Panda N: Greetings, Hetalians. What you are about to read represents the culmination of our best work so far.

PandaG: Welcome to the Monstersverse. "Ghost" is Part 1 of an epic Hetalia series, which takes place in a human alternate universe.
*UPDATE - 4/29/16: Due in part to comments from you lovely readers, we decided not to separate the story into multiple parts. There is a chance that we will eventually add some deleted scenes and a prequel or sequel, but Ghost will now stand alone (and be much longer than originally planned).

Panda N: FAIR WARNING, Y'ALL: It involves sex, violence, drugs, and all that other stuff kids aren't supposed to read about- the version on FanFiction has been parred down to meet with FF's guidelines. You can find the full version on AO3, and some extras on our Tumblr.

PandaG: You can find links to all of these on our profile - including a YouTube trailer!

A note on names - Because everyone in this 'verse is human, we are using the canon/popular fanon human names for the characters, and created names for those who do not have one. These include:

Holly Nethers - Netherlands/Holland
Bella - Belguim
Hans - Germania

If you get confused, check out tumblr! We'll be posting a handy character chart soon.

Panda N: As you can see- this story comes with all the bells and whistles. This work is COMPLETE, but due to the editing process we cannot confirm how many chapters are in the entire series. "Ghost" has nineteen chapters including the prologue. We hope you enjoy the adventure.

Prologue: Somewhere in America

The night is cool and crisp - it feels like rain, though there is none. But the bar is hot and packed with people. Many of them are unfamiliar faces; there's been a surplus of those. Ever since Ivan Braginski, known in most circles as Ivan the Terrible, began frequenting the Silver Stein it felt like the faces Toris was used to had been appearing less and less, replaced by the rougher, meaner faces of strangers.

He wipes down a puddle of spilled beer, peering over in the direction of that smoky corner. Ivan does not smoke, but he has many associates who do. And they are all thirsty. He takes his tray in hand, glancing at his cellphone as it flashes. He'll get it in a moment, he promises himself. These gentlemen are not the kind one keeps waiting.

From his office in the back, Hans can hear the packed house. Such a racket used to make him happy. But tonight it does not; not for the last month, in fact. Too many thugs, too many angry faces hanging around his bar. He misses the days when they stayed north of here, contained, allowing the customers who brought no (well, less) trouble to come. He peeks out the door and sees some of them gathered at the bar. Poor Toris is rushed off his feet with drink orders, and the men eye the bartender's form like he's on the top shelf. "Do you need a hand out there? I can come out in a moment."

"I- I'm okay!" Toris calls to his boss, hefting the tray into his arms and heading out to the tables. Serving drinks is as natural as anything else now. Even such a heavy tray is no real struggle. It's just the presence in the back corner that gives him a bad feeling in the center of his gut.

Tucking a strand of long grey hair behind his ear, Hans watches Toris go. Despite Toris' reassurances, he gives up on his accounts and heads for the bar. They may just be able to keep the place another month, if he doesn't pay himself. Toris can't work for free anymore – not with his boyfriend so sick. He's been getting enough in tips to cover medicine, and Hans has been letting him take food home, but bar food can't sustain a man for three meals a day. "Who ordered beer?" Hans starts filling steins as fast as they fly toward him.

From his table in the back corner, Ivan grins at Toris, teeth showing as he beckons him a little closer. He takes the drinks out of the bartender's hands and begins passing them to his associates, just so there's an excuse to keep the man there for another moment. Toris is pretty: moss green eyes, long brown hair tied back out of his face, showing off soft features. Ivan's hand slides easily against the other's fingers as he reaches for his drink - vodka. Straight, no ice. "Good evening, Toris? Many customers tonight. Is good for business."

"Yeah..." Toris trails off, looking at the bar – anywhere but Ivan. The man constantly looks at him like he wants to tear off his clothes and pull him into his lap, and Toris hates the way his blood hums at that thought. But Ivan is a nasty man to tangle with – not one he'd ever want to piss off. "More than we should be getting on a Sunday."

Natalia, a pretty girl with long, pale blonde hair and ice for eyes, clings to her brother's arm and glares at the waiter. She hates him. She hates the way Ivan looks at him, the way Ivan makes every effort to talk to the boy, to be around him. She would kill him, only that would make her brother angry. You'd have to be stupid to make Ivan angry on purpose. "Don't you have work to do?"

Ivan pulls away from her, uncomfortable. "Natalia, enough." Toris is already taking that as an excuse to leave, but he catches his apron. "Tell Hans I will pay him double what I offered last time," says Ivan. "He will listen to you. Is ten times more than this place is worth; he knows that. You will still have a job; better job. I will pay you very well."

Toris' attention is pulled to the young lady constantly with Ivan, her eyes narrowed on his face. He blushes a little. It's Ivan's sister; he was told the first time they came. Though sometimes she acts as though they are lovers, they are clearly not. His eyes flick to Ivan's face and for a second his breathing stutters. Ivan is attractive, for a very dangerous man.

"Yeah." He sets Natalia's drink down, refusing to let himself meet Ivan's eyes. "I will." He won't. But as long as Ivan thinks he'll do it, he'll be alive.

XXX

Not too far away, three men collapse in a bed on the third floor of the Rainbow Hotel and Spa, half dead from the bliss of completing the oft imagined, rarely attempted Eiffel Tower. At the Rainbow, however, it is not an unusual feat to perform not only the Eiffel Tower, but the Reverse Eiffel Tower. Their star employee had pioneered it. Said star employee – one Francis Bonnefoy – breathes in the scent of sex and incense, a combination only to be found in Kiku's room. Then he rolls over to offer their client and Kiku a kiss each.

"Oh, mes cheris, that was lovely." Francis speaks fluent French, though these days it is largely because his customers find it erotic. His mother was born in France, told him stories, showed him pictures. That was a long time ago. He has never been to France, though he has dreamed of it so many times he can walk the streets of Paris whenever he closes his eyes. Gilbert promised to take him there. The thought makes him smile a little, if bitterly. Gilbert is a damnable liar, and far from the first to make such stupid boasts while pulling off his clothes. Francis is a fool himself; he knows Gilbert is a liar, and loves him still, far more than he should.

Kiku sees the sad look cross Francis' eyes, the one that those who pay here will never notice. But his friends know it too well. He leans up and kisses him again, cuddling close to the man by his side so that the customer knows they are still there for him.

"My friend, always a pleasure." Kiku smiles, touching Francis' cheek and hoping to bring him back to himself. The Rainbow's employees promised to meet at the bar in the casino after all appointments had ended, but Francis will not go with them. He always stays longer with Gilbert – longer than he is paid to stay.

Francis smiles for real in return - or at least, as real as any of them ever do. Kiku understands more than most, perhaps. He has a lover of his own; a real one, who does not pay because Kiku will not let him. Heracles brings flowers instead. There are live orchids in the corner, and Kiku tends to them with a tenderness most reserve for children.

Francis stretches, kissing their customer as he slides over him and out of the bed. His clothes are not hard to find. Nights with Kiku are always neat. He gives himself a once-over with one of the waiting towels, intent on a shower before his next appointment, then pulls on his pants.

"You must excuse me, my dear," he tells the john, leaning in close against his ear and running his fingers over the man's slick chest. "I hate to leave such an impressive gentleman so soon, but I am afraid I have a guest I cannot keep waiting. I am sure Kiku can take care of you, non?"

Kiku cuddles in close, dragging his tongue over the shell of the customer's ear, making him groan and distracting him from the departing Francis. "I'm sure I can come up with a few things to keep him from missing you." He laughs a little, reaching over and smacking that all too tempting ass, leaning over just out of sight. Frances deserves a spanking sometimes. He hates to see him waste his nights with a man who cares very little for anyone but himself. "Have fun."

Francis chuckles, tugging on Kiku's hair so the customer has access to the pretty, pale expanse of his neck. "Not nearly so much fun as you will have, I am sure!" A lie, or perhaps not. A platitude to keep the ustomer happy. He really shouldn't be leaving; Elizabeta, the Rainbow's Madame, would have his hide if it were not worth so very much. Gilbert pays well, anyway. He wonders if Toni will come along tonight, or wait until later. It's always more fun when all three of them are together; that way he doesn't feel guilty for loving them both.

He blows a kiss, shirt slung over his back, and shuts the door. Incense lingers in the hall, on his skin, Kiku's ghost following him as he makes his way down the line of rooms. He can hear Sesel's high-pitched, pretty moans from one room, and nods to Gupta as he passes with a blushing young thing. It's good business; that will make Liza happy, so perhaps she won't be too angry with him after all.

XXX

Around the corner at La Citta Fortunata (The Lucky City), the usual roughousing is just getting underway. But not between the customers. Like clockwork, every weekend night Heracles Karpusi and Sadik Adnan, the night bouncers, get into it over some stupid something or other. It's a routine you can set your watch by.

Gilbert "Awesomesauce" Beilschmidt (the nickname of his own invention) and his best friend, Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, breeze past them, heading toward the Rainbow. Gilbert sends the bouncers a cheerful wave they barely see. They are far too focused on yelling at each other to check IDs, let alone notice anyone leaving.

"-you're a fucking dumbass, that's why! I don't know why he puts up with you. He's probably just too polite to tell you to go away." Sadik pulls the hood of his green sweatshirt further down. It's a warm night for November, especially with the heat of La Citta at his back, but he's never without the hoodie or his white half-mask. Better not to let them see your face. If no one knows what you look like, no one can rat on you. Not that the cops around here care all that much. If they're not dirty, they're going to be.

"Oh, I'M a dumbass?! You - you're the one who's wasting all your fucking pay on booze! Or "freelancing" for that poisonous fucker down the street!" Hera hisses through his teeth, pissed off that Sadik would dare insinuate that Kiku's just keeping him around out of pity. He narrows his eyes. "I wonder what Feliciano would think if he knew you were offering your special brand of tough guy to Ivan B.?"

Sadik glances around, making sure there are no little birds who might have heard that particular bit. Feli is one of Gilbert's favorite puppies, and certainly one of the more dangerous members of La Citta's gang. A thing like that could leave him with a bloody smile and an extra hole between the eyes. The little Italian does not cut nearly as terrifying a figure as Gilbert himself, but Feli is not kind to those who spread their loyalties around. Sadik doesn't believe in loyalty like that. Whoever pays the most is the boss, be it Beilschmidt, Braginski, or Wang. It's a damn good thing Hera doesn't seem to know about that last one.

He can see Antonio and Gilbert still, about to round the corner. Thankfully, they're too far to hear and talking loudly about their favorite prostitute. Figures. He turns and slams Hera against the wall. "Shut up you little shit. You tryin' to get me killed? I swear, you open your mouth again, I'm going to make it so the Good Doctor has to wire it shut."

"Go ahead, asshole! You fucking try it!" Hera pushes Sadik back, sending him stumbling a couple of feet away. Hera doesn't care if Gil shoots Sadik right between the eyes. He's tired of this asshole getting paid to do shit, while he works and gets paid half as much. At least Feliciano likes him. That always bodes well. Word in the inner circle is if you can get the Italians on your side, you're set. "You think you're gonna last in this crew?! Fuck no! Might as well just jump over the fence so I'd have the fucking right to shoot you!"

Sadik snorts. "Oh yeah? You couldn't hit a goddamned corpse!" He pulls up his sweatshirt, hand going to his gun. Chances are they'll both pull them, then toss the weapons aside to go after each other with fists. Less messy. Much more fun. He almost grins. "Least I get my jobs from brains and brawn, not sucking cock. Why don't you go down and ask 'Liza to let you have a room? Then you could leave Kiku the fuck alone!"

The mention of Kiku's name sends Hera's blood boiling. "Bastard!" He throws his gun aside, running at the man with balled fists. The first punch he throws misses horribly, but the second at least clocks him in the side of the head. "I'll kill you!"

"Right on schedule." Holly mumbles to himself, rolling his eyes. He can hear them shouting insults even from his table in this little back alley, filled with dumpsters from the casino. It's no wonder kids can waltz right into the Casino and have a chat with the big boys. The dangerous ones. At least Gilbert doesn't talk the kids into working for him, unlike Ivan and Yao. But that's their business. His job is not to ask questions. What does he need to get involved for, anyway? There are plenty of junkies, always will be. As long as Yao Wang supplies, he'll deliver. Speaking of...he smirks as a familiar face steps into the alley, briefly lit by the casino's flashing lights. "Well, well. If it isn't the long arm of the law."

Just when Arthur thinks he's used to the jabs, someone gets him every time. He sneers at Holly, sick of it, and sick with need for supplies. There's a new drug on the street, one that's supposed to calm you down and lift you into a nice, easy place. He hasn't been sleeping well, and smoking a pipe just isn't doing it for him anymore. "Stuff it, ye." He's been living here for too long; his accent won't fade, but his patience definitely has. "Want my money or not?"

Holly chuckles. It's almost too easy to push Artie's buttons. "Your money is the only thing I like about you." He waits. He never reaches for his stash until he sees real money, and never hands over a fix until the cash is in his hand. He knows most of his usuals' preferences; they get hooked on one thing, and stick with it. Artie hops around, unsatisfied. He intends to see him satisfied, because a satisfied customer is a return customer. "What's your flavor?"

Arthur slides into the free chair and leans his elbows on the high top, slapping cash on the table. He's been paid very well this month. Not by his job of course, but by others. The ones who pay him to look certain ways, be it to the ground or to someone they'd like out of the way, no mess. "M'lookin' for that dreamer shitte. S'market price, yeah?" He shoves the money across the table.

Now that is what Holly likes to see. He thumbs through it, fingering the bills and holding one up to the street light. Seems legit. He reaches for the stash, hidden behind him among the garbage bags that so rarely make it to the dumpster. It works out well for him; who would know one of those black sacks was filled with drugs? He pulls out a bottle of pills; there aren't many in it. The new stuff doesn't come cheap or easily, and he only just managed to convince Yao it was worth the trouble. It's a damn good thing he was right. Yao's got a thing for making sure you remember your mistakes. No one fucks up twice.

Holly holds out the bottle, shaking it so Arthur can see. "Shit'll get you there. For a while, anyway. You'll be back in time for uniform inspection. Or do they do it Spartan style now and strip you down? I hear your chief's got a rod pretty far up his ass."

"Ta', mate. You don't know the bloody half," Artie says, making conversation, because – to be fair – he's not blind and Holly is among the prettiest things he's ever seen in handcuffs. Fuck, he'd like to try that some time. But it's bad form to arrest your best dealer.

The bottle is light, but that's fair. Man's gotta make a living, and from what Arthur hears, getting the doctor-grade shitte just got a lot harder. They have a maniac pulling the stuff out of hospitals now. "Guess management's switchin' up all over these days. You still bein' pushed around by the dragon boy?"

"Say that to his face and see what happens to you. Him and his whole fucking family are nuts." Holly shakes his head. Fucking is right; the man screws his own brother. Granted, the China Doll is damn pretty—one of the prettiest whores at the Rainbow. He certainly doesn't mind paying for a piece of that. "Anything else I can get you?" He looks around now. He can't have a cop, even a dirty one, hanging around too long. Scares away his customers.

Arthur rolls his eyes, shoving the bottle in his jacket pocket. "Yeah. A fuckin' lay. Where the fuck's Frannie been? Haven't been able to get an appointment in months, innit? S'he out of the game now?"

There's so much Holly could say to that, but he's eager to be rid of Artie now and doesn't feel like arguing. "You kidding? The man's got more addicts than I do. I swear he shoves crack up their asses or something. You won't get in with him tonight, anyway. Everyone knows Gilbert's got his name stamped across Frannie's ass on Sundays. It's like his fucking church. Toni, too. But there're plenty of other lovelies over there."

Arthur sighs, his mind sliding to Francis and his lovely ass. The man certainly is an addiction. Fucking him is the only thing he's ever found to calm his body to a good night's sleep. "Pass." He slides off his stool and heads out, freeing Holly up for his customers. He needs to find somebody to work him over, but he's starting to find that there are very few people who bring him that right bliss. Looks like he's in for a lonely night. Thank God for pills, legal or not.

XXX

Back at the bar, there is total chaos. Drinks are being flung left and right, and with the amount of people crushing the bartop, Toris is starting to feel claustrophobic. He doesn't worry, though. When Ivan's drinks slow down, he tends to get unhappy. When he gets unhappy, anyone who stands between him and his vodka better get out of the way.

In preparation, Toris makes him a vodka, straight up. Then after a moment of indecision, cuts a slice of green apple and garnishes the glass. A) So that he knows which one is for Ivan, and B)... He doesn't know. He kind of wanted to. Shaking off the odd feeling of guilt, he keeps slinging drinks, waiting for his unlikely hero to clear the bartop.

Meanwhile, Hans is on the phone in his office, the conversation getting more and more heated. It's his grandson Ludwig, and he sounds pissed. A little drunk, too. He is ranting in German, and for a minute Hans is so shocked at the sound of him shouting that he doesn't know what Ludwig is saying at all. So he waits for him to stop, then tells him to speak slower – a direction Luddy ignores completely. But he can make out the name 'Feli,' which is never a good sign.

The vodka glass in Ivan's hand is empty. It has been a full fifteen minutes since it was refilled. He looks toward the bar and frowns. It's packed; poor Toris looks overwhelmed. A piece of hair is falling into his face; it makes Ivan want to pull it, just to see if Toris' screams are as pretty as he thinks they would be. Vodka. Definitely time for more vodka. He shoves his sister away and rises. Almost instantly, a path is cleared.

Toris sees him coming and at once takes a breath. Thank God. The glass with the green apple slice is shoved across the bartop at his approach, and he throws the rest of the orders - two beers and a gin and tonic - to their wary owners.

"Smart boy," thinks Ivan. Smart, useful, pretty. He wants this one, and Ivan always gets what he wants, one way or another. He will use force if he has to, but he much prefers to find a weak point, a place where he can slip inside their heads and reach down until he can squeeze their very soul. It's only then that they are truly loyal – one with him, so to speak. He snaps the apple in half, offering one part, dipped in vodka, to Toris. "You look very tired, Toris. Is everything alright?"

The bartender looks down at the apple, staring at it between Ivan's fingers for a long, shaky moment. But he doesn't take it. He grips the beer in his hand, slotted for a patron at the end of the bar, and for the fortieth time this week wonders why Ivan had to take such an interest in him. His eyes flick to his phone as it buzzes; another message from home. Feliks. God, he misses him. Breathing in slowly, he looks back toward Ivan and finds himself shaken. His eyes are violet. Actually violet, like nothing he's ever seen. "I am tired. It's been a long night."

Ivan is disappointed, but Toris has given away plenty. He snaps the apple between his teeth, a sharp crunch. It's sweet; too sweet for him, but he smiles anyway. "Da, da. Longer when there is trouble at home." He shoots a meaningful look to Toris' phone, but ends by cocking his head toward the office where the old man is arguing in German.

Toris' jaw sets, and this time he keeps his gaze firmly fixed on Ivan's eyes. Violet or not, they are not going to fuck with him tonight. He has too much going on. He doesn't want any part of whatever Ivan's trying to do to him. "Trouble? Got trouble at home tonight, sir?" He pours him another, straight, no apple. Fuck whatever weird instincts are screwing with his brain.

There's a loud "FICK" from the back room. Hans is getting worried now; Gilbert's name was in there with Feli's. Ludwig sounds near livid, talking about Gil and Feli and something about pictures. He doesn't understand. He rubs a finger over his brow. "Luddy, Luddy, just calm down. Talk slow."

Ivan has one ear on that conversation, but the other is still on Toris. He's found a sore spot, that much is clear. That's all that matters. These things take time, and if things go the way he planned, he will have plenty of time with this one. "I never have trouble I cannot take care of. Is your boss who sounds upset. He is getting old; he should take time off, enjoy life away from foolish grandchildren who do nothing but bicker, gamble, and fuck."

His gaze slides briefly to the large window by the door, looking out beyond the deck and across the street to the hotel and casino. He can see Gilbert and Antonio talking as they travel between the two. They bump fists once, and part ways. He swallows his vodka.

With another curse, Hans hangs up and heads for the door, not bothering with anything but his keys and his wallet. He needs to get to Ludwig before he does something rash. Something is very, very wrong tonight. "Hold down the bar until Bella gets here," he calls to Toris, not looking at his apparent conversation partner. He heads out the door, fast.

Toris nearly groans. Fuck. There goes any shot of getting out early tonight. He sighs, pouring Ivan another. The man can hold his booze and then some. "Yeah, boss," he calls back, glancing at his phone again. Feliks... He needs to get home to Feliks. But for now, he needs to deal with Ivan. "As I'm sure you know, getting away from your family is not so easy." He almost smirks at the jibe, but snuffs it in the last second. Natalia has been eyeing them for the last few minutes with disdain.

Luckily for Toris, Ivan barely hears the comment. He's watching through the window. Never one to waste an opportunity, he finishes his drink and throws down his tab, plus something for Toris. "Hold her down until I'm out of here." Pressing through the crowd, he makes it out the door before Natalia can so much as stand.

Toris sighs, watching the girl stand, furious. But he has a little pink drink waiting for her. "Compliments of your brother." He smiles, almost glad to say it, because Christ Almighty, even if he doesn't want to fuck Ivan, he doesn't want his sister to get there either. That's just... wrong. Luckily, she'll take anything that's a sign of her brother's affection with relish.

Natalia glowers at Toris and snatches the drink from him. Clearly Ivan is trying to make up for leaving so quickly. He does that often; most likely it is something for work. The man is married to his work; a shame, in her opinion, but she will do anything to see him succeed.

When he sees Bella fly through the door, perpetually late, Toris can't help but sigh with relief. He pulls off his apron as he gives her a rundown of the night, then heads around back to grab his phone from behind the bar. Thank God the night is over. He heads out the door as fast as he possibly can, but suddenly there's a loud, hard crack! that makes him duck. Gunshot. Oh Shit. That was close, too. His mind flits to Ivan for but a second before he's running home, hoping to get to his safe, happy corner of the world before he runs into something bad.