Where's a fishing pole when you need it? XD

Warning: Angst, weapons, death threats, fight scene.

Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN HETALIA. I have fun manipulating their characters, though

Against the Clock III

"What!"

"Quickly, Angleterre!" Francis shouted over the din of the approaching crowd. "Reverse so that Romano can get back on!"

"But—!" Arthur tried to protest, but a prickly lump had suddenly formed in his throat. He was at a complete loss about what to do. Should he reverse and put the rest of his group in danger by having them so dangerously close to the mob? Or should he continue on and hope that Lovino would be quick enough to escape their vicious clutches? He didn't have to think upon both the options before making a decision.

No, he would not let Lovino die. They were in this together now, and they had to keep alive for the sake of their nations…. No matter how irksome the Italian may be at times.

All the while Arthur was thinking, Francis was staring at him, a look of incredulous horror on his face. "Qu'est-ce que vous faisez, ami? We can't just leave him!"

Arthur gave him a determined look and shifted gears fiercely. "No, we can't." It was the only thing he had ever agreed upon between him and Francis.

Before he could dwell on that disturbing fact, he pressed on the gas (gently this time) and reversed so that Lovino was a few feet away from the back wheels.

"France!" Arthur snapped. Francis turned, surprised by the fact that he was not being called his usual 'Frog.' "Lean out and tell the rest of them to get Romano. And quickly! We haven't got much time as it is." His eyes darted to his side mirror where he could see the mob gaining ground with terrifying speed.

"D'accord, Angleterre." And Francis leaned out of the window, crouching on his seat until half of his body was hanging out. "Hé! Hé! Amis! Get Romano! Vite!"

There were a few yells in response, and the truck shifted as it was relieved of at least one of its occupants. Arthur peered into the mirror and saw that it was Gilbert. He scoffed. "Well, that's not surprising in the least."

"Prussia…" Francis muttered, peering out his mirror also. "Non, that's definitely not—" Then the Frenchman gripped his seat, fingers digging into the cushion. Arthur turned to him quizzically. Francis had completely blanched. "Prussia!" This was followed by a string of frantic French, spoken so fast and tremulously that Arthur couldn't decipher it.

"What is it?"

"Regardez-vous!" And he pointed to the mirror.

Arthur did and his stomach seemed to drop out. "Shit!"

The mob was swarming up past the back of the vehicle, and from where he sat, Arthur could see neither Lovino nor Gilbert. He unbuckled his seat belt, intending to leap out and run to their aid, but Francis threw an arm across his torso, pushing him back into his seat with surprising force.

When Arthur gave him a furious look, Francis shook his head quickly. "Non, Angleterre! It's too dangerous."

Arthur looked incredulously at him, then began to struggle out of his grasp. "I can handle it, dammit! It's not your choice to make. Let go of me!"

But Francis's grip was firm, and he even leaned over to wrap his arms around Arthur's shoulders and pulled him back. "I can't let you do that! We need a driver!"

Arthur continued to struggle. "But—Romano—is—dying!"

"You don't know that, ami." Francis said, not letting up. "Prussia may not be what he once was, but he's still strong. He won't let Romano die, I promise. Stay, please, Arthur!"

Arthur stopped jerking in his arms, in shock from hearing his name come from the Frenchman's mouth. He was still for a moment before he pushed Francis grudgingly off of him and sat back in his seat. "Don't touch me."

Francis sat back in his seat also, not seeming surprised. "Look, ami. Prussia is still alive, just like I told you."

Arthur's eyes darted to the side mirror and his heart sped up. When he had calmed down some, he turned to Francis, a smile on his face despite the severity of their predicament. "So it seems. An idiot, but brave idiot."

Gilbert continued to hold onto Lovino as the truck wound its way toward the hill. Beside him, Yao and Sadiq were arguing with each other over how many foes they had taken down in a fight.

"I am oldest nation. So I take down more enemies."

"Well, you may be an old-ass, but I was a congregation of tribes before I settled down. We looted and murdered in almost every city we came across."

"Ha! You'd be lucky to have conquered as many people as I have when you're always stuffing your fa—"

The truck suddenly swerved sharply. Sadiq cursed as his head bumped against the fuel tank. Beside him, Yao yelped, losing his grip and sliding over so that he was practically sitting in Sadiq's lap. Gilbert, meanwhile, also bumped his head, and was so caught up in dealing with his pain, that he hadn't noticed his grip had lightened on Lovino, who was sitting beside him, and felt a weight lift from his left side.

He heard the cry of pain before he even noticed that the Italian was no longer on the back of the truck, and Gilbert, alarmed, attempted to stand but was knocked back against the tank. He watched, heart pounding erratically as the truck sped off away from Lovino, the Italian currently howling and clutching his injured shoulder on the ground.

Beside him, Yao removed himself from Sadiq's lap and shouted, "What hap—?"

Gilbert pointed tremulously to where Lovino lay on the runway. "Romano!"

Sadiq nudged Yao and shouted to him, "Wave your hands, yell, do something to stop the British dumbass from driving away!"

Offended at being ordered around so rudely, Yao swallowed his anger and waved in the driver's side mirror. "Stop! Stop! He fell off!"

It took a few moments for the truck to come to a complete stop, and many more for the truck to back up. It sounded like a scuffle had taken place in the front of the vehicle between Francis and Arthur… and Arthur's voice tended to carry whenever he was angry or frustrated—which was quite often and a voice that most of them knew very well.

When they were a few feet away from Lovino, Gilbert jumped off the back, gathering the screaming Italian in his arms before looking up and finding himself in some serious shit.

The crowd was sweeping around them, weapons raised and ready. Soon, both Gilbert and Lovino were crouched in the thick of it, unsure of what to do. Gilbert wanted more than anything to try and make a quick escape, but Lovino had thoroughly latched onto his waist, hands locked and surprisingly strong. Gilbert frowned. This was the worst of times for Lovino to suddenly find his clingy strength. Heart pounding rapidly in his chest, the Prussian continued to crouch, at a complete loss about what to do.

Then a man close to them, brandishing a machete, said, "Stand, and stay where you are."

Gilbert did exactly that, dragging the whimpering mess of the Italian with him, looking around.

They all had their weapons raised and ready to strike, and they didn't look like they were about to just let them go peacefully. Gilbert's worst fears were confirmed when a man said, "You will agree to come with us or die trying to escape." Instantly he felt as if a vat of cold water had just been poured down his back.

Gilbert gathered himself and straightened, holding Lovino close to him so that the Italian no longer had a need to cling onto him protectively and the smaller nation let go. He looked at who seemed to be the leader: the one with the machete. "We will come quietly." He agreed, and bowed his head.

Lovino buried his face in the Prussian's chest and sobbed quite loudly. Gilbert could do nothing else for him but rub his back soothingly. It didn't seem to help much.

Around them, the crowd shifted, contemplating whether or not they should seize the vehicle also. A couple or yards so away, Yao and Sadiq looked horrified and conflicted.

"No," their leader snapped. "We'll leave 'em. If we're lucky, they'll go back to their pals on that hill and arrange a trade with us for these two."

"And what would that be for, Boss?"

"The plane of course, dumbass."

Gilbert stiffened at this. Lovino cried even harder into his shirt. If he didn't find a way to escape this crowd, there would be no way the others would survive… unless they were heartless assholes and decided to just leave them behind, which he was pretty sure Ludwig would not allow.

"Please," Gilbert begged. "Don't hurt us."

One of them scoffed. "Yeah, like your little friends up there on that hill aren't as violent as us."

"Ya see," the boss said, his machete twitching in his hand. "We all have needs, brother. It's not like we're doin' this out of enjoyment. In fact, it's quite a pain in the ass to lug two spineless twerps around for ransom. Really hinders our survival, if you know what I mean." He smirked.

"Of course, ja." Gilbert said, nodding enthusiastically and Lovino clung even tighter to his shirt as he spread his arms. "Take us. We won't struggle. Anything… please, just don't hurt us."

A man with a sawed-off shotgun nearby leered. "Heh, we'll try."

Two burly-looking men came up with a length of rope, intending to tie them off. With violent force they tried to jerk them apart, but Lovino gave a sharp cry and refused to let go.

"Damn bitch," one of the men growled as he tried to pry the Italian's fingers from Gilbert's now tear-soaked shirt. "Won't let go."

Gilbert pulled Lovino to him, and for a moment, the Italian ceased crying and just hiccuped. "Nein, he stays with me." When they all looked at him quizzically, he elaborated: "He's got some… mental disabilities."

Lovino broke in his sobbing to land a hard punch to Gilbert's ribs that caught him off guard. He coughed a little, turning it into a laugh. "Little guy can't be parted from me, see?" Gilbert laughed breathlessly.

The men gave each other suspicious looks, but shrugged and tied them both together. When one man was tightening the knot and looking absentmindedly at the other, chatting quietly, Gilbert slyly slipped in a finger.

"All right," huffed the man. "Ya know where to take 'em." Then he turned to them both and smiled wickedly. "We'll ensure ya have a… comfortable journey."

Gilbert had to suppress the urge to kick the man straight in his potatoes and instead forced a smile. "Thank you. Thanks very much, sir." The 'sir' part was hard to manage and he ended up squeaking it out in effort to hide his rage.

"Off ya go, then. We'll make sure to get the word to your buddies about our deal."

The crowd parted to make way for them, Lovino being forced to walk beside Gilbert, now in hysterics.

Did he really believe that Gilbert would just give up like that? This was just tactics… and being a rather war-fond ex-nation, the albino knew all the tricks and sweet-talk he would need to catch the mob by surprise.

When they were nearly at the end of the mob and the way was clear, Gilbert turned to those guiding him and said, "I'll just try to explain what we're doing." And he bent down to talk to Lovino.

The Italian looked a right mess. His face was pale so that his puffy red eyes stood out immensely. His nose was running (Great, now I have the shit all over my shirt…) and tears were rolling down his face every time he blinked.

"Romano," Gilbert whispered, but Lovino was crying too hard to hear. "Romano!" he hissed louder, and finally the Italian peered up at him with wide, green eyes. It took a moment for Gilbert to find his words, for Lovino's gaze was like a child's looking to an adult for help. "Listen to me, okay? I think I can untie us."

"Think," It was more a squeak than a question.

"All right, I know." Gilbert sighed, then continued, "But I need you to run as soon as I do."

"Where?" It was a wonder the man was still in a comprehensible state.

"I'll punch a few guys out so that you can get back to the truck. But I need you to be ready… and fast, okay?"

"… si…"

"Don't be scared now, ja?"

Lovino whimpered and dug his fingers deeper into the folds of his shirt, shaking his head.

Gilbert wished he could offer more encouragement, but his hands were tied, so he settled for pressing closer to the frightened Italian. "There's no need to be scared. I'll do all the work. All you have to do is run. I'm too awesome to get caught, so don't worry about me."

Lovino looked up at him again, giving him an eat-shit look that clearly said 'I don't care if your sorry ass is caught', but Gilbert took it as a 'yes.'

It took a moment, for Lovino to let go of him, almost as if he was hesitant to leave him, which wasn't very surprising seeing as Gilbert was his only source of protection. As soon as he did, though, Gilbert wriggled his thumb through the knot, and the ropes tumbled off of them to form a useless pile at their feet.

The crowd seemed to stop breathing for a moment in which Gilbert muttered, "Run."

And Lovino did. Fast. Gilbert had to admit he was impressed by how quick the Italian could move.

Then again, he was scared for his life.

But there was no need. For as soon as Gilbert was free of the ropes, he punched the two guards behind him in the face, allowing Lovino a clear path to the truck. He watched him go, his gut twisting with anxiety, but he couldn't watch to see if Lovino made it to the truck for very long, as the two men behind him had recovered and were now cursing and brandishing their weapons at him menacingly.

"Shit-eating motherfucker!" one of the men growled, trying to staunch his bloody broken nose. "Now you've done it!"

"We'll kill you and all your fuckin' friends!"

The boss stood off to the side, not involving himself in the fight that was erupting, but smiling in perverse amusement. "We tried to convince you through peaceful means. Now you'll die."

"Ha! Peaceful means?" Gilbert growled, kicking a charging man in the shin and punching his friend twice in the shoulder, dislocating it and toppling the man to the ground. "Since when did weapons pointed at newcomers signal a peaceful agreement?"

He turned to swipe at an oncoming attacker, striking him square in the chest. The man fell to the ground with a thud, and Gilbert yelped as he felt the scabs on his back rip open, hot blood trailing its way down his spine.

The distraction of his wounds was enough to get him a hefty knock to the shoulder. He stumbled back, regaining his balance and striking out at a couple more men, thoroughly bowling them over in his attempt to reach the truck. To his utter relief, Lovino had already clambered on, now clinging to Sadiq, the Turkish man trying his hardest to shake him off his arm.

Gilbert ran the short distance between him and the truck, guns going off behind him. Bullets whizzed by his head as he vaulted over the last few men in his way, knocking them down in the process, and leapt onto the truck.

The Prussian had barely secured himself on the truck, when Yao waved back at Arthur, yelling, "Go! Go! We got them!"

Immediately, the truck sped off, this time not swerving so sharply, bullets chinking off the tank and strips of scrap metal Sadiq had. Gilbert let out a rough "Oof!" as Lovino ducked some bullets and wrapped his arms around his waist, squeezing so tightly, Gilbert thought he would burst.

"Easy, Romano…" he muttered, trying to pry the Italian's vicelike hands off of him.

But it was a hopeless effort.

Translations:

Qu'est-ce vous faisez?-What are you doing?

D'accord-Okay

Hé!-Hey!

Regardez-vous!-Look!

A Word From the Writer: Romano Mode=Locked. I don't think he'll be letting go of Prussia any time soon. I bet he would make a very stylish (if not bitchy) belt. That's designer Italian leather, my friends. XD