Title – Sociopath
Rating – T
Pairing(s) – USxUK + Russia
Genres – Angst, horror (hints of)
Warnings – Personified countries, homosexuality, murder (hinted at)
Notes – I've read too many dark!America fics lately... even though I like to think of him as somewhat innocent. Also, in this, Russia somehow reminds me of Hatake Kakashi, particularly with how I utilised the copy-nin's phrase...
O-o-O-o-O
Russia remembered.
He remembered when the seemingly innocent cerulean blue eyes darkened into metallic cobalt as he stared upon the bloodshed and manipulation with a blank gaze. He recalled the way lips that spoke faux naive words twisted into a smirk that reflected his thoughts of agony and anguish. He could see, in his mind's eye, the splatters of blood that coated his brilliant actor of a friend as he returned home, gun clenched tightly in his red and slippery fingertips, and the glinting white teeth as he grinned and said, "It ain't my blood."
He remembered all of it.
At the time, it amused him. The way such a childlike man could be masking disturbing and dark things beneath the eyes that looked like freedom and the mouth that spoke false promises. America reminded him of himself with how he cleverly hid his twisted fantasies beneath the surface, just lurking in wait, and yet appear and sound like a clueless, oblivious, normal person.
Russia thought that England didn't realise.
He watched, as if examining his own private show, as England exasperatedly fixed America with a scowl, lectured him about his farfetched ideas and argued with him over the past. He thought England was unaware of the danger inside of his precious America, but Russia was also good at seeing underneath the underneath.
And he could see.
Murky green eyes were closed off. Whenever he was spoken to, he met people's eyes, seemingly without fear. He always seemed challenging, but Russia knew. Russia knew that he was an actor too. He was aware that England drank until he couldn't see straight, couldn't put jumbled thoughts together, and nothing made enough sense to care about. He knew, because he did the same thing.
He knew it all.
England was as much of an enigma as America was. Masking everything with anger, just like America disguised everything with cheer. But there was a difference. They were similar, and yet so diverse, because America had come to a point where his jubilance had become almost real. He had delved so seriously into his acting that he didn't have to try so hard to feign it anymore.
Russia was almost proud, if not for the rivalry between the two it provoked.
He was bewildered. England was predictable, and yet he was incomprehensible, and the inconsistency irked Russia. He wanted to know more, but he did not wish to be involved with the Brit's strife. But he examined from afar as England snapped irritably at America, got riled up and argued, and then deflated, looking disappointed and concerned and hurt, whenever his previous colony turned away.
It was tantalising.
The way fiery emerald eyes easily simmered down into exhausted, pained, but still so bloody understanding dark green. Much to his own chagrin, Russia had to admit that he was perplexed. He himself acted in an analogous way to the American, but everyone was terrified of him, and those closest to him gave in.
But England was never one to be so easily defeated, was he?
Although, Russia deduced from watching how he never showed the pain that he felt when beside America, he is masochistic.
Because no matter how many people America killed, no matter how many people he hurt or how many lives he may destroy, England was worse.
He was always worse, and he was always accustomed to the pain.
"Hey, Iggy, wanna come over to my place tonight?"
Russia raised his gaze from his documents to scrutinise England's reaction. A myriad of emotions swirled through pained, fearful, loving green eyes, and then he smiled. Slow, painful, and his lips read, I'm sorry.
"Tch. Fine. I suppose I have nothing else to do anyway. And it's not like I'm doing it for you or anything, remember that!"
I'm not scared of you, I'm just terrified of what you're turning into. I'm sorry this happened to you. But it's my fault and I still care for you, and so... I'll stay by your side, no matter what.
It was normal that way, and everyone was content, and nobody noticed the thirst for a wrong kind of justice in sky blue eyes. Nobody ever noticed, aside from England and Russia.
But neither wanted to do anything about it.
O-o-O-o-O
"Say, America..."
"Yeah, Iggy?"
"How do you plan to save the world?"
Innocent cerulean eyes regarded him for a moment, before a soft but determined smile decorated his lips. "I'm gonna be the best hero the world's ever known, Igirisu! I'm going to restore justice to the world so that nobody has to suffer anymore!"
Half mast blue eyes, still the same but now chillingly contrasting, stared back into his, and his lips twitched. "I'm a hero, Iggy, you know that," he murmured deeply, pinning England with his gaze. "I'll bring justice to the world... even if certain blemishes on society have to be removed for that to happen."
England closed his eyes minutely to retain the image of a sweet and childish colony, clinging desperately to his hand and laughing so purely...
He looked at America again, who was still beaming at him expectantly. "Doesn't... Doesn't it hurt?" he whispered, leaning forwards slightly and clutching his chest as he thought of London.
America blinked, honestly bemused. "Doesn't what hurt?" he asked.
Your heart, England thought, but instead murmured tiredly, "Nothing... Nothing at all."
America just smiled.