A bitchslap of feels.

Warning: Angst, threats, weapons, injuries, CanadaxTurkey, mention of Prumano,GerIta (yes, you knew it was going to happen, didn't you?), and RusAme.

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

… Remember Me…

Matthew didn't know what to do.

He had made it this far, but he was alone. Utterly. He couldn't hear anyone around him and was too afraid to peek above the grass for the Organization members watching the field like hawks scanning for mice. Being alone and unsure, he did what he usually did when in a crisis.

He took a deep breath… and began to cry.

Well, the crying part wasn't his usual thing, but he had no one and there could have been a menagerie of things that could have happened and the attack was so sudden. Alfred could be dead. Francis could be captured, abused right at this very moment. He could be the sole survivor and he wouldn't know until he could find a way to get out of the field and away from the men who wanted him dead.

Come on, Mattie, suck it up. Don't be such a baby. Alfred's words echoed through his head from a time when they were much younger. Of course only then it had been splinter. Now it was life or death.

But tears wouldn't help him at all, he knew that. And he was only wasting what little moisture he had in his body by crying. So he took another deep breath and wiped his eyes. Someone had to be alive. They had to be. Statistics said there should be at least one other person alive along with him, and they had to be found.

So Matthew started off in a random direction, struggling to remember what little he'd seen of the field before he'd dove into the grass. He was near the left, facing east, east to where the field ended. He continued to map out his location as he moved through the grass. Every rustle, every squawk of a bird nearly made him scream.

He was so busy trying to calculate his position in the field, that he didn't notice the form moving in front of him until the last moment. Before he could stop, they collided, and Matthew immediately slammed his fist down as hard as he could between the man's shoulder blades, afraid that it was one of the Organization members come to get him.

The hit knocked the breath out of the other man, and he collapsed into the dirt facing Matthew. The Canadian peered down at him, more than ready to deal another punch, when he recognized him. "S-Sadiq?"

"Nice of you to notice." the Turk grumbled, coughing a bit as he struggled to lift himself off the ground. "Hefty punch. Learn that from your brother? I mean the one that's an idiot, not a pansy."

Matthew frowned. "I know how to punch. And insulting my family doesn't help at all in this situation."

Sadiq rolled his shoulders, feeling a bit guilty about offending Matthew. How could anyone offend someone with such a cute face? "You're right. I'm sorry." He cleared his throat. "Well, I'm definitely awake now. Is there anyone with you?" He peered behind Matthew to see.

Matthew shook his head. "Only us two." He lifted his head to examine the sky. Sadiq noted his smooth, milk-white neck. Had he ever been bitten there? It was just asking to be bitten… Matthew's sigh brought him out of his reverie. "If it rains, we're screwed."

"We have our sleeping bags, at least." Sadiq pointed out, struggling to keep his eyes from wandering over bare patches of the Canadian's skin. Fuck, what had gotten into him? One time he saw Matthew jerking one, and that was all it took…

No. That was just the straw that broke the camel's back. He had wanted the Canadian for longer than he had acknowledged. When he was sick, Matthew had taken care of him, was always there, always murmuring words of comfort, hands going over Sadiq's body without knowing how it was affecting the Turk. All those times Matthew had tried to help someone else with their injuries, and Sadiq saying right then that he needed Matthew, that Matthew could only care for, could only touch, him. And now, with one foot presumably in the grave, he was wanting Matthew even more.

Shit, I'm in deep… Even deeper than with Heracles. He'd always loved Heracles, first as a surrogate son, then as a lover. He remembered their first bout of lovemaking like it was yesterday, but now the only face he could see beneath him was Matthew's.

"Sadiq, are you all right? Your face is kind of red."

"Um… y-yeah, I'm fine. Just… a little winded from that run."

"Should be, old man." Matthew said, smiling. Such a sweet smile. And Sadiq loved sweet things.

Sadiq nudged him. "Hey, now you sound like your bully of a brother."

Matthew snorted. "You were asking for it with that response."

This bantering back and forth. Sadiq never knew how much he loved hearing Matthew talk. He'd barely heard him talk before the Uprising, had barely even seen him. But now he regretted not looking. He regretted not having the time they could have had together. Now they were in some field in the middle of nowhere hiding from men that could kill them at a moment's notice. And Sadiq had yet to say how much he cared about Matthew.

Before he could stop himself, he was leaning down to kiss Matthew. Then he realized what he was doing and came up short. He opened his eyes, staring down at Matthew's wide indigo pools, inches away from his face.

"Sadiq…?" Matthew began, but then he blinked in realization. Oh, so that was how it was. The Canadian always knew something was up with Sadiq, but now he could pinpoint what. Well… he'd play that game. What the hell?

He propped himself up on his elbows and stared at Sadiq for a second. A dusting of pink was spreading across the Turk's cheeks, and he looked adorably embarrassed. Matthew fought to keep down a smile as he pressed his lips against Sadiq's.

It was chaste and warm, and Sadiq felt something go through him that made his breath catch. It was clear that the same thing happened to Matthew, as he tensed for a moment, then relaxed.

When they parted, Sadiq, whose mind was thoroughly blown, asked quietly, "Why did you do that?"

Matthew gave a small smile. A sweet smile. Just for him. "I figured if we survived this, it would be a sign that we should kiss more often."

Sadiq smiled back. "I'm game."

Matthew nodded. "Well, if you really want me, you're going to have to help me look for the others."

Sadiq felt a warmth pooling in his stomach, and he was about to say something back, but the words caught in his throat. He only thought them longingly as he watched Matthew crawl off into the grass.

I would go to the ends of the earth and back to have you, Mattie.

And then I'd go a little further, just to make sure you'd be mine.

"I can't fucking believe I got stuck with you, bastard."

Ludwig sighed as he continued to elbow his way through the grass. "Ja, ja, you've already said that."

Lovino scowled at him. "Well I still can't fucking believe it."

Ludwig didn't say anything this time. The last thing he needed was to start a fight with the Italian and attract the attention of who knew how many men (and where they were) out there.

"Where did Feli go?" Lovino muttered to himself. "How could I have lost him? He was fucking in front of me!"

"Maybe we will find him if we keep looking." Ludwig said, fighting to keep the bite out of his tone. Lovino couldn't believe he'd lost his brother. Ludwig couldn't believe they were brothers at all. Lovino was mean and cold, while Feliciano was sweet and caring and—

"You have that look again, wurst breath." Lovino said with annoyance, and Ludwig looked at him in confusion.

"Was? What look?"

"That damn look you always have when you look at my fratello."

Ludwig stopped crawling and Lovino stopped with him. He fought to keep down a blush. Had he been that obvious? He'd honestly thought he was doing a good job of hiding it. But then again, Lovino was overly protective. He didn't know what to say, so he let Lovino talk some more.

"Don't fucking act like you don't know. I know you've been creeping on Feli for a while. And I don't want your wurst-whacking hands anywhere near him!"

Ludwig huffed. Great. Now mother hen knew. So much for slowly making his move on Feliciano. Trust Feliciano to be completely oblivious to his near nonexistent advances and Lovino to know right off the bat. Then again, Ludwig himself was also a mother hen. He had to be—Gilbert was never one to be responsible for or perceptive of anything. He smirked.

"What about you and my bruder? You seemed to have a lot to talk about when he got angry earlier today."

Lovino's face turned tomato-red before you could say 'guilty.' "Th-that's not—the stupid bastard was being difficult, and I had to kick his ass back into shape with a few choice words."

Ludwig shook his head. "Do you honestly think I didn't hear what went on upstairs in that house?" At this, Lovino blanched just as quickly as he had blushed. "Ja, it was a good thing Feliciano was fast asleep and Yao was outside, or more people than Matthew and I would know."

Lovino broke his gaze to look at the ground. He was wringing his hands nervously. "The syrup bastard knows…" Well, they hadn't exactly been quiet when they'd fucked. He didn't know why he didn't suspect others had heard…

He looked back up at Ludwig, tears forming in his eyes as much as he tried to keep them down, dammit. "You… you can't fucking tell anyone." He and Gilbert just got on good terms, and, fuck, if he lost that with word getting around…

Ludwig shook his head. "Not if you don't tell anyone about me and Feliciano." He extended his hand. "Deal?"

Lovino was hesitant at first, but he eventually took his hand. "Fine, dammit." And they shook.

I can't fucking believe I've made a pact with the potato bastard…

Ivan wrapped his scarf further around himself so that it didn't snag on the grass. It had a couple of times before, and he worried that the men would have seen a few stalks of grass waving peculiarly about among a still sea of its fellows. But it hurt to move. The bullet lodged in his side made it painful to do anything other than breathe shallowly.

When the men had shown up, he hadn't turned and run like everyone else had. He'd slipped out his AK-47, and turned to face them, shooting up a storm. But he didn't fire for very long before a man aimed a good shot at his left side. The pain of it was excruciating when it'd hit him—if he was his normal, immortal self, it would be but a pinprick.

The pain had startled him, and made him lose focus for a second. By then the men had recovered and were taking aim at him, since he was the only one still standing before them. Instantly, Ivan knew he was outgunned, and he fled. It was hard for him to do. He never fled, never backed down, and when he did, he made sure to do something to hinder his enemies on the way.

But his running was pure shame. He'd done nothing. He hadn't taken out a single man, hadn't even shot them (mostly due to his urge to hurry and fire without taking proper aim in order to stun them), and now look what he had to show for it. A bullet wound.

It was bleeding, and it hurt like hell. He hadn't realized before how many muscles in his side it took just to crawl, but it must be a hell of a lot, because the wound would remind him in the form of a screaming sting up his torso. Ivan had taken time to assess the injury (though it was hard lying down), and it didn't feel like it had hit any vital organs. But it had been ten minutes, and the wound was still leaking blood, and he was starting to get dizzy with the loss of it. Ivan's initial goal diving into the field was to immediately start looking for his comrades. But now he had to stop to tend to his wound.

Ivan looked for something to wrap around it. He pulled at his greatcoat, but the material was far too strong to be ripped with his bare hands (without attracting attention), and Ivan wasn't willing to risk shrugging the pack from off his back and rummaging around in it to find his pocketknife. He sighed. He'd known the only thing that would work from the start, and he now had no choice but to use it.

He unwrapped his scarf from around his neck and looked at it. A light pink. Warm and soft to the touch. Yekaterina had given Ivan this scarf when he was so very young, when he had yet to become a power. It reminded him every day of the hardships he went through to get to where he was… well, before the Uprising. The scarf had been a symbol of strength, had been with him through thick and thin for centuries… was a reminder of his sisters. They had been strange, but he loved them like any brother would. And he felt like he was throwing away the one thing that connected him to them.

He pressed the scarf to his lips before rolling onto his side with a hiss and pushing it down on the bleeding wound. His heart sank a little as he saw the blood soak through. But he willed away the feeling and began to wrap his torso.

It was a good thing the scarf was long. It went around him three times and bound his injury so tightly that it stopped bleeding. He tied it off and took a few sips of water from his canteen. It was icy-cold, but he was used to that, and it made him feel a little bit stronger.

Ivan decided that he must keep moving. If he didn't, he could die just laying there, for the impending rain and the cold of night would claim him faster than his old self. But if he kept moving—just kept moving—he might have chance.

No. He would have a chance. Because he knew Alfred was still out there, and he had yet to make love to him like he so desperately wanted. He'd promised he would protect Alfred, take care of him—love him. He couldn't leave him. Not now. Not when they were so very close.

I will find you, my sunflower. Even if this wound takes every bit of strength I have in me, I will see you again.

No translations

A Word From the Writer: Finally! Mattie has paired up. It's an unusual and seldom-seen pair, I know, but Imma try to make it work. And what is up with this grass? Our boys are twitterpated. I feel bad for Russia. I like to pick on him a lot, just because I think of him as an ox and like to see him struggle through stuff. Did I mention that one of my most favorite pairings is RusAme? (tied with USUK/UKUS, FrUK, Prumano, and USCan/CanUS. Hell, Imma shipping whore). RusAme can be so bittersweet to write. I would huggle Russia every day if I could... you know, if it didn't break my ribs. Not to say I won't put that pairing before everyone else. No, I ship everything to a T. And who knew Turkey was a little romantic? Creepers gotta lure them in somehow, HURR (jk, Turkey just likes sweet things in general and Canada's so sweet! *gush*)

Okay, so, just a little message to everyone. Next weekend I'll be gone most of Saturday taking a campus tour, so I probably won't be able to post until Sunday, which is still iffy because my grandmother will be here and I kinda have to spend time with her. If not Sunday, Monday fo' sho'. Sorry this was posted so late. I had to help out at my local Oktoberfest. BEER! Prussia would approve. But no beer for me. I stuck to the apple-stacking station. Me and my sis stacked dem apples like no tomorrow. X3

I also have a surprise for youuuu! So, I didn't realize it was gonna be Friday the 13th until, well Monday the 9th, so I posted some smutty (and cracky) Ameripan for you on the unluckiest day of the year. Look for Anything-But-Casual Friday. Just to tide you over until the my next post.

TTFN!