As if things couldn't get any crazier.

Warning: Angst, insults, sad stuff.

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

Back to 'Normal'

A half hour later they all came together in the living room again, piling up whatever scant supplies they'd found. A few cans of soup and vegetables, some blankets for extra warmth, shirts, an old, dust-ridden fur coat, a couple boxes of ammunition, pills. Everything else—all the tools left in the shed (which wasn't much), weapons, rope, anything useful, really—had already been taken by looters before them or the owners of the house.

Kiku stared. "Such small stock for so much risk."

Alfred scoffed. "We're lucky we even found those cartridges. If they hadn't been hidden between some boxes and the wall this stuff would be all the more worthless."

"None of this is worthless," Ivan said. He knew what worthless meant more than all of them. "We must pack them up." He knelt to gather the things into his arms and grunted, wincing as pain shot up from his wound. That bullet had really cut through his muscle.

Alfred's hand immediately latched onto his arm and tugged him back. "No, Ivan. Don't strain yourself."

Ivan felt all of the stress and fear and rage coiling in his gut at once. Before he could stop it, it spilled over. He yanked his arm out of Alfred's grip and glared. "I know how to take care of myself. I don't need you constantly worrying over me."

Alfred blinked. Not knowing what else to say, he gave a sort of weak laugh, "Well, you obviously can't if you keep scrunching your face up like that with every move you make."

It was the wrong thing to say, and Alfred knew it as soon as the words were out of his mouth. "I am not a child. I am older than you—I should be the one worrying about you."

Alfred's brow furrowed. "I may be younger, but that doesn't mean I'm completely helpless."

"And how would I know that you're even capable of taking care of yourself?" Ivan flashed back and by now they had everyone's attention. "Go back through your own history for once and own up to your mistakes and imperfections. When Arthur left you, you went to shit. And now we're in a whole new fucking world that none of us have even come close to adapting to, and you go and say 'I can take care of myself.' Right. You'll probably be the first to scew up and then you'll definitely be fucked. And all because you think you're so fucking superior to anyone and anything. Why did I ever think all this shit would change you? You're still the hapless, blundering lackwit you were three hundred years ago!"

Alfred was silent and staring, and everyone in the room seemed to have stopped breathing. Even Lovino had ceased his crying to listen.

The words stung worse than Alfred would like to admit, but he was determined to get his bit in. Ivan should know by now to expect plenty of retaliation from Alfred after insulting him. "No, you're the one who hasn't changed. You tell me to look into my past… you've looked so much into your own past that you're stuck in it!" Alfred's voice gradually rose in decibel until anyone standing on the street before the house could hear him—if anyone was there. "You live it every day because you're scared. You think I don't see it? I do—I'm not as oblivious as you believe. I know you enough to see when you're frightened, but obviously you don't know enough about me to discern that. Everyone here is scared shitless. You're not above that. Oh, sure, I ride my high horse every now and again, but at least I have the sense to get down when the whole fucking world is in danger!" His voice dropped an octave and his eyes narrowed. His hands were balled into fists, and he wanted nothing more than to punch Ivan's lights out—then maybe he would realize how stupid he was being. "I've been giving everything to you, and I must be a fucking moron, huh? I must be the biggest dumbass in the world to think this would ever work. I guess you're right—I am a lackwit. For thinking I could worry about you just a fucking bit without you pushing me away like you've pushed everyone away for centuries!" Alfred was shaking now, his throat scratchy and his eyes wet. He couldn't believe he was crying for this jerk—what had they even had? What had he been expecting? In the end, it was just a tension-charged fuck, as always. Nothing had changed between them.

Alfred knew he was going to hit something if he didn't leave, but he wanted to give Ivan something to chew on before he left. "Don't even think to use your past as an excuse for your behavior. Everything's changed now, if you haven't noticed. And, goddammit, Ivan, you keep building up too many damn walls for me to break down. You're so insecure about your capabilities, you're cracking under the strain. You think I can't tell? You think I'm an idiot? Well, fuck you!" And Alfred did leave, but not without leaving a fist-shaped hole in the wall… a testament to the one he'd left back in the airport where things were normal between them and not complicated and painful. His knuckles hurt like hell and he wanted to cry, but he remained stoic the whole time climbing the stairs to the second level. He felt so much like leaving the house completely, but he knew how foolish that would be. Most of all, he wished that the goddamn ache in his heart would fuck off for good.

But that fucking feeling of Ivan holding him so tightly—like his life depended on it—was stark and relentless in his mind.

"Stay with me."

Alfred entered the back room and slammed the door shut, dropping down to the floor as his legs grew weak and burying his face in his hands.

How do you expect me to stay with you if you keep running away, Ivan?

I can't believe you're breaking my heart, you bastard.

Alfred couldn't punch Ivan, so Arthur did it for him. It was enough for Ivan to lift his downcast eyes to glare.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Arthur snapped, no longer intimidated by the Russian's scowl. "The boy may be a git, but that doesn't give you any excuse to be such an arsehole to him!"

Ivan's voice was low and his eyes empty as he said, "Don't touch me."

Arthur did not, but he wasn't about to just let Ivan go. "Not to mention you're starting shit after all that's already happened. What were you hoping to achieve?" Ivan glared, unperturbed, with a look that clearly told Arthur to fuck off out of his business. The Briton shook his head, ignoring the warning. "How can you hope to fix everything when you stay the way you are?"

"I'm…" Ivan began, determined to stick up for himself, but he couldn't come up with anything. What had that been about anyway? What had he been trying do? He didn't exactly know, but he didn't like the results.

Arthur sensed Ivan's regret and decided a change of subject was due. He turned to address them, trying to ignore the covered form of Gilbert that lingered in the corner of his eye and the blood that pooled placidly beneath him. "We need to leave. That much is certain. This is likely a halfway point for Organization members crossing the country or a base for those who linger in the area." He looked at Lovino, his heart breaking for the man. "We can't leave him here."

"We won't," Ludwig answered for him, because Gilbert was his brother. Hell if he was going to let someone tell him how to properly put him to rest. But still, Lovino had been his lover. If only a for a short time Gilbert had come to care for the man just as much as he did Ludwig. That much had been obvious. Despite Lovino's less than favorable temperament, Ludwig knew Gilbert would want him to have a part in this. Lovino was watching him from his place being held by his brother on the couch. The look in his eyes said more than what could be put into words. "You will choose a better place for him than this."

All Lovino could do was nod. His chest hurt—whether it was his heart or from him crying so much, he couldn't tell. Had he cried this much for Toni? Once again, Lovino had been cowardly. And he was paying for it twofold. He nodded shakily. "Si." More words bubbled in his throat, ached to get out, to describe to everyone how he'd seen Gilbert, how the world should perceive him, but no one could ever truly describe him. There was simply too much to say in words too elaborate to fully comprehend.

The house stank of blood and discharged bullets. It reeked of the reversal of human nature. Yao helped carry the supplies gathered to the abandoned vehicles out front, keeping one eye on Kiku. The man was helping as well, but with an obvious stony silence. Yao knew it was the poison of a clouded mind. The closer they got to the center of the growing new world, the more they were confronted with the fact that no one could turn back from this. There would be a new order, a new standard, a new everything. And they were just the ones that were blocking the way. Should they be allowed to live? If they were the only ones still hanging onto the morals that have long passed out of existence, why were they still alive?

Everyone was more or less pondering these questions, and they were almost robotic as they contributed to escaping the house. Another house, another monster. Civilization was the noose and they themselves were the unintentional hangmen. They were all just as responsible for Gilbert's death as was the person who actually pulled the trigger. There would be no trust anymore. Everyone was an enemy and everywhere was dangerous. And they were merely expendable human beings facing the rest of the cruel world. Were they at the edge yet? Was the precipice crumbling beneath their feet even then? One step toward the capital was another toward the cliff. Below it was oblivion. They would not be remembered if they fell—not if they went without a fight.

Ivan scoffed to himself. All those years of thinking the same thing after all that had happened to him, and what did he show for it? He'd trusted a monster. He'd been the death of Gilbert. He was a horrible lover.

Ivan didn't know what happened, but when Alfred brought up his injury, he'd snapped. It only reaffirmed the fact that Ivan wasn't invincible and that he might die and leave Alfred to whatever cruel fate may befall him. He couldn't protect him like he wanted, and it pissed him off. Try as he might, he couldn't stop the shadows of the cruel tape reel of potential memories Agramon had showed him. Of Alfred and a million and one ways he could die.

I, I, I… Ivan went over the word in his head. I want, I want. It's been about me this whole time. I wanted Alfred, so I convinced him to love me. I wanted to make him mine, so I convinced him to sleep with me. I wanted to be loved, so I made him my personal caretaker. Take, take, take. I take and I don't care what he thinks. I love him, and I want him to be with me, but he's never said he loves me without prior prompting. I don't know if it's fake. It's been fake before. Years upon years of us seeing each other, a smile hiding my disappointment as he walked away every time. I can't keep that smile up anymore. I'm taking his words too literally. But I'm afraid to lose him. I don't want to be abandoned.

Arthur had fetched Alfred from the upstairs bedroom he had been hiding in. When Ivan met Alfred's eyes, the younger promptly looked away, ignoring him even as they both lifted Gilbert's body into the trunk of one of the vans. Ivan closed the back and Alfred left before he could say a word. When it was time to leave, Ivan took the wheel in the same van, watching Alfred as he began to walk toward the vehicle, but as soon as he saw him sitting there, he turned on his heel in favor of the truck.

I wanted to love him, so I forced my feelings on him. He's playing with me. At this, Ivan's knuckles went white around the steering wheel. This whole time he's been stringing me along, just like he has enjoyed doing all those times before.

Why do I still love him?

He was startled as the door opened and Matthew was standing there staring down at him. "Get out."

Ivan was confused. "Nyet, I will—"

"You're not fit to drive," Matthew insisted, his gaze even and smoldering. "Out."

There was a vicious undertone to Matthew's voice that told Ivan he wasn't happy with the way he had spoken to his brother. Ivan decided that he'd rather submit than start another fight that would push Alfred further away from him.

He let go of the wheel and slid out of the driver's seat. Matthew wasted no time in taking his place, starting up the engine even before Ivan opened the back door to get in. Ludwig took up the passenger's seat, quiet as ever. And in the back sat Ivan, once again alone and ill-favored.

Alfred stared out the window, only half watching the scenery go by.

What the fuck was I thinking? he kept asking himself. The asshole could never care. He just likes to make me hurt. And now he's really done it. Alfred hated to admit it, but he could just curl up and die with how hurt he was. This is by far the worst thing you've ever done to me, Ivan. What had I been expecting from a man whose heart doesn't even beat? That was a lie. A terrible one, and Alfred knew it, but he didn't want to acknowledge it. Those nights as he lay with his body pressed against Ivan's, he had felt the man's heart fluttering in his chest, felt it go frantic whenever they were making love—no, fucking. Alfred got lost in the memory for a moment, recalling how delicately Ivan had touched him, how firmly he had held him afterward. He expelled them with a scoff. Why did you have to be so damn good at convincing me? I can't believe I thought I was seeing another part of you. I can't believe I ever trusted you, you cold bastard. I hate you. I hate you so much.

He was frustrated at the tears that gathered in his eyes and trailed down his face. He shouldn't be crying for what they had—they hadn't had anything at all. It was just a trick, a cruel joke… and yet, his pant leg turned dark where the products of his dejection fell.

Something brushed over his hand and he looked down from the window to see a bandaged hand on his. He couldn't meet Arthur's face.

"Stop," he croaked.

Arthur's voice was low, not even turning his head to face him. "Stop what, Alfred?"

"Stop trying to comfort me. There's nothing wrong. I don't need to be comforted." He wiped his nose on his sleeve and resumed his silent staring.

Arthur gave a worried frown and took his hand back, choosing instead to place it in his lap. You idiot, he wanted to say. You pick up on nothing, do you? All those centuries of obvious desire on Ivan's part, of nearly every country cashing in on wagers to see if anything would happen between he and Alfred, and now this. Although Ivan would rather have shot himself in the foot than admit he loved Alfred years earlier, over the centuries he became negligent and his love for Alfred was plain with every look he gave the younger nation. At least to the older nations it was, since they had experienced more or less the same thing in their younger years. Granted, Ivan had a strange way of expressing his affection, but that didn't make him any less in love with Alfred. As more and more time passed with Alfred never noticing, Ivan became more infuriated with his ignorance. He'd done everything in his power to make Alfred realize, to gain Alfred's undivided attention. He hadn't known what else to do—violence was all he'd known to implement change. What he'd gotten in return was hate. Hate and rejection and a broken heart.

Arthur supposed Ivan might have secretly admired Alfred when he was starting to come into his own. Ivan was jealous that someone so young and cocky could achieve such success while he himself was drowning in turbulence. When Alfred was divided, Ivan was empathetic instead of cruel. He didn't want Alfred to turn out like him. He was always there, even if only in the background, and Alfred barely paid any mind to him until he interrupted his plans. To him, Ivan was a constant nuisance. To Ivan, Alfred was blind, arrogant, rash… and everything he could have been. No doubt it had crossed Ivan's mind at one point or another how he could have turned out if he had grown the way Alfred had. No matter what Alfred did or said or threatened, Ivan came back. Always a thorn in his side, always stubborn—always wanting of Alfred's attention.

Arthur saw all this and more and sat back, watching to see what would conspire between them. Quite honestly, he hadn't wanted Ivan anywhere near his former colony, but that was before he began to really watch Ivan. His mannerisms were less guarded around Alfred. And Arthur found himself mentally urging Ivan on. Alfred, after all, did have need of an authoritative figure in his life, since he just ignored Arthur.

I'm one to talk, Arthur thought. For centuries he and Francis had done the same dance and only now had united. Despite Arthur staunchly avoiding talk of relationships and sex with Alfred, had he possibly passed on his knack for tumultuous unions? It would figure.

And did Lovino have it as well? It seemed likely. Here Arthur was thinking about living people when just behind them, stuffed into a sleeping bag in the back of a van, was the body of someone who was called Gilbert once. And in the van in front of that was someone who was once his lover, stuck on the wrong plane of existence. As annoying as Gilbert had been, Arthur had never wanted him gone. Everything was too quiet, too starkly real without him. In the end, Gilbert had finally matured enough to settle with Lovino. And Lovino had coped enough with Toni's death to accept his affections. Two very odd persons in a very common union. If Gilbert's death was not a sign that the world was broken, then what else could be?

Arthur glanced at Francis out of the corner of his eye. His hands were on the wheel, his eyes tiredly focused on the empty expanse of road, no doubt glad for the distraction of driving. I won't lose you, Arthur promised for perhaps the billionth time. You'd better not die after everything we've done together, or I'll kick your froggy arse.

Francis led them to the on ramp and punched it to eighty down the interstate. The other vehicles had no struggle keeping up.

No translations

A Word From the Writer: Yup, I kinda had to break them up. Too much focus on them as a couple, so I had to go against my fangirl instincts and get rid of them. Will they get back together? And is driving around with a dead body in the back of the vehicle considered bad luck (you know, if it isn't a hearse)?

All this and more~