Invasion
By: Verin Mystal
Pairings: Russia/America (main), America/Canada (Plationic/Brotherly), Canada/Ukraine & others
Summary: America struggles to find solace after civilization crumbles in a post-apocalyptic world. My take on the classic "Aliens invade planet earth" set up. Rated M for language, violence & mature themes.
Disclaimer: I own nothing except for the original ideas in this D:
Three Hours Later/Somewhere in Northern Germany
"Get up, we've landed."
Nevada lay prone on the floor, in the exact spot Tony left him when they escaped from Area 51. He moved his hands away from his shocked face. "Wha- Already?"
"We're at the exact coordinates Germany gave me." Tony was already standing and riffling through the medical cabinet. "He will give us the signal, if it is ready, and you will tell them what happened to America."
Nevada's face crumbled, his hands returned to covering his red eyes and tear-streaked cheeks. "I've never left home before… I've only ever seen Matthew and Maria when they visit dad…"
"I can't tell them what happened, because I wasn't with Alfred." Tony remarked, pulling out a set of crutches, setting them for Nevada's height, and returning to his side. "You have to tell them."
The boy sighed mournfully, and lifted himself up from the floor. Being mindful of his broken left ankle, now wrapped in a splint to keep it immobile, he leaned his body on his good leg, took the crutches from Tony, and followed him out of the ship. Woodland surrounded the ship, a thick layer of snow blanketing the landscape. The sharp smell of pine and oak struck his nose, far different from the bitter, dry smell of sage back home in his deserts.
Tony carried America's pack, slinging it over his shoulders, and lead the way through the snow covered woods.
Silence pressed on them, the air heavy with condensation. A tickle started at the back of his neck, the feeling of being watched filling him to the brim. Nevada swallowed and willed himself to ignore it.
After walking for a while, the trees opened up to reveal a compact, two-story cabin. A man stood from behind a wooden barricade, his hair nearly white-blonde, his eyes red.
"About time!" The man shouted, shouldering his rifle and waving at the two of them. "We've been thinking you never made it."
"We made it." Tony snapped, annoyance dripping from his voice. "Alfred made sure of that."
The man stared at him, his eyes narrowing. "Where is he anyway?" His red eyes finally landed on Nevada. "… who the hell are you?"
Nevada swallowed and clenched his fingers around the crutches; this man gave off a feeling of old, dangerous power. He held the rifle as if it were a part of his body and looked as if he knew twenty different ways to disable you with a single look. The man had a gleam in his eye that stretched into the distance, depth reaching hundreds of years ago, stretching into ages long past.
A shudder ran up Nevada's spine. He'd seen America with a look similar to that… but nothing trumped this man who stood before him.
"I'm Nevada."
"… Who?"
"America's state." Nevada explained, deciding to be on his best manners. "I'm… from the west coast."
"Ah… right. I'm Prussia." He turned and opened the door. "Go inside. Germany will want to talk to you."
Tony went inside, and Nevada followed him. The door closed behind him, shutting out the frigid, wet cold. A fire crackled in the fireplace, and seven people turned to stare at him. Nevada recognized none of them.
Tony quickly introduced everyone to him, and Nevada did the same.
England's mouth was pressed into a thin line, his eyebrows drawing together, anger burning in his evergreen gaze. France stood nearby, his arms crossed over his chest. The others sat in various sofas and chairs around them room, all leveling piercing stares at him.
"Where's America?" England asked, finally speaking of the proverbial invisible elephant in the room. "Why isn't he here?"
Nevada's cheeks burned, but he didn't let his eyes fall away. Never back away from a challenge like that- America would always say -to them, it makes you look weak.
"He… he was captured."
All at once, exclamations in several different languages erupted around the room. England crossed the room and stood before him, looking ready to punch someone.
"How?"
"I can't believe this!" England shouted to no one in particular. "He promised me to be careful! Utterly stupid and ridiculous!"
"Dad- Alfred did what he thought was best." Nevada tried defending America, despite knowing it would've been better if he'd just left him behind. "It was his decision… and I have to follow it."
"Calm down-" France admonished, rubbing his temple to keep the oncoming headache at bay. "You know how over protective he is of them."
"I know." England growled, shooting a glare at him before turning back to Nevada, running a critical eye over the boy. "I wonder…"
Nevada shifted, growing uncomfortable under England's piercing, contemplative gaze. France raised an eyebrow and shifted a suspicious glance to England.
Tony sat with Germany and the other nations, going over the signal, the theory they came up with, and how to implement it.
"An exponential, repeating signal…" Tony repeated after Estonia finished his explanation, skimming over the notes and mathematical computations done by Belgium and Denmark. "It should work, in theory."
"We only get a single chance though." Belgium warned, her eyes growing worried. "We only get a single shot. If this fails… then we should be prepared for a backlash at the border regions."
"Right." Estonia agreed. "We must be ready for that, but the math all works out. Unless they have somehow discovered us doing this, and mended their broken systems… then there is no reason it shouldn't work."
Germany pulled out a single plastic disc, small enough in diameter to fit into the palm of his hand, and held it over to Tony, who opened a clear plastic case, tucked it inside and snapped it shut.
"Germany." England called, turning to him. "Can you check the computer to see where America is being held?"
"… How long has it been since he was captured?" Germany asked, glancing at Nevada first, and then turning his intense teal gaze to Tony. "They may not have updated the mainframe yet."
"Three hours." Tony responded. "Should be enough time."
Germany turned to the console, which had been moved back to the coffee table standing before the sofa, and expertly typed the glowing keyboard, pulling up the screen of nations. Scrolling down, he came to America's picture, and pulled up his file.
"Vessel twenty-one… the same one that Canada is in." Germany spoke slowly as he read over the text, translating it from the alien language to German, then translating it to English for Tony, Nevada and England. "Medical… they just moved him to the same room Canada has been in for the past few months." Germany pulled away, eyes narrowing in realization. "They must be preparing for the procedure."
Nevada paled and let the breath he'd been holding release in a shuddering sigh. England remained calm in appearance, but his back was straight and tense, his evergreen eyes blazing.
"Wait-wait!" Nevada gasped, turning to Tony. "Tony… can't you just use your teleporting… thing to get them out?"
"Not while their shields are up." Tony responded, glancing back to him. "And once I start the signal, I need to divert all power to keeping the signal going, while preventing the mainframe from coming back."
"Damn…" Nevada cursed. "So… we just leave them there? Leave them while the ships systems go down? How are we going to get them out when they'll be stuck up there?"
"… I can get them out." England stated, his voice low and authoritative. "-Not going up there and getting them out, literally… but in a…different sense."
France immediately knew what England was speaking of and stepped forward, shaking his head. "It's too much of a risk. You already tried it once, and you could only manage a weak mental connection-"
"Belt up, frog." England snapped, and at the confused glances to the others, explained himself. "Using a single hair of Canada's, I was able to… use my talent and make a… sort of mental connection to him. He explained to me where he was, why they haven't operated on him or Russia yet, and that they've been keeping him in chains. Using the hair, and a set of gloves Russia accidently left after a meeting, I was able to curse them and make their wounds heal at a slower rate, preventing the invaders from doing any operations on them while they healed."
Realization dawned on many faces.
"So that's why they didn't do anything…" Belgium remarked. "We'd been wondering about that…"
"However, now I have someone directly related to America." England nodded to Nevada. "I can use him to make a direct connection to America, and using my…talent… force him to wake up, despite them putting him under with anesthesia."
"… You can do that?" Germany asked, crooking an eyebrow in doubt.
"I can." England stated confidently. "Once he wakes up, America can use his strength to escape his bonds, free Canada and Russia, and thus- escape from the facility."
"Wait-… with the power on and everything in working order, there is no way they could do all of that by themselves." Estonia reasoned. "If we used the signal, knocking out the systems- it would put everything in disarray. Then they might have a chance."
"We'll time it then." England reasoned. "I'll make the connection, force him to awaken, and then the minute I finish with the spell, I tell you to turn the signal on."
"I'll have to be in orbit by then." Tony stated. "But I have communication equipment I can give you to keep in touch with me while I'm in orbit. You can tell me when its time, and I'll start it."
"Wait." Denmark spoke up, is expression firm, his presence nearly overwhelming. "Think about this, for a single moment. I assume that with the power off, they will half a limited amount of time to escape." He paused a moment, letting it sink in before continuing. "They do not know anything of those alien ships, nor the language, or the layout itself. Assuming these ships are large-"
"They are." Tony confirmed. "Twenty times larger than the largest ship in the world."
"Exactly." Denmark answered to Tony's short remark. "It would take them hours to find Russia- much less find a way off the ship. If they are to succeed in getting out, they must have someone to guide them."
"Communication." Estonia continued. "We have their computer here, completely separated from the network. It has simple maps of the alien's vessels inside their storage. If we are somehow… able to establish a communication line with them, even if it's a simple radio signal, it can help them get them off those ships more quickly."
"I agree." Germany nodded his consent. "If you can get ahold of them, Tony, can you patch them through to us here?"
Tony frowned, mulling over this for a long moment before nodding. "Yes. I should be able to. But only if I can get ahold of them on the ships."
"Good." England crossed his arms over his chest. "So, here is the plan. I do the spell and wake America up. I tell Germany to start the signal. Germany tells Tony, who is in orbit at the correction position. Tony starts the signal. All alien technology, vehicles and ships are shut down. If possible, we patch communications with them and help them escape. Are we in agreement?"
Thoughtful silence prevailed, and was followed by several nods of mutual agreement.
"I'll get the communication equipment, and head into orbit." Tony turned and headed for the front door, pausing a moment at the threshold. "Just remember. Once I start the signal, I can't do anything else that requires a lot of power, until I get rid of the invading ships."
"Right." Germany confirmed. "We'll keep track of everything here on this console, which should still work, since you disconnected it from the network?"
Tony nodded, and left.
"Germany?" England focused his stare on him. "May I borrow your basement?"
England dumped a bag full of various supplies to the concrete floor of the basement. France stood at the door, while Nevada stood close to England, growing more nervous by the second.
"What… are you going to do, exactly?" Nevada asked, his voice dripping with nervousness. "You aren't going to… like... uh… prick me or something… right?"
England rifled through the bag, pulling out a chunk of white chalk and drew a large circle, followed by a pentagram, and then drew symbols of various shapes and sizes around, and within, the circle.
Nevada clenched his crutches and stepped back nervously. "… England-?"
"I am going to need far more than a mere prick." England stated while drawing the final rune and straightened, turning to face the western state. "And you speak my language as poorly as America. I should have come to accept that, seeming as you are his state."
Nevada frowned. "More than a prick? What-"
"Step into the circle."
"But-"
"Stop talking and step into the circle." England ground through clenched teeth. "I don't have the time, nor the patience, to deal with your silly questions."
Nevada nodded, unable to help feeling like a five year old in England's presence, and stepped inside with the help of his crutches. England sat down then, muttering a string of words under his breath in a quick fashion before flicking his hand at Nevada, motioning for him to sit. Nevada struggled momentarily before he sat with a grunt; his good leg bent inward, the other leg with the broken ankle stretched out in an awkward fashion. England crooked an eye at this, but remained silent. Reaching behind him, he pulled out a dagger that looked twice as old as America himself.
"Give me your right hand."
"What?" Nevada leaned back, clutching his right hand to his chest. "What are you going to do?"
England stared at him.
"What are you going to do?" Nevada repeated. "Are going to cut me?"
"I need your blood." The elder, former colonizer spat with impatience.
"My blood-?"
"You and America are linked, both physically and mentally, am I correct?"
"Yeah but-"
"Your blood will, momentarily, give me that connection with the help of the spell I'm about to perform." England explained, his voice sharp. "Then using that connection, I will be able to force America awake."
"You're… going to force Dad awake?" Nevada asked, his dark blue eyes growing incredulous. "No one, no one, forces him awake. There's a reason why he has to buy a new alarm clock every week."
"I know. I raised him." England reminded the western state, forcing the urge to roll his eyes away. "I'm not going to just force him to wake. I'm going to give him a nightmare."
Nevada frowned. "A nightmare?"
"It is the only way to help jar him awake. A nightmare, if frightening enough, will force him to awaken. Also because he is a nation – not a human – the drugs will notprevent him from reacting to the dream and waking up." England explained. "The only reason I can do this is because I have you as a direct link to him- a link even stronger than the one Canada and America share."
Nevada blinked at him in surprise before his eyebrows creased together in thought. "But… Are you sure you'll be able to scare Dad enough to wake him up? I mean... I know he's scared of ghosts, but usually that keeps him from sleeping… so once he's able to sleep again, it's gone from his mind."
"…Everyone has fears… " The corners of England's mouth quirked despite his stony, mask-like expression. "… Something that openly terrifies them, turns them squeamish and genuinely frightened… but there is always a darker, deeper fear that they keep hidden away. One that they never tell anyone."
"… Do you know what Dad's is?" Nevada stared at England. "You've known him the longest. Maybe… losing his freedom? Losing everything he believes in-?
"Perhaps." England crossed his arms over his chest, his evergreen eyes nearly glowing in speculation. "That has always been a huge part of who he is. However… there is something else that I have noticed over the centuries…"
"What?" The young state peered at the country, the gap between their births into the world vast and spanning the ages. "What is it? If you tell me, maybe I can help clarify it?"
"… A good idea. Cannot start the spell unprepared, of course. But remember, we must hurry." England relented, his body relaxing. "I was not the first one to take America under my wing. There was someone far older, far more… different than anyone from the old world. I am sure you met her?"
"Her…" Nevada leaned away, his eyes turning distant. "You mean… oh. Oh." Understanding flowed into his face. "I only met her once… and it was when I was very young…" His eyebrows screwed together, his eyes closing. "I think… she called herself-"
"Kenāne."
Nevada glanced at England, eyes wide with surprise.
England met his gaze with indifference. "I also met her once; when I first arrived on America's shores. It was not a… pleasant meeting."
"Dad isn't afraid of her." Nevada stated with firm conviction. "He never was afraid of her… he was more… well…" The boy paused, taking a moment to collect his thoughts. England gazed at him and silently wondered why America didn't share this same trait. "He doesn't like to talk about her much. Not since she… well… disappeared." Nevada admitted openly. "But I know he never agreed with how things went… because… whenever a lot of the natives died… it affected her… but it also affected him as well. I don't know how or why but… it was almost as if they were… linked… somehow… I remember one of the older states telling me about… whenever Kenāne came to talk, he always made us leave them alone. Thing's usually- no, always - got heated between them…and usually it ended in them arguing and Kenāne storming off." Nevada shrugged helplessly. "But I know she raised Dad… until she discovered who he was. Dad was left alone until you found him… at least… that's what Virginia always says."
England mulled over this information for a long moment. Nevada started fidgeting as the silence stretched on uncomfortably. The elder nation frowned, his eyes stormy until his face smoothed, a cool, calm understanding filling him.
England refocused his piercing glare at Nevada. "Give me your hand."
"But-"
"Give me your bloody hand!" England growled, his temper getting the best him. "We are wasting time!"
Nevada hesitated a moment before thrusting his right hand out. England snatched it out of the air and turned it so the palm faced the ceiling. With his free hand, he gripped the ancient looking dagger and with a fast movement, sliced the boys hand open. Nevada hissed and physically winced at the pain, but forced his hand to remain in England's firm grip. Warm blood oozed from the cut and after a moment, dripped from his palm to the floor. England turned his palm over, allowing more blood to pool in the center of the pentagram. Closing his eyes, he mumbled a string of words from his old, nearly forgotten language. The air grew electrified; there was a resounding pop, England's eyes rolled up into his head and he slumped forward, unconscious. Nevada caught him, his eyes wide with surprise. He opened his mouth and glanced over to France, who frantically shook his head and pressed a finger to his lips.
Frowning, Nevada turned back to the elder nation he held in his arms and waited in silence.
Frigid water surrounded America, his body submerged to his neck. The air was thick with smoke and toxic fumes, burning his nose and throat. Eyes watering, he struggled to keep himself afloat, but the liquid was thick and heavy. A burden weighing down upon his shoulders, growing with every new struggle he attempted, always one step ahead. Always shooting. Never mind the fear of drowning, never mind the toxic air burning at his eyes, his nose, his throat… something was there, in the depths below his kicking, flaying feet, still blistered and torn from the relentless attacks. Something lurking and watching, witnessing his violent struggle with cold indifference, as if he were a fly struggling to free itself from the silken threads of a spider web.
The sky stretched overhead, dark and void of the luminous globe he stared at each night. Void of the stars he studied and watched with fevered wonder. The sky he spent watching with Russia lying beside him, neither touching each other, but simply enjoying his close presence. Russia's hand lying near to his own. Russia's feet shifting in the grass. The sound his breath made as it flowed through his teeth and past his lips. The way his voice sounded when he wasn't infuriated at him over something, wasn't forcing himself to make small talk because their bosses were right there, wasn't speaking at him as if he were a child. His voice was naturally low, textured, the accent rolling off his lips and sounding deep in his throat all at once. The genuine wonder and excitement, curiosity and questioning America felt when he stared into the heaven's above shown clearly through Russia's voice.
How America had wanted to reach across that gap between them, a gap so small, yet so strong… its presence an impenetrable wall between them. But he hesitated. He waited. Would Russia take the plunge? Take that first step? Breach the through the wall and break through? America waited, but he remained in his bubble… and America kept to his own. The attraction between them felt so strong… so inevitably there… the feel almost tangible in touch, flowing across his skin when they stood near each other… and America reveled in that closeness. Relished the electric tendrils that touched each nerve ending, his eyes to glancing at him when he was turned the other way. And finally, when the distance between them lessened, the barrier weakened, the wall torn away…
"Do you want to go to the observatory?"
Russia paused, his fingers still clutching the assortment of papers, handwritten notes and printed handouts, all documenting the various issues they'd discussed in the meeting. America met Russia's inquiring, questioning gaze with unwavering firmness.
Say yes. He'd wished. Say you'll do it. Say you'll come with me.
Russia put the papers together, tucked them into a folder with the day written in one corner, and pocketed it inside his briefcase.
"I have some free time."
It was as close to a yes he got, and America took it. He immediately dragged the elder nation to the location, paying for the both of them despite Russia's vocal complaints, and after reading the various informational displays, entered the circular room and took a seat. The room was empty, the building a mere thirty minutes from closing, but the two remained in their seats as the lights went dim, and then dark. The projector started, an electric hum filling the air before a musical track of woven, synthesized, electronica sounds overrode the machine, and then… light exploded across the curved ceiling. A vast night sky appeared, stars of varying color and wavelength, sizes and shapes, galaxies and brilliant clouds of dust and gases all moved overhead. Russia stared, his eyes open and clear, the enjoyment and love of the last frontier visible on his face for all to see. America watched, and felt the feeling return. Giddy and electric, a quivering shiver rattled his muscles and settled over his entire body. Heart beating against his ribs, he let his eyes close in bliss and rode the wave of excited pleasure that came from merely sitting beside him, feeling his presence again after it was missing for so long. It felt right to have Russia sitting there, mere inches from him. To have him all to himself, without others to distract and call him away.
A hand touched at his shoulder and America opened his eyes slowly, lethargically, drunkenly.
Russia gazed at him, a question resting in his violet eyes. He opened his mouth slowly, his tongue moved, his jaw lowered, the muscles of his neck flexed and moved.
"Why are you staring at me?" Russia asked. "Is there something wrong?"
America gazed at him, drowning in those cold, violet pools. He felt himself lean forward, closing the distance between them and pressing his lips to Russia's in a soft, curious kiss. The elder nation sat rigid in response, his jaw clenching, his lips firm… and then the last layer fell away between them. Russia melted into him, returning the kiss with interest. Large, calloused hands rose and cupped America's neck, and cheek, touching them reverently until fingernails drug up the nape of his neck and into his hair. The kiss deepened at America's breathless gasp, their arms wrapped around each other, their bodies pressed together. A driving thirst he didn't know existed was quenched with each touch, each kiss, each soft breath that escaped Russia's pale lips, now darkening to a pinkish red.
Fevered rush dying - their need for each other temporarily sated - they paused in the kissing and clung to each other until the observatory closed. They left together and stood by America's rented car. Russia didn't walk to the passenger door, but merely stood before America, lingering, waiting for him the first move. Hoping it would be more than a passing desire.
"Come back with me." America whispered, his voice a hushed demand because he didn't beg. "Stay with me."
Russia gazed at him, eyes searching those endless blue pools that stretched on forever. America met his stare and leaned forward, but kept his arms rigid at his side, afraid to reach out, hesitating to touch him for fear of rejection.
"Come with me." America's voice wavered, teetering on the edge of a precipice. "Don't leave me-"
Russia touched his face, cold fingers running across America's heated cheek. A silent understanding, and Russia let his hand fall, the ghost of a smile on his face.
The sky rippled overhead, a numbing tingle overcame America, and suddenly the treasured memory was gone, fallen away to the depths of his mind.
Russia was gone. Taken from his home and put under the knife… and soon to be one of them.
The flooded room came back. The water, dark and congealed, clung pulled, lashing at his body. Bruised and beaten, burned and slashed, the years of fighting after the flash weighing on his shoulders and body. World weary and exhausted, America closed his eyes and cursed their very existence, his hatred for them burning in his chest, once a searing fire that overwhelmed him, now an old hatred, burned down to glowing, simmering coals. It gnawed away at him, and America felt himself falling away.
Let the water take me. America kicked and sucked in a gasp of air. I'm tired of fighting. I'm tired of feeling my people die every single day. Tired of hiding and running… tired of holding onto that last hope…
He relaxed his body, and the water rushed up his neck, over his face and then submerged. Cold and dark, he fell into the abyss below, uncaring of what lied in wait for him… he was tired of it all. He fought and fought and fought… and they still caught him. They had won.
A light exploded into his vision; strong, calloused hands grabbed his neck and the front of his shirt and lifted. The water fell away and his lungs seized, forcing the water from his chest in choking, hacking coughs.
"To think that at one time…. you actually defeated me in battle."
America's eyes flew open. A globe of light, looking suspiciously similar to the moon only…off… was in the sky overhead, illuminating them both.
The woman's skin was a dark tan, her eyes brown with speckled orange. Her body was tall and lean, muscular and sleek.
America opened his mouth to speak, she cut him off.
"I look at you and see nothing but a broken man." She sneered, eyes narrowing. "The brother asks the impossible."
"Kenāne - what?" America croaked, his throat raw. "Brother?"
"The one who summoned me here."
"Who-?"
Wind blasted him in the face, and the water washed away to reveal a jagged cliff, the canyon below endless.
"When I faded from existence… I told myself not to fear for my children." She spoke in low, even tones. "Because when they suffered… you suffered. When my people fought with your people…you bore the scars from them both. They are linked to you…just as they are linked to me. I told myself to have trust in you. To have confidence in you. But I see now… I see I misjudged."
"No – you don't understand-"
"I understand." She growled. "You give up. You let them all go."
"I didn't!"
"How does it feel to fight against an enemy far superior to you?" She spoke evenly, genuine curiosity showing in her eyes. "How does it feel to fight for your land, to fight for your way of life, just as I did for hundreds of years?"
"Please." America wilted under her questions, guilt shining in his eyes. "Don't start this now. Don't-"
"It is hard, isn't it? I understand." She gazed at him. "I did it for over four hundred years. You have not even lasted a generation and you give up now?"
"Please-"
"Shut up and listen for a single moment!" England's voice tore into his consciousness, and suddenly he appeared beside the woman, dressed in his military uniform America's revolution. "They are going to kill all those that resist."
"No-"
"Those that give in will be assimilated." Kenāne spoke evenly. "They will live in chains and work for their masters. If they disobey they will be whipped into obedience."
"Stop talking." America squeezed his eyes shut as horrible, guilt-ridden memories of all the horrible things he did in his history reared their heads. "Please-"
"They will live to serve their master's." Kenāne continued. "They will live and die as slaves to the invaders."
"No." America snapped, his eyes flying open as hot anger filling him. "They'd never- not after everything-"
"They will have no freedom." England growled at him. "No liberty, no right to happiness. They will work as servants until the day they die."
"No- never-"
"They will drain the water and carve all life from the land we love so much." Kenāne's voice wavered, anger seeping into her tone. "All resources taken until you are nothing but a dried husk."
"No!" America finally shouted, and lifted his hands up to grip Kenāne's wrists. "They won't-!"
"You will be merged with your twin, and become one of their own." Kenāne continued, ignoring America's grip on her hands. "You will cease to exist, United States of America."
"All others will cease to exist, merged with each other to become new members of their fleet." England's voice softened. "But only one will remain."
America's anger screeched to a halt. "What?"
"Only one will remain." England repeated.
"Russia…" It dawned upon him suddenly and vividly. "He's the only one… big enough to survive-"
"They will change his body, and make it so his lands become the hard, cold hull of a ship, his people the alien invaders." England continued. "But his mind will remain… his memories will linger for ages to come."
"A beaten warrior." Kenāne's voice softened, but the harshness remained. "The sole survivor to watch the death of our land and the great spirit."
"No." America struggled against her grip. "No!"
"And as the human race dies away, he alone will remain." England went on, ignoring America's misgivings. "Forever to be in their service… with only his memories of times long past to comfort him under the dying stars of the milky way."
"No-no-no! I can't- I won't let it happen!"
America tore their hands away and the cliff face rushed past him. Air screamed through him, the ground flying up to meet him until his body crashed into the earth.
"No-!"
America woke up to the sound of his screaming voice. A cold, white, sterile room surrounded him. Machines beeped, and aliens surrounded him, hissing and growled at each other. One lifted a needle and grabbed his arm.
"Stop! Let go!"
He jerked at his arms and found them chained down. He twisted his body, the sound of metal crunching filling the air as the aliens backed away in fear before the one with the needle surged forward, aiming for his neck. Gasping, his chest heaving as blood thrummed in his veins, he twisted his body again and with a mighty heave, tore his arms free. Chain links snapped and fell away. America twisted out of bed, and slammed into the wall, crashing into a tray full of sharp metal instruments. He jerked around to face the aliens and on a whim, snatched up a razor-sharp scalpel and lunged forward, grabbing the alien doctor, twisted him around and pointed the scalpel at his neck.
"Nobody move!" America shouted, his voice reverberating off the walls as all of the aliens ran from the room. "Shut the door!"
Only one remained still, it's beady black eyes wide with fear.
"Shut the door or I'll kill him!" America threatened, shivering with anger and desperation, his mind still reeling from the nightmare. "Do it!"
It shut the door with a resounding thud.
"Lock the door." America's voice shook with fevered excitement and nervousness. "Right now!"
The alien winced at his loud voice and followed orders, locking the door and pressing itself into the corner, shivering with fear.
America gasped and panted, his limbs trembling with unspent energy as he tried thinking of what to do next.
"Fuck… fuck-fuck-fuck…" He swept his eyes over the room and found it to be a preparation room for surgery. He looked down and found himself covered with a paper-like material.
He swallowed and tried forcing his breathing back to normal.
They were getting me ready for surgery. They were going to… to… if I'm here, then Canada is-
The doctor suddenly lunged for one of the gleaming metal cleavers on the floor. America grabbed him by the back of its coat, jerked it to him and stabbed the scalpel into the back of its neck, sinking until it pierced through the other side. The doctor choked and gagged, clawing at its throat. America flung him away, the body crashing into the broken bed frame. Grabbing another scalpel off the floor, America turned on what looked like a nurse, who was moaning and shivering in terror.
"You're going to lead me to where Canada is."
America grabbed him and lifted him up, leveling an intense glare at him.
No more. No more fucking around, no more bullshit. I've absolutely had it with them all. If they think I'm going to let them do that to everyone… to my brother… to my people… to Russia…
"And if you don't tell me, you're going to end up like him."
America lifted the nurse clear off the ground and thrust him at the broken, bloody body of the doctor, and after a moment, he pulled him back to his face.
"Understand?"
Nevada peered down at England, who was lying on his lap, his head cushioned with his thigh. More than thirty minutes had passed since England started the spell, and still he remained prone and unconscious. Nevada bit his lip and glanced to France, who frowned in response, his eyes narrowed. Time passed slowly, a clock ticked just beyond the door to the basement, water dropped to the frigid concrete floor. Nevada shivered and crossed his arms over his chest, unused to the frozen, wet cold.
A gasping shout broke the silence. England's head was thrown back, mouth open and gasping for air. His eyes were wild and nearly glowed in the muted light of the basement. France stepped forward, but stopped just outside the circle. Nevada helped the elder nation into a sitting position, eyes wide. England gripped his arm for support, growing deathly pale for a moment before color returned to his face. His gasps slowing into a pant, he waved his hand and spoke a word, ending the spell.
"It's done- he… he woke up-"
"Are you sure?" France asked, eyes narrowed suspiciously. "You are positive he is awake?"
"Of course I'm bloody well sure!" England snapped, eyes blazing in anger. "It's done! Go up and tell them!"
France frowned, but threw the door open and fled the basement.
Nevada remained in his cross legged position on the floor, continuing to worry his bottom lip. England sighed and wiped the sweat from his brow with a handkerchief from his left pocket.
"England… ah…" Nevada started, his voice wavering nervously. "Do you think… Dad will be okay? Will he and Uncle Mattie… make it?"
England stared at him for a long moment before struggling to his feet. Crossing the distance between them, he helped the young state to his feet and clapped a hand over his shoulder.
"They will make it." England pulled his hand away and stuffed the handkerchief back into his pocket, smiling wryly. "I've made sure of that."
France ran up the hall to the main room where the other nations sat, clapping a hand to the wall to stop him one he entered.
"It's done!" He gasped. "Start the signal!"
Germany touched the small, ear-bud like device at his right ear and clicked it on. "Tony?"
A pause, Germany sat still, his back ramrod straight.
"It's done. Start the signal."
Low Earth Orbit
"Understood. Preparing signal now."
Tony sat in the flight seat before the vast expanse of controls, computer displays and gauges. A green light blinked at him, signalling the stealth systems were engaged and working properly. Other controls were light up, showing the gauges and navigational display, viewing vast swatches of star maps and fast travel quadrants across the milky way. Lifting his hand, he pressed a finger to the swatches, scrolled through them until he came to one with a beautiful nebula, enlarged it to the screen.
Tony gazed at it for a long moment, an ache filling him before his eyes narrowed. "After hundreds of years… after everything they've done to us… we'll finally defeat them. The galaxy will never fear the skies again."
Minimizing the display of his home system, he brought up his mission report. The words were burned to his memory after re-reading it so many times.
LOG DATE: 032/2098 R.E.
Subject 327.53.29
You are to go to star system 34 x 107, planet L3. Locally named: Earth. Observe and report; Interaction with populace is at your own discretion. Log one hundred local years; return and report. If planet hunters arrive, use every means necessary to quell threat. If threat neutralized; return and report.
End Log.
Tony swallowed and turned away.
Return and Report.
Turning back to the controls, he pulled out a plastic container, popped it open, and withdrew the disc. It stared at it for a moment, the tiny disc was small enough to fit in his hand, but the information written on it was strong enough to destroy the central core and network of a race ages ahead of both humanity and Tony's people. Pressing a button, a tiny panel popped open, revealing an area for laser discs. Tony pressed the tiny disc to the opening, snapping inside before closing the panel. Seconds passed, and a window popped up.
Execute Program Y/N?
Tony pressed another button, opening the outside blast covers to revealing the dozens of huge alien ships orbiting the Earth. None of them knew where he was.
Glaring, he raised his hand and with the push of a button, executed the program.
"Rot in hell, fuckers."
Southern Coastline/Spain
Alien artillery exploded in the beach and pinned encampments. Old, decaying cannons exploded in response, the ocean gushing whitewater with each missed hit. Cannon balls bounced off the alien ships pushing to land in the beach.
Spain controlled one cannon himself, re-aiming, prepping, lifting the heavy ball into the gun, readying the fuse, lighting with a half-burnt out torch and plugging his ears with his hands in anticipation of the explosion. Smoke and fire burst from the cannon as it flew backwards. Spain rushed forward, pushing the cannon back into position when a young messenger boy ran to him.
"Sir! The others- they're running out of ammunition-!"
Spain turned to him, and rubbed his blackened hands on his pants. His arms, hands, face and hair all bore dirt smudged, soot blackened skin.
"Calm down." Spain said more to himself than the boy standing before him. "What happened?"
"Four cannons have run out of black powder. Three others are having to borrow cannon balls from other storage supplies. One cannon cracked and is un-usable-"
"But I ordered for supplies to be sent!" Spain growled, and started for the opening leading to the trench outside when an alien shell landed outside. The blast flung Spain backwards, his head striking the wall hard. Smoke and dirt flew into his face, he twisted to his side, and pressed his hands to the floor, lifting himself back to his feet despite his ears ringing. Another blast erupted, and another, the shells finally landing on the encampments. The ground shook and peeled open, dirt and rocks flung from the ground into the air, rendering clouds of dust to flood the skies.
This… this is it. Spain fell back to his feet and grabbed the young boy, scooted them both into a corner, covering the boy with his body in an attempt to protect him from the blasts. After fighting for the past year… they've finally… finally…
The explosions abruptly halted. An eerie silence followed.
Remaining still for a long moment, Spain finally lifted his head and peered into the thick clouds the dust and dirt. Men and women shouted to each other in the other encampments, asking for head counts and to survey the situation. Spain turned to the boy, who struggled to his feet.
"I-I am alright…" The boy ran his hands over his chest and abdomen. "I… What happened…?"
Spain turned to the cannon, which was in the same position he left it in and knelt at the end of it, peering through the square-like opening. A wide beach, once beautiful and serene, now cratered and demolished. The ocean was dark, the clouds thick but clumped, allowing shafts of sunlight through. The alien ships floated just off the shoreline, their guns silent.
"What…?"
Pulling a cracked, near ancient spyglass from his pocket, he opened it and peered through. The aliens were scurrying on the decks of their ships, looking almost frantic. Realization dawned, and a huge grin split across Spain's face.
"They did it!" He jumped to his feet and turned to the boy messenger. "They actually got the signal working!"
"Who…?" The boy gaped at him. "What signal?"
Spain merely shook his head, and merely flung his arms around the boy. "The aliens… their vehicles, ships and aircraft… none of it will work now."
The boy jerked away, eyes huge. "Really?"
"I need you to tell the others. Understand?"
The boy nodded, his face nearly splitting open with a 100 watt smile.
Spain watched him leave and turned back to the shoreline. His eyes focused on the ships. Eyes glittering, he smiled and felt his body shaking with excitement.
Somewhere near the Northern border of Italy
South Italy lay on a bed in a secluded, one room cabin. His legs were wrapped in thick bandages, his arms lying weakly at his sides. Each breath was forced into his lungs, having to make a conscious effort.
The door handle rattled, and then exploded open. North Italy stumbled in, clinging to the doorway for support. Other soldiers rushed at him from behind, grabbing him under the arms and helping him to the bed where South Italy lay.
"Fratello-!"
"He'll be alright… got a nasty gunshot to the belly." One soldier stated, helping the younger brother into bed. "We patched him up, and are awaiting the doctor."
South Italy turned to his brother, eyes wide. After the soldiers left the room, he turned on him. "What the hell were you thinking? Didn't I tell you to be careful? Didn't I-?"
North Italy smiled suddenly, his eyes opening and focusing on his elder brother. "Germany did it, fratello. He did it-"
"Did what?" South Italy snapped. "Ignore us while he played with that fucking science experiment of his? Damn potato bastard-"
"No-no… the signal… he did it. It worked. The invader's artillery was quiet… their technology doesn't work… all they have is their guns… and nothing else."
South Italy gaped open mouthed. "Are you telling the truth?"
"Yes."
North Italy smiled happily, relaxing into the bed. Tears gathered at the corners of his eyes.
"It's true."
Northern China
"… It's quiet."
China lifted his head up from the book he held. Beside him lay Hong Kong, bruised and exhausted, several wounds covered in bandages. Sweat dripped from his brow as fever raged through him.
"..W-what…?"
China shushed him and stood, favoring his right leg. Grasping a single crutch, he limped to the door of the small, dark room and knocked twice. A knock answered, and he opened the door.
"What is going on?" China asked. "Have they turned away-?"
A soldier ran up the hall, nearly skidding to a half before him.
"Sir!" The soldier acknowledged respectively. "The invaders… they…"
"Show me." China ignored the distressed looks of the soldiers outside his room and sparing a moment to tell Hong Kong where he was going, followed the soldier down a series of halls and doorways before emerging outside. The sun glowed a hazy orange through the smoke-laden air. Fire raged through the town as his citizens and soldiers rushed to put them out. There, in the street directly outside the building China had been hiding in was an alien fighter jet, its front end smashed into the ground, the tail end jutting into the air. A blue-orange fire raged from the wreckage, the leaked fuel burning away.
Eyes widening, China stepped further into the street, and found another alien jet collided into a building, while others more littered the streets.
"They… they fell from the sky." The soldier admitted from behind. "It was as if… someone turned them off. And they fell…" The man made a motion with his hands, showing the flying steadily before nose diving into the ground. "Just like that."
China gazed at him for a moment before turning his eyes back to the wrecked alien jet in the street before him.
"… So it worked."
Relief spread through him at thought of the alien's technology being utterly useless.
"It is only a matter of time, now."
Northern Germany
Belguim exploded through the front door of the home, stacks of papers clutched in her hands. She dropped them to the table, panting for air.
"The wires are going crazy with news!" She gasped. "The planes are dropping from the sky! Ships are floating uselessly off the northern Mediterranean beaches, tanks and other vehicles stopping in their tracks… the only weapon the aliens have now are guns and grenades… and that's it! The signal's working!"
The nations in the room cried out in joyous relief, clapping each other on the shoulder, the back, others merely sighing on relief. Nevada sat beside England, a muted, worried smile on his face.
"What of America, Canada and Russia?" England asked, interrupting the momentary celebration. "Have you heard anything?"
Germany refocused onto the alien console screen, and shook his head negatively. Nevada wilted in response, his eyes turning to the floor.
"Stop fretting, boy." England muttered to the young state. "America is not alone up there. He has Canada and Russia with him. Together they can escape and find a way back to Earth."
"Really?" Nevada turned to him. "I just… I-"
"Have faith." England glanced at him, the wry smile from earlier coming back. "America knows better than to do anything stupid. Especially after that nightmare I sent him."
Nevada frowned. "… Just how bad was this dream?"
"… Perhaps he'll tell you about it."
England scoffed softly and leaned away.
"Someday."
Vessel 21/Low Earth Orbit
"Open the door."
America held the alien nurse by the neck and held a scalpel to its throat. It opened the door and the two entered the long hall. The walls were grey sheets of metal, pipes and electronics were mounted to the ceiling, white fluorescent lights illuminating the hall. America's bare feet padded against the cool metal floor, and he couldn't help but shiver at the cold, sterile environment, wearing nothing but the stiff, paper-like material of surgery clothing. The front was split down the center, ending at his knees, and was tied together with a series of knots.
Other aliens entered the hall from other rooms, witnessed the two walking down the hall, and backed into their rooms, gasping and hissing in surprise.
Cold sweat dripped down America's temple, his heart hammered in his chest. Minutes passed, and the two finally came to the doors. The alien punched in an access code, it beeped softly, the doors sliding open. Five pairs of eyes all focused on America and his hostage. There, behind the pack of alien medical personnel was his twin.
Canada lay on the hospital bed, an IV hooked to his arm, wires and sensors taped to various areas on his body, giving the machines and heart monitors a running read out of his vitals. America ran inside, dragged the alien with him and hitting his elbow on the keypad inside, smashing it with a crack and rendering it useless as the doors slide shut. The aliens all hissed and screeched, many eyeing the scalpel in America's hand while glancing back to the smashed keypad.
"Shut up!" America snapped, his patience paper thin, unable to take the alien's language anymore. "All of you in the corner." He nodded to the bare corner of the room, void of medical instruments, and electronic equipment. "Nobody move or he dies, understand?"
A single head nodded. The others followed from the single alien's example.
Glancing to his twin, America walked backwards to him and, single handedly, started disconnecting him from the medical monitors and machines. One by one the machines beeped in warning, until the heart monitor flat-lined at the last wire getting yanked away. Kicking the offending objects aside, America turned back to the aliens and opened his mouth to speak again with the room went pitch black.
… The signal. They used the signal, and it worked!
A hush of shocked silence followed before a nasally, piercing whine came from the aliens in the corner. The sound radiated fear.
"Quiet!" America demanded, despite him unable to see anything. The alien's whines lessoned, as if they were pressing their hands to their faces to muffle the sound. The room shuddered, a groan came through the metal, and a single red light clicked on near the door.
Taking a moment to allow his eyes to readjusted, he glanced around the room. The aliens were still huddled in the corner, the alien in his grip trembling.
"… What the fuck… how the hell can there be power?" America growled, and turned back to the group. "Can anyone speak English? Anyone?"
The aliens all stared at him blankly, save for one in the front, who shook his head negatively.
"French? Spanish?" America knew he was stretching it, as his grasp of the two languages was poor. "… Russian?" I only know a few words and phrases but hell its worth a try.
The alien in front, looking more like a doctor, continued to shake his head. His lips puckered and with a hawking, gasping choke, spat a wad of spit to the floor where America stood. The warm, sticky fluid landed on the toes of his left foot. America breathed, and stared at the alien, a trembling filling his chest.
The last of his patience gone, America flung his hostage away into the wall with a sickening crunch. Picking up a rolling stand of medical instruments, America wielded it as if it were a bat and slammed it down on them, catching two aliens on the head. They dropped to the floor. The doctor and two others picked up whatever weapons they could find and threw themselves at him.
America rolled away with practiced ease, having had hundreds of years of personal, hand to hand combat experience, and grabbed one by the neck. Picking him up, he flung him into a chair, which collapsed and crashed to the floor from the force of the throw. The other two came at him, all gripping saws and sharp cutting instruments. America shot his hand forward, grabbing one alien by the wrist, yanked him to America's chest and turning him around, using him as a shield against the doctor's attack, which stabbed the alien in the chest. The doctor hissed in surprise, moaning at his mistake. America flung the dead alien away and grabbed the doctor. Picking him up from the floor, he slammed him back down to the chair, picked up a piece of metal from the rolling stand lying forgotten on the floor, and wrapped it around his wrists and the chair arm rests as if it were a piece of clay.
Panting softly, America leaned forward and peered into the aliens glaring, haughty gaze.
"Try anything else, and you're head is going through that wall."
Next Chapter: With the aliens growing more chaotic and violent by the second, America helps Canada back to his feet; Using the captured alien doctor, America forces the aliens to show him where their captured gear and clothing is being stored; the twins re-establish communication with Germany and the others, and set their sights on rescuing Russia.
A/n: Just an fyi, for those that don't get their updates from the Russiamerica community at live journal, there's only about four chapters left of this. Chances are there will probably be an epilogue, so technically around 26 chapters total. I hope all of you stick with me to the end :)
Extra Notes:
"Kenāne" – Her name is actually based off a word from the extinct language of the Pamunkey Native Americans. The original word is "Kenaanee", meaning friendship. She's based off of my "version" of a native America-tan. She's strong, but as time went on, her strength waned…for obvious reasons many of you already know. I think its something America wants to keep "in his closet/storage room". Sort of an out of sight, out of mind thing, because…I think he regrets what happened, in a way. But…that's just me ^^;