This was originally written and published in Russian under the title «Его просто нет» by Hakuori.
ficbook dot net/readfic/79768/207373#com2556453
This is not my work, I am only the translator. Hetalia is copyrighted property of Hidekaz Himaruya.
Warnings: Dark!America, recent history, current events, RusAme, some RoChu if you squint, oneshot
Gone
There is smoke curling into the sky, a thick high column. It's gradually spreading around the city, wrapping itself around it, reaching inside every hidden alley. He cannot seem to escape it. Escape? Hide? Why? All his people's eyes are focused on one point, every heart beats a little faster than a few hours ago. Matching his own heart's rhythm. Broken glass and pieces of armature are strewn over the ground. But the people aren't looking at it, they are looking up. The ground isn't important right now. They are looking up, crying out, sobbing. Their cries make his heart speed up again. He feels his own tears stream down his face. Are those really tears? His hands are shaking as he brings them up to his ears, shutting out the sounds, the sight, covering his head. A few more moments. Just a little longer and he will open his eyes and everything would be back the way it was before. But they are still crying, he feels it. It's like he is hearing his own scream, feeling his lungs swell painfully, but continues to scream even louder...and wakes up.
His skin is clammy in the cool air, the sheets stick uncomfortably to his body, so America gets up and heads straight into the shower. He calms down slowly under the tepid water running down his body, but the dream is still frozen in his mind. The same dream he's had almost every night, a reminder of the worst day in his life.
Everything has changed then. It's like he cannot get enough sleep because of it, he's becoming restless and irritable. The ideas he brings to the meetings have become darker, almost cruel. At least... that's what the others say. He doesn't see any cruelty in them. Wipe out a village where his enemies could be hiding? Easily. Oh, native civilians? Shame. But it was their fault – they really shouldn't have aided any bastards. They should have done something. Should have resisted. Should have left.
It's all their fault. They say they are fighting terrorism. But nothing changes. Those rats have attacked him. They asked for it themselves.
If you want something done well, do it yourself.
That's why he's sending his forces out. To Iraq? Iran? It doesn't matter.
The gossip claims that it's about oil. It isn't. The oil is just a downpayment. The price for breaking order. Nothing in this world comes without a price, so they would pay again and again. With their people and their resources. For their mistakes and the bad choices they make.
He turns the water off. He doesn't dry himself off, just wraps a towel around his head and walks into the bedroom, wet feet slapping over his parquet. There is a man asleep on the bed. Oh yeah. Russia. He vaguely remembers how he himself invited him into his house and into his bed. Russia, who turned up for the meeting confirming his boss' words "Yes, we believe that considering my current situation – here Russia paused and gave one of his horrifying smiles – I should look to the East, not to the West. That's where the future lies". Russia spent the rest of the meeting chatting pleasantly with Yao.
Like hell will he let the two commie fuckers reunite.
China cannot stand him. Russia is infuriated by him, but still wants him. Even though Russia won't say it out loud. But that's not necessary, because Alfred knows what the deal is - everyone wants him.
America climbs back into the bed, moving closer to Russia, stroking lightly over his shoulder . He wakes up at once – years of their war still run through his system. Russia gazes at him sleepily, searching his face for something.
'Hey' Alfred smiles against his lips before leaning in. He doesn't have to answer to anyone, he is going to do as he chooses. He always does.
