Summary: Ivan leaves on a campaign. Alfred makes a new friend.
Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.
The sun was streaming through the glass balcony doors when Alfred finally blinked awake. It was a gorgeous day outside; Alfred admired the white, fluffy clouds for a minute before the memories of last night rushed back.
He had gotten sleepy while showing Ivan the constellations—had Ivan carried him back?
Alfred looked around. The demon was nowhere to be seen.
Last night had been kind of really fun. The planetarium show was amazing, and the sky had been beautiful and clear.
But... why did Ivan do that for him? With him?
He was Ivan's prisoner. Braginsky hated him. The feeling was mutual.
There was the sound of footsteps, and the bedroom door opened. Ivan came in bearing a plate of something that glistened like rubies.
Alfred's eyes widened.
"Are those...?"
"Da." Ivan sat down at the edge of the bed and offered the strawberries to Alfred.
The angel picked up the largest one and nibbled into it.
"Oh," he moaned. His eyes rolled to the back of his head in pleasure and his eyelids fluttered. "It's delicious." He licked his lips to swipe off a few drops of juice.
Ivan made an interesting sound, kind of a cross between a moose call and a goose honk. Alfred ignored it in lieu of sucking out the rest of the juice from the berry.
Ivan made the sound again, but louder.
Alfred narrowed his eyes suspiciously at the other as he chomped down on another strawberry. The noises were odd, but Ivan had been super weird lately anyway—the trip to the human world had come out of nowhere. He hadn't even wanted to fuck Alfred afterwards.
And now giving Alfred his favorite fruit? Ivan must have gone to the human world for them earlier this morning. They weren't as sweet as the ones in the Underworld, but still pretty decent.
"Hey, Braginsky, what's wrong with you? You've been weird as fuck," Alfred said bluntly. "Why are you being so nice, all of a sudden?"
Alfred swallowed his mouthful. "Is this like a demonic ritual? Treat your prisoners before killing them? You gonna eviscerate me for some Dark god soon? 'Cause if you are, I'd like some advance notice—"
Ivan's face darkened. "No, Jones," he ground out between gritted teeth. "This is not some Dark ritual. Shut your mouth and eat your breakfast."
Alfred shrugged. "'Kay."
He made quick work of the rest of the strawberries, then set the plate down on the nightstand and stretched luxuriously. Alfred sighed in satisfaction as he heard his joints pop. His wings rustled.
"So what's the plan for today?" Alfred casually asked as he combed a hand loosely through his hair.
Ivan stared at the sight of the angel tousling his golden locks for a second too long. "Uh, I do not have any prior arrangements. I do not need to work this weekend."
Alfred grimaced. "You're such a workaholic. You need to learn to have some fun. Hey!"—Ivan suddenly found himself with a lapful of bouncing angel—"Play CoD with me?" Alfred batted his eyelashes.
"…All right."
They played through lunch and dinner, grabbing bites between multiplayer matches.
Alfred laughed maniacally as they decimated the other team, and whooped when they won. He grinned at Ivan, excitement and wild fire lighting his eyes. "Hey, man, you're pretty good at this now!"
Ivan smiled back. "Da, but it is too easy. More fun when we are on opposing teams, yes?"
Alfred nodded. "For sure." Ivan had picked up the mechanics of the game fast, for someone who wasn't into video games. He had good reflexes, and was absolutely ruthless. He was almost as good a shot as Alfred after a day of playing, too. When they joined a game on the same team, quite a few of the players on the opposing team quit before it started.
"One more round?" Alfred turned to Ivan hopefully.
Ivan cracked his back. He had been sitting in the same position on the bed for a while. Alfred was sprawled out next to him, propped up on a stack of pillows.
Ivan put aside the controller and gently placed a hand on the angel's head. He ran the silky strands through his fingers.
"Tomorrow, Alfred. It's getting late."
Alfred tensed, but set aside his controller without protest.
"Alfred."
"Hmm?"
"Alfred, you're not looking at me."
The golden blond sighed and tilted his head up. "Happy?"
Ivan frowned. Alfred's cerulean eyes—brilliant and sparkling a few hours ago, when they were playing together—were dull and empty.
The angel was straddling his thighs, poised to lower himself down on Ivan's erection. Ivan reached out a hand to cup Alfred's face.
"Are you not enjoying this?"
Alfred closed his eyes. "Look, can we just get on with it? My legs are cramping up."
"If you are uncomfortable, we can switch positions. I can take care of you—"
Alfred's eyes snapped open and he impaled himself fully on Ivan in one thrust, biting back the hiss of pain. The rest of the demon's sentence died in a groan.
"No," the former general snarled, voice rough. "If you want me willing, Braginsky, then you'll lie back and let me do my thing."
Without waiting for Ivan to respond, Alfred started to viciously rock his hips. He smirked in satisfaction as the demon fell apart, moaning. Thank Heaven for that self-warming oil Francis had sent. It didn't feel like he was fucking an icicle anymore.
Fun gaming partner or not, no way in Tartarus was Ivan ever snatching that power away from Alfred.
Alfred wouldn't let him. Whenever Braginsky was on top, it hurt, the brute.
It was after midnight, and he should be sleeping. Instead, Ivan was examining the moonlight-drenched angel curled up by his side. Sex with Alfred had been incredible as always. What happened that evening, however, bothered him.
He had truly thought that Alfred was deriving pleasure from their nightly activities, but Alfred's eyes, so blank and devoid of emotion, so dead, haunted him. Had they always looked like that when Alfred made love to him?
Ivan worried at his lip as he heard a quiet whine. Alfred's brow was furrowed, and he was twisting around in the sheets. Carefully, so as to not wake him, Ivan gathered the golden blond in his arms.
"Davie," Alfred mumbled, and whimpered. The scent of apricots and cardamom was steadily spreading through the room.
"It's all right, Fredka," Ivan soothed, petting Alfred's hair and rubbing his back. "Do not fret. You are safe here."
Last night had been terrible. There had been another nightmare about Davie, a really bad one. He had dreamed of the rotting skull that Francis' guards returned from Tartarus with. It had been his blue eyes inside Davie's empty eye sockets.
Alfred shuddered as the image reemerged in his consciousness. Beside him, Ivan shifted.
"Fredka? Are you okay?"
He glowered at the demon. "What did you call me?"
Ivan sat up. "Fredka. It is a diminutive of your name. A nickname."
Alfred was already on guard. At Ivan's explanation, something in his eyes shuttered closed. Without a word, Alfred slipped out of the bed and stalked to the bathroom.
Ivan watched him leave with a heavy feeling of dread. He had done something wrong, had crossed some unspoken line; Alfred was upset. Gnawing at his lip, Ivan went over to the wardrobe and began to get dressed. He did not need to work today, not technically, but Alfred was angry at him and there was little else to occupy his time.
Work would take his mind off of it. There was the campaign that the king had assigned to him, which he had been putting off…
"Fredka."
Alfred didn't respond from where he was eating plums on the settee.
"Alfred."
The angel did not slow his chewing, but inclined his head.
"I am leaving for three days. There is a campaign that I must see to. I will set out tomorrow."
"Take me with you," Alfred said immediately.
Ivan blinked, taken aback. "Excuse me?"
The former general turned to face him. "I want to go. I've been cooped up in this castle forever. I'm bored as fuck. There's nothing to do here."
"The video game…"
Alfred waved a hand. "Too easy. I finished all the missions today while you were gone."
"You are not coming with me, Alfred. It is too dangerous." Ivan carded a hand through his hair. "I will get you more games."
Alfred glared at him. "I want books, too."
"Da, da, give me a list."
Alfred huffed and returned to his plums.
Feeling like he had just been dismissed, and not too kindly at that, Ivan exited the lounge.
Ivan headed to his chambers. Although he was due to depart in an hour, the feeling of discomfort and unease in Ivan's stomach had not yet settled.
Alfred had taken the requested items, then proceeded to behave coldly towards Ivan for the rest of the evening, doubtlessly still upset about being denied a chance to leave the castle.
Perhaps after Alfred saw his gifts, he would forget his grudge.
Ivan entered the lounge. The angel was nestled on the ledge of the bay windows, reading.
"Alfred."
He didn't look up.
Ivan stroked the bundle cradled in the crook of his elbow. The bundle meowed.
Alfred shoved his book aside, not even bothering to mark the page. "Give it here, Braginsky. Now."
Ivan chuckled. "Her name is Blini." He obligingly plopped the cream-colored cat into Alfred's outstretched arms.
Alfred was already cooing at the Persian. "Hi there, sweetheart! My name is Alfred! Alfred F. Jones."
Blini meowed again. You are but a mere peasant. I will address you as Servant only.
Alfred looked enthralled. "You understand me! Aw, aren't you just the cutest?"
Something soft was suddenly draped over him. Alfred pulled it off. It looked like a white fur cloak of some sort, with a silver fur trim.
"Hm? Ivan, what's this?"
"In case you get cold. It's made from rabbit fur with a fox fur collar, it will keep you warm."
Alfred flopped onto the rug and rolled himself and Blini into the white cloak. Blini hissed in complaint.
"I must go, Alfred. Blini will keep you company in my absence."
"Yeah, yeah, okay, bye." The angel shooed him away.
Ivan rolled his eyes, but smiled. Alfred really was adorable, even if his manners could use some work.
Alfred chucked away his controller to the side. He'd finished the new games in two days, and the multiplayer matches were impossible—most of the other players exited the game when they recognized his display name. As much as he hated to admit it, video games weren't much fun without Ivan. The other general had great instincts, and was a good shot besides.
Blini was lying on her back next to him. She extended her paws into the air. Alfred obligingly rubbed her belly. She scratched his arm—"Ow!"—and meowed. Ears, chin, and cheeks only, Servant. The tummy is off limits.
"Blini, baby, I love you, but I have no idea what you're saying. I don't speak cat." He stroked the patch of brown of fur around her neck that made her look like she was bundled in a scarf. Blini kneaded Alfred's leg with her front paws.
"Are you hungry, sweetheart? Do you want to go look for Toris with me?"
Blini got up with a little shake of her tail. She stared at Alfred expectantly.
Alfred laughed and scooped her up. "I'm hungry, too! Maybe Feliks will be hanging around Toris—you'd like him, Blini."
As it turned out, Blini had not cared too much for the other angel. He probably should have told Feliks that Blini didn't like to be touched on her tummy, Alfred reflected as they walked back to the suite.
The green-eyed blond was nursing several nasty scratches in the infirmary, and Toris had kicked him and Blini out of the kitchens after the cat had found the week's supply of salmon.
Alfred sighed. "Bad kitty. How did you even manage to open the fridge on your own?"
Padding regally ahead of him, Blini did not deign to reply.
"Wanna go out to the sunflower garden? There are some fish in the pond, you'd probably like them. Ivan said he'll be back tomorrow—maybe he'll have a toy for you. Or play Call of Duty with me. Dude," Alfred whined. "There's absolutely nothing to do here."
"Hey, Blini, sweetheart, what do you think is taking Ivan so long?"
The angel was snuggled up under the sheets with the cat. It had been a whole week since Ivan had left, and Alfred was bored to tears. He had long since finished the physics books that Ivan bought for him and discovered every spot where Blini liked to be petted.
Toris was busy with running the household, and Feliks was only fun to talk to for a couple of hours at a time. He and Feliks were pretty different people, when it came down to it. The other angel's interests revolved around makeup, fashion, ponies, and a human city called Warsaw. Alfred vaguely remembered the name from somewhere, but it was otherwise meaningless—when it came to places in the human world, he only really knew about the good ole U.S. of A.
Hm, should he go down to the arena and challenge a few demons to a fight? It'd be fun to stretch his wings.
No—Ivan had taken the key to the chest that held his sword with him.
Alfred squirmed to the edge of the bed and picked up the controller again.
Gods, he was so bored.
Blini poked her head out from beneath the blankets and meowed.
Servant, if you do not pet me right this second, I will defenestrate your precious game console.
Alfred launched Call of Duty. Where was Ivan? Ivan did say that he'd only be gone for three days, and it was well past that.
It wasn't that Alfred missed the guy—no way. Ivan might have called him a monster, but the demon wasn't exactly much better, himself. When Alfred had first heard about what the rival general had done to that innocent angelic village of civilians—all those poor women and children—he had been shaken for days. Afterwards, he had sworn to destroy Braginsky if it was the last thing he did.
Alfred huffed, annoyed, as more players left the match lobby.
Ivan would play with him. What was taking so long with the damn campaign?
Blini growled when Alfred showed no sign of paying her any attention, and—drawing upon her infinite-but-still-rapidly-dwindling well of patience—finally took matters into her own paws.
Blini's insistent nudging jolted Alfred out of his thoughts. "What?" An indignant meow. "Oh, sorry, sweetheart!" His fingers rubbed at the perfect spot behind her ears. She purred in delight. Perhaps I will show mercy this time. It is not your fault that you are daft, after all.
Alfred didn't know why he was thinking about Ivan so much. Ivan beat him with his pipe and raped him. But then again, a lot of demons had fucked him when he hadn't wanted it, and he had a pretty high pain tolerance.
Like Lucille had said, his body wasn't his own in the Underworld. If he had let it affect him every time, he'd have been broken by now. Braginsky hadn't even been that bad, since the whole wager thing.
The golden blond shook his head. Ivan was bad, though. War. Civilian village.
Braginsky was a total asshole. A total asshole who gave Alfred Blini and a nice cloak and took him to the planetarium and star-gazed with him and bought him video games and played them with him.
Outside, the sun was starting to set, dying the clouds purple and pink like the Northern Lights.
Blini had curled up on his lap; Alfred gently nudged her off.
"Hey, girl, I'm going to see what's up with Ivan, okay? I-it's not that I'm worried or anything. I just want more strawberries. And someone to play CoD with me."
Meow. You have the emotional competency of a biscuit. Also, you are getting fat. Alfred laughed. "Yeah, you're right, Blini! All my decisions are awesome. I am the hero." He gave Blini a thumbs-up. "You know where to find Toris if you get hungry!"
Alfred had a rough idea of where Ivan was after digging through the stacks of paperwork in his office. Now he knew why the guy drank so much—if Alfred was forced to read through that many dull reports, he'd also have turned to liquor.
Snugly wrapped up in his warm cloak, the angel set out for the stables. He'd "borrow" a pegasus while Raivis, the stable boy, was away for dinner.
Berwald's evening abruptly went from bad to worse when one of his men entered his tent, panting.
"A pegasus with a rider is approaching from the west, sir."
"Apprehend them."
"Y-yes, sir."
Berwald dismissed the soldier. As General Braginsky's second-in-command, he was responsible for the troops in the event that something befell Ivan.
Berwald steepled his hands and dipped his head forward.
None of them had expected that would be two Manticores. One was dangerous enough. They had not brought enough men to deal with two of the foul creatures. Both had been killed in the end, but not without the demons suffering far too many casualties.
The first Manticore had slaughtered twenty men. It would have been more, had Ivan not been present with his powerful ice magic. The other had not killed anyone—Ivan had personally taken it on—but it had slashed the general across the chest, leaving enormous gashes.
The medic said that there was nothing that could be done. The wounds ran too deep. Ivan had lost too much blood. Infection was beginning to set in, and the general would die in a day, even sooner if he were moved in his current state.
The men were preparing the death shroud. After Ivan deceased, the platoon would bring the body back to the castle, where a burial ceremony would take place. Then Berwald would assume the role of the general, unless the king declared otherwise.
Berwald exhaled. Ivan was a good man, a good leader. His loss would be deeply felt.
The demon suddenly heard the sounds of a disturbance outside. The entrance to the tent twitched, and his soldiers dragged a scowling angel in.
"Hey, what's the big idea?" The angel complained as he shoved the hands restraining him away.
Berwald stared. This was Jones, the former general who was Ivan's bed slave.
"Why are you here?" He growled.
"Looking for Ivan," the angel peered around the tent, curious. "Where is he?"
"Ivan's not well. You shouldn't be here."
Jones stiffened. "What's wrong with him? Can I see him?"
"No. Go back to the castle."
"I'm not going anywhere until I see him."
"Jones," Berwald snapped. "You are making a nuisance of yourself. Return to the castle. One of the soldiers will escort you."
Alfred crossed his arms and frowned. "Look, uh"—"Berwald," a nearby demon supplied helpfully—"Berwald, Ivan said that he'd be gone for only three days. It's been a week. Francis gave me to Braginsky. I'm under his care. I deserve to know what happened to him."
Berwald felt a headache coming on. Jones was as stubborn as a mule—hadn't he heard Ivan say as much himself back when they were still at the battlefront, fighting against the Light army? Jones certainly didn't look like he was going to budge now.
Berwald brought a hand up to his temples. "Fine," he grunted. He nodded at a guard. "Take him to General Braginsky."
Gods, he hoped that he didn't regret this. But the man was dying—what was the worst that Jones could do?
The camp was small; in no time at all, Alfred was standing before a large tent. "General Braginsky is inside," the guard gestured. "No funny business, you hear me?"
"Yeah, yeah." Waving the guard away, Alfred ducked under the tent flap and froze. Ivan was on a medical cot, body shivering uncontrollably. There were blood-soaked bandages swathed across his chest.
Alfred reached out a hand and placed two fingers to Ivan's scarred neck. The pulse was weak, barely there.
He leaned close. "Ivan," he said sharply. "Wake up." The demon showed no sign that he had heard.
Alfred slapped the demon across the face. The guard flung open the flap. "Hey, what are you doing?"
The golden blond smiled innocently at him. "Nothing, just trying to wake my master up. You can go back outside." The guard gaped for a minute, then reluctantly left.
Alfred pinched Ivan's side, hard. "Braginsky," he hissed.
Ivan's eyes finally cracked open.
"…Alfred?" His voice was hoarse.
"Ivan, take off my bracelets."
Ivan looked confused. "What?"
Alfred shoved his wrists in the demon's face. "Take. Them. Off."
"I—" Ivan's eyes were unfocused, glazed over with pain.
"Braginsky."
Licking his dry lips, barely conscious, Ivan placed his shaking hands over the enchanted bands. Under his touch, they expanded and loosened. Alfred easily slid them off.
The blue-eyed blond uttered a soft laugh as he felt the divine magic rolling off of him in waves.
His pupils glowed white. At last—it had been far too long since he had power like this.
Berwald jolted up when he felt the energy disturbance in the camp. He stumbled out of his tent and joined the crowd of men surging towards the medic tent.
Before Berwald could demand to know what happened, the guard who had been assigned to escort Jones staggered forward.
"It's bad," he gasped. "Jones has his magic back."
Berwald felt the blood in his veins freeze.
"What?"
The guard nodded, terrified. "I tried to get in, but there's a Light barrier. When I stabbed it with a bayonet, the blade bounced back."
Berwald immediately held up a hand to halt his men. The soldiers were already in position, guns locked and loaded, but if Jones' barrier deflected artillery, then the risk that someone could be hurt was too great.
The guard pulled back the tent flap. Behind the shimmering surface, Berwald could faintly make out the outlines of his commander and Jones. He squinted. The angel's fingers were splayed on Ivan's chest.
Berwald swore violently as a blinding light erupted from Jones' hands.
What had he done? Berwald could see nothing behind the barrier, so bright that it was burning to even look at. He was a fool. What had he been thinking, letting that killing machine near Ivan when he was at his most defenseless? The killing machine who had been forced into Ivan's bed. Of course Jones would exact his revenge when his master was vulnerable. What else had Berwald imagined would happen?
Berwald collapsed to the ground in front of the opaque barrier. Jones had incinerated Ivan. Before the angel came, there would have at least been something left of the Dark general to bury.