Chapter Two
A gentle wind shook Alfred from his stupor. He lifted his head up toward the sky, waiting for his eyes to adjust in the sweeping darkness. He shivered a moment later as a decidedly fiercer, frigid gust of air blew forcefully against him, biting his cheeks. Goose pimples pricked their way down his back and up his arms as he drew his coat desperately closer to himself in an attempt to retain some warmth.
It was freezing! He zipped his bomber jacket as far up as it would go, hiding the lower half of his face in the fur lining of the collar before cramming his hands in his pockets in an attempt to avert the frosty chill that nipped at them. Just where was he, anyway?
He narrowed his eyes in an effort to make out his surroundings – to find anything to clue him in on where he might be. Unfortunately, due to his lacking eyesight, he was only able to make out the heavily canopied roof of a forest. He could just faintly, and with much difficulty, make out the barbed needles of the tall pines that towered above him.
Trees.
That's what he had to go on.
Call him spoiled, but he was going to need a little more information than that to find his way out of there. Even so, Alfred knew that he had to get moving. He would do no good simply standing there waiting for some wild animal to come across him.
Nope, best to keep moving.
He crept forward slowly. The chill of the wind had robbed his muscles of the ability to move any quicker than a snail's pace, so his progression was minimal. The snow under his boots was firm and crunched and cracked loudly in the silent night. The forest was eerily quiet, only separated by the occasional hoot of an owl before lulling back to an all-consuming hush.
Alfred wasn't scared, however. He wasn't afraid of the darkness that encircled him like a vice or of his ignorance to his location. No. He was more unsettled than anything. What truly unnerved him was the lack of, well, anything. He would be ecstatic just to hear the cry of a cicada or the howl of a wolf. The total silence made his stomach sink.
He traversed his path in silence, letting the consistent crunch of the snow comfort him somewhat. Sure, it wasn't much, but it was certainly better than nothing at all. As he walked along, staring down at his feet in an attempt not to trip over the many roots that snaked across the forest floor, a small sliver of light caught in his peripheral vision.
His head snapped up, and he was able to make out a faint, green glow ahead of him. He rushed forward as much as he was able, urging his legs to carry him faster, the light growing more vibrant as he approached what he assumed would be a clearing between the stretches of forest. If he could see the sky, the stars, then it was likely that he would be able to make it out over wherever the hell he was.
Every one of his senses seemed to heighten in anticipation, his ears and eyes straining. He was almost there – just a few more steps. His bounded on his feet, pushing himself through the threshold of the clearing.
He almost couldn't believe what he saw.
Vibrant hues of greens and yellows struck his irises. Grand glittering lights moved like the tide being pulled by the moon. They were fluid, draping the frozen land below them in a neon green blanket. The stars shone brightly above them, glittering like diamonds. The sheer amount of stars was baffling. Alfred couldn't remember the sky being like that since he was just a colony.
He had never seen anything like—wait. He had, once before. It had been years and years ago, before either of the World Wars. He had been visiting Ivan and the other had seemed so wired the whole day. When America had asked him about it, Russia had brushed it off as nothing. But, as the day faded into night, his giddiness – if you could call it that – had amplified tenfold. Around dusk he had pulled Alfred outside, beckoning him to lay back and watch the sky. It had been breathtaking, and he could still remember the wide smiles on both their faces.
So, those were the northern lights, then? Did that mean that he was in Russia?
No. It felt too familiar. This wasn't Russia. If it was, he would know. The shift in his gut and the loss of something would be much more pronounced.
But there was no view like this anywhere in his country.
He thought on it for a minute before something clicked in place in his mind.
There was somewhere like this in his country. Not in the mainland, but it was still his territory.
Alaska.
But why was he in Alaska?
And was that water? His ears perked. He was almost sure it was. The wind picked up once more, and he heard a wave crash down somewhere to his left.
So there really was a body of water somewhere nearby? Well, that was good. He could follow along it, and hopefully come across a city. Hell, civilization in general would be a blessing.
Nodding to himself, Alfred gave one last glance up at the picturesque sky before advancing down the snow frosted hill. It was troublesome to have to cautiously watch each step he took, but Alfred did it regardless. Better he be slow than hurt.
He was able to pick up the growing volume of the water. The cacophony of the tide crashing against the jagged, rocky shore made it difficult to hear much else, but that was fine. It wasn't like there was much else to hear, anyway.
Finally, Alfred's boots made contact with something besides snow. Tan, wet grains of sand packed together under his feet as he moved along. He squinted into the distance, making out the far off snow-capped top of a mountain.
He was deliberating on whether or not he should move toward it or away when he heard it – a quiet mewling. It started softly at first, from his right, but as he made his way over to the source, it grew louder.
A few steps more and Alfred spotted what appeared to be a rolled up, cream colored scarf that had been abandoned on the shore of the beach. Shrugging, he made to move on. But then he heard it and stopped dead in his tracks.
It wasn't mewling. It was a baby, wailing.
Alfred gasped and, without a second thought, propelled himself forward with energy that he wasn't aware that he processed. How in the hell did a baby get out there? And who in their right mind would leave a child unattended on a beach in Alaska, at night, in the dead of winter?
He came to an abrupt halt before the blanket wrapped child. Seeming to sense his presence, the child stilled and its cries faded to quieter hiccups. Alfred's expression softened as he leaned down beside the child, scooping it up in his arms.
He cradled the little one close to him, unzipping his jacket halfway and tucking the infant tighter against his chest. He used the sides of his jacket as a shield to the harsh, unforgiving gales that raged around them. Once the baby was secure, he pulled back the thin quilt just enough so that he was able to make out the child's face.
Affection swelled in his chest at what he saw. Bright cobalt eyes stared back at him. The child's eyes were watery and his cheeks were rosy from his previous crying, but the tears had stopped. His light blond hair – it almost looked white it was so light – was flat against his scalp, save one wayward curl that stuck up in the front. Alfred smiled down at him. He was cute.
Almost as soon as he thought this, though, the child's face scrunched up and turned red as he let out another wail. Ignorant to what he should do – he'd never been left alone with children before – America tried shushing him, rocking him back and forth on the balls of his heels.
"Shhhh, little guy. I'm here," Alfred whispered, gently brushing the child's cheek with a gloved finger. The child's cries quieted somewhat, but were still present.
"Shhhh, shhhh." Blue orbs widened as they stared up at Alfred. He smiled, and the little boy's cries quieted further, dying down to quiet mewling. "That's right. No need to cry. I've got you."
Alfred hummed, rocking the child in his arms back and forth in an attempt to calm him. The crashing of waves seemed to help the little one along into sleep. Within minutes, with the aid of America's comforting presence, he drifted off. His tiny chest rose and fell softly with each breath.
Alfred stood in place for awhile longer to verify the babe was deep enough within slumber before he even attempted to move. He needed to get them to shelter, that was for sure, but where to go? He thought on it, worrying his lip.
He was deep in thought when a loud warble came from above. Jumping in place, he looked up in search of whatever had disrupted his thoughts.
He found it odd what he was met with.
A large water fowl had landed a few feet before them. Alfred took a step back, pulling the child protectively closer to his chest, studying the thing before him with weary eyes. Its feathers were black as coal, but looked smooth to the touch. It had a gray, hooked beak and round eyes.
It was staring at him with those eyes.
"Uhh…"
The bird did not respond – not that he expected it to – but took a step closer.
Alfred took a step back.
It took a step closer.
"-red."
And what was that?
Alfred took another step back.
The bird took a step closer.
"-lfred."
It was really starting to piss him off. Again the bird took yet another step closer.
"Alfred."
Alfred opened his eyes to see the slightly annoyed face of his brother.
"We're here. Come on, get out."
America blinked, looking up with wide eyes at his brother.
Oh, so he was dreaming then?
He stretched his limbs, a loud popping noise accompanying his action, and let out a yawn before he complied. They were in the garage of his Massachusetts home, and the door into the house had been left open, a faint glow spilling into the otherwise dark room from the threshold.
He could hear movement from inside the house and looked around to see that he and Canada were the only ones still in the SUV. Yawning, America moved to get out through the side door, waiting patiently in place for Canada to maneuver his way out with his bear. However, as soon as Matthew's feet touched the ground, his knees buckled and gave out under him. America caught him by his shoulders before he hit the ground.
He slung Canada's arm over his shoulders and hooked his arm around his brother's waist to keep him steady.
"Your ankle hasn't gotten any better then?"
America already knew the answer. He could see the strain on his twin's face and feel the tension in his shoulders as he leaned more heavily against him.
"I think it's swelling," Canada muttered.
"We'll wrap it when we get inside," America assured him, though there was still worry in his voice.
They were nations. Something as minor as a sprained ankle shouldn't affect them for more than a few minutes. And it sure as hell shouldn't get to the point where it was able to swell. That meant that something was amiss, and that it was affecting Canada and its people. It also meant that it was bad enough to impede Matthew's healing abilities. Alfred had a gut-wrenching feeling that whatever was going on in his own country had likely crossed over into his brother's.
That was not a comforting thought.
"Do you want me to carry you?"
Matthew shook his head. "It's fine. It's only a few feet." He paused, scanning Alfred up and down with inquisitive violet eyes. "Al..?"
"Yeah?" America raised an eyebrow at the hesitance in his speech. Was Mattie thinking the same thing he was?
"What happened back there?"
Alfred stiffened, but forced his shoulders to relax. It would be best to play it off as if he didn't know what his brother was getting at, he decided. "You were there too, Mattie. Zombies are what happened. I don't know how. That's what we're trying to figure out."
Canada's frown deepened. "You know that's not what I'm asking."
Alfred's heart beat loudly in his ears and his blood turned to ice in his veins.
What did Mattie want him to say? That he was weak? That after Vietnam, all the shit from the century had come crashing down on his psyche? That he still had nightmares about fire and suffering and death? He wouldn't even admit that to Russia. Like hell he was going to tell his brother.
He was a grown man, not some weak, little child that needed comforting.
But you do, a nagging voice at the back of his mind taunted him.
No. He was strong. He wouldn't let something like this break him. And hell, most of the other nations had gone through situations far more stressful than what he had experienced. It would be laughable to any one of them that he couldn't get over a few decades of hardship.
"I fell, Mattie. That's it."
Matthew opened his mouth to argue, but then shut it again. "You're such a child," he settled on a few moments later.
Alfred stood still as stone.
Frowning at his brother's lack of reaction, Matthew flicked Alfred's cheek. "It's okay to have emotions, you know. You don't have to bottle everything up because of some weird sense of pride."
"I do not bottle everything up, Matt." He attempted to say it levelly but, if Canada's face was any indication, it came out much more defensive than he had intended.
Canada sighed, squeezing America's arm in a comforting manner. His eyes were soft as he spoke. "Just know that if you ever need to talk about anything, I'm here."
"Who are you?" Kumajiro asked from Matthew's arms, looking up to his owner with wide, curious brown eyes.
"I'm Canada!"
"Ha!"
"What's so funny?" Canada snapped.
"Your bear's trolling ya, dude," Alfred laughed. He breathed a silent sigh of relief at the sudden change in conversation.
"Shut up!" Canada pinched his side harshly, causing America to wince.
"Bro! Not cool!" Alfred whined as he rubbed his sore side in an attempt to sooth the ache away.
Canada snorted.
"What's so funny?!" Alfred demanded, mirroring his brother's own words back at him.
"You've gotten fat," Canada said smugly, once again pinching the extra padding on Alfred's hip.
"No I haven't!" Alfred cried as he slapped Matthew's prodding hand away from his waist. A hot flush colored from his ears down to his neck, heat radiating from his face.
He knew he had put on some weight, he just didn't think it would be enough for anyone to notice. And it wasn't his fault! He hadn't even been eating that much! He was too busy puking whatever he had managed to get down.
"Have so."
"Have not!"
"Have too."
America breathed angrily through his nose. Fine, if Mattie wanted to be an ass, he could stay out there. He was just about to tell him so when a voice from inside the house interrupted them.
"Boys!" he heard England call.
Matthew was lucky that he'd prefer not to get bitched at by England for leaving his injured brother in the garage. Plus, he was a hero. He couldn't, in good conscience, leave him there. He supposed he would help Canada inside. But he would get revenge, mark his words.
Alfred led them toward the living room. Their progress was slow due to Matthew's hobbling but soon, after making their way down a long hallway, the threshold of the sitting room came into focus. Germany, Italy, and Japan had sat down at the far end of the room on the brown leather sofa that was set directly before a large bay window. France and England were side by side on the love seat adjacent to the trio. And, finally, Russia sat on the last sofa, alone. Its back was facing the threshold of the room.
America escorted Canada to the sofa that Russia occupied, plopping him down none-too-gently on the left side of the sofa. His twin let out a grunt and glared up at him. Apparently, he didn't enjoy being roughly handled. America chuckled. It served him right.
America grinned at him before turning on his heel and heading back toward the kitchen.
"Bloody hell, Alfred. I hardly think this is the time for food," England said, exasperated.
America answered him a moment later, shuffling around in the kitchen. "Not getting food, Iggy." The sound of cabinets being opened and shut echoed into the living room, and Alfred emerged from the dark kitchenette seconds later, arms laden with first aid supplies. He wandered back toward Canada, taking a seat on the coffee table before him and dumping his gathered implements to his side.
"Foot," he commanded, indicating for Matthew to rest his foot on his knee so that he would be able to examine it. Matthew did as he was told, but with a great deal of difficulty, groaning when Alfred pulled off his shoe and sock.
Much to Alfred's dismay, Matthew's ankle had a large carmine bruise blooming just over the joint. He frowned as he prodded it with gentle fingers, delicately testing its condition.
Matthew hissed.
And suddenly the realization settled like ice over everyone in occupancy of the room. It was conformation.
This was not an isolated incident.
Alfred cleared his throat awkwardly, feeling seven pairs of eyes scrutinizing him. "Well, the good news is it's not broken." A humorless smile spread his lips. "It's sprained, though."
"I could have told you that," Matthew replied solemnly.
Alfred hummed in acknowledgement, scoping up the tan bandage that lay to his side. He carefully began looping it around Matthew's ankle, noting the slight tremor in his brother's leg as he tied off the end of the bandage securely.
Alfred leaned forward, plucking a throw pillow from the middle cushion of the couch. He laid it on the table and then carefully transferred Matthew's injured foot to it. Finally, he picked up the last of his supplies: an ice pack, a rubber band, and a dish towel. He wrapped the dish towel around the ice pack, bundling the corners. He tied them together with the rubber band before lightly placing the cold compress onto Matthew's ankle.
"Cold!" Matthew hissed.
"You're Canadian, you'll live," Alfred replied, rising to his feet. He took a wide step over Matthew's outstretched leg before plopping down in the center of the sofa, squished between him and Russia.
"Ahem," Germany cleared his throat, drawing the attention of the room from America to himself. He sat up straighter in his seat – if that were possible – and squared his shoulders.
"Now that we've had time to relocate and recuperate, I believe that it would be in our best interest to find any information about today's happenings and determine its range of influence." His face was stoic and eyes steely, but there was tenseness to the blond nation's posture.
"How would we go about finding that information, Germany-san?" Japan asked, tilting his head toward the other quizzically.
Germany was quiet, eyes contemplating.
"We'll figure out something," he said after a pause. "We cannot simply sit here and turn a blind eye to what's happening."
"Vee?" Italy's timid voice rang out.
"Yes, Italy?" Germany answered with a note of exasperated annoyance in his voice.
The small brunet looked up toward the blond with unsure eyes. "Couldn't we try watching the news to get information?" His voice was hesitant but steady.
Huh.
Alfred hadn't even thought of that. He just assumed that the television wouldn't be working.
Germany sputtered, face reddening. "O-of course. Yes." His eyes scanned the coffee table before him, searching for the television controller. Unable to find it, he turned his eyes toward Alfred. "America?" he prompted.
"One step ahead of ya, dude," Alfred replied. He had already retrieved the remote from the drawer of the coffee table while Germany had been conversing with Italy. He flicked on the power only for the room to be filled with a shrill whine from the device.
All occupants of the room, save America, jumped at the earsplitting screech.
"What in the hell is that?" England cried, covering his ears with his hands.
"Emergency alert system," Alfred answered, unusually stoic. "Shut up and watch."
The television set continued to beep, but a black screen with white text had popped up. It read: EMERGENCY ALERT SYSTEM: CIVIL AUTHORITIES HAVE ISSUED A CONTAGIOUS DISEASE WARNING.
A few more beeps, and the audio had switched to a robotic male voice.
"The following message is transmitted under the order of the United States Department of Homeland Security and the Centers of Disease Control.
An unidentified virus string is rapidly spreading throughout all regions of the United States. The first cases of this virus were reported in major cities throughout the country. The virus has since spread to outlying regions of the United States.
Symptoms of this virus include: initial nausea and vomiting, loss of muscle control, and loss of consciousness.
The Centers for Disease Control have also reported that infected persons have been reported to become highly volatile and are to be considered dangerous. Do not approach these individuals.
This virus is believed to be water transmitted, so refrain from consuming water that has not been thoroughly boiled and or bottled.
Authorities recommend that the following actions be taken by all members of the public: Stay indoors, if at all possible. Have enough food and water supplies in your shelter area to last for up to two weeks.
If you are bitten by another individual or show symptoms of having contracted this virus, quarantine yourself from others.
Most importantly: stay safe and calm during this situation. Unruly behavior will not be tolerated. Individuals who cause unnecessary panic will be arrested."
The shrill beeping resumed once more before the robotic voice repeated its previous warning. Alfred clicked off the television before it could be completed.
Alfred's hand instinctively went to his coat pocket and he dug through it, past his wallet and other clutter, to get to his phone. Once he had it in his grasp he turned it on. He'd switched it off during the meeting.
It beeped erratically in his palm, showing 100+ missed calls from the President and various other government officials.
Shit.
Dread pooling in his stomach, he attempted to call his boss. His frown deepened when his call wouldn't go through. It seemed he didn't have service.
"Anyone's cell working?" he asked, looking up at the solemn room.
"Our mobile phones do not work here even under normal circumstances, Amerika," Russia answered, his voice unusually deep – not the childish pitch he tended to use around the others – and brows knitted together.
"Well that's fucking great," Alfred snapped and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his lap as he cradled his head in his hands.
"Amérique, mon petit, you need to calm down." Alfred heard the concern in France's voice and felt the other man place a hand on his shoulder from behind – when he had gotten there, Alfred didn't know. Regardless, he couldn't calm himself. Dread was building in his gut and there was nothing that he or anyone could do to stop it from growing.
"It'll be all right-"
"No! It will not be all right!" America shouted, jumping up and spinning around to face his father.
France's face was comical to say the least.
America could very well see the shock on his face. France could deal with being yelled at – England and he argued all the time – but never in his life had he been shouted at by Alfred. Not even when they had been at war with each other had his youngest son ever raised his voice at him.
England maybe, but never him.
"That warning was issued by the Department of Homeland Security! I'm under attack and whoever's doing it is using biological warfare! My people are eating each other! Don't you fucking dare tell me it's all right because it's not!"
"Alfred!" England roared, jumping to his feet. He was beside France in an instant.
"What?! Please, tell me what you have to say! I'd love to hear it!" America growled. His face was flushed in anger and his bright blue eyes bore into England's green irises.
"Don't start this with me, boy," England hissed in a low voice. His lips were pressed into a thin line, turning white from pressure.
"You don't intimidate me, England." Alfred crossed his arms over his chest in defiance.
"Yes, well—"
"Enough!"
Three blond heads snapped to the left.
Canada stared at the three of them, fuming, his eyes bright with anger.
"This pissing match you two are having is not going to solve anything!" he exclaimed. "It's a bad situation, and fighting is only going to make it worse! Instead of just sitting around here, let's do something productive. Germany, Italy, Japan?"
"Yes?" Germany asked, slightly dazed from the normally quiet Canadian's outburst.
"Can you three go and board up the windows in the front of the house? We don't want any unexpected visitors getting in here while we're sleeping tonight. There's plywood and a toolbox in the basement."
Germany looked to Italy and Japan and received nods of approval. "Yes, very well." He and the two other nations rose from their seats, awkwardly inching out of the tension filled room and toward the cellar.
After the trio disappeared around the corner, Canada turned his attention to the remaining occupants of the room.
"Papa, dad, can you two make supper? I'm sure everyone would get along better with something in their stomachs. I'll help in a moment."
France nodded silently, face free of his usual easy grin as he led a visibly upset England away from their sons and toward the kitchen.
After the two had disappeared into the kitchen and the sound of pots and pans could be heard clattering and banging, Matthew turned back to Alfred, disappointment in his eyes. "Make up the guestrooms, okay? And try to cool off. That was uncalled for and you might have said something that you regretted."
Numbly, America nodded and turned to make his way down the hallway and up the stairs. He could hear Russia's slightly heavier footfalls trailing behind him as he crept up to the second floor.
Shame settled like an anchor in Alfred's chest. He shouldn't have said that, he knew. It was just a stressful situation. And when he was stressed, he said things that he didn't mean. The disbelief in France's gentle violet eyes as he had screamed at him played like a broken movie reel in his head.
And England was just trying to defend France from being the unfortunate outlet of America's aggression.
God, he was such an ass.
"I'm such an idiot," Alfred groaned, flopping face down on the guest room bed.
"You can be," Ivan agreed, sitting down next to Alfred's prone figure. The bed dipped with his weight as he leaned over to rub the younger nation's back.
"Gee, thanks. That makes me feel a lot better."
"Nothing I would say to the contrary will make you feel any better, Fredka. You know that you have done wrong and any reassurances on my part would seem less than genuine to you."
Alfred sighed, pressing his face further into the quilt below him. "I hate it when you do that," he whined.
"And what is it that I do, Fredka?" Alfred could hear the amusement in the Russian's voice.
"Be right."
Ivan snorted.
"No, I'm serious. You sound like a wizened, old grandfather. It's a little freaky."
"I am much older than a grandfather, Dorogoy. Would it not make sense that after a number of centuries, I am practiced in some subjects?" Russia hummed, pressing his hand more firmly into Alfred's back as he came across a stubborn knot.
Alfred sighed in relief as it was worked out. "I guess not," he mumbled. "A lot's happened today, ya know? It was just a lot at once. I didn't mean anything by it. I'm just, I don't know," Alfred motioned with his hand, indicating he was searching for the correct word to describe what it was that he was feeling.
"Overwhelmed?" Russia supplied.
"Yes, overwhelmed." Alfred rolled over to his back and sat up. He squirmed closer to Ivan and leaned his head on the other's shoulder, wrapping an arm around the larger man's waist. "Like, if you're going to war, you can prepare yourself for that, ya know? You have a chance to psych yourself up and numb yourself so something that would normally scare the hell out of you would just seem like an everyday occurrence."
Though, that never really worked for Alfred for long.
He was quiet for a moment as he took his glasses off, setting them down next to him on the mattress. Rubbing his face with his free hand in an attempt to soothe his oncoming headache, he continued. "That's why this is so fucked up. It came out of nowhere. And, God, there's not a thing I can do about it and that kills me."
"Sometimes things happen that we have no control of, Podsolnechnik." Russia paused, pressing a kiss to America's temple. "Výshe golový ne prýgnesh'."
"What's that mean?" Alfred asked, frowning.
"There is only so much you can do." He paused and reached over, tilting Alfred's chin up so that he could look the other in the eye. "You do not have to do everything alone, Fredka. It is all right to ask for help and support from others when you need it."
Alfred shivered.
Ivan wasn't talking about their current predicament anymore, he knew. He was alluding to Alfred's earlier episode in the parking lot and the knowledge that Ivan – fuck, everyone – had seen him in such a fragile state made his skin crawl. He wasn't weak and he didn't need anyone thinking that he was.
"I'll keep that in mind," he replied coldly.
Ivan's lips tilted downward at the monotone of his lover's statement. He was always trying to get Alfred to open up to him, but the harder he tried, it seemed, and the more Alfred shut himself away. Ivan wasn't great with emotions either, but Alfred knew that he'd at least try to open up to him, had he asked and he felt guilty that he wasn't able to do the same.
It wasn't like he didn't trust Ivan. It was just that, well, feelings were hard to talk about. Aside from making him feel weak whenever he tried to talk about them – which wasn't often – he could never adequately express them to someone else. It was as if he had a symphony playing in his head, and all he could share was the bassline. It was just too difficult and draining.
With nothing left to say, silence fell like a blanket over them.
As the quiet stretched on, America twitched uncomfortably in place. The young blond was the type of person that always had something to say – he was someone who always needed some kind of buzz to keep him occupied. Quiet was the antithesis of Alfred F. Jones.
"What are you thinking about?" he asked in an attempt to fill the all-consuming silence.
"My sisters," Ivan replied quietly, fingers curling tightly around the fabric of his scarf.
Shit.
Alfred was a dumbass.
Here he was, whining about something that very likely was happening globally. At least his family was with him. Ivan must have been worried sick over Nataliya and Katyusha. Fuck, everyone was probably worried sick about their family.
Canada, France, and England were all the family he had. But that didn't mean that he and Canada were all France and England had.
England had brothers – Scotland, Ireland, and Wales – and even though they didn't get along well, he knew the Englishman still loved them and cared for their welfare.
France had Spain and was no doubt worried about his condition.
Hell, Japan had China. Italy had Romano. Germany had Prussia. What right did he have to be upset over anything when he only had one major concern and everyone else had two?
He didn't, he realized. He added self-centered to his mental list of personal vices.
"Hey, look at me," Alfred commanded. Ivan tilted his head toward the younger nation, eyes curious. Alfred took his hand and squeezed. "Your little sister is the scariest person I've ever met."
By the look on Ivan's face, that was not what he had been expecting at all.
"Excuse me?" Ivan asked, confusion evident in his tone.
"Hold on, I'm getting there," he laughed. "She is the scariest person I've ever met, but she is also one of the toughest people I know." Alfred smiled. "No matter what's happening – if it's happening – I know for a fact that she'll be okay and I know that she'll be looking out for Kat, too."
"I was unaware that you were so confident in my sister's resolve." Ivan was smiling, the previous tenseness in his posture fading. His face had softened as well, Alfred noticed.
"It's a family trait so it's hard to miss." Alfred grinned, pushing himself back and cupping Ivan's face in his hands.
He urged the other forward, meeting him half way in a desperate kiss that he attempted to convey all his unspoken thoughts with: I'm glad you're safe, I'm happy we're together, we'll be okay.
Ivan pushed against Alfred more forcefully, hands threading desperately in the younger nation's wheat colored locks as he pulled him impossibly closer. Alfred moaned into the kiss, eyes closed, and held onto Ivan's coat like a lifeline.
A bit more jostling and America was on his back, Russia looming over him. They broke apart for a brief second, greedily gulping in air, before their mouths clashed once more. America wrapped his arms around Russia's shoulders, pulling him closer. Ivan was on him in a second, using one hand to support him so that the brunt of his weight didn't rest solely on Alfred.
Alfred didn't seem to mind, though. He spread his legs, wrapping them around Ivan's waist and pulling the other closer so that they were chest to chest. He clung to Ivan's shoulders, pressing open mouthed kisses to the other's lips.
Right here, right now, nothing else mattered but the two of them.
Russia's hands ran up and down America's sides, causing the blue eyed nation to shiver. He could feel his half hard cock straining against his boxers and knew that Ivan was having a very similar problem if the hardness pressing against his hip was any indication. Smirking, Alfred bucked his hips up against Ivan's, eliciting a low moan from the larger nation.
"Alfred, liste– WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE?"
America felt Russia go ridged above him.
Alfred was right there with him. He froze, blood draining from his face.
The door.
They hadn't locked the door – had been too preoccupied with each other to remember that the others were very much there and that there was a very high risk of being discovered.
Oh God. England had caught them.
Heat radiated from his ears to his neck. Numbly, he unwrapped his legs from Russia's waist – his erection had dwindled away to nothing in his dread – and led the older nation away from him with his hand. Once Ivan was seated beside him, he scrambled to stand up, shoving his glasses on his face in his haste.
"I-Iggy, I can explain," his voice shook as he scrambled for some excuse to lessen the blow. His face had taken a dark crimson hue as he sputtered.
"You're shagging Russia?!" England howled, as if wounded.
"No?"
A hurt, discontented sound came from behind him and Alfred's heart twisted painfully in his chest.
Damn it.
Alfred couldn't deny Ivan – he'd spent years doing just that. It wasn't fair to Russia for him to pretend that their relationship was nonexistent, meant nothing, to him. Especially not with what England had just witnessed.
"Yes."
England hissed and his livid face made America shrink back.
"I don't know!" America stammered.
"You don't know?" England mumbled in a low voice that was bordering on hysteric. "I very well should hope that you know since you were on each other like teenagers not but two seconds ago!"
"Okay, yes! Ivan and I—"
"So it's 'Eevawn' now, is it?! Fucking hell, Alfred! What do you think you're doing?! He's a bloody psychopath for God's sake!"
"Don't you dare call him that!" Alfred snarled, seeing red.
Ivan tried so hard to be courteous to other nations! He'd try to converse with them, to joke with them, but despite his efforts, the others just wrote him off as some sort of unbalanced head case. Ivan had never said it, but Alfred knew that their shunning and jeers bothered him a great deal. Whenever the taller nation overheard someone saying something less than savory about him during meetings, it became obvious by the slump of his shoulders and his strained smile.
Sure, Ivan wasn't as well practiced in everyday social protocol as the other nations seemed to be, but for most of his life he had only his sisters to interact with – one of which was a little bit unbalanced. But he tried, and, in Alfred's opinion, he was getting leaps and bounds better at that sort of thing.
England had no right to be throwing those accusations around.
"You know what? I am not dealing with this right now!" England spun around, marching out the room. The door slammed behind him with a loud bang.
Dinner that night had been awkward, to say the least.
Everyone knew that something else, other than their previous argument, had transpired between America and England. But no one – save Russia – knew the extent of it.
The silent feud had lasted into the next day.
Annoyed and wanting to avoid confrontation, America had taken up residence in the den, fiddling with an old police radio. The television had continued to blast the EAS and the phone and the internet still didn't have signal, so the radio would be their only source of information on the outside world. That was, if he could get the stupid thing to work.
He continued his ministrations regardless, letting out a long-suffering sigh.
"Need a little help?"
America looked up to see Canada, held up by the crutches they'd managed to find in his basement, standing before him. He had a bag of potato chips clutched under his arm, which America guessed was meant as a peace offering.
He smiled. He appreciated the sentiment, he did, but it was early in the morning and his stomach was twisting in the familiar way that it had been for the last few months. There was no way he could stomach it.
Regardless, a tired grin found Alfred's lips as he answered, "Bro, if you could get this working, I'd kiss ya."
"On second thought, maybe I don't want to fix it."
"Shut up, dude," Alfred said as Matthew sat down in the seat opposite of him, leaning his crutches against the table and laying the potato chips down in front of Alfred. Alfred pushed the Police radio over to his older sibling, watching his expression as the violet eyed blond accessed the damage.
Matthew sighed but went to work, fiddling with the back of the ancient device. He worked in silence for a while, the only sound being the twist of wires and the occasional dull clang as Canada shifted the device to a better angle.
Matthew peered over at Alfred a few minutes later, a frown on his lips.
"What?" Alfred asked.
"Aren't you hungry?" Matthew asked in a voice so sincere that Alfred almost laughed.
"Don't really have an appetite at the moment," he answered. And that was the truth. Not the whole truth, exactly, but there was no way in hell he was going to admit to being sick. He already looked weak with his little episode in the parking lot yesterday. He would not give anyone another reason to pity him.
"Are you all right?" Matthew asked, concern evident in his tone.
"I'm fine, Mattie, just tired." Another partial truth.
With everything that had happened in the past twenty four hours, sleep had been hard to come by. After much tossing and turning last night – much to the displeasure of Russia – America had been able to fall into a fitful sleep in the wee hours of the morning. Not long after he'd finally gotten to sleep, though, he was woken up by the all-consuming need to vomit.
Russia had sat next to him, wiping his sweat covered forehead with a washcloth, his eyebrows knitted together in concern. He was worried and, truth be told, so was America. He'd never in his life been this sick for this long – not even during the Great Depression. Usually it was a few days of intense illness, and by the end of the week he was fine again.
And to make matters even worse, his back, legs, and hips were bothering the hell out of him. Some times were worse than others, but the dull, burning pain always seemed to be there.
Oh, and the fact that there were fucking zombies just roaming around. It really wasn't his day, it seemed.
He was snapped out of his musings when Matthew pressed a cool hand against his forehead. He leaned into it, pleased at the contrast it brought to his heated skin.
"You're warm," Matthew said with a frown.
The younger nation sat up straighter in his chair. "Well, yeah, it's wild fire season."
Matthew didn't look convinced. "You should get to bed. I'll tell papa you're not feeling well and then he and dad can –"
"No!" America shouted, cutting Matthew off.
"Al, you're burning up. Just let me –"
"I'm fine, Matt! Really!"
"But papa could –"
"No. There is no need to involve them because I'm fine."
Matthew sighed, taking his glasses off and rubbing his eyes. He put them back on a few moments later, and looked back to Alfred, gravely serious.
"What else happened between you and dad last night?"
"What makes you think something else happened?" America asked, way too quickly to be considered casual.
"Do you think I'm stupid?" Canada asked, arching an eyebrow. "Papa and I spent 20 minutes trying to get him to calm down. And we did calm him down. He went upstairs to apologize to you, and when he came back down he looked like he'd seen a ghost. Then at dinner you two looked like you were going to kill each other. Obviously something happened."
America sighed. What should he tell him? England knew, so it was only a matter of time before France knew. And as soon as France knew, without a doubt, Canada would know within the day. Such were the workings of families and secrets. And he did suppose that he'd rather have his brother hear his side of the story rather than England's warped, distorted view of it.
"Well?" Canada prompted.
God, this was going to be awkward. Might as well get it over with.
"He kinda caught me and Russia making out."
Silence.
"I'm sorry," Canada said after a moment. "I think I misheard you."
America's mouth set in a grim line. "You didn't."
Canada chuckled in a way that was boarding on hysteric. "No, no. I must have misheard you. Because there is no way that you just told me that our father caught you kissing someone who you were trying to blow up – who was trying to blow you up – for 44 years!"
"I'm in a relationship with Russia, Matthew."
Canada's normally calm facial expression remained for a moment, before a flurry of emotions exploded across his features.
"Are you insane?!" he shouted, standing up so suddenly that his chair was knocked over. He winced at the weight put on his ankle, but continued his tirade. "Al, this is Russia we're talking about, not a fucking puppy! He's nuts!"
"Don't say that! You don't know anything about him!" America shot up from his chair, glaring.
"I know that he's unstable! Did you forget everything that happened from 1917 to 1991?! Did you forget the Berlin blockade? The Korean War?! Did you forget how the Baltics can't even say his name without flinching?! There's a reason for that!" Canada cried.
"Why on Earth would you –" Canada stopped suddenly, his eyes widening in horror. "Has he hurt you?! Is he threatening you to make you stay with him?! If he is, I swear I'll—"
"God, Mattie, he's not like that!" Alfred cried, shaking his head. "No, he's not making me stay with him! I'm with him because I lo-like him! Is it so hard to believe that being with Ivan makes Alfred happy?"
Canada paused, studying America's face for any hint of deception. He must have found none, since he spoke a moment later, in a calmer, more collected tone.
"How long?"
"How long what?" America questioned.
"How long have you been with him?"
"Mattie, come on –"
"How long?" Canada repeated once more with authority that America didn't know he processed. He was able to decipher the underlying question through Canada's calm façade: How long have you been lying to us?
He sputtered, but one glance from Canada had him answering solemnly.
"Ten months, officially."
"And unofficially?"
"…"
"Alfred."
America felt sicker than before, his insides churning like the sea.
"A long time, Mattie."
"How long?"
"Matt—"
"How long, Alfred?"
"…Since around the 1800s… On and off…"
Matthew took a deep breath and Alfred didn't dare move, his nerves fried as he waited for something. The silence was tense, adrenaline coursing through his being as he steeled himself for the oncoming assault.
"You've been together for two centuries, and you never thought, maybe, just maybe: Hey, I should tell my family about this."
"Well, what did you want me to do? I knew that you'd all overreact –"
"It's not overreacting if it's warranted! For God's sake, Alfred, not only is he a head case, he's so much older than you too!"
"France is a lot older than England!" America shot back defensively.
"Papa's 84 years older than Dad! Russia is 745 years older than you! At least Papa was still a kid when Dad was born! Russia was a grown man before you could even crawl!"
"Yeah, well –" America stopped suddenly, a hand flying to his mouth. His stomach was rolling and flipping and he could feel warm, acidic bile creeping its way up his throat.
Come on, not now, America thought desperately, willing himself not to retch in front of his brother. However, despite his mental protests, his stomach continued to churn angrily. He clenched his eyes shut, holding on tightly to the back of his chair as the room began to spin around him.
He felt Canada's hand on his shoulder, guiding him over to his chair. He sat, laying his head on the table as his stomach continued to turn. It was a few minutes before his stomach settled enough that he was able to talk and by then Canada had settled back into his own chair.
"How long have you been feeling sick?" Canada's quiet voice broke the silence.
"I'm not –"
"Alfred, please don't lie to me." The anymore went unsaid.
Alfred looked up from the table, only to be met with his brother's solemn face. The uncomfortable sensation of guilt welled in his chest and he felt like a small child caught out of bed after dark.
Mattie wouldn't belittle him, he knew. He was just worried. And he wanted to tell him everything and anything, he did, but he didn't want to be pitied like some weakling. It wasn't like when they were small and there wasn't a thing that Mattie couldn't fix. They were all grown up now and Alfred was the one that looked after Mattie, not the other way around.
Maybe he could just – no. One glance at Canada's pleading eyes and he knew he had to tell him.
"A little more than two months," he answered finally, dejected.
Canada's eyes narrowed and America could almost feel his scrutiny intensify.
"What are your symptoms?" he asked, concern coloring his tone.
America bit his lip, worrying it between his teeth. "Vomiting, dizziness, fatigue. You know, what you'd expect."
"Jesus, Al, how have you been able to function? That's depilating."
Alfred looked down to his hands, unable to meet his brother's concerned gaze. "It lessens, throughout the day. I usually feel okay by the late afternoon."
"Wait, are you saying that it's at its worse in the morning?"
Alfred wrung his hands together, wanting the conversation to cease at that instant. But, through his discomfort, he continued. "I mean, yeah, it's the worst in the morning, but it can happen throughout the day."
Canada's eyebrows knitted together, his eyes contemplating. After a moment, he stood back up, hobbling over to America.
"Can you lift your shirt for me, Al? So I can see your stomach?"
"Why?" America asked suspiciously.
Canada shook his head. "Just do it," he pleaded. At Alfred's defiant stare he added, "Please?"
Sighing, Alfred relented. "All right, I guess."
Gripping the hem of his shirt, America rolled it up so that the whole of his abdomen was bared. His cheeks colored slightly as Canada focused on the round paunch that began just below his navel, jutting out between his hips.
His twin reached out and gently pressed his hand against the curve of America's stomach. When it did not give even slightly, he pulled back as if burned, eyes wide.
"Alfred," he said urgently, "I need you to be honest with me."
"Okay?" Alfred replied, his tone unsure.
"When was the last time you and Russia had unprotected sex?"
America sputtered. "How the fuck is that your business, dude?!"
Canada exhaled, running a hand through his blond locks. "Believe me, Al, I'm not asking because I want to know. When?"
"I don't know," America shrugged, trying to pin point an exact date. "A few months ago?"
"How many months?" Canada pressed.
"Uhh..? Like four-ish?" America rolled his shirt back down as he spoke before looking up to his brother, confusion swirling in his blue eyes.
"Were you on bottom?" Canada asked, his voice deathly serious and without a hint of humor.
Cheeks reddening, Alfred nodded.
"And you've been sick for the past two months?"
"Yes."
Canada took a deep breath. "Alfred..? Do you think that you might be ..?"
"Might be what?"
"You know…"
"No. I really don't."
Canada looked away, wringing his crisp white dress shirt in his hands. Inhaling deeply he answered, "…Pregnant?"
"Pregnant?" Alfred parroted, the word thick on his tongue. Time seemed to slow around him, his heart sinking like an anchor and thudding loudly in his ears.
Pregnant.
How could Mattie even suggest that? He couldn't be pregnant! He and Ivan had always been careful! One time wasn't going to get him knocked up! And besides, they didn't have any colonies together. There was no way he could be pregnant!
"Absolutely not."
"Alfred…"
"Matt, I'm not. I swear, it's just wildfires."
"But how do you know that!?" Canada exclaimed.
"Because I can't be! Not now, anyway!" America shot back.
Canada heaved a sigh. "Al, your justification for this can't just be: Well it's inconvenient, so it's not a possibility! Like it or not, you could be! Especially if you've been this sick this long!"
"But—"
"Don't give me that wildfire crap! They started a month ago, you've been sick for two!"
"Well what do you want me to do, Matt?!" America retorted, his voice biting. Alfred knew he was being irritable, but he couldn't help it. The ache in his head that had started off as a dull pulsating had crescendoed into a full-blown migraine thanks to Canada's prodding.
"I want you to take this seriously, Al!"
"Oh, believe me, I am," Alfred huffed.
"No, you're not!"
"Oh, wow," Alfred exclaimed incredulously. "I didn't know that you know more about my emotions than I do!"
"Alfred—"
"No, please. Go ahead. What am I thinking right now, Matt? I can't possibly figure it out unless you tell me, dumb as I am."
"Alfred, you know that's not what I meant! You're putting words in my mouth. I'm just saying that we have to take this as a real possibility! If you are it could be – ah." Matthew stopped suddenly, his eyes blown wide as he stared at Alfred.
"What?" Alfred asked, confused but grateful for the sudden end of Matthew's tirade.
"You're bleeding," Canada said softly, hobbling closer toward him.
"I am?" Alfred asked, reaching up to feel his face. Sure enough, warm liquid was flowing sluggishly from both of his nostrils.
"Oh."
With a furrow to his brow, Matthew reached forward and nudged Alfred down into his chair gently. "Lean your head forward," he said quietly as he rummaged through his pocket. He drew out a pale, cream handkerchief and pressed it into Alfred's hand. Alfred nodded his thanks, pressing the handkerchief to his nose to stem the flow of blood.
"I'll drop this for the moment," Matthew said, his voice taking on a gentle timbre as he pulled a chair up to sit next to Alfred. "But we're seriously going to have to talk about it later."
"Whatever, Matt."
"I mean it, Alfred."
"I know."
Some notes for the story - Emergency Alert System. I'm not too too sure if they have this in other countries, but in the United States it's something that we use for emergencies. Mostly it's used for weather related things: tornadoes/earthquakes/severe weather, but it can be used for civil defense - oddly enough, though, they didn't use it on 9/11. It's also very annoying because they test it every month at about three in the morning. It makes a horrendous screeching sound and then the most robotic, soulless voice comes on to tell you that it's a test. I've had the unfortunate luck to hear it in the wee hours of the morning when I was just trying to watch The Nanny and make food.
Nosebleed. Don't worry, Alfred's not dying or anything. Nosebleeds/headaches can be brought on by large amounts of stress or anxiety. My sister used to get them a lot for that reason. Basically, your blood pressure spikes when you're really stressed/anxious and it can cause blood vessels to burst. Not great, but not life threatening either.
Review Responses -
Reader: Thank you so much, you're very kind! I'm really glad you like it! And yes, they're in Massachusetts. And, oh man, I've talked about this a lot with my best friend and my brother-in-law, you have no idea. I don't really know as a group how we'd do, but I think individuals could sink or swim. I think the people that are like: I'll just go hit up Dick's Sporting Good's, daaaaaaaah! would probably not make it. I think the thing that a lot of people want to do is like, raid stores, and I personally wouldn't. 'Cause, I mean, you're probably not the only one that's like, I'll just go to X place. If everyone's in a panic and everyone wants food/supplies, they will fight you for it. And that means more chance of getting bitten. I'd personally go either to the woods or the country because there is substantially less chance of getting bitten. You could wait it out for a few weeks, and then scavenge a hopefully empty store. So, in that regard, I kinda made Alfred do what I would do lol.
That one review: I'm glad you liked it and thank you so much for your kind words! c:
Anyway, sorry for the rather long AN. Thank you all very much for reading! As always, I don't have a beta, so all mistakes you see are my own. If you see any, feel free to point them out. I don't take offense in the least! Constructive criticism is very welcome, as well!
Thanks again for reading, guys! Please review!
Till next time.
- T.D.