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Sunder	By : tamasama Category: +G to L > Hetalia: Axis Powers Views: 4271 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Axis Powers: Hetalia. This is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to the lives of any persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. I make no profit from the writing of this work of fiction.

Chapter List
- 4
- 5
- 6
CHAPTER FIVE

When Matthew returned, he set a glass of water on the floor beside Ivan before taking his own seat with a fresh mug of coffee in hand. “I know you said you didn’t want anything, but I’d hate to be rude.”

“Not a problem.” Ivan reassured him, smiling gently as he flicked his cigarette ash into an empty can that had been sitting nearby. Both men lapsed into an easy silence; Matthew slowly nursing his hot drink and Ivan leaning in the old chair comfortably while taking slow drags from his cigarette. Ivan let his eyes travel over his host; soft-looking curled blonde hair, by no means unattractive, irises the same rare shade as his own. Too pale, it reminded him of his homeland, and a little too thin for his tastes. Smooth features, though. Young, looked soft, well groomed.

The Russian pulled another cigarette from his pack and replaced the dimly glowing butt in his mouth, using the dying ember from the old tube to light the new one as his eyes flicked toward the hall that presumably lead to Alfred’s bedroom. The older brother was rather enticing. His bright blue eyes, lightly sun-kissed skin, slightly thicker than Matthew, that confrontational attitude. Ivan cracked a light smile at the idea of breaking that defiant nature and how he would sound begging like a common whore for more, more, more.

He chuckled lightly at the idea. Yes, he was going to make that happen.

Matthew set his mug aside, “I suppose I should continue from where I left off?”

“Da, I am most curious to hear more.”

“Alright. Well, where was I…? Oh, right! Well you see….”

WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW

Alfred found himself standing in his father’s room with only the murky moonlight that seeped in through the thin white curtains and the glow of the red numbers on the alarm clock for him to see by. He fiddled with the hammer in his hands, which felt heavier with each passing moment, his lips dry with trepidation. Finally, he took a long, deep breath and moved to the side of the bed. Ron was sleeping soundly, the fatigue of many long days of overtime and unfulfilling labor making it impossible for even a scene like he had walked in on enough to keep him awake.

Alfred climbed up onto the bed as quietly as possible, wincing as the old mattress groaned under the added weight. Ron didn’t stir, so he slowly, carefully, straddled the man’s hips and looked down at him. Ron mumbled something and frowned at the slight pressure before his eyes cracked open. The dark blue orbs met light ones, and blinked in hazy, sleep-addled confusion.

The boy lifted the hammer over his head slowly, “I wont let you send Mattie away.” He muttered under his breath, steeling his resolve.

“Al, why are you-” His voice was a freshly woken croak. Before he could finish the sentence, Alfred squeezed his eyes shut and swung the hammer down, flinching at the splintering crack of metal meeting skull.

To the boy’s horror, instead of instantly dying like he had imagined would happen, Ron let out a shocked wail and threw his hands up to cover his wounded face. Alfred brought the hammer down again, and again, and again, becoming increasingly frustrated as the older man refused to stop thrashing around and screaming. It felt like it took ages for the loud wails to finally calm into long, gurgled moans and his movements finally tapered off into tiny twitches and jerks.

Panting heavily at the unexpected amount of work, Alfred set the hammer beside his bleeding father and slipped off onto the floor. Somehow, he had expected to feel more upset about the whole thing. Guilty, maybe. But all he felt was a strong relief. He stood there a moment, watching Ron’s fingertips twitch from time to time and letting his gaze trail over the smashed mix of dark blood and bone that had been his face before he turned and exited the room. Matthew was waiting in the hall, leaning nonchalantly against the wall. He turned when Alfred approached and raised an eyebrow.

“That was a lot of work.” Alfred stated, wiping his bloody hands on his pajama pants. “But you wont need to leave now, right?”

“He never got a chance to call anyone, so I don’t see why I would. Wanna get an ice cream?”

Both boys clomped loudly down the stairs and into the kitchen. As Alfred went about rinsing the red from his hands before digging in the freezer, Matthew walked over to the table and noticed a stack of video tapes from the local Blockbuster. At least double the usual amount, each and every film something Alfred and Matthew had been requesting to see from the “new releases” aisle that was normally too expensive for them to consider looking into.

“Ah man, dad got popcorn?!” Alfred exclaimed, noticing the little microwavable bags atop the table. Normally popcorn was restricted to special occasions since it was deemed an unnecessary expense.

“Must have felt bad about cancelling movie night.” Matthew said, looking through the titles. When Alfred offered him an ice cream bar he took it with a little half-distracted “thank you” and picked a movie.

“Want to watch this one?”

They spent the night burning through film after film and snacking on all of the things that they were normally forbidden to eat without their father’s strict go-ahead, and went to bed well after their designated bed time. When they finally did decide to turn in, they went together, intent on concluding the previous day’s interrupted activities.

The next day they woke up well past noon. Alfred rubbed sleep from his eyes in confusion. He couldn’t remember the last time they had been allowed to sleep in so late on the weekend, with chores that needed to be done and- Suddenly everything snapped back into place and he let out a contented little sigh. If he had known life would be this carefree without Ron, he would have killed him long ago. Matthew stirred beside him, yawning loudly.

They ate TV dinners and Alfred helped himself to the stash of candy that was always put away for reward when he and his brother did something above and beyond their call of chore duty, and they spent the better part of the day playing video games and watching TV. When the sun was setting on the horizon, Matthew suggested that they do their homework, an idea which Alfred struck down with the most condescending of tones. The younger boy just rolled his eyes and went about finishing a math worksheet.

At around noon Sunday, Alfred awoke with a grimace. A rank smell, like that of old meat left out on the counter for too long and maybe sewage, flirted at the edge of his nose. It was a mild, almost ethereal scent that somehow still managed to make his stomach turn. He shook Matthew awake, covering his own mouth and nose with his hand.

“Dude, what’s that smell?” He demanded when his little brother finally stirred.

Matthew grumbled groggily and sat up, sniffing. “Smells like something rotting.” He hopped out of bed and padded out into the hallway, Alfred trailing behind, and stopped outside of their father’s room.

“I thought so. It’s been pretty hot out and I don’t think the window was open…” He spun around to look at Alfred, “Help me move him.”

“But it smells!”

“Either we move him or it just gets worse.” Matthew pointed out, trying to push the door open. He frowned when it slid open a crack and bumped into something. A couple of hard shoves moved whatever it was that was in the way, and the sharp stink of fresh putrefaction wafted out into the hallway like a wall. Alfred gagged, clapping both hands over his mouth and nose. Matthew just grimaced and walked inside.

The room was dark and stuffy. It had never had good ventilation so the air was suffocating and stagnant. The small amount of light that filtered in through the curtains cast an eerie glow across the bed, empty but for a large dark bloodstain that streaked down over the side and across the hard wood floor. Apparently, Ron had enough life in him to try and crawl for help; his corpse had been what was blocking the door.

“Gross.” Alfred muttered past his hand, peeking in over Matthew’s shoulder at the body crumpled on the old floor.

“Help me or he’ll just get worse in this heat.” Matthew instructed, tip-toeing over the thick, congealed blood to take one of his father’s cold feet in his hands. He beckoned to Alfred, who unhappily took the other leg, and together they struggled Ron out into the hall and down the stairs. His head bounced on the steps with wet thumps as they slowly maneuvered him to the first floor and to the basement door.

Alfred dropped the ankle he was holding and pulled the basement door open, and was actually relieved at the cool, moist gust of mildew-scented air that wafted out at him. Anything was better than the stench of decay. “Cally!” He called down the dark drop of steps, squinting his eyes uselessly against the dark. A soft meow answered him and up came the cat. Alfred scooped her up and tossed her off into the kitchen before he turned back to Matthew, awaiting instructions.

“Let’s just roll him down there.” The younger boy said, dropping the leg he was holding. Using their feet, they gave him a hard kick toward the stairs, where he slid through the doorway waist first. Gravity took over and his went tumbling down into the dark just before Matthew pushed the door shut.

As he walked into the kitchen to grab a towel, he turned back to Alfred. “Go get the mop ready, if we don’t clean up this blood the smell will stay.”

WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW

Like any children suddenly left alone, the boys took full advantage of their lack of rules over the following few days. All nights were late, all mornings an excuse to sleep in. Chores went neglected as fun held priority over dull tasks, and school often went unattended by Alfred, who insisted that it was a waste of time.

As time went on they began to notice a terrible happening. The first thing to run out was Cally’s litter, which Alfred remedied with dirt from outside (all the while refusing his brother’s demands to get rid of the feline). Snacks quickly disappeared, flavored drinks dried up. Toiletries, once barely considered as a limited luxury, began to run out. During all of this, starting Monday afternoon, came the incessant calls of the local gas station. For the first two days, Ron was sick. After that excuse had run dry, he happened to be out every time the manager called. As work calls increased, soon came calls from the school about Alfred’s truancy.

Alfred was all nerves, constantly worrying that someone would come and find out what he did. They would come and take him away; away from his home and his cat and his brother. After a while he began answering the phone specifically to slam it back down on the cradle. Maybe they would just go away? On top of the calls, on top of the rapidly depleting necessities, reigning high over the impending day when their water and power would be shut off, was the smell.

Matthew had tucked a few towels against the crack at the base of the basement door, but they were only a temporary fix. Soon, the stench had worked it’s way past the fabric and began polluting the hall. Alfred reinforced the spot with duct tape, sticking long pieces all around the doorway. When that proved to be too little, he taped towels all across the door, and covered it all in a thick blanket.

That had worked for a short while. Soon the smell, as if it were seeking him out in vengeance, began seeping up through the ventilation ducts, the floors, even the plumbing. Matthew insisted that he must have been imagining things, as he didn’t smell anything at all, but Alfred knew that it was very real.

It was ten o’ clock Tuesday when the manager of the gas station pulled into their driveway in his shiny powder blue Honda Accord with windows cracked and belching Sublime’s What I Got mixed with thick cigarette smoke. He parked, killed the engine, and stepped out into the harsh sunlight.

Scuffed brown shoes crunched over the gravel driveway as he approached the house, eyebrows furrowed and eyes squinted even behind his large sunglasses. Matthew peeked out the living room blinds, chewing his bottom lip in thought. Behind him, Alfred felt the horror of discovery wash over him and his stomach turned.

“What are we gonna do?” He whispered hoarsely.

Matthew turned slightly to look at him and grimaced. “You’re all sweaty and shaky, you’ll give it away like nothing. Go upstairs and do something, I’ll handle this.”

“B-but what about that smell? There’s no mistaking what that is!” Alfred demanded.

“I keep telling you, there is no smell! We even had all the windows and doors open all yesterday to air it out. You’re just freaking out. Now go upstairs.”

Three loud raps on the front door caused both boys to jump, and Matthew waved Alfred away before going to answer the summons. He rested his hand on the knob, took a deep breath to steady himself, and pulled it open.

The manager, Mr. Black if Matthew remember correctly, blocked the sunlight and cast a long shadow into the house. He removed his shades, reveling muddy brown eyes and a thick, full brow. Black hair short and a little scruffy, a long European nose, thin harsh lips, and the skin of a long-time smoker. He folded his shades and hung them from the front pocket of his brown blazer before he spoke.

“Is your dad home?” His voice was gruff and deep, with a thick Brooklyn accent.

“He went to the store.”

“Ain’t that his car?” Mr. Black asked, turning his body slightly to motion toward their old Chevy parked in it’s usual spot.

Matthew bit his tongue for a second, angry with himself for the foolish slip-up, before answering. “It broke down so he had to get a ride with someone.”

The tall man looked past Matthew and into the shady house, flicking his cigarette butt out onto the shaggy lawn. “Is that so? Well, a shopping trip can’t take too long. I’ll wait here for him.”

When he tried to take a step inside, Matthew moved to block him. “Well, he only just left so he might be gone for a long while. I can tell him you came over though.”

“I can wait.” Mr. Black stated flatly, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a soft pack of menthol Seneca cigarettes and dipping a fingers inside. The cheap tobacco was about halfway out from the pack when a loud blast erupted from outside and a burst of red exploded out from the man‘s chest.

Matthew and the man stared at one another, eyes wide with shock, before Mr. Black let the battered old pack slip from his fingers and hit the ground just seconds before his legs gave out and he dropped to his knees with a thud. A low, rumbling gurgle sounded from his lips, accompanied by a dark stream of blood. Behind him stood Alfred, mouth agape and high-powered hunting rifle in his hands that ached from the gun’s kick.

Matthew jumped when Mr. Black dropped to the side, stone dead. “You-”

“He was gonna come in and find out!” Alfred protested, dropping the gun to the ground and rubbing his sore shoulder.

The younger boy used his sleeve to wipe as much of the spattered blood from his face as he could before he continued. “You could have shot me!”

“I aimed up!”

“I thought you went upstairs….”

“I went by the back door. But come on, he was gonna come in and find out, I had to do something, so I went got one of dad’s guns and-”

Matthew shook his head slowly, turning around and walking into the living room. “My ears are ringing.” He went to the couch and sat, pursing his lips in thought. Alfred stood in the doorway a moment, then looked down at the dead man and grinned. For the second time that month, he had managed to Matthew and himself from separation and any kind of trouble.

“Alfred,” Matthew called from the living room. “I don’t think we can stay here anymore.”

“Why not?” The older boy asked, stepping into the house over the bleeding man and walking into the living room with his hands in his pockets.

“If the gas station guy will come here, what’s to stop anyone else? The school? Family members? Ron’s friends?”

Alfred nodded; his brother had a point. “Where the heck would we go though?”

“I’m not sure, but we can’t stay here.”

Without any real plan, the boys went about gather up the things that they would need: clothes, nonperishable foods, guns and ammo, whatever money Ron had stashed away, and basic necessities for Cally. They packed everything into Mr. Black’s car, since it had more gas, took whatever money he had on him, and deliberated on who would drive. Eventually they agreed on Alfred since he looked older and had been allowed to practice driving around the back roads near their home before.

WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW

“Gosh, it’s so late!” Matthew muttered, checking the wall clock. “Can I finish this tomorrow? I want to be up a little early to pick up around here.”

“No problem at all, comrade.” Ivan assured him with a little wave.

Matthew stood, taking up his mug and moving a few steps to pick up Ivan’s glass. “I’m not sure where you can sleep, since Arthur’s taking up the futon and we only have one room….”

Ivan chuckled and lightly drug his index fingers over the dark stains beneath his eyes, “I do not think that will be a problem, I do not sleep easy. The television works, da?”

“Yeah, but we don’t get a lot of channels.”

“That is fine.”

“Well…” Matthew hurried into the kitchen, dropped off the dishes, and came back, “I’m off to bed then. If Arthur’s confused tomorrow, and he will be, just let him know you’re a friend and he’ll be fine.”

The older man nodded with a light smile. Matthew gave a little parting wave that broke into a yawn before he headed to his room at the end of the hall. Ivan watched him disappear into the darkness shrouding the hall, a deep desire stirring in his belly. He flicked his violet eyes over to the man lying passed out on the futon, letting his gaze travel down his body.

Clearly a druggie, but still so delectable. He probably had about two more years until his excessive drug use finally caught up to him and destroyed his looks. Ivan wondered just how burnt out the man was, how much longer he had until his body decided that it had had enough abuse and shut down. He wondered if the chemicals had any effect on the tenderness and flavor of a man’s flesh.

But that was neither here nor there. The last thing he wanted to do was upset his idols, his gracious and delicious-looking hosts.

WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW

A/N:

OC Ron

Born: Chapter four - Died: Chapter five

Goodnight, sweet prince. You were a good man who deserved more than his cunt-bag children.

I do not own Axis Powers: Hetalia, Blockbuster, Honda, Sublime, Chevy, or Seneca cigarettes. This is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to the lives of any persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. I make no money from the writing of this fan-made product.

This was supposed to be the last half of the whole flashback sequence, but due to some hiccups in transition and a slight change in the order of events, the rest of the flashback will be broken up in the next chapter or two, amongst other happenings.

On an unrelated note, I’ve recently been getting into the band The Mars Volta. I’d recommend it to anyone looking for something new to listen to. That, and of course my favorite band Coheed and Cambria, which really helped me wiggle through writing this.

Please feel free to check my author page, which gets updated fairly regularly. I started putting a little thing on the top saying the last update and what it was on for easier access. New story is out over on my other account! America/Canada romantic drama, incest all around. It wont be seen here though since it’s got no porn.
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