Note from Catskid100- Just.... I really like this one~ It's creepy and awesome and, ah... just review nicely~

Title: Metus

Pairing: Russia x England (if you squint, I guess)

Rating: T (violent themes, Arthur being Arthur)

Genre: Drama/Tragedy (not devastatingly sad or anything, but you'll see)

A/N: This is actually historical so I guess you could say it's a canon 'pairing'. The bulk of this revolves around the Triple Entente - an Alliance between France, England and Russia to counter the Triple Alliance of Germany, Italy and Austria-Hungary. The last part is post-WWII/Cold War. AND! There's no angsty Russia (I love angsty Russia so this was hard for me XD) but evil!controlling!dominating!Russia is just as fun :D And there's no French.

Metus - Latin for 'Fear'. Yeah. Self-explanatory.

...

Metus

Arthur woke abruptly when his head collided rather roughly with the cold glass window on the train. The locomotive was rocking and shuddering along the tracks, making him feel queasy. Momentarily he wondered what he was doing on the train before remembering he was meeting with Ivan Braginsky. The thought of being near that man was enough to send an unpleasant chill down this spine.

"It's nice to see you're awake, Arthur; you were staring to snore," an annoyingly familiar voice cooed from beside him. He glanced at Francis, who unfortunately had to be present at the meeting, from the corner of his eye and decided not to grace his jibe with a comment.

"It's bloody uncomfortable, this train. Couldn't you have at least acquired a better cabin for us to travel in?"

The Frenchman chuckled and picked up the book from the seat space beside him. The title of the book was in French and in ridiculous cursive type so Arthur couldn't read it. Not that he cared (it was probably a lewd gothic romance or something, anyway); he was just bored and wanted to take his mind off the upcoming conference. "There is no better cabin - each and every one is built the same."

Arthur huffed and decided that watching the passing scenery was much more interesting than trying to have a conversation with the git beside him.

In all honesty, he had no idea why he was agreeing to do this. The three of them had come together before in the past and they'd all had previous alliances between themselves, so he supposed it wasn't such a bad thing this time around. But there was still something niggling at him, telling him something was wrong about the whole situation. But on the other hand, it would be useful to have him on their side due to Francis' neighbours being a handful of useless troublemaking prats. Gilbert Weillschmidt had to be the worst, and was undoubtedly the instigator of the whole ordeal, building Ludwig into another dangerous version of himself.

Arthur had had the misfortune of meeting Ivan before. It was only briefly, but it only took a second to realise that the Russian was bad news. Many had said that he had an aura that stretched beyond his person - it was dark and unforgiving and anybody would have to be crazy to want to be in his presence for longer than was necessary. Arthur felt no aura, but the moment he met his eyes his insides seemed to curl into a tight ball of fear. The violet orbs captured him and made him feel as though he was the smallest, most insignificant thing on the planet. They were too intense and Arthur found he was unable to look at him directly after that initial contact. It was said that the eyes were the windows to the soul, but Arthur saw no soul behind Ivan Braginski's eyes. Just one dark, empty hole where all the light had long burned out.

"You need to relax," Francis murmured softly, placing a hand on his knee. Arthur looked down, disgusted, to see his hands were clenched together tightly, his knuckles sickeningly pale. "You don't want dearest Ivan to think you're scared, do you?"

"Sod off," Arthur hissed, untangling his fingers so he could push Francis' hand away. "I'm not scared of him."

"He really isn't so bad," Francis said whilst keeping his eyes on his book. "A little overbearing but nothing to be scared of, I can assure you."

"You're only saying that because you've slept with him, I'm sure of it," Arthur grumbled, feeling himself pale at the very thought.

"You always think the worst of me." Francis sighed in mock hurt. He closed the book and stared at the empty seat on the opposite side of the cabin, a thoughtful look on his face. "I think it would be best if you had him on your side."

"Why?" Arthur asked hesitantly - he honestly didn't care, but part of him was curious.

He kept thinking back to that first time and he wanted to throttle himself for being so weak. He was the very essence of the United Kingdom, one of the greatest nations in the world, and he could crush whoever got in his way if he wanted to. If he was going to enter into this alliance, he wanted all parties involved to know just how powerful he was and he would not be walked all over due to mediocre intimidation.

"Because his country has exactly what we need: the space, the resources and the people. What better reason do you need?"

Arthur was about to argue that he needed to know he was going to be safe, but thought better of it. There was no use in letting the wine-faced git know that just thinking about Ivan made his world grow a little darker; he refused to be frightened anymore.

The train finally arrived at their destination. Arthur had expected Ivan to be there waiting, but the platform was practically deserted. Arthur knew himself that he would want to confirm all parties involved could be trusted by making sure they arrived on time (or even at all).

Even on their way to the hall, he was nowhere to be seen. It was only when they reached the room that Arthur saw Ivan. There was no source of light to be seen; the curtains had been drawn and the lamps and candles were not lit - Ivan was sitting there in the corner in the dark. Arthur shivered and was begrudgingly thankful that Francis was there with him, standing in front of him like a shield, just in case Ivan snapped and decided to brutally murder them.

"It is a pleasure to see you both again," the Russian said with that eerie smile on his face. He got up from his seat and greeted them with a rough handshake.

Arthur put his hand behind his back once Ivan let it go so he could hide the fact the appendage was shaking violently. Get a bloody grip; he chastised himself, taking his place at the table. He busied himself reading over the documents, only the words before him made no sense; he couldn't bring himself to understand what they meant. He felt too uneasy.

He looked up briefly to see Ivan watching him, still smiling. In just that split second he was able to see the emptiness, the absence of his spirit and soul, and he became lost like he had the first time.

"Is something wrong, Arthur? Are you unwell?" Francis' hand reached out to rest against his forehead, but whether or not it was a comforting gesture went unnoticed by Arthur. He swatted his hand away and flicked through the pages until he found where he was supposed to sign.

"Don't touch me - I'm fine. Just sign this thing and be done with it." He scrawled his signature across the line as quickly as he could. He could still feel the weight of Ivan's eyes on him and he just wanted to tear them out.

Or run away and never return.

"Alright," Francis sighed, sending an apologetic look in Ivan's direction, making Arthur want to hit him.

Arthur believed that once the three signatures were in their rightful places that it would all be over and done with. All of them would go their separate ways and he wouldn't have to face Ivan again. All would be fine, proper and perfect again in the Brit's little world.

But no.

Francis got up and left before Arthur had organised himself, leaving him by himself with Ivan. Being the gentleman that he was, Arthur got up and straightened his suit, all the while telling the Russian it was a good arrangement and thanked him for his cooperation. He even managed a small smile (which he supposed may have been a grimace seeing as he didn't feel one ounce of happiness or contentment within him). Ivan simply returned Arthur's words with his own small-talk comments, still smiling, face still shadowed by a darkness that lingered beneath his skin.

"Goodbye, Ivan. Take care now." Arthur couldn't help the waver in his voice or the scared anticipation in his step as he made to exit the room, still trying to maintain his composure. But his efforts were crushed when a large hand came to rest upon the door above his head, closing it forcefully. Arthur cursed under his breath, too shocked to bother trying to keep it inside his head. He didn't dare turn around in case one slight movement set off Ivan's trigger. His feet wouldn't move anyway.

"Are you scared of me, Arthur?"

Oh dear fucking lord. Arthur closed his eyes and shuddered, feeling Ivan's front dangerously close to his back. But felt so cold. It was as though he was emitting iced vapours that tickled and pricked his skin instead of body heat. He was living death...

"I have to go," Arthur ground out, his shaking hand gripping the door handle so tightly he feared it would break.

Ivan simply chuckled and Arthur nearly screamed out for help. It was one of those noises that was veiled with childish innocence but had every intention of being cruel. So very, very like Ivan.

"You shouldn't be frightened of me. I am your ally - I'm here to protect you, yes?"

"I'm not frightened. Now if you don't mind."

Within the space of a heartbeat, Ivan was pressed against him fully and Arthur could feel the tickle of his breath against his ear. There was no warmth to be felt there either. He said something in Russian, slowly and softly, as though he was speaking to a cherished pet or child before speaking to him again in English.

"I don't mind."

As soon as he removed his hand from the door and stepped back, Arthur escaped, all the while feeling that empty violet stare burning into his back.

To come face to face with one's fears is one thing, but to do so and understand them and still be scared is something else.

On Ivan's cheek there was a streak of blood.

Latvia. Raivis.

On Ivan's collar there was a smear of blood.

Estonia. Eduard.

On Ivan's sleeve and across his chest was a splattering of blood.

Lithuania. Toris.

On Ivan's faucet, on his boots and his scarf, more blood still.

Poland. Feliks.

On Ivan's face, there was a smile.

A smile for Prussia. Gilbert.

There was malice, there was no mercy. Only cold, sick triumph.

Arthur had called him his ally. Arthur had watched as he invaded Poland, as his soldiers killed and raped the bourgeoisie in their bitter envy, trying to destroy what they couldn't have. The Ukrainians, the Byelorussians; they all fell.

Arthur had watched and said nothing.

And why?

Because he was his ally. He was on the good side, the side of justice. Of truth. Of peace. Of freedom. Anything was better than Fascism, than the Nazis.

Even the Red Army. Communism. Stalin the mad man.

Arthur knew exactly why he was frightened.