I do not own anything! Least of all Hetalia
"Why are you here?" England asked the nation opposite of him, warily taking in the childlike smile that was present on the other's face. The smile did nothing to sooth the short nation's feelings though, in fact it added to the already heavy tension that was almost tangible in the room.
"You should stop fighting me, da?"
No, England didn't feel comfortable. Largely it was because he was still coping with the loss of the better part of his strength; the second world war had stripped him –and several other west-European countries- of their once so great empires.
Not for a minute England believed Russia's easy words and gentle smile. He himself had threatened enough nations to know he was being threatened, or at the very least pressured. Yes, England knew perfectly well what Russia wanted and his blood boiled at the nerve of the man. Not even ten years ago Russia wouldn't have dared to even think about threatening Great Britain. But things had changed, the cold war had broken out just when the second world war had ended. And even though Arthur knew his country had weakened considerably, he still wanted to be there for America, that young country, who charged into the war with an enthusiasm that reminded Arthur of his and France's younger years.
"Leave." Arthur knew his voice didn't have nearly the same effect as before the war. "I have no desire to have this conversation with you."
The world has changed, Arthur knew, his own little brother and this lunatic were the ones calling the shots now.
Before him, Russia narrowed his eyes and Arthur cursed himself for letting the man into his house.
"I've always been impressed by that attitude, Great Britain. So fierce and stubborn." A hand came up, and England recoiled when it stroked his cheek. "So fun to break, da?"
Immediately England slapped the hand down, his blood to a boiling point. He gritted his teeth. "Is that a threat, Russia?"
Russia smiled that god-awful smile again. "It saddens me you can't see my brilliance, dear Britain. If you just became one with me? You're already in favour of a socialist government, why not become communist?" Unexpectedly the big man moved forward and England was unable to evade him, Russia grabbed his arm and with a tug England felt himself far forward, into that broad chest. The Russian's lips moved to his ear.
"Why not become one with me, da?" England couldn't break free. "Defeat that foolish America together."
He stiffened. And then he couldn't contain it any longer; England laughed, a loud mocking laugh. Surprised, Russia untangled himself from the British nation, the creepy smile falling from his lips.
"I was not kidding, England, why are you-" Russia stopped talking when England pieced those lavender eyes with his sparkling green ones.
"You fool, did you forget who you are talking too?" England sneered. "Did you forget who I am? To have the nerve to talk to me like that!"
This time, England's hand came to rest on the giant's cheek and he moved onto his tiptoes to reach the giant's ear.
"Just you wait." He whispered. "A few decades from now, you'll be nothing. America will win, why you ask? Because I was the one to raise him."
He felt the big guy tense and let out another light laugh. "Just you wait Russia, you're going down."
Yes, England may have been weakened by the present happenings, but he was still England. The country that once ruled the world, the country that used to be feared by all, but mostly he was a country that didn't give up; he was far too stubborn for that.
Even if he had lost most of his power, it sure didn't mean he was weak.
The Russian's mask fell, only to reveal a cruel and broken man. Yes, in a way England pitied the other nation; his history was disturbing and bloodied, his pride snapped and broken many times. Even in the second world war, when they had all been allies, Russia had been the one the western countries all to eagerly send to the frontlines.
Russia truly hated them and although it was hard to admit, the big country indeed was entitled to that hate. How much did it hurt? To see a country like America - just out of its diapers- rise to the top without much hardships? While Russia himself had been through countless sufferings and hardships to obtain the power he now possessed?
How much did Russia despise him, England, who brought up that insolent and arrogant nation, giving him opportunities Russia had never dreamed of in the wake of his own childhood?
Looking as those eyes darkened, as the Russian tightened his hand around his wrist, as the big nation's other hand curled into an fist and found England's face with a sickening crack.
He guessed that the hate ran pretty deep.
His face had been moved to the side because of the punch and he could feel blood drip from his mouth to his chin. Russia panted above him, his frame shook.
England snorted. "How undignified." He wiped his chin with his free hand. "Violence while in the middle of interrogations." Green eyes looked up again, locking with the other's once again. "don't you have any pride?"
Russia stiffened, he had probably surprised himself with the violent outburst. It was not often Russia let his childish mask fully drop.
"I'll be leaving, da?" The childlike smile found Russia's face once again. "It seems I've underestimated you, England. You are not moved by intimidation."
"No, I'm not."
Russia turned around, back to England, and towards the door. He grabbed the handle.
"You will be one with me, some day."
And then he opened the door, walking outside. England waited a while, listening if the man really left, before he turned around an walked towards his bedroom. It was dark, but England could just see a figure in his double bed. Silently England moved forward and went to sit on the edge of the bed.
The person in his bed was sleeping soundly, golden hair in a tangled mess. England fingers brushed against the boy's forehead, moving the hair aside. He smiled gently at the exhausted boy, who had insisted to be with England this weekend, because he had heard a rumour that his great nemesis wanted to visit London. England smiled, America had shouted that he was going to protect him, that he was the hero.
England had promptly noticed the boy's fatigue and told him to rest; Russia could wait. England leaned down and kissed America's forehead gently.
America may deny he was his little brother, but it didn't matter.
England would support him, no matter what.
To him, no matter how strong the nation would become, America still was his baby brother.
Review, please!
It just popped into my head, don't know if it's good or bad...