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 8]
Sitting in a car with a person you intend to betray was like sitting in a zoo enclosure wearing a gorilla suit. You were fine as long as you were believed to be the gorilla you were dressed as. But the moment you slipped up, you would be torn apart by the wild animals you had been trying to befriend.
Alfred wondered if Jane Goodall ever felt like this. Benedict Arnold certainly had, but Alfred tried not to think of this in terms of treachery and betrayal. He was doing this for the greater good. He tried not to look at Arthur directly as he reassured himself. It made him feel all guilty and stuff.
He flicked on his left turn signal and tried to ignore the feeling.
"Turn back now." said Hitler. The unpleasant feeling in Alfred's stomach lurched.
Since when was Hitler his voice of reason? Or was it conscience?
He had the sudden horrifying image of Hitler mixed with Jiminy Cricket.
Voice of reason. Hitler was definitely a voice of reason. Except he wasn't. No. Definitely wasn't. In fact- Damn. What had he been thinking about? Crickets? No, that wasn't right.
"Light's green." said Arthur.
Alfred startled at the British accent and pulled a little too hard on the steering wheel. He corrected before he hit the curb, but was subjected to some rather choice words about his driving skills.
Oh, right. Benedict Arnold. Gorilla suit. He grit his teeth and kept driving. His safe haven was just two blocks away, and then this would all be over. Two blocks later, he found what he was looking for.
The safe haven that Tino had promised was apparently one of those chain restaurants that hadn't branched out of the state yet. Odd. But at least it gave Alfred a good excuse for pulling over.
"I'm hungry."
Arthur rolled his eyes and grumbled, but got out of the car. He stretched, neck cracking as Alfred locked up.
The restaurant's interior was tacky; walls covered in red paint and framed photographs. Alfred couldn't make out any sort of theme besides obnoxious. The sign at the entrance said 'Seat Yourselves' so Alfred meandered towards the nearest booth, Arthur following behind. He sat down. Presumably, someone would serve them soon.
Alfred stretched his legs. He was just beginning to think he was out of the woods when Arthur twitched and began surveying the restaurant cautiously.
"Something's not right."
"What?" he asked, internally beginning to panic.
"Don't know." Arthur replied, then fixed Alfred with a glare that left no room for argument. "Stay here."
Arthur pushed himself up out of the booth and disappeared behind the 'Employees Only' door.
It wasn't until Arthur left that Alfred realized how empty the room was.
Alfred unwrapped his silverware and fiddled with his fork. Eventually, he got bored or spinning it around and made the discovery that his silverware was magnetized. To entertain himself, he began testing how close he could get his knife and fork before magnetic force would pull them together with a 'plink'.
Plink.
Plink.
Plink.
"Mr. Jones?"
Alfred jumped, his silverware falling under the table with a dull clatter.
"Uh- Yes?"
"Thank you for coming. Tino wishes to inform you that you've outlived your usefulness. He sends his regrets."
Every hope Alfred had crumbled to ash, his mouth going dry. This was a set up. Tino had used him.
The man reached under his jacket, presumably to reach for a weapon, and then went tense, freezing in place. Alfred glanced down at the thin gray line of the knife Arthur had just placed against the thug's throat.
Where had Arthur even come from? Whatever happened to footsteps? Didn't these people make noise?
"I'm afraid Tino's been misinformed. I find that Jones will still be of use to me yet."
Oh fuck. Had Arthur heard that? Did he know?
If he did, Alfred was dead. Either the thugs would kill him, or Arthur would.
"I don't know how you managed to find me, but it was unfortunate for you that you did."
Arthur didn't know. Hope flared in Alfred's stomach, only to mix with more of that nauseous guilty feeling.
The man scoffed at Arthur's words and whistled twice. Three more thugs slunk into the room, looking large and intimidating. Alfred watched as Arthur scanned the room, green eyes calculating.
"Well? You gonna drop it, or am I gonna have to get my boys to make you?" the man asked.
Arthur reluctantly let him go, letting the knife drop to the floor.
"Not so tough now, are you?" the man sneered. "You're just a bunch of punks. The both of you. Well, where I come from? We teach punks lessons. So which of you wants to learn first?"
He sized them up and, after noting Alfred's considerable bulk, reached for Arthur.
This was a horrible, horrible idea.
Arthur grabbed his outstretched arm and spun, back to the man, before flipping him in a textbook hip toss. The man hit the floor on his back, wheezing. He made an aborted attempt at getting up. Arthur curled his leg up towards his torso and then lashed out, effectively curb stomping the man into submission.
Alfred stared, shocked, as the thug went down for good. Arthur had taken him out in, literally, seven seconds.
Tino's men shuffled around anxiously, looking at their fallen comrade on the floor and then back up at the Brit.
Arthur smiled, something feral lingering in his grin. "Well, come on then."
Alfred took this as his cue to hide under the table and be quiet.
The thugs, who obviously didn't know Arthur as well as Alfred did, decided to charge.
Thug number one hadn't learned anything from watching Arthur, and threw a punch as soon as he was in range. Arthur sidestepped and then knocked him on his ass with a leg sweep before dodging a blow from thug number two. He brought his fists up and lashed out with a mean right hook that collided just below the thug's ear and snapped his head to the side. Thug number two collapsed with his mouth open and his eyes rolled up. He hit the floor at roughly the same time thug one stood up and thug three entered the fight.
Arthur blocked three blows from thug three and then ducked under a wild swing from number one. He pivoted on his heel as he came back up, driving his elbow into thug one's stomach, right below the ribcage. Number one hit the floor again, and this time he didn't get back up. Thug three attempted a few more attacks before he went down with the help of a vicious roundhouse kick from Arthur that knocked him into a table. There was a cacophony of crashes before everything quieted to a deafening silence.
Alfred's inner Street Fighter announcer screamed 'K.O.!' into the carnage. It was kind of awesome. You know, in an 'oh-my-god-they-tried-to-kill-me' sort of way.
"Alfred!" Arthur barked. "Car! Now!"
Alfred scrambled out from under the table and joined Arthur in a mad dash for the door. He was the getaway driver, and for once he really didn't mind his job.
It was time to get the hell out of dodge.
Alfred sped out of the parking lot and past buildings, ignoring stoplights and road signs in his quest to find the highway. He finally found the exit he was looking for and took off at speeds that probably weren't legal even on the autobahn.
He was just starting to relax and lay off the gas when Arthur spoke up.
"We're being followed. Can this hunk of junk move any faster?"
Alfred had a sudden epiphany.
He was in a car chase. He was in an honest to god car chase with a secret agent and bad guys in a van and everything. He always thought it'd be cooler. More like 'Bullitt' and less terrifying.
Alfred floored it, eyes flicking up every so often to watch the speck in his rear view mirror get closer and more car shaped. Arthur caught sight of this.
"Stop looking back. I'm looking back. You watch the damned road." he snapped.
"But how will I know if they're gaining?" Alfred asked, glancing up at the mirror again.
"Trust me, when they catch up, you'll know."
It wasn't a very reassuring thought.
He kept his eyes on the road though. His hands grasped the steering wheel for dear life and he watched as the broken lines zipped by faster and faster, and Arthur grew more tense beside him, and the sound of another engine grew louder. His grip turned tighter, hands going white knuckled at ten and two.
They were coming up fast. Alfred was starting to wonder if they needed to think up another plan when Arthur threw his hands over his head and bent double, screaming for Alfred to "Get down!"
Alfred obediently ducked as far down as he could without losing sight of the road. The sound of gunfire ripped through the air and then Alfred's rear window shattered. As glass rained down on the backseat, Alfred realized he was going to die. He was going to die and his insurance premiums were going to go through the roof. There was no way his agent was going to believe this story.
Three gun bursts later, Alfred was still alive, but his car was very much in a bad way. He turned to Arthur, who was still crouched down in his seat, watching the proceedings through the side view mirror.
"Why aren't you firing back?"
Arthur glared at him from his contorted position.
"I've got a handgun, not a semi-automatic. The damage I could foreseeably do to them is minimal and not worth the ammo I'd have to expend."
"Well, do something!"
"Do I look like an action hero to you?"
Alfred wanted to deliver a snarky comment about the martial arts expo Arthur had given back at the restaurant, but never got the chance. The gunman in the van opened fire again, and suddenly Arthur no longer had a side mirror to look at. He also didn't have a window. Wind whipped through the car, stirring up napkins and various junk food wrappers. Arthur swore amongst a whirlwind of trash, though whether he was swearing at being shot at or the garbage was open to interpretation.
Deciding to try taking matters into his own hands, Alfred swerved onto an off-ramp in the hopes that they could ditch their pursuers. To his right, the ground fell away sharply, turning from gently sloped grass to a steep gravel incline. Something told him this turn hadn't been a good idea.
For one thing, it hadn't thrown off the van. It was still hot on their tail and gaining.
"Ideas?" he shouted, not looking away from the road and the approaching vehicle.
The van pulled up alongside them. If they opened fire at his range, there was no way they'd miss. The flimsy construction of Alfred's car wouldn't stand up to high velocity rounds. He waited for the man in the passenger seat to open fire. He didn't. Instead, he seemed to be bracing himself. The driver gave the wheel a hard jerk. Alfred figured out what was happening just as Arthur began to call out a warning.
"They're trying to-" the cars collided. Having decided bullets weren't working, Tino's men were now using their car as a battering ram. The force of the impact threw Alfred to the side and he winced as his seatbelt dug into his shoulder. Arthur hit the side of the door and gasped, grabbing his head as he finished his sentence "-run us off the road!"
Alfred managed to be hopeful for about all of three seconds before they were rammed again. He managed to brace himself this time, but he was still tossed to the side like a ragdoll. He yanked the steering wheel, bringing the car farther from the edge. He took a look at their opponents.
Alfred's optimism fled after noting how outclassed they were. Tino's men were in a souped up SUV and Alfred was in a hand-me-down compact car with loose door handles and windows that stuck. He was surprised his ride hadn't already crumpled like poor quality tin foil.
The fall to his right was also getting steadily higher.
He turned to Arthur in the hopes that his companion had finally come up with a plan. Arthur hadn't. He also appeared to be bleeding slightly from his forehead. He'd probably cut it on the glass fragments of his window during that first bludgeoning.
"You ok?" Alfred shouted.
"Not really!" Arthur shouted back. "Go faster!"
"I'm giving her all she's got!"
Given the circumstances, Star Trek references probably weren't appropriate. But Alfred didn't have anything else to fall back on, and being able to quote Scotty was comforting. It was either Star Trek or hysteria, and Star Trek was the better option.
There was another slam, this one accompanied by the shriek of twisting metal and the pop of guardrails coming loose. His front right tire skidded over asphalt, crunched over gravel, and then spun wildly in midair. Alfred had one last moment of blank terror before his car went over the edge, passengers and all.
Disregarding the tumble down the cliff, it was a rather unremarkable car crash.
[End Chapter]
Yay! Action sequences! If only I didn't suck at them…
The slow update warning's still in effect. Sorry. My schedule's still wonky.
Also, next chapter will contain character death… Sort of…
Continue?