Disclaimer: If I owned Hetalia or Alice Isn't Dead I wouldn't be writing fanfiction, I would be satisfied with my life and having a vacation. But I'm here. So using context clues, what does that tell you? I don't own either Hetalia or Alice Isn't Dead.
"You know what I love more than anything else?" Alfred said to the now asleep Feliciano. "Cruise control. I love cruise control more than most of my family members. And sorry to all aunts and uncles and cousins, you are great people. That cramp in my ankle from holding the gas pedal at the angle just so is literal Satan. And cruise control is the host of Heaven punching him in the face. It is the kind word in a strange country, the rain after a drought."
He had to stop talking for a bit at this point, and squinted out at the side of the road.
"Did that billboard have the word 'fart' on it?" Alfred laughed. "I probably just misread it."
Thank God for cruise control.
Some of those billboards, it wasn't even clear what they were supposed to be advertising. One that Alfred had just passed said "HUNGRY?" and nothing else. All capitals and question mark. Black test, white background. Was it just advertising the idea of food? The concept of consumption? If so, Alfred was in. He was all in, but… who paid for that, and why?
It was a long way from Florida to Atlanta, so it was no surprise Feliciano fell asleep. It was also a desolate way.
The landscape was constructed of billboards. There were no natural features, but the side of the road was a constant chatter, a one-sided conversation. Lots of anti-evolution stuff.
All the trucks stops being advertised had names like The Jade Palace or The Chinese Fan. Real racist fonts too. Oh, and all of them with pictures of scantily-clad women and stuff about massages.
Alfred thought that this had to be the grossest stretch of road he had ever driven.
"Lord, get me to Atlanta," he muttered under his breath.
Alfred had been going through Arthur's laptop. One of the only things he took with him when he left. That, and a stack of books he hadn't even bothered looking through.
Was going through Arthur's laptop an invasion of privacy? Alfred didn't know. It wasn't an invasion of privacy to go through his dead boyfriend's records, right? That's just being organized. That's just doing what needs to be done.
But this was more than being organized now. Arthur had made himself a mystery, and now everything he left was a clue. Arthur was now a missing person's case, and everything he had ever touched was evidence.
Or maybe not. Maybe Alfred was just being nosy, and was just a person snooping through another person's things. He was fine with that too.
Flicking through the emails in the laptop, Alfred smiled slightly at the familiar ones he saw.
"Orlando is hot though, isn't it, Love?"
So this was from when Arthur was calling Alfred "Love."
"Orlando is hot. Seems like it should be obvious, but I never could have predicted the fact of it on my skin. The reality of heat is harder to take than the idea of it. I guess that's anything, really. I suppose I'm describing to you absolutely everything that's ever been. I'm going to knock that off and say that the view of the ocean from my room would be beautiful, if it existed. I'm looking at a pool that's been drained for some reason. Bloody cockroach right in the middle of it."
"Love, I live the glamorous life for us. Don't-"
The loud honk of a car horn startled Alfred out of his reading, and he went to correct the truck from driving out of its lane. The car he had almost hit sped ahead, and the driver cursed at him loudly.
Feliciano woke with a start. "What?"
Alfred laughed sheepishly. "Ah, nothing! No more reading from a laptop while driving."
Sighing, Feliciano rolled his eyes and removed the laptop from Alfred's lap. "Yeah no more reading from a laptop while driving."
Another billboard came up, and it caught Feliciano's eye. It was just someone's name. "BERNARD HAMILTON." Black text, white background, nothing else.
"Am I supposed to Google the name?" Feliciano questioned.
Alfred shrugged. "Dunno. If you really want to, go for it."
"Nah."
The ads on most of the billboards seemed ancient. Advertising local events that happened in 2005, fire sales for stores that have been torn down and buried and covered over in pitch and turf and concrete. A lot of them were just phone numbers and a message letting the viewer know that the billboard was available for rent. Had to be pretty cheap on this stretch.
"Did that billboard say something about seceding?" Feliciano twisted around in his seat to look at the receding figure. "I swear it did."
Alfred laughed. "Maybe. There was one that just said, 'HUNGRY?' in all capital letters, question mark at the end, black text, white background."
"Weird."
Alfred pulled over. "Hey, I wanna check something really quickly. Pass me the laptop, won't you?"
Feliciano knit his eyebrows as he passed the laptop over to Alfred. "You're not Googling the billboards, are you."
"No, no," Alfred waved him off. "Just a sudden thought I had."
He tapped away on the laptop for a bit, and Feliciano watched as his face fell, more and more.
First, Alfred checked the bank accounts.
Payments for years. Directly into Arthur's savings. Long before Alfred even had a hint that something was off. Big payments. Regular, a salary, one would guess, looking at them. But Arthur had a job. Who was paying him a second salary? And for what?
Then, Alfred checked the old emails.
"Love, checking into the Hampton Inn. Now this is more my speed. Decent food, wonderful tea for free in the lobby, actual proper suites."
"Conference is tomorrow, so I have a day to explore everything that Simi Valley has to offer. Which is… Well, I'm not quite sure. It's right outside my hotel door, so I don't have to go far. There's the Reagan Library that I can spend a satisfactory five minutes thinking about never visiting, lots of hills and rocks that look like a backdrop in one of your stupid old western movies. Found a weirdly good shaved ice place. That's about it. Love, Arthur."
Alfred frowned, and frustration bubbled up.
He showed Feliciano the email, and Feliciano read through it quickly.
"I don't get it," Feliciano said timidly.
Alfred pulled up Google Maps and searched up Simi Valley, then showed it to Feliciano.
"Here's what I'm having trouble with, okay? Here's the question mark in this bullshit. See, there isn't a Hampton Inn in Simi Valley."
Feliciano's eyes widened. He took the laptop and began typing rapidly. "I…You're right. There really isn't."
"Yeah, and that's a little thing, really. It's nothing. Maybe Arthur was staying in a town nearby. But he said specifically that it was right in Simi Valley."
A little thing. But that wasn't even all.
Alfred looked up historical weather data. That was what Arthur had reduced him to. It was cold in Orlando that weekend, the weekend Arthur was supposedly there. They had a cold snap. High in the low 50s and windy. He guessed that Arthur thought saying it was hot was a safe assumption. He shared his discoveries with Feliciano.
Little lies all through Arthur's emails to him. Everything not adding up to everything else, again and again. And all of them small and easy to dismiss on their own. But when Arthur was home, Alfred hadn't felt any lies from him at all. He was an open, honest presence. He didn't feel secrets.
"Was I a fool?"Alfred asked.
Feliciano took his hand and grasped it tightly, but couldn't find the right words to say for a bit.
"I don't think so," he said quietly.
But those emails. Arthur always prided himself on being a gentleman. He wouldn't lie unless he had good reason to.
"Where was he going on those constant trips?" Alfred muttered. "The constant trips he made for work, what was he doing out there? And who the hell was paying him a secret salary to do it?"
Feliciano was helpless, so he just kept holding onto Alfred's hand and squeezing as tightly as he could without hurting him.
With a sigh, Alfred looked back up at the road. "We have to keep going."
"Yeah," Feliciano said. "We have to keep going."
There was another billboard with someone's name on it. "PETER KIRKLAND." Same design as the last one. Looks brand new. Creepy, Alfred thought. Same last name as Arthur. Never heard of him before. Who was buying these?
Well, they knew their audience. A landscape this flat and nothing, this grey and long, any kind of different is something.
"All right, you've got my curiosity, mystery billboard person," Alfred muttered. "Nothing I can do with it, just drive along thinking on it. But it's there. Good job! Now I'm wondering 'why?' about your ads."
Feliciano thought driving on a road like this made people ask the question "Why?' over and over again for all sorts of reasons. Mainly a quiet, despairing "Why?" aimed solely at oneself, unanswerable except by one's own actions.
There was also a billboard that says "Decadent Dogs" and has a picture of dogs. Probably one for dog grooming.
"'Decadent Dogs,'" Feliciano murmured. "Hmm."
Alfred suddenly jolted forward and twisted his head to look behind them. "That was- That was a God damn plantation we just passed! That's what that was! A tourist destination."
Feliciano felt a little sick. "What kind of species are we, though?"
Alfred had no answer to that.
They passed a few more of the billboards, the ones with names. The one they passed said "TRACY DRUMMOND."
Feliciano frowned. "Who are you, Tracy?"
Alfred passed him the laptop. "Go for it."
Feliciano Googled Tracy Drummond. Her name was in a list with all the other names from the billboards. Found near major highways, all over the country, lives quietly broken under overpasses, on frontage roads, in broad wooded shelters. Lost, even in the age of GPS and Siri. Lost forever.
"A human bite in the neck or shoulder," Feliciano read, with a shaking voice. "Not elegant, like a vampire, not two pinprick holes. Ragged, big bites, spilling blood out until they died. Died alone on the sides of highways, or worse, not alone."
Alfred's grip on the steering wheel tightened. "Oh fuck."
"The media calls him 'the Hungry Man.'" Feliciano let out a trembling breath. "They know about him, Alfred. He's a serial killer, and they've been looking for him for almost two decades. He only does it occasionally, only sometimes. Leaves behind, just once in awhile, a life torn open with his teeth."
"Oh my God." Alfred looked at Feliciano, his eyes unreadable. "They're victims of the Tribulus man, Feliciano. Every one of those names, every one of those billboards, there's- there's another one. It's a little distant so-"
"No," Feliciano whispered. "It is. White background, black text. 'NED FLYNN.'"
They didn't even need to look it up. They knew. Dead, somewhere. A big bite out of him.
"The Tribulus man has left a trail, has told us who he is," Feliciano whispered. "He is the Hungry Man, and he's not going to stop eating. He wants us to know. He left these billboards as messages. Those names. Dots on a map. Last known whereabouts."
Alfred leaned forward. "Hold on, there's another billboard coming up. I can't quite read it yet."
Feliciano looked down at the laptop, ready to search up whatever he had to.
"Okay, it says… it…."
Feliciano looked up in alarm, only to be faced with Alfred's ashen white face.
"I'm pulling over."
Feliciano looked up at the sign, and his heart broke.
Next to him, Alfred sobbed. He curled up into a ball, and he screamed and cried and wailed.
"God damn it!" Alfred yelled. "Shit, shit, SHIT!"
Black text, white background. New billboard, not old and wearing away, like most of the ones on the road. "ARTHUR KIRKLAND."
Feliciano let out a shuddering breath, and undid his seat belt. He reached over and undid Alfred's seat belt, untangled it from his body, and hugged Alfred.
"What the fuck! Son of a bitch, that asshole killed Arthur! It was him, he did it!"
Feliciano felt a warm sensation bloom from his eyes and drip down his face. Tears fell from his eyes as he held and comforted Alfred as best as he could. He rubbed Alfred's back in soothing circles, and he felt Alfred's arms come around him as well, sobbing into his shoulder all the while.
"Damn it," Alfred wasn't yelling anymore, but he was still sobbing. His words were only whimpers. "God fucking damn it." Every breath he let go of felt like the weight of the world falling on his chest, and every breath he took in felt like he was breathing through a five centimeter thick layer of dirt.
He had known for a long time that the chances of Arthur still being alive was near zero. He had known since long ago. But a tiny part of him had always hoped that maybe, somehow, he was still out there, and trying to find his way back.
Alfred didn't realize it would hurt that much to have that last spark of hope smothered out.
Feliciano wouldn't say that Alfred had calmed down fully. He wasn't screaming anymore, and he wasn't speaking, but he was still crying, and he wouldn't let go of Feliciano's arm, but Feliciano figured now was as good of a time as any to try to figure out more of how to get on Arthur Kirkland's trail.
Feliciano grabbed the laptop and began navigating through the folders. Buried deep behind everything, past the school essays saved in formats the computer couldn't read anymore, past the photos of who he assumed was Arthur smiling drunkenly with the Eiffel Tower as a blur of light in the distance, past the porn, and the system files. The file was hidden, but Feliciano found it.
Payment information. Paperwork matching each of the mystery deposits Alfred had showed him in Arthur's account. Everything matched.
Bay & Creek Shipping. The company whose truck Feliciano sat in now with Alfred, going anywhere good businesses need transportation services.
Feliciano noticed that Alfred had finally stopped sobbing, and was now only hiccuping through the last of his tears.
"He was lying…" Alfred muttered, eyes flicking through the information. "Every convention he went on for work, he was somewhere other than he told me, that bastard. And Bay & Creek Shipping was paying him to do it."
Alfred's voice was hollow, and his eyes were the color of the deepest depths of the ocean.
His link on Feliciano's arm loosened, and instead, he took Feliciano's hand.
"This little shit." He swore under his breath, and turned to face Feliciano. "Listen, this isn't about finding out what the fuck my dead asshole of a boyfriend was hiding from me anymore. This is about us, okay?" Alfred's eyes were focused, and still bright from tears. His nose was red from crying, and his mouth was set in a grim line.
Feliciano nodded numbly.
Alfred's lips twitched into a smile. "This story is about us, the bullshit we've gone through together, and how we're going to survive, and hopefully make pizza together someday."
Feliciano's heart pounded in his chest. He prayed that he was interpreting Alfred's words correctly.
"Because that's what love is, and you can shoot me after everything we've survived in the past six months if I'm wrong, but I can't live without you, Feliciano."
Feliciano smiled dumbly. "I- I can't live without you either, Alfred. And making pizza together sounds great."
Alfred grinned. "Great. Time to figure out how to survive our story together now."
He wiped the tears from his eyes and turned back to the road, and Feliciano did the same.
Alfred's eyes avoided the right side of the road, where the billboard was. Feliciano found his eyes straying to the bottom of the billboard. As Alfred revved the engine and prepared to drive, Feliciano's eyes widened, and his hand stopped Alfred in his tracks.
"Alfred," he whispered. "Alfred look. On the side of the road."
Alfred followed his gaze.
There was something lying by the side of the road, under the billboard. A pile of clothes, or… no, that was a human. That was definitely a human. There was no way it was a victim of the Tribulus man, no, that was far too neat. There was no way.
The shape was moving.
"Dio mio, Alfred, it's getting up. Alfred, drive, go," Feliciano, tugged at Alfred's arm.
It was standing, and Alfred couldn't do it. He couldn't drive away, because here was the gamble he had no choice but to accept. What if it was an innocent person and they needed his help? And he drove away? He'd rather bet one way wrong than the other, he supposed. Maybe that made him a fool after all.
The figure was standing. It was turning, and Alfred and Feliciano were staying.
"It's… That's... " Feliciano openly stared in shock. "That's a kid. That is a boy and there is no way he is older than thirteen."
Alfred squinted in disbelief. "Wh- What is he doing by the side of the highway like this? He has to know there are far worse things than people circling these roads."
The kid came over towards the truck.
Feliciano leaned out of the window.
"Hey! Hey, are you okay?"