Gosh, this took a while! :D After this, there's just one more chapter to go! I repeat, this is NOT the last chapter. Again, some squeal moments included (especially in the end!), as well as some Italia-cuteness! Thanks for the reviews :) They are greatly appreciated. Russia likes to eat them o.O Oh, and England had the milk in his tea, thanks Fenrir :).
There are quite a few historical facts in this chapter, stuff that I am not going to mention now. Hint: watch out for Italy. This really happened in April 1917. Isn't that nice?
Have fun!!
Chapter 4 February, 1917
For the first time in centuries, Russia woke up not feeling the urge to make other nations squirm or shake in fear. It was a totally new sentiment, and in fact, he felt positively... peaceful. As though his hidden vicious streak had left him, if only for a while. Russia absently wondered if this was how the other countries usually felt.
Images from his dream were slowly passing in front of his eyes, growing fainter by the minute. How he had run, run away from the madness chasing him, only to be rescued by a green-eyed man, who had taken him in his arms and held him, despite the fact that Russia was nearly a head taller. Russia blushed a little, for no apparent reason. He could still feel the sense of calm pervading him, reminding him of the source of it.
England had been there, and it had felt as though the nation were truly present in his dream. He had felt so real, so there. Russia wondered if England had been dreaming, too. Did he know that he had been captured? Did he care? Would he be coming for him?
Russia shook his head violently. He should not be thinking these things, hoping for another nation to rescue him. None had done so in the past, Russia had always had to deal with mishaps and revolutions and wars by himself. With or without allies, he had always been on his own, was the only one who would help. And he was okay with that. He didn't care if England came to free him or not. It would just be... nice of him.
He was well aware of the fact that most countries were fearful of him or that he made them uncomfortable, at least. It was in his nature to enjoy their unease and increase it by subtly reminding them of his power. However, strangely enough, he did not feel like his usual self today. He blamed it all on England. Russia still felt the stronger nation's presence around him, taking away pains of the past and present, making it possible to think straight for once.
Russia needed to escape. That was clear. Already, he felt that something had changed within his country and he was desperate to go and see. Had the proletariat finally risen up, along with the peasantry? Was the Tsar still in power? A twinge in his heart told him that he was not. Resignedly, he cast down his eyes, allowing himself to worry about the future of his country for once.
He balled his right hand into a fist with some blanket caught within, hitting the bed repeatedly in frustration. He was trapped and could not come to his country's help.
Maybe England....? Russia felt a sudden surge of energy that took him off-guard. It was as though England was beside him, smiling a fierce smile, with gleaming eyes and telling him that they would get him out of there. The smile, the hope, momentarily replenished energy thought lost and Russia got up with new purpose in his eyes.
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England was nervous, so very very nervous. What if this did not work out? What if... gods, there were so many thing that could go wrong! Speaking to Germany over the phone, England had spent a moment in utter silence, in which his mind had raced through plan after plan, until he finally told him he was accepting, that he would be signing the Treaty, and that Russia would lose territories to the Triple Alliance. The Treaty was scheduled for May in Belgium and that was why England had to act quickly.
Germany had been right- France was nearly defeated and America did not have all his troops mobilised, not to mention that it would take him months to bring them to Europe. But as England had thought about the terms of Russia's release, he had realised an important fact. He and Russia were the nations the Triple Alliance considered their greatest threat. And how convenient that they had taken Russia hostage, to force England to basically give up the war.
And in that moment on the phone, an inkling of an idea had flashed through his mind, quick as lightning, burning its image into the forefront of his thoughts. Back then, England had voiced his acceptance, but now, he wasn't so sure of his plan anymore.
As promised, he had withdrawn his troops from the fronts with Germany, had stopped his naval blockade of Germany and to all intents and purposes, he seemed to be withdrawing from the war. France had already begun to act more defensive than anything in the war and America had called him yesterday to yell at him and ask him what the fuck he was thinking. All he could tell his allies was that he had a good reason, that Russia needed saving. To this, they reacted even worse, saying that Russia was a ticking time-bomb who would probably rip England's head off when he saved him.
But England knew better. In the dream he had shared with Russia tonight- and he knew it had to have been Russia- England had seen that Russia was... more than what the other nations saw in him. It was as though they had barely scratched the surface of what made Russia Russia and were too scared, too undetermined to look deeper than the misleading exterior.
England took out a small slip of paper and started composing a telegram to his Prime Minister David Lloyd George.
Withdraw all troops from German borders. Stop. Advance to Geneva, Switzerland. Stop. Secrecy of utmost importance. Stop.
Now, what was left to be done was to visit Petrograd and mobilise the Russian Armies. He hoped the troops withdrawn from the front when Russia had been captured would be quick to take up their weapons under his command. For Russia.
Praying he had made the right decision, England rose from his chair, grabbed his coat in the corridor and strode out of his house into the bright light of late February.
-888-
April, 1917
It had been weeks since Russia had last seen England in his dreams. They had been drinking tea and England had looked as though he wanted to say something, but the dream did not let him. Instead, Russia merely basked in his presence, while England smile softly and touched his silvery blonde hair. But ever since Austria had told him that he would be free in May, because England would be signing a Treaty (it would still be another month, since Austria and Germany wanted to make sure England was upholding his end of the bargain by withdrawing his troops), Russia had not met the stronger nation in his dreams. Maybe, he thought, because he felt less than charitable toward him at the moment.
Of course, Russia was glad he would be released, but to what price? He was disappointed. Really, he should not be, but nonetheless, his stupid feelings betrayed him. Russia had dared to hope that England would come to rescue him. Huh, what a foolishly romantic notion. He had always trusted only himself and now, trusting someone other had brought only disappointment. He should have known. What had England been thinking, bargaining away Russia's territories as though they were his to give? Why had he not tried... tried to at least come and... Enough.
England had not come and he would not and really, what had Russia been expecting?
It looked like he was on his own again. But Russia would manage, he had done so for hundreds of years and would continue to do so. What he needed now, was an escape plan, before he had to give up territories and effectively lose the war.
Two days later, the escape plan presented itself in the form of a highly unexpected visit from the most annoying country living in the palace.
Knock. Knock. Knock. Knockknockknockknock! Knock!
Russia lifted his hurting head (his headaches had been growing worse again) and glared at the door.
''Who is it?'' He asked tersely. Austria and Germany never knocked, they just came in. Russia therefore concluded that it must be a servant.
Instead, he heard a high-pitched voice through the door. ''Ne, ne, Russia-san, it's Italia, can I come in?''
Russia gave a short nod, then realised the young nation would not have seen it and finally called out a ''come in''.
Even though he had sounded quite perky outside the door, Italy looked down-trodden and quiet as he made his way to sit next to Russia on the sofa.
''What is it?'' Russia asked the sad-faced nation, and he was sure he did not sound one bit concerned. Maybe a bit.
'' Russia-san, if I asked you to keep a secret, would you?''
Intrigued, Russia smiled what he hoped was a reassuring smile, which came out as slightly frightening, but Italy was never a nation to be deterred.
''From whom should I keep it a secret, then?''
Italy bit his lip and looked down at the blue carpet. ''Doitsu and Austria-san...''
''I thought you and Germany were very close?'', Russia asked, remembering one evening where he had walked into one of the rooms and had seen Germany holding Italy close in what seemed to be a much longer version of a hug, an embrace, really.
Italy blushed and his ears turned red. ''Y-yes we are, but Russia-san, promise you won't tell?''
''Well, seeing as I am their hostage and owe them no allegiance, you have my word as a nation.''
''Thank you, thank you, Russia-san!''
Russia took a calming breath to dampen his slight aggression at the loud nation and gave Italy an enquiring look.
''Well, you see... you have been here at Austria's place for more than two months and I... I see how Austria treats you. How he won't let you go home and... he won't even give you pasta!!'' It seemed as though the smaller nation was more outraged at the latter than the former.
Russia was not sure where he was going.
''So... I have decided to quit the war. I don't want to fight you, Russia-san. Because you know, I saw you the other night, when you walked in as Doitsu was hugging me and I saw you smile and you left because you are polite and nice and you don't deserve to be our horsetage!''
''Hostage.'' Russia corrected dryly. ''And what makes you think I'm nice?''
''I can see it, Russia-san, you are a lot nicer than Austria, even though you are stronger and taller than him.''
Russia felt strangely touched as he looked down at the smaller nation, who looked up with fiercely loyal brown eyes.
''I want to help you escape, Russia-san!''
Russia froze. ''Quiet, Italia, don't say it so loud. Someone might hear.''
Italy clapped a hand in front of his mouth and then whispered: ''Sorry!''
Exasperated, but filled with new hope, Russia gave him a slow, conspirational smile and Italy left, saying he would begin planning. Russia continued smiling even after he left, thoughts of revenge on England forming in his mind.
-888-
Riing!
''Hello, England speaking?''
''Ne, ne, Igirisu! Boku wa Italia, I want to quit the war!''
''What?!''
''Austria-san is being so mean to Russia-san and he is so nice, because the other day, when I was having pasta with Doitsu and-''
''You want to give up the war?''
''Yes, but don't tell Doitsu and Austria-san! Will you help me free Russia-san?''
''I...''
''Russia-san told me you will sign a Treaty giving away his lands, but you haven't signed it yet and you are the only really strong country I know, and America doesn't count because he's weird!''
''Italy, are you sure about this? Do you really want to leave Germany and Austria?''
''They don't need me, Austria-san said so.''
''How...'', England was looking for words that Italy would understand, ''...how mean of him.''
''It's okay. Austria-san simply doesn't like me. But Russia does! So I want him to be free again!''
England sighed. ''Me too, believe me, me too.'' He hesitated, but then decided to trust the smaller country. ''I have made plans to rescue him, myself. I have my troops in Switzerland, ready to storm Austria's palace, and I am moving Russia's Armies into position near the Polish-Austrian border. We should be ready to attack soon.''
''Woooow, Igirisu, you are so strong!!''
England blushed and brushed off the compliment. ''Maybe you can hold off Austria when we storm the palace? I will deal with Germany for you.''
''Ne, Igirisu, but you won't be mean to Germany, right?''
England sighed quietly. ''I will try my best to not harm him. Is that acceptable?''
''As long as Doitsu is fine, I'll do what you ask.''
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It was in the early hours of the morning that the phone rang. Russia, who was an early riser, looked up from the book he was reading in the living room, but did not get up to pick up the receiver. He knew that Germany was awake, too, and had been even longer than him, doing push-ups in his room.
The house was eerily quiet as the phone's rings echoed through the long, empty corridors.
Then, an indistinct German curse, followed by the nation itself, came out of Germany's room, sprinting toward the phone.
Russia only looked up with mild interest as Germany answered the phone.
''Ja? Germany speaking?''
Russia lowered his gaze to his book again, and couldn't believe his ears when he heard the German's next sentence.
''Russia is advancing on Austria?!''
Russia couldn't... no that was impossible. Without his leadership, his country was unable to... there had to be a misunderstanding.
Apparently, Germany thought along the same lines. ''That's impossible, Schwartz, we have Russia here, he can't have commanded his troops!'' Germany threw the wide-eyed Russia a probing glance and then went back to glaring intensely at the notepad lying next to the phone, drawing little stick figures and impaling them with sharp strokes of his pen as he spoke.
Russia slowly got up and made his way from the room. He needed to see Italy.
Before he had even reached the other nation's rooms, he saw the smaller figure in the hallway, coming toward him, with an uncharacteristic frown on his face.
''Italy, my armies are attacking Austria. Was this your doing...?''
But Italy just darted glances around and when the huge brass knocker on the main doors of the palace announced the presence of someone at the door, Italy visibly cowered and ran into the living room, where Germany had just slammed down the receiver. Russia quietly followed.
''Italy, Russia is advancing on Austria, I have just dispatched the Austrian and German forces to that front. Where's Austria? And who is at the door?'' Germany sounded truly hassled.
''Doitsuuu, it's England!! England is outside! Waaaah! His army is everywhere! Look, look, here outside the palace!''
Russia's head whipped around and he strode to the window. England...? Was he...?
Outside, rows and rows of green-clad soldiers stood as far as Russia's eyes could see, looking as though they were awaiting someone's order. England's order, to be precise.
Russia scanned the rows of soldiers with a disbelieving gaze, when suddenly, England came into view, returning from knocking on the door. He stood tall before his troops, his blonde hair gleaming in the first rays of morning sun as he gave his orders.
Russia couldn't believe his eyes. No, England had agreed to sign the Treaty. England hadn't cared, didn't care about Russia. Of course he didn't. But... but he was here! Right here, just as Russia had hoped he would be! No. Russia shook his head. He wouldn't trust him, he had been disappointed and this... Russia didn't know what this was, but England had hurt him and Russia wouldn't be hurt again. He turned from the window, even as a small voice inside him longed to keep looking at England and to hope again.
When Russia focused on the room again, Germany was yelling orders to a handful of guards that had come trooping into the room. At the same moment, an ear-splitting cry was heard from outside. A combined cry of thousands of throats, yelling in fierce English as the floor started trembling under their massive steps.
The guards in the room sprinted downstairs to secure the hall and Germany was on the phone again, shouting at some unfortunate military general to immediately bring his Lahmarsch troops to the Austrian palace. Italy was conspicuously absent, and so was Austria.
Russia stood, rooted to the spot, as Germany slammed down the phone again and turned toward where Italy had been standing before. ''Scheiße, where's Austria??''
Italy appeared in the doorway, panting. ''Doitsu, he left through the backdoor to get reinforcements!''
Germany's voice was approving. ''Good. Now, everyone move to the hall! You too, Russia, I am going to keep an eye on you!'' And with that, he was off.
Russia turned to Italy, the first few shudders running through the palace, as the front doors were attacked. ''Is this part of your plan?''
Italy grinned. ''Nah, Russia-san, this is all England! He had the idea of commanding your troops to distract Austria and Germany while he had his own coming to save you!! He planned it all along!''
Russia's eyes widened. England had really... after all... he hadn't meant to betray him? Maybe that was what he had been trying to say in the last dream?
A warm feeling flooded Russia and he did not even notice that Italy was tugging him along into the corridor. All he could think of was England, England when he stroked his hair, England when he smiled, that real, quiet and warm smile he used to give Russia in his dreams...
Rattle. Rattle. Rattlerattlerattlerattlerattle. ''LET ME OUT YOU FUCKING PASTA-FREAK!!!!!''
Russia stopped short and Italy tugged on his hand. ''Come on, Russia-san! We're nearly there!''
Russia cocked his head.
''WHERE ARE YOU, YOU TRAITOR?? GERMANYY!! GERMANY! HELP!!''
''...Tell me, Italy, is that Austria?''
The locked door rattled some more as the nation trapped within tried to dislodge a piece of wood shoved between the handles and a whole stack of furniture, including Germany's massive office desk, as far as Russia could see.
Italy smiled back at Russia brightly. ''That, Russia-san, is my contribution to your rescue''. Then, he continued to lead him down the stairs.
The front doors were giving way. They had not been made to withstand the onslaught of soldiers, not to mention a whole army brimming with cold, British fury.
As soon as the doors broke down, chaos reigned. English soldiers were mowed down by German guards with heavy guns and as more and more soldiers flooded into the huge entrance hall, screams began to multiply and some Germans started to fall. Blood splattered on the white marble as English soldiers impaled Austrian guards with their pikes.
And through the horrifying commotion, England strode in wearing his green uniform, eyes blazing, as bullets whizzed around his head, not touching the nation in any moment.
''Germany!'', he yelled, anger burning coldly in his eyes.
Russia glanced around, trying to spot the tall nation, but he couldn't see him anywhere. Instead, his violet eyes met England's.
For a moment, everything was still for Russia. The bullets whizzing past and through him, not harming him because he was a country, were silent and the screams of the dying and the anguished soldiers were drowned out by absolute silence as he saw England again. He opened his mouth to call for him, to somehow get this odd feeling of elation out of his system, because he didn't understand it. No words leaving his choked-up throat, he smiled, feeling as though it was the first true smile he ever gave.
-888-
England was rooted to the spot. Russia was standing up there, looking so... tall and still vulnerable. So helpless in the battle. And he was looking at England, with eyes that appeared older than ever, and brimming with a new-found warmth as his lips stretched into a smile. England's chest hurt. That smile, that amazing, deep smile, promising indulgence and warmth, was directed at him, only him. It was his. In that moment, Russia looked like an apparition on top of those stairs and England wanted nothing more than to shoot all those bloody German and Austrian guards and carry Russia away so that his innocence was not tainted by all this violence.
Suddenly, the spell was broken. Russia's eyes widened, and a dark shadow fell across Russia's face as a tall figure stepped around him, leveling a gleaming, deadly gun at his head. Fierce blue eyes challenged England's as Germany adjusted his grip on the hand gun.
-888-
''England!'', Russia couldn't help calling.
Germany smiled. ''You will surrender now, England. And don't think I'll forget you betrayed me.''
Russia glanced to England, hating to see him in danger. And what was he doing that for anyways? Russia didn't deserve it. Had he ever helped England? No. He had always been the one to ask for help or comfort, never England. Never England. Why did he have to act so strong all the time? Making a decision, Russia called out to England. ''Forget about me! Just get out of here! I'm not important...!''
England heatedly looked up at him. ''Of course you are! Guess who I am doing this for, you bloody git!'' The gun he had pointed at Germany was shaking.
Russia swallowed. England thought he was... important?
The fighting had gradually stopped as the two countries came to an impasse. In the silence, a bright voice called out.
''Ne, ne, Doitsu!''
''Not now, Italia. Can't you see I'm busy?'', Germany growled, never taking his eyes off England.
''Doitsu.'' The name was said in such a serious voice, that Germany finally looked at Italy, surprised at the tone. What shocked him even more was the small gun pointed at his chest, trembling terribly in Italy's grasp.
Germany gaped. ''Italia...? What's wrong with you? Why are you...?'' The taller nation swallowed.
Italy's words were pained, but he stayed focused. ''Let him go. Let Russia-san go.''
''Italy, what has gotten into you?''
''Let. Him. Go.'' Italy was crying now, silent tears running down his face.
Germany lowered his weapon. England shot. Russia ran. Italy cried.
Germany dodged down behind a statue, narrowly avoiding the deadly bullets aimed at him. Italy just sunk down on the stairs, staring at his hands, having discarded the terrible weapon.
Russia arrived next to England. There was no time for hellos. One glance said all that needed to be said as England silently handed Russia one of his guns, which Russia deftly took, marvelling at their synchronised movements. They both aimed at Germany, who had slowly risen from behind his shelter with slightly raised hands, showing his surrender, faced with two guns and no ally to back him up.
''I won't forget this-'', he seethed, grabbing an unresisting Italy by the hand and retreating upstairs.
The soldiers lowered their weapons, the English retreating while the Germans and Austrians that had been left slowly followed Germany.
''England...'' Russia hesitated. There was so much to say. I am sorry I didn't trust you, I am glad you came, I felt happy inside when you said I am important, I want you to stay right here, to wrap those strong arms around me, look me in the eyes and say that everything is all right. Instead of speaking, he turned his gun around, offering England the hilt.
-888-
Hearing his own name on the lips of Russia made England turn to him, and damn, his chest hurt again when he saw his vulnerable violet eyes. His eyes fell down to his own weapon that he had given Russia. Flicking his eyes up again, probing, asking unspoken questions and wanting, more than anything else, to take Russia in his arms, comfort him, touch him, reassure himself he was truly here, truly safe. And gods, to kiss him, kiss his innocence away, until nothing remained but the fact that Russia was his and would never be gone again.
England slowly strechted out his hand for the gun, resting his hand on top of the taller nation's. It was supposed to be a mere pause in the act of taking back the gun, but the contact between their hands, skin on skin, made England stop. The touch was both calming and electrifying, a giddying combination that made it such an addictive sensation. England left his hand where it was, aware that with every second that passed, the silence between him and Russia became heavier and heavier, tension gathering, toward a moment he was both fearing and yearning for.
Without his consent, his left hand had risen, slowly coming to rest on Russia's right upper arm and without warning, England's arms were around Russia, pressing him close with all his might, afraid to let him go. Russia himself was holding him just as tightly, and maybe even more so, his superior strength taking away England's breath. And it felt so right. England's hands were moving up and down Russia's back and it felt less and less like an embrace and more like a desperate need for reassurance that Russia was safe and healthy and gods, did his back feel strong, and yet so vulnerable under his hands. England's hands roamed Russia's back, moved up and down his arms, eyes following their movement, as they made their way up to Russia's shoulders, his neck, his face.
A moment of stillness befell them and their eyes interlocked eternally for a split second in time.
And then, the distance was closed in the blink of an eye and it was with an insatiable hunger that England covered Russia's lips with his own, claiming the taller nation with his forceful kiss. Russia, who had been surprised at first, tightened his arms around England, signalling that he was more than inclined to continue the current activity and England was shocked at his strength when Russia grabbed his head and proceeded to thoroughly claim his mouth in return, with a ferocity that bordered on violence.
England couldn't help it and moaned into the kiss, which he compensated for by taking control again and slowing the kiss down until it transformed into a tender brushing of lips, interspersed with short pauses filled with locked eyes and whispered words in both Russian and English.
When they finally parted, the gun lying forgotten on the floor, Russia's earnest eyes were on fire, burning into England's. ''I haven't thanked you yet.''
England smiled, a ridiculously happy feeling building up inside him. ''You just did.''
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Wooot! One more chapter to go! :D What do you think? The ''Treaty'' that Italy and England make over the phone did take place at that time and was called the Treaty of London. Italy joined the Allied Powers on April 26, 1917, effectively betraying Germany and Austria. Woonderful!