Disclaimer: We *all* know that Hetalia belongs to Hidekazu Himaruya...
Warning: Oh sheesh, where to start. Rated M because of character death, rape and torture. There's also mentioning about concentration camps.
A/N: Okay, first, I have have wanted to write a NorwayxPrussia fanfic for a little while now. Though I am a DenNor fan, I also think NorPru (PruNor?) needs moar lurve! ... though maybe not this kind of love.
- This is the result of an old Naruto fanfic from 2003 and Toxic by Britney Spears... and late nights. I also tried a different style of writing; I have both Norway's and Prussia's point of view, mainly because I couldn't decide which POV I wanted.
- Both of the two characters are very out of character, which is also the point. I wanted to write a fanfic where Norway isn't this blank individual and Prussia isn't all about his awesomeness (we all know he's awesome after all).
This fanfic might not be everyone's cup 'o tea, but as always I appreciate reviews and constructive criticism ^w^
Only a handful of actions were ever able to make the Norwegian loose his cool mask. A half of those could make him angry. One tenth of the remaining sent him into a blinding rage. He could cope with the Dane destroying his doors a hundred times over just because Norway wouldn't answer him. He could cope with Alfred mistaking him for being Sweden over and over and over again. But, when Prussia kidnapped Iceland and made Norway chase them around the world, it made the Norwegian pissed. Enough said.
Norway had caught them in an old forgotten bunker in Egypt. The Prussian paused, making the few loyal soldiers stop behind him, and smirked. Being a nation that didn't exist any longer, having no home and no boss, tended to make one go a little... batty.
So, then in his free time, he had begun to think of other things to occupy his time. Revenge for example. Gilbert was no longer a nation... so why not take out his anger on a nation that had everything? Money, language, culture, development... a promising future. Yes, he was responsible for killing the Norwegian boss. And he had painted his message on the Norwegian door. And now, he had taken the thing Norway treasured above all. His precious brother. "That is my name, don't wear it out," he rasped with a smirk.
"I'm going to rip you apart!" Norway roared uncharacteristically, but a careful listener could also detect the pain behind the anger. He was as good as devastated. Having awoken one day and finding his boss dead by the ex-nation's hands, and then the second day his beloved brother was abducted... it had left his country in turmoil. Norway was going to finish Gilbert with his own two hands... but first, he needed to get Iceland to safety.
"Whatever it is Iceland has done towards you, I will take the responsibility for it. Please, just let him go. He is still so young! Take it out on me!" His blue eyes flew to the bag one of the soldiers had slung over his shoulder. Judging by the thrashing, it contained a desperate Iceland. But no matter what he did, he didn't succeed in gaining an inch of freedom, or harming his captors in any way.
A moment passed before the albino turned around. "You think this is about you, brat!" he snarled. "But it isn't. It's about them who tore apart my land, dividing it amongst themselves without having a second thought about me!" He found it amusing that the young teen still tried to escape the bag. It was impossible, the material was made of plastic and leather; all it would cause was the loss of the Icelandic nails. Not that Gilbert cared. "I'm just starting with you," he continued, "and my revenge on them will come regardless of this little pest's fate."
"Let him go, Gilbert, you coward! He hasn't done anything towards you!" Norway was indeed close to panic. He was worried about Iceland, so worried! They were brothers! They couldn't remember the days when they passed the days without knowing of each other. Norway had promised not lot let anything happen to his brother, and look at him now. He shouldn't have let Iceland sleep alone in his house, he shouldn't have said goodbye after that meeting, and he shouldn't have he shouldn't have he shouldn't have...
"Let him go, and kill me then! Don't tell me you are afraid he will run...?" Norway knew the Germanic countries held their head high regarding their fighting abilities. Few of them could withstand an insult aimed right at their pride. Norway hoped it worked this time too, he would gladly offer his life in exchange for Iceland's.
Gilbert reacted with a guffaw. He held his pride and waved the soldiers to stand close behind him. In his possession was something few captors managed to maintain: a cool mind. He couldn't afford losing his cool exterior in a situation like this. He never could. He would everything necessary to achieve his goal. If he needed to fight dirty, then he would gladly do so in order to win. Winning was winning, regardless of method or means.
"Heh," he smirked. "There is no sport in killing a little kid, despite my amusement at catching him and making you follow me all the way to Egypt." Then, his expression turned three notches darker... "You have failed as a nation. First with your boss, and then your brother... I wonder, will you be able to live with yourself knowing that you have failed?"
With another wave of his hand, the soldier holding his hostage held the bag high into the air. The other three remaining equipped their muskets from their back, and pointed at the bag with their bayonets inches from the thrashing hostage. To kill, one might have suspected Gilbert to order the musketeers to fire, but Iceland was not granted such a merciful death. Instead, the musketeers began to stab the bag with their bayonets. Hard and swift thrusts, no regrets and no mercy.
Blood started quickly to pool freely out of the small holes, and Gilbert moved to stand under the bag as he still faced Norway. A malicious smirk was on his lips as he let the river of blood dye his white hair red, stain his Prussian blue uniform and eventually gather in a dark crimson pool around his feet. Once the soldiers retreated, Gilbert threw his head back and laughed. Failed.
The worst about this macabre scene was not the sound of sharp objects stabbing delicate skin; it wasn't the increasing, desperate movements of Iceland. It was his screams. His brother's scream of pain and agony filled the Norwegian's head and made him sick. And then, the screams ended along with the thrashing. Nothing moved inside the bag anymore... it was just the outline of a limp body.
Norway felt... nothing. His mind refused to process what had just happened. It had to be fake... Gilbert was just messing with him. Iceland was surely somewhere safe, ready to bounce forth and hug him and then mock him for being tricked so easily. His eyes moved to look at the ex-nation. His hair was crimson, just like his eyes. The pale skin of his face and neck had turned red. His uniform was now coloured black, with only a few patches of the original Prussian blue colour where the blood hadn't stained it. Blood was still flowing freely down his boots... the dry sand was hungrily absorbing the liquid.
Norway's breath became ragged, and he began to tremble. He slowly began to feel again, though he soon wished he could lock them away. His emotions slapped him hard in the face, and the Norwegian could feel himself lunge his smaller body towards the larger ex-nation. His mind was an absolute mess. Never before had the Norwegian felt so... murderous, so intent on ripping, tearing and hitting every inch of Gilbert he could reach. Not even in his Viking days. Iceland was dead... Iceland was murdered. Oh, Eysteinn... Norway would never forgive himself for this. He had failed. Failed.
Before the OOC Norwegian could reach him, Gilbert stepped forward to tackle the smaller nation to the ground. His revenge on the Icelandic was complete; the warm liquid that was trickling down his neck and down his back was the evidence. Oh, what lovely evidence it was... He pinned Norway down, but the smaller nation was giving him a hard time. He was cursing the ex-nation's name to the stars and to his old, forgotten Norse gods as he kept on thrashing wildly around. With glee, the Prussian saw the similarity between him and his brother.
"Leave us." He ordered the musketeers. They didn't question his orders, they never did. Just took the bag with them, and left quietly.
In his rage, Norway saw the soldiers leave with the bag. A small stream of blood marked the ground as they walked. What would they do with the body? Toss it away in the desert? Searing hot pain sunk its claws into his broken soul as he fought desperately for his freedom. It was his brother, and he needed a proper burial! Norway kept struggling, fully embracing the old Viking instincts. Gilbert had to die. Now! He had to pay for what he did! His arms tore out of Gilbert's grip and his hands clawed angrily at the ex-nation's bloody neck. Oh, his fjords for Denmark's axe...
Gilbert sat up and jerked his upper body aside to avoid the Norwegian's fingers. "Be still, Norwegen!" he snarled and grabbed at Norway's hands. He managed to curl his fingers around his left, and slammed it down into the sand. Norway's other wrist was caught seconds later. Gilbert straddled the Norwegian waist, smearing the navy blue sailor top with Icelandic blood. "Poor, poor little Norway..." he taunted slowly, his thighs gripping at the Norwegian's hips. "All alone with no one to protect... not that you did any protecting here."
The blood. The blood was everywhere! Norway could feel the liquid being absorbed into the fabric! It was itching! He wanted to tear off his shirt and toss it away, but with his hands secured, he couldn't do anything but to let his fear of the blood turn into harsh words. "You will pay for this, Gilbert! You will drown in your blood, you soulless fucker! You really think others will stand by and let you walk freely? Do you? I will make sure you are hunted down! You will never be able to draw breath without knowing we will be after you!"
Gilbert had to hold both of the Norwegian's wrists with one hand as he pulled out a long chain from one of his many pockets. However, it order to chain Norway properly, he needed to get into another position. In one swift movement, he had moved his lower body in order for his knees to pin down his hands. As his hands were now free, he quickly looped the chain around Norway's left wrist before repeating the action with the right. "I'm shaking with fear." He replied dryly.
Despite the best wriggling and shaking Norway could muster, he could not remove the chains from his hands. But that didn't mean he was defeated, oh far from it! His life was over, more humiliation wouldn't count anyway... Denmark... Denmark would be happy when it was Norway that called him, instead of vice versa. His mobile phone was inside the pocket of his pants. If he could only get something to press against the touch screen, preferably quick dial... (yes, he had Denmark on quick dial).
Oh yeah, hadn't Gilbert forgotten something? After making sure Norway's wrists were bound, Gilbert trailed his hands down the Norwegian's frame. Ah, there. He slid his fingers down his new captive's pocket and fished up his phone. "We can't be having you calling friends now, can we?" It was a rhetorical question, and he proceeded to crush the phone under his foot. The sun shone through the entrance of the cave, reminding the Norwegian of just what he was denied. Even if Norway actually managed to escape, he had to cross the desert to reach the nearest city... that would take him days.
"Hurts, doesn't it?" he growled. "To lose everything?" And with that, he stood up and brought Norway up with him. He then proceeded to shove him with all of his might backwards into the cavern wall. This night was going to be so much fun...
Norway kept on trying. He summoned all the strength he had left and tried to deliver a few kicks towards Gilbert, all the while he kept on cursing the ex-nation. However, it was for naught. Through it all, his intensity was fading. The events started to catch up on a deeper level, the grief from the loss found its way into the deeper parts of his mind. It was slowly numbing his mind and body. Gilbert had to pay. But Eysteinn... Eysteinn would never come back.
"It's over, kid! Give it up!" Gilbert teased as he slowly advanced on the Norwegian. His body carrying itself with a grace long dead to the world, despite the blood was starting to dry on his skin. His white hair clustering together in small, red pigtails, he could lick his lips and taste the coppery taste. "Your brother is dead." He stated, "pain and torment awaits you. After I finish with you tonight, you can rest assured knowing that Denmark, within a week's time, will be mourning the horrible death of Sweden and Finland." It brought small shivers down his spine just by thinking of it.
"Just what are you trying to achieve, Gilbert?" Norway asked quietly as he supported himself against the cave wall. "This won't bring your country back, this won't bring your boss back and certainly not Kaliningrad! You may be able to even kill Denmark, but then... but then you will be hunted down and be killed in the same gruesome way you handled Icela..." His voice broke on the name. His vision was blurring as tears filled his eyes, and he could feel a sob building in his throat. "Do whatever you want with me – it doesn't matter anymore."
"Why don't we find out?" Gilbert snickered as he bended down to pick up the end of the chain. "Because, well..." he purposely trailed off as he tossed the end of the line over a broken piece of the cave some two meters above their head. "It may not bring my country back, and it may not bring Old Fritz back," again he paused to loop the chain back over twice more. "It certainly won't bring Königsberg back and it will mean my end. It is all very true..." Gilbert then pulled hard, hoisting the Norwegian's hands above his head. "But it will make me feel... a whole lot better about the situation." He sauntered over to Norway, twirled the loose end of the chain around the Norwegian's hands to secure it. "After all," he continued as he eyed the pale Nordic, "If I've stepped over the line, I might as well run the whole mile."
Norway laughed bitterly. "You have gone mad," he spat as he pulled at his chains. But it was for nothing. The chains held, and so did the stone over him. But still, he had to try. "World War II is over. The Cold War is over. The Soviet Union is no more. Prussia doesn't exist anymore. And yet, here you are. An ex-nation chasing illusions."
Now this caught his attention. "Chasing illustions?" he repeated and let out a dark chuckle. "Heh, your grief provides such eloquence, Norwegen! But please tell me, how you can call this an illusion?" At the emphasised word, he ran a finger down his own neck. He then proceeded to hold his hand up to show the still soaking redness in the rays of the setting sun. Gilbert positioned himself before his fair headed prisoner, smearing blood down his cheek. "Because it seems so very real to me."
Norway felt his eyes widen, and let out a squeak. He tried to move as far back as he could, but the chains gave him little room for movements. Oh please, no... The drying blood was cold, but Gilbert's finger was warm as he felt it trail down his neck. It was completely disgusting, and he felt a wave of nausea roll over him like a wave but he wasn't going to throw up. However, if Gilbert was going to walk around covered with the blood of his brother, his efforts to withstand torture were going to be put to a test. And he felt so tired. He had burned a lot of energy in the past ten minutes and now he wished he could just curl up and die- no. Not yet. He wanted to take a shower, and then borrow Denmark's axe... then, he would chop the albino into tiny pieces. Starting first with his vital regions.
"Gå vekk, din drittsekk!"
"This is... vaguely reminiscent of the other Norwegian casualties I have caused," Gilbert mused out loud as he eyed the frail Norwegian body, deciding just where he might start later. "Human blood and nation blood are two entirely different things," he continued as he ran his bloody tails around Norway's neck and watched in satisfaction as the small hairs rose. "But it smells just the same. Which I'm sure you have noticed already."
The Norwegian looked quite handsome with blood trails all over his face and neck. "I think it has quite a nice scent," he paused to inhale with his nose to emphasise his point before continuing. "However, something that smells less pleasant is the scent of burnt flesh. Wouldn't you like to know just how I found out...?"
This was not making it easier for Norway at all. The... casual way Gilbert talked about his experiences told Norway just how many the albino had killed. It was disgusting. "So, it is true then. You stationed yourself in an extermination camp during WWII!" He tried his chains again, but this time, he wanted to know if the rock could support his weight... which it did.
A cackle escaped the albino's mouth. "Ah, yes. Das Vernichtungslager. It was absolutely amazing just what a commander could get away with in KZ Auschwitz-Birkenau. And no one stopped me." He smirked at his prey that was fighting feebly for his freedom. It was almost cute. He placed a hand under Norway's chin, forcing him to look into his crimson eyes. "And no one will be here to stop me this time either. I can assure you, this will be the longest night of your life."
*Nervous laughter* Yeah.. right... uh..
Norwegen - Norway (German)
Gå vekk, din drittsekk - (litterally) go away, you shitbag (Norwegian)
Vernichtungslager, das - extermination camp (German)
KZ - Short for 'Konzentrationslager' (concentration camp) (German)