A/N: IMPORTANT DISCLAIMER: I do not in any way take claim of the plot of this story. This is based offf of a short story by Jack Kilborn and Blake Crouch. I also do not own Hetalia, or any other brand names in this. I will rightfully cite these at the end of part 3.

Please enjoy~

Part I

The hardest thing about killing a hitchhiker is finding one to pick up.

Ivan always found trouble in this. He remembered back a good twenty years ago when hitchhikers came every ten miles, smiling and completely trusting, not enough crap in the world to better their judgement. Those were the glory days, when he was younger and therefore less likely to be up to something.

The Russian saw his victim before he saw him. Tall and mid-twenties, the boy was sitting at a bench outside the local diner, asking anyone who came and went for a ride. He seemed innocent enough. Just few inches shorter than Ivan, with dirty blond hair and rectangular prescription glasses. He had a cocky grin that he plastered on every time he interrogated another person. A backpack was slung over his shoulder, which just so happened to sporting a World War II bombers jacket. A patriotic man. It would be harder to earn his trust.

Ivan pretended to ignore him as he advanced to the diner. Luckily he didn't have to do anything else. He was immediately approached.

"Excuse me, sir! Are you heading east?" the man asked with that grin of his. Up closer Ivan saw his eccentric sky blue eyes. They intrigued him, and Ivan knew this was the boy he wanted. A fresh young man just there for the picking.

Ivan stopped, pretending to notice him for the first time. He widened his eyes, resisting the urge to smile, as he knew that often if scared people away. He held a hand up to his white scarf and spoke."Da. I am, actually."

The boy's smile widened, if that was even possible. "Really?" he sounded like a girl who was just got asked out on a date. Much like an older sister of Ivan's, actually. The boy coughed. "Erm, I mean, great." he answered, his voice an octave lower. "I am, myself, so I was wondering if you'd care for a little company." His face grew sober for a minute. "Nothing funny. I have a boyfriend waiting for me at the next town. Hoping I'd be there later this evening." He stuck out his hand. "Name's Alfred, by the way."

Ivan hesitated before shaking his hand. The boy was obviously a little smarter than he looked. Stating that he was meeting someone gave him a little desperation; meaning he wouldn't fool around or anything. Plus if he was gay, this would surely be more interesting.

"Are you sure you are the trusting type?" Ivan had already made up his mind to say yes, but he enjoyed the small bit of irony in his question.

"Yes, sir! I'll even pay for gas. I'll use my credit card, so you can track me if something happens. Sound good?" Alfred looked pleading now. Such a child.

"My gas tank is full, so that is okay." Ivan nodded. "But as long as you are not going to do the talking the whole time, I will give you a ride."

Alfred smiled and fistpumped. "Awesome! Thanks, dude!"

The two headed into the parking lot to Ivan's black Porsche. He unlocked the trunk, where Alfred unceremoniously chucked his backpack. He opened his door on the passengers and frowned when he saw the plastic covering the seats. "Yo! What's with the plastic?" he yelled.

Ivan had to smile. 'Yo'? This boy is about as sharp as toothpick. "Da. The plastic. I normally ride with an animal. I have cat named Pushistik.1"

"Oh, okay." Alfred sat down without another word. Not even suspicious. Ivan loved his ignorance.

He fell into the driver's seat, the car bouncing on its shocks. "Buckle up, da?"

Alfred nodded and did as he said. Ivan tried to contain his excitement. He released the brake, started the car, and pulled onto the highway.

Ivan was afraid that the first ten miles would be awkward. They always were. But Alfred, despite being told not to talk, was fairly chatty. "So what's your name?" he asked.

"Ivan." He never lied about his name. The victims didn't stay alive long enough to tell someone anyway.

"You have an accent. Where ya' from?"

"Russia."

Ivan glanced over, wanting to see his reaction. He was met with a frown, but it instantly vanished. "Oh." He changed the subject. "What do you do for a living?"

"I'm a courier," he answered. He reached for a bottle of vodka in his center console. Taking a swig of it, he offered some to Alfred, who shook his head. He seemed a bit worried about the alcohol, but if he was, he said nothing about it.

"What's a courier?" he asked instead.

Ivan resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "A courier delivers packages, letters, messages. That is what I do."

"Are you on a run now?"

"Da."

"What are you delivering?"

"Actually, it is what I am picking up. I am transferring a heart."

" . . . A heart?"

"Da."

"Like a real heart?"

"Da." Ivan pointed to a cooler in the backseat. A couple of biohazard stickers were stuck to it. Alfred's eyes widened.

"Dude, that's badass."

"Is that a compliment?"

"Yeah."

They continued to drive along the road. Alfred began to hum some sort of poppy staccato music. The afternoon was bright and sunny, a perfect drive. Ivan glanced around; the road was clear ahead and behind.

Perfect.

Ivan began to laugh, a dark chuckle that he could tell unnerved Alfred, for he stopped humming and glanced warily at him. "Dude, you alright?"

Ivan, still emitting small giggles, looked over at Alfred. The boy immediately flinched under his gaze. "Da. I am just thinking."

Alfred smiled nervously. "About what?"

Ivan smiled. "You becoming one with Mother Russia."

Alfred reached for something in his pocket- a weapon, perhaps-and Ivan knew it was time.

He checked one more time for traffic before gripping the wheel and slamming on the brakes. Going eighty miles per hour, that stop was very sudden.

Alfred's seatbelt snapped open; just the way Ivan fixed it to. With a hand in his pocket he wasn't able to slow himself down and Alfred's head slammed into the dashboard. Normally this wouldn't have hurt too badly. But Ivan had reinforced it with steel. His face smashed against the dash as the car shuddered to a stop with a screech.

Alfred looked pretty awful. His nose was banged up and bleeding, and a bruise was already starting to form on his forehead. He whimpered something incoherent and his glasses fell off of his face. Ivan smiled, and turned away for a second to grab the zip tie he kept on the side of his door.

He turned around only to be slugged in the face. Ivan growled at boy was holding a hand up to his nose and breathing heavily.

Before Alfred could do anything else stupid, Ivan grabbed his hair and slammed his head in the dashboard two more times. Then he grabbed his hands and tied them together with the zip line.

Once Alfred was contained, Ivan slumped back in his seat. He licked the blood of off his busted lip. Alfred literally packed quite a punch. He never expected that to happen. Actually it had never happened before. He must've underestimated Alfred's strength.

In Alfred's pocket he found a 9mm pistol. Not bad. He might use it for later.

Ivan pulled back onto the highway, humming a tune from one of his favorite songs.2Once he went far enough, he pulled off of the pavement onto a dirt road. On one side was a stretch of farmland. Ivan grinned. This was where he would do it.

"You asshole . . ." Alfred muttered.

Ivan's eyes widened in surprise. Alfred was still awake? "No. I am not an asshole." He pulled onto an almost nonexistent pass that led to a barn. Ivan killed the engine and turned to grin at Alfred, who by now was a gruesome sight with blood running down his face. "I am a serial killer."

He dragged Alfred out of the passenger seat, the whole time the poor boy twisting and turning and cursing Ivan. Before he left he made sure he had the emergency brake on; his car had problems with the other brake. He also left his white scarf neatly folded on the driver's seat. He hated when he dirtied it.

They reached the barn, where Ivan neatly laced a chain through the zip line that held Alfred's wrists together. He once used handcuffs, but zip lines cut off more circulation and therefore hurt more.

Alfred seemed to finally accept he was going to die and shut up. Not that Ivan minded. The boy would be screaming soon anyway.

He walked to the side of the barn where he kept a chest containing his worst tortures. But today he was feeling old fashioned, and went with his water pipe. Ivan needed to get back at him for punching him anyways. Plus no other torture caused more pain than being beaten with a water pipe.

The screams only made Ivan hungrier. The blood only made him stronger. He loved the fear that shown on Alfred's face, the sheer terror of death that made Ivan aroused. Soon the screams faded to groans; groans faded to whimpers. This was where Ivan stopped. He quickly undid the chain, where Alfred fell to the floor with a thump.

Ivan laughed. He rolled Alfred over on his back. He caught a glimpse at those blue eyes again, those eyes filled with horror. Ivan laughed again as he straddled him. His pants tightened with anticipation. "Dear Alfred, we are only just getting started."

..~xThisIsAPageBreakx~..

Cleanup was the worst part. He always left a mess on the barn floor. Ivan always had to add more straw, just enough to cover the blood stains. Then he had to change his clothes and clean his water pipe.

Finding a place to put the body was whole other task. Often he buried it, trashed it, even pureed it. This time Ivan decided to burn it. He found a nice trash can and placed the body in there, along with his soiled clothes. He watched to make sure nothing but ashes was left.

This was how he hadn't been caught all these years. If he weren't so precise, the police would've long since discovered him. Ivan was an expert. He would probably keep doing this until the day he by him.

Ivan searched through Alfred's bag, discovering fifty bucks, a change of clothes, a wallet filled with a credit card and some pictures, and maybe ten greasy hamburgers. He trashed the clothes and the food, and looked through the wallet. The credit card would have to go. It would be a sure way of connecting him to the crime. The photos too. Most of them were of Alfred and a shorter man with spiky blond hair and enormous eyebrows. He looked to be the type who would scowl all the time, but in every photograph he was smiling. The boyfriend, Ivan assumed. There was another picture that looked like two Alfreds were in it, but he realized it must've been a brother.

He burned this stuff too.

After replacing the plastic in his car and wiping it with bleach, he neatly tucked his scarf around his neck. By the time he reached the highway it was rush hour, and the traffic almost sent Ivan over the edge. Seriously, Americans were almost as bad of drivers as Italians.

Ivan was starting to think about causing an accident when he saw him. Short, slender. Long golden blond hair and glasses.A violin case in one hand and a thumb jutting out on the other. For some odd reason, a stuffed polar bear was tucked underneath one of his arms. He was beautiful. He was also standing on the side of the road, like an open invitation.

Ivan thought about it. Two in one day? He'd never attempted it before.

It only took him a moment before coming to a conclusion. Ivan smiled before cutting out of traffic to the shoulder and stopping for his next victim.

A/N: Part I done. Please review~