The Simmering pot

To him, everyone was the exact same in his eyes. All bland, no color, the only one who seemed to have any color in his monochromatic world was his older brother Oliver, and he was way to colorful for this man's liking.

 

Not all bright pink and blues but not all red and black. He wanted something that could show him the different colors of the so called rainbow that never appeared in his clouded sky. Even as his left hand gripped his trusty old hockey stick with his victim cowering below him, he couldn't help but feel that something big was missing.

 

Something that could remove the thick sunglasses glued onto his eyes, shading everything into the natural looking black. Then again, in the world he lived in, anything like that would be disintegrated within seconds. It made him surprised his elder brother was still alive....for everyone around here were sadistic, brutal killers.

 

All awaiting for the pot to simmer.

 

He groaned slightly, the cut along his chest stinging a bit more then it should've. A slight curse rolled past his lips while he heard his brothers arguing over what happened.

 

"I can't believe you allowed him to try and take her on," the normally bubbly voice said darkly, "She may be just like him personality wise but her skill in battle is 10 times even Luds!"

 

"Pops, you're over reacting," his American brother said, fixing his boomer jacket, "Mat's come out from some shit worse than this." A loud smack of skin on skin was heard from the other room.

 

"You know how much I dislike swearing Al," the eldest cried, "Now you go in there and take care of your brother!" The American turned around grumbling as he walked over to the Canadian on the couch. The frown on his brothers face causing the hurt one to smirk.

 

"I love hearing you get smacked around by Oliver," Mat teased. Al looked up at him, red eyes glaring through his light red glasses.

 

"Shut up," he growled, "He just doesn't catch your swearing because you say it so quietly." Mat rolled his eyes slightly, this is how their conversations would normally end, comparing one to the other. Mat sat up suddenly, making the American jump back and fall onto his butt.

 

Mat grabbed his shirt, draping it over his shoulders, not bothering to close it as he quickly passed the kitchen and onto the stairs. Before he could even start, a voice spoke up.

 

"And where do you think your going," the figure called. Mat groaned as he turned around to face the brightly colored male. The smile which was usually painted so well upon the elders face was gone, a frown on it instead.

 

"I'm going out," Mat replied fixing his thick sunglasses to block out the brightness of the colors, "I feel fine." Oliver only crossed his arms.

 

"You lie to much," he retorted, looking down at him. The Canadian rolled his eyes, pushing a hand into his pocket and pulling out a cigarette. This caused the older one to grimace.

 

"Fine, fine, go out," Oliver said while heading back into the kitchen, "just don't light that thing in here. The smoke smell from your clothes alone makes me sick."

 

So does the cupcake smell from yours, Mat thought as he opened the door. He stepped outside, took a deep breath of fresh air, and put the cigarette into his mouth. The next thing he would need was a lighter, but, just as he was about to reach for it, he saw a commotion.

 

 

 

When he gained ground on the group, he saw exactly who it was. Emi and the Nordics, but who was it they were picking on? Emi's laugh reverberated out of his throat and into the air around them.

 

"You should've never came here girl," he called pushing the smaller figure onto the ground, "Any and all color here gets replaced by black and red." The smaller figure looked up at him, dodging a kick from one of the other's, only to run into the arms of Ber.

 

His height gain against the small figure gave him the ability to keep her still.

 

"I've done nothing wrong," she said angrily, "you have no right to beat me up." Ti couldn't help but start chuckling at her raging comment.

 

"What your wearing," he stated calmly, "Blue, purple and pink are colors we normally don't see here." Mat couldn't believe his ears, Blue, Purple, pink? He'd seen his brother wear those clothes, but was this person wearing the same intensity of the colors as his bro?

 

He heard a smack, causing his head to snap up only in enough time to see Emi pull his hand back, the woman's cheek turning a bright red.

 

Now this, got him simmering.

 

His anger started to fill him, fuel him. He had watched many of the people here pick on his elder brother and saw how much damage they had done to him. He couldn't allow that to happen again.

 

Tapping his hockey stick upon the ground, he glared at them, every single one of them turning to him.

 

"5 men against 1 lady really isn't fair," he growled, shifting his feet to get into his fighting stance, "Why not 5 men against 1 psychopath?"

 

With that said, Ber dropped the woman before they all made their way to the eavesdropper. Mat smirked, loving the idea of taking five on at once. He dropped an elbow and took a step to the side, making then Denmark man run into the thicker end of his hockey stick so hard, he falls down.

 

The Finland and Norway man were both out next, leaving the Swedish and the Iceland up against the head strong Canadian. The Swedish man gazed over at the Finland man unconscious upon the ground, before dashing forward, complete and utter rage blurring his eyes as he attacked.

 

The Canadian blocked and dodged everything the other man threw at him. Little did he know though, was that Emi pulled out a gun, and aimed. The Canadians head was in view when he pulled the trigger, but was morphed into the Swedish back before the bullet even got close.

 

Within seconds, the Bre was on the ground, withering in pain, and the Canadian grabbed Emi's arm, twisting it and catching the gun with his free hand. He let go of the Iclandic man and used two hands upon the gun before the other turned around.

 

"I suggest you get your group and get off of my street before your nothing but a red stain on the sidewalk," the man threatened, pushing his sunglasses up to reveal his violet eyes. The Black haired man nodded as he grabbed his group and headed off, leaving the man and woman behind.

 

Mat sighed, running a hand through his hair as he turned around, only to face the woman the group had been picking on.

 

He was surprised to say the least.

 

Her hair was blonde, mixed with streaks of blond, and in a ponytail. Anything that wasn't in the restricting band would fall calmly around her face. Her silvery blue eyes looked up at him with thankfulness and curiosity, two things he had never seen here before. Her outfit was a bit strange, he will admit that. A soft pink rain coat was open upon her shoulders, giving the tunneled view of her graphic shirt. Her jeans were blue and hugged her legs until they ran into her shoes, their bright purple contrasting greatly with the two monochromatic colors.

 

That's when he noticed her cheek.

 

"Holy Shit," he said loudly, making the woman jump slightly, "Your cheeks already bruising...come on," he said taking her hand, "I'm taking you home to take care of you."

 

"Thank you, um..."

 

"Mat," he said looking over his shoulder at her, "Mat Williams."

 

"Well, thank you Mat," she said calmly, "I don't know what I can do to repay you." The Canadian couldn't help but let a smirk fly her way.

 

"How about you tell me the name that matches that pretty face," he asked. This question caused the woman to giggle.

 

"Fine," she sighed, "Names Sierra, Sierra Runyan."

 

He didn't know exactly how he should come across this holiday. He would never normally celebrate it simply because he saw no point in doing such. No one ever gotten to really notice him, other than his brothers, and he didn't really care.

 

This year was different though. He realized that he had started growing attached to the woman he rescued the other day, not wanting to leave her side for long, least of all even leave her alone with Al or Oliver. Who knows what those two would do to her.

 

He let out an irritated sigh as he realized he had nothing planned for her. She had been living with him for a few months now, having no clue on how she got there nor a way to get back. He had been happy to obliged and allowed her to stay.

 

A valentine, he thought most people do it from the heart. He remembered last year, he watched his brother Oliver bake a thing of cupcakes to spell out 'Will you be my Valentine?' for someone he liked. He remembered scoffing at the Brits idea, only to remained shocked when he was told that it had worked and that he had a date next Friday.

 

He remembered Al's, 'Foolproof plan.' Using nails, baseball bats, and blood, his brother managed to make something so gruesome into something amazing.

 

And it scored him the girl.

 

Mat felt jealousy swell up inside of him, wishing he could be that creative, even if it was with something simple. The only thing this Canadian could make better than the others was pancakes, and there's not much you could do with them.

 

He looked up when he heard the house creak due to weight. She's up, he thought, getting up and walking into the kitchen, and I still don't have the slightest clue on what to do. He turned his head to see the flour, sighing, he grabbed it, and started baking.

 

~Small time skip~

 

He fixed the small rose so it was standing up in the cup of water, then slid the silver wear slightly as he knocked on the door.

 

"One minute," she called to him. He sighed, his gaze going to the decorations around her door. She was a drawer, and a pretty good one at that. He saw one that was dated a few days after they met.

 

It was him on his horse, being the ruthful Mountie he was trained to be. A small smirk came upon his face, only to disappear quickly. That action used to be so foreign, until just a few months ago. What exactly was this woman doing to him?

 

The door opened, Sierra upon the other side, wearing an oversized shirt as pajamas. She smiled.

 

"Good Morning Mat, did you make breakfast for me," she asked, putting her hands on the sides of the tray. Mat swallowed slightly when their hands touched.

 

"Y-yeah," he said trying to regain his previous composure, "Actually, I was wondering..." Sierra giggled again as she got the tray free from his hands and sat on her bed. She grabbed her fork and dug in.

 

"What is it Mat, speak up," she said after a few moments of silence. Mat shook his head, a bit of blush appearing on his cheeks. How could he say this? How could he say this? He'd thought about it for a while but still couldn't make his tongue work.

 

"Mat?"

 

He blew.

 

"How the fuck can I wrestle a BULL MOOSE, but when it comes to talking to you, I can't even win against my TONGUE," he yelled standing up. His heart rate started to slow, causing him to realize that Sierra had back herself against the wall.

 

He messed up.

 

"Great," he sighed sitting down on the ground, "I knew this would happen when I would talk to you." He placed a cigarette into his mouth, not caring to look behind him. "Go ahead and leave if you want."

 

He heard the bed wince slightly as the weight moved off. He sighed, closing his eyes for the sound of a door slam.

 

But it never came.

 

Instead, a pair of arms wrapped around his neck so suddenly, it caught him off guard. He fell backwards, only to land upon something soft. His gaze followed up his pillow, into silver blue eyes. Her lips wore a bright smile.

 

"I'd love to be your valentine," she said, gently messing with his hair, "But not just today."

 

Upon hearing this, Mat couldn't help but smirk as his fingers started messing her hair that he could reach. Finally, like his brothers, he had found the exact one....

 

 

 

 

 

Who saved him from dying in.......

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The simmering pot.