Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.
Warnings: Slash, AU, swearing, sub-par writing, wonky plots, appallingly slow updates, and Hitler jokes.
I don't know what I'm doing.
Unbeta'd.
[Chapter 5]
Tino was short. He was short, and kind of pudgy, and quick to smile, and easily flustered, and blushed a lot. He tripped over curbs, and stumbled over his words, and charged headfirst into awkward conversations.
Tino was what some might call 'adorkable'.
Alfred was terrified of this man.
This man who had ensnared him with little more than a tilt of the head. This man who had forced him out of the Seven Eleven with a giggle and a wave at the cashier. This man who had done nothing violent, who had done nothing threatening, who had done nothing more than introduce himself. This man who had gently grabbed Alfred's arm and led him down the road, chattering happily all the while.
Arthur needed a gun to obtain docile behavior from Alfred.
Tino had managed it with a curve of his lips.
Alfred walked. It felt remarkably similar to being marched at gunpoint. He found himself wishing Tino actually had a gun, so that he could rationalize being afraid of a man who was a head shorter and several pounds lighter than he was.
How the hell did he keep finding himself in these situations? Maybe it was his destiny to be ordered around by shorter men, and he'd just managed to avoid it so far. That would make sense. It was a really sucky destiny though. This was all The Universe's fault, wasn't it?
Fuck you, Universe. Fuck you.
And you know what? Those monks who hang out with you all the time chanting 'Om' don't even like you. They don't want to be one with you. They talk smack behind your back. They think you're fat. And ugly!
And another thing-
Alfred kept up his stream of swears at The Universe until Tino led them to the intended destination.
Subway.
Why couldn't he ever be captured by normal psychopaths?
Tino bought him lunch.
No threats. No secret backrooms full of torture devices. No lurking henchmen. No ominous black car.
Just lunch.
Tino ordered Alfred's favorite, done exactly the way he liked. And Tino did it like he was a close friend rather than a stranger who had no business knowing how Alfred liked his sandwiches.
Alfred blankly observed the woman behind the counter as she put his sandwich together. He felt violated. Meal preferences weren't exactly intimate, but still. If Tino knew this, there was no telling what else he might know.
Alfred's shoe size. Alfred's favorite color. The details of Alfred's medical records. If Tino had access to them, then he would know about Alfred's frequent fevers in his youth, and about his losing battle against acne in high school, and how the thin scar on the inside of his right knee was from when he'd nearly impaled it on a fence in a failed attempt at flight.
Alfred shuddered.
"Are you alright, Mr. Jones?"
A terse nod was the response. Tino gave a little sigh.
"Mr. Jones, please, there's no need for this. I'm not going to hurt you. I just want to talk."
"Somehow, I don't believe you." No eye contact had been made in their conversation so far. Alfred avoided Tino's searching eyes by staring forcefully at the colorful depictions of food across the back wall. The cashier was unnerved, and one hand had strayed under the counter. Probably towards an emergency button or a bat. Tino lured their hands back out by having them make change.
"Come along, Mr. Jones." Tino handed him his sandwich and sauntered towards the door.
Alfred was led outside again. His captor settled on a nearby bench and made himself comfortable. Alfred stood stiffly, plastic bag crumpled in his hand, and waited for whatever was going to happen next.
Tino patted the space next to him in invitation.
"Sit."
"I'd rather stand."
Tino gave a shrug that obviously meant 'suit yourself' and started on his lunch.
"What exactly has Mr. Kirkland told you about me?"
"He told me you're a murderer. He told me you're a terrorist. He told me you're the type of person I don't feel comfortable eating lunch with."
"Hmm..." Tino seemed nonplussed at being called such things "And what did Mr. Kirkland tell you about himself?"
"He's a good person. He's an agent. And he's going to stop you." Alfred replied with a surprising amount of conviction.
"Oh? All by himself?"
"Yes." Arthur might be small, but he was a determined little spitfire. Alfred had complete confidence in the Brit when it came to getting things done.
Tino hummed and flicked away a limp bit of lettuce.
"A bit strange, don't you think, that one man would be responsible for such an important job. Surely, for such an important task, they would be able to send a team. You would expect at least technical support even if there were no other personnel to spare."
"He said there were... complications." Alfred admitted uneasily.
Tino gave a wry smile. "Yes, well, being convicted of high treason will certainly cause... complications."
Shocked, Alfred finally met Tino's gaze. There was no lie in those eyes. Just soft truth.
"Treason?" the word left in a rush with all the air in his lungs. It was suddenly difficult to breathe.
Tino chewed, swallowed, and replied in kind. "Treason."
"He...ah, didn't mention that."
"No. I can't imagine he would."
"You- You're making this up."
There was sympathy in that violet gaze.
"I'm sorry Mr. Jones."
"No. Arthur told me-" Tino cut him off before he could get too far.
"Well, since Arthur's told you all about himself, I assume you know who this is."
He pulled out an iPhone. Latest gen. Alfred might've been jealous if the situation had been different. Instead he focused his attention to the picture now on high definition display. It was a man. Blonde, longish hair, scraggly beard, blue eyes, reasonably attractive.
Alfred had no idea who he was. Tino knew this and elaborated.
"This is Francis Bonnefoy. He was born in France, but later acquired citizenship in the UK. He is Arthur's partner. Or, at least, he was until Arthur lured him into a building rigged with Semtex and dropped the roof on him."
He flicked his thumb over the touchscreen and the picture changed. It was a hospital bed with a white lumpy shape resting in it. Whoever they were, they were in bad shape if the amount of tubes and machines they were hooked up to was any indication.
"He's in a coma. Odds of recovery are slim."
Tino's eyes met Alfred's once more.
"He tried to kill his partner, Mr. Jones."
"Arthur wouldn't-"
But who was he to say what Arthur would and would not do. They'd only known each other three days.
"Mr. Jones, he's not the man you think he is. He's a rouge agent. He's done a lot of bad things, and he knows we're closing in on him. He's desperate. He's using you, Mr. Jones."
Well, yes. But for the greater good. Right?
Tino flicked his thumb again and the picture changed.
"Did he mention this man? I can't imagine he would. Allow me to introduce you. This is Berwald Oxenstierna."
Another blonde. Short hair, blue eyes, glasses, scary looking. Alfred was less than impressed.
"What, did Arthur drop a building on him too?"
Something raw flashed across Tino's face. He struggled to keep himself composed.
"No. Mr. Kirkland shot him. He-" Tino struggled and finally managed to croak out "He didn't make it."
Alfred felt incredibly awkward. "Were you friends?"
"We were close. We were... partners. I-" Tino's voice broke. "I'm sorry. I need a moment. Excuse me."
Tino closed his eyes and drew in several shuddering breaths before he was able to continue.
"Berwald worked for INTERPOL. Berwald noticed things, little things, things no one else did. He connected all the dots and then decided to go after Arthur himself. Stupid idiot." The last part was uttered with fond bitterness.
Tino had probably forgotten Alfred was there for a moment.
"And then..." Tino made a vague gesture that was interpreted by Alfred as 'he went and got himself gunned down by Arthur'.
"I couldn't- couldn't leave things the way they were. So I took up the chase. Of course, it wasn't easy. If Mr. Kirkland doesn't want to be found, then it is remarkably hard to find him."
Tino's face soured.
"I had almost lost hope. But then there was a scrap with some of my men about three days ago. I followed what evidence there was, and that led me to you, Mr. Jones."
Alfred was immediately suspicious.
"So, what? Now you want me to be your lackey? Are you asking me to help you catch Arthur?"
Tino shook his head.
"All I'm asking is that you be careful Mr. Jones. Get away if you can."
Tino stood up and carelessly tossed his wrappers away.
"Arthur will have noticed you're gone. He'll come looking for you soon. For obvious reasons, I can't be here when he does."
He turned to face Alfred.
"I don't have much time, but please take this before I go."
Tino gave him a slip of paper.
"I have people stationed at this address. If you can make it there, they'll help you."
There was indeed an address written on it in black loopy letters. Alfred tucked it into his back pocket, which earned him a reassuring smile from Tino.
"Don't worry, Mr. Jones. You'll be fine." With a wave, the Finn was gone.
Alfred stood silently for a long moment and then carefully tipped his untouched meal into the nearest garbage can.
[End Chapter]
Sweden's dead.
France is in a coma.
Apologies to their respective fangirls/fanboys.
Apologies also for the roughness of the chapter. I didn't have as much time to edit as I would've liked.
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