'Aaaaahh… Vat a vonderful dream… Everyone was part of Russia, da~'
"R-Russia, are you awake yet?"
'Eh? Vat a meek voice… Maybe I am still sleeping, da? That voice is too teeny to be speaking to me in reality.'
"Russia… Please wake up already…"
'Is something poking me?'
His urge to continue sleeping destroyed due to the weak sensation of something pressing through his heavy winter coat at his side, Russia stretched his arms high over his head, his legs straining until he heard his back crack.
Strangely enough, he swore he heard a whimper as well. After a moment, listening for the sound again, he giggled lightly, deciding to ignore the odd noise.
"Vaaah~ This is such a comfy couch!" He flailed his arms over the edge of the furnishing, getting into a more relaxed position. "Kolkolkol~ I vill ask Comrade Francis to gift it to me, da…" His smile slipped away; again with that odd whimpering noise.
He looked around himself – as far as he could tell, the study was empty. "If there is someone else in here, they should show their self, da~"
That odd sensation of being poked again.
"I-Ive been trying to – " The strangely meek, disembodied voice was immediately overpowered by the crash of the door slamming back against the smooth oak of the wall as the study was infiltrated by less… favorable people.
"Russia, you commie bastard! What the hell was that about taking over Hawaii, eh?" The American huffed, straightening to his full height and putting his hands akimbo, as if to aide in looking more intimidating.
Ivan laughed at the spectacle of it. "It is varm in Havaii, da? It vill do well with mother Russia." He offered a childishly malignant grin, even as his dead vivid violet eyes focused on Alfred with no comforting warmth.
"Hah! Russia isn't even doing well with itself!" Alfred looked rather proud that he knew that, chest puffed out and a hand flicking the collar of his bomber jacket. His sky blue eyes were eager and devious – a child who was doing something bad for the first time and loving it. "And you want to drag Hawaii into that bloody mess?"
Ivan's grin twitched, growing a little wider and marginally more dangerous. The dark, malicious aura that began to surround him reached out with thick, oily claws towards America. "You are not vell off either, da? I hear you have had a nasty cold lately~"
America had the decency to pale at the invading shadows and then to flush at the statement. "Me? A cold? Hah! Heroes don't get colds! I don't even know what a cold is!" He was looking everywhere but at Russia, going off on a tangent. "Therefore, I do not have a cold! And even if I did have a cold, hamburgers would get rid of it for me!"
Ivan kolkoled. "You are frustrated, da?"
"I am not frustrated! You damn commie bastard, you're nothing but a villain! You will never get Hawaii!" With that, America made his 'heroic' exit, slamming the door hard enough behind him that it left a crack in the wall.
Ivan was tempted to go after him, faucet pipe in hand.
There was a momentary silence as he debated whether or not to do so. 'Ah, but the couch is very nice… I do not want to move…'
"… R-Russia? He… Hello?"
"Vaaah… Something is poking me again…" He was loathing sitting up; so, instead, he waited for the poking to begin again and grabbed the offender in a bruising grip.
"O-owie… Owie… M-maple…"
Russia looked at his prisoner – a hand. The palm was rough but the back of the hand was baby soft – the fingers were slim but calloused. He held the digits tightly in his own hand and felt no weakness in the limp appendage; his vice-like grip was enough to snap bones and break skin, yet the hand did not begin to bleed nor bend into awkward angles.
There was, however, another pain-filled whimper. "Please let go!"
Humming thoughtfully, he followed the hand down the wrist, over the forearm, to the elbow, and then paused…
The rest of the body disappeared beneath his own lying mass.
He kolkoled. "How interesting~" He came to the conclusion that it was about time to sit up. Doing so, he peeked down at the couch he had found so comfortable.
The cushions that had given him such bliss looked strangely human shaped and the colors were completely off from the scheme of the furnishing.
"… Hhhmm… You are not a couch, da?"
He was on the receiving end of an expression of exasperation, depression, and actual acceptance. "No… I'm Canada… Mathew Williams…"
"Oh! Canada! You make a vonderful couch, comrade Matvey." He giggled. "You should come and live with me~ You vill be my favorite couch!"
Author's Note: Don't try to make sense of it – it's meant to be pointless. Just a short bout of (hopefully) humor.