Paint It Red

{6}

Blood dripped from the Southern Italian's skin. Luciano whipped him carefully. He was not doing it erratically, but strategically, hitting him where he knew it would hurt the most. His face was concentrated, a hint of glee evident, and every once in a while, he gave a smile that made Romano deathly afraid. The devilish smile seemed to show when Romano screamed in pure agony. It was like he was creating a picture with Romano's blood, like he was carving a beautiful sculpture that would soon rot away in this cell, encased in sin and darkness.

Romano screamed and shouted in Italian, writhing on the floor. He felt a voice speaking in his head, but his screams and the cracking of the whip drowned out the words spoken. 

"You're stronger than I thought. It's been hours, and even I'm exhausted!" Luciano spoke, quitting his torture.

"A-an hour?" Romano's voice trembled with pain, but he felt a semblance of pride as he realized he had survived the torture for an entire hour.

"I guess it wouldn't be as fun if you were weak,"  Luciano continued. Romano spat blood at his "brother's" shoes.

"You're a dirty bastard. You don't deserve to live."

Luciano gave a half smile. "Tsk tsk. Careful, you might make me angry."

"So?"

Luciano quickly advanced towards Romano, holding a knife to his eye.

"You won't like me when I'm angry." His voice was soft and he softly pushed the knife into Romano's eyelid, only enough to prick the skin. Romano gasped as the cold metal touched him.

"D-don't! Please..."

"Oh, don't worry, I won't. Flavio will probably complain about it constantly if I do." 

"Fla...who's Flavio?"

Luciano smirked. "Oh you know who it is."

The voice in Romano's head came back .He could finally make out the words now. Though, he didn't like what was coming out of his mouth as the voice spoke.

"Sup dawg? I'm gonna be running this neighborhood soon enough, so I think you should just give up now."

If he hadn't been in grave danger, Romano would probably be laughing at how much this guy sounded like a douche bag. But his body hurt too much, and would strike him with pain if he even breathed in. 

"It shouldn't be long now until my idiot of a brother makes an appearance," Luciano noted. He left the cell, locking it behind him without another word.

~~~

In an English pub, in an undisclosed location, England was drinking his problems away, as he had a tendency to do. His fairy friends were attempting to comfort him as they circled around his head. England, who was piss drunk, soon started sobbing. 

"It's ok. I don't need the rest of the bloody world anyway. I'm fine on my own!" he cried.

The fairies and magical creatures nodded and patted his back, reassuring him that they would stay here with him. England smiled, knowing that he was not completely alone, and that he could always rely on his mythical friends to keep him company. 

Suddenly, he felt another hand patting him on the back, a normal sized one. Was it Captain Hook? No, that would be painful, or he would at least feel the metal. He turned around, and found...himself?

No, it wasn't himself. This man was dressed in pink and purple, and reminded him of the mad hatter from Alice in Wonderland. The man's hair was pink, with a slight blue faded in at the tips. His eyes reminded him of winter. So blue...they were beautiful. Like someone he knew...

"Cheer up Arthur! There's no use in feeling down on everything!" The man smiled down at England, using the nation's human name. 

"Hm...I guess. Wait, who are you? Are you a leprechaun?"

"I don't think so. Leprechauns are usually short and dressed in green," the man pointed out.

"Oh...right." England gave a small hiccup. "Then what...who are you?"

The man gave a cute, surprised smile, as if he was unsure of the answer himself.

"I...I'm your guardian angel!" he exclaimed in a babying tone. "Aren't I pretty?"

"You look more like a disgrace to me."

The man's eyes turned spacey and pink began to swirl through them as he stared down at England. He gave a smile that was full of fake happiness, anger not so hidden behind it. 

"Say that again, and I'll kill you."

England was a bit take aback at this response, but continued with his "gentlemanly" wit.

"I thought you were my guardian angel. Aren't you supposed to prevent me from getting killed?" Arthur asked, words slightly slurred

"I guess I'm more like a parent. And naughty children must be punished, poppet!" the man exclaimed a bit too excitedly.

Arthur frowned. "Parent's don't murder their children though. Right?"

"I'm not your average parent."

Arthur let out a small, fake laugh. "I guessed that."

"Anyway, poppet, do you want to talk to your dear pop about your problems? Poppa can fix them!"

"I'm not actually your kid, you idiot! Shut up and go be girly with France, I don't want you here!" Arthur shouted, turning away in an attempt to ignore the bright man next to him.

"You don't own this pub!"

"I think you may have forgotten, guardian angel, that I am the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland. Everything here is technically mine!"

The man across from him grinned. "You really are a spoiled kid, aren't you?"

"For the last time, I am not your kid!"

"Clearly!" the smile was gone from the man's face, replaced with anger and blue swirled through his eyes violently. "I wouldn't want a kid like you! You're nothing more than a spoiled bully!" He took England by the shirt and lifted him off the ground. He was much stronger than England was, and showed it as the drunk nation tried to struggle, but to no avail.

"What did you call me?" England shouted angrily, attempting to kick the man holding him. They were quickly attracting the attention of the few others in the pub. 

"The reason I am here is because you were a bully to all the other nations. That's why everyone hates you!"

England suddenly remembered why he was here, in a bar, drunk out of his mind. He was drinking away the memory of today. The memory of know that he was the main reason the world was falling into chaos.

"So...what are you thinking about?" the man asked him, smile returning to his face as he gently set England on the bar stool. 

England paused. 

"Did you really say you could fix my problems?"

The man bowed. 

"Oliver Kirkland, at your service! I can fix all of your problems in the blink of an eye!"

"Then...can you make all the nations like me?"

Oliver grinned, eyes flashing. Arthur, in his drunken and emotional haze, took no notice. 

"Of course! Just take my hand..."

England was slightly reluctant at first. But he decided that he had nothing more to lose. He gripped the man's-Oliver's-hand tightly, feeling a small shock.

He fell to the ground, immediately unconscious.