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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
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CHAPTER SIX

Coming around to consciousness was less of a slow, groggy up-hill battle than it was an abrupt eruption into the waking world for Arthur. It was an uncomfortable way to come to, of course, but he preferred that style of waking to any other. When he awoke with a start, he could be sure he wasn't slipping off the deep end of another OD.

His head ached, his eyes burned, and his stomach felt like it was full of some rather unpleasant slime. He blinked a few times to let himself grow accustomed to the light, then sat up and yawned. A quick glance at the wall clock told him it was something like noon. He wondered for a moment how long he had been camping out on Alfred's uncomfortable futon. It felt like maybe two days, but he couldn't be sure.

A loud shriek startled him from his thoughts and he turned toward the sound in time to see Alfred stomp from his doorway out into the hall. He was squinting without his glasses and at the very end of hastily maneuvering himself into a faded pair of jeans.

"Mattie, where the hell are you!" Alfred demanded, and was answered by something spoken too quietly to really hear from the kitchen. Arthur sniffed, his headache getting worse with each of Alfred's loud shouts. He threw himself to standing and yelled at him to be quiet before walking to his bag beside the television.

He barely paid any mind as Ivan walked out of Alfred and Matthew's room laughing. The thought of his morning hit blocked most everything out. He unzipped his bag and frowned; it was next to empty. One hit. Maybe enough to last him a couple of hours.

There was some kind of hushed argument going on in the kitchen between Alfred and Matthew that only helped to make his headache worse, so he dug around quickly for a little pick-me-up to make himself feel better.

Arthur noticed Ivan out of the corner of his eye. The tall stranger was just standing there, watching him.

"Screw off, I don't do hand-outs." He growled, irritated.

"I do not do drugs."

"Then what the fuck are you staring at?"

"You."

Arthur pursed his lips and snatched a few pills from the bag then swallowed them dry before closing the empty container and tossing it over his shoulder. He pushed himself up and stalked past the much taller man, the unwavering gaze unnerving him a bit as he made his way to the toilet. After a short cool shower, shave, and hasty application of eyeliner he came back out into the living room, feeling far better than he did when he had awoken. His stomach had settled and with the drugs starting to work his headache was all but gone.

He went into the kitchen to find Matthew in the middle of rummaging through the refrigerator and Alfred leaning up against the counter with his arms crossed over his chest and a pout on his lips. Another argument, and he was sure the younger of the two had won. It vexed him to no end how Alfred's moods revolved entirely around Matthew, how thick he was thinking that his feelings were mutual.

"I'm gonna go for a bit and check up on the club. It'd be boring alone, did you want to come with me?" He directed the question at Alfred.

"I gotta go to the store." The other man replied through gritted teeth, throwing a quick glare his brother's way. "Apparently I gotta take that freak with me." He jabbed his thumb toward the entry to the living room.

"Did you want to stay until they get back? I'm going to make lunch." Matthew popped out from the fridge with what appeared to be a hunk of old, rock hard cheese held between index finger and thumb. He tossed it into the garbage and stood up straight.

Arthur shook his head 'no' and gave a small dismissive wave as he turned to walk away. "No, I've got to meet my guy. I'm just fine going alone."

"Alright. Well, it was nice having you, come over whenever."

Arthur gave a half-nod and left. It was hot and bright outside, causing him to squint and grimace. He pulled his phone from his pocket and pressed 1; his dealer was on speed dial. He lit a cigarette and waited impatiently as it rang, and rang, and rang. When it clicked over to voicemail, Arthur let out an irritated sigh and hung up after hearing the a tiny snippet of "Bueno hola soy M-" He punched in a quick series of numbers, and got an answer in about the time it took him to take two short drags.

"Arthur, what brings me the pleasure of your call?" The sarcasm was so thick it could be cut with a knife.

"Where are you?" He already started walking East at a brisk pace, sure that he knew the answer.

"I'm on Aqueduct, of course."

Arthur let out a half-grunt of acknowledgement and promptly hung up. The sun was bearing down hot and heavy in the sky as if it were hell-bent on making him as uncomfortable as possible when all at once the stranger in his rented-out derelict house dawned on him. Just who the hell was that guy and what the hell was he doing in the boys' room? He flicked his cigarette butt, smoked down almost to the filter, out into the bushes and spat. He hated the taste of the things. Really though, who was that guy?

He clicked his tongue and glared at a woman who passed him by; his head was buzzing, his body was sore, and she needed to keep her god damned eyes to herself. Although it was dull, he could feel, and it was just awful. He lit another cigarette and quickened his pace. Alfred, that git, he should have come along. Arthur hated going out alone when he was hurting for a buzz. What kind of friend was Alfred supposed to be, anyway? They never did anything alone. Now, it wasn't as if he disliked the younger one, but it would have been nice to go outside in the daylight from time to time. To go to a populated area and just hang without worrying about Matthew falling into a panic attack. For some psycho killer, the boy sure was a pussy.

That was another thing; when he spent time at their house and Matt was out of the picture for whatever reason (as rare as that was), he could actually talk to Alfred about things that weren't morbid and admittedly quite disturbing. As much as Matthew liked to sugarcoat his nature with polite, softly spoken words, he was just unnerving as hell.

All Arthur wanted to do was hang out with Alfred, talk about music or whatever, and get high. Preferably get high with Alfred, but he consistently turned down his offers. He should have been honored, Arthur didn't share his stash with just anyone (read: no one).

He called his dealer again, and once again got the voice mail. "Bueno hola soy Max, leave a message at the beep yeah?"

"Hey it's Arthur call me back, my money is practically burning a hole in my pocket here." At that he hung up and turned a corner. He was greeted by a woman in her thirties with a massive hive of brown hair and pleather boots up to her thighs. She held crinkled cigarette squished between her boney fingers.

"Hey baby you lookin' for some fun?" She more wheezed than spoke in her deep, cracking voice.

"Like I'd want a busted slag like you."

"Real gentlemanly." She flicked an impressive stack of ash off onto the road.

"Fuck you, I'm a pure-bred gentleman."

She snickered and rolled her green eyes. "Yeah fucking right. You looking for Daddy?"

"Why else would I be here?" Arthur dropped his own cigarette and crushed it beneath his boot.

The woman started off down the street, not bothering to beckon for him to follow. "Thought you came to visit me. Don't see you around much anymore."

"Not a lot of reason to come around since Fred stopped slinging in this area." He followed along behind her.

"Since the Maletta family took over I haven't seen a lot of the old guys. Word on the street has it they're all worked up over something."

Arthur lifted a thick brow in curiosity. "What about?"

"Can't say for sure, but I've heard a new family may have sent them a message they didn't much appreciate." She flashed a yellow-toothed smile at a passing car, offering up a little finger wiggle of a wave. "People say two of their guys got knocked off."

"Better get off the street then, keep your head down. You don't want to get caught up in some turf war."

They came upon a derelict brick apartment building that towered over the single-story liquor and pawn shops that littered the area. Women in scanty dress loitered around the front, chatting while they peddled their various quality of wares at passing cars. When they noticed Arthur and their coworker approaching, some dropped what they were doing to rush over while other, newer women just gave half-hearted little waves and glances of indifference.

"Arty baby, it's been so long!" A blonde cooed, taking him by the arm and pulling him close. Another woman ran her fingers through her hair and winked at him.

Arthur smiled and pried himself away from the blonde before addressing the various greetings thrown his way. She pouted at the loss of contact and said, "It's been a long time, honey. You come to party?"

He shook his head and held up a hand. "No, money's been tight so I can't buy for so many people anymore." They all made their way up to the door.

A black-haired Indian girl of maybe fifteen piped up. "Baby what happened? Yer fam cut you off?"

He scoffed. "They did that a long time ago, love. But I need to go in, we can all catch up later alright?" Ignoring the chorus of disappointed sighs, Arthur climbed the short stoop and let himself in. The doors, far heavier than one would expect, groaned loudly as they swung in to reveal a cool, lushly decorated entryway that was the complete opposite of the building's exterior. The lighting was dim and the moving work of Jean-Baptiste Accolay drifted through the room, presenting an air of class and elegance. A beautiful woman with black hair and light blue eyes rose from a brown divan, her red chiffon gown whispering quietly with the movement.

"Bonjour monsieur Kirkland, this way please." She made a sweeping motion with her perfectly manicured hand toward the entrance to the main hall and started out at an even pace. Arthur followed behind, rolling his eyes at the garish extravagance his old acquaintance insisted upon surrounding himself with.

When they reached the end of the hall, the woman knocked lightly on the door. "Maître, votre invité est arrivé." She then turned to Arthur, lilted her head in a light bow, and began walking back to the entryway.

The room was thick with the scent of wine and roses, as dim and smoky as it had always been. Francis Bonnefoy, lucrative pimp and owner of every well-to-do stable that side of Westchester county, reclined in a large plush armchair. He was gazing off into the distance and distractedly enjoying opium from a large and beautifully crafted hookah with two young, curvaceous women sprawled across piles of silk pillows. His long blonde hair was pulled back loosely by a blue ribbon that matched his eyes, and the embroidery on his black silk robe.

Francis, three years older than Arthur, used to run both the local prostitution rings and drug trade. He and Arthur had become begrudging business partners for about a year some time in the past; Francis paid Arthur to allow him to sell within and around his club, Arthur scouted new girls for the brothels and was paid a healthy sum per head. The pimp had introduced his acquaintance to the world of illegal narcotics and had deeply regretted it ever since. The younger man had gone off the deep end of addiction practically overnight, something Francis could not have mucking up business. He cut ties with Arthur soon after it became clear he was often too off his head to count backwards from ten, much less handle any kind of work. Soon after, the Malleta family came and viciously began stomping out competition. Deeming the lives of himself and his girls more important than dealing a little smack here and there, Francis struck up a deal with the organization and was allowed to keep his stables as long as he gifted them twenty percent of his profits.

"It's been a while, Arthur. You look like shit." He pointed out smoothly through a cloud of smoke, eyeing the short man up and down.

"And you smell like shit, frog."

Francis just chuckled and motioned for Arthur to join him. The Englishman quickly took to the offer, plopping himself down between the two women and taking a hose. "You got anything to sell?" He put it to his lips and took a long, slow pull. He had never much liked the drug, but it was better than nothing.

"You know I got out of that business a long time ago, when the Maletta's took over. You have to buy from them."

"I'm not asking as a long-term customer, I'm asking as..." He frowned and adverted his green eyes, "As a kind of friend."

"A 'kind of' friend?"

"Shut the hell up."

Francis just chuckled and turned his attention to the women in the room. "Ma fifilles, if you may?" They nodded and got up, each throwing a little kiss his way before they left.

"Well? Do you have anything or what?"

Francis sighed, "You know I don't keep things I don't do."

"Well aren't you fucking useless."

"Talk to their guy, he's always got something on hand."

Arthur groaned and fell back, frustrated. "I've been trying to get a hold of him but he isn't answering. I don't want go all crazy on his phone and piss him off."

The men fell into a fairly awkward silence, the time they spent together in the past doing nothing to ease the discomfort. After a long while, Arthur spoke up again.

"I think I'm in serious trouble."

"How so?" Francis asked, leaning forward a bit in interest.

Arthur spoke past through the thick cloud of smoke he was slowly expelling from his lungs, dragging his hand over his face in a show of stress. "Well the IRS is riding me and I may have been dodging the payments on my building."

"What a waste of potential."

"Says you." Arthur rolled back and forth a bit, relishing in the relaxing sensation the opiate provided. "I'm thinking of getting snake bites."

"Don't you have enough piercings?" When Arthur just snorted and rolled over so his back faced him, Francis asked, "Planning on doing the 'scene' thing as well?"

"Yeah fucking right."

"You were enjoying some ridiculous pirate-themed wardrobe just last month, I don't see the problem."

The younger man rolled over to look Francis in the eyes. "Punk in a mind set, not a uniform."

"Looks like a uniform to me." He replied, referring to his friend's stereotypically punk attire.

"I'm wearing it ironically."

Francis chuckled, pushing a blonde lock of hair from his face with a flamboyant flick of the wrist. "So you're a hipster on top of it all."

Arthur flipped him off, bracelets clanking, and pulled his phone out of his pocket. Speed dial, ringing, he rolled his eyes and sighed harshly as the tone stretched on and on. Of course he wasn't going to answer, he was probably the flakiest-

"Hola?"

He threw himself to a sitting position, voice betraying his excitement. "Hey are you holding?"

There was a pause, so excruciating in it's suspense that Arthur wanted to scream. "What are you looking for?"

"Everything." The rest of the call was brief and to the point. After he hung up, Arthur wished a hasty goodbye to his host and left, all but running down the hall, out the door, and to the West. He lit another cigarette just as his phone buzzed with a text message.

"hey old man u shud get us a new TV smetime this thng sux" Alfred being an idiot, as usual. Always asking for things regardless of how many times Arthur had said no. The only time Arthur had even given in on something larger than cheap food was fall of the last year.

He, Alfred, and Matthew had been in Arthur's car, now long gone, going somewhere he couldn't quite remember. He was driving, Alfred rode shotgun, and Matthew was lying in the back seat.

"Alfred you reek like sweat." Arthur had said as the bright city lights cast pool after short-lived pool across them.

"Well I live in a freakin' van, what do you expect?"

"I like the van." Matthew muttered from the back seat, toying with his bear plush.

"Get a job and find a flat."

"Yeah, let me just pull my nonexistent ID out of my ass and give out my social, that's a real wise plan there buddy." Alfred rolled his eyes and opened the window. "I'd rather live in a van than rot away in prison."

"The van's nice, we can keep them in it."

Arthur scoffed. "Make a fake ID and steal a social, it isn't that hard."

"That sounds hard."

"You just tie them up and hand cuff them to the..."

"I don't know how you made it this far you clod."

"Says you, ya stuffy old hoity-toity tea-chugging ass." Alfred pulled a rubber band from his pocket and snapped his friend in the cheek.

"What are you doing you god damned idiot I'm dri-"

Snap!

"Alfred stop it right now!"

"And they just keep shrieking and crying and begging..."

Snap!

"I'll kill you!" Arthur yelled, using his right hand to start slapping at Alfred as he tried to keep his eyes on the road. He had been glad he had only had one bump that night or things may have turned out quite differently.

"You hit like a girl!" Alfred laughed, blocking the blows with his arms as Matthew continued to ramble on and on in the back seat.

"Oh I do, do I? How about we pull over and see who's laughing when I'm done kicking your fat arse!"

"Oh no, Captain Cocaine is gonna try and fight me with his weak girl-arms! Oh gosh what will I ever do?!"

"...and when I broke her jaw she screamed so loud I thought I was going to go deaf..."

Snap! Snap!

"Bloody hell Alfred stop it we're going to hit something!"

Alfred slapped Arthur's hand away just before the older man managed to snatch the band. "Then find me somewhere to live."

"What? No, find your own place."

Snap!

"Do it!"

"No, find your own you lazy fat son of a-"

Snap!

"...and, oh maple, the blood was so slick and warm and..."

"God damn it Alfred stop it!"

"Get me a place I'm so tired of living in that damn van!"

"I never came so hard in my-" Snap! "Ow! Jesus Alfred what the heck was that for?" Matthew yelped, sitting up.

"For being all fucking creepy back there. Now shut the hell up, I'm trying to get us someplace to live."

"But I like the van."

Alfred rolled his eyes and turned away from his brother. "Yeah and I don't."

"Well I know a guy who has an old junkie nest he needs to get demolished." Arthur said, using his knee to steer as his lit a cigarette. "I could probably get you that. It looks like shit so rent will be cheap."

"You're seriously gonna charge us rent?"

"Where do you think my money comes from? The sky?" Arthur darted his eyes back and forth between the road and his friend. "Nothing is free, Al."

In the present, Arthur had finally reached his destination; the middle-class part of town. Strips malls, children playing unsupervised, powder blue SUVs. Just up ahead outside of an ice cream parlor stood his dealer with a cone of vanilla ice cream in one hand and his phone in the other. His hair was in dreads, as usual, and pulled back into a low ponytail.

"Isn't it too hot out for a suit?" Arthur asked him when he was lose enough not to have to yell.

The man, tall and swarthy, lifted his treat as if to say "That's why I have this."

Arthur just shrugged and waited for his dealer, Max, to complete his phone call. He hung up with a long, harsh sigh and took a bite from his soft serve.

"What were you looking for?" He asked as he readjusted his dark shades.

"A little bit of everything."

Max motioned for him to follow, then walked inside the parlor and took a seat in the far corner. Once they were situated, Max leaned in and propped his sun glasses on his head. "I'll give them all to you for half off,"

Arthur's eyes widened in shocked glee. "Wh-"

"If you can tell me who's been picking off the people who go to your club."

A/N

I do not own Axis Powers: Hetalia.

Oh wow is that it? No name-dropping in this chapter, holy shit! Ugh, Arthur, why are you so hard to write? He always comes out as such a cock every time I make him open his mouth.
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