Onside the Highway

DEDICATION: Simply put, this idea started when I was forced to write my mind in English class. Writing my mind meant writing Hetalia, so I ended up making this cute little story about runaways. I couldn't write it well, though. Ninety percent of this entire chapter was with the loving and dear help of opehilasnorkels (I have a link to her livejournal on my profile). She's an extremely good writer, and an extremely good beta at that. Once again, I have to say there is nothing in this accomplished without her, so I beg that if you enjoyed this, you go check her out. She was more of a part of this story then you'll believe.

Thank you opheliasnorkels!

Now onward, please enjoy.


There was always an extra suitcase under his brother's bed.

Matthew was never too curious about their room, other than the fact that no matter how many times he'd clean it in a day, by midnight, he was pretty sure there were always clothes and things scattered on the floor. By the time he finally got around to scolding his brother about it, the boy suddenly decided it was best to stuff everything under their bed. Matthew was not content with this idea, however, and decided to finally get around to cleaning his brother's idea-of-keeping-their-room-clean.

That's when he spotted a peculiar item of interest. One that he has, in fact, never seen before.

It was a small suitcase, brown, and could probably fit a couple more stacks of clothing then a normal traveling suitcase could. And it was incredibly old. Matthew would note this to himself as he'd drag it out from under the excessive burger wrappers, coughing at the flying dust. Yes, he'd eventually ask his roommate what it was, and he'd get simply "It's my prized possession". Doubtlessly, he's known his twin brother, Alfred, for a long time now, but he couldn't ever figure out why his prized possession was this poor-condition suitcase. As a matter of fact, Matthew could have sworn Alfred would have rather not moved out of America, claiming it as his one and only home.

Without much of a craving to move, why would he keep the dusty, old case?

Matthew, after a few visits to the item, figured it was probably something inside. However, after many attempts and cuts, he did get it open and found a surprising fact. The suitcase was empty. It was probably the cleanest thing in their room and the cleanest thing he'd ever seen Alfred keep. Maybe it was the fact that it was clean, and that Alfred secretly liked cleanliness, and that he was one of those weird popular kids who hid a side of themselves; Matthew would run though all the thoughts, but would find that this would never be the fact. Alfred was genuine, real, not like the other popular kids, and he was definitely not a clean person. He was at square one again, with an empty suitcase.

Matt never knew that such a stupid-sounding prized possession would suddenly become so important to him as well. He never even thought the possibilities of what happened could happen.

Or maybe he did, but he was one of those ignorant children who hated to see the truth.

He slowly shut the suitcase and pushed it back under the bed, hearing screams coming from the floor below after the car pulled up. It was his parents, definitely. Alfred wasn't talking, which meant it was another serious one.

Reluctantly, he strode downstairs.

Chapter 1: Black Concrete

The sun gleamed mercilessly down on the children standing in a straight line on the track. If the blistering heat was not a reason enough for the boys to be sweating bullets, the coach's dry and sour look could have matched, if not outdo, said temperature.

The tall man paced up and down the isle of young men giving unforgiving side glances back and forth. Matthew kept his hand to his sides and looked down, trying to avoid angering him anymore than he was. Knowing his school's P.E. coach, the man probably couldn't stand the most innocent gesture when he was angry. Plan translated, he avoided eye contact, occasionally shifting his weight from leg to leg trying to go as unnoticed as he usually is. However, the deed seemed to only do the opposite of what was intended.

The irritated coach stopped in front of him and glared daggers before sucking in air. "What are you hiding for, maggot?!"

Matt flinched immediately to the yell. He felt particles of flying spit hit the top of his hair as the class gave him a collected "oohhh." This is great, perfect. Yeah, just great.

Not wanting to infuriate the teacher any further, he slowly turned his head upwards, gleaming blue eyes showing obvious discomfort to his coach's radiating anger. The coach's eyes displayed the direct opposite, practically burning his red glare into the secluded corners of Matt's mind.

The time when the-most-ignored-kid-in-school, Matthew Jones, was actually noted, it had to be the worst time possible. Not the mention the fact that he felt, felt, Alfred's shit-eating grin from beside him. Being younger of the not-quite-identical twins (which Matt was secretly glad for), Matthew absolutely dreaded his brother. The boy was athletically adept, was madly sexy and was absolutely, positively an asshole. No one would even agree that they were related, Matthew being that one kid no one even knew. The younger, obviously unhappy with his brother's mockery, gave a quick nudge, frowning. The older snickered, figuring it was like a game, and nudged back. However, compared to Matthew's push, Alfred's push was not as user friendly. He staggered a bit then straightened himself before the coach was able to sense his near-fall; he bit his lip back and thought, This isn't going so well.

And why were they in this situation now? Well…

Matthew knew he should have tried to stop his brother from, once again, doing the unspeakable. Alfred ran a full-on raid through the girl's locker room. Matthew was one hundred percent against this, but it didn't stop Alfred from throwing the younger on his shoulder and forcing him to join in. And to add to the millions of bruises they all suffered from the severely harsh hits they took from inanimate objects, they were now in deep shit. If Al wasn't so ungodly strong, Matt would have… well, there were just too many things he needed to get back at Al for being ungodly strong. He kept these thoughts to himself, however, as the teacher grunted and continued pacing. Letting out a long sigh of relief, he wiped the excess sweat off his forehead, swearing he heard Alfred say something about his girly stature or that he should be back in the gym with the girls. Disregarding this, he continued to listen, not willing to get another death glare from the coach.

"You boys are shameless," he started, crossing his arms and giving side glares again. Matthew did a side glare too. In his brother's general direction. "And you boys expect to get any attention from girls because of this? No, they HATE IT." The coach spat, getting some other kid square in the face. Said kid began frantically rubbing his face with his shirt, the coach leaving and continuing his speech. "So I've asked one of our poor female victims what we should do to these idiotic, testosterone-driven men, and I've agreed to make you run three miles for the hour. Maybe I can drag out the boys who actually have estrogen." There was a collected moan, excepting a certain somebody that decided to stand right next to Matthew, a certain somebody who was obviously snickering 'Matthew does' through his laughter.

Matthew was not amused.


After much dodging, glaring, swerving, running, and prancing, Matthew managed to avoid his twin brother for the rest of the day after that. Despite the fact that all these activities were rather stressful after painfully almost making it through three miles (he had made it through two before collapsing, getting laughed at by his brother who was easily running his fifth), he was actually proud of his work. After a while, the dense, blond idiot finally noticed the avoidance and started looking a bit dejected.

And being a nerd, Matt snickered to himself with a grin, "Just as planned." And, just as stated, his blood, sweat, and tears were paying off. Alfred was nowhere to be seen.

Though his confidence swelled, it didn't stop Matthew from expecting the sudden burst from behind as he attempted to grab his books for homework. Abruptly, he slammed into his locker, face getting entangled with a bunch of honor's books. Accompanied with the unnamed force that overtook him, there was a very loud "MAATHHHEEEWWWW!" from behind him.

Honestly, there could be better ways of apologizing, but Alfred, being the dense, blond idiot he was, obviously never took note of these things. And Matt swore he heard his nose make a dangerous crack-ing sound.

"Alfred! Get the hell off me!" he yelled, breaking from the hold and turning to his hyper brother. Turning around was probably not the best idea though, seeing as Alfred's face was twisted into the most innocent-looking pout. Matthew cursed to himself; his words of guns and knives were always extracted from him when this happened, but with cutely curved lips and glimmering, blue eyes, who could even think of anything coherent enough to be a comeback?

"Are you angry at me, Matt?" No shit Sherlock, Matthew immediately responded in his head, only giving a blank frown at his thick-headed brother. The moment was short lived though; it wasn't long before Alfred's saddened look was replaced with a mischievous grin. Matthew opened his mouth to cuss him off about being so rude, but Al had beaten him to it. "You're bleeding."

Unconsciously, the younger brought his hand to his nose then back to where it was visible; from the fingers that had touched his nose, all the way to the bump of his palm, there were streams of blood.

Before any right and rational thoughts came to mind, he dropped his books and bit his lip, "S-Shit, Alfred!" he stuttered, frantically looking around for some sort of material to block the red substance from running so fast. His search was fruitless, so he did the next best thing. "Can't you control yourself?! Dammit, get me a tissue!"

Alfred didn't make a move to help, only laughing.

Enraged, Matt swung a not-so-powerful kick to the other twin's shin, but ended up missing and slipping back, hitting his head against the lockers.

To no one's surprise, this went unnoticed. The good thing about it was that no one was laughing at his failure of a kick, or at the fact the blood on his nose flew up and covered the door of his locker. The bad thing about this was that no one had enough vision to the unseen to actually help him as his one and only brother sat there laughing his ass off at the situation.

To Matthew's surprise (and benefit), Alfred's almost-non-existent humane side, after about five minutes of watching Matt lay there screaming nonsense at his diabolical brother, decided it was time to actually help his younger twin and get some tissues. They got the locker door clean quickly and scurried away afterwards. Matthew was still fuming, wad of tissues to his nose as they walked silently down the block to their house.

"I'm sorry I broke your nose," Alfred said after a long, silent while. He was still grinning however. Whatever sick joy Al got from this, Matt swore to kill it.

"And?" Matthew added, giving a pout to his brother. The other looked a little taken aback, but after a bit of thinking, he laughed sheepishly and responded.

"And staging the plan to run into the girl's locker room—but come on, Matt, the running wasn't that bad. He could have made us do yoga for an hour." Matt would have rather done yoga for an hour, but in order to at least retain some of his manliness, he decided against verbalizing this. His attempt to contain his reputation was in vain as Alfred continued. "Oh yeah, you didn't even make it through three laps and got a D."

He was smirking again. So much for sweet apologizes.

In a rage, Matt slapped him with a bloody hand, gaining a disgusted moan from his brother and an incoherent string of curses. Matthew didn't listen though. It was his fault he was bleeding, and didn't they have a somewhat-resemblance of the same type of blood anyway?

After Alfred finally cooled off he stole some extra tissues he got for Matt and wiped the red substance off. "You're disgusting." he complained, throwing the tissue in a nearby trash. Matt did the same, nose having stopped bleeding.

"Well, you're an asshole." He responded, biting his lip. Alfred stuck his tongue out indignantly at this, and Matt, losing all sense of responsibility, mirrored the act. However, after quite a time, they decided such a fight was getting them nowhere, huffed, and then turned away from each other with crossed arms.

Matthew hated his brother for being an asshole. Alfred was annoyed with how stuck-up Matthew is.

It was just the way brothers are, and were, and would ever be. Or at least for them. Matt, still turned away from his insane brother, bit his lip back in disapproval. Alfred wasn't actually always like this, he would say to himself every time. It almost hurt to think back and remember the Alfred he actually used to adore.

"We're almost home." Alfred said, still turned away. Matthew pouted and huffed.

"Because I forgot where we lived!" Matt spat sarcastically. This went unheard though, as they noticed a familiar business vehicle parked in front of their house. Neither said a thing, but both silently agreed on slowing their pace.

As they did so, a loud crash emitted from the house. Matthew bit his lip and stopped walking. He only stared blankly at the household they had to call home. Alfred stopped as soon as he noticed that his brother was no longer beside him. Turning back, lips pressed together, he breathed out, "Papa's home."

The loud, obnoxious fight that had transpired suddenly seemed like the best thing in the world to them. They were beginning to wish they hadn't walked home, that they had stayed at school, cleaning the locker a bit more slowly.

Matthew and Alfred stared at each other's eyes for the longest time, unmoving, trying to ignore the audible screams.

"Dad's drunk again isn't he?" Matthew finally responded after a while. Alfred continued to stare, unresponsive. There was another yell, and Matthew immediately flinched. Alfred almost reached out and held him, but stopped himself fast enough for it to look like a flinch. The younger frowned at this, knowing exactly what Al almost did. And honestly, he wished that his brother hadn't stopped. They both wanted that hug, but both knew that there was too much change for it too actually happen. Matthew looked at the ground, slightly disturbed at the still silence before walking past the frozen Alfred. "We should just get home, Al."

Alfred stood unmoving for a while longer, biting his lip. He was disgusted with himself.

Before, when things like this happened, he would always hold Matthew and coax him that it was going to be just fine. But it was different now, they were different now. Matt didn't turn around, and Al just clenched his fists.

How much longer will it go on like this?


Arthur grinded his teeth, harnessing a bottle of strong beer in his hand, as the other man above him moved closer. "I'm home." The taller man said, leaning the other over the table. It wasn't long before butterfly kisses ran up and down the intoxicated man's neck, sending unwanted shivers down his spine. He groaned, half-drunk, and kicked the other man off, cursing to himself.

"Francis, get the fuck off! The children are coming home from school, you bloody pervert!" he yelled, breath harvesting obvious traces of alcohol. Francis could tell by the smell of it that it was pretty strong. He showed obvious discomfort to this as he stood up from the table, and away from the irate drunkard.

"What are you doing drunk at the table if you know the kids are coming home from school today?" He walked around the table and smashed his cigarette into the holder, putting it out. Arthur pushed his bottom lip out, half because of his drunken mind and half because it was the only way he knew how to express his angers in these situations these days.

"Don't bullshit me just yet you bloody git! Any god damn whore can tell where the fuck you've been. Bloody business trip my ass! And I swear to GOD that there ain't no bloody cunt that can bear poorer lies!" The smaller man stood up, tossing the beer bottle to the wall, causing an audible smash. The bottle shattered into many tiny, red pieces, leaving a dent on the wall that looked as if it had been there before. Arthur closed in on the other man. "And give one more bloody excuse for bullshitting away from this family because you have 'better things to do with your life' and I'll bloody make sure the one thing that makes you able to do those bloody things will no longer exist!" He paused, sighed, then staggered over to the other man, attempting to stand up straight. His posture wavered a little more before he looked up with a flustered glare, "That, or you will get out of my bloody house and leave my children alone you git!"

Disregarding the first few said things, Francis held his partner in marriage steady and pressed his lips together into a tight line, "And you think you can take care of those two on your own?" Francis mocked, glaring back, not even commenting back about his unfaithfulness. The smaller man looked down quickly, mouth quivering as he began to bang weak fists on the other's chest.

"We have them here right now because you and I agreed that, as a gay couple, we can work together to make a bloody family work! But obviously a bloody git found out he was bisexual and is going out with different cunt-whores every night. I'd rather my boys be bastards than to have twenty bloody half-brothers and sisters!" A fist was thrown but caught. Arthur was obviously still too drunk to fight.

But Francis didn't comment to this, only glaring at his 'wife.' He let go of the fist and lifted the other man on his shoulder. Arthur threw kicks and punches, all in which having horrible direction and hitting everything other than their destination. When Francis opened the door to their shared room (which he obviously hadn't been in for uncountable nights) and dumped Arthur on the bed, he was still throwing a fit. Francis walked to the door with a growling frown. Glaring, he lingered with final words. "I'm not letting the kids see you like this, Arthur," he said simply before shutting the door.

"You mean my kids, you sick FUCK!" From behind the thin wall, the other man cried loudly, shouting strings of curses about how they were no longer Francis's children. The Frenchman frowned unhappily and walked downstairs calmly, grabbing a sweep and mop to clean up the mess.

The boys would be home soon.


A/N: This was more or less an introduction. I didn't put much development in here, but I wasn't really focusing on character introduction either huh? …Well, maybe it was a tad bit useless, but here's the exposition! Thank you for reading, please review?