Prepare to meet epic stuntman Germany.
Warning: Angst, dangerous situation, fight scene, weapons, gore.
Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN HETALIA. I have fun manipulating their characters, though
All Upside Down
Ivan balanced his AK-47 in his lap as the van came hurtling up beside him, the shooter aiming out the window with an MP5, cocked and loaded. Ivan immediately drew up his rifle, placing the butt firmly against his shoulder, one hand on the wheel and the other gripping the trigger guard. He lined up with a quickness that only came with experience, honing in on the man's head and firing.
The man gave a harsh cry and gurgled before dropping out of the van and rolling down the road. Ivan's front wheel went over some part of him with a clear crunch, but he barely heard it. He was currently gritting his teeth and gripping the shoulder that had borne the recoil of the weapon. The joint moved freely over the socket and Ivan instantly knew it was dislocated.
At first he hadn't understood what was wrong. He had fired in this manner many times before and hadn't received such pain. But then his mind cleared up to remember that he was merely human now and that his usual tactics would only prove to make him weaker.
Yao heard the strained grunt and turned to see the rifle clatter onto Ivan's lap. "You're shot!" he exclaimed.
"Nyet," Ivan said through clenched teeth. "My shoulder is dislocated… climb up here."
Yao knew Ivan was asking for help, but then again the Russian never directly asked for aid in any situation. Yao did as he asked, but not before imploring Kiku wedge himself between the seats and cover his head. He took up Ivan's arm. "Let me see."
Just then a hail of bullets pierced the side of the vehicle, a few flying past their heads to imbed themselves in the seats and dashboard. Another man had taken the dead one's place, reloading his own MP5 and adjusting his aim so as to assure deadly precision.
Ivan's hand instantly shot down to retrieve his own gun, but gave a cry when pain coursed up his arm. Seeing no other way, Yao practically threw himself into Ivan's lap and grabbed up his rifle, firing round after round. Ivan had to remember to guide the wheel and moved the van in a zigzag motion to avoid one of the rival bullets making it into the cab. All the while Yao had his front half spilled across Ivan, elbows imbedded uncomfortably in the Russian's thighs, whole body jerking every time his finger snapped back on the trigger.
Ivan barely kept his grip on the wheel. "Yao, reach into my coat."
Yao appeared a little startled at the command. He pulled his gaze away from the gunman in the other van as they weaved apart to peer up at Ivan. "What?"
"My coat," Ivan urged, shifting so that Yao could reach in. "I have a grenade. Take it out."
Yao's eyes bulged. "You have grenade? You kill us!"
Ivan huffed in annoyance. "Just get the damn thing out."
And so it was that Yao fished up in Ivan's coat rather awkwardly while the gunman reloaded. Unfortunately, the man finished before Yao could locate the weapon and opened fire as soon as he was close enough. Grunting as a bullet barley missed his nose, Ivan jerked the van out of range. "Что ты делаешь? Get the grenade!"
"I'm trying, gāisǐ de!" Yao's hands began to search more furiously, hoping to God he didn't do anything to set something off. And then a smaller pair of hands found his own.
Kiku was staring down at him. "Allow me, Yao-chan."
Shunted out of his stupor, Kiku was running completely on autopilot. No movement was made that wasn't deliberate or useful, and before long Kiku had located said item.
Ivan would have liked to say something along the lines of him being felt up, but the van was back again and the gunman was taking aim. Kiku retreated to the back seat, fingers curled tightly around the grenade. "Tell me what you want me to do, Ivan-san."
The Russian suddenly punched the gas. The van lurched forward so hard that they were all shoved back into their seats. Kiku fumbled, nearly dropping the grenade.
"You'll have to, unh." Pain spiked up his shoulder and he gritted his teeth. "Have to… throw it into the van, da?"
They all jumped as they were hailed with bullets. Yao responded in kind. "Ivan, you need to get down. You be killed!"
Ivan's heart was pounding, blood rushing in his ears—sensations he had never experienced before now. But he would never admit that it was frightening. "I will be fine." He moved the wheel suddenly again and the two vehicles parted. They only had so much time.
"Kiku," Ivan began firmly, looking into the man's eyes through the rear view mirror. "I need you to pull the pin when I tell you."
Kiku nodded. "I know when to pull the pin, Ivan-san."
"Wait," Yao said just as they were coming within range again. "When you going to pull it? Ivan?"
But Ivan was silent as the two vehicles came together. He gripped the wheel hard and said, "Roll down your window."
Kiku was not fazed by the command. He did so immediately, banishing all emotion just like he always did in dangerous situations. He knew he could do it.
But Yao wasn't quite so sure. "He will be shot!" He shouted angrily, the gunman dealing them another harsh volley that Yao forgot to return. When one bullet sheared through the sleeve on his coat and he could feel the heat of its travel just above his skin, Ivan decided enough was enough.
He floored it again, this time shooting forward until Kiku's window was directly positioned before the passenger's side of the Organization van. Yao sat up immediately.
"Kiku—!" He tried to lunge to the back seat, but Ivan caught him in an iron grip.
"Nyet, stay here."
"But Kiku…" Yao stiffened when he heard the metallic tink of a pin being pulled and discarded. Kiku was crouched in the seat, a live grenade balanced in his hand. Yao's heart was throwing itself against his ribs. "Kiku!"
But the man ignored him, as he usually tended to do. Yao felt completely helpless, counting down the precious seconds to when the weapon would detonate. He knew the exact time, was old and experienced enough to count down to the very second when it would explode.
Yao swallowed. 10… 9… 8…
Ivan could finally keep pace with the van, and Kiku's window lined up with the gunman's.
Yao felt numb. 7… 6… 5…
There was a little hastle regarding speed, and the windows once again lined up. When the gunman saw Kiku, he fired, and Kiku promptly ducked.
Yao felt like his heart was going to burst out of his chest. 4… 3…
"Now," Ivan said.
"Hai."
And then Kiku threw it. They all watched intently as the weapon sailed in an arc over to the van. The gunman saw it, and when he recognized it he immediately ducked down. As if that did any good. The grenade flew right through the window.
Ivan just remembered to move away, pulling the wheel harshly to the side. They all once again were launched toward the opposite side of the cab, and it was just as well. Not a moment later, the cabin erupted into smoke and flame with a deafening and body-quaking roar, the front of the vehicle lifting up for a moment during the blast. They could feel the power through their own vehicle and it was shunted sideways for a moment before Ivan could gain control. When they looked back again, the black van had its door hanging off, charred and mangled, and the broken body of the gunman rolled out and onto the road, his corpse catching the rear tire. It was obvious everyone had been either killed or severely wounded as the van swerved uncontrollably without guidance. It rapidly approached them, the dead driver's foot still pressed hard to the gas, the door screaming and sparking against the road as it was dragged along, and Ivan nearly lost control of his own vehicle trying to avoid it.
The Organization van clipped them on the back bumper, and the prominent jostle that offered sent Ivan's heart into his throat. But the van dealt them only that and then sailed across the lanes. The door finally gave out, the hinges snapping, sending the whole thing plummeting to the asphalt. In his mirrors, Ivan saw the front tire catch on it and coupled with the great speed with which it was traveling and its dangerous fishtailing, it was easily knocked over. There were screeches and crunches of metal as the van flipped over and over across the road, gaining dangerous speed and power, stopped only by the guard rail. When it arrived at the rail, it was in such a damaged state that it practically curled around it from the side, its wheels smoking and spinning in the air.
There was a moment where everyone relaxed and took time to breathe and then Ivan peered out of the passenger's window.
"Мой Бог…"
Ludwig was standing on the roof of his van, but that hardly concerned Ivan. At least not as much as Alfred in the bed of the truck. He watched and felt his gut lurch when he heard gunfire erupt from the van tailing the truck, eyes widening at the mounted M2. Alfred stiffened before dropping down in the back, his head not reappearing.
Ivan felt like part of him had died. You fool.
The truck took a sudden turn and hurtled toward the guard rail and the sloping hill that lay on the other side.
Ludwig's feet slipped back and forth on the smooth roof of the van, and twice he had nearly been thrown off. Lovino was keeping the vehicle as steady as he could, but the Organization van that had chosen them to harass was constantly knocking into the back, jostling the whole thing and making Ludwig's heart stop.
He reflected now that perhaps this had not been his brightest idea. But what could he do? The van was now so close that he would be shot if he so much as tried to clamber back into one of the windows. Then again, he could get shot if that van happened to pull up beside them.
But what could he do?
"Verdammt!" The van lurched again and sent Ludwig sliding across the roof. His fingers scrabbled desperately at the rounded surface, just barely managing to hook his them into the frame of one of the back windows.
The next he looked up, he saw the menacing black van beside them. He could hear Lovino swearing and Feliciano crying. Then Ludwig decided to do one of the craziest things he'd ever done in his life. He gathered his legs under him and gripped hard to where the window met the roof.
"Stay down, Feli!" was his final shout before he launched himself across to the other van.
He was so worried he would fall short that he nearly overshot himself. Everything in him burst into panic when he felt one of his legs go off the edge. But, somehow, he succeeded in staying on, lowering himself and elbowing his way to the center.
The van shifted again, and Ludwig found himself sliding toward the back. He cursed and got his feet under him, running in place for a few seconds before gaining ground and striking out for the center again.
Fingers gripping the edge of the roof from a front window was what Ludwig had been expecting but unprepared for.
It took a full minute for the man to fully maneuver himself onto the roof, forced to drag himself like a seal across the top until he could pull his legs up. Ludwig suddenly realized how helpless he was in such a position. It was all he could do to hang on—how in the world would he be able to fight this man?
Luckily for him, the man did not bring a weapon. Apparently he had been perceptive enough to know that he would need every last one of his fingers to keep a grip on the vehicle. The wind pulled at both their faces, stung their eyes, whipped their hair back, made their faces numb and their ears sore with cold, and at least those were a few things they shared.
It was immediate, however, that that was all they had in common. The man lashed out at him, defending the ideals he had been fed by his master, growling and gritting his teeth like a trained dog. His first action was to grab Ludwig, but the German knew what was coming and scurried out of the way.
It would have certainly been humorous if they weren't trying to kill each other and emergency teams were on hand. With an aerial view, it would appear as if they were a couple of crabs shuffling flat-bellied on the top of a van, limbs splayed and bodies sliding at the slightest jostle. Were that it was so simple. In all reality Ludwig was scared out of his wits, but the man swiping at him appeared as though being on the roof of a rapidly moving vehicle fighting someone who might just throw him off was something he had experienced countless times before.
Another swipe, and the man had Ludwig's wrist, yanking him forward. Ludwig had no other choice but to go; he couldn't exactly grab onto anything to keep himself from being pulled. As he got closer, the man's triumphant leer widened until it seemed to engulf his whole face. And yet his eyes were as dead as Ludwig had ever seen any corpse's.
Twisting out of the man's grip was not an option. Doing so would mean being sent helplessly across the roof again, and he couldn't let that happen when he was so close. Instead, when the man tried to bash Ludwig in the head with a poised fist, Ludwig whipped his trapped arm toward himself.
Not expecting Ludwig to respond in such a way, the man lost his concentration for a second. He chose to grip the vehicle instead of hit Ludwig, which was a mistake they both knew was fatal. The man's grip loosened, and Ludwig wrenched his hand free. Their eyes met, and for a moment the man's eyes flashed with something close to fright. Then Ludwig pushed the man's arm into his chest, sending the Organization member over the side. Ludwig watched, taking in the young, hairless face, the bright eyes, the lean muscle of the man's arms as they reached out in desperation and shock. He saw the humanity that had disappeared with the rest of the world.
And it was gone just as quickly, sucked under by the tires, crushed, bloodied, left an indecipherable red mass beneath the Organization's destructive machine. By the time the corpse was ground out by the back tires and released, there was no sign of the youth's round face nor the confident expression of someone who thought they knew how to cheat death. They had found so many ways to cheat death over the years—science, medicine, modernization, globalization—but they had never thought about how they would keep the world safe from themselves.
By the time Ludwig found his balance again, more fingers appeared on the roof, closely followed by arms and a head. Ludwig's heart sped up when he saw the massive shoulders strain as the man lifted himself onto the top of the van. He was a beast of man, scruffy and bulky, nothing compared to the youth that had preceded him. He had no trouble pulling up to meet Ludwig.
This time the man lunged at Ludwig. The German had nowhere to go but off.
He let himself be grabbed, but he wasn't expecting to be yanked halfway across the van. He grunted, his shoulder wrenching in its socket, and soon he was peering up into the dead eyes of the large Organization member.
"Scum," the man spat before digging his fingers into Ludwig's arm and swinging him over the side.
Ludwig yelled and held tight to the man's arm, dangling feet scrabbling for purchase on the dips of the windows. The man growled and shook him, but Ludwig's grip was iron. The wind was pushing him back, and his sweaty palms were slipping. The man poised his leg for a kick to Ludwig's jaw when the German felt a window roll down.
The man's foot caught some of his hair as he ducked down to maneuver his way into the back seat. When he let go of the man's arm, the man grabbed for him, almost catching him again before Ludwig shimmied his way into the van, heart pounding and legs quivering from the experience.
But Ludwig soon found that he was trapped. The driver all but ignored him, but a wiry man in the back quickly had his legs pinned. Ludwig was pulled completely onto the back seat, the man straddling him and catching his arms. Ludwig writhed and grunted, bringing up his knees to pound the man in his lower back. The man fell forward and responded by biting Ludwig's ear.
"Ah!" Ludwig shouted. "Scheißkerl!" The man was light enough to be rolled over, and before long Ludwig had him wedged between the seats, knee in his back. He then began looking around for something to finish him off with that wouldn't require exerting too much energy when his face came into contact with a fist.
He shouted as his nose burst, blood spilling down his front. He was propelled to the opposite end of the cabin, pain spiking up his knee as it was caught between the wiry man and seats, nearly going backward for a second. When he finally got hold of himself he was met with the sight of the burly man he'd met on the roof lunging toward him again.
Ludwig couldn't even escape by falling off this time. He was cornered in the cabin with a man twice his size, his nose surely broken and streaming with blood, and his leg still caught. He was in trouble.
The man charged him like a bull. Ludwig couldn't exactly get out of the way, but he did manage to wrench his leg free and pulled them both up to his chest, striking out with his feet as the man approached him. He got the guy in chest, but that barely seemed to faze him. With gorilla-like arms, he grabbed for Ludwig's neck. The German saw it coming and slammed his arm down, making the man's elbows bend and allowing Ludwig to knee the man in the chest.
The man grunted, breathless for a second and only that, and Ludwig took quick advantage, sending his knuckles hurtling toward the side of the brute's head.
But his wrist was caught. Everything went so fast, Ludwig couldn't think. He could barely take in the fact that his arm was yanked until he was lingering over the man, face-to-face. He was still trying to find his bearings when the man gathered his legs under him enough to flip Ludwig over him.
Ludwig hit the opposite window hard, upside down and winded. His neck was white hot with the angle it was twisted in, and he was dizzy—though from the blood loss or hitting his head on the door he didn't know. He looked up at the man who was crawling toward him in no rush. Ludwig had all but two choices. One, he could flip himself over so that his back was to the man and risk being grabbed before he could right himself. Two, he could push himself onto the seat enough to flip himself over then raise himself, which would take twice as long but at least he would be able to keep his eyes on his attacker.
He chose neither.
The man pounced on him and Ludwig had just enough thought to wedge his hand between himself and the door, grabbing the handle. When the man was on him, he pulled.
The door flew open, the wind beating it back. Ludwig fumbled, halfway on the seat while his legs slipped on the open door. The man had rushed past him, tumbling out of the door, only to grab onto one of Ludwig's legs.
Ludwig shouted, nails digging into the upholstery as he was pulled out. Blindly, his hand searched for the button to the window which had been cleverly turned up after the larger man had entered to keep him from escaping. He finally located it and rolled it down just enough to hook a leg through it. He then concentrated on freeing his other from the person still holding it.
He looked down and immediately regretted the decision. The man holding him resembled ground meat from the waist down. Bone was scraping against the road, the skeleton of his lower half slowly revealed as flesh and muscle were sheared away by the asphalt, leaving a chunky red trail behind him.
Ludwig would have thrown up, but he had work to do. He averted his eyes and focused on pulling himself back into the cab, arm muscles straining against the strength of the halfman gripping his ankle. At last, when Ludwig's torso was safely on the seat, the man's grasp seemed to loosen, and with a good shake his leg was released. Frantically, Ludwig clawed his way back in, catching his breath. When the rear tire lifted and fell again, Ludwig at least had the comfort of knowing that the beastly man was gone for good.
But he barely had time to recover before the wiry man, who had been hiding between the seats throughout, dealt a hefty punch to Ludwig's gut. The German swore when he had the breath to and brought his foot down on the man's back as he tried to get up. The man gasped, and with great relief Ludwig realized that he'd broken the boy's back. He wouldn't be getting up.
He heard the driver curse and saw the man's hand go to his side. Ludwig jumped forward to stop him, knowing what he was going for, when metal crunched from behind and the whole vehicle lurched forward and sent him flying to the front. The driver, distracted by his mirrors, was an easy target for Ludwig's fist.
A tooth flew and blood with it. The driver then turned his attention to Ludwig, elbowing him in the jaw. Ludwig moved back enough to avoid his jaw being broken, but the hit did jar him for a moment.
There was incessant honking from behind, and only then did Ludwig look into the rear view mirror and notice that one of their own vans was tailing them.
Ivan.
Another honk, and Ludwig knew what the Russian was intent upon doing. By the time Ludwig returned his attention to the driver, the man had salvaged his gun, but had not aimed just yet. Ludwig took the time to lean back and kick the man in the jaw.
An audible clack told Ludwig that it was broken. The man was distracted enough by the pain to allow Ludwig to crawl over the passenger seat and toward the open window, wind buffeting him as he stuck his head out, then his shoulders.
"Hey!" He waved frantically at Lovino, who saw him and moved the van closer. "Get in, bastard, I haven't got all day!"
Ludwig ignored him in favor of hooking his fingers into the Lovino's driver's side window and pulling with all his might, praying that Ivan didn't decide to ram the van again. He managed to wriggle his waist through, and his arms and head were securely in the other van. Feliciano had appeared to help him in, grabbing his arms and pulling.
Ludwig only had his legs to go when there was a shot from behind him.
"No!" Feliciano cried and nearly pulled Ludwig's arms off trying to get him in. But it was altogether apparent that his pant leg was caught on something in the black van's cab. And now the driver was recovered enough to fire on him.
"Get in, you bastard, come on!" Lovino shouted at him.
"I'm stuck!" Ludwig shouted back.
"Stuck? That's no fucking excuse!"
Another shot sounded, and Ludwig could feel the wind it caused against his clothing as it flew past. The bullet flew out of the window and embedded itself just above Lovino's window. The driver was starting to regain his aim.
All at once, Ludwig knew how much of a risk he would pose if he were to keep the two vehicles attached with his body. Lovino and Feliciano both were in the line of fire, and they could risk injury or worse for his sake.
He peered up at Feliciano. "Feli, let me go."
Feliciano's eyes widened. "What?"
"Let go of my arms. I can't let you—"
"No!" Feliciano shouted, tears pushing at the corners of his eyes, the familiarity of the situation making itself starkly known in his mind's eye. "Shut up, Luddy! Just shut up!"
There was a sudden crunch as the black van was struck once again from behind. At first, Ludwig's heart beat with such force he thought his ribs would crack, but then he found with much shock that he was no longer snagged.
Ludwig didn't know exactly how he managed to get into the safety of the van nor did he want to. The next thing he knew, he was crawling out of Lovino's lap, the man expressing his discontent in a string of curse-laden Italian. Feliciano was pulling him the whole time, not letting up until he had Ludwig in his arms.
"You're stupid, Luddy!" Feliciano was shouting, his voice quivering with tears. He held the exhausted Ludwig tightly, pressing the man's sweaty head to his chest as they sat in the passenger's seat. "You're so stupid. Don't you ever do that again!" He examined him for a moment and gasped. "Luddy, you're bleeding!"
Ludwig knew he should be telling Feliciano to get down in the back of the van, but all he could do was dig his fingers into the man's coat and rasp, "Feli…"
Lovino scoffed. "Leave the stupid romance for some other goddamn place. Ludwig will be fine; someone with such a thick fucking skull shouldn't be hurt. Right now we need to—shit."
The Italian's eyes darted to the side mirror and the other's eyes soon followed. Feliciano gaped. "They're going to crash!"
"Nein," Ludwig said, regaining his composure and sliding into the back of the van. He took Feliciano with him. His eyes locked onto the reflection, and he gave a disbelieving smile. "Only one of them will crash." I would have done the same myself, you cocky bastard.
Knowing what was coming, Lovino steered their own van away while the black one swerved under the onslaught of Ivan's ramming. The man seemed determined to crush the whole backside, the rear bumper already hanging off and leaving bright vermilion sparks where it screeched along the road. Desperately, the driver of the black van turned away, preventing Ivan from rear-ending the van for a fourth time. The Russian punched the gas in response, pulling up until the front of his vehicle was positioned beside the black van's rear.
Then Ivan twisted the wheel opposite, making his own van jerk sharply to the left. Before the driver of the Organization man could escape, Ivan made a sharp right.
The vehicles collided, steel caving in with a whining groan. The bumper fell completely off, skidding past Ivan and his passengers, the man just barely avoiding it. All it took was that one push. Then the black van was tottering on two of its wheels, the wind finally choosing to aid them rather than hinder, knocking the vehicle onto its side. The driver had been going so fast trying to get out of range that the van continued to scream across the asphalt until it hit the concrete-and-steel pillar of an overpass. The front was immediately conclave, the column burrowed into it as far up as the cab. Ludwig thought he spotted the stark whiteness of an airbag going off, and then he knew for sure that the man inside was dead.
The van was still smoking when they heard another jarring crash. This one came from behind them, and they soon saw their truck tipped onto its side, the tires of its upturned side spinning while the rest lay still and silent, smothered in five feet of snowdrift.
Translations:
gāisǐ de-damn it
Мой Бог-My God
Scheißkerl-Motherfucker
A Word From the Writer: Wow, shit went downhill fast. And how about that modern juggernaut Germany, eh? I just had to write him doing something awesome and ballsy. Meanwhile, you got England doing some crazy shit in his own vehicle. The logic behind that will be explained next chapter. Now, go forth, my fangirls, and read! XD