A/N: I want to state that I own not a single character nor Hetalia.
And, I will try to do Accents and please bare with me. I forget accents bc they take or more times or I can't get them right. When I publish something it tends to be proofread and everything on my own. I am still looking for a beta, and no ones answered me back. If you, reader, can beta and are interested in helping me out, please pm me.
Alfred's eyes blink open, hissing from the throbbing pain of his wounds. Noticing he laid on a bed, inside a wooden cabin, a blanket over him. He looked forward, a gun coincidentally set on the nightstand next to the bed. Alfred grabbed it, sitting up.
He observes his surroundings, seeing a hulking figure sitting on a mound of pillows, staring at a fire. The figure's back faced away Alfred, seemingly unaware of his movements. The blond turns off the safety, pointing the gun at the figure. He tried to make his arm stop shaking, lest his aim would go off.
"T- Tell me where the hell I am, a- and who the fuck are you or I will blow your head off."
The atmosphere suddenly got heavy and the hair on the nape of his neck stood, his feathers ruffling.
The figure chuckled, smiling. He started speaking in a strange language, then cleared his throat, paused, seeming to think on the words. "But. . ." Pause. "If you did that, then you vould not have answer to questions. Added onto dat, dogs are alert to sound of gunshots. I'm sure you do not want more bite marks, da?"
Alfred's arm still shook, and he growled. "Don't fuck with me man." He said, trying to hold the gun steady with his other hand, but unable to support himself, he fell back onto the bed. He cried out, his wings under him, and scrambled off the bed, falling onto the hardwood floor, onto his side.
Alfred groaned, reaching out for the gun again as the figure stood up.
"I have no plans to." The figure said, Alfred pointing the gun at him again. It approached, a large shadow overcasting Alfred raises the gun again. "Back- back away from me!" He pulls the trigger, the gun merely clicking.
Alfred groaned, dropping the gun and letting his arm fall to the floor. He ouldn't catch a break, could he?
"It is empty, don't you see?"
Who the fuck is this guy?!
"You are scared. . . Like cornered animal. . . I don't see vhy." The figure laughed. The fire cackled, and Alfred struggled to get up, only managing to sit up, using his one good arm. He tried to flap his wings- maybe he could get away, find Antonio- why aren't my wings moving?!
Alfred gasped, looking over his shoulder, both of his wings folded together and wrapped in a gauze. "What did you do to me?!" Alfred screamed, scrambling away from the figure, using the bed to try and get back on his feet.
The figured sighed, grabbing Alfred by his good arm. "Let go of me!" Forced onto his back, he heard a chair being dragged across the floor.
"My, my, you are frightened. . ."
"I am not!"
It sighed, the fire crackling, and the room brightening. "Scared and weak, broken and mangled... Like misfit toy."
Alfred propped himself up on his elbow, staring at him. He could make out the outline of a face, a scarf. His gaze travelled up, met with striking violet eyes. They horrified Alfred, tears perking his vision, violet violent eyes seeming to look into him and right through him.
"If you vill calm down, I shall introduce myself..."
Alfred laid himself back down, his gaze not leaving the violet eyes.
"I, am Ivan. And you are Alfred, correct?"
-x-x-x-
Arthur felt awful. There was a noticeable build-up of bile in his throat, his back ached, and he felt close to crying. Matthew hadn't spoken a word to him since they reunited. They checked into a hotel near Antonio's home, Matthew asking for his own room, and getting one next to his parents.
Arthur paced in the bathroom, locking the door and wanting to be alone.
His back itched.
Arthur rubbed his back against the wall, trying to scratch it. He grumbled.
It felt wrong.
He felt wrong.
It itched.
He knew better- he knew it. Arthur ripped off his shirt, an angered yell releasing from him.
"Stay away from them!"
His back hurt.
Arthur clenched his fists.
"Francis- wait! Please try to understand!"
"Understand?! Understand what?! Look at your hands! Whose blood is that, Arthur?! WHOSE?!"
Arthur stared at his reflection, glaring at himself.
There should be a pair of wings behind him. He should be with his family. He should be bonding with sons.
Arthur felt tears blur his vision. He couldn't let himself think that. He was perfectly fine- wings or no wings. He turned, still looking at the mirror. He gazed at the scars on his back, sniffling.
He was Arthur Kirkland, a simple human being.
Admittedly, he still had a few ticks and gears in him that weren't human. They came with the wings- a built in navigation system, strength, endurance...
No.
Arthur Kirkland was human.
"You... You're a bloody wanker. That's what you are. You're not human. And you'll never be human." Arthur growled at the mirror. "You're a wanker."
He pointed at himself in the mirror. "Bloody... Fucking..." He felt tears prick his vision. "Wanker." He sniffed, wiping tears from his eyes. "Your children are afraid of you, your husband can't trust you, your brothers don't like you... And you can't even fly."
Arthur punched the mirror. "Stupid!"
He heard a knock on the door. "Arthur? Are you okay?"
"Leave me be..."
Francis knocks on the door again. "Arthur. Don't do this."
"And why not? Why can't I just scream and cry and be alone? Be the lonely wanker I am!"
"Because Arthur- you're not alone. You're not a wanker either. Arthur... Screaming and crying at yourself... It's simply not healthy."
"And what do you care."
"Unlock the door and I'll tell you."
"No."
Francis sighed. "Alright then." He leaned against the door. "Arthur, it's not healthy because of the way you react to this kind of thing. Locking yourself in the bathroom and screaming never solved anything. If you need to cry then do it, crying is natural. But don't cry alone."
"Why?"
"Because then you won't be able to figure out how to stop crying."
Arthur unlocked the door, Francis straightening up, and opening it. The Frenchman glanced at the crack in the mirror as he felt something thud against him. He looked down, seeing Arthur hugging his waist, head pressed against his chest. He made Arthur sit down on the toilet lid, still hugging him.
"I hate you."
"I know, mon amour. I know." He rubbed Arthur's back, careful not to touch the scars, knowing that would only make Arthur more upset. He let Arthur cry into his chest, cooing softly.
"I'm an awful father."
"No-"
"Yes, I am! It's my fault Alfred's gone. Who knows what's happened? What if he's dead? What if he got hunted down? And it's my fault!"
Francis coos softly, wrapping his wings around them, hugging Arthur back.
"I'm sure Alfred is okay. He can handle himself."
"Francis..."
"Yes?"
"My back hurts."
Francis hugged him tighter. "Arthur, why don't we go lay down. And then I'll check on Matthew, and come back here."
Arthur nodded.
Francis smiled, scooping Arthur up in his arms. "Come on try to cheer up."
"I don't want to." Arthur said, hugging him tightly.
"Oh come on," Francis takes him back into the main room, spinning him around, his wings folding. "You can do it."
He saw a crack of a smile, and sat Arthur on the bed. He pressed his lips against Arthur's, then pulled away.
"Come on, cheer up. I'm sure it will all be okay."
Eventually, Francis got Arthur to settle in, and left him alone, heading next door.
-x-x-x-
Matthew knew something was wrong the moment Alfred jumped out the window. He laid on his stomach, hugging a pillow, atop the bed in his hotel room. His wings splayed out across the mattress.
Even now he couldn't shake the feeling that something had happened. It made him sick.
A knock on his door. "Matthew?"
He groaned.
Francis swiped the keycard, entering the room, and sitting on the bed. "Matthew, are you feeling well?"
"No." The blond said bluntly.
"Is it Arthur?"
"I don't know."
Matthew's wings moved, wrapping around himself. "Dad... I- I just feel like something's happened... Something bad."
"To whom? Why?"
Matthew pulled his wings closer. "I don't know-" he sucks in a breath. "Since Alfred jumped out the window, I've felt weird- and now I feel like I'm going to throw up."
Francis slowly realizes what it is. "Maybe you have an attachment to Alfred..."
"What?" Matthew sat up, staring at him.
"Well, when I feel that something's happen, it normally involves Arthur- so maybe you think something has happened to Alfred." Francis paused. "But what is a different question."
"What do you mean, attachment?"
"All of us- we have this strange... Connection. But it depends. For example, I feel a connection to Arthur. If he's injured- I can tell something's happened to him. The same goes for you and Alfred."
"So it's not for just for one person?"
"No, but it is strong for your family. And stronger for your partner. If Arthur were to die..." Francis paused, looking away.
"But- um, in your case, you have a stronger connection to Alfred, as he's your brother."
"Is there a name for it?" Matthew asked, looking at him.
"I call it the Link. But other people have other names for it."
"So, what if Alfred were to die?"
Francis looked at Him. "I do not want to think of such things..."
Matthew sat up, stretching his wings out. "Francis. Tell me."
Francis shook his head.
"Dad. Please tell me."
Francis sighed.
"A normal human feels an unmeasurable amount of grief when the person they love the most dies. And us, the Link we have with that person..." Francis holds up his hands, fingers spread. "That Link, makes you so close-" he slowly laced his fingers together. "It's as if you are one, whole being when you are together. Your personalities and emotions are so closely entwined, that when one dies..." He clenched one hand into a fist. "It's like... You've lost everything. You've lost a big portion of your life and yourself. And you feel it the instance the other's heart has stopped beating. That's why we mate for life. We don't have to, it's just that our hearts and souls can't handle a loss like that. Some would rather die than lose their partner."
"Does it happen for Arthur?"
"Of course it does!"
Matthew tilted his head.
"Arthur has the same systems and bodily functions as us. He just doesn't have wings."
"So he has a Link too?"
Francis inhaled deeply. "Arthur has one of the strongest Links I have ever encountered."
"And what about you?"
"Well, you see, while Arthur has a strong Link, when I see two people together, I can see how strong their Link is."
"What does it look like?"
Francis paused. "It looks like a misty string. Sometimes it's different colors. For example, the Link between me and Arthur is a fiery, blood red. That is, when we are both happy. When Arthur's upset, I can see blue mixing with red."
"Why red?"
"Red is the color of passion, Matthew."
"Passion? Oh."
Francis nodded, "and you see, Arthur has been more blue because of all this. So I need to be the strong one about this. Because if I'm not, our family will fall apart, again."
Matthew didn't say anything.
"Francis, just- I feel that something's happened to him... My wings, my knee... They hurt."
Francis stopped. "Matthew... How much do they hurt?"
"A bit."
Francis stares at him intently, and then gets up. "Matthew, pack your things into a backpack. We need to leave, now."
-x-x-x-
"How did you know my name?" Alfred asked, staring at Ivan, who gestured to his bag.
"Vallet." Ivan made him turn around, stretching out his wings.
Alfred groaned. "Why are you touching my wings?"
"I vould not have to if you had not try to fly off."
"Seriously, stop touching my wings."
"Does it bother you?"
"Yes, it does. You don't just touch another dude's wings unless you're like their parents or their partner."
Ivan scoffed, setting the roll of gauze and the anti-bacterial solution on the nightstand. "Okay, you heal self while I handle fire." He stood, walking to the door. "And do not try to run away. You can't fly. And it is very cold outside. . . "
Alfred grumbled in response, a rush of cold sweeping into the room, causing him to shiver. He he managed reached out and grabbed the gauze, barely within arms reach. He pulled it out, stretching it- it fell out of his hands and onto the floor. Alfred groaned, his wings fluttering weakly. He reached around, trying to wrap it around his right wing. When he managed to wrap the gauze around a part of his wing, it either slipped off or served little use where he wrapped it.
Well, he had to keep trying.
The scene that Ivan walked back in on Alfred, lower half laying on the bed, and half sprawled on the wood floor, gauze strung out at random places, and the smaller avian man still.
Ivan chuckled, smiling. "I suppose you successfully reapplied bandages?"
"Shut the fuck up."
"No need to be so rude..." Ivan put the wood by the fireplace, and walked toward Alfred. "Can you stand?"
Alfred shook his head.
"Ah. One of the bullets did hit knee... Might've broken it. Or bruised your kneecap, dinking of angle and force of impact... And I will have to take out the bullet..."
Alfred groaned again. "You think so?"
Ivan nods. "Well, you cannot fly. You can attempt to walk. . ."
"Attempt?! I- I can do it!" Alfred turns, placing his feet firmly on the floor. I can do it.
Alfred forced himself to stand, his legs wobbling. His wings spread out to stabilize himself, the gauze once again falling off. "Why does it keep falling off?!" Alfred yells out, falling, and flaps one of his wings, falling back on the bed and on wings. He groans, rolling onto his stomach. Ivan sits down beside him, taking off the gauze and wrapping it around his hand for storage. "First of all, you put on wrong. Second, you may have wasted half a roll. Third, I do need to put this on you Alfred."
Alfred shook his head. "But it restrains my wings."
"Alfred, a bullet went through your right wing, it is almost broken, and needs stitches. Your wing has to be restrained." The Russian says, making Alfred's wing fold.
"You're shitting me." The blond said, turning and staring at him.
"No, Alfred. I am not 'shitting you' as you say. And if you do not let your vings heal, I may have to remove them."
"What?! I- No-" Alfred sat up, "Take me to a vet- a doctor- something- I don't want my wings cut off!" Alfred releases a huff of breath, Ivan forcing him back down on his stomach.
"You cannot go to a vet as vet would freak out at your vings. Now, lay still. Or I will force you to be still."
Alfred could tell a genuine threat when he heard one, and laid still, making uncomfortable noises as Ivan touched his wings, and were folded and various areas disinfected and wrapped in gauze.
"I hate you."
"How very rude! You barely know me, Alfred."
The American sits up, placing his feet by the bed and hunching over for his wings. He pulls up his pants leg, letting Ivan readjust the bandages and reapplying the gauze.
Alfred growls, looking at him.
"Would you be more comfortable somewhere else?" The Russian asked, helping Alfred stand.
"Yeah- over there." He said, gesturing to the pillows.
"I like the pillows. They're soft." Ivan said, helping Alfred move. "They are also good because I do not have to deal with my back." He said, helping Alfred down and putting another log in the fire.
Ivan crosses his legs, hunching over and resting his face in his palm and his elbow on his knee. "Tell me about yourself."
"Why should I?" Alfred said, laying on his side, reaching behind him and stroking his wings.
"I am the ooner of this little cabin, Alfred. I could just throw you out in the cold Russian vinter and leave you to die~"
Alfred sat up quickly and hissed, falling back on his stomach. He laughed fakely, looking at him. "You- you won't really do that right?"
"Depends."
Great. I'm injured and this guy's nuts.
"Tell me about yourself."
"Well..." Alfred took in a breath. "My name's Alfred F. Jones. But to my family and the rest of the world, I'm Alfred F. Kirkland."
"Vhat's the F stand for?"
"Franklin."
Ivan paused, staring at the other, unsure how to go about digging into the others past. "Where are you from?"
"Born in America. Raised in England. Not as cool of a country as they think it is." He said absentmindedly, looking at his nails.
"That man that shot you- it's my fault." Ivan suddenly said, sitting back.
Alfred shot up. "Excuse me?"
"He is after me. Vhich is vhy I am in the middle of novhere, and vhy you got shot. He probably thought you vere me."
Alfred felt very confused. "Why are- What?"
Another log went in the fire, fully illuminating the room now. "Because," something extended from Ivan's back, the tip almost touching the other side of the cabin. "I have the largest wings known to man. Longer than small planes."
Alfred felt his jaw drop.
"My point is, Alfred. You must be more alert. Your wings vere perfectly healthy, and now- look at them."
Alfred shook his head. "They'll be okay- right?"
"Of course they will be be! I've met plenty with far vorse injuries."
Alfred sighed. "So, what kind of wings are yours?"
"Eurasaian Eagle owl. Yours seem to be a Bald Eagle. Have you thought to work on putting blades on your wings?"
"Blades?"
"I've worked on turning my wings into weapons."
Alfred blinks, staring at him. "That sounds... That sounds pretty rad man!"
Ivan chuckled. "Alfred... One oder thing." The Russian started. "Do you know vhy people are after us?"
"No..." Alfred replied, watching Ivan sit back down.
"For us, Alfred. Government scientists want to study us, poachers want us for our wings- circus' would give anything to make a quick dollar or make you a part of their freak show..."
Alfred was stunned, and then gulped. "Okay, now I have one other question..."
"Da?"
"Where are we?"
"Are you that delirious?"
Alfred shrugged.
"You have map, da?"
"Yeah- it's in my bag."
Ivan digs through his bag, taking out a map of Europe. He lays it flat between them, then points to a spot near the east coast of Russia. "We, are here," he pointed to a spot a few inches from the coast. "Near the Kamchatka peninsula. And when you go to the coast- you get the coast of Kamchatka. It's really pretty. Lots of nature, and it has to highest population of bears in the world. I should take you there."
"You're going to leave here?"
"Well of course- I can't stay in the same place forever. I move around a lot. Tell you vhat- soon as you can fly again, we go to Kamchatka."
"I don't see why. They're just bears."
"No, Alfred. They are so much more then that. And after that, we go to Alaska."
"You sound like we're friends."
Ivan tilted his head. "Well, you don't have any plans on where to go, do you? You're... On the run, as they say, da?"
"Yeah, I guess."
"Then we should be on the run together!" He stuck out his hand. "What do you say?"
Alfred knew he was right. And he definitely wasn't going back home. He grabbed Ivan's hand, shaking it.
"I say, let's do it."
A/N: so, Ivan and Alfred are on the run! And the family is sorting things out, and we got some background on Ivan!
Please review this! I was really surprised that I got so many follows on this...