America x Belarus

A/N: My air is wasting away. Who needs sanity anyway?

Belarus and America rolled into town. You'd think one of them would have seen it. What is it, you ask? Well, IT is America's life flashing before his beautiful eyes. Then he blinked.

Suddenly a clown grabbed Belarus and stuffed her in a trashcan. She wriggled around and tried to scream. But the clown shoved a hot dog wrapper in her mouth.

Why was this clown so mean to Belarus? Because Belarus had the one thing that poor clown ever wanted. A life with America. In America's car. In the backseat. After all, what more could a clown ever wish for? America's undying love? Or maybe the comfort of knowing that there is an illegal arsenal in the trunk, capable of killing everyone in New Mexico?

Grave robbers. That's what they were most commonly known as. Grave robbers. It only took one look to see why. They were knee deep in a freshly dug grave. A rotting corpse lay beneath them. Why was Belarus laying on the corpse?

Simple. Belarus was really the clown.

America had never noticed the slight changes in Belarus' recent behaviour. After all, his girlfriend was insane. America had long ago gotten used to the fits of mental strain that often drove Belarus to try and stalk her brother. He had grown tired of this constant battle to keep Belarus and her subjects alive. As if facing down the demons that were after his blood wasn't enough, he now had to make sure that Belarus stayed out of reach of sharp objects and kept her wrists tied most of the time.

It was relieving for America when Belarus suddenly stopped trying to tear the restraining material from her arms. Now all she did was sleep and steal balloons. America actually liked this new development. Except for the balloons in the back seat of his Impala.

America hit the back of Clown-Belarus' head with his shovel. "Get off the corpse, moron. I'm trying to do my job here." Clown-Belarus grunted and slowly raised herself from the grave.

They stared at each other. Bubble wrap popped.

America ran a dirt streaked hand through his hair. "Man, what has gotten into you lately?" He asked Clown-Belarus, not realizing that it wasn't his girlfriend.

The clown looked at him defiantly and beeped her red nose.

America shook his head and closed his eyes in frustration. Communication had come to an end. Completely.

Without any further hesitation, America kneeled down and slid a bottle rocket into the corpse's mouth. "Man, I love my job." He said, grinning widely as Clown-Belarus lit the fuse. They stood back and watched in awe as the rocket went off, sending sparks everywhere. The corpse slowly burned below the amazing display.

It sizzled, and cracked, and a stale fume filled the air. Clown-Belarus passed out and fell to the ground, causing her bubble wrap to pop and become entirely useless.

America rolled his eyes at Clown-Belarus' weakness and lifted her up by the arms. He dragged her back to the car and, after changing the bubble wrap, threw her into the passenger side door. Clown-Belarus hit the door and crumpled on the wet grass.

America strode over to the driver's side door and opened it, getting in. Clown-Belarus woke up just for the sake of the story and took her seat in the car.

Soon, they were speeding down a dark highway. At least they hoped it was a highway; they couldn't really see it.

Silence filled the car like a heavy perfume. Or the stink of a dead man.

America rolled down his window, hoping to cool off his temper. A balloon somehow got free from the back seat and squeaked out through the opening. It floated away into the night, much to the dismay of Clown-Belarus. She threw a vicious glare at America and returned to playing tic-tac-toe on the foggy window.

America glanced at her an hour later and saw that she was keeping score. And losing terribly. America reached over and took Clown-Belarus' next move, winning her the game.

Clown-Belarus stared at the window in wonder and blushed. She squeaked her nose as a gesture of good will.

America smiled and returned to chasing down pedestrians. The tires squealed as he made the long overdo transition from sidewalk to pavement. Chalk one more up to hit and run.

Clown-Belarus wanted a french-fry. So she made America pull over onto the side of the road. Then she jumped out and chased down a pelican. She wrestled it to the ground and pried the fry from its beak. Then she ate it.

She turned around to get back in the vehicle, but found herself facing only emptiness. The Impala was gone! She searched frantically for any sign ofAmerica. But there was none. America had vanished! Had he somehow figured out that Clown-Belarus was an imposter?

No... it was impossible. He had no clue. Playing Belarus was easy. All you had to do was look angry and wear bubble wrap.

The clown wandered from neighbourhood to neighbourhood.

Kids laughed at her. Pelican's dropped things on her. And people threw Sweden's furniture on top of her feet. No one understood. No one tried to help her. They were all evil.

The clown finally snapped.

She felt that she had no choice but to lure them all in with promise of a party... and then... release the Koi.

2 Months Later

It had been two months.

America had woken up in a hotel room. With no clothes, no money, and no car.

At first, his mind went reeling, looking for some reason, some explanation as to why he was here. Where was here? He was in the Red Ribbon Motel on highway 12 in Montgomery, Georgia. But try as he might, he just couldn't figure out what had happened. His memory was gone.

All he could remember was his life before. A life of murder, a life of greed, a life with a strange woman with a clown nose. What did it all mean? What was going on?

He couldn't have been possessed. He had a tattoo to prevent that very thing.

Of course, maybe it didn't work after all. Maybe it didn't work on whatever super powerful butler-demon-thing that had claimed control of his body and used it for goodness knows what kind of evil sin. Not that he cared much. He just liked having tattoos. He had one on his chest. And one on his...

What was that noise?

America started and stood up from the red silk sheets of his motel room. He peered out the window, and saw nothing. Well, nothing strange. He wrapped the blankets tighter around his waist, feeling very insecure. Oh, he had a good body... just no means of self defence. He was vulnerable.

Suddenly a face appeared in the window. He examined it. The face held no recognition for him.

Then, he remembered. The clown face! The face of his girlfriend, the clown.

A smile lit up his features and he turned to open the door. But he tripped over his sheets and fell onto the floor.

The door opened and a pair of boots came into view. The owner of those boots squatted down and looked at America with amusement. America grinned. But, wait... Where was the big red nose?

This wasn't the face that made America sick every morning. This face was different. More stern, more beautiful, more familiar. The stern familiar face contorted in rage. She pulled America up from the tangle of cloth.

"Where the flowerpuffs have you been?!" The face demanded.

America blinked once in surprise. This wasn't what he had expected. The face went on, "I have been looking for you for five months!"

"Don't be a drama queen," He said, pointing to a calendar, not knowing whether it was right or not, "I've only been gone for two months!"

The face stared. "W-What?! You've been gone since our flight to Toronto. How could you just leave me like that? I was stranded. Alone. Fit to be picked off by the first pack of demons that came across me."

America blanched. "You mean... you haven't been with me on these last few missions?"

The face nodded, "Finally, you get it!"

"But.. but...-" America took a step back. The real Belarus hadn't been there... Then who was the moron who filled his car with balloons? Who had he wrapped bubble wrap around? Who had he played tic-tac-toe with?

Something was not right.

...Something was REALLY not right. America looked down and saw that he was no longer wrapped safely in his sheets. He looked at the pile on the floor, then at Belarus, then at himself. Then he ran to the bathroom and slammed the door behind him. "Next time tell me I'm naked, you sicko!" He hollered back to Belarus.

Belarus rolled her eyes. Like it mattered anyway.

Belarus perched on the edge of the bed. She grew bored and absently slid her hand under the mattress. It closed around something hard. And cold. She pulled out a machine gun. "What?"

America emerged from the bathroom, clothed in the only thing he could find. A shower curtain patterned with Spongebob. Belarus shrank back from Spongebob's leering face, positioned directly over America's junk. Spongebob's nose was... misleading.

"Listen, we should move out. And find me some better clothes."

Belarus was astonished. "Shouldn't we sit down and try to figure out what is going on?" She asked. America grimaced and replied, "Yes, but first let's get me some clothes. This is getting awkward."

Belarus glanced at Spongebob and silently agreed.

Back in Clown-Belarus' world

Clown-Belarus smiled and looked down at the people around her. Their bodies had been picked clean by the crows. They were nothing more than skeletons now.

Behind Clown-Belarus, a bush rustled. She spun around and threw a ninja star. It landed in the bush with a shplsh and then all was quiet.

Clown-Belarus walked over to investigate. She parted the green leaves of the bushes and searched for her star. It gleamed from a pile of dirt.

Overhead, a balloon floated by. Then a plane. Then a bird. Then Peter Pan.

Meanwhile, a car was coming up the block. It was weaving in and out of the road. It's ill manoeuvred pattern brought back painful memories. Clown-Belarus jerked upright and glared.

She threw her recovered ninja star at the car's front tire. The tire popped and the car flipped over. And over. Until it fell into a swimming pool and sank.

Clown-Belarus had a mini heart attack.

She never liked that pool. She didn't know how to swim. She folded her arms and sat Indian style on the grass.

It had been so long since America had left her. Why would America even do such a thing? Maybe he had been possessed.

Yes, of course he had. Possessed with the same desire for all the vices that distracted him from the one good thing in his life. Belarus. Or, in this case, Clown-Belarus.

But now... Now she would take revenge.

Back with Sam and Dean

Belarus laid back, with her feet perched up on the car door. Her hands were folded behind her head and she was staring up into the clear blue sky.

America came skipping around the front of his car. He was dressed in the trademark shirt, pants, and bomber jacket. He plopped down next to Belarus and smiled.

Hey, why shouldn't he smile? Everything was right in his world now. He was fully clothed, had located his car- on the street corner-, and had the RIGHT Belarus tagging along with him.

But he didn't know that danger was coming. He was unaware of the wicked clown-shaped darkness looming in the distance. All he saw were birdies in the sky. Children playing in the streets. Squirrels mating in the trees. Ah, beautiful, beautiful life.

Belarus lowered her feet to the ground and sat up. She scratched at the bubble wrap that America had placed on her wrists after they had found the Impala. The previous wrapping had fallen off long ago.

Belarus wondered briefly why she hadn't felt any temptation to break the bonds, with America gone and nothing to stop her. It was strange, but at the time all she wanted to do was find her boyfriend. All she felt was an overwhelming sense of betrayal. And she needed to know why she had been abandoned.

Now, she knew that an evil clown imposter had taken her place. How ironic. Belarus hated clowns. From their stupid fashion sense, to their stupid North Italy-like expressions, to their stupid, stupid noses, and their need to be someone else.

Now, she felt like the bond between her and America had grown stronger. They had both been fooled, and were now reunited against the same evil. They would hunt this monster down and kill it. For, surely, this was a monster. Who else would do such thing?

America tugged at his jacket. "Well," He said, "I sure did like having a girlfriend who kept her trap shut about her brother, but I guess we have no other choice." Belarus shot America a glare and stood, brushing off the grass that stuck to her cute little behind.

"We have to go. Where did you last see him?" America's answer was a shrug. Belarus smacked her fist against the hood of the Impala in frustration.

America stood to his feet at once and back handed Belarus. "Don't you ever touch my car again or so help me I will rip off your bubble wrap myself!" He roared, angrily.

Belarus blinked back her hurt tears and growled, "I thought we had something in common now, what with being conned by a clown and all. But you haven't changed a bit! You're just as mean now as you were before!"

America was slightly taken off-guard by this outburst. Usually Belarus didn't talk much and was introverted. The only person she ever shouted at was her siblings; there was some serious friction there, most of which came from her older sister having once tried to set her younger brother up with the daughter of a foreign king in order to get more money for the ever useful and unfailingly small store of ammunition. Belarus had never liked being thought of by her sister as nothing more than a handy resource.

America swallowed and hesitantly put his hand on Belarus' shoulder. The nation stiffened. Then she burst into tears, sinking down on the ground.

"Aw, Bel, I'm sorry." America said softly, kneeling down beside his girlfriend, feeling both pity for her and disgusted that she was acting so weak.

Belarus sniffed several times and wiped her face against his bubble wrap. It did nothing to erase the tears.

America waited until he was sure that his girlfriend had finished crying before he straightened up and offered her his hand. Belarus took it and stood. Dean smiled at her and wiped a tear from Belarus' cheek. "Let's go catch this guy."

"America!"

"What?"

"Look at me when I'm talking to you."

"I'd try but your hideous face would probably just burn my eyes out."

They were back in the Impala and well on their way to the little town where America last remembered seeing Clown-Belarus.

It had been just like old times. A too long car ride in a too hot car with a too controlling passenger trying to tell him the 'correct' way to drive. America ignored her and pushed down on the gas pedal, quickly gaining on the three legged poodle and elderly woman fleeing down the sidewalk.

"AMERICA! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" ba-bump "DID YOU JUST RUN THEM OVER?! OMIGOSH SHE'S FLOPPING AROUND BACK THERE!"

A disturbing thumping noise came from beneath the car as they drove away. "Hang on," America said, revving the engine, "I think the poodle's caught in the tire." He drove through a patch of decorative shrubbery, successfully ridding them of whatever was making the thumping sound.

Belarus faced America. Her boyfriend hadn't changed; and yet, he had. Maybe it was all that time he had spent with the clownish imposter, being goaded on instead of reminded that it wasn't nice to run people over.

"Speaking of rubber chickens..." America said suddenly.

"No one was talking about rubber chickens." Belarus interjected, wondering if maybe her boyfriend was crazy after all that time spent bonding with a creeper.

What was she thinking- of course he was!

"We were in the conversation in my head."

"Well, please, continue the conversation in your head."

America glared at Belarus and purposefully swerved to the left, making his girlfriend hit her head on the passenger side window.

"You know, Clown-Belarus was a lot better at holding an intelligent conversation."

Belarus seethed, rubbing the bump on her head and muttered, "Fine. Whatever. Just go marry her if you're so in love."

America ignored his jealous girlfriend and continued what he was saying, "So about the... Wait. What was I talking about?"

"Rubber chickens." Belarus supplied begrudgingly.

"Right! Well, anyway, I was wondering... Do you think they're like fuzzy dice and multiply when you put two of them together? I had some fuzzy dice in here once and let me tell you, it was quite a party."

Belarus blinked. Then she said, "I don't know. Why don't you go find out for yourself?"

"Nope," America shook his head sadly, "Rubber chickens are not my type. I'll sleep with many things, but chickens are not one of them."

"Oh, yeah. Stuffed gorillas but not chickens?" Belarus asked, crossing her arms.

"Hey! I thought I said never to bring that up! Besides, I wasn't doing anything! My hand slipped!"

Belarus stared at her boyfriend's flushed face and thought about how many times they had been like this before. Well, not like this, hunting down a maniac clown while talking about America's sexual preferences for toy animals... But way back in the past, when they hunted down maniac clowns and talked about America's sexual preferences for toy animals.

Wait... This was exactly like that.

So why did something feel different? Belarus couldn't put her finger on it, but she knew that something was off. And what she didn't know was that it was laying in the back-seat, riding along with them.