Again this fic is inspired by The Fighter by The Fray. :)

I do not own Hetalia characters or the song.

"Ludwig…?" His ears twitch at the small squeak of his name from his supposedly sleeping lover. He turned his head over his shoulder, continuing to bind his fist with the white hand-wrap.

Feliciano stood there, covered in only one of his larger shirts with its oversized sleeves covering both his hands. His legs are bare, but goose bumps covered the visible skin. Ludwig sighed and waved him over.

"You should be sleeping," He sat on the sofa and pulled the Italian on his lap, "why are you awake?"

"I heard you leave…" His voice trailed as his eyes slid down to the white wraps on the German's intimidating knuckles. With a hitched breath, he softly held the larger hands in his own. He sniffed and looked up with glittering eyes.

In a heartbreaking whisper, he begged. "Please don't go…" And Ludwig looked away, from those pleading eyes.

He pulled the boy off with gentleness that only made the brunette more anxious. He stood without saying a word and pulled his bag off the table, trudging it with him to the door.

Feliciano stood from the couch, a small sob escaping through his thinned lips. The heartfelt sound brought Ludwig's form to a stop. Another muffled whimper that was slightly closer made his shoulders slouch. He had done it again. Forced the one he cared for most to a pile of snivels and prays.

Feliciano rushed behind the man, stopping just a foot away. "Please Ludwig. Please don't."

Finally after waiting for what seemed like forever, the Aryan turned hesitantly. He looked down into the tear filled plates that mirrored his stern scowl in amber pools. He softened his expression, bringing his right hand up to lightly touch his wet cheek.

Feliciano's breathing increased as more wracking bawls tore though his crumbling barrier.

"I know, I know, I know…I promise this is the last time…I'll be back later tonight. I-I just need to do this…" He leaned down and the fighter kissed his lips, his hand slipping away.

"Please…" But he was already out the door and into the rain, rushing to the bus stop.

Feliciano stood there, a wave of worry overcoming his emotions and leading him to run up the stairs. By loving Ludwig, he was bound to protect him, even if it's from himself.

He got dressed and threw on some shoes, cursing his inability to tie them, then like the fighter, the lover ran into the storming darkness. He prayed under his breath as he sprinted, hoping for some strength.

The crowd roared at deafening decibels, cheering as blood spattered on the blue foam of the arena. Anticipation played through the mass of men, all screaming for one or the other's crimson juices to spill. These men range from gambling addicted failures, to dangerous mafia members that had a jaw dropping abundance of weaponry and money just under their tailcoats. They were all dangerous and ravenous. Cheering for the pain of others.

However those cheers were not the spur fueling the fighter's combat.

In its place, a strangled illusive cry elicited by his lover's throat that he had heard before abandoning the little Italian. The sound edged his purpled knuckles to meet its target, the lower jaw of his opponent. He could see nothing though, only the man who had been the cause of Feliciano's desolate tears.

It was like looking in a mirror.

With a deep growl, he lunged, forgetting all about his proper stance, he just needs to beat the imagined figure in front of him. He needs to protect Feliciano.

He threw his fists like a demon with no understanding of mercy. The man's face underneath him began to dent, but he couldn't see it. The fighter only saw his nightmare.

In a swift move he is being pulled up from his animalistic rage, bringing him out of his stupor. Three men are shoving him back to his corner, while two are helping the bloody, scathed, and unconscious loser.

"You can't keep doing this shit to us! Do you understand you can get fucking disqualified? You dumbass!" His 'manager' Dmitri, scolded him, he didn't care though. He let out a grunt and turned his head, taking a swig of his water.

"Listen…that ten grand is on the line. You cant go batshit crazy now." Dmitri ran a hand through his black locks. Ludwig opened his mouth to answer, but a shout from the crown had turned his attention away.

They both stood to witness a crazed circle of men, laughing and taunting at someone.

"S-Stop! I really am his boyfriend! I need to—" The grip on his arms became more taught, his head snapped back and he let out a wail. Feliciano didn't understand. These men weren't listening to him. Why aren't they letting him go? Oh God, this wasn't how this was supposed to turn out at all.

"We don't like faggots coming in here and spewing lies," A man with fowl smelling cologne hissed into his ear, "'specially when its 'bout our greatest fighter."

Feliciano's eyes narrowed, a flare of anger sparking inside of him. He thrashed with every single sinew of muscle, his elbow jabbing in and out, and his legs kicking and flailing. "No! He's my fighter! Not-unf!" A direct blow to his chest had his knees buckling and the wind knocked out of his bruised lungs. He looked up at the man with too much cologne, his airless chest igniting with fear.

"A-Ah…" He moaned as he hung limp in the monstrous men's arms.

Ludwig lost interest for the commotion, just as he was lifting himself to his tired feet; a familiar voice rose above the shouts echoing across the room. He spun on his feet and lent against the ropes of the arena. There stood a man, clad in a light beige suit, his fist recoiling from hitting Feliciano…Feliciano…Feli

"…Nien" With an anger that rivals the gods, he jumped over the ropes, and ran through the swarm of men.

His blood burns with hatred, fire sears behind his eyes. Feliciano being held helplessly by these…these pigs…

He roars with his wrath and swings his fists, small torrents of satisfactions with every crack and crunch he hears. No one dares fight back, instead submitting to the fighter's fury.

He lifted the cologne reeking man by his neck, the one who dared lay a single putrid finger on his lover. The fighter squeezed his hands around the man's throat, striving to make his face a darker shade of blue. The man gargled and dug his nails into the wrapped knuckles of the fighter, but nothing would cease the prevention to his air supply.

"Ludwig! Stop it!" Feliciano screeched, his voice cracking.

That voice, beautiful and angelic. The same that he had vowed not to release any sounds of pain, yet here he was. That pitiful high-pitched tone, forcing his lover to beg like a dog.

His hand had fell out of its deadly grip and the man had dropped to the floor, gasping and choking on air.

Ludwig met Feliciano's eyes, looking down at him with a sincere apology playing through his features. The crowd went silent, no one whispering, speaking, or cheering.

The lover gently lifted the fighter's hands. Silently unwrapped the hand-wraps. Brought those scarred fists to his lips, and laid a gentle kiss on each one.

"I know, I know, I know…you're sorry, but..."
The lover lifted up onto his toes and kissed the fighter's quivering lips with a bittersweet love, "You don't have to fight yourself anymore."