A/N: Hahahahaha! Okay, that was a fail. XD I fixed the last sentence, but that was a winning fail. It totally was. I meant to say "I'll make sure you rot in hell" not "I'll make sure to rot in hell" Poor Alfred is probably stupid enough to say that though. XD Enjoy~

Ivan raised an eyebrow at the fork, but the connection was made clear. Alfred was Capitalist. Such a poor, stupid boy. He sipped the tea once more, "Actually, the USSR is Socialist or did you forget that was why the government wouldn't buy your filthy imports before the second World War. But being Amerikan, you wouldn't know the difference."

Alfred stared, blinking confused. They were Socialist? But everyone said they were Commies . . . What is a Socialist by the way? Never mind! He was a RED (That was something not controversial . . . right?) and that was bad by itself! What was Socialism?

"It appears your cousin is much like the Chukchi," Ivan sighed, not worried about the idiot. He was probably trying to find his way back to reality without an actual path. When Alfred's mind began resuming conscious effort, he remembered he had a foot on the table and a fork aimed at the Soviet across the table.

His head snapped to Arthur, "Ship him back to his Commie-!"

"Socialist!"

"Commie. Socialist. I DON'T CARE IF YOU'RE ALL FUCKING BUNNIES WHO HAVE TAKEN OVER HUMANS! SEND HIM BACK!"

Arthur stood up and grabbed his cousin's ear; "Excuse us for a moment Ivan. I need a chat with Alfred." He dragged the American by his ear down the hall to the den, the younger whining all the while.

Once the pinching fingers removed themselves, he rubbed his ear and scowled, "What was that for!"

"Alfred, we are a prestigious family," Arthur started slow, "You are closely related to the President of the United States. I am your cousin and also related to the Queen of England. Now, you were brought here for a specific reason, as was he! He is related by marriage to the current leader of the Soviet Union."

". . . . WHAT! By marriage!"

Arthur buried his face in his palm, "As in his aunt is married to the current leader."

"Oh."

"We are diplomatic bargaining chips as of right now. Mostly you, I'm the referee. However your time with young Mr. Braginski goes is how the relations between America and the USSR will go. And if it is bad I cannot think of what may potentially happen. Also, I find it is only fair that someone is watching Ivan at ALL TIMES to make sure no one does anything to him," Arthur hissed.

"You . . . gotta be kidding. You mean the entire fate of the Cold War rests on my shoulders?"

"Those thin, inexperienced shoulders, yes. And you are at a major disadvantage. Ivan has been raised knowing every and all political science. Which is why he didn't jump at your throat. Your uncle has Secret Services and the Scotland Yard watching over the house. I can tell you, the Spetsnaz would have embedded a bullet into that gut of yours had you moved an inch forward and then a gun-fight would have aggressively ensued."

Alfred blinked, realizing just how close of a scrape from death he had been in, "I-I. Um . . . Wh-what should I say?"

"Right now, just be yourself and see what happens Alfie."

"I have a question . . ."

"Hm?"

"WHY DID NO ONE TELL ME ABOUT THIS AND HE KNOWS EXACTLY WHAT HE NEEDS TO GO THROUGH THIS DIPLOMACY SHIT WHILE I GET LEFT TO FUCK UP!"

A giggle floated behind him, it sounded really childish. It wasn't all girly, but it sounded like little kids at the park. Which was creepy, coming from the person who attempted, and failed, to stifle the laughter bubbling up. The American turned slowly to see the boy hiding his smile under his red scarf, "I didn't think they would leave you to be so immature Alfred~. I've been trained for a meeting like this since I was twelve."

Alfred was 17.

"I hate you. Both of you." He headed to the stairs.

"Where are you going Alfred?" his British cousin called.

"To the attic. Maybe I can find some rope or something."

Ivan giggled again, but it sounded darker, "But Comrade, all you have to do is ask~!"

A finger flipped over his shoulder as he stalked angrily, and frustratedly, to his room to sulk and cuss out his Uncle. But priorities first: he had to write about, possibly, the most shit day he had lived through. But some little bug at the back of his mind told him, the worst was yet to arrive.