❝past and present they don't matter if you just sort it out❞
den of thieves ; chapter two : journey | axis powers hetalia | 2000 words | vietnam ; korea ; lithuania ; poland ; hungary ; bulgaria ; egypt ; america ; canada ; hong kong | pg |
mafia au. in which numerous agents are summoned by their respective bosses.
chapter one.
Den of Thieves
Chapter Two: Journey
Miles away from the coffee shop, Vietnam glances at the proceedings through a LCD screen. There is a practical, discerning look etched up her features as she leans her chin against her steepled fingers. A Bluetooth earpiece covers one of her ears, but there is no connection-her contact has long since severed the link. Watching Hong Kong approach America and Canada’s table through the monitors, she sits back and sighs.
“You’re sure he’ll be ok?” She asks the question aloud, rubbing her throbbing temples. Behind her, someone chuckles.
“Of course!” Korea comes up behind her and places one hand on her shoulder. “He’s a tough kid, Noona. He can handle himself.”
He’s dressed in the barest trappings of what should have been a three-piece suit: a button-down shirt rolled up to his elbows, a black vest unbuttoned towards his collar, dark pants casually crinkled. He lifts two fingers and offers Vietnam a salute.
“I still don’t know why all this is necessary,” she says at length. She lifts one hand and places it over Korea’s, squeezing for comfort. “We could have waited; things would have started to move eventually.”
“Yah, but Hyung-nim isn’t that patient,” Korea chuckles. “Though, to be honest, neither am I. I’m glad we have something to do, again.”
“You would be,” Vietnam comments dryly. “Though, I guess all of us were getting a bit itchy, after just sitting around for three years.”
“Longer than that,” Korea contends. “Hyung-nim called us all back long before things went too badly.” There is a crooked smile on his boyish features as he speaks, recalling. “That decision probably saved our lives.”
“Oh, yes,” Vietnam replies scathingly. “Anh is very good at preserving his own and leaving everyone else to suffer.”
“Well, you’re right, of course, but he might’ve sided with France, if things had turned out differently.”
“How do you figure that?”
“Well…if you hadn’t sided with France, Hyung-nim might’ve.”
Vietnam’s cheeks turn bight red. “I-I-I didn’t side with anyone!” She sputters, the color leeching down her high cheekbones.
“You’re supposed to side with your family, Noona,” Korea murmurs softly. “The fact that you didn’t kind of chose for you.”
Vietnam groans and pushes away Korea’s hand, covering her face in her own. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore; it’s pointless.”
Korea shrugs, nods in agreement. The two of them remain silent for a moment, the air tense between them, until a small light flashes on Vietnam’s Bluetooth earpiece.
“Jiejie? Are you still there?”
“Hong? Yes, of course. What’s your status?”
“I’m going back to their base, to complete the delivery.”
“They agreed that quickly?” Vietnam asks, shocked. Mistrustful of nearly everyone, she expects them to return those suspicions in kind.
“…yes. I should go, now. They’re waiting.”
“Yes, of course. And, Hong? Be careful.” As the line goes dead again, Vietnam releases the breath she doesn’t know she’d been holding. “Korea?” she calls out, for her brother has wondered away in the interim.
“What’s up?” Korea asks, returning from the shadows while gently snapping shut his silver cell phone.
“Phase One complete,” Vietnam says with a soft smile.
“Awesome. We can tell Hyung-nim when we see him.”
Vietnam cocks her head to one side in question.
“That was Aniki on the phone. We’ve been summoned back to base.”
- - -
“Liet? Is that China’s little brother?” Poland’s voice is lackadaisical, disbelieving, as it breaks into Lithuania’s concentration.
“Looks like it, doesn’t it?” Lithuania replies, his voice low.
“But that’s, like, impossible. Their family hasn’t been seen in three years!”
“Keep your voice down, Feliks,” Lithuania pleads, turning to his partner. He brushes the nut brown hair back from his forehead and sighs. “Well, we knew they weren’t gone. I suppose it was only a matter of time before they resurfaced.”
“You think the Big Man knows?” Poland asks, his voice lowered now to a hushed whisper.
“I’d like to think he would’ve warned us, if he did.”
“Or maybe this was his idea of a joke.” Poland’s disdain is clear as he wrinkles his nose.
“No,” Lithuania refutes gently, “He’s been trying to ally with China’s family for ages. I can’t see how he would’ve hidden it if he knew that the Ancient One was back on the scene.”
“I guess you’re right,” Poland sighs. “I wouldn’t put it past him, though-hey, Liet! They’re leaving! China’s brother is leaving with America and what’s his face!”
Lithuania turns to look, and, sure enough, Canada, America, and Hong Kong are standing, now, and heading for the door. His face hidden behind his coffee cup, Lithuania bites his lip as the corners of his mouth turn down with worry.
“What should we do, Liet? Follow them?”
“Um…I don’t think so. Eduard said not to, remember?”
“He said not to do anything,” Poland retorts, “but we’re supposed to be gathering information! How can we not follow?”
“But what if-” Lithuania’s reply is lost as Poland grabs his hand and drags him towards the door, following a few minutes behind their targets.
As they step outside the coffee shop, Lithuania starts to say something, but Poland presses one finger against his lips.
“Look, Liet-you’re good at sitting and waiting, I know that. But I’m, like, better at the active stuff, y’know? So just follow my lead.”
Lithuania sighs, and nods. “Of course, Feliks. But just want are you planning on doing?”
“If the Ancient One’s up and about after all this time, and he’s sending agents to old Union Jack, don’t you think our people would want to know why?”
“Of course,” Lithuania repeats, “but we aren’t aptly prepared to follow-”
His voice stops short abruptly as a pair of gloved hands close over his mouth and jerk him backwards.
“Liet!” Poland cries out, reaching for him, but before he can move more than an inch he feels the cold barrel of a gun pressing against the back of his head.
“Now then,” a cold voice asks, “who is it that you two are following?”
- - -
An hour later, Hungary gets out of the car in front of an elaborate Eastern-style mansion. Miles away from the city, the air is cleaner, but a sense of foreboding clutches at her stomach as she ascends the steps, arms crossed over her chest. She turns away from the front door at the last moment, going instead towards a side entrance. Into the small keypad over the doorknob she types four digits: one, five, four, one. There is a gentle hiss as the lock releases, and she pulls open the door and enters the house.
Her heeled steps make gentle clicking noises against the marble tiles, and as the clock chimes the hour a million chimes go off, filling the long, empty corridor with noise.
She’s ascended another staircase, and is about to open a door at the end of the long hallway when she hears footsteps behind her.
“Well, look who’s back,” Bulgaria says dryly, clapping his hands together hollowly, mockingly. “I take it you were successful?”
“Am I ever not?” Hungary retorts with a toss of her head. Her green eyes turn hard, like jade stones, as she turns to face him. He’s a tall man, dark-haired and olive-skinned. He’s dressed simply, his blazer unbuttoned over his shirt and his collar undone. His hands are stained with something-ink or oil, Hungary thinks.
“So, he’s on board?” Bulgaria asks, sounding genuinely surprised.
“Who can be certain?” Hungary responds airily. “But I delivered my message; I did my job. No one can expect any more than that.”
“He can,” Bulgaria reminds her, a vindictive poison leaking into his tone. “He can expect much, much more. So you’d best hope you were successful, and that the wine bastard’s going to help us.”
“Oh, he’ll help,” a new voice says, and Bulgaria and Hungary turn to see Egypt walking towards them. Unlike the others, in their pristine suits and dark colors, he’s dressed in a loose, flowing white kaftan, belted with crimson at his waist. “His goal is the same as ours, after all.”
“I don’t see why,” Bulgaria responds glumly, arms crossed over his chest. “We’re no friends to him.”
“Aren’t we?” Hungary asks with a sly smile. “We’re the enemy of his enemy, aren’t we? And doesn’t that make us friends, by the loosest definition?”
“You don’t want to be his friend,” Egypt says, his head tilting gently to one side. “He knows not how to keep them.”
“But if he helps us achieve our goal,” Hungary says, tapping one finger against her lips, “where’s the harm?”
“Let’s be clear, here,” Bulgaria breaks in, his voice rough. “Which goals are you talking about? The Ottoman Family’s, or ours?” He gestures to indicate the three of them.
“We are the Ottoman Family,” Hungary says carefully.
“But we all know,” Egypt puts in, his dark eyes alight, “that we have our own goals, too.”
- - -
They left the coffee shop nearly two hours ago. America and Canada led Hong Kong to their waiting cab, and slipped in on either side of him, effectively trapping him as the taxi made its way through the crowded, winding streets. He kept his heart rate low and his expression carefully neutral, but when he stopped recognizing street names, Hong Kong began to grow worried. Eventually, the cab stopped against the curb of a great, old skyscraper, and Canada motioned for Hong Kong to exist the car.
“What do you think?” America asks brightly as they walk towards the building, a boyish smile on his face. He gestures at the massive gray building, pride coloring his voice.
“It is very…modern,” Hong Kong decides, picking his words carefully.
“Of course,” Canada murmurs. “It is only three years old, after all.”
Wondering why he sounds so cryptic, Hong Kong follows Canada and his brother into the building. There are countless people inside; sitting at desks and answering phones, milling about the lobby and wiping the windows. China’s home is always reserved, quiet, and there is never any unnecessary action or noise. Hong Kong knew that this place would be different, but the degree of that difference didn’t quite set in until he heard it.
Everyone they pass turns to wave or smile at America; he laps up the attention, passing out handshakes, high fives, and winks as if they’re going out of style.
“…he is not very…covert…is he?” Hong Kong mutters to Canada.
The fair-haired man sighs, releasing his breath all at once. “Al has never been very good with subtlety,” Canada admits. “But that’s what I-people, that’s what people like about him. He seems honest, genuine.”
“…‘seems’?” Hong Kong questions.
“Everyone is more than they seem, Hong Kong,” Canada replies slowly, a careful smile on his seemingly gentle features. “Didn’t you know?”
As they crowd into an elevator with perhaps a million other people, Hong Kong nods slowly, though Canada probably doesn’t see the motion. Of course he knows that; his siblings are masters when it comes to masks, showing one face to the world and keeping another to themselves. And no one is more apt at that than the eldest brother, China-except, perhaps, for Hong Kong himself.
The elevator slowly empties as they ascend through the building-by the fifteenth floor, only the three of them are left.
“Just remember, Hong Kong,” America murmurs to him, “don’t make any sudden moves. The old man doesn’t really appreciate things like that.”
“Huh?” Hong Kong asks in confusion, caught off guard.
The elevator doors slide open as America laughs. “Hasn’t anyone told you? Our boss is a bit of a temperamental dick.”
“Alfred!” Canada wails.
“What? It’s true,” America says.
“There you are!” A bold, annoyed, and distinctively feminine voice calls out. “Where have you been?”
Hong Kong turns just as a small, dark-haired girl gives America a playful slap on the shoulder. She whips around, seeing him, something predatory in her amber eyes.
“And who is this?”
Hong Kong begins to think that he’s not quite prepared for what he’s gotten himself into.
--In the first scene, Vietnam, Korea and Hong Kong all use different Asian honorifics to refer to their different siblings. Vietnam is called “Noona” and “Jiejie”, which mean “elder sister” in Korean and Mandarin, respectively. China is referred to as “Hyung-nim” and “Anh”, which mean “elder brother” in Korean and Vietnamese. And Japan is called “Aniki” which is a term for elder brother in Japanese.
--Each of head of a family in this au has a sobriquet; the Big Man, the Ancient One, and the Union Jack are three of these.
--Anyone who can figure out the meaning behind Hungary’s numerical code wins the internet.
--As always, I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and encourage you to watch this community if you’d like to keep up with the story!
mafia au. in which numerous agents are summoned by their respective bosses.
chapter one.
Den of Thieves
Chapter Two: Journey
Miles away from the coffee shop, Vietnam glances at the proceedings through a LCD screen. There is a practical, discerning look etched up her features as she leans her chin against her steepled fingers. A Bluetooth earpiece covers one of her ears, but there is no connection-her contact has long since severed the link. Watching Hong Kong approach America and Canada’s table through the monitors, she sits back and sighs.
“You’re sure he’ll be ok?” She asks the question aloud, rubbing her throbbing temples. Behind her, someone chuckles.
“Of course!” Korea comes up behind her and places one hand on her shoulder. “He’s a tough kid, Noona. He can handle himself.”
He’s dressed in the barest trappings of what should have been a three-piece suit: a button-down shirt rolled up to his elbows, a black vest unbuttoned towards his collar, dark pants casually crinkled. He lifts two fingers and offers Vietnam a salute.
“I still don’t know why all this is necessary,” she says at length. She lifts one hand and places it over Korea’s, squeezing for comfort. “We could have waited; things would have started to move eventually.”
“Yah, but Hyung-nim isn’t that patient,” Korea chuckles. “Though, to be honest, neither am I. I’m glad we have something to do, again.”
“You would be,” Vietnam comments dryly. “Though, I guess all of us were getting a bit itchy, after just sitting around for three years.”
“Longer than that,” Korea contends. “Hyung-nim called us all back long before things went too badly.” There is a crooked smile on his boyish features as he speaks, recalling. “That decision probably saved our lives.”
“Oh, yes,” Vietnam replies scathingly. “Anh is very good at preserving his own and leaving everyone else to suffer.”
“Well, you’re right, of course, but he might’ve sided with France, if things had turned out differently.”
“How do you figure that?”
“Well…if you hadn’t sided with France, Hyung-nim might’ve.”
Vietnam’s cheeks turn bight red. “I-I-I didn’t side with anyone!” She sputters, the color leeching down her high cheekbones.
“You’re supposed to side with your family, Noona,” Korea murmurs softly. “The fact that you didn’t kind of chose for you.”
Vietnam groans and pushes away Korea’s hand, covering her face in her own. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore; it’s pointless.”
Korea shrugs, nods in agreement. The two of them remain silent for a moment, the air tense between them, until a small light flashes on Vietnam’s Bluetooth earpiece.
“Jiejie? Are you still there?”
“Hong? Yes, of course. What’s your status?”
“I’m going back to their base, to complete the delivery.”
“They agreed that quickly?” Vietnam asks, shocked. Mistrustful of nearly everyone, she expects them to return those suspicions in kind.
“…yes. I should go, now. They’re waiting.”
“Yes, of course. And, Hong? Be careful.” As the line goes dead again, Vietnam releases the breath she doesn’t know she’d been holding. “Korea?” she calls out, for her brother has wondered away in the interim.
“What’s up?” Korea asks, returning from the shadows while gently snapping shut his silver cell phone.
“Phase One complete,” Vietnam says with a soft smile.
“Awesome. We can tell Hyung-nim when we see him.”
Vietnam cocks her head to one side in question.
“That was Aniki on the phone. We’ve been summoned back to base.”
- - -
“Liet? Is that China’s little brother?” Poland’s voice is lackadaisical, disbelieving, as it breaks into Lithuania’s concentration.
“Looks like it, doesn’t it?” Lithuania replies, his voice low.
“But that’s, like, impossible. Their family hasn’t been seen in three years!”
“Keep your voice down, Feliks,” Lithuania pleads, turning to his partner. He brushes the nut brown hair back from his forehead and sighs. “Well, we knew they weren’t gone. I suppose it was only a matter of time before they resurfaced.”
“You think the Big Man knows?” Poland asks, his voice lowered now to a hushed whisper.
“I’d like to think he would’ve warned us, if he did.”
“Or maybe this was his idea of a joke.” Poland’s disdain is clear as he wrinkles his nose.
“No,” Lithuania refutes gently, “He’s been trying to ally with China’s family for ages. I can’t see how he would’ve hidden it if he knew that the Ancient One was back on the scene.”
“I guess you’re right,” Poland sighs. “I wouldn’t put it past him, though-hey, Liet! They’re leaving! China’s brother is leaving with America and what’s his face!”
Lithuania turns to look, and, sure enough, Canada, America, and Hong Kong are standing, now, and heading for the door. His face hidden behind his coffee cup, Lithuania bites his lip as the corners of his mouth turn down with worry.
“What should we do, Liet? Follow them?”
“Um…I don’t think so. Eduard said not to, remember?”
“He said not to do anything,” Poland retorts, “but we’re supposed to be gathering information! How can we not follow?”
“But what if-” Lithuania’s reply is lost as Poland grabs his hand and drags him towards the door, following a few minutes behind their targets.
As they step outside the coffee shop, Lithuania starts to say something, but Poland presses one finger against his lips.
“Look, Liet-you’re good at sitting and waiting, I know that. But I’m, like, better at the active stuff, y’know? So just follow my lead.”
Lithuania sighs, and nods. “Of course, Feliks. But just want are you planning on doing?”
“If the Ancient One’s up and about after all this time, and he’s sending agents to old Union Jack, don’t you think our people would want to know why?”
“Of course,” Lithuania repeats, “but we aren’t aptly prepared to follow-”
His voice stops short abruptly as a pair of gloved hands close over his mouth and jerk him backwards.
“Liet!” Poland cries out, reaching for him, but before he can move more than an inch he feels the cold barrel of a gun pressing against the back of his head.
“Now then,” a cold voice asks, “who is it that you two are following?”
- - -
An hour later, Hungary gets out of the car in front of an elaborate Eastern-style mansion. Miles away from the city, the air is cleaner, but a sense of foreboding clutches at her stomach as she ascends the steps, arms crossed over her chest. She turns away from the front door at the last moment, going instead towards a side entrance. Into the small keypad over the doorknob she types four digits: one, five, four, one. There is a gentle hiss as the lock releases, and she pulls open the door and enters the house.
Her heeled steps make gentle clicking noises against the marble tiles, and as the clock chimes the hour a million chimes go off, filling the long, empty corridor with noise.
She’s ascended another staircase, and is about to open a door at the end of the long hallway when she hears footsteps behind her.
“Well, look who’s back,” Bulgaria says dryly, clapping his hands together hollowly, mockingly. “I take it you were successful?”
“Am I ever not?” Hungary retorts with a toss of her head. Her green eyes turn hard, like jade stones, as she turns to face him. He’s a tall man, dark-haired and olive-skinned. He’s dressed simply, his blazer unbuttoned over his shirt and his collar undone. His hands are stained with something-ink or oil, Hungary thinks.
“So, he’s on board?” Bulgaria asks, sounding genuinely surprised.
“Who can be certain?” Hungary responds airily. “But I delivered my message; I did my job. No one can expect any more than that.”
“He can,” Bulgaria reminds her, a vindictive poison leaking into his tone. “He can expect much, much more. So you’d best hope you were successful, and that the wine bastard’s going to help us.”
“Oh, he’ll help,” a new voice says, and Bulgaria and Hungary turn to see Egypt walking towards them. Unlike the others, in their pristine suits and dark colors, he’s dressed in a loose, flowing white kaftan, belted with crimson at his waist. “His goal is the same as ours, after all.”
“I don’t see why,” Bulgaria responds glumly, arms crossed over his chest. “We’re no friends to him.”
“Aren’t we?” Hungary asks with a sly smile. “We’re the enemy of his enemy, aren’t we? And doesn’t that make us friends, by the loosest definition?”
“You don’t want to be his friend,” Egypt says, his head tilting gently to one side. “He knows not how to keep them.”
“But if he helps us achieve our goal,” Hungary says, tapping one finger against her lips, “where’s the harm?”
“Let’s be clear, here,” Bulgaria breaks in, his voice rough. “Which goals are you talking about? The Ottoman Family’s, or ours?” He gestures to indicate the three of them.
“We are the Ottoman Family,” Hungary says carefully.
“But we all know,” Egypt puts in, his dark eyes alight, “that we have our own goals, too.”
- - -
They left the coffee shop nearly two hours ago. America and Canada led Hong Kong to their waiting cab, and slipped in on either side of him, effectively trapping him as the taxi made its way through the crowded, winding streets. He kept his heart rate low and his expression carefully neutral, but when he stopped recognizing street names, Hong Kong began to grow worried. Eventually, the cab stopped against the curb of a great, old skyscraper, and Canada motioned for Hong Kong to exist the car.
“What do you think?” America asks brightly as they walk towards the building, a boyish smile on his face. He gestures at the massive gray building, pride coloring his voice.
“It is very…modern,” Hong Kong decides, picking his words carefully.
“Of course,” Canada murmurs. “It is only three years old, after all.”
Wondering why he sounds so cryptic, Hong Kong follows Canada and his brother into the building. There are countless people inside; sitting at desks and answering phones, milling about the lobby and wiping the windows. China’s home is always reserved, quiet, and there is never any unnecessary action or noise. Hong Kong knew that this place would be different, but the degree of that difference didn’t quite set in until he heard it.
Everyone they pass turns to wave or smile at America; he laps up the attention, passing out handshakes, high fives, and winks as if they’re going out of style.
“…he is not very…covert…is he?” Hong Kong mutters to Canada.
The fair-haired man sighs, releasing his breath all at once. “Al has never been very good with subtlety,” Canada admits. “But that’s what I-people, that’s what people like about him. He seems honest, genuine.”
“…‘seems’?” Hong Kong questions.
“Everyone is more than they seem, Hong Kong,” Canada replies slowly, a careful smile on his seemingly gentle features. “Didn’t you know?”
As they crowd into an elevator with perhaps a million other people, Hong Kong nods slowly, though Canada probably doesn’t see the motion. Of course he knows that; his siblings are masters when it comes to masks, showing one face to the world and keeping another to themselves. And no one is more apt at that than the eldest brother, China-except, perhaps, for Hong Kong himself.
The elevator slowly empties as they ascend through the building-by the fifteenth floor, only the three of them are left.
“Just remember, Hong Kong,” America murmurs to him, “don’t make any sudden moves. The old man doesn’t really appreciate things like that.”
“Huh?” Hong Kong asks in confusion, caught off guard.
The elevator doors slide open as America laughs. “Hasn’t anyone told you? Our boss is a bit of a temperamental dick.”
“Alfred!” Canada wails.
“What? It’s true,” America says.
“There you are!” A bold, annoyed, and distinctively feminine voice calls out. “Where have you been?”
Hong Kong turns just as a small, dark-haired girl gives America a playful slap on the shoulder. She whips around, seeing him, something predatory in her amber eyes.
“And who is this?”
Hong Kong begins to think that he’s not quite prepared for what he’s gotten himself into.
--In the first scene, Vietnam, Korea and Hong Kong all use different Asian honorifics to refer to their different siblings. Vietnam is called “Noona” and “Jiejie”, which mean “elder sister” in Korean and Mandarin, respectively. China is referred to as “Hyung-nim” and “Anh”, which mean “elder brother” in Korean and Vietnamese. And Japan is called “Aniki” which is a term for elder brother in Japanese.
--Each of head of a family in this au has a sobriquet; the Big Man, the Ancient One, and the Union Jack are three of these.
--Anyone who can figure out the meaning behind Hungary’s numerical code wins the internet.
--As always, I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and encourage you to watch this community if you’d like to keep up with the story!