A/N: Thank you so much for all of your views and reviews! I appreciate it! I'm so glad you are all enjoying my story so far! Please review if you love my new chapters that I'm putting up!
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Russia walked through a field in northern Minnesota, feeling the wind whipping at his face. He hated how bitter and biting the wind was on his tender skin, already feeling it going numb. He was pretty certain that his skin was already starting to turn red. His hand reached up to pull his scarf up a little higher to cover up half of his face. Just why had he agreed to this again?
His phone went off with a text from Canada: hey thanks again for helping us! you are seriously the best! -canada :) Oh right, that was why. Russia pocketed his phone and went back to what he was doing. All he could do at that moment was internally hope that America hadn't alerted his president or government of the fact that he was there.
"Damn you, America," he quietly grumbled to himself. "Why did you have to get yourself kidnapped in the middle of the fucking winter?" He pulled his coat in tighter around himself as he trudged along in the field. At least there wasn't any snow so far to slow him down.
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Meanwhile, America sat quietly in the Oval Office, trying to make sense of it all. Why was Russia here in his country? Of all nations, why was it Russia? Was he here to attack him? If so, wouldn't he be there right now? America knew for sure that Russia wasn't there on holiday. What was he planning then?
"You've been pretty quiet for the past hour or so," Collins commented from his desk. "Is something on your mind, Jones? Care to share?"
"Just wondering why you're such an asshole is all," America casually answered. He waved his hand in a careless gesture toward his president and carried on with his thinking. Ever since the president revealed his true intentions with the travel ban, he had been nothing but harsh toward the man. "And you know, I still haven't figured it out. Weird, huh? It's almost as if you're just one because you're a fucking sadist. Tell me, does it get you off or something?"
"We're not having this conversation again," Collins ground out. "Now please return to your silence. It was much more preferred."
At that, a smirk appeared on the young nation's face. "Oh, so my silence is preferred, eh?" he asked. "Then how about I just talk the day away?"
"You will not," the president answered. "If I have to duct tape your mouth shut, I swear to God, I will do it, Alfred." He pointed his pen at America as a warning. "Do not tempt me, Jones. You will not like me."
"Well I already don't like you, so…." America began.
Collins glared at him. "You had better quit while you're ahead," he threatened. "You won't like me when I'm angry."
"Again, I already don't like you."
"Good thing I'm not here to be liked," the president stated. "I'm here to be your leader. And you're going to be stuck with me for the next four years, so get used to it."
"I won't be if you get assassinated or impeached," America simply stated, inspecting his nails.
"You'd like that, wouldn't you?"
"Yeah, I would." The young nation looked up at the fuming man behind the desk. "And don't ever think that I would do anything to save your ass. I've saved many of my presidents before, but I wouldn't ever even think to lift a finger to save you, Barry. Always remember that."
"That's President Collins to you," he growled at America.
"I will call you what I damn well please." America's blue eyes bore into the man. "In case you forgot, I happen to be the nation who provides you with your stupid, little job of presidency. I've known you since you were a little kid that was being bullied around by the kids in your kindergarten class. What was that name they used to call you?"
"Stop it," Collins snarled at him.
"Oh, that's right, Cherry Barry," America taunted with a large smirk. "Because you were the most feminine and innocent boy in your class. Such a little cherry boy." He ignored the dagger-like glares coming from Collins. "But now look at you, the most corrupt bastard to currently live in America."
"Either you shut up now, or I will shut you up," Collins threatened. "Make your choice."
"You see, Barry, I know everything about you," America answered. "Even those little things that you think no one else knows. It's because you grew up on my land. I know everything there is to know about everyone on my soil. Not one thing happens here that I don't know about. That's why you went to another country to come up with the travel ban, isn't it?"
Collins narrowed his eyes at the nation. "You're too smart for your own good, Jones."
"Wait until I get going," America snarled at him. "But you underestimate me, Collins. And you underestimate those like me."
"What do you mean by that?"
"You can't shut out the rest of the world, and you can't keep me away from it. The longer I'm gone, the bigger the attack will be," America answered. "And they will come at you, full force."
The look on Collins's face at America's bluff was enough to keep the nation satisfied for the next four hours.
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Canada sat back on his couch with France and curled into the French nation's side, frowning. He had a bad feeling about sending Russia over to America to rescue his brother. It was almost as if he could sense something bad would happen. The two could barely ever get along at a meeting, surrounded by people. Canada didn't want to imagine what it would be like to have the two of them alone with one's safety depending on the other.
"You feeling okay?" France asked Canada, putting an arm around him. His fingers tangled into the younger nation's hair in a comforting way. "Are you just nervous about Russia and America? I'm sure things will go smoothly. Russia knows what he's doing, Canada. Everything is going to be okay." He placed a reassuring kiss on top of the young Canadian nation's head. "Try not to worry too much. America is in good hands. We have the world's greatest strategist going after him."
"As reassuring as your words are, you have to remember that this is America we're talking about," Canada sighed, curling up closer to France in his distress. "He hates accepting help from others. I doubt he'll come quietly."
"He will if it's Russia," England scoffed. "Russia has already told me his plans if America doesn't cooperate. Trust me, it will all work out just fine." He rolled his eyes, even though he was nearly sick with worry for America. England found himself curling up against the other side of France. "Let's hope Russia can do this."
"What? You doubt him?" France asked with a smirk. "I don't doubt Russia at all. I believe that he can do it. After all, if he can't, then who can?"
There was a moment of silence as they all took in France's words. He did have a point. If Russia couldn't do it, who really could? For Canada, it was a moment of terror, not wanting to think of what would happen if Russia were to fail. For France, it was a moment of reflection, wondering how he could help America after he was rescued to make sure it could never happen again. And for England, it was a moment of sadness, thinking about the final words he had shared with the nation who was now imprisoned on his own land. "I hope Collins does to you what you deserve!" America didn't deserve this…
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Russia walked out of a small, abandoned barn in the middle of nowhere, dressed in what appeared to be casual winter clothing from America. His coat and boots had been left behind in the barn and replaced with a trendy winter coat, a hat, some gloves, and a pair of cheap boots bought at a local secondhand store. If he was going to be in America, he needed to look the part. Though he couldn't bring himself to part with his scarf and wore it under the coat. It was too precious to him to be left behind in an old barn in the middle of nowhere.
He shivered, finding his old coat much warmer. America really owed him for this. His arms wrapped around him as he rubbed them to stay warm. Now, all he needed was to walk to the nearest town and get a cab to the nearest city. He had a flight to catch out to DC. And when he got there, it wasn't going to be pretty. After all, when a nation's leader kidnapped their own nation, things never ended well.
His breath came out in small puffs of smoke as he walked along the road. There was a sign that said the next town was two miles away. That far? He shivered and continued his walk, hoping that the movement would warm him up soon.
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America still felt Russia's presence when it came time to leave the Oval Office that night. He wondered what the other nation was doing there. It was plaguing his mind. What was going on? He wished there was some way he could contact him to see what was up without Collins getting suspicious, but there wasn't. Part of him just wanted to ask if he could text Canada and just use the emergency code that all nations used.
"Collins," America said, looking up at him. "Can I shoot my brother a text?"
"Only if I can look at what you're sending, and the reply," the president stiffly answered.
"Really?" the nation asked, eyebrows shooting up in surprise. "Sure, man! Come sit down. I just really miss him is all." His thumbs began to tap out the message on his phone as he spoke. "I'll tell him all is well so he doesn't get suspicious."
The text read: hey, it's your brother. i wanted to let you know that i'm well. tonight i will be going home and drinking a white russian in memory of you.
"White Russians were our favorite drinks whenever we used to go and visit our brother England," America explained to Collins. "Canada liked them because they got him tipsy pretty fast, but I just liked the idea of milk and alcohol." He laughed to himself. "It's such a weird combination."
The real reason was that he was letting Canada know that he knew Russia was in the country. "White Russian" was their key word for Russia. But if America hadn't made up some bullshit story as to why he was texting Canada that, then the cover would've been blown.
Collins nodded as America's phone buzzed with a text from Canada: it's good to hear that you're safe! and don't drink too much tonight! also, a white russian is so much better with maple syrup! i can send some if you'd like!
The nation's heart skipped a beat. So it was Canada who had sent Russia! But why? He quickly tapped out a reply: no thanks, maple syrup will drown out the milk. thanks for your suggestion, though. anyway, time for me to go drink! take care bro!
Collins looked up. "Are you finished?"
"Yes," America said, putting his phone in his pocket. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some milk to go and buy." He got up and headed toward the door. "Also, I have a question. How much longer am I going to be put on restriction? Because as much as I absolutely love spending quality time with you, I have other duties as a nation."
The president sighed. "How about one more day?"
"Sweet!" America shouted, pumping his fist into the air. "That's awesome! Thanks, Collins!" He ran for the door and grabbed the arm of the Secret Service agent who would be going back to his hotel room with him that night. "Hear that, Frank? I'm getting off restriction tomorrow! This calls for a celebration! White Russians and cake tonight!"
The agent looked to the president, who was pinching the bridge of his nose, and shrugged. "Let's just get out of here, Mr. Jones."
America grinned widely at the agent and dragged him from the Oval Office, leaving Collins in there alone to think to himself.
"White Russians, huh?" Collins muttered to himself. "That kid is the strangest thing I have ever come across in my life."
