Hetalia x Reader - Devil's Dance, Freestyle

“Who will love you?
Who will fight?
And who will fall far behind?
C’mon skinny love!” – Skinny Love, Birdy

None of them spoke much at first.

Gilbert simply stood there, waiting for her, something that he always did, if he stopped to consider it for a moment. The smell of her perfume, something he had spent hours to no end trying to expel from his lungs and imagination, spiraled down his nostrils and throat, haunting his perception and memories on its way down. The man closed his hands into fists, his nails digging into his flesh their path back to reality.

But wrath never took too much time to boil, nor any of them was particularly patient.

“Look what she has done to you!” She screamed, pushing him in her anger with her small and pale hands, the same hands he had held so dearly before. It made the German stumbles backwards, since he no longer had any reference of his surroundings. His back met the wall painfully, stopping his fall at the same time that the ache created on his scapula travelled down his arm and up towards his brain. His face contorted with a grimace. It was his time to give a step forward in his rage. He, however, didn’t place a single finger over the delicate figure he could no longer see.

“You chose him! You shouldn’t even be here!” He shouted back, throwing his arms up, a gesture that could be an expression of impotence, the very same feeling that was eating his insides after he discovered about his condition. Gilbert could no longer see the things he wished to break, after all.

“But I still care!” Elizabeth cried, sounding more hurt than anything else. Something inside of him snapped. Who had defined that she would forever be the puppeteer and he one of her dolls? Because he was sure tired of that disposition of papers.

“And I care for her.” And, perhaps because there was a limit to the amount that one can take everyone else’s pain and not hurt others back to relief the ache inside oneself and he was past that line a long time ago, he said his next phrase with a dash of cruelty. “More than I did for you.”

The girl sucked the air between her teeth, perplexed with what he had told her. And maybe the next noise he heard could be a choked sob. But if it was, Gilbert wasn’t given the chance to find out, since her hurried stilettos clicked their way out of his apartment. But before she could leave the place, the sounds stopped and she murmured over her shoulder, quietly, but still loud enough so that his trained ears would catch. And she knew that much.

“But you are still content with rests and chewed pieces of love, aren’t you?” The door closed with no more than a stifled sound. He felt as if he had been drained from any strength he could have, slumping down the wall, sitting in an awkward position, his legs giving up of doing anything.

There were many things that he could say about his former fiancée and even more about the complicated story between them, the uneven duo and later trio that they had formed and danced. Gilbert could accuse her of many, many things, and they both knew it. But she was nothing but honest with him.

And perhaps that was what hit him the most.

Gilbert chuckled bitterly at the ceiling, but nothing of its white color, the old cracks and slightly moldy appearance that he could recreate in his mind from his memories reached his eyes. Only that annoying nothing. Nor black or white or anything else. Just… Nothing. Maybe exactly as the answer as he would get towards those ridiculous feelings.

Damn, he needed a drink.

(Romano’s POV)

“Do you believe in God?” The girl whispered to him, but in such a loud way that all the adults present in the room turned around to silence both of them. Lovino cringed at that, hitting her at the back of her head and messing her hair at the very instant that the others stopped paying attention, looking again to the tedious priest and hearing his unending litany.

“How stupid can you be to question something like this inside the church?” The boy retorted while she caressed the area he had hurt. For a moment he felt guilty about it, but he soon ignored it when she opened her mouth once again.

“Well, if we don’t question such a thing here, where else should we do it?” [f/n] insisted and he sighed heavily. This time, the grownups didn’t bother scowling them, but Lovino could see that while all others were trying to conceal their anger, his grandfather was rather holding up his laugher.  

“We are hunters, we have to believe.” He answered curtly, wanting to open one button or two of the shirt he was forced to wear every Sunday. The more he talked, the more he was reminded of how tight his collar was and, damn, it was uncomfortable. Why couldn’t she simply swallow the rigmarole like all others did? It was so infuriating how she wouldn’t stop with all her questions, making him also wonder why they were doing what they were doing and he knew such a thing wouldn’t end up well…

“But why?” She tried to extract an answer, any kind she could get, that curious little monster she was. Even his brother wasn’t as bad as she was, which lead them to several afternoons and hours to no end that he would spent trying to satisfy that hunger for knowledge. Though Feliciano also liked to pester him with endless inquiries, just as much she did.

“Because if we don’t, they win.” That didn’t come from him. Actually, it came from Nonno, whom was now kneeling beside her. Romulus had a grave look in his features, but his eyes were soft, like they always were whenever glancing at his little girl. It made Lovino slightly jealous. “If there is nothing above to help us with all the evil out here, then there is nothing we can do.”

Her eyebrows knitted together for an instant, those [e/c] orbs hardening in a way that surprised Lovino.

“We can fight.” [f/n] murmured in a solemn, adult like tone. His grandfather nodded after a while, considering her comment as seriously as he would do if it had come from another agent. Maybe that was something he loved the most in his Nonno. He didn’t disregard them as kids. Romulus took them seriously, just as much as he could.

“Yes, that is true. But who would fight for a lost cause?” The girl blinked slowly after his words, taking them in one by one, like she was savoring them as a complicated dish.

“I would.” Lovino found himself saying, and the two others turned their heads towards him, astounded. He was also stunned with himself, but he sustained his constant frown like it had nothing to do with him.

Romulus smiled wholeheartedly, patting his head tenderly, as if he had found out something about his grandson that he hadn’t imagined possible and liked very much. Lovino’s chest swallowed with pride for some unknown reason.

“That is what we all need.” Nonno declared to the girl, but she merely looked puzzled at him. “Faith, tesoro. In God, humanity, yourself. That is the true strength of any hunter.”

But watching her in that hospital bed made all the resolutions he had built along his entire life waver. Lovino pinched her nose lightly, like he always did whenever he was reprehending her for being especially slow about something. But she didn’t crinkle it, nor yelled at him as she normally would. [f/n] simply stood there, motionless, pale as a sheet. As a sick person.

As a corpse.

“C’mon, stupida.” He whispered at her, but only the dull beeping from the multitude of machines connected on her listened to his appeal. A slight feeling that was far too similar to despair started to grow within him. “Wake up.”

But she didn’t open her eyes.

A hand rested over his shoulder but he refused to glance away from her.

“You’ve been here all night; she won’t come out of the coma so soon.” Arthur said, but Lovino pushed the man away from him.

“Don’t you fucking dare telling me what to do.” The Italian whispered bitterly, rising up from the chair he had been sitting for the last couple of hours. Feeling that he would most likely punch the British if he stayed in the same room as he for more than a couple of minutes, he decided to walk for a while, and return when the doctor wasn’t there anymore. His legs complained about the new rush of blood that flowed through them, tingling while jolting back to life.

He looked at the unconscious girl one last time before closing the door.

Faith.

He needed more of it.

But didn’t they all?

(France’s POV)

Francis blew the smoke of his cigarette while pushing away some of his hair away from his forehead, nearly burning the closest blond locks in the process. The man leaned heavily against the guardrail, watching the few cars that passed by in front of the old hospital as the drizzle tried to slowly soak him. It would take at least a couple of hours before it could succeed on its mission.

His presence didn’t alarm the French, nor made him move from his previous position. The only gesture he made was the silent offer of the last wet cigarette he had in his pack, which the other did nothing more than take and light up with his own lighter. It had been a long time since the last time that the doctor had last had a relapse on his old addiction on nicotine, but his jittery hands told Francis it was better not question it.

“How is she?” Francis asked, admiring the lazy silhouette of the city under that gray daybreak. Arthur took a long drag, coughing soon after the sound filling the gaps of their strange conversation, before saying anything.

“I had forgotten how strong these are.” He murmured absentmindedly, with slumped shoulders and dull eyes. “Between the Italian dynamic duo and the raging German, it’s surprising she hasn’t woken up so far.”

“And she will?” The question hanged in the air for a while, like the words were hovering over them, but no one made an effort to pick them up and make any sense of it.

“I don’t know, there is too much of that Fay drug in her. Maybe yes.” Francis could see how much it pained Arthur to admit that much and that old pessimism that he so many times tried to ignore came out to play once again with his insecurities. The French let his cigarette meet the ground, ending the dying red glow and the remains of bluish smoke with the tip of his shoe, just like he did with the rests of hope he had allowed to grow inside his mind.

Maybe that’s the problem of expectations.

They’re contagious.