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Whisper of Stars	By : tamasama Category: +G to L > Hetalia: Axis Powers Views: 6255 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia: Axis Powers or any of the characters. I make no money from the writing or distrobution of this story. This is a work of fiction, any resemblance to the lives of any person, living or dead, is purely conincedental.

Chapter List
- 7
- 8
- 9
CHAPTER EIGHT

America sat on his bed, thinking about the day’s events. It felt like the first time in ages that someone had been nice to him. Good food, a chance to stretch his legs, and even a rather nice conversation. Of course he had some trouble following Russia’s logic at times but it was better than a day filled with lonely silence or pain. He actually felt rather good, which was a shocker considering the situation.
He flopped back onto the bedding, which had been replaced some time while he had been out wandering the house, and stared at the ceiling. If he could just gain Russia’s trust he could probably have an easier time escaping. Escaping? Somehow he felt a pang of guilt about thinking of running away after how kind the Russian had been to him. Also, what would he do about the drugs?
“Screw that!” The American snapped, sitting up abruptly. He could always find more at his own house, that was no reason to stay someone’s prisoner! Regardless of that person’s recent kindness or the sad look in his eyes when he spoke of the thing he could never have… Shaking his head fiercely, America steeled his resolve and began trying to remember the way he had taken to go from the front door to this room in the first place.
Elsewhere in the house, Russia was getting ready for a meeting with his boss. He stood near the grand double doors at the entrance of his house and pulled on his large winter boots. “I want you to feeding him while I am away, da?” He was saying to Estonia, who was writing the instructions down onto a pad of paper. “I am to be gone until zavtra*, feed him two times,” he held up two fingers to stress the point as he stomped down a couple times to get his other boot onto his foot properly, “But not being too much or he will be breaking my house.”
Estonia nodded and Russia took his coat from the rack and slipped it on. He buttoned it as he spoke, “Remember his shot twice, one in morning and one in evening, and if you overdose him you die.” The threat slid out calmly and evenly, as if he was only speaking of something as mundane as the weather. Estonia nodded and Russia continued as he draped his long scarf around his neck, issuing orders about what to prepare for food when he returned and which rooms should be cleaned. With a little wave and smile he slipped out into the cold and softly closed the door behind him which let out an echoed little ‘click’.
Letting out a gladdened sigh, Estonia tucked the note pad into his pocket and spun around. On his way to the kitchen he thought about how much easier life had become ever since Russia had kidnapped America. The twelve rooms that he and the other states, along with the other various chores (with the inclusion of tending to the captive in the guest-room) was a shockingly lighter load than they were used to. Also, they had all of today and most of tomorrow to complete it! He smiled to himself and readjusted his glasses as he entered the living room to brief his two companions on the instructions.
Latvia and Lithuania sat on the couch, attempting to carry a conversation. Obviously this was not working out very well since they were so different, but still they persisted in an attempt to pass the time that they had spent waiting on Estonia. With a little “hey” Estonia stood before them and relayed the information written on his note pad and split the chores evenly amongst them. Latvia would be in charge of the cooking and three rooms, Estonia himself laid claim to the garden, sunflower room, and three more rooms. Finally, Lithuania was tasked with caring for the American and working the grounds around the house. Once everything was divided the three unfortunate states went their separate ways; Latvia to the library to figure out some new or exciting way to serve the meal Russia had requested (how the man loathed monotonous food), Estonia to the garden to begin the uncomfortable task of gardening in that stiflingly humid heat, and Lithuania to the little hidden pantry in the kitchen where Russia kept all of his fetishistic equipment.
Some hours later when the sun was dipping slowly and lethargically beneath the horizon, casting its pinkish haze over the vast expanses of snow and ice, Latvia looked to the clock on the wall and sighed. “Poland, can you hold on a little, I have to go do something.”
“Aw, Liet, you’re like, so totally rude an’ stuff. I should totally just like, hang up on you an’ junk!” Poland teased over the phone, his voice bubbling with laughter.
Latvia set the phone down on the table and went to retrieve the American’s usual rations and injection. He was hoping that he would not try anything and hurt himself. Russia would be furious if something serious happened to his prisoner that he himself had not inflicted. Lithuania sighed to himself as he set the syringe, small glass of water, and meager meal of a slice of toast and half an apple. Honestly, he felt very bad for America but there was really nothing he could do about it. It made him feel guilty but he even preferred the man living with them because he worked to distract Russia and soak up most of his cruelty, which would have otherwise been spent on him and the other two Baltics.
Hurrying to the room fast enough to make it there without dropping everything so Poland would not get bored and hang up, Lithuania dug his free hand into his pocket and retrieved the copy of his key to most of the rooms in the house, barring the front door and the sunflower room. He reached the door without incident and quickly slipped the key into the lock and let himself in without a word (as instructed by Russia). America was laying on his belly on the bed, staring emptily at the wall, his face a picture of pure boredom. Upon seeing Lithuania his eyes lit up a little and he lifted himself slightly, his naked back arching as he propped himself up on his elbows.
“Yo.”
Biting his tongue to stop a natural greeting from escaping, Lithuania made sure not to make eye-contact with the man (also ordered by Russia) and set the tray down. He prepped the needle and took America’s arm to give him the shot. When that was done he put the needle away and set the food out. With a little nod he turned and exited the room without a word, tugging the door behind him as he hurried back to the phone.
As America blinked through the drugged haze, he picked up water and gulped it down thirstily. He had been hoping that Russia was going to deliver his meal so he would at least have someone really acknowledge his existence, so he was feeling a little disappointed. All at once though, as he was munching his dry toast, he noticed a sliver of light that cut through the darkness of his room. It led directly to the door. The slightly open door.
Tossing his bread onto the tray forgotten, America shakily stood and padded softly to the door, straining to hear if anyone was near-by. Silence. He peeked out into the hall and found it vacant. Finally! It was the slip-up he had been waiting for all this time, freedom was staring him directly in the face and all he needed to do was reach out and take it! Wasting no time the American slipped out the door and called on the energy he had been trying to conserve by remaining relatively motionless all day and padded softly down the hall, calling on his memory of the house’s layout to guide him to freedom.
Meanwhile, Russia was trudging home through the calm night, wondering why he still did not own a car. Glad to see his house in the distance, he dug into his pocket and pulled out a flask of vodka and slowly opening it. He had traveled all the way to his boss’s house to perform some grueling and menial labor, just to get half-way there and receive a call from the secretary informing him that his boss had come down with a fever and was cancelling. Why did he have to listen to that guy, anyway? He was Russia! Why would a country bow to any human? It was humiliating. At least now he would be able to go home and cuddle up next to America. He was in the mood for some tender bonding time, so it would be a nice day off. Greatly preferable to listening to his boss spout out orders and make him waste time hauling dirt around in wheelbarrows all day.
Looking down at his flask in surprise, he realized that he had drank the entire thing without even realizing it. Shrugging and pushing it down into his pocket he climbed the few steps that lead to his massive and run-down double front doors to jump in surprise when they flew open and light flooded out into the dark night. His surprise quickly flipped to anger when, of all people, America burst out into the night air with a sheet pulled around his shoulders and ran directly into his chest.
America bounced off and fell back into the threshold with a painful thud, the sheet he intended on trying to stay warm in falling from his shoulders forgotten, his mind flitting in surprise at the Russian towering over him with an incredibly dissatisfied expression.
“Where are you to be going, Alfred?” Receiving no answer beyond a wide-eyed and confused stare, Russia leaned down and snagged the man by the collar of his shirt and yanked him to standing. He repeated the question, his violet eyes narrowing in growing anger. “You want to leave?”
America shook his head frantically, his heart slamming in his chest. Why the hell was Russia home? He was supposed to be gone until some time in the evening the next day!
“If you want outside that badly I will let you outside.” Russia snapped, yanking America with him over to a chest that sat against the wall. Yanking it open he produced a pair of wrist shackles, which he snapped onto the younger man without regard to his healing wrist, and finished off by clamping the metal collar and chain-leash around his neck. Taking the chain he dragged him toward the door and out into the cold air where he attached the chain to a column a little ways away from the door. Without a word he spun around and made his way for the door, clearly intent on leaving the frightened man to the icy night air.
“Y-you can’t just leave me out here, man!” He tugged futilely at his bonds and shook in the cold.
A particularly icy blast of wind slammed from the west when Russia spun around, the light of a mad rage dancing in his eyes and he locked gazes with America’s blue ones. “Tell me if you see the whisper of stars tonight, Alfred!” He yelled over the wind, and with that he spun around and went into the house, slamming the doors behind him.
Frantically struggling against the thick chain that held him bound, America yanked and pulled and twisted to no avail, the soles of his found shoes slipping over the ice and snow that covered the old porch and piled up around his calves. It was beginning to snow and the wind was picking up; the calm night it had been began to howl as if enraged, pelting the blonde man in freezing snow. Trying to twist around and break one of the chain links he stepped wrong, slipped, and fell heavily into the biting snow. He cried out loudly at the painful cold as the snow closest to his body melted and moistened his entire left side.
“Fuck! Someone! Anyone! Help me!” He shrieked, knowing full-well that there would not be anyone out in that weather, especially that late in the night. His voice was ripped away from his lips and tossed away by the rapidly increasing wind that chilled him to the bone. Gritting his teeth and digging his heels into the snow he yanked this way and that in an attempt to break the chain, thrashing about wildly in a pained and frantic struggle to escape the wind and cold and ice and freezing death that seemed intent of claiming him. Still he called out for help, his throat growing raw and sore from the futile attempt to summon aid.
The tears that tried to slide down his cheeks turned to ice and his hair began to frost at the tips, as with his eyelashes. It had been some fifteen minutes and he was just so tired. “Someone, help me…” He whined, his voice a cracked and hoarse whisper as he struggled to standing and leaned against the column. He was shaking so hard that it hurt, he was colder than he had ever thought possible, everything hurt. His fingers and toes were almost numb but he could still feel a ghost of an ache in them, and the metal clamped around his wrists and neck burned his skin. His teeth chattering he looked toward the door, cursing himself for his own stupidity. If he had not tried to run, this would have never happened. If he had just listened to Russia he would be in his warm bed right now, probably sleeping comfortably. He was not such an idiot he would not have to think about freezing to death outside, chained to the porch like an abused dog.
Mustering his strength, he yelled out as loud as he could manage with the cold air making it difficult to breath without bursting into a fit of coughs, “I’m sorry! Ivan, I’m sorry!” His voice cracked and hot tears slid down his pink cheeks, leaving frozen little trails.
“Ivan! I’m sorry! I’ll never try to run again so PLEASE let me inside!” His scream was followed by a long fit of coughs as he slowly sunk down to his knees, too exhausted to stand any longer. “Please, I’ll do anything! I’ll do anything you tell me and I’ll never misbehave again…” His voice trailed off, a sob cutting off his pleading.
No answer, the door remained firmly shut. Choking out a wretched moan he dropped his head and cried, struggling to keep his eyes open as the fresh tears froze amongst his lashes. It was so dark and so cold and so damn loud. The wink shrieked in his numbed ears like a banshee and the snow began to pile upon him and he could only shake and cry. At least the fear was gone, replaced only by a deep and abject sorrow that settled inside him just as cold as the snow that was caking his hair. Other than the grief that consumed him was the growing feeling of tiredness. He was just exhausted. As he felt himself slowly slump closer to the ground his mind let out a small spark of interest when a breath slipped from his lips and the very puff of heat and moisture that made it visible froze in the air and fell to the white ground in shining little crystals that glimmered in the sudden light that draped over him. It seemed as if the fell in slow motion, shining and beautiful, like tiny stars.
All at once, through the fog of confusion, he felt the collar around his neck fall free and strong hands pull him up to his feet. Stumbling steps, so hard to walk when you cannot feel your feet. Why was he walking, anyway? He was supposed to be sleeping, walking was so hard. Suddenly, heat. Heat and the feel of himself being slipped out of his wet and frozen clothes into something warm and soft. The crackle of a fire close by. Blinking his eyes, his vision cleared slightly and he found himself looking into Russia’s bright purple eyes.
“I’m sorry.” America croaked, his teeth chattering incessantly and fresh tears sliding down his cheeks.
“You were very bad, Alfred.” A light frown.
“I’m sorry.” The tears kept flowing.
“I am always being good for you, and this is how you show your repayment?” Strong fingers ran through his hair.
“I wont do it again. I’m sorry.” Endless tears.
“I love you, Alfred.” A soft smile on his lips.
Blinking his tired eyes separately, America tried to say something but it was lost in a powerful bout of shivers that wracked him to the core, and he slipped into unconsciousness.
*Tomorrow
- 7
- 8
- 9
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Whisper of Stars