I bet Canada wishes he still had that maple leaf sticker on his forehead...

Warning: Turkey/Canada (it totally works!), threats, weapons, a violent interrogation.

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

The Worth of Identity

Matthew was screaming as the men wrestled him to the ground, tugging his arms behind his back.

"Let go of him!" Sadiq yelled, lunging toward him.

The man holding him pulled him back and snatched him up by his hair, yanking his head back so that he could see his face. The Turk gave a yelp as his neck snapped backward painfully.

"Shut the fuck up before we decide to really hurt your pal."

Sadiq glared like hell, but he shut his mouth. Ahead of him, Matthew was being pulled to his feet and pushed toward a small encampment at the start of the field.

It had happened so fast, Sadiq hadn't had time to react. One minute they were crawling along, chatting quietly between each other, their recent kiss making them light-hearted and numb to everything outside of their conversation. They must have not been paying attention to how they were disturbing the grass as they moved or how loud their voices had been, because in the blink of an eye, the men had crunched through the grass and subdued them. It was only when they had been lifted to stand at full height that Sadiq noticed how dangerously close they were to the Organization mens' camp. How could they have been so careless?

It had been Sadiq's fault. He never should have initiated that kiss. He should have known it would be distracting enough to get them caught, and now he didn't know if he could ever make that up to Matthew.

Fear gripped Matthew as he was shoved along, handcuffed and jostled on either side by an Organization member, all of whom looked like formidable survivalists. Men of the plains. These weren't city men, no, those men would be a lot easier to resist—these were tough men, descendents of equally tough fathers whose ancestors had been hardened by the land they had settled on over one hundred and fifty years ago. They knew hard work and hard times. To them, Matthew and Sadiq were a couple of escaped cattle being brought back to the field. Matthew himself was used to living in demanding conditions, but he was only one of two who could go against the men. For all he knew, the others had been killed. He saw no one from his group in their camp, and the men had stopped looking in the field. The only explanation was that he and Sadiq were the only survivors.

The realization hit him like a ton of bricks. He fought back tears as he was tugged into the camp, the other men who were keeping watch there greeting their comrades with triumphant cheers and hateful looks at their captives. They stared at Matthew and Sadiq like they were some loathsome parasites they had just pulled from their bodies. And now Matthew was beginning to admonish himself for not keeping track of where they had been going when they were still hidden safely away among the grass; the mental map of the field Matthew had ingrained in his memory had disappeared completely when he had kissed Sadiq. He didn't want to think of it as a mistake—he'd really liked it and planned to do more of it if they got out of this (which seemed a slim possibility at the moment)—but he could have done something other than kissing Sadiq. What had he been thinking? What about Cuba? What about Carlos?

It didn't seem fair that Matthew had forgotten him so easily that he could share an intimate moment with someone else without even thinking about his dead boyfriend who had done nothing but love him (albeit after he had realized that Matthew was Matthew and not Alfred). It shocked him how quickly he had moved on. Maybe all that sex with Alfred had made him into an asshole as well?

They were taken to a tent a set back a bit from the main site, seated the farthest away from the field—their only escape route. Matthew took one last look at it, at their last chance, before being ushered through the flaps inside.

The men moving them didn't say anything, and that might have unnerved Sadiq more than if they were jeering at them. They seemed cold and merciless—like they would shoot them at a moment's notice and think of it as no more than killing game. He let that brood in his mind as they were silently hogtied. Matthew bit his lip to keep in a yelp as his bruised arm was forced behind his back and his newly healed knee was bent at a painful angle. He looked over at Sadiq, and found him grimacing in pain at the rough way the men were handling his injured ankle.

"Please," Matthew begged. "He's hurt."

The men ignored him at first, and then they shared a silent exchange, deciding to tie Sadiq's hands under his knees, which were pulled up to his chest. They then used the rope from his wrists to tie his ankles together. Matthew winced, not knowing whether or not he'd managed to get Sadiq in a more comfortable position. Well, it was better than lying on your face like he was.

When the men left and Matthew no longer heard their footsteps he opened his mouth to ask about the Turk's condition, but was surprised when Sadiq spoke first.

"How's your arm? I saw they snatched you up pretty hard." Sadiq was seething, his anger at the men overwhelming the pain pulsing from his ankle. The bones were just starting to mend, but the splint (fashioned from slim pieces of wood lined with the balled-up sheets from the safehouse) had suffered cracks when he'd dived into the field. Despite that, though, he was angry at himself; angry that he couldn't protect Matthew when the Canadian needed it. Matthew had saved his life by carrying him across a slippery creek and dislocating his own knee because of it. Now they were trapped, tied up, and Sadiq could do nothing about it.

Matthew was in disbelief. "Sadiq, your ankle—"

"It's fine," he lied. "Your arm?"

Matthew sighed in defeat. "It's just a bruise."

"It isn't just a bruise. They hurt you."

Matthew smiled a little and shook his head. "You're just as bad as Francis."

"I'm sorry."

"Why?"

"I…" Sadiq sighed. "I shouldn't have kissed you. Not then, I mean. It was the wrong time, the wrong place—"

"Sadiq," The Turk stopped rambling as Matthew looked at him with a warm gaze. "I kissed you. I wanted to kiss you." The Canadian fought down a blush as he continued, "If you hadn't wanted to kiss me, I think I'd be more scared than I am right now."

Sadiq couldn't keep down a smile. "Goddamn, you're cute. I don't know why I never noticed before."

Matthew's blush glowed. "U-uh, I've never been very forward…"

"You should be," Sadiq said. "No, wait. Don't. If more people start to notice you, they might think you're cute enough to take away from me."

"I didn't know I was already yours," Matthew said with smirk. "Only if we survive this, remember?"

"Guess I'll have to find a way to get us out, then," Sadiq replied with a grin.

Matthew laughed a little, at the same time finding this all very silly and out of place. They really shouldn't be flirting with each other right now, when they could be killed, but it kept their minds off the situation. Besides, it was pretty funny considering Matthew was lying with his cheek pressed flat against the floor and his legs drawn up over his back and Sadiq was hunched over like a monkey, struggling to keep from falling because if he did, he wouldn't be able to sit back up again. They passed the next few minutes laughing at Sadiq nearly tipping over and catching himself at the last second.

After about an hour, though, things began to get increasingly uncomfortable. Matthew was a bit worse off than Sadiq; he was lying on his stomach with his head angled to one side (which strained his neck a great deal), and his arms were starting to go numb being stretched in the same place for so long. And by far the worst ache came from his knee. It was still sore from when he had landed on it at Francis's 'burial' and the angle at which it was bent was not helping it settle in the least.

Sadiq's ankle was hurting, but it was dull ache. He could tell Matthew was in pain. "Mattie, are you okay?"

Matthew was wincing, not even trying to hide his pain at this point. "Well, let's just say I'm not a bondage kind of guy."

Sadiq couldn't laugh, not when Matthew was suffering. And he still considered it his fault that they got into this mess…

Footsteps approached, and they stopped talking, stopped moving. They looked up and saw two men enter the tent. One was the leader, and the other was the tallest, biggest man in the group. That definitely wasn't a good sign.

The silence that pervaded the tent for the few moments they all looked at each other churned Sadiq's stomach. Something wasn't right.

But the mens' faces held no token to what it might be that was wrong; they were both expressionless. Then the leader—a tall, bald man with a dark mustache who looked to be in his late forties—said, "State your names."

Sadiq and Matthew flashed each other looks of alarm, but the leader wouldn't have it. "That doesn't involve you looking at each other. State your names."

The last sentence came out in a firm, cold tone that left no room for hesitation. But Sadiq and Matthew did hesitate. If they gave their names now, they knew they would be kept as captives until they were killed by the Organization. So they just stared at the ground.

The other, larger man moved so fast that Matthew barely had time to react before he was being snatched up by his hair. The Canadian gave a cry of pain as the man growled, "Tell us."

Matthew didn't say anything; bit his lip so that he wouldn't give the men the satisfaction of hearing him scream in pain. But his neck was bent back close to breaking point, and his scalp burned with every sharp tug of his hair. And still the man held his head there, suspended in the air and glared him down. His gaze was perhaps scarier than the agony that he was causing Matthew.

Sadiq watched in horror, and yet, what could he do? He couldn't tell them—that would be the death of both he and Matthew. And he couldn't move.

But he could speak.

"Don't hurt him."

His voice was firm, though with an underlying shakiness. The leader looked at him stonily and Sadiq held his gaze until the man said, "All right." He glanced at his companion, who was still holding Matthew. "Gunner, the masked fucker is trying to command us. You know what happens if anyone but the Overlord does that, right?"

The man called Gunner dropped Matthew carelessly to the ground. The Canadian couldn't catch himself; he fell flat on his face, and when he did turn his face to the side to breathe, he was bleeding from his lip and nose, his glasses thankfully still intact, though skewed.

Sadiq yearned to bash the man's face in, but all he could do was glare like all of Hell was behind his eyes. And he did just that as Gunner approached him, a wicked grin on his face. "So… why do you where that mask? A thief?"

Sadiq didn't say anything, though he wanted nothing more than to curse the guy out. When Gunner got no reaction from him, he drew back his fist… and punched Sadiq right in the face.

The faraway sound of Matthew yelling his name was lost behind the rush of pain like a burning brand shooting through his whole body and the destruction of his mask. Warmth flooded out of his nose in the form of blood, coating his front and making his head go light and dizzy. He felt for a moment like he would pass out, his vision flickering. But he was determined to be strong. He had to be. If he passed out right now, Matthew would be the one being abused for information instead of him.

Gunner chuckled as he examined the blood that covered his knuckles. The leader glowered down at him. "Don't look so tough without that mask of yours. I suggest you begin talking."

Sadiq coughed, sending more blood spilling down his chin, but did not speak. He continued to look at the leader, because that was who really mattered. Gunner, though, was not happy that he was being ignored.

"Want me to pound the shit out of the bastard until he talks, Seth?"

Seth quirked a smile. "I think you should be asking him that. So, how do you want it, boy? You will quickly find we can be very persuasive."

Sadiq kept his mouth shut and glared. Across the tent, Matthew writhed in his bonds. "Sadiq, stop," he begged.

"Oh," Seth walked over to Matthew. "I see." He slammed a foot down on Matthew's back, and the Canadian gasped, pressed against the ground and back aching. "I guess we'll have to do it this way, then."

Sadiq finally spoke, "He doesn't know anything. I found him while we were in the last town. I'm the one you want."

Seth raised an eyebrow, his foot still pushing Matthew down. "Really? He looks a lot like an Alfred F. Jones."

Sadiq eyes widened, but he quickly composed himself. He couldn't afford to give anything away. "He's not him. I don't know who you're talking about."

Gunner punched him in the chest this time, and Sadiq gasped for breath. He coughed and blood trickled down his lips. Seth held Sadiq's gaze levelly. "You're lucky we're not allowed to hurt Jones, at least not so much that it shows. That honor is reserved for the Overlord. But you," At this, he smiled. "You are expendable. So, unless you want us to kill you and take Jones back to the Organization by himself, you'd better start talking. Make yourself valuable."

Sadiq spit a glob of blood onto the ground and looked up at Seth. "My name is Sadiq… and my friend's name is Mark. We have been travelling across the country to find out if there is anyone with authority in the capital."

When Matthew heard Sadiq tell them his name, he stared at the Turk with wide eyes. But Sadiq didn't notice. He knew what he had done, and he wasn't guilty about it. It would be better if they found out that he was a nation, because if he managed to convince the men that Matthew wasn't a nation, the Canadian wouldn't be killed.

Seth quirked an eyebrow. "You have not heard of the Fellowship of Man?"

"No. Not at all. Do you work for them?"

"Yes. We work for the Overlord, the leader of the FoA." He studied Sadiq with steady eyes before asking, "Who were those other guys with you, then?"

Sadiq didn't flinch, didn't even blink, even with Gunner hovering menacingly over him. It was a good thing that the man was standing in front of him so that Matthew couldn't see him. For most of his life he'd worn a mask. It was symbolic to him, though he had long forgotten why. All he knew was that he wasn't ready for anyone to see his face yet. He felt like a part of him was missing—like he was naked without his mask. But these men didn't count. Bastards didn't deserve any of his worry. "People that we found heading east. They don't know anything either."

Seth smiled. "Well, we're the authority now, and we're sorry for hurting you, but we have some criminals out and we can't afford to let anyone go without giving us suitable information. We are rebuilding the government into something that people can trust again. Why don't we take you out to the field so that you can tell your friends it's okay to come out?"

At this, Sadiq's heart started beating wildly in his chest. He was supposed to be a nobody with no knowledge whatsoever of anything going on in the country. His immediate reaction should rightfully be to side with whoever was working for a government that would protect him (at least that would be what he thought if he 'didn't know anything'), but he took too long to respond.

Besides that, this meant that he and Matthew weren't the only ones still alive.

Seth gave him a suspicious look. "Gunner, untie him. We'll take him out."

Sadiq kept his head low as Gunner moved around him, ridding him of his bonds, and then he was standing, though he stumbled a bit and winced from the pain that shot up from his ankle.

"Hurt?" Seth asked.

"Ankle," Sadiq replied, feeling extremely helpless by admitting it.

He made sure to not let Matthew see his face as he was led out of the tent. He could feel the Canadian's eyes on him the whole time.

The men in the camp watched him being led out to the field, their silence and stares making Sadiq feel like he was in the crosshairs of a dozen rifle lenses. With every step he took toward the tall grass, the harder his heart threw itself against his ribs. And then he stopped. Gunner's hand was on his shoulder, squeezing so hard that he was sure a bruise was forming there.

"So," Seth said. "Go on. Call them. Tell them all we want to ask is their names and what they know about the capital."

Sadiq swallowed. He opened his mouth, then closed it. No. He would not drag anyone else into this. His silence made Seth frown. A minute passed.

"Liar," Seth accused, and he nodded to Gunner. The man knew what to do. It was practically procedure now, what they had been training for.

Sadiq gasped as Gunner pulled him back to the campsite. Sadiq was intent on being back with Matthew, to show him that he was okay, but at the last moment he was shoved into a different tent. At this, he protested.

"Wait! Hey, I told you the truth!"

Gunner pushed him down to the ground. Sadiq fell onto his stomach, and Gunner sat on his legs. He writhed and resisted as best he could, but that only earned him a hard punch to the jaw that left him groaning and weak.

He couldn't do anything as Gunner tied him back up again. This time he was hogtied—no mercy spared for his injury. It hurt like a bitch, and Sadiq couldn't help but yelp as the ropes were pulled tight around the swollen ankle.

"You are a lying bastard." Gunner growled, and he moved Sadiq's ankle in such a way that made him split his lower lip between his teeth to keep in a scream. "You are trying to cover up for your friend. We know who he really is."

"He isn't Jones!" Sadiq shouted desperately, horrified at the panic in his voice.

At this, Gunner shoved his face into the ground until Sadiq couldn't fill his lungs. The man's breath was by his ear. "You can't hide him. He will be shipped out tomorrow, and once he gets to the capital, he will be killed."

Gunner let up on his head and Sadiq gulped down lungfuls of air. As the man walked to the flaps of the tent, he turned to look down at him, a smirk on his face. "You are just another Deceiver. You will die by our hands like the rest. We'll make sure it happens tonight."

No translations

A Word From the Writer: Poor Canada, always being mistaken for America at the worst of times. I just had to exploit that. And cool your tits, bros, didn't I say I ship everything? TurCan works, so chill. I like how I wrote Turkey all sweet and Canada all flirty. They're just bringing it out in each other, what can I say? And now just when Canada is actually getting together with someone, this shit happens. "Shit Happens" should be Canada's motto, seriously. More like "Shit Happens All the Fucking Time But Only to Me." But I love writing asshole characters and tense situations so, Canada, my brother from another mother, you'll just have to take it for a while. I'm sure you're used to it anyway.

Another thing. My campus tour was rescheduled, so we went somewhere else for the entire day. Let's just say it was foggy and raining and it was an outside tour of an historical landmark. I didn't like it being all wet, but at least I got the chance to use my camera (it takes film) so I can develop some prints in my photography class. That is, until we noticed that the film wasn't being fed properly. HERPDERP. Needless to say, my legs got a workout and my clothes got even more wet jamming it around the place trying to retake all the pics that, well, hadn't even been taken. So, next Saturday will be the campus tour, and I'll probably be updating on Sunday again.

Oh, and a weird occurrence. This tells you how much I think about Hetalia sometimes, hehe. So, I'm taking these self-defense classes because I'm kind of a weak beanpole and lo and behold there is this Ukrainian woman there. I think nothing of it... until a woman from Belarus arrives and starts translating some of the lectures to her. I mean, ftw, my mind was fucked. Like, seriously. We just did some kicks last class (I am so uncoordinated, LOL) and that Belarusian woman is pretty damn good at the groin kick. I was all like O_O"

Ta, darlings~!