Author's Note: There are some original characters, but they don't play a large part in the overall plot. Most characters are out of character in some way or another. The biggest difference is in Francis, but I have my reasoning as to why he is so different. The pairings are Alfred and Ivan, Francis and Arthur, and only small hints of Gilbert and Matthew. Since I tend to go crazy with the amount of characters in my fanfictions, I'm limiting the number in this one. There is violence and swearing in this story. If there is a sex scene, it will occur much later (like chapter twenty out of twenty-two).
I hope you enjoy this story, but if you don't, please tell me how I can fix it. I'm known to have a very boring writing style, so I'm looking to help that.
disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia!
The hunt had started just as the pearly rays of new sunlight began to stretch out over the bay's horizon. The white light spilled over the village, illuminating each row of houses one by one by one. This natural glorious alarm roused from their sleep most of the house wives and older child, some of whom rushed out to watch the heroic hunters set out into the hazardous mist. Among the glossy-eyed onlookers stood a boy no older than eight. He absorbed all the happenings around him from the sound of mothers' hurried whispers of luck and the harsh assault of sea salt being brought in with the morning breeze.
Most importantly, he watched his elder brother's back being swallowed by the grey mist. Pride swelled in his heart as his brother's short blond hair faded into nothingness among the towering silhouettes of pine trees. This pride grew until it felt as those his chest would pour open; his mouth flew open. His cheer- his unwavering respect- came out in a simple, "go get them Arthur!"
His outcry was matched by those of others of similar youth who felt the same powerful emotions, but some, the mothers and wives, remained silent with their mouths molded into grim lines. In their eyes there was no pride, only fear and necessity. There was no promise their men would return; their children may go fatherless, or if they returned empty handed, they may be unable to afford the appropriate amount of food for the month. How many mouths would go unfed again if they couldn't manage a kill?
"Alfred," Amelia said, her voice hollow and soft, "why don't you head on home, little one?"
Alfred was hesitant to glance away from the mist. The grey rose and fell and twisted. The living wall bulged out, tempting to invade the village, but as soon as it touched the first dirt road, it retreated and rushed back to the safety of the trees. Finally, he turned to his mother with a wide, million gold coin smile. "I want to wait for Arthur, Mama. He's going to come back with a demon again, and I don't want to miss it. Again."
He still remembered the crushing disappointment he felt when Arthur returned from the previous hunt. Arthur had managed to kill a demon, but it wasn't just any demon, either. It was a class A demon with long gruesome fangs and the ability to fly. But Alfred didn't get to see the body; he only saw his brother's smug face when he came home with the cow leather purse full of sparkly silver coins. When he had gone down by the water to the fishery where they kept the bodies on ice before disposal, the owner had smacked him upside the head with a rotting fish and sent him away.
Amelia shook her head, allowing pieces of her hair to fall into her face. She placed her twisted, disease ridden hand on Alfred's back. Her inflamed knuckles dug into his spine in a comforting way, and she spoke in a low voice as he leaned into her parental touch. "Alfie," she said, "please, just go home. I'm sure Matthew needs help with the garden. He's too weak to till all the dirt by himself; he'll probably be too tired to plant all the seeds, too. Why don't you go and be his hero?"
With the thought of being a hero dancing around the front of his mind, Alfred nodded and snaked through the crowd without a second thought. He rushed down the few short dirt streets to his family's corner home.
The wooden building had been built by his late father years before he was born. At the time, his parents were only expecting to have one child due to complications after Arthur's delivery, so Amelia's husband built a strong house with only two bedrooms– the larger one was the only room upstairs and would house their marriage bed. It was only once Amelia learned she was miraculously with child again that her husband switched the rooms. When the twins arrived, they shared a room with the seven year old Arthur upstairs, and Amelia and her husband squished themselves into the smaller room downstairs.
There had been intentions of expanding the house; extra land from the plot behind the house was bought and cleared. However, before construction could begin, Death took away the family's provider in one foul swoop. The claws of a monster, of a demon, tore both the man and the family limb from limb, leaving nothing but scraps to be found. The sorrow that over fell Amelia and Arthur was a great feat that left their hearts empty with want of their loss. The land was left untouched for five years until the middle child, Matthew, had the idea to turn the area into a garden. With crop prices rising and Amelia's pay remaining as steady as the sea, they had no other options. Some of the money from Arthur's kill went into buying a hoe and a watering can and an assortment of healthy seeds.
Alfred ran through the house, not stopping as he knocked down a pan from the kitchen counter. Without a doubt, he'd be scolded later, but it was just one pan. Even if Amelia made him clean the whole kitchen as punishment, picking it up wouldn't be a problem for him. Arthur insured the house remained in near immaculate condition already. Alfred giggled as he pictured his brother pitching a fit over the lone misplaced cooking utensil. The garden was just through the other side of the kitchen, and he only came to a tumbling halt after he tripped on the wooden hoe. He fell, face first, into the fresh brown mulch; he pulled himself up, gagging and cursing under his breath.
"Mama wouldn't like to hear you swearing; she wouldn't like it one bit." Matthew was sitting on a stout stool, hunching over and breathing heavily. Beads of sweat slipped down his face and made his honey hair stick to his skin; to Alfred, it looked like he was ready to lay down and keel over right then and there.
"The last thing we need," Alfred thought with a silly, lopsided smile, "is for Matthew of all people to die on us. He'd come back and haunt us for not getting this garden done." He stopped for a moment to consider what type of spectral being he'd make. "I'd be an awesome ghost. I'd scare away all the thieves from the village and chase all the demons back into the mountains! Arthur'd just try to clean everything, even if he were dead."
Alfred puffed out his chest, still grinning like mad and unconcerned with his previous train of thought. "What Mama don't know won't hurt her, right?"
Matthew frowned. "Mama wouldn't like to hear lies, either." He forced himself to stand, grunting as he did so. "Why are you here? Mama said you were going to wait for Arthur to come back. I thought you were going to be gone all day."
"Don't sound so hopeful," Alfred said with a small laugh to show that he was joking. He shifted his weight from side to side before sighing. "Mama, she sent me back. All she did was let me watch Arthur enter the mist, and then she got all serious. She told me to be your hero for the day and help out with the garden." He picked up the hoe to show his enthusiasm.
Under Matthew's careful guidance, they managed to finish plowing the garden. Matthew had to admit, Alfred's lines were much straighter than his own– Alfred was able to do a row without stopping while he had to take a handful of breaks in order to keep his strength up. To celebrate their accomplishment, they plopped down next to each other to share a honey bun. It was a rare gift Arthur had bought for them with the remains of the money from his last hunt. They tore the treat as evenly as they could, but some how Alfred ended up with a noticeably larger share.
They tore at the sweet goo, letting the succulent bread melt in their mouths. Alfred was mumbling something about being in Nirvana when they heard a commotion. It was a dull roar (honestly Alfred wasn't sure they were really hearing anything at all), but soon, the dull hum turned into panicked shouts and loud empty sobs. The mob was moving steadily toward their house, of that much they were sure.
Stuffing the rest of his snack into his mouth, Alfred grabbed Matthew and pulled him into the house just as the front door was kicked in from outside. The wooden door collapsed to the side. The fish merchant's eldest son stormed into the house. With one powerful arm, he pushed everything off of the family's dining table, sending Alfred's bowl from that morning onto the floor. "Quick. Bring him inside," he said.
More men poured into their miniscule kitchen, knocking things over and tracking thick mud onto the floor, making Alfred think, "Arthur's going to be pissed." A group of men came in carrying a stretcher. They laid it out on top of the table; even men entered despite the lack of available space, and with them, they brought a hysterical Amelia.
Alfred never got the full scene; it came in flashes as he saw between the gaps in the constant movement of the men. Had he seen the full sight, he may have vomited right there in front of everyone. On the stretcher, laid out like a fish waiting to be gutted, was Arthur. His shirt had been ripped open; only strips of it remained around his body, but one of the sleeves was mostly intact. Blood gushed out from vibrant red gashes in his chest with a sick rhythmic pattern, staining his skin a dark pink. As someone tried to wipe away the blood, Alfred could see specks of white bone exposed to the world. Red trickled out of his mouth. Every few moments, a low unearthly gurgle would rise from his throat; it would grow stronger into a sobbing moan only to be chocked back down his throat.
His head was tilted back. Jaw slacked. Eyes opened. Opened, but they didn't see. One of his eyes was tainted red; any green that remained in his iris was clouded over in a minty haze. The red bubbled and oozed as if it was alive. It sizzled and hissed, warming of some burning poison. The other eye was in a similar state, but the red had yet to take over the whole orb. His pupil was dilated, and the eye rolled in its socket without concern to any damage it may be taking.
"Get the children out of here."
The twins found themselves pushed out of their house, back into the garden. Behind them, a man covered the doorway with a thick blanket that acted as a makeshift door. Alfred stared at the dark blanket, thinking of how they weren't able to afford a door, so Amelia had to make the sliding blanket contraption to keep rain outside. It looked ridiculous, in Alfred's opinion. It was such an ugly blanket; it was the only material from Amelia's work that could never sell. And since it wasn't good enough for others, it went to them. The poor family.
"-fred. Alfred," Matthew said, trying to get the other boy's attention. "Alfred, please say something." Matthew placed a trembling hand on his shoulder, only to be shaken off. Matthew's eyes watered, and withing moments, tears were falling freely.
Alfred glared at the sky; his fingers balled into fists at his sides. "It isn't fair."
"What isn't?"
"This," Alfred said, raising a hand and gesturing to the dirt, the fence, and finally the sky. "None of this is fair." His body shook, whether it was from fear or anger wasn't clear. "Arthur, he never did anything wrong. He did nothing, and how does the world repay him?" As if on cue, one of Arthur's louder sobs broke through the noise. Once the cry was subdued, Alfred continued, "he doesn't deserve any of this."
His arm fell back to his side. He turned away from Matthew and the house, so he was facing the farthest fence that marked the end of the family's property. His voice was softer now, but it trembled less. "The world isn't fair. Bad things happen to good people, and evil doers get away with their actions without punishment." It was an understatement, Alfred knew, but in his youth and folly, his mind couldn't grasp the full extent of what he was trying to verbalize. He had only hit the tip; he couldn't even begin to dream of the gargantuan iceberg beneath his feet.
Matthew licked his lips but didn't dare to look away from his brother. "What can you do about it? You can't change the world, Al. Not by yourself."
"You might be right," Alfred said, nodding his head just the slightest. He looked over his shoulder and shot Matthew a tight-lipped smile, saying, "but that's not going to stop me."