Hello and welcome to Devil's Advocate.
Disclaimer: Hetalia does not belong to me. If it did, AmericaxBelarus would be cannon.
America ground his teeth to try to stop them from chattering. His arms hugged his body in a tight, vice-like grip. The sharp fangs of winter bit through his jacket, piercing him right down to the bone. Bursts of snow flew into his face and he cursed the Russian winter. Why the hell couldn't the damn Red be located somewhere that wasn't locked in ice and snow? America shook his head and plodded on. He had to get somewhere warm-be it a building or a cave-he had to find a place where he could wait out the blizzard. The capitalist smirked. With his luck he'd find a cave and get snowed in for days. He sighed and allowed another blast of frost to hit him in the face, hoping it would freeze the acidic pessimism and steer his focus away from his demise and onto finding some means of shelter.
Dark objects loomed a few hundred feet ahead, winking in and out as the wind kept kicking up snow. America squinted and kept walking. Was it him, or did those objects look like trees? While not the best thing to see, the trees gave him just a bit of hope. Trees meant a forest. A forest possibly meant a cave, and that meant shelter. Spurred on, he picked up the pace. Once he had trekked twenty yards further, he found, to his delight, that the objects he spotted, had in fact been trees. Beyond the spotting of pines lay a dense forest, shining a dark blue-green against the white backdrop of the snow. A soft glow of happiness warmed his freezing body and he plunged into the woods.
After about thirty minutes of crunching through frozen plants, fallen leaves, and yet more snow, the American found the cave he had been looking for. Sighing with relief, he strode in, settled himself as far as he could from the opening, snuggled into his thick jacket, and fell into a dark, dreamless sleep.
His eyes flew open moments later. Echoing in his ears were the sounds of an erratic heartbeat and shaky breathing. It took him a minute to figure out that the sounds were coming from him. America back-tracked through his mind so he could try to find out what had frightened him. Nightmare? No, he hadn't even been dreaming period. Had something snuck into the cave? No, he would have heard it and woken up before hand. Trying to reign in what he was sure had grown from initial fear to terror, he looked around. Darkness obscured his vision. He couldn't even see a few feet in front of him. Something about that set off the alarm bells inside his head. Although he expected night to fall rather quick, it was the fact that he couldn't see that had him frightened.
I need to be able to see, there's something in here that I need to be able to see.
A sudden flash illuminated his field of vision. Stabbing pain shot through his retinas, and America yelped, shielding his eyes.
"Oh, I'm sorry. I guess that was a bit too bright for you, da?"
That thick Slavic accent. That trademark word at the end of the inquiry. America's heart plunged into the pit of his stomach then somersaulted up into his throat. Russia. Shit, shit, shit. Of all places and all times for his enemy to come across him, it had to be when he was partially frozen and holed up in a cave. Teeth ground against the pain, America cracked open his eyes. Behind the infernal beam of light stood the towering figure of the Russian. Blotches of all colors swirled across his vision; America blinked, trying to clear them away. Although he couldn't see Russia's face, he was certain the bastard wore a sick grin of triumph.
Let me restore my vision. Once that's done I'll give you an ass-kicking you won't ever forget.
Russia's boots crunched on the dirt floor and soon he was eye-level with America. The path of the flashlight angled down towards his feet, giving the eyes of the younger country some relief. Thankful that the light was no longer assaulting his vision, he straightened up and glared at Russia. The other country smiled back at him.
"Good to see you comrade. I must say, I'm so glad to find you here. I was so worried that you had been buried in the snow."
America narrowed his eyes, "What the hell are you doing here?" he spat.
"Come now, don't be like that," Russia leaned in closer, "I wanted to see you, what's wrong with that?"
"Everything." America growled. Then, a thought struck him. How did Russia even know where he was? His home was gargantuan, not to mention dotted here and there with forests and caves, so how did the psycho know to choose this one?
The answer hit him like a slap in the face.
Spies! It made perfect sense. Of course Russia would have people scouting for him and reporting his every move.
"Alright, who was it?"
Russia cocked his head to one side, "Who was what?"
"Who'd you have tailing me? No, don't tell me I know." America snapped his fingers, "it was Belarus, wasn't it?"
"What are you talking about?"
The capitalist rolled his eyes, "What do you mean, what am I talking about? I'm talking about how you had Belarus spy on me and then used her to report to you my location. That's what I'm talking about."
A long moment of silence stretched out between the two, broken when Russia leaned back and broke into peals of laughter. The raucous sound bounced around within the stone walls. America covered his ears, grimacing. Bastard. First his eyes now his ears were suffering. Damn him.
"Comrade, that was brilliant." Russia said after the last laugh had faded away, "Belarus wasn't following you. In fact, I didn't put anyone on your trail."
"Then how the hell did you find me?"
"When the land becomes covered in a blanket of white, many things disappear. Distinction by sight is gone, the world of white envelopes every sound that can ever exist in this world. Your body is worn numb by the incessant cold. Only smell remains."
For a moment, America just sat there, staring at the behemoth kneeling in front of him. What had all that been about? What did the Red mean that every sense save for smell was stolen by snow?
Wait a moment...was Russia saying that...
"Are you saying that you tracked me by scent? Dude, that's totally disgusting!" America shouted. Bile rose in the back of his throat and he fought to keep it down. In his mind he pictured the man turning his face into the wind, nose twitching, trying to catch event he faintest trace of the young blonde's smell. America swallowed the lump of revulsion and tried to bury it beneath a tumult of rage, which was pretty easy considering that just looking at his sworn enemy set his teeth on edge.
In the hazy, ghost-like glow of the flashlight, Russia smiled, "Don't be like that. It's your fault really. If you didn't have such a tantalizing aroma, I wouldn't have been able to find you."
"Piss off you creep," America snarled, "why did you want to find me anyway?"
"I came to make you an offer."
"No."
Russia blinked, "What? Why not?"
Glowering at the Communist, America sat back against the cave wall and crossed his arms. "Simple," he answered, "it's an offer coming from you."
"Alright," Russia said, flicking the beam of the flashlight around their feet, "but what if I told you that my little sister was the prize?"
America's ears pricked up.
"Ah, I thought so," Russia smirked, "you're in love with Belarus, aren't you?"
America looked away.
The smirk grew wider, "It's alright, you don't need to hide it. Besides, it's so obvious you're a man in love. You look at her, and your gaze lingers far longer than anyone else's. You speak her name, and your eyes light up. It always aggravated me, but I don't mind anymore because I have an offer to make you. Are you listening America?"
He leaned in closer. Backed against a wall, America tried to scoot away, only to have a gloved hand clamp down on around his jacket collar. A blast of fear shot through him. Wide blue eyes darted back to the snow-haired Slavic man who now had his nose buried in the capitalist's neck. A wave of revulsion shook him when he felt Russia inhale deeply.
"What do you say, my capitalist comrade? Do you want my sister?"
Icy breath caressed the skin of his exposed neck. America swallowed.
"What's the catch?" he asked.
The Russian shifted, moving his lips from the junction of America's neck and shoulder to his ear.
"One night with me, and you can have my sister for eternity."
"And why would I do that?" America's snarl wavered, almost turning into a soft yelp when he felt blunt teeth graze his earlobe.
"Because you are in love with my sister," Russia stated, flicking his tongue over the nipped lobe, "Besides," he continued, "it's not all that complicated. She follows every order I give her without question. If I order her to reciprocate your feelings, she has no choice but to obey. Not only that," smooth, ebon leather reached up and stroked the soft skin of America's cheek, running the thumb down the bone beneath, "I get to have you all to myself for a night. It's win-win. What do you say?"
America gulped. As he tried not to focus on what the Communist was doing, an image of Belarus popped into his mind. Those dark, beautiful, and mysterious cobalt eyes. That soft, long, platinum hair. Her stunning face and figure. The radiant young woman who could make his heart stop with just one look. He loved her, heart, body, and soul. To him Belarus was the pinnacle of covetousness, more valuable than any gem and more spectacular than the best theater performance. But fate had other plans. He had twisted her within his cold, gnarled grip; distorted her heart to where she only had eyes for her sociopathic brother. To make things worse, America had been barred from her by countless obstacles. Distance, political ideology, the longings of her heart-so different from his-and not the least of which, Russia. But now, only one obstacle remained, and it was more than willing to remove itself. One night. Just one night with Russia, and Belarus would belong to him. One night with the Communist, twelve black hours stained red, a corrupt bargain beneath the midnight sun-and he could have the ice angel of his dreams. All he had to do was submit to the Communist.
"Russia."
The country in question shifted his position. Lucid violet eyes locked with fiery azure. "Yes, my red, white, and blue sunflower?"
America smirked, "Forget it."
Before Russia could inquire as to why, something snaked out of the darkness and rapped him across the nose. Colorful stars exploded behind his eyes as a torrent of blood when spurting out from his nostrils. Pain bloomed along the bridge of his nose and he fell back against the floor of the cave. The flashlight skittered across the floor, throwing light around helter-skelter. Russia scrambled to his feet, only to have a cruel fist of stone rocket into his gut. Coughing, the large man went down for the final time. Cradling his wounded abdomen with one hand while trying to staunch the flow of blood from his nose with the other, he glared at America, who now stood over him, illuminated by the flashlight. In his hand, he held a pistol by the barrel. The butt of the gun had a small line of red smeared on its dark gray surface. Russia growled.
America smiled, "Sorry man, your offer sounds tempting, but there's just one fatal flaw in your argument, two actually. One, I would never spend a night with you, and two, you can never order someone's heart. In time, Belarus may come to love me, but it will be on her own terms. Besides," America squatted down to where he was eye-level with his hated enemy. He stretched out his hand and held it, poised, in front of the bridge of Russia's nose, forefinger and thumb curled. Without warning, he flicked his fingers. The Communist empire howled in pain. America stood up and walked over to the flashlight, picking it up off the ground, "a hero never makes deals with the villain."
He strode past the curled up ball of agonized Russian and stopped at the mouth of the cave.
"I'll be taking this flashlight with me. Don't worry though, once the sun rises, which will be in a little bit, I'll leave it behind. You can come find it in the forest."
"Odious cur," Russia spat, glowering at him, "when next we meet, I'll have your hands bound and conquer you. I'll make you feel like the little bitch you are."
"Don't worry, we'll meet again soon. And when we do," America cocked his pistol, "I'll make the snow turn a very pretty shade of red," he turned away and waved over his shoulder, "Ciao."
And with that, he stepped out into the coming dawn, leaving Russia to bleed in the dark.
What did you think? I'll admit, although I've become a fan of one-sided RusAme, I'll always be devoutly AmeBel.