Chapter 37: Sister of mine

Dear Alfred,
I have gone home to make my preparations for the next World Conference.
I will contact you this evening.
Целую,
Ivan Braginsky

That was the note America found lying on the table the next morning.

Okay. Nothing to worry about. Russia had written "dear Alfred," so that meant he wasn't angry, right? And he said he would call him. America had no idea what the word at the bottom of the paper meant, but that didn't matter. Everything was going to be juuuuuuust fiiiiiine.

He sighed and turned to gaze at his living room.

Canada was sleeping with Kumajiro on his couch, a blanket draped over their bodies. Japan, Lithuania and Hungary had taken to sleeping on the carpet, while Ukraine had made a reasonably good bed out of his coffee table. Prussia and South Korea had disappeared to go out drinking, and nobody'd seen them ever since. France and England had locked themselves in his bedroom, and America had long since given up hope that they would keep his bed clean. It was clear to all that they made up.

America made a mug of his strongest coffee and downed it in one go, not even flinching as the hot beverage scalded his throat. The heath only helped waking him up.

The kitchen was still filled with torn decorations and party hats, leftovers and crumbles on the floor, because nobody had bothered putting them in the fridge. Gilbird made a nest on top of his PS4, but America let him, since the bird had kept it a lot cleaner than its master would've.

He wasn't even going to get started on what they'd done to his garden.

America hadn't slept much that night. He had been sitting next to Russia's door, hoping he would come out at some point, waiting for him. Somewhere around six o'clock he must have dozed off, because when he opened his eyes, Russia's door was ajar, but no nation could be found inside. The only thing he had left behind was the little note, and the temporary scarf draped around America's neck.

Canada told the others not to disturb him that night, and so they'd gone off, doing their own things to continue the party. America let them, not really caring. He was still a little mad at them for locking him and Russia up (it was clearly a hoax), but he was more concerned about his friend/something more than a friend perhaps-maybe-hopefully. A certain Russian that had now fled his house, but had left behind a note that could only make the sunny blond optimistic that not all was destroyed.

After a quick search through his cupboards, America found some cereal. He poured it in a bowl and started munching away, not even bothering to add milk. He sat down at the table, waiting for his guests to wake up, not wanting to think about anything else anymore.

At some point, Canada woke up and joined him in the kitchen. America gave a curt nod as greeting, mouth busy chewing.

"Where is Ivan?" Canada asked cautiously.

"Moscow," was his brother's reply.

Five minutes of uncomfortable silence.

"Do you want to talk about it?" the Canadian asked again.

America shook his head.

More silence.

Then, Canada put Kumajiro down, stood up, and wrapped his arms around America's neck. The blue-eyed nation leant into the touch, letting the other comfort him.

The two brothers stayed that way for a while, until the peace and quiet was broken by a loud "WHY ON EARTH DO I HAVE A BLOODY WAITER COSTUME ON?!"

xoxox

Russia was almost dancing through his bedroom, a skip in his step. He was neatly filling his suitcase for the next World Conference, presentation already prepared, paperwork taken care of. Russia was quite diligent when it came to his quote-unquote job. It was a miracle he had even been able to focus, what with the jittery fluttering of his heart, that funny feeling in his stomach, and the memory of touch imprinted on his lips.

Yes, he had been quite shaken at first, realizing how far they had gone. But after a night of thinking it through, he came to the conclusion that it must have meant something. After all, America himself initiated that second kiss! The Russian could feel a blush coming up at the recollection.

He didn't really know where to go from now, being a total newbie when it came to relationships (as his American friend would call it, or was it safe to start labelling him as more than a friend?). But he was planning on having a long talk with the other once he returned.

The Russian closed his suitcase and put it next to his travelling bag. Now to go downstairs for a drink, and then make a phone call to his overseas companion.

As soon as the nation stepped out of his room, he saw something rather peculiar and out of place lying on the wooden floor. It was a small paper card shaped like a perfect square, with what seemed to be golden flowers decorating the edges. Russia couldn't fathom how it had gotten there. Curious, he picked it up and flipped it over, finding a single sentence on the back of the card.

You are hereby invited to the wedding of Ivan Braginski and Natalia Arlovskaya.

Russia's blood went cold, the hairs on his arms and neck tensed, and nervous sweat squeezed its way out of his pores.

"Big brotheeeeeeeeeeeer~" came a voice he had learnt to dread.

He slowly turned to his sister. She was dressed in a wedding dress, the white silk draped over her slender figure, legs untouched by cloth, feet held by lady-like pimps, a long gown following behind her. In her hands she held a bouquet of flowers; baby's breath, blue and white roses, freesia, and her brother's favourite, little sunflowers.

"Do you like it?" she asked seductively, batting her long eyelashes at him. "I made more of those. I want the entire world to know of our love!"

Russia couldn't help but pinch the bridge of his nose and sigh in frustration. He really wasn't in the mood to deal with her right now.

"Natalia, please go home," he said, trying not to sound whiny.

Belarus pouted, which would have been cute were it not for the psychotic twitching of her eye.

"No. I have not seen you for a very long time now. I missed you."

She tried to wrap her hands around his arm, but he took a step back, away from his sister and towards the bedroom. If reasoning with her would fail, he could always use the hidden staircase to make a run for his panic room.

Belarus frowned. "That reminds me big brother. Where have you been?"

Russia's eyes shot to the tapestry, calculating the time it would take to get there and open the door.

"N-nowhere," he tried, voice unable to disguise his agitation.

The woman hissed. "Do not lie to me. Were you hiding from me again?"

"Of course not-"

"Were they threatening you?" she interrupted. "If anyone is threatening my brother, they will paaaaaay."

Baba Yaga (1) was a nice cookie-providing granny next to the witch that was now pulverizing the poor flowers in her hands.

"No one is threatening me-"

"Or were you with him?!"

The tall nation looked at her, puzzled.

"With who?" he asked, swiftly scanning his sister for any hidden knives.

"That filthy capitalist swine!" she spat, eyes glowing furiously. "I knew I should not have let him live! Now he has gone and kidnapped and probably brainwashed my dearest brother! Oh, but I will make sure he regrets it…"

Russia waved his hands to get her attention.

"Now now Natalia. That is not necessary. Alfred has absolutely no regretting to do."

Belarus' eyes grew to be the size of watermelons.

"What did you just call him?"

"Hm?" He was a little distracted, still trying to plan his escape, just in case.

"You called him by his first name!" she hissed.

Russia's eyes shot to her face, and he couldn't help but blush a tiny bit.

Which was the biggest mistake in the history of stupid, stupid mistakes.

Belarus shrieked and lunged at him. The Russian was of course much taller and stronger than the woman, but one: what she lacked in power, she made up for in insanity; two: it was really hard holding her down when she was kicking and squirming and kept screaming in his ear; and three: she was still his sister, and he didn't want to hurt her.

"Natalia, calm down!"

"Nyet! That dirty blyadischa has clouded your mind with his treacherous ideas! If he dares touch my brother, I will skin him and make him suffer!"

"You will not!" Russia snapped, losing his patience.

The sudden outburst made the Belarussian stop moving, her mouth agape.

"Alfred is very dear to me, and you will leave him alone!" he snarled.

At his words, without warning, Belarus started crying. Tears leaked out of her eyes, staining her cheeks. With her struggle, his anger died as well.

"Prosti, Bela. Please, do not cry…"

He made no move to further comfort her however. Their dysfunctional relationship was too awkward to allow him that.

"Why would you shout at me big brother? Did he tell you to do that?"

"No, no – please stop – Bela, there is no reason to cry, everything is fine, da? Alfred has done nothing wrong to me."

"Why are you protecting him?" she shrieked. The tears were still flooding, but her eyes were now glinting wickedly again, hands balled to fists, nails digging into the skin to the point of drawing blood.

Russia got a gentle expression on his face. He smiled melancholically.

"Because I love him."

That was the second big mistake he made that day.

Belarus breathed in sharply. "Love?" she asked in a venomous tone.

Russia nodded, lost in thought.

"Da. And I believe he likes me too~" he chuckled gleefully. "We even ki-"

A movement caught his attention, cutting off his sentence. His sister was slowly shaking her head, eyes cold and composed.

"He does not."

Russia blinked. A light frown found its way to his eyebrows.

"What are you saying, Natalia?"

"Nobody but I can love you. I am the only one who knows who you truly are."

He began shaking his head as well, but the other continued.

"Have you forgotten that they all fear you? Have you forgotten what that western freak has done to you? How much pain he caused you, again and again? How you helped him, yet all he did in return was start a war with you?"

"Stop," he whispered.

She mercilessly kept talking. Not because she wanted to hurt her, but because she thought he was bound to get hurt if she didn't protect him now. Knowing that no one could be trusted with her precious big brother.

"Have you forgotten how much they despise you? Every single one of them. Even our beloved sister, I know she secretly does. But not me. I am not afraid of you brother."

She was lying. Russia had seen the fear in her eyes at his previous outburst. She too was scared of his violent mannerisms.

"I have always been there for you brother. Even when everyone else left you. I have always been loyal to you."

When Russia kept shaking his head, she exploded again.

"Why?! What does he have that I have not?! He is a lying khuyesos', he is mocking you, and yet you claim that you like each other?! What, because you kissed?!" She stepped closer. "Kissing is nothing more than lust, brother."

No. Let her stop.

"I can do it too. Anyone could kiss without love."

Make her stop.

"Only I could kiss you while feeling special, big brother."

Russia wanted to believe she was lying, he really did. But once the seed of doubt is planted, it's hard to get rid of.

"Only I understand you."

"Stop," he whispered once again, voice wavering.

Belarus' frown increased as she closed the remaining distance between them, and yanked down his scarf. The Russian froze as she lightly trailed the indication of a rope on his neck.

"Have you forgotten that they all think you are a monster?"

Monster.

She had said the word he so desperately tried to run from. Because it was true, right? They all thought he was a cold killing machine, a merciless psychopath.

Belarus smiled. "Nobody can love you but me. We are all that matters. I will always be there for you Vanya."

When she planted a light kiss on his Adam's apple, he finally found the strength to push her away. He was panting slightly, but more from an inner struggle than from Belarus touching his neck.

All she said was true.

America could never love him. He was not capable of love.

A monster.

He had mistaken his feelings for something that could not be. Both of their feelings. America was stuck in the body of a hormonal teenager, it was very likely that kissing meant nothing to him. As for Russia… Maybe he had just been feeling lust as well. After all, he still had almost no experience when it came to those kind of sentiments, so it was perfectly plausible.

All this logic did not mean he wasn't feeling as if he were on the verge of falling into a deep and dark abyss.

"Get out," he said in a monotone voice.

Belarus pouted, but was happy he didn't shout or try to push her away anymore.

"I will come visit you again tomorrow. I hope you realize how silly it was of you to trust that pig."

As soon as she left the room, he slammed the door shut behind her. The nation grabbed a glass paperweight and flung it towards the opposite wall. The lovely sound of shattering did not reach his numb ears. He let his body slide down the wall, heart stinging painfully. Russia landed on the ground in a miserable little pile of emptiness. He grabbed his bottle of vodka and drank it all in one go.

There would be many more bottles passing the revue that night, trying to silence the hurt with a blissful sedative called alcohol.

xoxox

Baaaaaaaaaad Belarus, very bad!

1) Baba Yaga is a witch from Russian folklore.

Words:

Целую (Tseluyu): Kisses
Blyadischa: Whore