Russia looked out the window to see America walking in the snow. There was no end to the whiteness, a prison without walls, the heroic blond had said when they arrived. But that didn't stop him from trying to find a way out of his present situation.
Chuckling quietly to himself, Ivan continued watching him, finding a perverted humour in the situation. The most obnoxious person in the world had been silent for almost a week. Of course, he was probably going mad with waiting. Russia had done so on purpose. Let him sweat it out, worrying every night what was going to happen to him the next day. Make him think that he tasted poison in every bite of food. The best kind of mind games were the ones inflicted upon oneself.
But the time for waiting was nearing its end. The tall Russian already knew exactly what was in store for his 'guest'.
America continued to walk through the knee deep snow determinedly. He kept a mantra playing over and over in his mind to keep from insanity: there must be a way, there has to be a way, there will be a way. As long as he could walk, Alfred figured, he would continue to find some way of escaping, whether it be trying to brave the elements or finding a secret passageway inside the mansion Ivan brought him to.
Wrapping his trademark jacket closer to his shivering frame, Alfred decided that he would have to wait for tomorrow to explore the area around the mansion further. The sun had almost set and it wouldn't do any good for him to freeze to death just seconds from the front door. After all, he had only been there for about a week... Hadn't he? Or was it two? His sense of time had flown out the window after only two days of crippling boredom, just waiting for the bastard to do something.
As he neared the wide, double doors, America could've sworn he saw Russia's smiling face from a second floor window, but as he took a double take it was gone. Shaking his head, he opened the door quietly, warmth washing over him in a wave. He quickly took off his boots, making sure to brush off all the snow before it melted and then brushed off the rest that was on his legs.
Quietly, he made his way up the right side of the double staircase; his every nerve high strung for the next part of his path. Russia, being his creepy self had made sure that every time America wanted to leave his room he had to go right past his. The bastard had probably custom made the floor so that it squeaked when he made his way in front of his usually open door.
Every time without fail, if America looked in his room, Russia would be standing there, a sadistic smile on his large face. This time was no exception. As soon as the floor protested against the American's weight, he looked quickly over at Russia's room, seeing the same grin that had been inhabiting his nightmares for the time he had been stuck in this abnormal prison.
Deciding this was a good time, Russia left his room and walked until he was just behind America, making no sound as he did so. When he said Alfred's name quietly, the blond whirled around in surprise.
"I suppose you have been bored these past two weeks. I am terribly sorry for that. I have been busy; as I am sure you can understand."
"Busy doing what? Growing icebergs? Killing seals? Bombing countries?" America asked snarling, as he slowly backed up; fear evident on his face.
"Ah, sarcasm, the devil's humour. But I suppose you have a lot of pent up anger. It is only to be expected. That is actually what I am here about. I have a way for you to release some of that anger." Russia smiled, knowing that, one way or another, America would do almost anything to relieve the boredom.
"...What are you saying exactly?" America mumbled, his eyes narrowing. Knowing Russia, it would be something extremely sadistic or painful – or perhaps both. But almost anything was better then singing 'The Star Spangled Banner' over and over until the lyrics made no sense.
"Just something to get your mind off of your current situation. Something I, myself, do from time to time. I also know that there is not much to do here, so I thought you would want something to break up the melancholic life. But if I was mistaken..." Ivan shrugged and turned to walk away.
America swiftly put his hand on Russia's shoulder, making him stop and turn to look at him. "Just tell me what it is. I mean... Not that I'm over eager or anything... It's just..." He looked up at Ivan's small smile, knowing full well he just fell into one of his traps.
"I'm sorry, but I wanted it to be a surprise. Looks like you're not interested, so just forget that I asked." Once again the tall Russian started walking away toward his room, his scarf flapping slightly behind him.
As much as his common sense told him to high-tail it out of there, the larger bored part of it told him to run after Russia and demand an answer. Following the bigger instinct, he ran to Ivan, pulling lightly on his scarf to get him to stop. "Fine... If you won't tell me what it is, will you at least show me?"
The Russian smiled, shadow falling over his face. "That is exactly what I had in mind." He started walking down the hall, motioning America to follow. "You see, some of the countries are having a difficult time believing you came here with me of your own free will." He kept talking, knowing that if he paused at that last sentence Alfred would interrupt. "One of them even brought up the idea that I had kidnapped you. This is not true." They made it to the door leading to the basement. Without turning around, Ivan started down the stairs. "It is now your job to show this person that he was very wrong in his thinking." At the bottom, he turned left, and stopped at a wooden door. He looked at Alfred and said, "It also gives you a chance to let out your anger." He opened the door and put something in America's hand, but he was obviously too shocked by what he saw to notice. There, chained in the middle of the room, was England, blind-folded. And, in America's hand, was a whip. "It is your job, dear Alfred, to punish him for his falsehood."
It once again took all of America's willpower not to attack Russia at this part. Even now, he knew it was better to try and use words to rationalize with him instead of tooth and claw. "Bastard! This is going too far! You said that if I came with you, you wouldn't hurt England or Canada!" As he yelled, he tried to pretend like he didn't hear Arthur attempting to get his attention.
"That is where you are wrong. I said I would let them live. As you can see, he is alive. As well, I assure you, is Matthew. And, unless you get too in the moment and whip him till he bleeds to death, Arthur will stay alive." Russia smiled, knowing exactly how this was going to play out.
"You asshole! Do you think you'll actually get me to whip him?!? And who do you think you are, using their human names?! You don't deserve to use them, Braginski." America all but spat, throwing the whip aside. "You are a sick, perverted, twisted excuse for a human being."
"That may be true. I mean, I did have a war with the person that raised me just so I could get away. And I did try everything in my power to be as different from him as possible. And of course I left him for dead when he was helpless on the battlefield. Oh wait, that, I believe, was you, to our friend Iggy over here." Russia walked over to the bound man. "Guess who is here, England. Your hero has come to save you!"
America watched in slow motion as England turned his head toward the sound of his gasp. He could even imagine those clear, green eyes looking at him, framed by his absurdly large eyebrows. Those same eyes that reminded America exactly why he was here in the first place: to help his land become as green and full of life as those eyes.
"What the bloody hell is going on Alfred? Where are we? Did Russia kidnap you as well?" England asked. His voice was quiet but it still had that tone that reminded America with a twinge in his heart of when he used to get in trouble with England when he was a kid for going somewhere without telling anyone.
His eyes wide with emotional pain, America choked out. "N..No... He didn't kidnap me as well... I did come by my own f..." he stopped for a moment and swallowed loudly, "free will."
Looking back up to Russia, America started to yell again. "Fuck this! I can't fucking whip him! He's like my fucking father! You can't make me do it!"
Watching America storm toward the door, Russia smiled. He pulled out a serrated hunting knife, he brought it up. "Alfred, are you really going to leave dear Arthur? Here? With me?" When the North American country turned around and saw him motion to England's hand with the knife, he said, "He doesn't need this to live, you know. In fact, there is a lot I can cut off and he will still be alive." Ivan grabbed one of the bound hands. "Oh well." He touched the blade to one finger.
Letting his hand drop from the door handle he continued staring at the door as England started to shout. "Don't do it Alfred. What ever he's threatening to do, it doesn't matter. Just leave. I'll be fine. After all, I lived with you for about a century and I survived; Russia couldn't possibly be any worse." He turned around just in time to see Arthur aim a weak smile in his direction, making America's heart drop.
As much as he wanted to trust England completely and just walk away and forget it all, he knew what Russia would do if left to his own devices would be ten time worse than anything he himself would do to him.
Ivan pushed slightly on the finger with the knife, causing England to let out a gasp and a bead of crimson blood to appear. The action alone caused the rest of his resolve to crash around him.
America slowly went to the side of the room where he haphazardly threw the whip, bending over and grabbing it. His hand shaking slightly, he walked over to the middle of the room where Russia was with England who was still standing, arms and legs chained up so they were spread. Looking up at the Russian, America steeled himself for what was going to have to happen. "Ok... I'll...I'll do it..." He stopped, looking at the unmarred, naked back in front of him. "Only if you promise to let him go afterwards."
The communist smiled. "I promise. And I am one to keep my word." He stepped back from Arthur and went to the corner, perfectly content to watch. "I think fifteen lashes should suffice."
America watched as Russia walked over to the side of the room and sat down in a chair, clasping his hands on his lap and watching with a bemused expression. "Fucking bastard..." he growled as he looked again to the pale skin of England's back.
Testing the weight of the whip in his hand, he walked up to Arthur and whispered in his ear. "I'm sorry... I... I didn't realize this would happen... The lying ass hole said that if I went with him, he'd keep you and Matthew out of it... It was supposed to just be us!" America's voice cracked slightly on the last word from the weight of it.
It was a moment before Arthur replied, his voice cool and steady. "It's alright Alfred, it really is. Just... Just be a good boy and get it over with."
From the corner, Russia said loudly, "Whispering isn't polite, you know! And, England, you will have to be the one to count. At least I'm sure you won't forget a few numbers."
Growling, Alfred stepped back slowly, creating space between him and Arthur. He let the whip uncurl from his fist, the end just touching the grimy stone floor. With an experimental flick of the wrist, America wanted to see just how little force he could get away with using.
Mouthing 'I'm sorry' again even though he knew England couldn't see him, he flicked the whip; the crack of the whip against flesh and Arthur's pained gasp as he yelled out 'one' making his knees tremble faintly.
"Well, for the 'leader of the free world', that was pretty weak. I was expecting more from you, Alfred. He hardly screamed! Perhaps I should take up the reins, then, if you can't..." Russia said, and he started getting up from his chair.
"Don't!" He yelled at Russia, "I... I can do it. Sit down." America waited for Ivan to be sitting again before he started again.
"Two...Three...Four...Five..." Alfred's heart hurt more and more with each number. Each time he cracked the whip, Arthur's voice grew louder and more pained. He could now distinctly see the red welts of the first few strikes.
"Six...Seven...Eight...Nine...Ten..." He continued striking the back in front of him. The faster he hit him, the less it would hurt, America had thought to himself, inwardly cursing himself for becoming so pathetically weak.
"Eleven... Twelve...Thirteen... Fourteen...Fifteen!" Arthur's body shook, the chains holding him in place giggling eerily. America allowed himself to fall to his knees, his face glistening with silent tears. He tore off his glasses, wiping his face off on his shoulder.
Standing up, America put his glasses back on, a hard, glazed look to his blue eyes. He grabbed the whip and walked over to where Ivan was sitting. He threw the whip to his feet and stared him with his broken gaze. "I did it. Now will you fucking let him go?"
"I suppose." He walked to the blind-folded man and took out a key. Slowly, he unlocked each of the chains, and Arthur fell to the floor. America ran to him, but Ivan held up his hand, stopping him.
"You may go to your room." He demanded more than asked. Once Alfred was out of the room, Russia led England out of the mansion. He took off the blind fold, letting in the blinding light reflecting off the endless snow.
"Wh-what the bloody hell is going on, Braginski?" England said, blinking in the sudden brightness.
"Finland is that way." He got a large coat from beside the door. "Here you go. And here is some dried food."
"Are – do you mean to say you expect me to walk? That's impossible! You giant git!"
"Be glad I gave you food. You will not be able to get back in this house after I close this door, so I suggest you get on your way. Goodbye, Arthur." And with that, he closed the door, leaving England outside, with just the snow and his wounded back keeping him company.
