Disclaimer: Hetalia is not mine. No matter how much I'd like to own Britain and America, my dream will never come true.
Warnings: Violence (mild)
The tension in the meeting room was thick. It hung in the air like an offending smell, unable to be ignored or gotten rid of. Britain shifted in his seat, trying to look at anything besides the former Axis member sitting across from him. With World War II over, the combatants had decided to come together for a meeting to figure out what would be decided next. While the Potsdam Conference had been helpful, the only players in that had been Britain, Russia, and 's eyes settled on Russia. In all reality, he was the one who had planned the meeting, but the blond couldn't fathom as to why. Across the table, Italy squirmed, trying to edge closer to Germany seated beside him. A stern look from the German made the happy-go-lucky, pasta-loving nation cease his movement. From his place at the end of the table, America yawned, not affected by the atmosphere at all. France caught this and sighed; if only he could have America's ability to fortify a strong mental wall and block everything out. China sat to America's left, looking bored. Canada sat to the right of France. Britain began to nervously tap his foot. When were they going to start? Since no time had been given, everyone had arrived as soon as they could, wanting to get things over with as soon as possible. Things were just too awkward to have a face-to-face right now. Britain's mind was still alive with images from the Blitz, both of the cities and his own body. America's mind was full of regret for the bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, and while Japan had assured him that everything was okay, the younger nation continued to chastise himself for the action. France was still fuming about when Germany had invaded by moving through neutral Belgium. Although America and Britain had tried to convince the Frenchman before that such an action should have been expected, their words went unheeded.
The clock in the room chimed off the eighth hour. Taking that as his cue, Russia rose from his seat, and strode to the front of the room.
"Hello. You're all probably wondering as to why I've called this meeting today."
Way to state the obvious. America punctuated his thought with a huff. Russia glanced over at him. Blue and violet clashed for a brief moment; the apprehensive gaze of the American boring into the childish facade of the Russian. The childish mask of innocence righted itself on Russia's face and he smiled, turning away. His voice rang on through the silence.
"I have asked you all to this meeting because I have come up with a wonderful plan that I am sure all of you here will see the brilliance of. A good deal of you are already leaning towards my side. And for those of you who are failing to see the light in my actions, you will come to the realization once this meeting is over." Russia concluded, shooting America a pointed glance. Said country narrowed his eyes, eyes that gleamed with mistrust and an anger just beginning to seethe.
"Then why don't you stop beating around to the bush and get right to the point, Russia." The words came out clipped and set in ice cold enough to rival the Siberian winters. Britain gulped. Very few times had he heard that tone of voice from his former colony. Once had been after the bombing of Pearl Harbor, when he had sworn revenge against Japan. Another time was after the U.S.S. Maine had been sunk by the Spanish. The very first time he had ever heard America use that tone, was when he had lost the Battle of Valley Forge. Britain remembered the sizzling fury in those eyes, sharply contrasting the ice in the uttered words of "I won't forget this. The next time we meet, it's going to be me on the winning end. I'll win this war Britain, prepare yourself for a crushing, humiliating defeat." Those words, and the tone in which they were conveyed, bit deeper into him than the fangs of winter could ever hope to.
If innocence was the mask Russia wore, then stupidity was America's. He played the fool, wearing the jester's smile and gazing at everything with wide, uncomprehending eyes. On occasion however, the veil would slip, revealing the cold eyes of the calculating, apex predator, the steady, piercing gaze of the eagle that lived within the human frame. Taking America at face value was a grievous fault; Britain knew this all too well.
The gleaming smile on Russia's lips spread until it broadened into a grin. A snide grin, full of contempt for the rival power.
"Yes, I suppose it would be rude for me to leave you speculating." he clasped his hands behind his back. "I would like to announce that I plan to spread Communism worldwide."
In the span of those few seconds, the tension thickened to the consistency of molasses. It oozed through the room, covering one person after another. Britain and France shared glances, silently communicating their shock. Italy shook. If Russia was going to be spreading Communism, did that mean he was going to invade? He couldn't run to Germany to save him anymore, and Japan lacked all the strength necessary to protect him. His brother was hopeless as well. The tension in the room thickened to such a degree it began to grow brittle, finally breaking when America's voice sounded from the back of the room.
"I object."
"I thought you would." Russia let out a whimsical sigh, "Oh Capitalist America, is there nothing I can do to make you see my side?"
America rose from his seat, "No, and there won't ever be." He pushed his chair in and walked towards the towering country. By far, Russia was the tallest of them all, but America had learned not to judge by size. The true weight of one's ferocity lay in their determination and faith, not how large and powerful they were. Power and size did help, but faith carried a nation through. America stopped in front of his political enemy. The fire in his eyes dimmed, but did not die out. Ice in his voice having melted away, America continued, "Communism can't work Russia. The whole 'steal from the rich and give to the poor thing' only worked for Robin Hood, and even he was felled by the King John's men. It's only a matter of time before that ideal undermines your economy."
"You prefer Social Darwinism over the Redistribution of Wealth? You prefer that people fight like dogs over a single dollar and are chained within their respective class?"
America shook his head, "Wrong Russia. As long as you have the keys of Capitalism, you can unlock yourself from the lower class. By keeping your nose to the grindstone you can ascend and generate more income. You're rewarded for your drive and ambition."
Malice shone in Russia's eyes. He leaned in closer to America, casting a shadow on the younger country's face. "Rewarded for greed you mean."
"Those who are greedy rely upon others. Those who are determined rely upon themselves. Tell me Russia, who does Communism reward? There will always be that one person who will go above and beyond, and there will always be that other person who waits for a handout."
A black-gloved hand reached out and stroked America's cheek, cupping the soft flesh in an iron grip. "Silly America," Russia chuckled, "it's not about rewarding the people. It's about making the people happy."
Aggravated at the unwanted contact, America slapped the larger man's hand away. "How can they be happy when they are no longer individuals?" he countered. "You can't just put people into a collective and expect them to be happy about it." he crossed his arms and leaned against the wall that faced the room. The rising fire concealed itself behind a smoke-screen of skin. "One of the themes seen in Communism is the collectivization of farming. This technique was employed during the 1920's and the 1930's, largely in Ukraine." America opened one eye. Blue, razor-sharp steel cut into the child's mask. "Tell me something Russia, what is your opinion of Stalin, your true opinion?"
"That question is rather non sequitur*, but alright. Stalin is a wonderful leader, and the Russian people are blessed to have him."
America closed the open eye. "Hm, I see. It was under Stalin's order that the farms of Ukraine be collectivized. He ordered massive amounts of grain to be shipped on the market in order to aid his Five Year Plan. As the demand continued to rise, so did starvation. The Communist party of Ukraine appealed to Stalin, begging him to lower the quota. Stalin responded by sending in troops and sealing off the borders, leaving the Ukrainians to their horrible fate." He opened his eyes. Twin blue blades glinted cold, baring their sharp edges at the Russian now standing before him. As the other countries watched, they could see each and every fiber in the eastern European country's body tense. Canada swallowed, trying to relieve the dryness in his mouth. Stop talking, oh God, stop talking America he prayed. With his back turned, no one could see Russia's face. This aspect set Britain's teeth on edge; his heart pounding harder for each inch the worm of fear crawled down his back. Beneath the table, Germany clenched a quivering fist. He had invaded Russia, and knew what kind of brutality the man was capable of. What the hell was America thinking?
Unmindful of the almost palpable anxiety emanating from the others, America went on. "A famine proceeded, one which held all of Ukraine in a death-grip. With the borders sealed, no one could escape. That also meant that no one could go to offer the suffering Ukrainians help, not even you."
Russia's right hand twitched. Unlike the others, America could see Russia's face. What he saw was the mask beginning to crack.
"What was it like Russia? How did it feel to have to turn a deaf ear to her cries as she begged you for help, as she begged you to stop?"
Russia's twitching right hand began to clench and unclench. America did not let up.
"How did it feel, knowing she was slowly wasting away, probably dying in one of the most agonizing ways and you couldn't help her? What was it like, knowing that 'wonderful' leader, that the Russian people were 'so blessed' to have was causing the slow death of Ukraine?"
The hand unclenched itself and began to shake. Each of the fingers trembled, full of their own vibration, yet united against a single cause. America's voice turned as hard and cold as the steel in his eyes. He stepped away from the wall, bringing himself centimeters away from Russia.
"How did it feel to know the Communist ideal of collectivization was killing your sister?"
The mask shattered. Rage released, Russia growled, and grabbed America by the throat. A loud thump reverberated throughout the room as America slammed back into the wall, feet dangling an inch or two off the ground, his throat caught in an iron grip.
"Stop it Russia! Let him go!" Britain shouted.
"What are you doing?" France shrieked.
"Mister Russia, please don't!" begged Japan.
America rasped as he tried to get oxygen into his lungs. He could feel the cartilage in his windpipe creak as Russia squeezed. On instinct, his hands wrapped around the one choking him. Putting the siren signals his brain was shrieking on mute, he gathered as much breath as he could.
"An estimated seven million deaths. The population was nearly decimated. This is just one of the results of Communist ideals, Russia. Incentive is killed, hell, the food they produced didn't even go to them." America rasped and coughed, "it went to the State." Dots swam in his vision as Russia squeezed tighter.
"I don't like you talking about Stalin that way, or my sister. Besides, I thought you went along with everybody else who believed Stalin when he said there was no famine."
Working with the reserve of oxygen sitting in his lungs, America worked his grip up to Russia's fingers, and wriggled his own fingers in between Russia's and his neck. This opened a tiny space, at which he was able to use to take in a sip of air.
"Just because Roosevelt didn't acknowledge it, that doesn't mean I fell right in line with him too. I became suspicious when I heard that food being sent to Ukraine was being stopped at the border." the air rushed out of his lungs. America wheezed, attempting to pull it back. "And I know you didn't believe Stalin either."
"I guess not, but I trusted him. He wields the ideals of Communism like a well-trained knight wields a sword."
"Wrong again. The power...it corrupted him." The dots began to multiply. All across America's visionary field flew blotches of black. "Power can corrupt anybody. Communism doesn't take human nature into-"
Russia tightened his grip even further, cutting America off. Frantic, Britain rushed up from his chair. He grabbed the arm of the nation with which he had formerly allied himself, trying to yank the merciless limb off America's neck, but to no avail.
"That's enough! Let go I say!" Britain snarled. Try as he might (for he was trying with all his might), he couldn't break that strong grip.
France came in from the other side, trying to help Britain. "Please Russia, let America go!"
Germany rose from his chair. "Russia that's enough." He brought up a fist. Yes, he had been weakened. Yes, he had lost the war, but none of that mattered now. He wouldn't see someone else suffer at the bitter, broken, and insane country's hands. "If you don't let him go, I will take up action against you."
Vicious, bloodthirsty eyes turned on Germany. It took all of his reserve not to start quivering under that intimidating gaze. On the wall, America began to squirm as his lungs became more desperate for air. A grin, ten times more sickening than the one worn at the beginning of the confrontation, split Russia's face.
"You? What can you do to me Germany? You're weak."
Germany glared back at Russia and ground his teeth. "I know that I've been weakened by my losses, but that doesn't matter. I will not sit idle while you strangle someone who speaks the truth."
As if a switch had been flipped, Russia loosened his grip on America. The young country dropped to the floor, coughing and gasping. Britain and France caught him, urging him to try to breathe properly. Canada zipped from his seat and wrapped his arms around his brother, trembling like a frightened child, expressing his gratitude that America was okay, and at the same time calling him each and every word that could be used as a synonym for stupid. Russia turned his back on the four countries and strode up to Germany, each footstep thumping on the floor with an ominous tone. The amount of willpower Germany had been exuding over his shaking began to decline as the Russian got closer and closer. He put a hand on Germany's shoulder, smiling that innocent smile. However, his eyes promised pain of an unimaginable degree.
"You never cease to be entertaining Germany. America was one of your enemies, yet here you are defending him. Has the division made you bipolar? Maybe we should fix that, da?"
Lips frozen by fear, Germany could not form an answer. Sudden coughing took Russia's attention away from him. America rose to his feet, albeit much slower than before and he had to be helped by Britain. When he accomplished the task, that before had been so effortless, he glared at Russia. The bruises on his neck seemed to jump out. Dark purple stains on white skin.
"Leave him alone. He's not your target, I am."
"You're right." Russia walked back towards America, stopping in front of him. "Communism versus Capitalism. If we cannot agree, which I don't think we ever will, then it would seem we are at war."
"It would seem so." America agreed. His voice sounded like sandpaper being run over stone. Standing next to him, keeping one eye on Russia, and the other on the nation he still called his little brother, Britain hoped Russia hadn't done any damage. America smiled "But trying to find out who's right and who's wrong through the use of weapons would be a tad unfair, don't you agree?"
"Yes, it seems pointless to go from one shooting match to another. Let's make it a game instead. One where we watch each other closely. I think that would work out nicely for the both of us, da?"
"Indeed. Let's enjoy this game to the fullest." America said.
Smiling, Russia turned from his newest enemy back to the others. "As it would seem that we have reached a bit of a snag, I must call this meeting to a close. I hope the rest of you will at least see my brilliance and become one with me."
That said, Russia strode towards the door and exited the room. Everyone with the exception of America sighed in relief. Britain spoke first, snapping at the young nation.
"You idiot! What the bloody hell were you thinking? He could have killed you!"
"Please, Russia's not that stupid. He wouldn't off a good opponent at the get-go." America retorted.
"Still," Canada murmured, "I was so sure he was going to throttle you to death. I was so scared." He began to tremble as the image of America hanging by the neck from Russia's grip played through his mind. America put a hand on his brother's shoulder.
"It's okay Canada."
"America, what are you going to do now?" Japan asked.
America smiled. In his eyes, the predatory gleam renewed itself tenfold. When he smiled, his canines resembled fangs.
"Isn't it obvious? The stage is set, and I'm going to play this game to the best of my ability." he chuckled, "and I'm going to enjoy it when he loses."
I have no idea where the last part of this came from. It may have to do with the song I'm listening to right now. Anyways, read and review.
*Non Sequitur literally means "it does not follow". It is an argument made by misdirection and is often logically irrelevant. Russia makes this comment because he doesn't see what his opinion of Stalin has to do with the collectivization of farms in Ukraine.