The Monsters in us all ( Dark!/Yandere! Hetalia x Reader )

Dark Austria x Reader ¦Hasenjagd¦

A/N: Ironically, it was this story that kickstarted the whole book. With those of you that have been with me from the very start, you'll see that the rewrite here has major differences from the original work, yet it still has the same setting. Needless to say, I like this version far better. Looking back on how it all began I can't help but notice how my style developed and changed, on a part due to your input. What I want to say here is a huge thank you for all your support and patience, your comments really make my day at time. Since this book now has over 1,2k votes, I've been thinking about maybe doing a Q/A as something special. So you can submit your questions over the next two weeks, and I'll do my best to answer them!

Back to the story: Tw: Abuse and Semi-explicit violence and touchy subjects regarding WW2

The cold seeps into your flesh and in your bones to the extent that it chills your very soul. The thin clothing that hangs of your gaunt form offers no protection from the icy wind, only the small comfort that you're not naked; still you feel numb and your hands have already turned blue from the low temperature. For you it's somewhat a surprise that they haven't found you yet; so far you've small fledglings of luck in your miserable circumstances and you hope that you still have a chance. Maybe you'll fall victim to the snow and ice before they can kill you, the past few weeks have reduced you to a half-alive skeleton after all.

As unwelcome and fatal as the cold may be, it does provide an unexpected relief by numbing the bullet wound in your arm. What was once a searing pain has ebbed down to a dull sensation. Thankfully the bleeding has stopped as well; the footprints leading away from the river are enough evidence of your whereabouts without condemning crimson sullying the snow. As for the improvised bandage it is nothing more than a filthy stripe of cloth torn of your prisoner's uniform and you know if you don't change your dressings soon it'll become infected, with you likely perishing as a result.

However there is no time from that, you have to keep going, even if you slip and stumble every step of the way, even if your lungs are on fire and you're fatigued to the point that you want to lay down in the snow and sleep. You know that is you allow yourself to collapse that you'll die, whether by the cold or by a gun.

So with a soul marred from years of war and weeks of abuse but still alight with determination, you drag yourself through the forest. You're almost completely taken over by instinct, the animalistic urge to survive no matter what. Only thanks to it have you come so far and lived to see tomorrow even when the present if hell on earth. You hadn't let yourself be dissuaded be the smoke billowing out of those chimneys, despite knowing what fuelled their fires nor did you let the heavy labour break you.

Arbeit macht frei.

That might have been the case before the war but now the slogan, having been twisted to perversion, leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. You could have stayed there, patiently awaiting your scheduled execution. Could you really be blamed that escape seemed so much more lucrative. Better die a free person if you have the opportunity.

Besides it was a great pleasure to get away from him.

Such a pain it had been to face him daily, the man you had thought you knew. A voice as melodious as the instruments he loved to play had barked orders with an iron edge. Eyes once gentle and curious and inspecting everything that came into his sight had hardened, looking down on human lives as if it were vermin, always analysing what the shatter points of a person were. Strange how strife can change a person.

Do monsters make war or does war make monsters?

You say both.

Despite the different attire and appearance you had recognized each other, a very bitter reunion considering the memories you shared. The hope you had held upon seeing him again had faded away when you had seen the malice that had flickered across his features and heard shots ring from the pistole he had on him at all times.