The Chains of Insanity: Oliver Kirkland [2p!Hetalia]

Six

Matt oh Matt... He is so rough ever since he was a little child. His strength matched his brother, and his polar bear Kuma only made him scarier. He stayed quiet most of the time, and there would be times I couldn't tell if he did anything without my knowledge! I know full well that he loves the forest, and some would call him a tree-hugger. He would always be there in the early hours before dawn, and only came back for a short lunch before going back. The longest time he ever was not home were many, many hours if I recall correctly. Never once had I seen him without his hockey stick, except when I would tell on him never to put weapons on the dining table.

Few times he would come back with dried blood covering his face and body, and his eyes showing satisfaction. I knew he killed poachers; his favourite sport.

Kuma (or as I like to call it Kumakuro) his polar bear always helped him. I watched my son and his pet grow up, and few times they would sleep together. Kuma was and is his comfort, an animal willing to hear his daily thoughts. When he was younger Kuma followed him everywhere — even now, actually — but at that one time they were separated, Matt threw a temper tantrum, something that contradicts his cool personality. Kuma was like a piece of his life, and to have it taken away is near to torture. I saw him smile when they were reunited, a rare genuine one. That event alone showed how much of a connection they shared.

I would love to have such a connection with someone or something (animal, not an inanimate object) and to have it close to my heart. I would hold it dear, afraid of losing it. Yet I've lost so much. But that is another story.

~*~

Waking up early is not pleasant for most, and the same goes for me. But I wonder about Matt, when I barely see him in the mornings? I wonder how he felt, always awake before any of us, and to be at the forest? I never got the chance to ask him, since he would always be away. I know him quite well, and I knew he wouldn't answer me unless he thought it fitting.

Yet I woke up in the early hours before dawn, to get ready for another day working in my bakery. As long as I find pleasure in baking, I would be happy! Besides, I have my fun in picking out unlucky victims. I do wonder how Matt takes out his victims, poachers.

I stretched my back, and after hearing a satisfying crack I stood up from bed and proceeded to change into my daily clothes. I made sure to give a short kiss on François' cheek before walking out the room. I pushed Allen's ajar door slightly to look inside and saw him sprawled out on his bed, drool dripping from his open mouth. I stifled a giggle then continued on. Matt's door was open halfway, and clearly it was empty. Kumakuro would usually take up quite a space on the floor as it (or is it he?) slept.

I continued on to the stairs, descending till I reached my bakery. I started baking, and once the first batch was in the oven I opened up the bakery and turned the sign to 'We're Open' with a smiley at the side.

Around 4 in the afternoon Matt appeared in the kitchen, having entered from the back door. His body was bloodied, and Kumakuro with evident wounds and blood staining the white fur. Matt was limping, using his hockey stick as support and the other hand held the wound at his leg.

I was shocked, and quickly I went to him, asking questions with concern. He answered,"I was ambushed... They wanted to take revenge on me..." He then fell face-first on the ground, exhausted. Wounded and he walked from his turf which was very far from this part of town, I knew he was bleeding too much and yet he placed the burden upon himself to reach home before he faints. I called Allen and François to help, and closed the bakery. They both helped to carry him up and placed him in the living room. Allen went back for Kumakuro while François took off Matt's shirt and tore his pants at any wounds. They helped to cover up his wounds, of course not forgetting to clean up. The bucket of water to wash the blood was always changing red, causing me to run back and forth to prepare clean water. Kumakuro was the next priority, having sustained less injuries than Matt. The floor was littered with bullet shells that we managed to extract from their bodies.

I was afraid. My heart pounded, fearing I might lose him. It was irrational thinking, but I felt that. As insane as I am, I have compassion mostly for my friends and family. Strangers I have barely any to no mercy. Funny, I could be called bipolar. But I believe not.

Eventually we left Matt to rest in his own room, still unconscious. Allen placed Kumakuro at its usual spot, letting it rest as well. I smiled, then said,"We're changing the dressings every day." "What!?" Allen complained. "No way I'm doing it. He's safe now right? What for?" I frowned as I pulled a small knife from my belt and placed the tip at his neck, drawing little blood,"Careful of your mouth. That is your brother. And we are going to change his dressings. Bandages left too long can infect him." He took a step back,"Jeez! Fine, fine! I'll f*cking do it."

"Swear jar."

"Sh*t."

"Swear jar."

"What the f*ck, man!?"

"Swear jar." By then I've walked away, intending to wash away the blood on my body and clothes. I frowned, remembering how Flavio once said: "Ah, but you see, blood are a pain to wash off." Something like that. True, it was problematic washing off blood, especially from rugs. That was what I thought when I walked back to the living room, blood everywhere on the floor where Matt and Kumakuro had laid. I giggled a bit, since earlier Allen had problems turning Kumakuro to reveal wounds on its stomach.

I went back to my room, then into the connected bathroom. I stripped off, avoiding the mirror deliberately, then walked into the shower. I hadn't noticed, but apparently a naked Frenchman decided to join me.