A/N: SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG! ;w; When I decided on giving them a One-Month-iversary, I didn't think I'd be uploading this chapter when it almost actually WAS their One-Month-iversary. Whoops. *sweatdrops*
Disclaimer: I own neither Hetalia: Axis Powers nor The Jungle Book.
America dreamt of Russia.
Well, not quite. It was more of a nightmare, really, for three main reasons:
One. In his dream, the two ends of a scarf crossed around his neck and wound themselves tighter and tighter, until he couldn't breathe and spots crept into his vision. He thought he was about to black out, but that was preposterous. Heroes didn't black out.
Two. In his dream, he was short; he could only see up to Russia's scarf, and that was only when he craned his neck. He didn't like that at all, the feeling of being so small and out-of-control in the grip of that scarf.
Three. In his dream, he had no idea where Texas was. And that worried him very, very much.
"Become one, da?"
That voice again. It hissed at him, silky but with something vehement in it. Though the malice was clear, when he tilted his head down slightly so that the sound could be shot like a cold, burning weapon into his eyes, America saw something under it, something that rang not quite as forcibly but hit him just the same.
Russia was lonely.
And America could see that the nation was, under the layers of deadly scarf wound around his neck, under the heavy coat he refused to take off, under the light of the moon on that cold, quiet night, hoping earnestly and almost naively for someone who would be able to fight it off by surrendering. America almost was that someone. That someone with deadly scarf, heavy coat, and the light of the moon on a cold, quiet night who filled the whole in that chest where a heart should have been.
Yes.
America so desperately wanted to respond, to tell him that he wasn't alone. He wouldn't be alone. He'd make sure of it.
But the dream ended like it did on every other night he had it, with a dark figure bursting from the trees and colliding into a wide-eyed Russia as the scarf was ripped away. And then there was the falling, the strangest part of the dream yet, where America's face was to the sky but all he saw was forest green.
The mournful eyes of a stranger that tore away from America's only at the very last instant in order to fend off Russia, who had returned to his feet and was swinging at the stranger with unrestrained rage at having been cheated out of yet another friend.
As branches whipped across his back, America couldn't help but feel sorry. For the friend he never got to make. For those sad green eyes he never quite placed but seemed to know him so well. For the faint, silly notion somewhere at the back of his head that said Well—and here there was a name he didn't quite catch—ol' buddy, this must be what it feels like to die.
When he fell awake, there was a micronation in his room.
"Happy One-Month-iversary, jerkface!" Sealand beamed, holding out what appeared to be a giant hunk of coal. Said giant hunk of coal immediately landed with a splat perfectly in the center of America's face. "Drats, there goes the cake . ."
America wiped the so-called "cake" off with a brush of his hand, then ate it anyway. As he licked his fingers, America nodded appreciatively, "Mm, good stuff. But, uh, why'd you make it?"
"Do you listen to anything?" Sealand frowned. "It's the one-month anniversary of our time together!"
"Oh," America said flatly, doing some quick mental calculations. He groaned and flopped back onto his back. "Dammit, I totally forgot to get you something!"
"It's alright," Sealand assured him without missing a beat. "You saved me, remember? I know I don't act like it all the time, but I'm glad you did, so sit back and let me do something in return, got it you big jerk? Today, we'll fill at least fifty baskets of honey by sundown, I'm sure of it!"
A green-eyed nation was alone in the Jungle, his face taut as he surveyed the land around him, comparing it to the drawings on the map. He was at the edge of the deciduous tree-line, where the eternally-summery state of the Jungle started to fade into a snowy landscape of evergreens. The map matched it. He gave a grim nod.
He was in Nordic territory now. He was getting close.
The nation took another step forward, but when he did, he heard a sound unlike the mashing of snow beneath his boot. No, it was a sleek noise, definitely not like that of stepping in half-frozen sludge. It sounded metallic, almost like—
His eyes widened as he dropped to the ground and rolled out of the way of a dangerously-gleaming projectile. The knife planted itself firmly in the earth where he had just been standing. "What the . . . ? Bloody . . ."
He glanced around in case another knife was about to come flying out of him. When none did, the nation cautiously moved over to examine the knife embedded in the ground. He kneeled down, gingerly pulling it out with one hand. It appeared to be a regular kitchen knife, but it took some effort for him to extract nevertheless. After turning it over a few times in his hand, he pocketed it—who knew when it might come in handy—and stood.
That was when he felt one press against his throat.
"England, is it?" a female voice asked uncomfortably close to his ear, sounding more like a demand than a casual conversation. "We have several things to discuss."
America had almost spilled the truth out to Sealand right there. About how it was all a hoax and had been from the start. About how he'd been perfectly willing to leave Sealand in Russia's clutches. About how he'd cared more about his glasses than about the micronation's life. But then Sealand had mentioned the honey, how he was willing to work harder corresponding to their so-called "One-Month-iversary", and America never could say no to food.
So, America chose not to interrupt. It twisted a knot of something wretched in his gut, perhaps shame, but not as much shame as the knowledge that if he had to chance to do it over again, he still wouldn't have corrected the micronation. Honey was valuable, a novelty. It was scarce these days, and America would reap as much as he could from it well before he even considered the notion of jeopardizing it with the truth.
"Ah, would you look at that!" an airy—and suddenly un-socially-acceptably-close-to-his-ear—voice cooed. America had barely registered it before he felt something land across his shoulders and he stiffened. Tsk-ing resulted. "Amerique, have your reflexes deteriorated so quickly already? Perhaps it is laziness setting in, non?"
"No," America deadpanned, shrugging off the nation's arm. "France, aren't you supposed to be off frolicking in a flower field or something?"
"Well, I would be but Germany was occupying it," France pouted.
"Germany was gathering dandelions," Japan offered as an explanation.
"We could have stayed," Hungary huffed, "but France is too much of a pansy to share a flower field so he dragged us off in this direction and I swear we've passed this beehive eight times alrea—"
France hastily cut her off at this point. "Oui, oui, well, that's our morning for you. So, Amerique, I see that you have a new underling."
He indicated Sealand, who was dressed in full giant-transforming-robot-armor as he prepared to karate-chop a beehive, with a slight nod of acknowledgment.
"Yeah, that's him up there," America confirmed, leaving out the name of this new underling. "He's a good little guy, and though he might not look like it, the dude knows how to get stuff done. Hey, have I told you guys that thanks to him, my honey production has—"
"—skyrocketed," Hungary beat him to it with a yes-we-noticed-and-so-no-that's-not-really-necessary-but-thanks-for-the-newsflash smile. "It's all that anyone uses nowadays."
America and Hungary dove into a discussion about honey—which was mostly America raving about it while Hungary offered news about the current state of the honey market and France tried to interject with random tidbits of gossip and other updates of the outside world; it had been quite a while since America had made contact with other nations.
Japan, meanwhile, had his eyes pinned on Sealand's flying form. The robot suit seemed more and more familiar the more and more he looked. He knew exactly where the joints bent whenever Sealand moved, even when the sunlight glinted off of them and made them too bright to see clearly. It was as if he'd seen it before somewhere, as if . . .
"Of course," he breathed quietly, the realization dawning on him.
America paused in his conversation to turn in Japan's direction, "Huh? Japan, you say something dude?"
"Nothing you should be immediately aware of," Japan said reassuringly.
Sure enough, America returned to his conversation, oblivious to the bit of information now in Japan's possession. As for Japan himself, he merely continued his quiet observations, mulling over a certain tidbit of information related to the identity of this new underling of America's.
"Forty-eight, forty-nine . . . there! That's fifty!" Sealand beamed excitedly, touching each of the baskets as he counted them off. They'd returned to the cave just in time for nightfall to count their earnings in the dim light. Sealand sat back with satisfaction. "See? I told you we'd do it didn't I, you jerk?"
It had taken several hours well after Hungary, France, and Japan had gone off in search of the nearest inn—"Because taverns, inns, and, well, just about anywhere with alcohol is a surefire sign of male civilization, and where there is male civilization, there is yaoi!" "Dude, Hungary, I don't know if I've mentioned this before but you should totally get a hobby or something." "This is my hobby."—but at Sealand's protests each time America suggested they head back, America had agreed to stay outside until they'd met their quota. Once again, looking at the many baskets of honey spread out before him, he couldn't say he regretted it.
America tousled the micronation's hair with a laugh. Sealand tried to act frustrated as he swatted his hand away, but he was smiling as well. "Yeah, you sure did, dude. Nice job! Alright, looks like it's getting late. Time for some shut-eye."
"Happy One-Month-iversary!" Sealand called once more, a merry good-night.
America rolled onto his side, settling down for the night. He could get used to this, couldn't he? ". . . Happy One-Month-iversary."
Notes on this Chapter:
Guess who's finally made an "official" appearance. And guess who appeared right behind him. ^J^
