"Dude, you sure you're not just lost?" asked America, glancing down at the hastily written directions.
Australia responded without looking over, "For the last time mate, I know where we're going. It should be just around the bend."
America looked out the window, watching the dark crimson and brown leaves sent flying by their rental car. They'd been on the same two lane road, winding their way around and between wooded Virginia hills for a half an hour it seemed, but he didn't remember the people at the motel saying their destination was so far out of town; the houses at this point were few and far between, and they hadn't seen a car since passing that graying church a few miles back. He looked back down at the slip of paper in his hands and the small pieces which dotted his blue jeans. Brushing away the notebook fringe he'd been subconsciously picking at, he settled further down into the seat. "Yeah, well you said that ten minutes ago too."
"Pay no mind to America. He is simply anxious," added Russia from the back seat. Although America couldn't see Russia's face, the mocking tone was clear.
"Yeah, anxious to prove your ass wrong," America countered, propping his feet up on the dashboard.
"Relax, it's just one night," Australia said, then with a grin glanced over at America, "Or you can back out now if you want".
America crossed his arms and laughed, "Like hell". Yeah, and like hell he'd admit that his stomach was in knots. Damn his ego. He looked back out the window and leaned his head back against the seat. If he had been smart he never would have let Australia and Russia talk him into the bet to begin with.
It had been during the last world meeting. He'd went to a bar with England and Australia (because there was no way in hell he'd be responsible for getting England back to the hotel by himself again) and after a beer or two had started talking ("bragging", an inner voice sounding suspiciously like Matt supplied) about the latest film he'd worked on and things went downhill from there.
"So you've covered a lot of topics, right?" Australia had asked, staring down at his glass contemplatively.
A nigh incoherent mumble had came from England, who'd been sitting on the other side of them, knocked out cold and drooling on the bar.
"Yeah," America had replied, a little surprised. He admittedly could, and often did, talk about his films for hours, but it was a rare event for someone to actually encourage it. Of course, he hadn't been about to complain. "I mean, I've been doing it for a while now, so that just kind of happens, you know." He'd picked up his beer and started to take sip, then sat it back down with a frown. "Why?"
Australia had shrugged. "Just thinking. You've shown me a lot of them, and yeah, I remember you doing lots of different stuff, but I think you've missed one," he'd said, with a smirk, glancing over at Russia, who'd found his way to the same bar ("follow, who's following?" he'd said, with a saccharine smile) and who sat on the other side of America with several shot glasses of vodka. "Or avoided one, maybe?"
"I don't care how much Francis tries, I'm not-"
"No, No!" Australia had exclaimed, holding up his hands as if to ward off the images that came, unbidden, to his mind. "God, don't even say it. If it's France I don't want to know."
England had given a snort and a mumble, going on for a near minute.
America and Australia had found themselves staring at him for a moment, but Russia had downed a shot of Vodka and spoke, smiling at America, "I don't believe he was speaking of that. Perhaps instead he was referring to the supernatural."
"Huh? Yeah, I-"
"Not aliens," Australia had interrupted, then rushed on, "You live with one. That would be like filming 'big brother'. I mean ghosts, ghouls, stuff like that."
America had laughed loudly, hoping to hide the fact that he had just felt his stomach lurch. "Yeah, well, none of that stuff is real anyway. It's just someone making up a good story. It'd be a waste of time."
"Mate, I know at least half of your stuff is fiction. And besides that, don't those stories normally have a grain of truth?"
"Yeah, someone probably heard a mouse and freaked and-," America had replied, trying to ignore the moisture he already felt on his palms.
Australia had laughed, "Yeah, you should know about that, huh?" He reached over and put an arm on America's shoulder, leaning in towards him. "But if it's like you say, and all that stuff is fake, then it wouldn't be a problem to take on a new project, say a debunking of sorts," Australia's grin had widened. "Unless of course, your disbelief isn't the problem at all."
America had jerked the shoulder Australia was leaning heavily upon, in a half-hearted attempt to shake him free, then gave up and simply shrugged. "Sure. Why not? I'll make a few calls and get some people together and-"
"Nyet," Russia had interrupted. "You will go alone."
The other two nations had turned towards Russia. America had frowned. "You know, it's not that easy being a one man film crew. And I don't exactly go for the whole Blair Witch look."
"Why not?" Australia had asked. "Expand your creative horizons." He'd swept his left arm out in a grand gesture, nearly knocking over a bowl of peanuts in the process. "Or just go Paranormal Activity on it and set up a bunch of cameras."
"Unless," Russia had said, "Your worries have little to do with your artistic credibility, but everything to do with what it is you cannot see. In which case it is proven that you are as paranoid and as much of a coward as-"
"I'll do it," America had said, perhaps a little too forcefully, considering the way Australia had jumped. He'd glared at Russia for a minute before turning back to his beer. Noting Australia's raised eyebrows he'd paused, drink halfway to his lips, and put on his most arrogant grin. "Can't let people think that about the hero right?"
A hard shove against his shoulder sent America's head thumping against the passenger seat window, pulling America out of his thoughts… and any thoughts at all for a moment. "Hey drongo. Get your head out of the clouds," Australia said as America rubbed his head, "there it is." He was pointing towards a dingy two-story coming into view on the left side of the road. He slowed the car and pulled off onto a grassy patch on the shoulder.
America opened his door and stepped out, taking care to avoid the steep drop-off. By the time he had gotten around the car Australia was already standing at the iron gate, staring up at the house.
"This is it?" asked Australia without turning around.
"You picked the place Oz, not me," said America walking up beside Australia and putting a hand on the gate.
"Yeah well, it's just not quite what I was expecting," he replied, looking past the fence to the overgrown yard and dilapidated house. "The picture was a bit more…" and he motioned with his hands, "I mean, yeah, it's old and run down, but somehow I was expecting something a little more-"
"It's the internet," America said, with a grimace, looking up at the house. It did look relatively normal. He still felt an uncomfortable twinge though as he stared up at it, as if it was looking back at him. He'd made a rule, a long time ago, to never be the first to look away. Despite that, he found himself averting his gaze, looking back down to the ground. He stuck his hands in his pockets forcefully. "Of course they're going to make it look worse than it is."
"Besides, appearances can be deceiving, da?" said Russia who had come up behind them, smiling.
Australia smiled back and grabbed America's arm, pulling him across the road. "You know," he said in a low voice, glancing back towards Russia. "When we planned this I didn't think about the fact that I'd be stuck with him for twenty four hours." He fished around in his jacket pocket for the car key, then continued, "Sure you don't want to back out? I think he might just be scarier than anything in there."
America shook his head, reaching into the trunk and handing a box to Australia. "We can exchange horror stories tomorrow," he said, smiling. "I'm sure you and Ruskie will have a great time."
"You're a bastard."
"Takes one to know one."
America watched Australia's back as he walked across the road, then glanced up at the house, letting his smile drop. He looked back towards the trunk with a shiver. He wished he could agree with Australia about who was facing down the worst, but he also couldn't deny the fact that the cold he had felt from Ivan in the past was no comparison to the chill he got from that house.
Author's Note: Okay, so here's chapter one of the rewrite. Most of it's the same, but I did change the format of the flashback and changed a few details here and there. Nothing major. And gah... I used Australian slang... I hope it was okay... Hopefully will have chapter 2 up within a few days, since it seems to be coming along fairly well.