Some things get explained in this chapter - or do they?! Dun-dun-duuuun! Please enjoy.
"This is bad, this is bad." The feckless politician behind him whimpered "Englands alliance with Russia goes back centuries, and if he doesn't like us, we can kiss goodbye to diplomatic relations in Europe!"
"Just calm down!" his fellow urged "We can get past this! We just have to find out what made Russia so mad and fix it somehow…"
"Well, turning up unannounced certainly didn't help! Al, you couldn't have waited a few days and let them know we were coming, could you?!"
America ignored them. Arms crossed against his chest, he stared out the blackening window to the street below, watching England and his giant little brother cross to the underground station. Underground. America didn't even have a proper overground! He clenched his teeth.
He hadn't lied – he had been looking forward to meeting England. He didn't want to join the war, but he rarely had visitors, and any chance to expand his trade had to be good. France had filled his head with tales of his odd but cute little brother England, which is why he had gone to New York to meet with him sooner. But the minute he saw him…the minute he met those forest green eyes, his heart seized up. His head started to spin. A wave of emotions suddenly over powered him. Waves of resentment, waves of pride, waves of…of loss. He felt physically sick. He couldn't meet the Englishman again until he knew where these emotions had come from. He still didn't, but…
He hated the cold look the small nation had given him. It struck him in the heart in a way he couldn't explain, but when he had extended his hand, with a friendly smile and warm expression…his heart was filled with hope. But why? And that other one, his 'little brother', Russia. What was with him? America took an instant dislike to him, and it appeared the feeling was mutual. Something about the giant stuck in his craw. Like they were natural enemies. Perhaps they were. He knew he had to get the Englishman alone, if he ever wanted to put this turbulence to rest.
The door to the lounge burst open, and in a flurry of fancy, France sauntered in.
"Mon Petite!" he called jovially "Where is mon petite?"
"M-Mr. Bonnefoy!"
"Over here, you old perv." America called with no enthusiasm.
"Ah, bon, bon!" he leapt across the room and threw his arms around the (slightly) taller man, who didn't bother to uncross his "I never imagined I would see you 'ere, America! I 'eard from my Generals you were on your way to see England, so I 'opped right over! Tell me, you come all this way, but you don't bother coming to see Papa?"
America shot him a glare, and he backed off – their relations were still a little rocky.
"I came to see England." He confirmed "I decided…"
He debated whether to not to tell the nosey European. Despite the bitterness between them, he still wanted France to be proud of him.
"I decided to turn my luck around." He said honestly "To take a positive step to become a better nation. I decided to make my own luck, not be a toy in the hands of fate anymore. That's why I'm here."
He expected France to laugh, but instead he smiled calmly.
"That is most bon, mon petite." He praised "You are really growing up."
America smiled a little, but quickly became moody again.
"It didn't go that well." He confessed.
"Russia?"
"Y-yeah, how did you know?"
"Mon Dieu, it is always the same!" France confirmed, flapping his hand about in the air "I swear, Angleterre is the only one who cannot see 'ow eerie Russia is. All of Eurasia is scared of that creepy…" he caught himself, clearing his throat "It was tres strange. That Russia is like an evil shadow that 'aunts mon Angleterre, but 'e can't see it. It is like 'e is under a curse of black magic that Russia 'as cast." He sighed pitifully "I want to get Arthur away from that brute, but I am just as scared of Russia as everyone else."
France may have been more right than he imagined. Freshly bathed, Ivan sat on the floor before the sofa, letting Arthur dry his hair. He enjoyed this physical closeness – at first he had embraced it as novelty, but as time went on, he found a genuine, innocent pleasure in this chaste affection. The great British Empire was surprisingly affectionate with his 'little brother', even moreso than Russia had expected, but he certainly wasn't complaining. He mused over the days events. He couldn't let things lie. That America would find a way to ruin it, he knew.
Once Arthur had fallen asleep, Ivan left the flat and made his way back to the American Embassy. Despite the late hour, he was welcomed in cordially and shown to a meeting room, a little more formal than the lounge they had been in before, to await America. He arrived half dressed, that familiar look of distrust on his face. The two stared each other down before sitting at opposite sides of the table.
"Just so you know, I don't want to be here." America pointed out "But my boss thinks I should try to improve our relations."
"Won't happen." Was Russias immediate answer.
"Then why did you bother coming here?" the blonde demanded "Or are you just going to throw more threats at me?"
"I thought about it." Russia admitted "But such things never really worked with you before. Then I remembered I am much smarter than you, so decided I would try to explain."
"Before?" America was confused "You and I have never met before today!"
Russia couldn't help but smile. It gave him a perverse glee to know he could hold something over America.
"Perhaps." He smirked "But this is only this today. Things were very different in another today."
He was relishing the utter perplexion on the idiots face.
"Listen carefully, I will tell you this only the once." He warned "If you are too stupid to understand, that's your problem." He smiled broader, reminiscent of the smile he always used to wear "In a different today, England was not injured at sea. He went to the new world, and found you, and took you in as his little brother. But you were ungrateful and spoiled, and you hurt him badly."
Russias smile faded as he remembered the 'other today.'
"It was hard to see how much he loved you, and you didn't care. He wanted to take care of you, but you pushed him away." His fists clenched in his lap "You were raised surrounded by warmth and safety. You wanted nothing. So ungrateful…"
He clenched his teeth so hard, pain shot up the sides of his skull. Suddenly, he smiled.
"You always wanted him gone, so I asked you if I could have him instead." He continued "And I don't know what happened then, but somehow that today changed into this today. I was Englands beloved little brother instead of you. I had all his love, all his protection, and you were left in the cold with nothing in my place."
He laughed a little at the look of horror and confusion on Americas face.
"It's funny – do you think that you can wish for something so much for so long that God himself will grant your wish?"
America started to get mad. His eyes darted about as memories of the past flashed through his mind.
"In your place?" he gasped "All these terrible things that have happened to me, all the upheaval, all the death, all the …shit! In your place?!"
"Yes," Russia confirmed "It seems I took your good luck along with the one who loved you most. And you're much younger than I am, so you have much more bad luck to come."
"Why…why would you…did you hate me that much?"
"A happy side-effect." Russia admitted "But yes, I hate you. I knew that if England met you again, this today might once again become that today – you would take his love and I would be alone again. I couldn't let that happen."
"You ruined my life!" America roared, barely staying in his seat "For what? For England?!"
"For love. I'd ruin the whole world for that."
"I don't… I don't understand…"
"You never did. Most likely you never will. You're slow and ungrateful." Russia stood to leave, and America jumped to his feet as if he were expecting a fight.
Russia just smiled.
"You and I both got what we wanted. Don't blame me because you made bad choices."
With that, he left. America was an idiot, that much hadn't changed. He wondered sometimes why he was the only one who had remembered the other today. Was it another gift from God, remembering the pain and loneliness he had suffered before, so he could better appreciate his life now? He didn't, as they say, look this gift horse in the mouth.
London was boring this time of night (unless you liked alcohol and prostitutes, in which case there was tons to do!) so he headed back to the flat, silently letting himself back in. He hadn't woken England. As he changed for bed, his mind drifted back to the other today, and his heart was overcome with unease. Quiet as a shadow, he went to Arthurs room and lay on the bed with him.
It hadn't even been about England at first. Or even America. Russia had watched them quietly over the years, as he watched everyone. He saw how much England treasured America, even through their mutual stubbornness. He had never been treasured. Abused, alone and feared, most certainly, but never treasured. He might have been able to live with it – having even his own family quake in fear from him – had he not known any better. Had he not seen that a person could be treated so gently as England did America. Knowing that…that was cruel. Far more cruel than not knowing was wanting. He wanted to be treasured. He wanted to be treated gently.
But he wasn't a fool – he knew there was no way he could be treasured. His brutal past, the bad decisions made by his bosses, his own poor reputation…even if he lived another thousand years, he doubted he would be treasured. He started to become jealous of America. Jealous, on top of hating him for all the other reasons. Naturally, the more he watched the two, the fonder he felt towards England. He saw how cold America was to him, to the one who loved him most, and how badly it hurt him. He saw his bright green eyes struck with pain and betrayal every time the idiot rebuffed him, said something foolish and hurtful without a second, or perhaps a single thought. Every time he saw that expression, he wanted to hurt America. England just picked himself up and moved on, sometimes easily, but mostly not.
Russia wanted to take the hurt from his eyes. He wanted to take all the pain America caused him and throw it back in the over-stuffed fools face. He wanted to hold England in his arms and reassure him, tell him the pain would stop. He kept watching England, hoping to catch a glimpse of him happy. 'Happy' was not a word anyone he knew would use to describe England. What started as interest soon turned to obsession – England, Arthur, soon took up his every thought, and a longing set in, like a sudden realization that he was missing a limb.
Arthur stirred in his sleep, bringing Ivan back to this today. He opened his Emerald eyes, still more than half asleep.
"Ivan." He mumbled "What's wrong?"
He stared at him a moment, taking in his trusting, defenseless face, before reaching over and gently stroking his head.
"Arthur," he started gently "Do you ever regret that you took me in as your brother?"
"What? That's silly." Arthur laughed gently "Why would I regret it? Did you have a bad dream or something?"
"Da." Ivan confirmed, barely above a whisper "I dreamt I was alone. There was someone else by your side, but he treated you badly. I dreamt that you were distant from me, and nothing I did would bring you closer."
Arthur inspected him, barely conscious, but clearly concerned. He fished his arms out from under the covers and wrapped them around Ivans neck.
"Just a dream, love." The reassured "Don't let it bother you."
Ivan wrapped his arms around Arthurs whole body and held him close.
"And if it were true?" he wondered aloud.
"It wouldn't matter." Arthur promised "Even if you weren't my little brother, I would still care about you, silly."
Ivan smiled sadly, although Arthur couldn't see, knowing that, not matter what Arthur promised, it simply wasn't true.
"EEEHH?! AN EVIL CURSE! I KNEW IT! I KNEW IT!" France shrieked with abandon as America finished his tale "America, call Canada, we're declaring war on that frozen bastard! 'Ow dare 'e cast an evil curse on mon Angleterre! Bastard!"
America chewed over what Russia had told him. Supposing he was telling the truth – and something deep within the young nation told him that he was – was he right? Was this something he had wished for? Had he had everything, and wished it away? Had he bought hundreds of years of bad luck upon himself, through being selfish and toying with someone else's heart? He couldn't remember, but… the way he felt when he had first laid eyes on England in that hotel in New York. The overwhelming sense of loss, the sickness. He felt Russia was wrong, but he had no proof.
"We can't declare war on Russia." America reasoned "Are you forgetting about what's going on with Germany?"
Francis pulled a face.
"Ugh, you are right. And England would just come to 'is aid anyway." He groaned "I haven't won against 'im in a long, long time" he muttered under his breath.
"'A gift from God.'" Al mused "Is that really possible?"
"God of 'ell, maybe."
"What other power could change reality? And why would they do it for Russia? For what reason?"
"Why does that matter, Alfred?" Francis asked "It is done now, 'oo cares 'oo did it?"
"Because they may be able to undo it." He pointed out obviously.
"Ah… you are right…" France thought hard "God, eh? That may be 'ard."
"Well, who else could it be? What other being has that kind of power?"
"Mon petite, you are so ignorant."
"Ha?!"
"Young, I said young!" France insisted, remembering centuries ago when the use of magic was far more common "Ah, the tricks we used to pull! I remember mon Angleterre was always trying to curse me…"
Americas ears pricked.
"England used to curse people?"
"Still does, mon ami, 'is basement is full of magic bo-"
He trailed off, following his train of thought to its logical conclusion.
"Get the car, Alfred, it is breaking and entering time!"