Albatross Song
Chapter One
Blood trilled in America's ears as he propelled himself forward. His calf muscles ached and the stitch in his side burned at an increasingly painful rate, but he continued on despite that, both parts adrenaline and fear spurring him on. The gangling branches of trees whipped at his face and arms as he ran, leaving in their wake nasty crimson welts that, despite their frequency, still made the young nation flinch each time they made contact with his sensitive skin.
He yearned to stop and rest his spasming legs, to be able to take greedy inhales of oxygen to help soothe his burning lungs. He'd run a fair distance, after all. Maybe he could just take a moment to- No. The agonized moans behind him were growing stronger. He had to keep moving – he had to get away.
He continued his progression, twirling between trees and narrowly avoiding roots, lacking finesse of any kind. The extensive, spindly arms of the surrounding pines continued their assault on America as he hurried along. Unexpectedly, the arm of one of the many limbs of foliage that he hadn't seen – God, how could he have been so careless – collided with his middle, stopping him dead in his tracks.
He dropped to the leaf covered forest floor, feeling as though the wind had been knocked completely out of him. Panic rose in his chest as the moaning of his assailants picked up in volume. He willed himself to get up, to keep moving, but his legs would not respond no matter how much he fretted. Cold terror settled like ice in his veins while an iron hot coil of anticipation settled low in his belly.
Clenching his eyes closed, he prayed to whatever deity that may have been listening to help him – hell, he wasn't asking for much. Just giving him the strength to move was all he wanted. A few tense moments passed and America worried his lip, waiting. For what, he wasn't quite sure. Minutes passed – or maybe it was hours, he couldn't tell – without incident.
He waited there a while longer before chancing opening his eyes. And all at once he became aware of something very strange. How had he not noticed before? The groans had faded and the forest had returned to its normal chattering of cicadas and birds, with the occasional croaks of frogs in odd intervals between them. In a strange way, the atmosphere of the canopied area felt lighter. Slowly, the knot that had formed in his stomach uncoiled itself.
The feeling in his legs had yet to return, but he was able to prop himself up on his elbows with the assistance of a tree trunk. He pushed up his glasses, which had slipped down the bridge of his nose during his frenzied dash. America let his eyes scan the brush that surrounded him, having to squint in the twilight light to make out his surroundings. As he glanced before him, he saw a slight movement and glowing eyes – intelligent eyes – starring back.
Alarmed, he suddenly called out in a hesitant voice.
"Hello?"
Brush shuffled as the other drew nearer, stepping out just far enough into the dim light of the setting sun that America could make a few features – pale blond hair and bright blue eyes. A child.
"What are you doing out here all alone?" America asked gently, his tone softening as not to scare the little one. "Where's your fam- the people you're with?"
The child tilted his head to one side, a small smile settling over his soft features. He shook his head from side to side, his pale, curly hair fanning out around him as he did. He placed his index finger over his lips, mouthing one word.
Secret.
America furrowed his brows in concern. Secret? He could understand the kid not wanting to give up who he was – it was smart and understandable, actually. But he couldn't help the protective concern that bubbled up in his chest at the thought of a child so small being left alone out here in this.
He opened his mouth to voice his reservations to the little one, hoping that he could convince the tiny blond to stay with him so that he could watch out for him and possibly reunite him with his family if they were still living. But a melodious, bell-like laugh cut him off. He nodded his head questioningly to the side, and the child grinned, pointing off behind America.
The older blond's head whipped around, searching the distant horizon for whatever caught the child's eye. In the ever fading light, he picked out a tall silhouette. It was familiar – comforting almost. But most importantly, it was non-threatening. He wasn't one of them.
America looked back to the child, a question hot on his lips, but the boy was gone.
Alfred's eyes snapped open, cold sweat dripping from his forehead as he sat up in bed. His breathing was heavy as he gulped down oxygen greedily. His heart beat erratically in his chest as the effects of the dream lingered. It was growing hazier and was losing its crispness, but the extreme emotions were still there – fear, pain, concern, protectiveness.
In an attempt to calm himself, he glanced around the room, reassuring himself that it had all been a dream, that this was reality and he was fine. He caught a glance of the clock that stood on his bedside table.
4:32 AM.
"Dorogoy?" a sleep hazed voice asked softly from beside the young nation. Alfred made to answer, but his tongue felt heavy in his mouth. All he could do was grab Ivan's hand, squeezing it tightly in an attempt to reassure. If it were an attempt to reassure him or Ivan was up for debate.
Alfred watched the growing concern in the older man's eyes at his unusual response. Keeping their hands clasped, Ivan sat up in bed, their shared duvet pooling at his hips, and leaned against the headboard. Without another word, he pulled the smaller nation close to his chest, fingers threading through Alfred's messy hair in a soothing manner.
It took a few minutes of quiet coaxing and gentle whispered words before the tension in Alfred's shoulders faded. He leaned into Ivan, his hands absentmindedly tracing the dips and curves of Ivan's stomach.
"Bad dream?" the accented voice asked gently as the he took up rubbing soothing circles down the blue eyed blond's back.
"Yeah," Alfred muttered, tucking his head into the crook of Ivan's shoulder.
"Would you like to talk about it?"
"Don't remember," was the clipped reply.
"Do you wish to go back to sleep?"
"Not really."
Ivan sighed in exasperation, nipping at the other's ear playfully. "Well then, Fredka, I am at a lost for what to do."
Alfred's lips quirked upward. He leaned forward, peppering a few kisses over the Russian's warm pulse before answering. "You just being here is enough, big guy."
Ivan smiled widely – a genuine smile that he reserved for Alfred and Alfred only – and leaned forward, capturing the American's lips in his. Alfred responded immediately, relocating himself to the older man's lap and pressing in fervently. He opened himself up to the Russian, letting the other explore his mouth to his heart's content, pushing back occasionally with a playful flick of his tongue.
A few moments later they broke apart, breathing heavily in an attempt to regain the oxygen that their heated exchange had deprived them of. Panting, Alfred pulled back. He let his hand rest on Ivan's lap and smirked when he felt something rather stiff standing at attention there.
"Looks like you've got a little problem," he said teasingly, pressing stray kisses to Russia's scared neck.
Russia let out a hum, looking down to where America's hand laid in barely contained amusement. "Yes, it would appear so." He looked to Alfred with a mock concerned expression. "What do you plan to do about that?" he questioned.
Alfred gave a thoughtful hum, looking down to Ivan's lap. He pulled back the covers, thankful that the other was already blissfully undressed from their earlier session, and took the Russian's half hard cock in his hand, stroking it up and down lightly. He picked up pace after a few more strokes, earning a low moan from the larger nation.
He continued his steady pace, increasing it from time to time just to earn another moan from his lover, before settling back to his self-assigned tempo. He enjoyed the needy kisses pressed to his forehead, his cheek, his neck, as he continued to explore the Russian's member. He traced his thumb lightly over the tip; smearing beads of precum that had formed there before letting his fingers follow the large, purplish vein that expanded its length, causing a primal grunt to leap from Ivan's throat. Alfred grinned. With a mischievous glint in his eyes, he relocated himself. He kneeled down over the other's lap and cautiously grazed his tongue over the head of Ivan's cock.
Russia shuddered as a wave of pressure pulsed straight to his dick. He threaded his fingers through Alfred's golden locks, urging the younger nation forward with lust filled eyes.
Alfred licked his lips, looking down hungrily at his lover's engorged shaft. Alfred liked to think that he had a decently sized, if not above average, penis. But Ivan. Fuck, Ivan was huge. The first time they had had sex, he had been intimidated by it. For fuck's sake, it was the size of his forearm, at least. How did he even have enough blood flow to get hard without losing consciousness?! He had been wary about letting himself be penetrated by it, because, good fuck, it was huge.
That's not to say that he didn't absolutely love every part of it. Alfred considered himself mostly straight, – because come on, boobs were great – but Ivan was different in every sense of the word. And goddamn if Alfred had ever seen a more perfectly sculpted cock. It was a gift from god, he was sure.
Pushing his disjointed train of thought to the back of his mind, Alfred focused on his current endeavor. He flicked his tongue over Ivan's sensitive foreskin, pumping his hand up and down and enjoying the breathy moans that escaped his lover. After a bit more teasing, he took Ivan into his mouth – well, most of him. He still had a gag reflex, after all – swirling his tongue in different patterns over his length. Ivan groaned loudly, bucking himself further into Alfred's warm heat.
Alfred hummed in amusement, and he could feel Ivan tense underneath him as the vibrations traveled up his cock. Grinning the best he could with a dick in his mouth, Alfred reached forward with a skilled hand, cupping Ivan's balls in his hand and kneaded them teasingly.
Alfred felt the Russian tense underneath him and he knew he was close. He picked up his ministrations, his tongue flicking and lapping at all of Ivan's most sensitive areas, and his hand massaging the other's sack with gusto. He could feel it by the tremor of Ivan's skin. He was sure the other was almost there. Just a little—
Suddenly, Russia flipped him down on the mattress, and with a pop Alfred released his cock. Ivan had pinned Alfred beneath him, trailing a line of heated kisses from his Adam's apple down to his navel. Alfred groaned as Ivan flicked his tongue over the sensitive skin of his lower belly in maddening circles, sending jolts of pleasure down to his groin.
Ivan looked up to Alfred with bright, playful eyes, smiling as a faint blush dusted the American's cheeks.
"Don't tease me," Alfred huffed.
"Never, Dorogoy." The taller blond leaned forward, pressing his lips against Alfred's with vigor. A groan escaped Alfred as Ivan's heated skin brushed his ignored, aching manhood. He thrust forward into the heat in an attempt to tame the burning need.
Ivan pulled away a few moments later, smirking. "Patience, Fredka."
Alfred let out a low whine, pulling Ivan closer to him in search of more friction. He burrowed his head into the side of the Russian's neck, nipping in a way that was sure to leave a mark, and inhaled deeply. Ivan smelled of a delicate blend of vanilla, fresh snow, and sun bathed sunflowers. Not exactly what most others would associate with him, but in Alfred's mind it made perfect sense. It was warm, familiar, and comforting – all characteristics that the young nation associated with his lover.
Pulling back slightly, the larger nation began to focus his attentions on Alfred's chest. His teeth hooked onto the American's right nipple, swirling his tongue around the sensitive bud and alternating between biting it – eliciting loud moans of approval from Alfred – and smoothing his tongue back over the reddened surface.
"Mmmmm," Alfred gasped, his fingers gripping Ivan's shoulder tightly. "E-enough foreplay, come on," he panted out, spreading his thighs further apart in anticipation.
Ivan chuckled, but obliged. He leaned back, balancing himself on Alfred's thighs, before reaching over to the nightstand that was immediately to his right. He fiddled around with it for a few moments, his brow creasing as he continued to search through the opened top drawer.
"What's wrong?" Alfred asked, annoyed at waiting.
Ivan gave the drawer one last once over before glancing back towards Alfred, brows furrowed.
"It appears that we are out of protection," he said bluntly, watching carefully for Alfred's reaction.
"Don't care," Alfred grunted, pulling Ivan back down with him. "Need you now."
A bark of laughter escaped Ivan's lips as he leaned over to pick up the bottle of lube that lay on the dresser. "You are very amusing, Fredka," he said fondly.
Alfred groaned, tired of waiting. He bucked his hips up, pleased as his sensitive skin glided against Ivan's.
"Come onnnnnnnn, you're killing me," he whined.
Ivan smiled in amusement as he squeezed a generous amount of lubricant into his palm. He worked it with his fingers for a moment, knowing that if there was even a touch of frigidness to it, Alfred would complain.
Once it was to the satisfactory temperature he went to work. He gave Alfred's thighs a nudge, signaling the other to spread himself open further. Alfred obliged eagerly and immediately, ready for some much needed release after being teased for far longer than he would have liked.
Alfred was still semi-stretched from their earlier activities, so Ivan's first two digits slid into the younger man with relative ease. The third took a small amount more urging, but Alfred didn't seem to mind. He gave a low moan of approval, forcing himself further down as Ivan continued to stretch his hole.
"O-oh!" he gasped at a particularly harsh jerk of Ivan's hand. A wave of pleasure pooled deep in his belly as the Russian hit his prostate dead on. A needy moan escaped his throat and his muscles clenched around Ivan's digits. It felt so unbelievably wonderful, but it wasn't enough. He wanted more – he needed Ivan inside him.
"Please," Alfred panted out desperately. Slowly, Russia pulled back, removing his fingers – which earned a low whine from the American – and took a moment to take in the sight before him. Alfred knew he must have been a sight to behold: spread wide for Ivan, wheat blond hair disheveled, blue eyes bright, lips bruised from kissing, and cheeks rosy.
Thankfully, after a moment Ivan went back to focusing on the task at hand and picked up the lubricant once more, squeezing out a generous amount into the palm of his hand. He wasted no time slicking the length of his heated cock.
Roughly, he grabbed Alfred by the hips, pulling the other nation close. Happy that they were finally getting somewhere, Alfred eagerly wrapped his legs around Ivan's waist and pulled the other closer so that they were pulled flush together, chest to chest, as Ivan positioned himself at his entrance. Without a moment of hesitation, the pale blond thrust in to the hilt.
God, the fingers didn't do Ivan justice. He was huge. Even after the many intimate encounters the two had shared, Alfred still found it just a little difficult to handle all of Ivan. A familiar ache pushed through him as he was stretched from the inside, but it was a good ache. Really, he just wanted Ivan to move and he wanted him to do it now.
"Move," Alfred whispered breathily. "I'm not going to break."
Grunting, the larger nation snapped his hips forward, moving slowly at first, but gaining more force with each passing breath. Alfred sighed contently at the blessed friction. He adored being this close with Ivan, and the lack of condom made it all the better. Every gentle movement felt a thousand times more amplified, pleasure overriding his senses and making his toes curl– and god, why didn't they forgo the annoying little piece of latex all the time?
Blue eyes half lidded, Alfred reached forward and tangled his hands in Russia's pale champagne locks. The other man's hair was silky between his fingers and he gave a slight tug, leading the other's head down to him. He caught Russia's chapped lips and pressed firmly against them with his own. Ivan pushed back hungrily after taking a moment to gain his bearings, and took control of the kiss. He mapped out the other eagerly, pulling away once, twice, to give a teasing nip to the other's lip.
"Ooooh," Alfred moaned out suddenly, seeing stars. His legs wrapped impossibly tighter around the Russian, urging him closer—as if that were possible. "T-there! Right there!"
Ivan chuckled, but complied easily, snapping his hips precisely to reach just the right angle.
"Yesyesyes!" Alfred cried, his nails digging into the pale skin of Ivan's shoulder as he held on for dear life. Pleasure knotted hotly in his stomach as Ivan's dick made contact with that sweet bundle of nerves over and over again. Oh, he was so close and yet he wanted more. More friction, more contact, more.
The Russian seemed to sense this as a moment later he reached between the two of them, his hand wrapping around Alfred's throbbing erection. He pumped in time with his own thrusts, which were picking up pace as Alfred's warm, velvety inner walls clenched around him.
"I-Ivan!" Alfred cried out, his orgasm fast approaching. His undoing came only a moment later at a particularly rough thrust from Ivan. He threw his head back, screaming himself hoarse and seeing white as he came, spurting onto their bellies.
Ivan's thrusts had lost any semblance of rhythm as he continued to buck into the smaller nation. He buried his head into the crook of Alfred's neck, pressing kisses to the warm pulse there as he neared his end. He came violently only seconds later, moaning lowly, albeit much quieter than Alfred had just seconds before. His hot seed shot deep into the smaller nation, eliciting a gasp from Alfred.
The older nation let out a contented moan, collapsing onto his lover only seconds later. Exhausted and utterly spent, he pressed a languid kiss to Alfred's sun kissed cheek.
They rode out their bliss for a few minutes, panting hard as their heart rates returned to normal. Ivan pulled out after he'd regained some semblance of energy, flopping down next to Alfred and pulling the other close. Alfred snuggled into his chest easily; throwing an arm over Ivan's hip as he nuzzled in closer to the other. The Russian just smiled, pulling the duvet up around them.
Alfred sighed contently, pressing a kiss to Ivan's neck. "Thank you," he said sincerely, voice soft.
Ivan shifted, running soothing fingers through Alfred's hair. "For what, Dorogoy?"
"Being here."
"You do not need to thank me," Ivan whispered, placing a kiss on Alfred's temple. "You do the same for me, yes?"
"Hmm," Alfred hummed, his head cradled on Ivan's chest. He took comfort in the steady beat of Ivan's heart as it beckoned him to slumber better than any lullaby ever could. As he was on the edge of consciousness, he swore he heard Ivan mutter something: Ya tebya lyublyu, moy podsolnechnik is what it sounded like.
But maybe he just imagined it.
"That is ridiculous! If you're not going to even try, then don't bother coming!" shouted an angry, bushy-browed Englishman.
"No, it is not ridiculous! Do you even understand how my government operates?" America snapped back.
"Of course I do! Who do you think you stole most of its structure from?"
"The Romans."
"Don't get smart with me, America!"
America sighed, pressing his thumb and index finger to his temples in an attempt to ward off his oncoming headache. He hadn't been feeling all that great for going on three months, and England was not helping his case by yelling at him. He hadn't wanted to fight with anyone this time. Hell, he actually did his research and work so he wouldn't be snapped at for coming up with a ridiculous idea at the G8 meeting. Unfortunately for him, England just always seemed to want to fight.
"I think, given Amerika's circumstances, it is very understandable," an accented voice from the far end of the conference table said. America looked up to see Russia smiling his fake, childish smile, but his eyes were different than usual. He looked worried – understandable since he'd caught America throwing up in the men's restroom that morning.
America bit his tongue, mentally willing Russia not to say anything.
"And what would those circumstances be?" England asked, raising a very apparent brow.
"His congress, da? You have seen the news; they never do anything because they are so very childish. How is it his fault that they refuse to pass your bill?"
America gave an inaudible sigh of relief. Sure, it might be a little weird that Russia was defending him – officially, they were supposed to hate each other's guts – but that was fine. As long as that was the extent of it, it would be okay.
"Because—"
"Nyet, it is not his fault."
England's eyes widened, face turning an interesting shade of puce. His posture was similar to that of an attack dog at the ready. However, before he could get the first syllable of his undoubtedly many curses out, he was cut off.
"Ahem." The members of the G8 looked ahead to see Germany poised before the white board at the head of the room. He waited for silence, clearing his throat once more. As soon as everyone had quieted and he was sure he had all of their attention, he spoke.
"Tensions are running high and we are all tired. Perhaps now would be the best time to take our dinner break?"
A murmur of agreement chorused through the room, and with a flurry of movement, almost everyone was gone – most likely to get away from Russia, since they all seemed almost horrified that he had come to America's defense. England, however, was still fuming and had to be led away by France, who was murmuring some unintelligible words into the other's ear.
Once Alfred heard the door click behind them, he relaxed, practically slumping against the back of his seat for support. God, he was so tired.
A pair of arms snaked around his waist and he relaxed into them, feeling a chaste kiss pressed to the back of his head.
"Are you all right, Fredka?"
The younger made a noncommittal noise, snuggling back into Russia's embrace. He was freezing and, for whatever reason, Ivan felt like a space heater behind him.
There was some brief shuffling behind him, in which Ivan removed his hands from Alfred's waist. Alfred let out a whine at the loss of contact, but it was restored a moment later. One of Ivan's hands circled back around his waist, while the other pressed firmly to his forehead.
"You have a fever, Dorogoy." Russia spun him around so that they were facing each other and let his hands rest on Alfred's hips. He took in how bright and glassy Alfred's eyes were with a frown.
"S'okay," Alfred said, wrapping his arms around Ivan's shoulders and nuzzling his face into Ivan's cream colored scarf.
"I will take you home."
"Nah, I'm fine. I can wait out the rest of this. I mean it's what, two more hours?"
"I wish you would not do that, podsolnechnik." Russia had taken up rubbing circles against Alfred's lower back, which he rather appreciated since, along with other things that seemed to have been going wrong with him. His back was hurting like a bitch. Maybe it was the small bit of weight that he had put on? (How he had managed that when it seemed like he was constantly puking was a mystery to him.)
"Babe, you do realize that I can't just leave meetings every time I'm not feeling a hundred percent, right?"
"I do realize this," Ivan said, pausing to press a kiss to the corner of Alfred's mouth. "And did I say not to come to the meeting tomorrow? Nyet, I said that it would be okay to go home early today. You were here for the most important parts; it would be fine if you missed the rest. It is just talk of trade. It is not as if it is anything of importance."
"You and me both know that if I go now, I'll never hear the end of it from England."
"Forgive me for saying so, Fredka, I know he is your father, but I very much do not care for him."
Alfred let out a bark-like laugh. "Forgive me for saying so, but he very much does not care for you, either."
"I am not looking for his approval."
"Good. You wouldn't get it. Hell, if he knew about this he'd kill you, then me."
"He is small. He could not do a thing."
Looking up at Russia's face, America frowned. He was kidding, but he knew the subject bothered Russia immensely. It was for a good reason, he knew. He and Russia were two of the world's strongest superpowers. A union between the two, even if it was a human one, not a national one, would not be taken well. They'd be seen as a threat and it would cause them all types of problems that they'd rather avoid.
Didn't mean they liked hiding it, though.
"Hey, don't do that," America said. He pinched Russia's nose for good measure.
"Do what?"
"Gimme that: I'm a sad kicked puppy look! It makes me feel like an ass."
"I do not have a look," Russia said blandly.
"You do too! You have the same look that puppies in the ASPCA commercials have!"
"Are you calling me a dog, Fredka?"
"Nope, a puppy." Alfred leaned his head up, pecking Ivan on the lips gently.
"Your joke was so funny that I forgot to laugh."
Alfred hummed and took up playing with the frayed edge of Ivan's scarf.
"Y'know, if you're hungry you can go get something to eat," he told Ivan offhandedly, aiming to get his mind off their previous conversation.
"I will go if you are hungry, Fredka. Are you?"
Shit. America lived for food. It was his thing. If he said no then there would be no getting around going home early. He could already hear England chastising him in his mind about how he needed to be a responsible adult.
It's not really like he could do anything about his illness, anyway. He was a nation. He couldn't just get up and go visit a doctor anytime he felt a tiny bit under the weather. It would be a hassle. He could just see the knit in his boss's brow as he milled through the mounds of paperwork that would come along with Alfred's business. No, he couldn't go to a doctor unless he was short of dying – which he wasn't.
Thinking fast, Alfred answered. "I mean, I am, but there is nowhere good around here. I should've packed something. Hindsight's a bitch."
"What about that greasy food you like so much. Mac- Mc?"
"McDonald's," Alfred corrected. He repressed a groan. The worst part about his recent illness, he thought, was his total aversion to his beloved hamburgers. Lately, he'd preferred that weird beetroot soup that Russia liked to make when he was over – Borscht it was called. The very thought of a hamburger now made his stomach churn.
"Yes, that. Would you like to have dinner there?"
"Well, I would, but the one here's kind of shitty, you know? The people that make the food are always high. We'd probably get like, contact high from eating it."
"Alfred," Russia growled.
Alfred tensed. Ivan had called him by his first name. Not Fredka or one of the other weird Russian things that he didn't understand: Alfred.
The shorter blond stayed silent, hiding his face in the other's neck and waiting for him to continue.
Russia sighed, letting out a long drag of air. He continued his ministrations; spinning designs with his fingers on Alfred's lower back in an attempt to soothe the other. It worked after a few seconds and he felt the smaller nation lean against him more, having him support his weight.
"I am sorry, Fredka," Ivan said gently, running a hand through Alfred's hair, "I am not trying to control you. I just worry about you."
Alfred let out a small huff, tilting his head back to meet Ivan's gaze. "I know you do, big guy. I worry about you too, ya know? But I don't take having orders handed to me well. Never have, never will. "
"I know, podsolnechnik. I apologize." Ivan leaned forward, pressing a kiss to Alfred's temple, then to his pulse. "Ya tebya lyublyu," he whispered against the smaller nation's neck, so quietly Alfred almost didn't hear.
It was silent for a moment, before Alfred spoke.
"What does that mean?" he asked, curious. He could have sworn he'd heard Ivan say those exact words before, but he couldn't place when or why.
Ivan went very still, a sight that was almost comical. He looked like a deer caught in headlights. "It means – ah, how to say that I – that you are very – that I feel –"he sputtered, his face taking a rosy hue.
"Yeah?" Alfred prompted, his lips twitching upwards at the crimson pigment that spanned from Ivan's neck up to his ears.
"It means that—" he was cut off by the sound of heavy footsteps approaching rapidly from down the hall. Alfred pushed Ivan away just in time for the door to swing open; France, England, Canada, Germany, Italy, and Japan crashing through it. Germany looked around frantically before locating and pulling numerous furniture pieces in front of the double doors of the conference room.
Alfred's eyes, however, were drawn to a frantic England. He held Canada close as his eyes searched the group before him.
"Alfred! Where's Alfred?!" he howled, something suspiciously close to tears in his eyes.
"I'm right here, Iggy," Alfred replied. It was more of a question than an answer. America hadn't heard England that distraught since the Nazis took Paris during World War II.
England swung around on his heel, rushing forward toward Alfred as fast as his legs could carry him as soon as he located the younger nation's voice. He wrapped his arms around the taller nation desperately, holding him close like he had when he was a child. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have yelled at you, I shouldn't have." His words were low as he whispered them into Alfred's ear and he sounded just the tiniest bit hysteric.
"England?" he whispered, his tone unsure. He didn't get a coherent response, just more unintelligible muttering.
Looking up, he caught France's eye. "France?" he asked, confused.
France walked – more like jogged – over to him with Canada in tow. As soon as they were within arm's reach, the two other nations jolted forward, wrapping their arms tightly around America and England. It was desperate; like they needed to make sure he was really there. And for the first time in a long time, he felt like he had a family again.
But along with that realization came cold terror. Something was definitely wrong. His family wasn't the touchy-feely sort – besides France, anyway – they hadn't hugged, hadn't actually acted like a family since – No, no more of that train of thought. He couldn't get upset over that at the moment.
"Something happened, mon petit," France whispered grimly. It was just then that America noticed the flakes of red that stained England's normally prim and proper suit collar.
Pulling away from his family, America stood tall, his posture strong, brave, even if he didn't feel like it at the moment. "What happened?"
France didn't answer, so Alfred turned his eyes to Canada. "Mattie?"
A huge array of emotions flickered across Matthew's face – fear, regret, relief, anxiousness – and he downcast his eyes, running a hand over Kumajiro's fur – who looked startled, which was incredibly worrying – before answering. "I-I don't know how to say this." He paused, stepping back. The Canadian took a deep breath, placing his hand atop Alfred's shoulder before continuing.
"People were – they were –," Matthew's speech shook and he had to pause once more to steady his voice. His fingers trembled as he held on tighter to Alfred's shoulder in an attempt to calm himself. "They were attacking each other…"
He looked to Alfred with watery violet eyes, seeming to be holding back tears, before continuing. "They were eating each other, Al. It was like they were – God, I don't know… Zombies." Canada paused, watching his brother's features sharply in anticipation of his reaction.
America waited.
And waited.
And waited.
No one said a word.
And suddenly, he laughed. He laughed so hard that he had to clutch his sides.
"Ha-ha! That's real funny, guys! But you do know April fool's day was three months ago?" His voice bounced off the walls of the room, echoing loudly within his own eardrums.
No one laughed. No one said a word. Alfred waited for them to do something, anything. To yell "Gotcha!" and laugh about how gullible he was. To tell him that he was an idiot, and of course they were joking.
So he waited once more.
And waited.
And waited.
And suddenly it wasn't all that funny anymore.
"All right, guys. You had your fun," his voice was sharp, with just a slight touch of anger. They could have their chuckles some other time because this joke had gone on long enough. "Stop messing with me, it's not cute."
"America-san," a quiet voice near the door said. Alfred's head whipped around as he stared at his longtime friend and ally, Japan. "It's not a joke."
It sounded like a joke. Maybe a funny one at first, but one that had lost its humor as it had been held out for far too long. But Japan's brown eyes were serious. He wouldn't go along with that kind of prank, Alfred knew. Kiku was well aware of how badly scenarios and situations like that scared Alfred from their many video game fueled sleepovers.
He wouldn't do that. He wouldn't.
So…
So…
That meant that they weren't kidding. That meant that his citizens – his people – were out there, killing, eating each other.
His felt nauseous. His stomach lurched and he had to fight to keep the bile down. All at once he felt eyes on him, scrutinizing his face for some sort of reaction. With much effort, he was able to keep his features perfectly blank.
He took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair in an attempt to calm himself. His eyes caught Ivan's, cobalt inspecting violet. A silent conversation sparked between them: yes, the others were telling the truth, and they needed to do something about it and do it at once.
"We need a plan," he said, finally.
No one responded at first, but after a few more seconds of brief silence, Germany spoke up.
"What do you suggest?"
A loud moaning came from the hallway as something – maybe more than one – started to throw itself against the door.
Italy cringed, clinging tightly to Germany's arm, tears running silently down his face.
Alfred looked onto the small Mediterranean nation with sympathy. He gave a small smile, hoping to convey some reassurance that everything would be all right. Italy looked at him with watery hazel eyes, but gave him a small nod of thanks.
Alfred nodded his acknowledgment kindly before speaking.
"Well, at the moment, we need to focus on getting out of here. We're no good to anyone stuck here," America said, his brain flipping from civilian to military. "We can get to my house, use it as a base. Its got woods surrounding it, so there won't be people for miles. We should be safe there for a little while until we can evaluate the situation further and come up with a more solid plan."
"But how will we get there, Amerika? We cannot call a taxi. We would have to walk all the way there, through that," Russia motioned his head toward the door, his statement punctuated by another agonized moan from the other side of the hardwood. He would have been the picture of calm had he not been worrying his scarf between his fingers. It was funny, the little things America was able to pick up about him. Years ago, he wouldn't have noticed any of it.
America gave a small smirk, digging in the pocket of his bomber jacket and pulling out a worn leather lanyard. "SUV, baby."
Hah! And England had told him it was a gas guzzling waste of space when he bought it!
"You live alone, America! What is the point of having a vehicle that can transport a little league team!" he had said. And look at them now. Had the situation been a little less serious, he might have taken a moment to gloat.
"That's all good and well, but how are we going to get to your van?" Germany asked, his eyes narrowing in scrutiny.
America sighed, and suddenly he looked much closer to his actual 400+ age than his physical age of nineteen. "Follow me, run like hell, and don't get caught off guard."
Germany sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He looked around hopefully, eager for anyone else to throw out a different plan: one with less risk of injury or casualty. He waited, but no one spoke.
"Very well, America." He let out a long-suffering sigh. "Any objections?"
America waited, and to his amazement everyone remained exceptionally quiet. For the first time since he became a nation, no one argued. No one disagreed. It was unfortunate, he thought, that it had to be these circumstances that brought them to agreement.
"Through the window then?" England asked after a tense silence settled around them. There was still a rigid tension to his shoulders, but the outright panic had ebbed away. He looked determinedly towards his youngest son, camaraderie shining deep in his emerald irises. Alfred felt a little braver and surer in his actions at that look.
"S'pose so," America nodded. Luckily for them – if you could call it that, really – their conference was on the ground level floor. There was still a bit of a drop from the window to the ground, but it was a lot better than having to jump out of a third story window.
Alfred walked over to it slowly, unwilling to yet see the horrors that lay beyond, before he propped it open. He climbed onto the sill and held onto the wall to keep his balance. Soon the pane was securely snapped in place. Painstakingly, his eyes raked over the scene before him, looking for any signs of danger that could hinder them from proceeding.
He saw no threats in the immediate area. Taking a brief instant, he closed his eyes and breathed. His nerves weren't settled and he still felt incredibly nauseous, but he knew he needed to be calm and he needed to get everyone out of there. He signaled for the others to line up behind him.
He glanced back at them, waiting until everyone had queued up in an orderly fashion.
"Stay close," he said seriously. There was a collective nod from the others. With one last deep breath, he gave a short solute to them before throwing his weight forward. His feet made contact with the ground a moment later with a loud bang. He cursed himself for the noise and wobbled a small bit.
Shit, I'm dizzy.
The others followed his lead, first England, then France, Canada, then Japan, Italy, then Germany, and finally Russia brought up the rear. America's heart gave a small squeeze when he saw where his lover was. He didn't feel comfortable with him being that far away. But, if there was one thing that America knew about Russia, it was that no matter what the situation, Ivan would be fine.
Taking comfort in the fact that at least his family was right behind him, he ran, hearing the heavy foot falls of those behind him. America's SUV was parked in an empty lot – he hoped that was still the case – about two blocks away.
For the first few hundred feet, he didn't see anyone, just buildings and cars among the streets. He almost thought that maybe the other nations really had been messing with him all along, but then he saw it. The body of an old man, or what used to be him, stuffing its face with the innards of a half dead golden retriever that was still yelping in pain or maybe for help.
And oh how America did want to help – to do something – but he knew in their current predicament, he would be no help to anyone, human or beast, and was much more likely to become a liability to the group. He winced and looked away, speeding along and trying his damnedest not to vomit.
As the group ran, they came along many more of these gruesome scenes. The one that stuck with America most, however, was a dead woman that was eating her baby. It had been difficult to press on past that.
They'd been running a good while when white hot pain settled in his stomach, just below his navel, for some unknown reason and America's vision began to blur.
It couldn't have been the run, could it? He'd run farther than this just messing around, racing Matt. Two blocks shouldn't be enough to tire him, let alone physically hurt him, should it?
Taking a rasping breath, Alfred forced his vision to clear. He was able to make out the black sheen of his SUV. It was a few hundred feet away, sitting in the thankfully empty parking lot. Those things weren't anywhere near it.
His heart hammered in his chest as he sprinted. Just a little more, they were almost there—
Something knocked into Alfred's side, knocking him off balance, but thankfully not tipping him over. He glanced to his right just long enough to see the half hanging face of a man. It groaned loudly, the stench of death clinging to it like a second skin.
"Shit!" Matthew swore loudly. Alfred whipped his head around in time to see his twin stumble over the rise of a curb and hit the ground. Without taking a moment to rethink his actions, he spun backwards, running toward Canada, and drew his keys from his pocket.
"Matthew! Alfred!" France and England cried in unison.
"Russia! Think fast!" He threw his keys backwards toward Ivan. They arched in the air before landing directly into Russia's outstretched palm.
"Alfred, you idiot, what are you doing!?" England screeched from behind him.
Alfred shook his head, ignoring the cries of panic from the others as Germany and Russia ushered them forward – England and France screaming for the tall blonds to let them go, that they had to help their sons – and focused his attention solely on his brother. Matthew's lavender eyes were blown wide in terror, his irises barely visible around his blown pupils.
Alfred rushed towards him, dropping to his knees before his brother.
More of the dead were beginning to make their way toward them. "Can you walk?" he asked urgently.
Matthew attempted to, but fell a moment later, letting out a low groan. "I-I think I sprained my ankle!"
"Hang on, then!" With no more warning than that, America scooped his brother up into his arms, twisting on his heel as he ran full speed toward the van. Canada looped his arms around his younger brother's neck and hung on tightly. Kumajiro clung firmly to Canada's chest, looking up at America with terrified brown eyes. The decaying masses had made it to the parking lot and were making their way at an alarmingly quick rate toward the vehicle.
Nausea and pain pooled in America's stomach and he had to strain to keep Canada balanced in his arms. Just a little further –
Something caught America's leg and unceremoniously, he crashed to the ground.
"Alfred!" Matthew shrieked.
All at once, the world around him seemed to stop. The zombie that had knocked into Alfred just a minute prior now had its hand latched tightly to Alfred's ankle. Staring up at Alfred with glassy eyes, it gave a low grunt and attempted to bite his leg with dull teeth. On instinct, Alfred's hand flew straight to his pocket, brandishing a .38 colt revolver from his coat. In a matter of seconds, his thumb pushed back the hammer and with all the dexterity he processed, he pulled the trigger.
A gush of its blood splatted across Alfred's cheeks, a hole appearing in the center of the thing's forehead, dripping dark crimson. Its body lifelessly fell to the side.
People dying before his eyes, children burning, mothers screaming.
Chaos.
It was Chaos.
He wasn't even on the battlefield and people were dying. They were dying in hoards and there was nothing he could do.
Black smoke billowed from the destroyed town. He pressed forward.
Burning bodies everyone. The smell of death was thick.
There was nothing he could do.
Suddenly, something grabbed on to his ankle. He looked down, horrified to see the roasting body of a child.
"Please…"
Alfred clenched his eyes shot, aiming the barrel of his gun down at the child's forehead. He squeezed.
POP!
And the little one was gone.
"Alfred!"
He looked down dazedly at his older brother. There was panic and worry buried deep in his lavender eyes.
That's right! He wasn't on the battlefield; he wasn't fighting on the war front. He was in his land and he needed to get Matthew to safety!
Pulling the Canadian closer to his chest, he made to run. His legs trembled beneath him so severely that they gave out immediately. He tried again. His legs refused to cooperate.
Panic coiled low in his belly at this realization. He looked around frantically, taking in each and every one of the zombies that were drawing ever closer toward him and his brother. His breathing picked up frantically as he tried to get up to get Matthew and himself to safety. But no matter how hard he willed them, his legs would not do as he wished.
They were going to die.
They were going to die because his legs refused to cooperate.
He couldn't breathe. They were going to die because Alfred couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't do a thing.
He couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe!
Suddenly, Germany was there, taking his brother away from him and into his own arms. The German looked down at Alfred worriedly. Alfred stared back, his vision tunneled.
"Keep moving," he heard a familiar Russian accent order, "I have him."
Suddenly he was being held, one arm supporting his back and one arm supporting his legs. Ivan ran forward with purpose and Alfred subconsciously hooked his arms tightly around the larger nation's neck to keep himself from falling.
Alfred was wheezing in Ivan's arms, his lungs burning at their pitiable attempt to get air in. His eyes were clenched shut and he coughed sharply. His head felt strange, like someone had shoved a layer of cotton between his skull and his brain. His chest constricted tightly and his heart felt as if it was going to beat out of his chest at any moment.
He felt himself jostled, and then suddenly it was as if the sun had disappeared. They weren't running anymore, but they were still moving. He wanted to ask what was happening, but he couldn't get the words out through his thin, wheezing attempts at air. Many voices were speaking around him, and it was hard to make out individuals.
"He's not breathing!" someone shouted.
"I think he's having a panic attack," a quieter voice chimed.
"Amerika, I need you to listen to me." But he couldn't listen to whoever it was; he had to focus on breathing. He couldn't breathe! He needed air! He needed –
"Fredka."
In the ever fading light, he picked out a tall silhouette. It was familiar – comforting almost.
Alfred's eyes began to refocus and he could just make out gentle violet eyes staring down at him worriedly.
"Listen to me," Ivan said, his voice soothing. "Listen to me breathe, and do as I do."
Since he didn't have the ability to speak, he nodded his head dumbly. He listened as Ivan took a deep engulf of air and did his best to replicate the action. It took a few stuttering starts, but by the third time Alfred was able to replicate it. After he did, Ivan took a long breath out. Alfred followed suit, to the best of his abilities.
It took a very long while, but eventually Alfred was breathing normally once more. When his vision came back to him, he was able to figure out their surroundings.
He was in his car – the dim illumination of twilight being his only source of light – in the middle row of seats with Matthew and Kumajiro to his left and Ivan to his right.
Mattie! Matthew was all right! He was a little banged up, but he was all right!
America pushed himself forward and wrapped his arms tightly around his twin. Relief filtered through him. Matthew was fine. He was fine.
Canada wrapped his arms around Alfred with equal vigor. "I'm okay," he whispered lowly into Alfred's ear. "We're okay. You did good."
"Are you all right, lad?" England asked quietly from the passenger seat. America pulled back from his twin's embrace to peer at the older nation.
His voice was gentle and his green eyes were the softest America had seen them in a long time. He made an effort to voice a simple I'm fine, but his tongue felt like sand in his mouth. Numbly, he nodded his head in affirmation.
"Rest, mon petit," France said from the driver's seat, glancing back at Alfred in worry via the rear-view mirror. "We'll wake you when we arrive."
Well, he couldn't argue with that. His eyelids felt so heavy. The growing dark of evening didn't help keep him awake, either. He could barely see around him as the twilight faded, the only light in the cabin of the vehicle coming very faintly from the headlights. He could barely see Mattie next to him.
He settled back into his seat, his head resting lightly on Russia's shoulder. He felt an arm loop loosely around his waist, squeezing his hip reassuringly. He leaned into the touch, twining his fingers tightly around the Russian's other hand.
He squeezed gently.
Ivan squeezed back tighter.
Alfred smiled.
He was on the edge of sleep in a matter of minutes. Just as he was about to fade off, he heard a tiny chirp of bell-like laughter.
First things first, I would like to formally apologize to my mother for sinning.
No, but seriously, I hope you guys liked this. This is my first story on here, as well as my first Hetalia story so I did my best. I'm a mean person, so I like anything with angsty America.
In case it wasn't clear, America has some pretty severe PTSD. The little flashback was supposed to have happened during the Vietnam War - the My Lai Massacre. I have a head canon that since Alfred is so young, but fought in so many wars he's a little unbalanced and can have a hard time dealing with it. I think during actual war time, he has to pep himself up and if he can't, well not very good things happen.
I'm not really too sure for the time period of this. I realized while I was writing this that shit, Russia isn't in the G8 anymore but for the sake of the story let's just say it was before he got the boot.
I don't have a beta for this, so all mistakes you see are my own fault. Feel free to point them out, I will not be offended at all. All criticism is welcomed and greatly appreciated.
I'm not really sure how frequently I'll update this. I have quite a bit of it written already, but depending on the response it gets it may be more or less often. I was pretty hesitant to post this at all, so that might play into it. Initially it was just something I wrote for my own enjoyment after playing The Walking Dead Game and the Last of Us.
Anyway, thank you all very much for reading and please feel free to review! I appreciate it.
- T.D.