AN/ So I really shouldn't be posting this, because: a) I haven't finished writing it (i.e. I've only written this first chapter), and b) I've like six other projects in mind :'D What I don't have is self-control. Anyway, if you like the story, feel free to pester me via PM so that I dedicate enough time to writing it. (Also, I may change the title at some point. Man, I suck at titling u_u)

WARNINGS: graphic violence, child abuse, over 10 years age gap. More warnings may be added in the future.

Disclaimer: sadly, I don't own Hetalia.

TIGHT ROPE

Chapter I

Lovino Vargas had never stopped to think about his death. He had never wondered when, how, where. Life had always been too nice for him to bother with such foul thoughts. His family was rich, he was well-provided — simply put, he had never had the need to worry. On the rare occasions in which the threat of death crossed his mind, he just assumed he'd pass away of old age, like his Nonno, lying in bed, surrounded by his loved ones, after a long life full of wonders and pleasures.

So when he found himself hiding in the captain's cabin, curled up in a corner and covering his ears to try and mute the chaos on deck; when he realized he may not live to see another day, he panicked.

He was only seventeen years old.

He was too young to die.

There were many things he hadn't done.

He had never kissed a girl. He had never been to Rome, or anywhere in Italy (Europe) that wasn't Naples. He hadn't played with and spoiled his little brother as much as he'd have wanted.

He didn't want to die.

The noise outside quietened a little, and a tiny ray of hope shone down on him. Maybe — just maybe — the battle had been won. But then the door was kicked open and two pirates walked in.

They didn't notice him at first, all their attention focused on the valuable objects they planned to pillage. One took only what could be sold (chandeliers, cutlery, even books) and the other grabbed whatever they could use themselves (mostly maps and navigation items).

Paralyzed, Lovino could only watch and pray; and his prayers, evidently, were unheard. One of the pirates, the shortest of the two, was already making his way out when he suddenly spotted Lovino in the corner. Startled, he yelled a loud "Joder", accidentally dropping some of the stuff he carried. This caught the other's attention, and soon he was by his mate, a blood-stained cutlass in his hand. Lovino trembled at the sight and pressed harder against the wall behind him, almost hoping he could merge with it.

"Looks like a rat managed to avoid us," the short pirate said, smiling dangerously. He spoke Spanish, a language Lovino was fluent in (his father had paid a lot for his son to learn quite a handful of languages, deeming it important for the business). "What do you think, Raúl?" the pirate went on, addressing his comrade yet keeping his sharp gaze fixed on Lovino. "Should I give him the privilege of a quick death?" His hand was reaching for his pistol when the other stopped him.

"I think we should take him to the Captain," Raúl replied, intently studying Lovino as he slid the cutlass back into its sheath. "He doesn't look like a sailor." He put aside the objects he had grabbed before and pulled a dagger from his belt, walking with purpose towards Lovino. "Up," he growled when he reached him. When Lovino failed to react, he grabbed his arm and pulled him up roughly, pressing the dagger to his throat the moment he was on his feet. "I said up. Come on."

For a moment, Lovino considered fighting back, resisting. But the tight grasp on his arm was enough to let him know that the pirate was way stronger than him, and the calm, almost professional way in which the dagger rested against his neck told him that the man wouldn't hesitate to kill him. Survival instinct easily prevailed over pride: Lovino bit his lip, blinked to stop the tears that threatened to spill down his cheeks, and obediently walked by Raúl when he started to move.

The sun blinded him for a moment when they stepped back on deck, and Lovino groaned in annoyance. But when his eyes got used to the light again, he wished he had remained blinded.

There were bodies scattered all around the ship. A few pirates here and there, but mostly the crew that had sailed with and looked after him for the last few weeks. Lovino felt a lump in his throat and tried to look away. However, no matter where his gaze landed, he still felt sick: if it wasn't the dead, it was the pirates stealing the cargo or making sure none of the sailors remained alive. His stomach twisted; he wanted to throw up.

"Raúl!" someone called behind them. "I didn't know we were taking prisoners."

Raúl promptly turned around at that voice, forcing Lovino to turn with him. There was a well-dressed man (pirate) walking towards them. He looked gracious, even while dodging corpses and cleaning the blood off his sword on a ripped cloth. His long, blonde hair was kept in a ponytail, held in place by a blue silk ribbon, though it was quite dishevelled after the battle. He scratched his stubble and stared at Lovino with deep blue eyes. "Where did you find him anyway?" he asked, a slight French accent on his otherwise perfect Spanish.

Before Raúl could answer, a loud crash was heard, followed by a pained scream. Soon after, the door that lead down to the cellar was burst open and a man stumbled on deck. Lovino barely recognized Captain Ennio: the man he remembered used to stand straight and proud, occasionally showing off some medals, always with a nice smile on his face. Now, however, he scrambled on the floor, defeated, scared. His face was covered in blood — Lovino didn't dare to look closely, but he could've sworn he was missing a piece of his ear — and his face was contorted in an expression that showed both pain and fear.

And when a second man walked in, Lovino understood why.

He had assumed that the Frenchman was the captain of those pirates. He moved, looked and sounded like an authority, and seemed to be respected. But that man, that brown-haired devil in a red coat that walked on deck as if he owned it, he had to be the captain.

"Where do you think you're going?" he asked, his voice a low, husky growl, as he walked towards Captain Ennio with murderous eyes. "I'm not done playing with you."

Captain Ennio raised his cutlass and pointed it towards the Spaniard as he crawled away. The pirate captain laughed cruelly and strode behind him. He was clearly enjoying the fear and despair in his enemy's eyes. Knowing he didn't stand a chance on the floor, Captain Ennio struggled to get back on his feet, swinging his sword back and forth to prevent the pirate from getting closer.

But then the Spaniard attacked masterfully: his cutlass moved swiftly, smacking the other's out of the way and easily slicing the hand that held it.

Captain Ennio shrieked in pain, letting go of his weapon and bringing his injured hand to the other. He clutched it tightly, in a failed attempt at stopping the bleeding that only resulted in it hurting even more. Dizzy, he fell to his knees, head bowed, trying to gasp for air. Soon, two dark boots entered his vision field and a sharp edge caressed his neck.

"K-Kill me," he gasped in Spanish.

The pirate chuckled darkly. "And where would the fun in that be?" He had barely finished uttering those words when he grabbed Captain Ennio by the hair and brought his face forwards, making it meet his knee. All the witnesses could clearly hear the crack the nose made when it was broken, even though it was immediately covered by an agonizing scream. Captain Ennio fell to the ground, screaming and writhing in pain, much to the Spaniard's satisfaction. A dark, macabre smile appeared on his face. When the other rolled to his side, he lifted a foot and stomped hard, catching the injured hand under it.

Captain Ennio, already in tears, let out yet another painful scream, and Lovino couldn't take in anymore.

"STOP TORTURING HIM, YOU MONSTER!" he yelled, a couple of tears rolling down his cheeks. He only realized he had almost launched himself against the Spaniard when he felt two pairs of hands holding him firmly in place — Raúl and the Frenchman.

Startled, both captains turned and looked at him. The pirate frowned, as if he was only then realizing there were other people on deck besides him and his prey; Captain Ennio gasped and let out a choked "Signor" when he recognized him. But Lovino barely heard him — all his senses were focused on the pirate captain before him, who was staring straight back at him.

The Spaniard looked back at Captain Ennio, then back at Lovino, then around himself. There was a chilling silence, only broken by the rustle of the sea and the creaking of the ships. And then, a laugh. It started as a quiet chuckle that only grew in intensity until it was all that could be heard.

Lovino felt sick. He wished he could shut his ears to that maniacal laughter — he didn't want to hear it. But then it ended as abruptly as it had started, and Lovino shivered when the pirate's burning gaze focused only on him.

"Stop, you say?" he purred. His voice was husky and dripped danger; a twisted smile appeared on his face when a clearly scared Lovino swallowed in fear.

The pirate slid his cutlass back into its sheath, not caring that he hadn't cleaned it, and took a step towards Lovino. Captain Ennio tried to grab his foot before he could take a second, but the Spaniards easily kicked him away and kept advancing towards Lovino, not once looking away from him.

Lovino tried to tell himself that he stood in place because he was going to bravely face the pirate, and not because fear had him paralyzed; that his legs trembled out of excitement and not fright; that the sudden urge to bow his head was only because the sunlight bothered him. He tried to convince himself with all his might, but as his world narrowed down to the devil walking towards him (he didn't even notice when Raúl and the Frenchman let go of him and took a step back), he had to admit it: he was terrified.

The Spaniard finally reached him, and the first thing Lovino noticed was that the pirate was one head taller than him. Swallowing his fear, he slowly looked up.

The first thing he saw were a pair of green eyes that would have been beautiful, seductive even, were they not full of rage and bloodlust. His tanned face was handsome, though it was hard to appreciate it under the blood (not his) that freckled it. Wild strands of curly, chestnut hair fell over his forehead; the rest was tied in a clumsy ponytail that was held together by a crimson ribbon. His long coat was the same colour — dark red; blood red — and hanging from his belt and sash were more weapons than Lovino could name, or even count.

"I don't like it when people interrupt me while I play," the Spaniard said. His voice was soft yet stern, as if he were calmly scolding a little kid (Lovino couldn't even be offended — by then, he did feel like a child), but there was a certain eeriness about it, an unspoken threat. "Ah, but you had a request, didn't you?" His hand moved swiftly and grabbed Lovino's collar; he then pulled and dragged him all the way back to where Captain Ennio still laid.

Taken by surprise, Lovino could only follow him. He wouldn't have been able to put up a fight anyway: the pirate was way too strong. And even if he could, he wouldn't have — he was aghast.

"Okay," the Spaniard smiled cruelly when they finally reached Captain Ennio. "What was your request again?" he asked before harshly kicking the other captain on the stomach.

Lovino let out a chocked gasp. "Stop it," he whispered. He wanted to turn around, wanted to leave, but the pirate still held him firmly. "Just—stop it."

"Hmm—? I didn't catch that," the captain mocked him, landing his heel on Captain Ennio's knee, rejoicing in the pained scream that provoked.

"I said stop it!" Lovino yelled. Unable to hold it in anymore, he started to cry again, tears running freely down his cheeks. "Stop it!"

"Why? I'm having fun!" His eyes gleamed with cruel delight. He was like a child that enjoyed capturing flies to rip off their wings and legs one by one.

"He's in pain! He's suffering!"

"Oh?" The Spaniard finally stopped kicking Captain Ennio and turned to look at Lovino straight in the eye. "And you want that to stop?"

"Yes!"

"You want him to stop suffering?"

"Yes!"

The pirate's lips twisted into a crooked smile. "Very well." He pushed Lovino back and in a quick, smooth movement grabbed Captain Ennio by the hair and forced him up to his knees, at the same time pulling a sharp dagger from his belt.

Horrified, Lovino yelped: "No!" and ran back to them. The Spaniard smirked. When Lovino reached him and threw a punch at his face, he grabbed his wrist… and slid the dagger in his hand. Then he backed a couple of steps and drew his cutlass from the sheath, pointing it at Lovino.

"Then kill him," he said, dead serious, pointing to Captain Ennio with a nod. All the previous mockery had left him, and he stared at Lovino with stone-cold eyes.

Shocked, Lovino blinked a few times, looking at the blade in his hand in confusion. His breathing quickened. "Wha—"

"Kill him."

Lovino snapped out of his stupor when the order was repeated. He sent a quick gaze towards Captain Ennio, who remained on his knees in front of him, head bowed and shaky breath, and then he looked back at the Spaniard. "I—I don't—" he blabbered.

"You said you wanted for him to stop suffering," the pirate stated. "That's the only way." The edge of his sword (still dripping fresh blood, Lovino noted with disgust) pressed under his chin and made him raise his head. "See, I ain't gonna kill him. I'm not that merciful. So you either kill him now and spare him the pain, or I'm going to keep playing with him until I get tired or he bleeds out, whichever comes first. And in that case," his voice grew even colder, more impersonal, and his gaze burnt into Lovino's, "you're next."

The choice seemed obvious. Lovino clenched his hand around the dagger, gulped, and looked down at Captain Ennio. It would be too easy: his head was just before his hands — it would take no effort to slit his throat. He raised his hand, slowly. It was shaking. The blade on his neck retired, though it remained pointed at him; teary-eyed, Lovino turned to face the pirate and spat: "You're cruel."

"The world is cruel," he replied without missing a beat. "The sooner you learn that, the better." He tilted his head; some of his hair fell on his face, but Lovino could still feel the cold glare from behind it. "I'm waiting," he said, calmly, his gaze flickering to Captain Ennio and back to Lovino. "And I'm not a patient man."

Biting his lower lip to keep it from trembling, Lovino's attention went back to Captain Ennio, who didn't seem to be aware anymore of what was going on around him. However, when Lovino took a step closer, the Captain raised his head and looked at him, his eyes clouded yet still awake. They were full of sorrow, regret — but not fear. That, at least, comforted Lovino a little bit.

"Signor Vargas… Lovino," Captain Ennio managed to whisper, a thin trail of blood dripping from his mouth. "Please…"

Despite trying with all his might, Lovino couldn't hold back a choked sob. How could he refuse an agonizing man's plea? His hand didn't shake this time, though he did close his eyes when the sharp blade — sharper than he had thought at first — easily gashed the Captain's throat. Half horrified, half disgusted, he dropped the dagger the moment he heard the heavy thud of a body hitting the ground and held his hands over his mouth, not sure if he was trying to stop himself from crying out or from throwing up.

Then he heard the pirate beside him chuckling darkly, and he saw red.

"YOU'RE A FUCKING BASTARD!" he yelled, his eyes opening to glare at him with all his might. All his survival instinct vanished: without stopping to think that he was disarmed or that the pirate could easily kill him in a hundred different ways, he attacked him with blind rage. He didn't mind if he was killed afterwards — he'd be happy to just lay a single punch on his despicable face.

Unfortunately, his was nothing more than a childish fantasy. He didn't even see it coming: the Spaniard took one step back for impulse and harshly smacked him across the face with the back of his hand. The pain brought tears to his eyes and his mind back to reality: he was a seventeen-year-old who had never before been involved in a fight — he didn't have the smallest chance of hitting the pirate.

The strength of the blow received had him stumbling sideways, and the only reason he didn't fall was because, immediately after hitting him, that same hand grabbed him by the collar of his shirt. He barely had time to revaluate his position: he was yanked back to where he was before and, suddenly, the Spaniard's face was right in front of his.

"A bastard?" the pirate hissed. His green eyes gleamed with barely-controlled rage; it was safe to assume he hadn't liked the insult. "I am merely what the world made me," he spat. Being this close, Lovino could feel on his face the pirate's breath, could smell the blood on his clothes. It was making him sick. "And you only have people like you, or him," he pointed at Captain Ennio's body, "to blame."

Lovino didn't know what he meant by that, nor did he have the time to wonder too much. Still holding him by the collar, the Spaniard dragged him back to where Raúl and the Frenchman still stood, unfazed by the scene they had just watched.

"Francis, Francis, Francis, my beloved and loyal first-mate," the captain said, shaking his head as they approached, "what is this?" he asked, pushing Lovino forward.

"A crying, scared and possibly traumatized kid?" the Frenchman offered. When the other narrowed his eyes, clearly indicating the irony was not well-received, he shrugged. "Raúl found him."

"Aye, sir, I did," Raúl confirmed, straightening when his captain's glare fell on him. "He was hiding in the captain's cabin; he didn't look like a sailor, and I thought he might be someone important."

"Hm." With a shrug, the captain let go of Lovino and pushed him towards Raúl. "Whatever. Throw him overboard."

Taken by surprise, it took Raúl a moment to react, but soon he slightly bowed his head as he muttered a half-hearted "aye, captain".

"Hang on a sec, Raúl," Francis intervened. "Captain, may I have a word with you?"

"No."

"Captain, I must insist."

He received an annoyed glare, but also a begrudging nod. "In a moment," he grunted. "Have we taken everything of value?" he asked, pleased to receive a positive answer. "Then set this ship on fire and let's go back to El Diablo. We can talk there."

He gave a few more orders, but Lovino heard none of them, as barely noticed when Raúl dragged him from one ship to the other. His mind had gotten stuck on two words: El Diablo. He knew that name; knew that ship. He couldn't count how many times he had heard his father warning whichever crew he had hired to avoid it at all costs.

And if he knew the ship, he also knew its captain.

Antonio Carriedo had only been plundering the Mediterranean for a couple of years, but he had already established himself as one of the most fearsome pirates of his time. He was wanted by several crowns, dead or alive, but not many could boost of having survived him — and those who could, would rather not remember it. There were many rumours surrounding him, rumours Lovino had never believed but that didn't seem so exaggerated now.

Even more frightened than before, Lovino closed his eyes and started to pray.

~{x}~{§}~{x}~

From the deck of El Diablo, Antonio watched as the flames consumed the merchant ship, absently cleaning the blood off his cutlass. It had been a very satisfactory attack: barely five deaths from his crew, a considerable loot, and oh, had he had fun! Playing with the other captain had been even more thrilling than other times; and then that boy. He had instantly despised him — his well-combed hair, his expensive clothes, his lordly air — but he'd be lying if he said he hadn't liked the fire in those amber eyes. He had enjoyed extinguishing it, reducing it to embers. But he hadn't been able to completely erase it; it made him wonder if it could resurface.

Francis' voice pulled him out of his thoughts.

"Hmm—?"

"I said, may we talk now, Captain?"

He blinked a few times, trying to get rid of the fire's charm, and looked at his first-mate, who stood patient beside him. "Yes, we may," he sighed. He slid the cutlass back into its sheath and followed Francis to a quiet corner.

"Antonio," Francis said, all manners gone now that they were alone. There was no need for titles between them. "Don't kill the boy."

"I had the feeling you were going to say that," Antonio scoffed. "Why, pray, must I spare him?"

"For the same reason Raúl didn't kill him on sight: he's valuable. You don't have to look twice to see he comes from a rich family — we can demand a nice ransom."

Antonio made a face. He didn't like the idea, and Francis knew why; he was very well aware that his captain wanted anyone like that boy dead

"Look, you won't even notice he's on board. Raúl will be in charge of feeding him and all that stuff; I'll take care of contacting the family. Just — think for once, okay?" He took a deep breath and moved closer, speaking lower. "The crew already dislikes your caprices when it comes to boarding one ship or another. We got a nice loot today, so they'll be content for a while; let's not risk annoying them by throwing away a potential great sum of money, shall we?"

Antonio closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. All the post-battle calm was leaving him. He didn't have it in himself to argue. "Alright," he sighed. "But the moment he becomes a bother, I'm personally tossing him overboard."

"Understood," Francis laughed, patting his shoulder. "I'll go find out which filthy-rich family he belongs to, then."

"Vargas," Antonio said before Francis could go. "The captain called him Signor Vargas."

"Vargas?" Francis repeated, shocked. "Well, that's another level of filthy rich," he chuckled. "We may get enough money to retire."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Antonio waved his hand dismissively. "Go do your thing — give orders and stuff. I'll go…" he brushed his fingers through his loose hair and made a face when they came out blood-stained. "I'll go wash myself."

"Aye, Captain."

~{x}~{§}~{x}~

Lovino followed Raúl into the ship's cellar, furrowing his nose at the stench. It was dark and creepy, but at least the Spanish bastard wouldn't show up down there (or so had Raúl assured him).

"Where's the jail?" he asked when his eyes got used to the dark and he realized there were no bars or locked areas of any kind.

"There's no jail," Raúl answered, guiding him to a wall. "Just this," he added, lifting the shackles that were chained to the wall.

There was only one pair. It gave Lovino an idea of how many prisoners that ship took. Obedient, he let Raúl shackle him; they were cold, but at least they didn't hurt him (for once, he was glad to be bony).

"Does it hurt?" Raúl asked, poking his cheek.

Lovino hissed in pain — Antonio had smacked him hard. He bit his lip and nodded.

"Okay, uh, then you may want to…" The pirate grabbed his hand and lifted it, softly pressing the cold shackle against Lovino's sore cheek. "It'll feel better soon."

"Thank you," Lovino whispered.

When Raúl left, having promised he'd try to make sure he didn't get only leftovers for his lunches, Lovino sat on the floor, hugging his knees, and started to sob quietly. As much as he appreciated Raúl's kindness, he prayed for hours; prayed for a thunderstorm to come and sink that damned ship, for a royal armada to appear and reduce it to splinters.

He hated that cellar, despised that ship.

And, most of all, he loathed the Spanish captain.

AN/ Yes, Antonio's name is missing the first surname. It's intentional, worry not. Anyway, reviews are always welcome! :)