'Become one with Russia..'
Ivan's voice whispered through the purple haze of his dreams.
'You will, Matvey. You will become one with me..'
Canada woke with a gasp, sitting up and scrambling back on the bed. The blankets fell to his waist and he panted, the last of his dream melting away. Waking reality trickled into his system like blood flowing back to a limb that had pins and needles.
Sweat beaded at his forehead, but the chill in the air dried it quickly. Matthew glanced around the cabin. No one was there. The fire from the previous evening was gone, and only softly glowing embers remained in the hearth.
The chair stood ominously beside the bed, as if someone had been sitting there throughout the night watching him sleep. His glasses rested there now. He picked them up and rubbed them clean with the sleeve of his hoodie before putting them on.
His hand went to his stomach to try and quiet the growling noises it was making. He left the bed and went to the loose plank he'd found ages ago in the floor, lifting it to peek inside. This was the place he stored his rationed food. He was disappointed to see there was nothing left.
Matthew sat back on his haunches and sighed. He supposed he'd have to wait and see if Russia would return tonight with more food. He'd come two nights in a row now. There was a very good chance he would appear again with more that night. He hoped so.
Matthew balled his fist at his chest and chewed his bottom lip. He hoped the Russian would come? How did that even make sense? Only weeks before he was on the receiving end of horrid beatings and now he was HOPING the man would come?
It was only for the food, Matthew reassured himself. His mind and body were betraying his good sense because he was starving. Ivan coming to visit him in the cabin meant food, so it was for obvious reasons that Canada wanted to see him again. It was for obvious reasons that he behaved himself now instead of fighting and jumped to obey orders.
Matthew replaced the floorboard and pushed himself to his feet. He padded across the cabin to the tiny washroom and stripped off his shirt and jeans, and undershorts. His skin tightened in the cold and gooseflesh appeared on his arms and chest. He ran the water in the sink and picked up his clothes, shoving them under the water. He scrubbed them on the bottom of the sink for as long as he could stand the cold, then had to stop, dancing back to clasp his poor freezing hands together, blowing hot breath over them to warm them up.
There was no hot water here. Why would there be? And if he thought about it, Canada supposed he was lucky he had access to water at all. Being dependant on Ivan for food was enough. He couldn't imagine what it would be like if he didn't have his own water.
It took hours to wash his clothing. It was a ritual he went through at least once a week. The clothing took forever to dry and he would spend the day naked, wrapped in his blankets. He tried to time it for days he was sure Ivan would not show up at his door. He hurried today, however, because he thought perhaps he could stir up the embers in the hearth to create enough heat to dry them by the evening.
Once the clothing was thoroughly scrubbed he hung them carefully on the mantel. He returned to the washroom to clean himself, then bent to drink his stomach full of fluid. The water would keep the hunger pangs at bay.. at least for a little while.
Soon he sat by the window, swaddled in the blankets, gazing out with the same blank stare as he'd done since coming here.
His mind left his body, wandering out into a world he was no longer a part of. He wondered what the other nations were doing. He imagined they were having their meetings, same as usual. They would argue and talk over each other until Germany got angry and shouted for them to shut up before taking over and directing the remaining time.
None of them would notice he wasn't there.
It was alright to be ignored and forgotten at the world meetings. Canada didn't mind most of the time. As long as he had good relations with all nations outside of the meetings he was happy. He had the eleventh largest economy in the world, and that was nothing to sneeze at, really. No one forgot Canada when it came down to business. He made huge contributions to the worlds supply of lumber and oil. Amoung his biggest trading partners were China, Japan and England.. and of course his own brother, America.
Matthew's heart fluttered a little in his chest.
Everyone said he looked just like his brother Alfred.. twins even.. but Matthew never thought so. America stood proud and tall, blond and bright blue eyed, loud and proud. Canada was smaller, meek and quiet. His features were softer, his hair a little longer and a slightly different shade. His skin was more pale due to not seeing much of the sun for most of the year and his eyes.. they were such a dark blue they were nearly purple. America was a bit thicker than Canada was, thanks to all the hamburgers. Canada didn't eat nearly as much red meat as his brother. He was much more partial to sweet things.. like donuts.. and maple syrup.
What he wouldn't give to taste maple syrup again!
His stomach moaned.
Maple syrup on pancakes, maple cookies, maple fudge, maple donuts, maple spread out over pure snow to be enjoyed as an icy treat.. Oh, how he missed home. His brother always laughed at his sweet tooth, but Canada didn't care. He was stereotypically in love with the sap of his national tree because he knew it was the best stuff in the universe and America could just go chew on cows all day if he wanted.
Matthew's heart fluttered again. He wondered what his brother was up to. Probably watching whatever new movie had come out, sitting on his couch drinking a milkshake. Or perhaps he was playing a new game. Canada wished he was there with him..
It was no secret that Matthew often was frustrated with his brother, flustered over the way he talked over others and treated them. He was embarrassed for his brothers overly large ego.. but deep inside.. where no one could see.. he harboured a crush. Or maybe it was love. A strange, longing love.
He was tied at the waste with America no matter what happened. He needed his brother, even if America only paid attention to him when it was convenient or fun. Canada's cities huddled close to America's warmth and strength, and Matthew spent long hours in his brothers house... in his bed.
Matthew shifted in his chair at the window. His groin felt warm as his mind shifted through his memories of his times with his brother... the only bed partner he'd ever had.
'That's right.. a little slower, Mattie.. use your teeth just a bit..' The America in his memory moaned. Matthew's head bobbed between his legs a little slower. Sucking noises filled the bedroom and Matthew's cheeks were flushed with excitement and embarrassment.
His hands lightly gripped his brothers thighs and he fought to relax his throat, avoiding choking when Alfred buried his hands in his hair and thrust up. America was never quite rough with his little brother, but never gentle either. It was all about getting off quickly, with a partner he felt was there for mutual reasons. Quick, shameless pleasure. He never knew how much Matthew longed for the sex, clinging to it as if it were something other than raw and physical. He didn't know Canada's feelings and secret thoughts.
That was why Matthew let his brother fuck his mouth and spill down his throat. That was why he never complained the morning after when he was sore from a pounding that was a little too hard. That was why he was sitting there at the window now, remembering each time clearly and longing for the sex again. If he ever saw America again he would be so happy that he'd let him do whatever he wanted with his body, even if it meant he'd walk funny for a week.
Hours passed, but Matthew didn't notice. Time was immeasurable here in the cabin. All there was to do besides daydream was count the trees and flowers, over and over again. Watch for the butterflies and the bees. Hope for a bird to fly by.
The lock clicked in the door.
Matthew's body reacted before his mind did by jumping up and rushing for the back of the cabin. His blankets were left in a puddle around the chair. Ivan stepped in and closed the door behind him and it was with horror that Canada realized he was still naked. His clothes hung on the hearth.
"Matvey, I bring you foo – oh."
Canada curled into himself as tight as he could on the floor, glowing red from shame. He hid his face in his hands, worrying that the Russian would be so insulted by his nudity that he'd start another beating. Or worse.. he'd leave.
There was silence in the cabin for what seemed like forever. Then Matthew's ears pricked as he listened to the Russian's movements instead of watching them. He couldn't bear to see the look on Ivan's face.
The food tray in the Russian's hands was set down on the floor, same as the past two nights. Footsteps towards the window, then footsteps towards him. Matthew peeked open an eye and through his fingers he saw Ivan's boots.
'He's going to kick me!' he thought with dismay. But instead one of his blankets was wrapped around his shoulders.
"Stay here, Matvey. I be right back."
The Russians boots fell away, and left the cabin altogether. Canada used his chance to look. The door had been left open again.. but he certainly wasn't going to run outside to escape completely naked.
He glanced at his clothing. They still looked damp. He wondered if he had time to grab them and shove himself into them before Ivan came back. He seriously doubted it.
Ivan reappeared at the door carrying a sack over his shoulder. More logs were in his arms. Matthew pulled the blanket around his shoulders more tightly and watched as the Russian closed the door, set the sack on the bed, then built a warm fire. He turned to the sack, opened it and dug through it. He pulled out two articles of clothing. He smiled and held them out for Canada to see.
"This is tolstovka. It is warm." It was a traditional Russian-style shirt with a cloth belt to be tied around the waist. Along with it were comfortable looking pants.
Matthew weighed his options. Put his own damp clothing on to his already shivering cold body, stay there on the floor naked, or take the clothing Ivan was offering him. There was no choice, really.
He clung the blanket around himself and rose to take the clothes. The Russian was graceful enough to turn around and allow the little Canadian some privacy while he put them on. They were too big.
"Oh, Matvey.." Ivan chuckled, smiling when he turned to see Canada looking childish in the oversized tolstovka, the sleeves hanging down over his hands. "I'm sorry. It was mine when I was younger."
"N-no, it's.. it's fine.. thank you." Matthew rubbed the soft, worn fabric between his thumb and fingers. He risked a smile at Ivan. A strange idea was planted in his mind.. that this, perhaps, was not the same man who had beaten him so ruthlessly before. This man was kind and gentle. He seemed to care.
"You are welcome. Please, eat." The Russian motioned to the food on the floor and Matthew dropped to his knees, picking up the bowl to drink from it hungrily. Ivan leaned back against the wall, watching the little Canadian as he took in the food, a smile on his face.
Later, the Russian was seated on the bear skin rug before the fire. He had the Canadian between his legs again, surrounding him, holding him loosely. Matthew had been tense at first, but just as it had the night before, the fire lulled him into a more relaxed state. When Ivan eased him back to lean against his chest Matthew breathed deeply and assured himself that if he was good, he would not be hurt.
Ivan smelled so good. Like the forest. Earthy and a bit musky. Wild and untamed. Very masculine, despite his soft voice. He still wore his long jacket and scarf, even tho he sat before a fire. Matthew wondered if he ever took them off, even when he went to sleep at night.
Even through the heavy clothes he could feel hard muscles. A large hand held his, and he opened his palm, pressing it against Ivan's, comparing the size. Was he really so small? Or was it just that Ivan was so big?
Matthew's curiosity was getting the better of him. He pinched the end of Ivan's glove covered hand, pulling it off. The Russian made no move to stop him. The Canadian looked at the hand, the skin as pale as his own but marked with old scars and callouses. He traced his fingertips over each scar, morbidly fascinated by them. This hand had done cruel things. Matthew knew that. But fear did not take hold when Ivan wrapped his arm around his chest and pulled him closer, holding him there.
No one had held him like this since he was a child.
He remembered Papa France walking around his house, holding him in his arms, rocking him to sleep. Once or twice Father England had held him too, but only when little America was busy elsewhere. When he grew older and had become intimate with his brother there were times when America fell asleep holding him, snuggling him like he was a teddy bear. But often he would mumble 'Japan' in his sleep and Matthew pulled away.
This was entirely different. It was nice. It made him feel.. whole somehow.
The Russian buried his nose into Canada's hair and inhaled deeply. Matthew wondered what he was thinking. He had a brief, fleeting desire to ask Ivan why he'd trapped him here.. but then he thought better of it. He didn't want to risk breaking this spell of kindness that the Russian was showing him. He didn't want to upset Ivan in any way. At least not tonight.
Tingles of strange feelings washed over him when Ivan bent to whisper into his ear, his lips brushing against Matthew's delicate loeb.
"You tell me a story tonight, Matvey. Da?"
"Eh?" Matthew shifted slightly to blink up at his captor. Ivan's violet gaze smiled down at him. "What kind of s-story?"
"Canadian folklore," said Ivan, "Tell me a story of your land."
"Oh.. uh.." Matthew blinked, confused. Canadian folklore? Was there even such a thing? He didn't think so. There were ghost stories of course, but nothing like Ivan's tales of Old Man Winter and Baba Yaga. He wasn't old enough as a nation to have acquired such tales.
"Um.. ok.. I c-could tell you about Hansel and Gretel.."
Ivan shook his head. "Is German story."
"How about King Arthur and h-his knights?"
Ivan chuckled, squeezing Matthew. "English story, little one. I want to know Canadian story. Tell me Canadian story. Not German, not England, not America or France. Canadian."
Matthew frowned in thought, trying to think of a purely Canadian fairy tale. He could tell a story about hockey, he supposed, but Ivan had his own hockey teams and might not want to hear his bragging. Russia was his only real rival on the rink, after all.
He was about to give up and tell the Russian he was sorry, he couldn't think of anything, when he remembered his elders. Not England or France, but his native elders. He spent so much time with them as a young nation, and tho he'd never respected them the way he should have, he always loved to hear their stories. If Canada had any good stories at all, it was the stories of his elders.
"Ok.. I'll tell you about the Sky Woman."
Ivan snuggled into his neck. Matthew shivered at the feel of lips against his skin. "I'm listening," Ivan said softly, and Matthew's cheeks darkened in a flush.
"Long ago, there was no land on Earth – only water. Sky people lived in the heavens above. One day a Sky Woman accidently fell through a hole in the heavens, and cried for help as she fell. The birds of the air caught her and tried to take her back home, but she was too heavy. They brought her down to rest on the back of a great turtle.
She was sad and missed her Sky home. The animals of the sea felt terrible for her and dived deep into the water. They brought up sand from the ocean floor and gave it to the Sky Woman. She took it and spread it over the turtles back. Her tears caused the grass and trees to grow. The green life made her feel happy and at home.. and that was the beginning of our world."
When his tale was finished, Ivan was silent. Matthew felt foolish. He knew he hadn't done the story any justice. He wasn't a storyteller.. not like his elders at home. But he hoped it had been enough to make the Russian happy. He worried, however, that he would be laughed at. Ivan's face was still nestled against his neck.
"I would like to come and see your land – your turtle island." Ivan said this in all seriousness.
Matthew thought about this. When was the last time Russia had visited him at home? He couldn't remember. He wondered if it had ever happened at all.
"Canada will be part of Russia, strong and with good stories."
Matthew tensed in shock. He sat up and pulled away from Ivan. "Eh? P-part of Russia..? W-what are you... no!"
Ivan pulled him back into his chest and held him with a vice-like grip. One hand went around the little Canadian's neck. His teeth grazed Matthew's ear.
"Yes, Matvey. You and I will join together."
Matthew struggled. No! America would be so angry! So would England and France! His brother and fathers would tell him how foolish he was! A terrible thought entered Matthew's mind then. How ashamed they would be if they saw him like this, embraced by Russia! What was he doing?
He squirmed away from Ivan and made for the door. He knew it was left unlocked. NOW he would flee into the night and escape! But his hand didn't even reach the knob before his legs were kicked out from under him. He struggled to get back up and away but Ivan kicked his stomach, the blow exploding all the air from his lungs.
He coughed and doubled over in pain. A fist grabbed a great handful of his hair and pulled him straight and another fish crashed against his jaw. He tasted blood as Ivan let him go. He stumbled across the room towards the bed. Ivan followed and pushed him down, flipping him over onto his back. The Russian trapped the little Canadian against the mattress with his knee. He slapped and backhanded Matthew across the face until blood ran freely from his nose.
"I'm sorry!" Canada cried out, "Please stop, I'm sorry!"
Ivan stopped. After a moment he moved and Matthew curled up on his side, wheezing and crying, bleeding all over the bed.
"I'm sorry.. I'm s-sorry.." He whimpered his apologies over and over again. His glasses had flown off his face in the attack. He hoped they weren't broken.
Ivan turned and grabbed the sack, bowl and tray. Without a word he left the cabin, slamming the door behind him. Matthew kept whimpering, his blood and tears choking the apologies that kept coming, even long after Ivan was gone.
Days passed and the Russian did not return.