I'm back in black~! And our boys just can't catch a break. XD

Warning: Angst, threatening with weapons and rape, blunt force fatality.

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

Bloodhound

The nations were shocked and also unarmed. Ludwig immediately let go of Alfred and rushed over to Gilbert's side, who was currently shielding the Italies; Lovino was holding his brother close to him, his face pallid and terror-stricken, while Feliciano cried helplessly in fear. Arthur backed toward the tents, ropes still in hand, a look of horror on his face. Francis dove for Matthew, helping to protect the injured Sadiq. Ivan increased his hold on Alfred's arm. Yao and Kiku both backed away, Kiku trying to slip out his hidden katana before one of the men spotted him and snapped, "Drop it!"

Kiku did so, scowling like a defensive cat.

Without having to be directed, the men moved toward their targets, handcuffs in hand. The nations were pulled from one another, Feliciano giving a harsh cry when he was torn from his brother. Lovino responded by shouting curses at the man trying to take him away, but the man gave him a hard slap to the face. Lovino stumbled back, lip bleeding and stunned. The man then spun the rebellious Italian around and cuffed him, Lovino now whimpering in shock.

Once they were all subdued—Ivan unsettling the man guarding him with one of his signature death glares—an older man dressed more ornately than the others walked into the center of the clearing and said, "Okay, folks. This is how it's going to go. We are the Bloodhound Unit of Organization Coup and were alerted to an unknown group in this region and were dispatched to invesitgate. Upon interrogation of the locals and observation of your camp activities and conversations, we have reason to believe that you are all in favor of a deceptive government. As so, we will be taking you to the closest facility and storing you until escorts arrive to take you to the Organization headquarters." He then motioned to the rest of his group and said, "Line them up. The rest of you, stay behind and gather their things. We're heading back."

Alfred struggled with the guy holding him, shouting out profanities until he received a hefty punch to the stomach. The American stopped yelling to cough up clots of blood.

Ivan could do nothing even with his large size (two men were assigned to him for that purpose), but he could glare like hell and that was enough to intimidate the men to the point they were shuddering and offering him more space.

Arthur was glaring as well, not at the men, but at himself. How could he not have known? All the precautions he went through with his magic and he still couldn't keep them safe. He felt so useless. If only there was something else I could do…

Then Arthur smiled. There was, but he'd have to wait for the right moment.

Francis saw Arthur smiling and was worried that the Briton had finally broke and gone crazy. It wouldn't surprise Francis in the least after all that had happened in the last few days.

It was still dark as they made their way through the town, the sky lightening on the horizon just over the treetops. Arthur expected for them to be arriving to a hideout somewhere pretty soon, but was surprised (and a tad alarmed) to see that they were in fact heading out of town toward the woods on the other side.

They continued to walk for a long while, Feliciano initially crying loudly until a sock was stuffed into his mouth. Lovino didn't take this kindly and tried to protest, but he was also gagged.

Ludwig and Gilbert, kept apart by a few men, were wearing identical scowls, though Ludwig's was more intimidating, mostly because he used it more often.

Yao, meanwhile, was walking with great importance, giving the men surrounding him the outward appearance of his body guards. Kiku was walking just a few paces behind him, eyes narrowed like a cat's.

Sadiq was being supported by one man, gritting his teeth the whole time, though more out of anger than pain. His bandages were bleeding and he desperately needed to rest, he was so exhausted. Matthew, meanwhile, walked behind him, head down and shuddering.

After traipsing until evening through the woods, they arrived at what looked to be a bunker. Without a word, they were all directed into it and into one of the rooms at the very back.

It was dark, with no windows and only a lantern for light. The walls were gray and covered in filth. They were guided to the back of the room, the men forcing them to sit on their knees in a crescent formation. The men stood before them, aiming their guns at each of them in case one of them decided to make a move.

Then the leader stepped forward, arms folded, and said, "So, this is how things will go down. We keep you here a couple of days to confirm your capture with headquarters. Then one of our associates with armed guards will drive you there for a decision about your punishment."

They were all silent for a moment until Arthur glared at him and said, "Like hell you will, bastard."

Alfred flashed a surprised look over to his brother. Normally, he would be the one protesting, but Marge's death and their current situation made him feel more disheartened than usual.

The leader cocked his head at the Brit. "Huh, what was that, limey? I don't believe I heard you correctly."

Arthur scowled. "I said, try to do it, bastard."

The man stepped forward, his comrades adjusting their aims so that they could fire if Arthur decided to do anything suspicious. He knelt down and moved so that their noses were just inches apart, smiling cockily.

"Oh yeah?" the man sneered. "None of your other buddies seem keen to join you."

Arthur did not break his gaze with the man, eyes fierce, not noticing the many what-the-hell-are-you-doing-dumbass looks he was getting from most of the other nations.

"So what?" Arthur snapped back. "It's not like I need their approval."

The man sat back on his heels and smirked, pondering for a moment before saying, "Guys, I think I found your next plaything."

The men around him broke into wicked smiles and Arthur had a sinking feeling in his stomach, but he kept his stoic persona nonetheless.

The man before him stood and nodded to his nearest comrade. "Take him to the back with Wilson. You two can have your fun with him first and tell us how he is."

The man named Wilson stepped forward along with his comrade to snatch Arthur up by one arm, his companion doing the same with the other. "Heheh, I've been looking forward to this ever since that other slut killed himself. Now we get a limey spitfire."

Arthur squirmed in their grasp as he was dragged across the room. "Let go of me you grimy gits! Try me and I'll throttle you to no end!"

"Heh, we'll see."

At this, Alfred lurched forward and yelled, "Hey! Let him go!"

"Please, do not hurt him. You can have me." Francis said shakily.

"Shut up!" the boss yelled, brandishing his own gun at them. "Shut up or you'll be hobbling all the way back to headquarters with a bullet in your leg!"

At this, they both shut their mouths, but that didn't stop them from glaring.

Alfred was clenching his fists and scowling and Francis was biting his lip with anxiety. Please let him be okay. They thought simultaneously.

Alfred was about to yell again, but Arthur flashed him a look that silenced him, confusing him all the more. What the hell are you doing, Artie? He couldn't lose Arthur. For the life of him, he would go crazy.

Arthur continued to yell and kick and struggle until he was dragged out of the door. The heavy door slammed shut and seemed to shake the entire building. Alfred's blood boiled and Francis's eyes stung with tears.

They could only hope that Arthur's arrogant mouth wouldn't be his ultimate downfall.

Arthur continued to shout as the two men pulled him down the hallway. One of them stopped to stuff a gag into his mouth and growl, "Fucking be quiet or you'll be hurting for far more than a few days."

Arthur stopped then and feigned despair, making the men smile with triumph.

He let them relax as they continued down the hall, and when one turned his attention away to open a door at their left, Arthur sprang into action.

Being as silent as possible so as not to alert the rest of the party just down the hall, Arthur stomped hard one of the men's feet, making him lose his balance. As he expected, Arthur was pulled down on top of him as he fell, the man hitting his head hard against the wall, the other guard letting go and staring in astonishment. Before the guard beneath him could get his wits about him, Arthur kicked out at the standing man's legs. The guard gave a startled yelp as he tripped backward and landed flat on his back over the threshold of the doorway. There was an echoing clack as his gun slipped out of his hand and slid across the hard floor.

Below Arthur, the other man stirred, but the Briton didn't give him time to react. He rolled onto his back, tucking his knees up to his chest. After some quick squirming, he managed to slip both his cuffed hands under his legs so that they were now in front of him. He then sat upon the man's chest, glaring down at him. Using both of his still-cuffed hands, Arthur grabbed him by the ears and commenced slamming his head against the concrete floor until he could feel the wetness of blood coat his fingers and the man went limp. Strangling would have taken too long and Arthur didn't have the time to waste, even though this was a brutal and dirty way of killing. Wiping the man's blood from his hands, Arthur then stood and walked over to the man still lying on the floor. The guard looked dazed, but a flicker of fear flashed behind his eyes when Arthur came looming over him, a smirk on his face.

Arthur spat out the grimy gag. "How's this for limey spitfire, cowardly sonofabitch?" And Arthur stepped on the man's throat, pressing until blood spurted out from his mouth and the man stopped gurgling, the light dying from his eyes.

When it was all through, Arthur slumped against the wall, finding that he was out of breath, shaking, and sweating profusely.

He had just killed two men.

Sure, it shouldn't come as that big of a shock to Arthur; he had killed before. But the act always left him with a grim and icy thrill—as if he had just stumbled upon the corpses left by some freak serial killer instead of himself.

In any case, he tried not to think about it. Besides, it was the only thing that could be done. He couldn't risk an all-out fight with the men for fear of being heard by the others down the hall.

But Arthur need not focus on the bodies and the blood nor what perverse excitement it gave him. Eventually, he gathered his mind and focused in on one mission: Find the key.

Running only on instinct lest he remember he was searching through dead bodies and warm blood, Arthur knelt next to the man whose form lay sprawled over the threshold and searched through his pockets. It was a rather difficult task, considering his hands were still cuffed.

Just when Arthur feared he would have to search the other man for the key, thus wasting more time, his fingers brushed up against something cold and metal. Relief overcoming him, Arthur slipped the key out and fumbled with it before finally unlocking his handcuffs.

Rubbing his sore wrists and stretching his arms that had long been pinned behind him, Arthur cast a look down at the bodies. Thank God it worked. Though he didn't know why he had been so worried. After all, he was a master escape artist, so it was only practical that after wriggling out of similar predicaments for centuries he would again be successful. And this time it, he had to admit, had been especially easy. Americans weren't the brightest beings and the guards had left themselves exposed to attacks multiple times, Arthur only choosing to go ahead with his plan as soon as one of the men took his eyes off him—a fatal mistake.

Arthur then took both of the men's handguns, holding them in his hands. As much as he wanted to get the rest of the nations the hell out of that room, he knew he couldn't just go in there, guns blazing, and even have the slightest hope of avoiding the hundreds of rounds that would surely be sent his way.

He needed a plan. And fast.

Knowing the men would come looking for him if he took too long, Arthur decided that the best thing to do was to get the hell out of the bunker. He would be of no use if he was trapped in the place just like everyone else. He tried not to think how selfish that excuse sounded.

Arthur ran the length of the hallway, looking into every room for a possible escape route and hoping to God that no one else was in the bunker.

And, to his utter surprise, no one was. Thank you, sparse American minds.

Finally, after what seemed like an our of searching, Arthur came across a small back room that was completely dark save for the moonlight streaming through a narrow window on the opposite wall.

Rushing forward, his heart pounding with excitement, Arthur tugged hard on the rusty lock until it moved, with an ear-splitting screech. Horrified, Arthur chanced a quick glance over his shoulder.

Good. No one heard.

He continued, going slower this time, until he heard the lock click and he dug the tips of his fingers under the window, pushing upwards. He grunted, his muscles straining, as he struggled to move the old frame, finally getting it to slide smoothly up. Panting, Arthur stuck his head out of the window and looked around.

No one. Perfect.

Giving a short jump, Arthur balanced on his belly as he wriggled his way through the small window. His head was no problem, and he shrugged his shoulders, managing to get them through. But when his whole upper body was free of the frame, Arthur braced his feet against the wall in order to push himself the rest of the way out—and when he did, a sharp pain shot through his pelvis and he hung there, dangling helplessly.

His hips? Really?

"Dammit," Arthur cursed, shifting about until he managed to get his hips succesfully free and then pushed himself out. To avoid landing on his face, Arthur tucked his head and rolled, coming out in a crouch he was sure was worthy of 007. He smirked at himself. Yes, he was James Bond before there even was a James Bond.

Now if only he could locate a vodka martini?

Shaken, not stirred.

Distracted by this amusing thought, he didn't notice that someone was looming behind him until a hand came around his mouth and something sharp nudged at his neck.

He stiffened as the figure bent over him and a young man's voice whispered, "Be quiet and let me explain."

Explain? As if Arthur would let someone who was currently threatening to slit his throat have a say! But the knife at his skin was persistant, and another softly muttered, "Please" convinced Arthur that this was no enemy.

The Briton relaxed his body so that the young man let go of him and said, "Turn around."

Arthur did so, blinking at the dark form. The man was wearing dark, ripped jeans and a plain black hoodie with the hood pulled up. The only patch of color was a green bandana that was wrapped around the man's nose and mouth. As Arthur took him in, he guessed his height to be around that of his own. The voice sounded like it belonged to someone no older than fourteen.

The boy's hazel eyes gleamed in the pale light as he spoke. "Were they keeping you in there?"

"Yeah. Or did you suppose I fancied contorting myself to get out of a window just for the hell of it?"

The boy smiled behind his eyes. "Sorry. Just have to confirm. Are there more of you in there?"

"Yes. I was just going to look for a way inside so I could ambush the guards or slip the rest of my friends out without alerting anyone."

The boy pondered before saying, "All right. I know a way."

Arthur blinked, surprised. "You've done this before, I presume?"

"Yeah," The boy turned and motioned for Arthur to follow, walking along the wall of the bunker, crouched down, searching for something. "I've been following the Bloodhounds ever since they crossed my path."

"That's not very wise."

"It is if I'm looking for someone." The boy paused at a place in the wall, Arthur joining him and squinting to see the boy's finger moving a foot or so up from the wall. "I figured it was the only thing I could do since the world's gone to hell and all. But the thing is, I know this bunker—actually, I used to play in this place with my siblings when I was little."

Arthur crouched down next to him and asked, "What are you looking at?"

"No. It's what I'm looking for. I know all the ways in and out of this bunker, and there's one way that just might suffice in this situation."

"For someone so young, you talk like an old man."

The boy scoffed. "Thanks for reminding me." Before Arthur could ask, the boy exclaimed, "Aha!" and dug his fingers under a rift in the concrete of the wall, pulling slowly. Arthur watched in amazement as a door formed, the cement scraping dustily as it was forced open.

The boy stood and said, panting slightly, "Well, there it is."

"Is what, exactly?"

"A tunnel. When they made this bunker, they created an escape tunnel just in case. This bunker acted as a storage unit before it was converted to a shelter in the Cold War, so this tunnel is relatively new. Good thing for us." He got on his hands and knees—as the door was only about three feet high and four feet wide—and crawled inside. Arthur hesitated before he barked, "Come on!"

The tunnel was dark and dank. Arthur wrinkled his nose as he was met with the smell of damp stone. They continued on for a few minutes until they came to a junction that consisted of a small four-by-four room.

Before Arthur could ask, the boy said, "They stored food in here. Again, just in case." And they went on the their way.

They eventually arrived at a room where their backpacks and various other supplies had been thrown. Arthur stopped the boy and motioned to it. "We need those. They're our only supply line."

The boy nodded and, even though it pained Arthur to waste time in his mind, he and the boy removed all of their belongings to safety.

After another minute or so, the boy whispered, "Hey, where are your friends at anyway? Any particular room?"

"Just keep going until you hear voices."

And they did. Another minute yielded the boss's voice. Arthur frowned. Oh, if only there was a way to punch a voice…

"There?"

"Hm?"

"There," the boy pointed with his hand. "Is that them there?"

"Yes," Arthur replied, examining the backs of his fellow nations. The Italies were shaking, Alfred was rigid, and Ivan… was alarmingly calm. "How are we going to get them out?"

"We can't go in there now. There are too many men."

"What, do we just wait?"

"That's the only thing we can do at this point."

"They might be shot if they find out I'm missing!"

The boy shifted nervously. "Well then let's hope they don't find out soon."

They lapsed into silence and it seemed like hours, but could only be about ten minutes, when the boss said, "All right. I think we should check on the guys and see how they liked the limey."

"And what if they didn't like him, boss?" one of the men asked, a smirk on his face.
The boss smiled. "Then we get that pretty little Italian to fuck." He leered at Feliciano, who broke into tears.

Lovino stiffened, as if he meant to shout something, but he kept his mouth shut, scooting closer to Feliciano, shaking in anger.

We must rescue them soon. Arthur thought with angst. He bit his lip until all the men filed out, then turned to the boy who was crouching next to him. "Now?"

The boy nodded. "Yeah. Hurry,"

Feliciano whimpered nearby. "R-Roma… I don't want to go with those men."

"I know, fratello." Lovino said, his voice gravelly with ire. "We won't let them get you. We'll find a way out of here, dammit."

"Not without Artie," Alfred said determinedly. "We need to find him before we leave."

Francis nodded. "I will stay until we do."

Matthew was about to say something, when he gave a squeak as the wall shifted behind him. He moved away and a part of the wall moved to reveal a dark passageway. After a few tense moments, all the nations staring, Arthur stuck his head out and said, "Close your mouths and follow me, will you?"

Without a word, they all filed through the tunnel, though slowly so. Alfred flashed Arthur a look of relief as he went out, telling the Briton with his eyes that he was glad he was okay. Arthur nodded and moved him along, anxious to get out of the bunker as quickly as possible (also because he wasn't quite used to Alfred worrying over him). Francis, surprisingly, went last, leaning in to kiss Arthur on the cheek as he moved past him, winking gratefully. Arthur blushed and rolled his eyes, hastily following after him and moving to shut the tunnel door when a man came striding back into the room.

They met eyes for a second, before the man opened his mouth and yelled, "The hostages are escaping!" and lunged toward the door.

Arthur stiffened and fumbled with the door, but it eventually became clear that he wasn't going to be able to fit it back in the frame before the man arrived. Instead, he let go of the door, letting it fall to the floor with a loud clang. All the nations stopped abruptly to look back, but Arthur roughly shoved them onward, "Go! Go, you gits!"

Arthur tried to cram himself into the tunnel to avoid the man's grabbing hands, but his ankles were eventually caught and he was being dragged back out.

He scrabbled on his stomach to get away, but it wasn't working. Resigning himself to his fate, Arthur turned onto his back to face his attacker.

Then, as quickly as he was being pulled out, he was stopped. He looked up to see Francis, hands wrapped tightly around Arthur's forearms, looking down at him in panic. Luckily, the man holding his ankles was so distracted by the sudden stop in progress, that he let up a bit—just enough so that Arthur could kick off his attacker and scrambled further back into the tunnel.

The man growled and was about halfway inside himself, when the sound of feet running sounded and the boss shouted, "Not so fast, Stevens! They could lash out in there!"

Relief flooded Arthur until he heard, "Go around the back and catch them there. Don't let them escape!"

"Move it, frog!" Arthur growled, shoving Francis on the rump as he crawled.

"Eh, I charge for my services, cher." Francis wiggled his butt and Arthur huffed in annoyance.

"Shut it and go!"

Finally, they were out. Nations rolled out of the tunnel, jumping to their feet or stumbling. Feliciano looked shaken and was on the verge of tears, while Kiku looked so pale he could pass out. Under his breath he was muttering, "Too close, too close…"

Ivan stood and stretched his back. "Oh, боже всемогущий." he groaned, rubbing his back. "I was nearly bent permanently in half…"

Alfred picked up his backpack and blinked in surprise. "You got our stuff , too?"

"Where to now?" Arthur asked, ignoring Alfred's meaningless question, looking at the boy who was panting himself.

"I… I…" he tried to catch his breath and then seemed to come to a revelation. "Follow me. Fast!"

At that, they all picked up their bags and set off behind him, none of them caring to ask why they were following a stranger.

They could hear the men rounding the back of the bunker behind them, and they picked up their pace exponentially. Before long, they were diving into a large, five-foot-tall drainage pipe, doubling over to keep their heads from scraping the top. Eventually, the pipe got larger until they all could stand upright, the crown of Ivan's head just grazing the damp ceiling.

They all stopped and listened, holding their breaths as the men searched around the drain, then moved on. When they could hear them no more, they all let out sighs of relief and Arthur turned to the boy.

"Thank you for helping us."

"No prob, brother. Anythin' ta thwart the Organization."

Arthur frowned at the boy's sudden change in voice, his heart pounding when he thought he had made a horrible mistake in trusting him. He was about to say something, but Alfred beat him to it.

"Wait," Alfred squinted through the dark. The pipe was dimly lit by moonlight filtering through a small grate at the top. He glared at the boy, not caring if he couldn't see the threat or not. "Who are you anyway? Why did you help us?" His hand was on the grip of his handgun.

The boy responded without hesitation: "M'name's Wynston. That's spelled with a 'y' not an 'i.' And as I told you before, I have a vendetta of my own against the Organization and am intent upon freein' anyone from their murderous clutches."

Alfred cocked his head at the voice—it sounded… familiarly accented. Like those cowboys in old western films. Then he lifted his hand off his gun and his eyes went wide, though the gestures were hidden in such darkness.

"Winnie?"

Wynston's breath hitched for a moment and he hesitated before saying, as if he had been expecting Alfred, "Oh, well hey, Pa."

Translations:

боже всемогущий-God almighty

A Word From the Writer: Hey, what did I say? Here's another state! Though I think he'll be easy to identify by his name (and accent). I know he sounds a little... stupid with it, but I plan to write Wynston as an experienced survivalist. Just try not to think of George Bush (like I do) every time his dialogue comes up. Oh crap, I spoiled it for you, didn't I?

And dark!England is awesome to write. The 007 thing I just threw in there. Not really a fan (I think he's a bit overrated, honestly. I like Jason Bourne better). Bond is kind of a manwhore. What a way to drop hints to France, England. XD