Cold. That was the first thing that came to Alfred's mind as tired eyes fluttered open, the elements pricking each exposed inch of his skin awake. He lifted his head, his focus fuzzy around the edges of his vision. Where was he? What could he remember? He bit his lip, gnawing at it as he went over each part of the memory he could.
Japan, January 30th, 1962. Walking through the streets of Kyoto with Kiku, talking, establishing a decent friendship. Kennedy calling, telling Alfred to get back to work. Boarding submarines, finding radio signals. There was a lock on missile, no escape, panic setting in as people started smashing at controls. There were explosions. It was cold. Wet. Dark.
"Russia." Was the first thing that slipped past chapped lips. It started to make sense, his clothes still saturated and reeking of seawater. The dull sting from metal shrapnel that cut him in the explosion, the sharp taste of the dried blood that streaked down his face. He was tied up with heavy chains, and when he tested them- no. It would take him being at full strength to break them. He cursed his luck. Did this mean war? Surely it would, considering that Russia had decided to go and take hostile measures. But why was he recovered from the wreck? Surely it would have just been better off to let him sink to the bottom and get lost in the water. It's not like drowning would kill him, anyway- it would just be a bit of a hassle.
Alfred jangled the chains that bound his torso tight. No, there was no way he would break out of this. A shaky sigh passed his lips, as shivers began to rack his shoulders. God, the least they could have done was crank up the heat. If I went into hypothermia conditions it would be hard to fight back against anything- well. I guess that's what they would want.
The lights turned on, a dull buzz emanating from the fluorescent lights above. Alfred tried his best not to recoil from the sudden dilation in his eyes, but there was a light wince. He picked his gaze up and tried his best to scan the room, but the door was obviously not in his line of vision. So they planned on keeping him in the dark about whoever came to visit him too. How kind of the commie bastards.
The last thing he expected was to get cold water dumped all over him, but, of course, that's what they decided to do. A shriek filled the air as white-hot pain from the cold ripped down Alfred's shoulders and made his fingers tense and begin to go numb. There was a light chuckle that filled the air moments after his scream of pain. "WHAT'S THE BIG IDEA, YOU SAW I WAS AWAKE!" Alfred cried out scornfully, his body trembling at a much faster rate now. "IT'S LIKE YOU FUCKERS WANT ME TO DIE." He pulled at the chains, letting out a frustrated cry as they did not snap at his demand. The scraping of a chair across the floor slowly brought him back to reality.
"I'm sure you wonder why all this has occurred." Ivan's voice rang clear through the little room, as he took a seat across from Alfred, crossing his legs and folding his hands neatly on his lap. A childish smile graced his lips, despite the angry and harsh glare that was aimed right back at him. He pursed his lips as Alfred held his tongue. "Well aren't you a talkative one today. Maybe I should just leave you for when you are ready to-"
"Fuck you." Alfred grit his teeth, the change in Ivan's ryes a telltale sign that he was getting to him with just two words. "You really think that this little stunt is gonna go by unnoticed? People will raise eyebrows when I don't call back, when Japan says that I never came out of the ocean. You just drove yourself into a tree, buddy, and I guarantee that you'll be annihilated." Alfred spit out, before turning his gaze away. His trembling began to intensify, the cold biting at him even worse- the temperature feeling like it was dropping with the other representation just sitting across from him.
"Is the hypothermia setting in?" Ivan chuckled, the smile that had begun to fade settling back in at full force. "I'm sure you'd like some clothes to change into. Or perhaps some warm food or drink?" The Russian raised an eyebrow, and Alfred grumbled angrily, unable to really deny his longing. "I'm sure we could talk and arrange something properly." Alfred tried not to show interest, but the longer the other across from him remained silent, the more he noticed how cold, and empty he felt. Gradually, he found himself looking up at Ivan. He must have a quite a look on his face to get the other smiling so proudly.
"How long have I been here?" Alfred chewed on his lower lip. In retrospect, that question was a no-brainer, if his clothes were still damp, then it had to be less than a day or so.
"Going on two days. I'm honestly surprised you even woke up at all, with receiving no medical attention whatsoever." Ivan uncrossed his legs, just to cross them back over in the other direction.
"Well dumping a vat of ice cold water on someone would wake anyone up, jackass." Alfred spat out, and Ivan's lips curled into a frown.
"I'd watch your tongue, I can leave if I wish, you cannot." He warned Alfred, beginning to tap his foot against the cement impatiently. "Now, how about we bargain getting you warmed up and fed? I'm sure some clean bandages would feel nice as well." Ivan offered, and Alfred scowled.
"Like hell I would ever give you whatever you-"
"Then we are done here. When you start getting into the severity of hypothermia then maybe we can talk." Ivan rose from his chair before Alfred squeaked in protest. He couldn't just turn and leave like that, that is not how this sort of thing worked!
"You aren't supposed to just walk out, wait wait wait-" Alfred tried scooting his chair back toward the wall behind him, to no avail. "You gotta smack me up a little and tell me I'm a disgusting little pig and THEN, MAYBE, I'll compromise with you." Alfred bit his lip. He really didn't even want that to happen to him, but that's what should happen, he could feel it.
Ivan met Alfred as the blonde was thinking it over, wrapping soft fabric around his eyes. A hankerchief? A scarf? God if he knew, but all he could tell that it bothered him. What came next was earplugs. Was Ivan really trying to dilute his senses that much? It did make the cold against his skin feel much more painful. "Maybe this will make you a little less demanding. I'll check on you at some point." Ivan leaned down to mutter into Alfred's ear, before sliding the other earbud back into place, and promptly left the room, starting back up the stairs.
"Oh HELL no. You can't just leave me here like this, it's cold as fuck! Russia!" Alfred tried scooting his chair backward again, the gradual momentum eventually causing him to tip over and fall back, head cracking soundly against the cement floor.
Ivan held a bowl of warm soup in a hand, as he nudged the cellar door open and made his decent down old wooden steps. The smell of blood permeated through the air. Alfred's blood, he reminded himself in reassurance. He scowled. What had that moron managed to do to himself in the few hours he left him alone? As he rounded the corner, the sight was laid out to him on the floor. Alfred had managed to tip his chair over, and considering it was only a mental folding chair he was chained up in, he got no cushion whatsoever, his head likely against hitting the rugged cement at full force. Ivan set the bowl of soup aside, begrudgingly. It looks like his taunting would have to wait for another time.
Grabbing Alfred the hair, Ivan lifted Alfred up, surveying the damage to his skull. There was a gash across his right temple and the puddle that sat on the floor next to where Alfred had laid himself told Ivan that he was like this for a few hours. Damn. Is injuring yourself like this part of your plan? It would certainly make me need to take you to a doctor. Thankfully Alfred's nation healing had clearly gone to work at the wound, it was seemingly much greater than it had been, but it was very clearly diluted, likely to being in such a weakened state prior to the injury sustained.
Despite his judgment earlier, Ivan removed the handkerchief and the earplugs, which were each coated thoroughly in blood, tossing them aside with a thick splat- just barely avoiding the dark red puddle that sat on the ground. With a small silver key he drew from his pocket, he freed Alfred and scooped him up in an arm easily.
He'd need to be checked out. If Alfred died or went braindead, then everything would turn to shit. War and death was not the highest priority on his list at the moment. Thankfully, he knew just the person that would be able to help with his little- problem. He brought Alfred up the stairs and to the nearest phone. Peeling Alfred's jacket off, Ivan pressed it into his temple, to hopefully keep the blood from getting over anything. The last thing he needed was bloodstains on his antique oriental carpet. He paid a lot of money for that. That rug had cost a pretty penny back in the day.
Bloodstains aside, Ivan dialed the number, pressing the phone to his ear. He stared down at Alfred as the line rang. The American was much paler than normal- almost like a porcelain doll, stained with streaks of red from blood and blue from bruises. Ivan almost found himself laughing. The three colors of the Russian flag, red, white, and blue all stained on his face. It dullened his mood a bit when he was reminded that Alfred was literally half dead. The receiver picked up, and Ivan was brought back from his minor concerns. "Fedkin here. What is it you need."
"Doctor Fedkin?" Ivan pressed the phone into the joint of his shoulder, frowning at Alfred as he tried to keep the other from bleeding all over the floor. "I need to come over, so you can work on someone. Lots of O+ blood." There was a sigh on the other. He knew Fedkin would be irritated, but who else would treat a nation?
"I need you to stop beating American spies half to death. I'm losing my blood reserve, here." The receiver hung up before Ivan could even put another word in about who the patient was. Ivan set his phone down as well, returning to Alfred to drag him off the carpet, finally. It was time to drive him to a doctor.
The ride had taken longer than Ivan had really wanted it to take. Apparently, traffic was a bitch to deal with at 7:00 at night. Thankfully, it was not like Alfred had much blood left to lose, though, and for that much he was grateful- it meant no stains on his car's seats. He pulled the other down from his place in the passenger's side and carried him up the steps into Fedkin's office.
"I'm here to see Dr. Fedkin." The secretary gave Ivan a look as he entered, but nodded to the door in earnest. It was not the first time Ivan had entered carrying someone dead in the water. As he walked through the door, he called out. "Fedkin?" The man stuck his head out from around a corner. He looked the same as ever, thin white hair slicked back, showing off that receding hairline and wrinkly forehead. Two black eyes sat perched behind dark metal frames that seemed too big for his little button nose. All over, the man gave him some serious saytr vibes, with how short, chubby, and angry he was.
"First of all, you are thirty minutes late. I was off the clock almost an hour ago, but I'm still here." Fedkin began scanning over Alfred, not even surprised in the slightest to the amount of damage he outwardly looked like he had. "What, did he survive an explosion?" Ivan nodded slowly, and the old man shook his head, snickering. "Bring him to the radiology room." Fedkin turned, trotting into a room that forked off from the hallway. Ivan followed in suit, looking around at the old, clunky x-ray machine.
"Well, you know what to do, before the poor kid dies, Ivan." Ivan huffed, nodding as he sat Alfred in a wooden chair in front of the radiography machine. Alfred's head lolled to the side, his body slumping into the chair for support. He tried his best not to protest to how inaccurately Fedkin was examining Alfred. Shouldn't he be worried about his open wounds?
"Shouldn't you be-" Ivan started, but the elder waved him off.
"I can see yet, Ivan. This kid is clearly a nation- he's lost too much blood to even be alive, and yet you say he is. Now go and make yourself useful, by sterilizing my operating room. I'll surely need it later." Fedkin said dismissively, as he began working on taking Alfred's x-ray.
"Acute subdural hematoma. Depressed skull fracture. Fractured tibia. Ruptured spleen. Moderate Hypothermia. Internal bleeding in several places.. Hell- he probably only has a couple of ounces of blood left in his body, and not in the places they should be, that's for damn sure!" Fedkin growled at Ivan as he wheeled Alfred into the operating room. "Christ, whatever you did to this kid- we are going to be in deep shit with his government, cause if he was a human he would just be a stain on the ground at this point." Fedkin sighed, pointing to Ivan, Alfred, and then the operating table. Ivan got the message, moving Alfred so he lay on the table.
Fedkin picked up an old book labeled 'COUNTRIES', a frown on his face as he flipped through pages. "Sub-state nation hibernation." Fedkin scanned through the old book just to be sure. Much to Ivan's dismay, he remembered that book well, it held a variety of nation only illnesses and conditions. Ivan tried his best to repress the memories of being a test subject for that book for centuries. "When a nation has entered a hibernation-like state due to conditions of human death, or deep mental trauma."
Snapping the book closed, he smiled. "Conditions of human death sounds about right, here." He looked over Alfred, shaking his head. "It's curable by either reverting the conditions of death to a stable state, or in the case of mental trauma, waiting it out. Either way, it leaves the nation's body completely and totally vulnerable." The glint in Ivan's eyes at the word vulnerable was none too subtle.
"I guess I'll get to work sewing this kid back together. Go call in nurse Katrina, and put this back on the shelf." Fedkin set the book against Ivan's chest and cracked his knuckles. As Ivan left on command, there was this sneaking suspicion- he'd end up regretting all of what he was doing for Alfred.