Disclaimer: Hetalia: Axis Powers, all characters and settings, and anything else you would recognize as pertaining to this anime, does not belong to me. The plot itself belongs to me. I do not intend to make any money off the writing of this fan fiction; it is merely for entertainment purposes.
Title: A Long Winter.
Summary: When Russia develops an interest in America, he has trouble expressing himself.
Pairings: America/Russia, eventual Prussia/Canada, eventual Germany/Italy, implied England/France, unrequited Belarus/Russia, unrequited Prussia/America.
Chapter VI: A Downward Spiral
Russia creates trouble for the North American brothers, and America receives a curious letter.
Canada dipped a finger into the collar of his uniform and smiled nervously at America, who trailed behind him, feigning his normal shyness with almost too perfect ease. He gritted his teeth and hissed at his scheming brother, "Why did I let you talk me into this, eh?"
"Because it's totally gonna work, and it's going to be fun and hilarious. Now act natural. I don't shake like I'm going to fall over from being unable to lift my own weight." America lowered his eyes to count his footsteps. Kumajirou had surprisingly agreed with a casual blink of his eyes when he was reluctantly handed over to the more charismatic of the two. He cuddled the warm, soft bear in his arms with a sigh. "Man, I need to get one of these. It's so damn warm, like a living, breathing snuggie."
"I don't curse like you do, brother." Canada turned a wicked gaze upon America, his lips peeled back in a toothy grin.
America stared, almost convinced that the person next to him had magically become himself. He returned the grin, albeit with much less enthusiasm. "Of course not, goody-two-shoes. Eh?"
They both laughed good-naturedly, enjoying the bonding.
"It's so weird being you. I mean, I like the jacket and all, and our prescriptions are almost the same," he explained, fiddling lightly with Texas perched upon his nose, "but I can't imagine cursing like a sailor and spouting aboot how 'awesome' I am. I don't want to overdo it and end up looking foolish."
"You won't. Awesomeness doesn't have a touchable limit when you're me."
"Ugh," Canada groaned loudly, catching the attention of some nearby countries who were also making their way to the conference room. Nonetheless, he plastered a bright, fake smile upon his face and strutted forward with a confidence that made the countries shake their heads and return to their own business.
"That's it, bro," America whispered, patting him on the shoulder. "Don't forget: merging money is good, and anyone who disagrees is plotting to release an undead legion upon the soil of the planet for world domination purposes. Stick with it, and nobody will even notice your speech impediment."
"Speech impediment?" Canada shot back. "So what's all that 'dude,' 'bro,' and 'man' stuff? And don't make me mention your Tourette's Syndrome with your spastic cursing. You have it bad, broski-dude."
America gave him a bewildered expression. "'Broski-dude'?"
"I don't know, it just slipped out, eh?"
"Eh," America agreed with a smirk and a snicker. He buried his face into Kumajirou's plushy head and inhaled deeply. "Fuck, I need one. Does he have, like, a knob to turn the heat up a little bit? I feel kind of chilly now for some reason..."
"No, dumbass," Canada snapped, covering his mouth at the feeling of a curse word slipping through his defenses. It tingled almost pleasurably.
"Anyway, I need to find a good seat in the audience. I want to be around the major countries so I can listen to what they're saying about me, er, you. You know what I mean." He waved at his brother and dashed into the conference room.
Canada made to do the same, but a buzzing in his pocket made him pause. His hand closed around a vibrating cellphone and pulled it out to stare at it quizzically. "Oh, no, America forgot his cellphone when he gave me these pants." He shrugged and opened it. "H-hello, this is America speaking. Don't let my overwhelming awesomeness scare you away from a nice time."
He shot away from the cellphone, his ear ringing from the yelling that erupted from the speakers, and he desperately slammed down on the volume button on the side so he could actually distinguish the words that were being spoken to him. He pressed it against his ear, and his eyes widened. "I... I, uh, I'm sorry for not answering before, boss. You know how it is: I'm too busy being me."
When the angry barking actually started making sense, he gaped. "I didn't realize that the bill would be so large. Uh, sorry aboot that. I mean, about. About that." He cursed himself inwardly for his slip-up, but the man on the phone didn't seem to realize. "By the way, I thought the idea was to promote world peace, not world hate. Or something like that. Everyone was in an uproar over the dissolution of the Soviet Union, and everyone knows that alcohol is the universal promoter of friendship, right?"
The man seemed to consider his words, but he still appeared cross and insulted that America hadn't consulted him before doing something so drastic. He explained that the boys back home had nearly had heart attacks when a hefty sum was revealed to be owed to some hole-in-the-wall Russian bar. They had no idea if someone had stolen America's information and was abusing it.
Canada nodded sympathetically, even though America's boss couldn't see it. "I won't do it again, I promise. I didn't exactly have time to call and consult, if you know what I mean, eh?"
The boss was silent. He abruptly informed America that he was talking 'funny,' and it concerned him.
"I had too much to drink last night, and my speech is kind of slurred." That was Canada's go-to excuse. It worked like a charm. Though his boss complained about him drinking before an important world meeting, all was forgiven and peaceful once again. Canada prepared to bid farewell and hang up the phone, but a hand spun him around.
He nearly dropped the phone in his shock at Russia leaning over him, but he held on tightly in the event that he needed to call for help.
"Amerika," Russia purred at him, stroking his cheek, "I have missed you."
Canada had little time to react before soft, chapped lips descended down upon his own, pushing firmly in an overly-friendly greeting. He let out a strangled gasp, but a hand cupping the back of his head kept him from bolting to safety. His eyes fluttered closed, and his face warmed up. He couldn't help but wonder what exactly America was doing with Russia that he wasn't telling him. A pang of sudden jealousy shot through him. He pushed it forcibly from his mind and panted out, "R-Russia, what are you..."
Horrified and more than a little stunned, he heard America's boss explode into a frenzied interrogation at what he was hearing. Quickly, he pushed away from Russia and hung up the phone. He refused to meet Russia's amused eyes. "D-don't kiss me again, Russia," he demanded with a noticeable waver. His feigned confidence was shattered by the fact that his shoulders were shaking, and his face was stained almost a permanent red. He fled to a nearby bathroom to compose himself.
"America is late! That is unsurprising," a country dared to yell, pounding a fist down onto the table's surface in protest. "I do not particularly want to hear what he has to say, but I would rather not sit here and waste so much time."
"Hear, hear"s popped up from all over the room, and they grumbled.
America, who had squeezed his way in between Italy and France, was nearly falling asleep on the bear in his arms. He nodded in approval at his brother's actions. Being early was suspicious, but being late was exactly something he was expected to do. He hardly noticed when Russia entered the room swiftly and took his seat opposite him and a few chairs down. The bear was just too soft, and he loathed to take his attention off it. But Canada was depending on him to help him stand out and make alliances, so he raised his head and peered blearily at Italy.
"Hello there," America spoke up, tapping Italy on the shoulder. He smiled charmingly at the man when he turned to look at him. They shared similarly bright greetings.
"Ciao, uh... hmm..."
"I am Canada," America introduced, propping himself up on the ever-silent bear in his arms, "and this is my pet bear. Would you like to touch him? He's very soft and warm." He nearly offhandedly commented that he could make a really awesome blanket out of it, but he realized how sick and twisted that might appear to the timid Italian man. He bit his tongue and held his brother's bear up.
"Ve! I would love-a to!" Northern Italy stroked the bear's fur delicately and then nudged the German next to him. "Germany, Germany, meet Canada. I think he is a new country."
"I'm not actually new to these meetings, eh," America corrected, fixing his brother's glasses upon his face. "I just haven't been noticed as much as some of the others. I am America's bro—brother."
"I did not-a know America had a brother," Italy exclaimed, calling the attention of the nations around them. They appeared dumbstruck at the information and shot looks at the newly-recognized 'Canada.'
"Vell, it is a pleasure to meet you, even zhough I cannot say zhat being America's Bruder vill count for anyzhing in my book," Germany replied. He firmly but warmly shook America's hand, who grit his teeth in irritation and resisted the urge to punch the blond man in the face. He was about to pull away from him, but Germany held him in place, studying his features. "You look so remarkably like him. Are you sure zhat you aren't America, himself?"
"We are almost twin brothers, identical in many ways. I am a few days younger, though," America informed him coolly.
"Ahh," Germany made a noise of interest and leaned back, finally releasing the other man. "Vill ve be expecting any presentations from you in zhe future?"
America blinked. "I'm... not sure yet. I guess it could be arranged."
"Amerika's brother, da?"
The voice he had been dreading softly came from a little ways down the table. He turned his head and forced a bright smile on his face. "Yes, I am. Pleased to meet you." As pleased as he would be admitting England was right about him eating much too unhealthily, that is.
Russia smirked at him, standing and leaning over to extend his hand. Several of the people around him became uncomfortable with the way his shadow fell over them. He grasped America's outstretched hand and leaned impossibly close so he could stare deeply into the man's oceanic blue eyes. His violet ones flickered back and forth between them, and all noise faded around them.
"Amerika, we are waiting for your report," Russia whispered almost sensually into his ear. "I am not thinking your brother is ready to assume your responsibilities."
America reared back and gaped at the intimidating nation. He shook his head wildly and sank down into his chair, tightening his grip on the bear in his arms. "Pleased to meet you, Russia," he repeated mechanically, avoiding the amused gaze that tried to hold his own. He noticed out of the corner of his eye that England was staring very intently at him. He muttered 'O, Canada' under his breath and blocked out Italy's cheerful banter, rocking back and forth.
Seconds after the episode between 'Canada' and Russia, the man everyone was waiting for kicked open the doors and sauntered in as if he owned the place. There was an intense grin on his face, almost wild with his amount of passion, and his blue eyes sparkled. He shook his dark blond hair out of his eyes and ignored the whispering that began at his sudden appearance. Inside, he was shaking like a leaf. He opened his mouth and allowed his script to flow as naturally as possible, "Yo, everyone! I'm sorry I'm so late, but I had a few heroic duties to take care of." He saw England swing his head back and forth to look at them both, utterly mystified. "Now, who's ready to hear about some possible alien invasions and zombies roaming freely in the near future? It could end up being your fault."
America couldn't help but burst out into laughter and clap enthusiastically at Canada's interpretation of his report. He was incredibly amused and had long put Russia out of his mind. He was smiling so hard that his cheeks ached. He had gone into a long-winded discussion about why a single form of currency was something everyone should consider, and he almost fell out of his chair when his shy brother's hands were flailing while he was accusing anyone that disagreed with his idea of wishing for the destruction of the world. He had even overturned Germany's ever-logical points and made him look like the foolish one. He didn't know Canada had it in him, but he had been proven wrong.
They adjourned for lunch before 'America' could take the stunned nations right into his fourth and final segment, 'The End of World Hunger.' Admittedly, it had nothing to do with America's original point, but as long as his brother was enjoying himself, it hardly mattered to him.
He met up with Canada in the hallway, slapping him on the back. To his utter delight, instead of tumbling to the ground like a weak idiot, he remained standing and even reciprocated the act. He ushered him into an empty side room and closed the door so they could speak privately.
Cuddling the bear in his arms, he burst into companionable conversation. "Dude. Dude. Dude! I'm freaking out over how you awesomely delivered that presentation! Even England seemed fooled! You should have seen your face. You looked like a man with a plan, and everyone around me was actually in awe. They hated the information and ideas, of course, but the passion in your voice..." America broke off with a grin, staring dreamily into the distance as he recalled it. "I have to know how you did it."
Canada, weary from the energy he had exerted during the meeting, sat himself on the long table and crossed his ankles. He twiddled his fingers. "I don't know... I just kind of... pretended that you were the only one in the room most of the time, eh. And when Germany confronted me, I simply imagined that I was defending you. It's easy when you're fighting for someone you love, right?"
America nodded enthusiastically, taking his place next to his brother. Together, they swung their legs back and forth and stared at the door.
The blond Canadian was more flustered than he let on, and it was eating away at him. He leaned against America and his expression became somber. "Is there anything bothering you, Alfred?"
"Eh?" Not in an imitation of his manner of speaking, but in a legitimate form of questioning, he turned to Canada. His eyes were confused. "Whatcha talkin' 'bout?"
"Maybe I should put it this way... Is anyone or anything bothering you?"
Russia popped up into America's head, and he sighed, long and drawn out. He didn't want to discuss it, but... "Yeah, kind of."
"Will you tell me aboot it?"
"I think it was a couple months ago... back during the conference in Berlin. I don't remember if you were there or not."
"I was!" Canada defended crossly, smacking his brother's arm.
"I know, chill out," America responded with a laugh. He calmed himself and continued, "I went to some kind of a club after the last meeting with some of the other countries. I was going to get wasted and probably laid more than once, but something stopped me and forced me to go back to the hotel."
"Really? What was it, eh?"
America was a little ashamed to share his idea. "I think it was a sexually harassing ghost."
Canada, whose sympathy flew out the window metaphorically at the words that entered his ears, glared intensely at America. "I'm being serious."
"So am I!"
"So you're telling me that a ghost has been following you and harassing you since the world conference in Berlin?"
"Well, kind of."
"Does this ghost have a name?" Canada inquired sarcastically. "Maybe... Russia?"
America stared at him, wide-eyed. "N-no way, dude! I don't know where you even got that idea from."
Canada pursed his lips and thought back to the friendly peck on the lips that the tall nation had given him. It embarrassed him to admit that he had accepted a kiss from Russia, so he pushed away those thoughts for the moment. "I guess I don't know, either. But seriously, what's up with you and Russia?"
"Nothing... He's just, I dunno, a lonely guy. I gave him a little bit of my awesome attention, and now he's craving it."
"'Attention'?" Canada inhaled sharply. "What did you do?"
"I, uh, went over to his house a few times and had dinner with him."
"Eh?" Canada was baffled.
He threatened me, was what America wanted to say, but he couldn't lie to his brother while he was looking so painfully confused. "Because he asked me to."
"Are you guys forming a secret alliance? England will—"
"—No, we're not." America was firm and serious when he denied the accusation that bubbled up from his brother. "There is nothing going on, at least not politically. He's just a seriously lonely dude, and I spent some time cheering him up. His union just broke up, after all. I'd never seen someone so depressed."
"I thought you'd be happy aboot that. He is... was your enemy, after all."
America made a noise of agreement, and then silence descended upon them.
"By the way, someone delivered a letter to me when I was coming to the meeting... I didn't open it, but it looks important." Canada fished it from the inside of his brother's borrowed coat and presented it. It was a simple envelope with fancy script addressed to America, but no return address was found.
"Oh, thanks. Let's take a look." America peeled the envelope open and snatched the stationary from inside of it. It was one thin piece of fragrant paper, folded a few times to fit within. He unfolded it and let the unfamiliar handwriting enter his mind. When the words finally registered, he froze, a cold blade of dread stabbing through him.
Canada became concerned with the look on his brother's face and nudged him. "What's wrong, Alfred? What is it?"
Wordlessly, he handed it to his look-alike and slouched.
"'When you return home, I will be waiting.'" Canada read aloud, brow furrowed. "I wonder who it's from... Sounds awfully threatening."
"Who would threaten me?" America growled. He turned the discarded envelope in his hands slowly.
"Russia, eh?" he supplied in a matter-of-fact voice. "I bet he has an entire plan for destroying you."
"You can stop acting like me. Nobody's around," the American scolded jokingly, but humor didn't color his words.
"You're really going to defend him? I wouldn't put it past him for a second."
"Yeah... uh, hey, do you have my cellphone? I seem to have lost it." America was desperate to change subjects.
At the mention of the cellphone nestled within his pocket, he sheepishly handed it over. "Your boss called."
"Oh? Did you answer it or somethin'?"
"Yeah, and I soothed things over with him aboot that enormous bill they received. But he kind of heard Russia talking to me..."
"Russia talked to you?" America shot him a questioning look. "When, where? What'd he say?"
"He didn't say much..." Canada coughed into his fist, and his face flushed a cherry red. "...He mostly just kissed me."
"WHAT?" America screamed, staring at his brother as if he didn't recognize him. "What the fuck? Why?!"
"I have no idea!" he replied, covering his face in shame. "I was on the phone with your boss, explaining the whole alcohol thing, and then Russia came up to me, told me he missed me—quite loudly so your boss could hear, by the way—and kissed me. I think the boss might be rather confused, eh?"
America stuttered, blushing. He didn't look at his call history for fear of seeing just how many he missed. "Did he call you 'America'?"
Canada nodded. "He must have assumed I was you. And here I thought you told me nothing was going on between the two of you..." he trailed off, sounding disappointed and distrustful.
"Nothing is going on between us, Mattie. Nothing. I have no idea why he would kiss me—you," he insisted. "Don't you believe me when I say I'm just as confused?"
"You seemed flustered when you told me that before, and frankly, you still do. So I'm unsure."
"Mattie..."
"Listen, if something is going on between you two, it's none of my business. You're allowed to have personal relations with other countries; nobody ever said we couldn't. But if he's making subtle threats to you without even having the decency to sign his name, you have to be wary. If you let him get too close to you, he could turn on you in a split second, and you wouldn't be expecting it. Maybe that's his plan, maybe it's not. Maybe the letter didn't even come from him, but how are we to know?"
"I know, I know. I understand everything you're saying. I don't intend to spend any more time with Russia than I have to. It was just a small occurrence so I could show him some sympathy for his situation."
Canada hummed. "All right, I believe you. I'm not particularly hungry, so I think I'll just go back into the meeting room and wait for everyone else, eh. Oh, and... I'd rather that we switched places. I'm completely drained, and I'd rather just sink into my seat and disappear for a bit. I hope you don't mind."
"Nah, that's fine. Let's switch back."
They began exchanging articles of clothing.
"I'm glad you care, bro. I'm nervous about the letter, but I won't let it get to me. After a few more days, we'll be allowed to go back home, and I think I might just stop by your country for a visit."
"That's fine." Canada smiled warmly and held his arms out expectantly.
America thought he was asking for a brotherly hug but realized with a guilty, hurt expression that he wanted his pet bear back. "Do... do I have to?"
"Yes, brother. Give me my bear."