Chapter Text
You sucked in your breath sharply as you felt the cold, rusty—and now somewhat bloody—nails caress your face. The baseball bat they were attached to match the brown of your attacker’s hair. You hadn’t seen him since he harshly threw you onto the ground—you had kept your eyes closed out of fear and pain. You could feel the slow, steady drips of blood fall from the bat and onto your face; the original source of the blood. You would’ve compared his eyes to your blood, but they were more…vibrant. They shone with a cold cruelty that you did not want to dwell on.
You couldn’t stop a whimper as he dragged the bat down your cheek and off your jaw. You were a proud nation, small as you might be. You fought loud, and you backed down for no one. No man alive could tell you what to do, and even your bosses sometimes had trouble controlling your headstrong personality. Until now. You were no longer a nation, just a body that could be harmed. You were terrified in ways you had never thought you could experience.
His bloodlust and ill-intention rolled off in waves, assaulting your gut-sense with a constant barrage of disturbing feelings. He pressed the bat back down onto your chest, slowly adding more pressure until you squeaked. His smirk widened at that—you just knew it—and he started walking around your shaking body, disturbing the rocks and debris that littered the ground around you. You were panting now, gasping for breath and letting the tears fall down your cheeks as he did so. You didn’t dare move. Your fear held you in place, kept you alive.
You wished you had kept your eyes closed as you looked up into his, silently pleading to be let go with minimal damage. His laugh was low, gruff, and very unpleasant. You re-closed your eyes and tensed as the first swing hit your ribs.
A few hours earlier
Rolling your eyes and leaning back, you prepared yourself for the much too long meeting to begin. You liked to get a couple minutes of rest before the louder, much rowdier nations showed their faces, so you tried to arrive as early as possible. As the flow of nations arriving increased, you took your feet off the table before Germany could “politely” inform you to get them off. Your arms remained crossed, however; a lame show of defiance.
As everything slowly—but surely—started descending into chaos, you were, once a-fucking-gain, cut out. You were starting to feel as ignored as America’s twin, whatever-his-name-was. You absently wondered what he did during the meetings, but really didn’t care too much. Didn’t everyone pretty much do whatever they wanted? Okay, well, maybe not some of the larger, more well-known nations like your best friend, America. But small countries like you could pretty much do whatever; a gift and curse.
It was during those “fuck everything let’s be assholes” times when you would get up and go for a walk around the building, glowering rather childishly at the floor. According to tradition, now was that time; Germany was preoccupied trying to find some order, and there wasn’t really anyone else who cared enough to notice you slipping out, let alone try and stop it.
Pushing yourself up from the table, you quietly—though it really didn’t matter how loud you did it because like you said, Germany was preoccupied and no one else cared to stop you—made your way through the throng of squirming bodies, skillfully avoiding all thrown projectiles. Wandering slowly down the grand halls of the building, you couldn’t help but feel something wasn’t quite right.
Looking around you casually, you assured yourself no one was following you, but the off feeling didn’t leave. Continuing down the hall, you took a sharp turn that led into a slightly darker hall. “How cliché,” you mused silently to yourself, pursing your lips as the feeling intensified. You could practically feel someone brushing up just behind you.
When you felt the warm breath down your neck, you jumped around and took three consecutive steps back at the same time. You found yourself staring into the crimson eyes of Jason, a “2p”—as everyone oh so fondly regarded them as—who was known for being a huge fucking dick.
Your breath caught in your throat, and not knowing what to do other than play tough, managed to choke out the least threatening threat that had ever been threatened.
“If you don’t get the hell away from me right this fucking second, I promise I’ll personally castrate you with a fucking rake,”
You knew all about 2p’s, granted you had one yourself, but America and Canada’s 2ps were to be avoided at all costs. They weren’t too bad, in the grand scheme of things, but they loved to pick on “main” nations, such as you. Germany had pulled you aside especially (along with a few other small nations) to warn you about them since small nations were the easiest targets.
Your comment, unsurprisingly, earned a throaty chuckle from the much larger and way more intimidating man in front of you, his eyes flashing with both amusement and…a challenge?
“I’d like to see you try, doll face,” he all but purred out, eliciting a shiver from you. In the following seconds, a couple of things happened all at once. It sort of went like this:
He grabbed your cheek in his hand, moving it slightly so he could pinch your face together with his thumb and fingers, licking his lips while he did so. You, thoroughly creeped out and so not in the mood, slapped his hand away with a disgusted grimace, backing up another step.
You had never been worried about the 2ps. Most were harmless, and the ones who weren’t wouldn’t bother with a small country like you, right? You were hardly noticed in the meetings for fuck’s sake! They much preferred small nations who they could use to get a reaction from the bigger nations. That wasn’t really you! Even as America’s best friend, you preferred to keep to yourself. Though, as his hands reached out much more aggressively, and you found yourself being tossed over his shoulder, a warning in your ear, you realized you didn't really care about anything other than what the future had in store for you.
As he stalked down the halls confidently, you slung over his shoulder like some hunting prize, you resigned yourself to your fate, promising yourself that you’d run the first chance you got.
Present time
You let out another choking scream, gasping for air shortly after. He didn’t relent, and another swing and more cracks told you he had cracked a few more ribs, and probably broken some too.
Curling into the fetal position as he stopped for a few seconds, you couldn’t make a sound as he stomped onto your exposed side. Your throat was raw and bleeding, and it was all you could to do spit up blood every now and again. He was getting annoyed with your sudden silence—though it wasn’t really silence, seeing as how you were still breathing, and gasping and choking—and so he grabbed a fistful of your hair, and yanked you to your feet; ripping a clump-free in the process.
He let go of your hair with a grin, and you fell to your knees. You had long run out of the strength to stand, or to fight. Now you just wanted to keep breathing. Everything he said fell on deaf ears; all his taunts, all his games. You couldn’t find it in you to care; you were just waiting for the next hit.
And it came, just like you knew it would. It snapped your neck to the side, and you were sure it had been broken. The pain sure felt like it, anyways.
The worst part wasn’t the insults, it wasn’t the beating, and it sure as hell wasn’t the pain. No, for you, the worst part was his smirk. It taunted you about all your worst fears, your weakness, and your very existence. You’d never seen something so twisted on another human’s face before, and you sure as hell never wanted to again.
As he raised the bat one last time, you opened your eyes to see the smirk get bigger, more wild and crazed. Then he swung the bat down, and your world went black.