A Hitman's Miss

Chapter Four

or, The Man Who Would Be Forgot

The car was adjusting well from snow to heat on the long drive, although Russia could hear the clinking of his snow tired on the bare concrete. The first station that he got in range of was talk radio and music, but in a language he didn't understand. Since it wasn't English, he guessed German, all things considered.

This allowed his thoughts to wander.

He couldn't contact anyone in his family: they would all drag him back by the ear if they knew what had happened, and he went out of his way to avoid everyone who wasn't family. Russia didn't need anyone else. Being away from his family already made him a bit antsy, but he would be back soon enough, once he had that dish that was best served cold.

Thankfully, despite his incredible social isolation, he knew one friend he could always count on.

East Germany.

The former whole of the country had been split in half, the smaller half being taken into the Soviet Block, and the larger half being divided among the other Allies. Russia had known him since then, about ten years. He was the closest thing Russia had to a brother by choice.

He pulled up into the familiar side street, parking before the path got too thin for his car. Russia got out, shutting the door and locking it. The sky was hazy this morning. Russia could feel the wetness in the air. All the colours blended in the grey light. It was peaceful and brought some clarity to Russia's rage.

Finally, he made his way to the door of the cottage and went in without knocking. It was unlocked, why not? Metal clanks were banging from deeper in the house. However, Russia was more concerned with how much worse the living room had gotten since he was last here. The already run-down couch now had a gash that was puking fluff. The smell of gas and oil drenched the air. Deep scrapes gouged the once-shiny wood floor.

"East!" Russia called out. After a few seconds of silence, he sighed and called again, louder this time: "East!"

There was a loud crash and somehow louder curses from the German. Then, after a moment, East Germany shakily replied, "Rus?"

"Да, I need some advice." (Yes,) Russia followed the noises into the workshop in the back of the house.

East Germany was crouched in the middle of the room, tossing out what looked like scraps of a broken machine into a bin. He looked up at the man looming over him and pulled a wobbly smile. "Guten Tag! How have you been?" (Good day!)

"Not well. Someone tried to kill Father-"

"Was!?" (What?) East shot up, grabbing Russia's arm. "Am I still protected?"

Russia sighed. "Father is fine, not that you asked. I saved him from the bullet. So, да, you are safe too." The grip on his arm relaxed. "But I--..."

Suddenly, hands squished his cheeks and pulled him closer to East's face. "Are you safe?" East asked before he dropped his head, scanning Russia's body for any visible injuries.

Russia sighed again. "I am fine, East." He grabbed the German's forearms and forced his hands off of him. "Everyone is fine."

East was suddenly flushed as he stared down at Russia's hands on his arms. Russia quickly removed them. He didn't want to make East uncomfortable. "Right now, we need to find who tried to hurt him." East's eyes met Soviet's. "Do you know of any enemies my father might have?"

East stared at him in silence, thinking and Russia stared back, patiently waiting for the other's mental gears to click into place.

East was best compared to a machine in Russia's mind. Sticking to one program, one schedule. Very reliable, never leaving anything half-done or just "good enough." He would work entire nights perfecting his hardware, not once taking a break.