Run (A Hetalia FanFiction)

Chapter 20- Return

This chapter contains a lot of Austria hate, so don't read it if you don't want to be offended. Sorry! NB: Other voices are in italics. 

Austria: *Bangs the lower keys on the piano* 

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Prussia's POV

"Sorry you need to leave, all of you," that snobby aristocratic Austrian sneered.

I glared into his conniving amethyst eyes.

"And why is that?" I challenged him, a hand on my hips.

"Can't a man greet his wife?" the prissy brunette pressed, pushing his glasses up his nose.

"Ex-wife," Elizaveta corrected, clearing her throat and narrowing daggers at him.

Roderich just chuckled. I didn't see what was so humorous about that. He was divorced from Eliza. Actually, I did see some humour in that.

"Here you are Hungary, I made it especially for you," the twit sweetly spoke, giving Eliza a green, white and red knitted scarf; the colours of her flag. She gladly accepted it and smiled at him cutely. Roderich's closed eye smile never faltered until she shook the scarf. Something small and shiny dropped from within the wool, onto the floor. Its metallic clank ricocheted off the white walls. Antonio bent down to pick it up from where it had fell at his feet. The Spaniard gave Eliza a pitiful look as he placed it her palm.

"What the hell is this?" Eliza yelled, the loudest I have ever heard, after taking a quick glance at it.

Germany's POV

So you know what really happened then?

Ja, and it's all your fault.

Do you even know who I am? Do you even remember us?

Yes. I know who you are. We never forgot, but all you were was trouble. All you ever wanted to do was kill.

You did it, not me. You really are a monster, Doitsu.

DON'T CALL ME THAT.

What will Italy think when he finds out what you've done?

It doesn't matter; he will know the truth about you.

He's on the verge of suicide. We will soon have all of you.

Italy is strong. He won't give up.

But he already has.

You're bluffing. How would you know anyway?

I have connections.

You're not real.

If I'm not real, then neither are you.

I am nothing like you.

He's gone now, I think. I need to tell someone and get out of here. Because of me, everyone is in danger. Because of me, Italy's given up.

Do you want to find him?

Yes. But you wouldn't help me.

Oh, but I will.

And what's the catch?

Free my friends. You can live in peace with Italy.

Or what?

He dies. And so do you.

If I had been drinking, I would have spat out the beer. (Yes beer.) I needed to find someone to talk to: Kiku, Gilbert, Roderich, somebody. My mind was either playing tricks with me or what I had feared was true. They were back and were attempting to come back. How long we had, I didn't know. But time was running out.

England's POV

He passed out. 'That crazy American.' One minute, he is laughing to himself and then he is cold, out on the dashboard. Obviously this had delayed our journey to rescuing Adeline, so I had pulled over in the middle of nowhere and stepped out for some fresh air. The sky was grey with huge clouds blocking the sun from view. I felt myself smiling from ear to ear. It felt like the weather back at home. I suppose I did miss home very much, the green forests, Flying Mint Bunny, my magical friends and the rain. It hadn't rained even once. 'That American is much too happy, all of the time,' I thought whilst remembering that the weather usually reflected the representation's emotions.

A small grunt sounded from inside the SUV.

"Iggy... No!" Alfred cried out in his sleep, his arm outstretched towards me.

I felt heat rise to my cheeks. Just what was he dreaming about? Maybe it was time to wake him up. Ambling back into the car, I pushed him forcefully. The American barely flinched. I glared at his eyes which were squeezed shut and the line of drool that dripped from the corner of his mouth. It threatened to fall onto the new leather seats of the SUV I had bought him. Quickly, I fumbled through the glove compartment and found a small pack of Kleenex. Taking out a tissue, I wiped his mouth, before the saliva dropped. Alfred's mouth, which had previously been pursed into a thin frown-like line, tugged up into a large smile. I shut the door and hopped out, leaving him to his dreams.

Then, ever so quietly, he whispered,

"Thanks Ig."

As if on cue, something small, hard and wet fell onto my shoulder. Another, and then another.

It was raining.