Augh, splitting up! Haven't they ever learned?
Warning: Angst, threats, graphic description of violence.
Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN HETALIA. I have fun manipulating their characters, though
As the Sky Weeps
The rain was coming down in sheets. But Ivan could not feel the cold, although the water was beginning to weigh down his coat.
He and Arthur were wandering down a narrow street, looking around for anything that may be a clue as to where the criminals were hiding. They were also trying to hide themselves, but the rain did most of that for them.
Arthur was shivering. It was fall, Ivan speculated, from how cool the days were growing. Before long, winter would be upon them, and they were in the north, where snow would pile up in feet. Not a problem for him, but for the others… they had to leave very soon. But they had to find Francis. Despite Ivan's dislike of the Frenchman (thank Napoleon for that, and Ivan was always one to hold a grudge), Francis was still Ivan's comrade, and they were a team now. That and if Francis were to die, Matthew would be sad. And when Matthew was sad, Alfred was sad.
It all worked out in his mind.
Arthur turned to him. "This street's clear. I don't think any of the shops would be an ideal place to hide. They're all broken into." He spoke loud enough to be heard over the rain, but not loud enough for anyone more than a few paces away to hear.
"Da," Ivan replied, taking one last look around. "Let us join up with Alfred and Kiku."
They had all previously agreed on a meeting point: a fountain in the center of town. It was an obvious landmark, sure to attract the criminals they were looking for, but they had no choice. With the rain falling down as hard as it was, the fountain was one of the only things they could all see at a distance.
They arrived and awaited the return of Alfred and Kiku. Ten minutes passed, and there was still no sign of them. Arthur had stopped shivering. He was too anxious about Alfred's absence to worry about the cold.
"I should have been the one to go with him, the bloody git." Arthur muttered, but Ivan's superior hearing picked up the words through the drumming rain. They had since taken up shelter beneath a store canopy to stay out of the rain. Ivan understood his worry. He was beginning to worry about them as well, especially Alfred. But Ivan knew Kiku, and the man would never let Alfred get into trouble.
Arthur wrung his hands again; Ivan wasn't sure the Briton even knew if he was doing it. Arthur just stared out through the rain, eyes fixed on the fountain, his gaze occasionally darting around to examine the streets that led to it for any sign of the others.
Another five minutes passed before Arthur stood and said, "Look,"
Ivan did, and saw two figures manifesting through the mists of rain. It was Kiku and Alfred, and they walked over to the fountain, looking around when they found that Ivan and Arthur were not there.
Arthur ran out to them and waved his arms until they spotted him. Alfred and Kiku met up with him, and they all rushed beneath the canopy.
"Anything?" Arthur asked hopefully.
Alfred was soaked, though Nantucket still stood defiant on his head. He had since taken off his glasses. "Nothing. All the stores were too wrecked to look occupied."
"Hai," Kiku replied. He looked smaller when he was wet. "None were fortified."
Arthur swore and scratched the back of his head, unsure of what to do. He lifted his eyes and studied the storm. It hadn't let up in the least. "The rain will last through the night, it looks like."
"We will stay here, then." Ivan said, motioning toward the store door. The glass was smashed in, and it didn't look very secure, but it would do to get them out of the rain. "We will continue our search in the morning."
"What about the others?" Alfred asked, concerned about Matthew. Losing two brothers in the span of a few hours would take its toll on the Canadian. "What'll they think when we don't return?"
"We'll have to take that risk." Arthur replied with a heavy sigh. "Catching a cold wouldn't be one of the best things to have in this situation."
"And Francis-san?" Kiku asked. "What will happen to him?"
They were all silent for a moment before Arthur said, "He's stubborn. He'll be all right 'til morning." But Arthur wasn't altogether sure of that claim. Those men were criminals, after all. Who knew what might conspire during the night?
In all honesty, Arthur was scared for Francis. And he couldn't believe that he was praying for Francis's well-being.
They all went inside, stepping carefully over the glass scattered beneath the door frame.
It was a pharmacy, with a desk, a waiting room, and shelves of medicines and various other amenities. They all decided that it would be best to stay as much out of sight as possible, so they jumped the counter, gaining access to the various files and drugs, bypassing them to sit in a little corner walled off by file cabinets.
They were all bitterly cold, except for Ivan, though Kiku hid it better than Arthur and Alfred, who were both huddling close together to keep off the shivers. Kiku, who was admittedly claustrophobic, made sure that he had a corner all to himself, well away from everyone else. He pulled his knees up to his front, arms wrapped around his shins.
Ivan, meanwhile, leaned against a cabinet and stared at the opposite wall, thinking about nothing. To him, the situation was so surreal—having lost one of their group members and being separated all within a few short hours—that he felt almost like he was somewhere else.
And he vaguely wondered… was Francis feeling the same thing?
Matthew lifted his head as Ludwig walked in from the back door. "Are they back?"
"Nein," Ludwig said, putting his gun on safety. "No sign of them. Yao's looking out now, maybe he'll spot something."
It was getting dark, and Matthew's fingers picked at the cushion he was sitting on. He had already torn a considerable slit in it from his anxiety. Sadiq was watching him with something akin to worry, having managed to sit up on his own on the mattress. Feliciano had been strangely quiet, chipping at the scuffed wooden floor with his nail. Gilbert was annoyingly pacing the room—had been ever since the others left. He would mumble under his breath to himself, as if arguing theories of what could have possibly happened to them or Francis, every once in a while stopping abruptly, sighing loudly, and shaking his head, then continuing on with his pacing again. It was driving Lovino mad.
"Would you stop walking around and fucking sit down already, bastard?" he growled, bad-tempered. Everyone was already tense, and Gilbert's pacing wasn't helping.
Gilbert flashed him a glare. "I can do whatever the fuck I want."
Ludwig huffed. "Now don't start fighting. We don't need the anxiety right now."
Gilbert rounded on him. "You lose a friend and then you tell me not to be anxious!"
And that just plain pissed Lovino the hell off. He stood, glaring. Feliciano tugged at his pant leg. "Lovi, don't—"
"I'm going to put this bastard in his fucking place, Feli." Lovino growled, then to Gilbert, he snapped, "Stop acting so fucking melodramatic. We don't know if the wine bastard is dead or not."
Gilbert's eyes flashed. "Ja? I'd rather he be dead than being tortured by those criminals! And who are you to butt in, huh? All you've done is bitch and whine for this whole trip. You've been melodramatic every fucking day. Who are you to tell me not to be melodramatic now that my friend may be dead?"
Lovino felt like punching the bastard in the gut. He fucking deserved it. But instead, he yelled, "Because you don't know what real grief is like!" What am I saying? Lovino mused, but the words were already out of his mouth before he could stop them. "You haven't seen someone close to you shot before your eyes, haven't seen their fucking blood pour out of them! You haven't seen that dead look in their eyes, how their muscles spasm just before they die, hear that gurgling noise in their throats! You haven't seen their fucking brains blown out and smeared on the ground! You haven't seen the killers laugh like it was some sort of fucking sick joke! You don't fucking know anything, goddammit!" Lovino was so lost in his rage, he didn't realize that tears were pouring down his face, hot and angry. He didn't feel embarrassed—more frustrated. Gilbert didn't know, he didn't even have the right…
Antonio, Lovino thought forlornly, and more tears came. He doesn't understand what happened to you, goddammit. He will never know how much it fucking hurts.
Gilbert was staring at him, mouth opening and closing like a fish. But Lovino left before he could get a word out. He spun around and raced for the stairs, climbing them with such careless haste, that he nearly tripped and smashed his face on one of the steps. But he didn't care as he reached the top floor and rushed into the master bedroom, slamming the door shut.
And when he was there, alone and safe from judgmental eyes, he let out a sob and slid down the door, coming to rest at the bottom. He hadn't allowed himself to cry over Antonio, and now it had built up to this.
He threw his head back against the door and cried for a good half hour—until his eyes were stinging and puffy and his lungs were sore from sobbing. His whole body was shaking, and suddenly he felt… really tired.
In truth, Lovino hadn't slept in days. His dreams were haunted constantly by Antonio's bloody corpse. Every night, he'd wake up in a cold sweat, gasping, his heart aching.
Lovino slid to the floor, finding the soiled carpet a great deal more comfortable than the sleeping bag in which Antonio had come to haunt him in his dreams. He stretched out, too exhausted to move from in front of the door. He felt so defeated, so tired, so… hopeless.
Why did you have to be brave, you bastard? Lovino thought in a somber sort of anger. We could have outrun them, I know we could have… you didn't have to die for me, you selfish fucker. His eyes slipped closed of their own accord.
Toni, why can't you still be alive?
I miss you so fucking much, you stupid bastard.
No translations
A Word From the Writer: Things are about to get sad. Like, really sad, guys. And complicated. Dammit, I miss Spain, too! *cries* Spain, where are you and your churros? I need one right now, y'all, seriously. TT_TT