot tears flow begin to flow down his face. "I—can't—"
Matt groaned, "Are you going to be his little to-go cup of tea forever? I can't keep standing up for you!"
Al gazed at his older brother, his face soaking in his tone and eyes growing wide as those wet tears were endless. Matt spat at him, "Pathetic..."
Al hugged onto his knees with his good shoulder, allowing his brother to move on ahead and walk outside. Desperately, he grabbed the edges of the mirror and saw his own reflection crying. "I'm sorry..." he paused in his sobs, "I'm sorry Tommy... I'm not strong enough."
Matt was last seen muttering, "Man, I need a walk…"
Oliver was grinning like a madman, he was at pleased as a fox that had snatched the farmer's prized hen. He was so excited in hearing them bicker and the sound of hand connecting with Al's cheek that he had accidentally cut his own palm.
He looked at the bleeding with doe eyes and smiled. Oliver watched the blood ooze from the angry wound and in a moment of pure elation he stuck out his tongue and made a purposeful lick following the trail of crimson and savored the coppery taste of that precious fluid.
"God in Heaven, never take these precious creatures away from me." He spoke to nothing, but the silence in the room. "I've clipped their wings so they can't ever fly away,..." His palm held above his head as blood dropped onto his tongue.
Matt abruptly slammed the door closed. Oliver could see him through the window in the kitchen as his heavy footsteps crunched each and every step of brush and ground. All Matt could feel was a heavyset sting on his heart, never feeling this emotion before in his entire life.
Al muffled cries into his own knees, only sighing as he stared at his reflection. He had to smile between his tears and the blood red handprint, "Tommy... You'll never hurt me, right?" He spoke to the mirror, stroking the cold edge as he pressed his cheek to the glass. Tears strolled down his face even more, the young teenager certainly didn't feel like a man at this point in his life. Crying to a mirror, an old and useless one at that, Al knew if he could have only one friend in the world, it better be himself because he can't leave himself.
Oliver looked out the window and watched the Canadian colony walk away. Running over and jerking it open, he shouted "Matt be back at dinnertime!" The boy continued walking. Oliver looked to his hand and groaned noticing the mess he had made on the wooden windowpane. "Darnit." He grabbed a towel and began wiping off the blood smear before it was able to set in.
He was listening for Al, any sign that he was laying down, or if he was going to come back downstairs. He knew he was expected to eat tonight, even with him being punished earlier.
There was not a peep made, Al merely laid with his back on the floor as he stared at the mirror. Knowing if he lay too long, that Oliver would discover his not-so-imaginary friend, Tommy, he decided not to care from his tired efforts. Eyes rolled into the back of his head, his good hand gripping the bottom of the mirror stand, as he felt connected to Tommy somehow. He didn't know what it was, but he felt safe. Despite the bed being more comfy, he wanted to lay right here, in the cold wooden floor.
Dinner was almost ready and Oliver was setting out the china and silverware. He had wrapped his hand and was making sure that everything was ready and began setting out the vegetables as he was finishing the pan sear on the meat. He looked out the window waiting to see if Matt would actually return. He and Matt had plans and he wasn't going to allow him to get out of it.
Al was hissing under the stinging of the deer blood seeping deeper and deeper into his wound. It was like a permanent itch delving into his body. He never wanted to deal with this pain, but he knew just shortly after dinner, he would be sick to his stomach again via food poisoning. Eyes were hazy as the lunch round had started, making his stomach curl and his body muscles tense. The curling inward of his shoulder only made him cry out in pain, hissing as tears leaked through his eyes. There it was, the all too familiar pain to remind him of his weaknesses.
Oliver's steps could be heard as he approached Al's bedroom. About a year ago, the boys had been split into two separate rooms. Oliver hadn't given an explanation as to why, but it had happened. Oliver knocked on Al's bedroom door and cleared his throat.
"Al, dear. Dinner is ready, so come down and eat. I made peach cobbler." He spoke in a sing song manner, as if he hadn't stabbed his son in the shoulder.
There was no answer, only the sounds of hissing coming from the far end bathroom no one touched. A cry of pain surged through Al again, as he was gripping his stomach with his good arm and gritting teeth. All he knew was pain, this is all he ever would know. Eyes would go in and out of focus, feeling his body attempting to heal the damage quickly was even more painful! I hate where I am! The pain will never null, and if it did I would only feel it again within a few hours!
"Alright dear, I'll wait until you're finished." Oliver spoke as he turned and walked down the stairs then he smiled. He walked to the kitchen and got the boy a glass of water. He took it to him as he opened his bedroom door and sat it on his nightstand before heading downstairs once more.
Oliver was standing outside facing the wood-line as he sighed. He was secretly hoping that the colony would return soon.
Al could only stare at Oliver's body walking to and away, his eyesight going in and out as he never understood why he stopped holding him after he hurt him— He longed for his touch, for those fingertips to dive into his hair and reassure him. All he ever wanted was to be loved, to be touched, and never would he realize how badly that would get him in trouble later on. He grunted more, feeling the arsenic travel down his abdomen. "I forsake God,..." lips whispered, knowing he would be all alone.
Matt stormed back shortly as he opened the door, as if he had an internal clock before dark was about to set in. Eyes laid onto Oliver, then up the stairs. "Is dinner ready yet?" He looked up the stairs, not looking towards Oliver at all.
"It is. Al will be with us,… shortly." He was doing a bit of cleaning when the brother had stomped in. "Poor darling had a stomach ache." his tone always so sweet, anyone who didn't know him couldn't tell anything about the intent he had, but the boys knew all too well.
"Matt, take off your boots please." He said calmly as he sensed the older brother tense up.
Matt's only emotion he ever knew was really a worry or caution, eyes nodding as he placed his boots on the mat. "A stomach ache, aye?"
"Yes. I brought him a glass of water to ease the pain. If he's not down soon, I'll go and check on him." Oliver sat town the towel and turned to face the colony. "You did an excellent job cutting out the tenderloin today. It fried up quite nicely."
Oliver could cook without any poison and since the favorite would be at home and eating for the first time, in a long time, he made sure not to put arsenic in anything. Part of him felt like Al was punished enough... At least for today. He laughed mentally at the irony, he had poisoned the poor child for years, his body often had stomach aches even if there was no arsenic.
Matt looked up at the stairs, "He's going to beat you down one day, old man. You realize that, don't you?" His purple hues then focused on England.
"I want that day..." He spoke as he drew closer to the man that stood before him. "I wanted to ensure that you two wouldn't be lost, to time, the best way I knew how." He stared back at him as he challenged the boy. "I adore him, and hate him at the same time, I've made him and I'll break him. The only reason he even waits for you is because you comfort him. If I started comforting him, he would be all mine and you could be free... Would you want that? Would you want to leave your little brother here with me? Never to know his touch or his voice again? He is changing, but it's more of an evolution than a complete makeover." He sighed. "Or, we can continue our little ordeals and when your brother requests it, I will drop him off in his own little world and you will remain my dog for all time. Your choice."
Matt stared down Oliver, they were the same height at his age now. "I don't know what I want."
"You should decide soon, my little pet." He spoke as he walked past the colony. "I'll check on Al, poor darling must have a really bad stomach ache." Oliver grabbed up a small pouch and hoped that the water was untouched, the seltzer tab he gathered would make the boy feel settled in moments, maybe it was time to show the unruly beta who the alpha of the family really was.
"Al, dear?" He walked in and saw the glass untouched as he placed a small bit of the seltzer into the water and moved over to the colony.
Al was shaking hard by this point, the stinging of his shoulder and the stomach pain by the tissue in his lining sweltered and made him roll back and forth in pain, it had been quite a few weeks since he had done this much 'bellyaching' on the subject. The saliva in his mouth was dry, only the pain was felt. A deep, wrenching sting as if his stomach was being eaten alive from the inside out.
"Here poppet." the nation spoke in a gentle manner as he did when the colonies were just wee tots. "This will help your stomach. Let me see your shoulder." He spoke as he handed him the glass of water and then he looked into the cupboard for a bottle of liquid that served as an antiseptic.
Al had already re-done his wound wrapping, and Oliver could tell especially from the way the sheets were cut up on the bed. Al smacked the glass away, groaning as he turned his back to him. He was certainly getting spiteful.
"Come now, I'll show you it's not poison, then will you drink it?" He asked the colony as he was actually worried. "Come on now. Be a good lad." He spoke as he gently ran his hand through Al's soft hair.
Al's eyes grew furious, whether it was the hormones or the new self-confidence he just grew, crimson eyes darkened and haunted into Oliver's gaze when he abruptly turned his head. Oliver had never seen that look on Al. It was too late, the fingertips that would usually coo and soothe him only made him more furious. His expression didn't soften, he didn't hiss in pain, he only stared hatefully at the man that had caused him so much. His mind was blank, and his demeanor certainly wasn't the Al that Oliver had been raising—
"Al?" He spoke softly. As he looked at the colony next to him. "Al? Answer me lad." He spoke as he moved over to him and gazed down. He was trying to examine him, something in his eyes. Then he realized, that somehow, someway—that wasn't his sweet little broken Al anymore.
A curdled sound grew into his throat, and before he knew it there not a pain or whimper anymore. The sound grew, and he pursed his lips as he spit right on England's face with a giant swab of saliva. He gauged his reaction, a twisted smirk crossing his face while those red crimson's were on fire.
Oliver for a split moment was in pure shock. Confused was the correct term, then the look quickly turned to disgust and then anger. "You fucking bastard!" He screamed at the colony under him. "How dare you! You spawn of the devil!" He smacked the boy underneath him.
His head turned eerily towards him again, "Smack me again, you little piece of shit." his voice wasn't even Al's, it was smooth and deep. No fluctuation or expression was centered other than that ominous tone that would ring from the bottom of his lungs as his hands gripped Oliver's hips with great force. The strength of being an American was surely kicking in for this teenager.
"What the hell are you? You aren't my son." He spoke as he looked genuinely shocked. He was aroused at the sound of his voice, by the position they were in. "Al." He groaned in a soft whisper. "Hit me Al—Do it, hit me, and I'll hit you and then—"
He wrapped his hands around his colony's neck. "Please—"
"I'm not giving you the fucking pleasure of what you want, you pitiful excuse for an empire. Enough to where you have to pick on little kids..." He sat up, smirking at his father figure while their lips were merely inches apart. "My name... is Tommy..."
"Pitiful?" He growled smacking the country again. He looked at him and gazed into those enraged eyes. "Well, Tommy... How about you give me Al back? Hm? You horrible hell spawn." He spoke as he took the antiseptic and poured it into the wound, so it would alleviate his pain. He was fantasizing about being over the colony under him, moaning his name and crying out for more. Oliver was trying to keep his current internal battle separate.
"I'm not sorry for what I'm about to do. I'll never be sorry. You've hurt him enough to where it's time I come out—"
A stark hand covered England's neck as he began to choke him. The eyes he had slivered into almost that of snake, staring at him while smirking as he saw him struggling. Motions for him made this easy, his hurt arm only giving him a mild satisfaction as if it were a bug bite at this point. The strength of Tommy was something that England had only witnessed since Russia, as he was soon smacked to the wall while the looming figure stood on his knees and hissed at him.
"Horrible disobedient little shit of a colony." He seethed in between uncertain breaths. He was squirming trying to free himself. "I'm sorry, America." He spoke in a coyly matter trying to if in any way draw out the pathetic creature that was Al, compared to this hulking demon that now had the British empire in his grasp. He gazed up at the creature that stood before him. At this moment, faced with true concern for his mortality he regretted all the torture he had done. 'Fucking Matthew... That little shit knew that Al was no better than me.'
Matt was nonchalantly eating dinner silently as he heard the house go completely quiet, there was a chill down his spine. He knew that Tommy was around. Just something that hung in the air all about it was all wrong, and he shook his head as he ate. "Damn good meal you made old man,..." is all he said, eating to his heart's content.
Al's tongue slid out as leaned down and licked Oliver right along his freckled cheek. "We're going to have fun, Oliver Kirkland..." his body shadowed him as he stood up and stared straight down, taking his fist and repeatedly hitting Oliver in the face. It was something personal, something abrupt, and he was too strong to the point where he couldn't help but stop. His bad arm held his neck, as the other fist began wailing on his face until he couldn't even tell who Oliver was from the bruising, the bleeding, and the pus-filled swelling.
Oliver no longer had the will to speak, however he was enjoying it the entire time. Watching the blood coat his fist, the snapping of bone, and the emotionless face. Oliver was smiling inwardly as he endured the beating. This was magical, why hadn't Tommy come earlier? Now he knew the key, he was so pleased that he had decided he wanted to keep Al, but was it too late? Could he actually pin down this crazy animal of a man who was mauling his face?
The man was raw, concentrated, and wanting to make it where Oliver couldn't see because his eyes would be so swollen. Teeth gritted as he began to thrust his fist into him heavier, hurting his own hand as he took Ollie by the hair and gripped it tight, dragging him throughout the house and to the flight of stairs. The bloody trail left a clear mark on the ground as he dragged his hurt body, only cackling as he jerked Oliver's head clear to the stairs and gave him a blunt push to gravitate him head first down the stairway.
At this point Oliver's body had endured enough to plummet him into unconsciousness. Maybe he was sleeping, it was hard to tell actually, but he was laying there. As still as death, he listened to the tanned colony move about, hopefully to do something else other than pummel him.
Matt overheard the body hit the bottom of the stairs, smirking as he cleaned his plate. "Oh, hey old man. Your dinner is getting cold. You should come up here and get it, or are you too old to get up?"
He waited for a response, "... Well, I suppose you're not eating deer tonight. Damn good job you did..."
Al saw him lifeless, and without any further ado he wiped the blood smear off his cheek and slid the finger into his mouth, staring down at him as the blood covered his white shirt under his suspenders. With that, he walked himself down the stairs slowly as he slicked back his hair and stepped over Oliver's slightly unconscious body to retrieve his shoes. Putting them on, he stared at Oliver. "What's wrong, pops? Can't—GET IT UP?" He laughed as he laced his old shoes.
Matt shook his head, "Sometimes revenge is a dish best served cold... or in this sense, bloody."
Oliver could barely move. He was barely breathing. His mind swimming with enraged thoughts, and how Matt would pay for those comments. Then there was a part of him that was enamored at the thought of being controlled by something he had made, his creations were magnificent, just a few things were needed to perfect Al, and now just to relax and let him release this rage.
Al stepped on Oliver as if he were a welcome mat going back up the stairs, hearing his bones cracking as he walked his shoes all over him by sliding and grinding the sole against his body. "hmm... can't go into town looking like a pauper now can I, sunshine?" he began to step up the stairs, smirking as he called to matt. "I'll be back later." His footsteps vanished throughout the house as he walked to the mirror, easily stepping through it.
Matt shook his head, "Only time he misses an arsenic free diner, that bastard..."