You guys are so nice! *sniffs* I can't believe I got some many good reviews on the prologue! If I could hug you all, I would, so I'll just hug my computer instead. I mean it, thank you call for the reviews!
:D Anyway~ Here is the next chapter. And, just so I don't get busted by the FF people, I don't own Hetalia.
Double Trouble
America tapped his foot against the ground, staring at the empty seat. The only empty seat, mind you. Sure, Russia sometimes dropped right out of meetings, but he usually sent some sort of notification before. Leave it to the comm-er… ex-commie to ruin his totally amazing speech. It was probably Ivan's evil plan to ruin Alfred's speech by not showing up. They couldn't go on with the meeting of Ivan wasn't present without risking an international incident. So, after an hour of waiting, Germany called it quits.
America sighed and turned to look towards England, knowing that he would be complaining about getting nothing done. The odd thing was, though, that his former brother was looking oddly nervous and speaking in whispers to Scotland while the redhead was literally slobbering drunk, his head collapsed against the table. He dully nodded to most of what England was saying, occasionally shooting back a line of slurred, unintelligible words that sounded angry or frustrated. Northern Ireland and Ireland were seated on either side of England and Scotland, both furiously skimming pages in old-looking books. Wales tapped his foot impatiently, looking up at the roof as if in deep thought, his eyes cloudy. Romania was standing behind Scotland, patting his back and commenting quietly to England with a grin that showed off a single pointed fang (that guy was totally a vampire and Alfred knew it). And then there was Norway who, like the Irelands, was flipping through an even stranger looking book.
Alfred was confused. First of all, the Kirkland brothers were sitting together. Well, that wasn't unusual or anything since the British Isles brothers generally sat together (if England's brothers even came to the meeting at all). The weird thing was that they seemed to be…coexisting. Scotland was tamed by alcohol and not trying to tape signs reading "property of Scotland" on England's back or trying to publicly humiliate him with random recounting of the British nation's childhood. The Irelands weren't set up recordings of England's sleep talking to broadcast throughout the room. Wales… Okay, so Wales was being fairly normal, just without a sheep.
And then there was the fact that Romania and Norway were with them. That seemed a little odd… Alfred approached the only remaining nations in the meeting room. "Hey dudes, what's up?" he asked, taking a seat on the table across from England and Scotland.
Scotland shot up, dropping his alcohol on the ground (luckily the bottle was empty) and pointed to America, "Shhh! It's Amerizilla!"
Alfred blinked before snickering, "Dude, you're totally wasted."
Scotland looked appalled, placing a dramatic hand over his heart, "Really? I didn't notice, ya litt'e runt." He nudged England, grinning sloppily, "Raised a real winner, there, didn' ya?"
England's scowl deepened, but he didn't respond to Scotland, "What do you want, git? We're busy."
"Whatcha busy doin'?" he asked, crossing his arms.
"Oh… Trying to get Russia back from the other timeline," Wales commented, still staring at the roof.
Alfred blinked, utterly lost, "Uh…"
Scotland reached over and slapped his brother on the back of the head," Why'd ya tell 'im that, you stupid lug?"
England sighed heavily, obviously frustrated and annoyed. "Ignore them, they're drunk," he instructed.
"What did he mean, other timeline?" Alfred asked, completely ignoring Arthur.
Wales sighed wistfully, his eyes looking as though he were somewhere else. From what he'd heard about England's southern brother, Wales liked often got caught up in what he liked to think of as visions like his brothers like to think they could see magical creatures. "I mean, thanks to Arthur, Ivan is stuck somewhere else entirely. Another world where something changed… Something big enough to separate it from ours," he explained, "Luckily, their Ivan didn't come here. Well, lucky for us, anyway."
"What are you talkin' about, man?" Alfred demanded.
This time, England answered, calmly and as though nothing were wrong, "I accidently sent Ivan into another world."
Alfred laughed hysterically.
Alfred laughed bitterly, feeling the thick, jagged scar under his fingertips. He'd agreed, gurglingly of course, to surrender on the terms that his and Matthew's people would be spared. He'd never agreed to do so happily. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd been happy. How long had it been since he'd surrendered? That was roughly the last time.
He'd been happy, carefree, and just plain free then. Now, he woke to new wounds slicing neatly across his arms or chest. Of course, the only wound Russia had physically inflicted was the scar underneath his fingers, a few bruised jaws, and a momentarily ruined windpipe on a particularly rebellious day. The new injuries were from the crushing of his peoples' resistances. As morbid as it was, each morning he woke to find a new cut, he smiled. Because he knew his people were still fighting. They wouldn't just give up. Each time Ivan saw them, he frowned.
And the ridicule wasn't really new, either. If the Russian was angry with the war against Japan (Alfred secretly wished Kiku all of the luck in the world, because he was going to need it) or spotted the look of defiance in Alfred's eyes, there was ridicule to talk him back down. He'd even been banned from speaking English at one time. But this was pushing what he could take and not snap back. If only Arthur was safe…
But no one was safe anymore; not Alfred, not Arthur, not Kiku, not Mattie, not even Ivan.
Obviously, the man had been drinking, despite how he denied it. That, or Ivan suddenly became the best actor in the world to fake that confused look. When the war became too much to handle at the time, the vodka came out and the memories vanished. On some occasions, he'd be asked how he got into the Russian's house. On others, Ivan would just stare at him, almost sadly, as if there were some horrible, Shakespearean tragedy playing out there. Shakespeare… It'd been a long time since he'd heard that one.
Alfred watched as the nation's brows lifted upward in shock before his expression returned to normal and he laughed softly. Laughed. He was laughing! The American had to ball up his fists, making angry red crescents against the plan of his hands to keep from slugging the taller man across that smug jaw. This was not something to laugh about.
After a minute, Ivan sighed lightly, his laugher over, "Alright, then Amerika, this game has gone on long enough."
Alfred's brows knitted, "What game?" Did he know…? No, no, no. He knew about the information he was sending to Kiku… He gulped, taking a step back. What was he going to do? Please… Not Arthur. Not my brother...
Ivan took several steps, closing the hint of a gap between them. Alfred took another step back and Ivan took one forward. The game of cat and mouse lasted until Alfred's back hit the wall. He looked up at Ivan, his heart pounding as he waited to hear which relative was going to bear the retaliation. He bit at his lip in frustration. Heroes weren't supposed to get cornered… Ivan, on the other hand, seemed even more confused, "Stop it, Alfred. This may be funny to you, but it is not to me. Tell me where England is; I have a score to settle with him."
Wait… What? Arthur escaped…? Alfred's heart leaped in his chest. Arthur escaped! He made himself narrow his eyes, "I have no idea where England is; I've been right here this whole time. You know I can't leave without you hurting Mattie's lands."
The Russian frowned deeply, "Mattie?"
Yep, too much vodka. "Matthew. Canada," Alfred explained, "The other nation you're at war with."
Ivan shook his head, "I told you before, Alfred, this is not funny at all. Where am I?"
Alfred bit at his lip to hold back a snide remark, "Your house. And, trust me, dude, I agree; this ain't funny at all."
Ivan lifted his hand and Alfred narrowed his eyes, glaring back as he expected to feel the smashing stings of a fist hooking into his jaw. Instead, even worse, calloused fingers reached up to brush across the nasty scar. For a moment, his eyes fluttered shut, not used to human contact except the occasional violent outbursts after a particularly insulting remark. He quickly snapped them back open to leer with the full force of his furry, not bothering to move the hand that gently prodded at the scar.
A look of shock and confusion filled the Russian's face, "This… is real."
His breath didn't smell like alcohol… "I know," Alfred snapped back, confusion causing him to lose a bit of vigor.
"But it can't be," Ivan mumbled in a hurried whisper, "You did not have this in the meeting and I certainly couldn't have put it there."
"Did you get your skull cracked open or somethin' while you were fighting?" Alfred demanded, eyeing the head of fair hair for a trace of blood. He hadn't looked injured when Alfred found him on the doorstep. But that would certainly explain why he'd been out cold.
"I have not been fighting," Ivan said calmly, his violet eyes glues to the scar with some sort of morbid fascination, "And you are not my colony."
"Then what am I, huh?" Alfred sighed, his tolerance level quickly dropping off.
"You are Amerika. Annoying, loud, and very much independent," Ivan answered without blinking, "It would simply be… strange for you to be different. Да?"
The retort Alfred was going to make died on his lips when he spotted a figure in the corner of his eyes. He turned his head to see Toris heading their way. "Alfred, Ivan has retu-…" the Lithuanian stopped both in his walking and in his sentence, wide eyes watching Ivan, "B-But you…"
Ivan smiled, his fingers still resting against the portion of the scar that lay under Alfred's collarbone, "Ah, Toris. Perhaps you could explain to me what is going on here."
"And perhaps you could explain to me why your hand is on my colony." It was the same voice, thick accent, only… hasher. Alfred's eyes widened significantly as he slowly looked down the other end of the hall to meet a pair of violet eyes identical to the pair in front of him.
Two Russias? Somebody shoot me and get it over with now…
Looking at your own face in the mirror was one thing. Looking at someone else with the exact same face was something else altogether. Both pairs of violet eyes blinked, both confused and curious. Ivan let his hand drop for the brutal scar that marred the American's skin so that he could turn fully towards his double.
"Oh, hello there me," he greeted with a smile. Obviously something else was at work here.
The other Ivan smiled a smile Ivan hadn't seen on his own face since the Cold War, "What has Arthur done this time, hm?"
Some of the confusion cleared up in Alfred's eyes. The American glanced back at Toris before continuing to glance between the two Russias. Ivan shrugged at his double, "I was just trying to figure that out for myself. Oh, by the way, I don't think I like you much." Especially if this was the person who put that nasty scar on the American's neck.
A hand latched onto his wrist, the grip strong, but not nearly what it should have been. There was an urgent tug, "C'mon!" With that, the America took off towards Toris' end of the hall, dragging Ivan along by the wrist, "Hurry it up, stupid giant!"
Ivan quickly fell into step with the American the moment he spotted his double reaching into his coat to pull out a gun. Obviously, this wasn't a prank. England had… done something. He just couldn't figure it out yet. Something that either knocked him out long enough for Alfred to suffer a serious injury and heal over completely. Oh, and long enough for someone to impersonate him.
Or… No, Arthur couldn't have… Could he? The magic England was so proud of generally backfired. Did he really have something powerful enough to change history…? No, that was just stupid. Right?
He heard the thunder of steps behind him, but they were slow. Almost as slow running as Ivan had been during the Cold War (he'd shed a few pounds since then, making him much faster). Alfred led him through a maze of halls, the America's grip on his wrist tightening periodically. He raced out of a door and into the snow that covered the ground. The wind was strong and the snow fall was heavy from the thick grey clouds. It was difficult to see further than a few feet and the sheer cold of the air bit down to the marrow of the bones.
The American laughed, continuing to run away from the house, "Can you believe that? First good luck I've had in freakin' sixty years. No way he can follow us out here."
At least Alfred was the same idiot, scar or no. "Amerika, you realize that we will die slowly out here, да?" he asked, slowing down.
He could feel the hand on his wrist already shivering violently. Wearing a sweater, slacks, and a pair of boots wasn't conducive to blizzard survival. "Nope, I've got a plan!" the American announced, "Just hurry up and follow me 'fore I end up like a popsicle."
He followed the American for roughly ten minute before Alfred took a sharp right and suddenly the snow stopped. Well, stopped falling on Ivan, that is. They were under shelter… in a cave.
Ivan looked to the American who was collecting precut twigs and a pile of straw and positioning them to start a fire. He dug a box of matches out of the straw and lit the separate, smaller pile, slowly feeding progressively larger twigs into the fire. At times, he would stop to rub his arms or hiss when his shaking hands twitched into the flames.
"You know what is going on, then?" Ivan asked, walking up to stand in front of Alfred, the building fire between them.
Sapphire eyes looked up from behind wire frames. Alfred scoffed at first before laughter boiled up from his throat, "I'll tell ya what's going on: I probably just killed Matt to run away with you." The last word was a hiss, enough anger seething from the final syllable to fill a stadium.
"It was your decision," Ivan pointed out.
Alfred rose to his feet and stepped around the fire to glare up at Ivan. That was the America he knew. Never back down, even if your opponent is a good deal taller than you. "So you're really not all that different. Good to know," he seethed, "Heartless commie where ever you go."
Ivan sighed, "I am not communist anymore." How many times did he have to tell him—Oh, yeah. Alfred was acting strange and there were two Ivans.
Said American blinked, backing down a bit. The confusion returned, "Wait… What?"
Well, that was a first. Generally there was some sort of comeback to that response. "You should know that, even as unobservant as you are. I have a president now. You do remember that, да?"
This only led to more confusion on the American's part, "Uh… Dude, you've never had a president…"
"Of course I do," Ivan responded calmly, his patience being tried once again by the infuriating blonde, "I haven't simply dreamed up the past few decades since the Soviet Union's collapse."
Alfred's blue eyes widened dramatically, "That's not right."
"What have I said that isn't right?" Ivan asked, his irritation starting to show through.
"Dude… The Soviet Union never fell," Alfred stated without blinking. That was impossible. Absolutely impossible. While Ivan struggled with his thoughts, Alfred decided to laugh, shaking his head as he returned to his fire, "Man, Artie's into some freakin' weird stuff."
Ivan couldn't agree more.
So, there you have it~ :D I'm so glad you guys are still reading if you've made it to this little note. Anyway, I probably won't be updating every day and will likely fall into a once a week pattern, but I figured I should go ahead and get the first chapter out there in celebration of all of the reviews. :P Once again, thank you guys~
The next chapter will have the alternate Arthur making an appearance to offer some explainations and a hint of bad news for Ivan and alterante Alfred. Meanwhile, Alfred tries to help the Magic Club locate a way to bring Ivan back so he can give his big speech.
