Summary: Alfred weighs his options as Ivan recovers. They sleep.
Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.
Whenever Alfred had a fever, he got unbearably hot.
Ivan was different. He got really fucking cold.
Alfred shivered from where he was pressed against the demon's front. He had been shivering for the past three days, and Ivan was only starting to feel slightly less like a glacier now. At first he had tried to wrap his arms around Ivan, but Braginsky was so damn cold that Alfred had finally just curled up into a small ball and draped the other's limbs around him.
Alfred couldn't regulate his body temperature—he couldn't turn cold on command like Ivan could, but he knew that he tended to radiate a lot of body heat.
Ivan needed to warm up, or all the magic and time that Alfred had spent healing the bastard would have been wasted.
The wounds had been horrific. If Alfred had shown up any later, he would have been trying to revive a corpse, and while Alfred's magic was powerful, it wasn't that powerful.
It had already taken a lot out of him to do what he had done. Healing magic was different from the kind of magic that he used for battle; the latter came easily to Alfred, but healing required a special finesse and delicacy that he had never quite gotten the hang of. Mattie had been better at it.
Mattie wasn't here, though. Alfred thanked the gods that he wasn't.
He ran a careful hand down the long, pale scars across Ivan's chest. Ivan had lost a lot of blood, fighting the Manticore. Alfred had injected his Light magic into Ivan's veins until the demon's heart was pulsating with warm, liquid power. Arthur told him once that it was dangerous and an enormous drain to condense magic like that, to force it to take a form that it was not meant to, but Alfred didn't exactly have other options available. Ivan would have died before he could get the blood transfusion.
Arthur was right, as always: Alfred had almost passed out from exhaustion afterwards. Ivan's body hadn't rejected Alfred's magic, so that was good, at least.
The gashes were closed off and sealed; the skin had knit together quickly, no doubt aided by the healing magic. Some of Ivan's other, older scars had faded, too, although the ones around his neck remained.
Alfred sighed and tucked the cloak tighter around them.
Here he was, saving the life of his demonic master.
Alfred didn't even know why he was doing this. Maybe some of Braginsky's crazy rubbed off on him. Honestly, if someone told Alfred a few weeks ago that he'd be cuddled up to his long-time rival and arch-nemesis, sharing body heat, Alfred would have fallen over laughing and asked for the punchline.
Alfred traced his fingers along the lines of Ivan's face. The Light magic had filled it out a bit, but the hollows of his cheekbones were still prominent. The demon was completely defenseless.
Gods, it would be so easy to kill Ivan right now.
Alfred had all the power. It would take but a single second—Alfred just had to snap his fingers.
One quick snap, and that would be it.
Alfred would be free.
…And then what?
After Alfred killed Ivan, he'd escape from the camp, shoot Berwald and the other demons if they tried to stop him, maybe steal a pegasus. He'd look for a portal back to Heaven and return to his life as a general.
It would be different from before his capture, for sure. They had lost a lot of soldiers to the Dark army, and a lot of ground. He'd go find Mattie and stick close, get a chance to regroup and figure stuff out, take a look at the budget and see if anything were salvageable.
When things were no longer on the brink of collapse, maybe he'd try to rescue the other angel generals. Last he'd heard, Lovino was with Antonio and Feliciano was with Ludwig. Arthur was more or less a lost cause, because of the whole halo situation.
It'd be hard—the demons wouldn't willingly let their captives go. Alfred might have to kill them. He hesitated for a second at the thought. Cheerful Antonio had been nice enough to him during his nights at the palace, and even though Ludwig was stern and into some real kinky shit, he was pretty fun to talk engineering with, once he opened up.
Francis would send Arthur after him, like he did last time. Alfred didn't want to use heavy artillery against Arthur, but there was no way that he could beat the older angel in close combat.
And that was just on the military side—not even the other stuff.
He had bitched at Ivan for being a workaholic, but Alfred had been swamped with work, too, back in Heaven. Drafting new economic policies, developing better tech to keep the cities in Heaven running smoothly, always heading somewhere to put out fires.
Heaven was probably in shambles by now. The economy was most likely in ruins, and all of the advanced systems that Alfred had rigged up would need to be maintained and updated. There would be a lot of troubleshooting involved, a lot of late nights reallocating resources and managing what little remained.
His schedule in the Underworld was much more lax, in comparison. And, okay, yeah, a life of taking it up the ass and being bored out of his mind wasn't exactly great, but there had been some bright spots, like Blini and strawberries and the planetarium and CoD. He used to play video games with Davie every spare second of break that he got from work, not that there had been many. Davie had been the best gaming buddy ever.
…Even if he went back, Davie would still be dead. Alfred would still have those horrific nightmares that made him break out in cold sweat, and there wouldn't be anyone to hold him through them. Emma had been there, back at Francis' palace, and Lucille. He vaguely remembered Ivan's firm, cool arms around him the other night, the rhythmic stroking of his hair, the soothing murmurs.
Alfred slumped against the demon's chest.
His stomach growled. The angel curled up tighter as a pang of hunger hit him hard. Using so much magic took a ton out of him, and he hadn't eaten in days.
He was starving. A little fruit was fine, when his powers were restrained. With the enchanted bands off, he needed a lot more fuel. His magic sped up his metabolism to the point where he had to eat an atrocious amount to function.
A burger sounded so good right now…
Suddenly very drowsy, the golden blond yawned and put his ear to Ivan's chest to see if his heartbeat had gotten any stronger. It had; so Alfred closed his eyes and relaxed into dreams of weekends spent playing video games with Davie.
Ivan woke up to an unfamiliar warmth coursing through his bloodstream and a sleeping angel in his arms.
He was cocooned in something fluffy. Ivan shifted slightly—a dull ache spread across his chest—and felt strands of fur brush against his sides.
Ah, that must be Alfred's rabbit cloak.
Brow furrowing in concentration, the demon tried to recall what happened. He remembered thinking that it would be fine. He and his men had been battling one Manticore and were doing fairly well, before the other one had showed up out of nowhere and everything fell into chaos.
He remembered feeling very, very cold, and a sensation of floating in a void. Darkness everywhere he could see, then an abrupt, all-consuming flash of bright light—
The light… where had that been from? All he knew was that something had changed afterwards. The darkness had not seemed so cold.
Ivan looked around the tent. There was a strange blurriness to his surroundings, as if a veil were obscuring things.
Perhaps the blurriness was due to how much blood he had lost, and there had been a lot—he remembered the lightheadedness, the moment when he realized that he was not going to make it out alive.
And yet here he was, warm and very much breathing, the heart in his scarred chest keeping tempo with each inhale and exhale.
He turned to the golden blond nestled up against him. What was Alfred doing here? Alfred should be back at the castle, with Blini.
The angel twitched in his sleep.
"Fredka," Ivan said, gently jostling the other. "Wake up."
Alfred slowly blinked his sapphire eyes open. He looked at Ivan for a minute, as if unsure of what he was seeing. Then his gaze sharpened.
The force of the punch knocked the air out of Ivan's lungs. Had Alfred always been that strong? Stunned, the demon brought a hand to his abdomen. A bruise was forming.
"Braginsky, you are a complete idiot." Alfred's voice was eerily calm. "You brought so few soldiers on the campaign—do you have a death wish? Did you even read the reports? A toddler who had just finished his first picture book could have told you that there was more than one Manticore."
"Alfred—" Ivan tried to sit up, but a wave of dizziness hit him and he jerked to the side.
The blue-eyed blond pushed the demon back down. "Don't move. I'm going to get some food." Alfred swung his legs off the cot and left the tent.
Alfred tried to ignore the hostile stares of the soldiers in the mess tent, but the way that they crowded around the serving trays, not letting him through, was getting really annoying. He huffed in frustration as another demon bodily blocked him from grabbing a clean plate.
Out of the corner of his eye, Alfred saw a tall figure in the shadows a few feet away.
"Ivan's awake. He needs to eat."
Ivan's second-in-command glared at him—had the guy ever cracked a smile in his life? He looked like he had been born with a grudge against the world—and nodded curtly in the direction of the trays.
The soldiers parted instantly around the table. Alfred snatched a plate and spooned some kasha on it. Ivan would need something bland that was easy to keep down, and some protein. The angel stabbed a sausage and added it onto the plate along with some eggs.
There were apples and plums at the end of the table…
Alfred gave them a longing glance—he was so hungry—but turned to head back to the medic tent with Ivan's plate and some cutlery. He wouldn't take a damn thing from these demon soldiers.
Prisoner or not, Alfred still had some measure of pride.
"Can't believe I'm doing this," the golden blond grumbled as he brought a spoonful of porridge to Ivan's parted lips. "This is so stupid. You're so stupid."
Ivan swallowed the kasha, then lifted his right arm experimentally. He winced.
"Don't do that!" Alfred scolded. "Ugh, you're so dumb."
Ivan smiled helplessly. "Sorry, Fredka."
Alfred shook his head. Ivan was still calling him by that silly nickname.
"Absolutely ridiculous," Alfred muttered. "If the other angels ever found out about me playing nursemaid to Braginsky, they'd laugh me out of Heaven. I could never show my face there again." He finished cutting the sausage into small, neat bites. "Open up, bastard."
Chuckling, Ivan obliged.
When Ivan woke up again, feeling refreshed and well-rested, it was almost dawn. He had slept through the day and much of the night.
Alfred was knocked out. The golden blond must have gotten up sometime in the night. He had dozed off in Ivan's lap, but now he was sprawled out on top of Ivan, head tucked under the demon's jaw.
Ivan tried to bring his arms around Alfred's waist—the angel was nice and warm, and he was feeling a bit chilly—and accidentally bumped the other's hip. Alfred stirred, then cracked open a cerulean eye.
"Morning," he yawned. The tips of Alfred's wings fluttered. He gave Ivan a tired little smile.
Ivan couldn't resist; he leaned down and pecked Alfred on the forehead.
The angel immediately wiped it off, grimacing. He got up and perched on the edge of the bed.
"You seem like you're better," Alfred said drily. "You okay to feed yourself now?"
"…My shoulder still hurts."
Mumbling curses under his breath, Alfred departed for the mess tent.
"You're not eating."
"Ivan, in case you haven't noticed, we're in a creepy-ass forest. I'm not eating anything I find here."
"The soldiers packed fruit for the journey. I haven't seen you eat anything since I woke up."
"I eat when you're asleep. Shut up and finish your porridge." Ivan frowned as the angel fed him another spoonful. Alfred was lying. Ivan hadn't missed the way that Alfred wobbled slightly as he got up that morning.
"We're returning to the castle today," Ivan decided. He'd tell Toris to go to the human world for some strawberries. Hopefully there were cherries to be had at the market. Alfred wasn't taking care of himself again, for whatever reason.
The skepticism was clear in Alfred's eyes. "Are you feeling well enough to travel?"
Ivan nodded. "Tell Berwald to break camp after breakfast."
"Okay," Alfred shrugged. He collected the used silverware and stacked the empty dishes on a tray. Ivan followed the movement of the angel's hands absentmindedly.
His heart stopped.
"Alfred," the demon forced his voice to remain even, controlled, "where are your bracelets?"
Alfred looked uncomfortable. "You took them off when I healed you."
Ivan took a steadying breath. How in Tartarus had he not noticed that Alfred's powers hadn't been restrained the past few days? The odd blurriness at the edges of his vision must have been a manifestation of the angel's Light magic, perhaps a barrier of some sort. And the warm energy flowing through his arteries, the stronger-than-usual scent of apricot and cardamom, how much Alfred's punch had hurt—
He was a careless, oblivious fool. If Alfred destroyed him with a flick of his wrist in that moment, Ivan would have deserved it.
He hadn't yet, though. The Dark general didn't know why.
"Fredka," Ivan said gently, knowing full well that there wasn't a damn thing he could do except pray that Alfred obeyed, "could you please give them to me?"
For a horrible second, Alfred didn't move. Flashbacks of the war raced through Ivan's mind—Alfred, pupils glowing pure white, hand outstretched as he aimed the endless line of conjured submachine guns at Ivan's men, the dull thuds as the lethal divine bullets found their marks, the spray of blood that drenched Ivan's coat, ran off in rivulets down his boots—
Avoiding Ivan's eyes, Alfred wordlessly reached under the pillow, brought out the pair of enchanted bands, and dropped them into the demon's lap. He held out his hands.
Ivan slipped and secured the bracelets around the angel's wrists. His fingers trembled. One tap, and they shrank to fit their wearer snugly.
Ivan drew the golden blond close.
"Let's go back home," he whispered into the silky locks, drinking in the sweet, fresh scent reminiscent of sunshine and sunflowers.
Alfred's gaze was distant; he didn't respond.
