A/N: This didn't quite turn out the way I wanted, but I hope you all like it anyway! I'm asking advice of my America on how America would react to things that happen in my chapters. Also, to my anonymous reviewer: Yes, Russia was technically called Kievan Rus' until it became Imperial Russia, but the common name for the country was just Russia since early in the Mongolian/Tartar occupation. That is, in Southern Europe. It was either Rome or Gaul which coined the term Russia, I can't remember which. :)
Anyway, enjoy!
Russia tried to prepare himself to tell the story about Mongolia, but he knew that there was no possible way to sugarcoat it. He had to face the memories.
"Mongolia took advantage of me for the next hundred or so years. Eventually, I grew tall and strong, similar to how I am now."
"Only similar?" asked America. "How were you different?"
Russia's eyes grew dark again, and his voice gained that deliciously evil, growling undertone. " I was weak. In my mind, I was weak. I didn't see how tall I was, how strong I could be. I didn't notice that when before it had taken me all day to plow one field, I could plow three and plant them, too, da. I didn't see that I was no longer a child, that I didn't have to submit."
"Then how the hell did you figure out you could get rid of him?"
Russia grinned, a feral, evil grin. "I was told to go to his office, and when I did, I realized that, though he was standing in the position of authority, I was taller than him."
"Now then, Russia, you know what to do."
The last command Mongolia gave Russia echoed through his mind, and his ancient answer chased its fading imprint.
"Nyet."
"I destroyed him. I hit him first, and he rolled us both through the window. He was a very advanced country, and he had things like plumbing. We happened to land in his garden, which I had been required to plant, water and harvest for centuries. I grabbed the water spigot, pulling it off its secondary pipe. He was so small, so much weaker than me."
Purple fire burned in Russia's eyes again, the haze of blackened violet again coating his body like a cloak. His grip on America, so gentle before, became suddenly uncomfortable as his arm curled around America's shoulders, his hand tightening on America's arm. He looked slightly crazed, teeth bared in a wild grin.
"I attacked him without a second thought. I hit him with the pipe, da, so many times. But I would not stop. I felt General Winter there, waiting for my call, for the first time in three hundred years. I skinned Mongolia alive, froze him to the wall of his house with General Winter's help, and returned to him all the displeasures and beatings and injustices he had given me. I destroyed him body, soul and mind."
Russia's eyes gleamed blackened violet. "His blood was spilled as much has mine had been, and then a hundred times over that. I stained the border red. I forced Mongolia from my lands, I took control back. I knew I could not run my country openly, that I needed someone else on the throne. I crowned Mikhail of Tver as my Tsar, for he was the first to come across me as I bled Mongolia dry, da."
America was frozen. Did he want to get up? He had to stay where he was...but he couldn't move even if he decided to. He gaped openly, his expression similar to that of a fish out of water, blankly opening and closing his mouth. Completely speechless, trying to comprehend what he'd just been told. he couldn't do it. He thought he'd seen awful things, but nothing compared to Russia. Russia was a man from another era, quite literally. America was born in a still-developing but far kinder world. He'd never imagined that anyone, even Russia, could so violently react against an invader. He shivered openly, realizing with a sliver of terror that Russia wasn't finished.
"I remember ripping his skin from his body, wielding the pipe until I had crushed all his bones. I remember how loudly he screamed when I called General Winter, and impaled Mongolia against the wall on a spear of ice. I can still hear him begging for my mercy, da." The memory of Mongolia's screams echoed.
"No-AAAAIIIIIEEEEEEGGGHHH! Please, I beg of you, stop! STOP! Let me go-NO! NOOOO!"
"It was amazing to me," said Russia, "That I did not fully kill him. I am still not sure why I didn't simply crush his skull and get it over with, da. Maybe I wished for him to live humilated for his defeat, and maybe I was simply inexperienced." He smiled again, but sadly and no longer crazed. "Whatever the reason, I used more force on Mongolia than any other conflict since. Even those I killed in war were destroyed swifter and less painfully than Mongolia."
America tried to stop the images from entering his mind, of a Mongolia beaten, bleeding and impaled upon ice. He couldn't do it, he couldn't even loosen Russia's grip on his shoulder. "I-Ivan..."
"Shto? Oh, I am hurting you!" He released America's arm. "I am sorry, Fredka...These are hard memories to relive."
"I-I...I didn't know it had been so-"
"Terrible?"
America shook his head. He didn't know whether he was saddened, disgusted, frightened or all three by Russia's retelling of his dark past.
"I don't actually know, man. I don't know how that could happen-"
"You were born in a kinder era, my Fredka." He sounded almost sad now, his voice softening to just above a whisper. "A kinder, more civilized era. You grew up loved and cared for, smothered by affection even. You've existed, through your few hundred years, with more conflicts than many others like us."
America stared at Russia. He was...emotional, America realized. Not that Russia hadn't gotten emotional around him before. They had been together for years now, after all. Still, America had never seen Russia so...no, emotional wasn't the right word. Reflective. Ha. Yeah, that one.
"Even with those conflicts, you've still managed to come out of them all. Relatively unscathed, too, at least mentally. I know you have your fair share of scars."
"You tend to get those when you're a superpower."
Russia smiled sweetly at America. "Da, my sunflower. You grow up and gain scars as you gain experience. Do you remember the first time we met?"
"You aimed a gun at my head, of course I do!"
1830's
"Booooooossss! We're like so totally gonna kick ass on this expedition!" America yelled, sweeping his hair out of his eyes. His new glasses (he'd named them Texas, after his new territory) slid halfway down his nose.
"Calm down, Alfred. You're getting to go on this trip solely because our country cannot move forward unless you have physically been to the places we intend to claim. Otherwise I would make sure we kept you here."
"Aw, come on, sir! It's not like there's anything to be afraid of!"
"Savages aren't dangerous? Pray tell me when you decided that."
"Weeeelll...Okay, so the Indians who live out there might be a little dangerous, but we can take'em. We have guns and all those reds have is bows and arrows."
"Overconfidence will be the death of us-because it's going to kill you!"
Ameria grinned and saluted (since the thumbs-up hadn't yet been invented). "I'm a nation, boss! Only another nation could kill me, and that's always gonna be impossible because I'm the hero!"
His boss sighed. "Just get the troop over to the West coast without getting anyone killed."
"You got it!" said America. "Say, d'you think I'll meet any other countries?"
His boss frowned. "I certainly hope not. Any other country claiming the area could try to force you out."
"Pssh, I'll be fine!" America bolted out of the Oval Office, shouting for a fresh horse so he could get going.
Exactly ten weeks later, America and his troop of men had forded a river into Oregon Territory, as America named it. America had pulled the name out of nowhere, but the men trusted him to know what he was naming. This would literally become his country, after all. Both the men and the horses were sleeping soundly at night, so America, who needed far less sleep than his men, stood watch for five nights, got his fill of sleep for two, and kept up a pattern. Still, he was as happy to sleep as much as his men were; he may not have needed much sleep, but he enjoyed it immensely.
"Okay, men! We've been goddamn lucky not to run into any red men so far. We haven't seen even a glimpse of other people since Independence. We gotta keep it up! Manifest Destiny depends on it!"
The men grumbled slightly since most of them couldn't keep up with their energetic young leader. The rumors went that Commander Alfred was fifteen at the least, with the maximum estimate being nineteen. None of them knew he was literally the U.S. of A. itself. As they made their way up a hill, America spurred his horse ahead to it crest, hopped off and charged down the hill for no reason at all. Then, he stumbled, and the next thing he knew, he was looking up the barrel of a rifle pointed directly between is eyes.
"Что вы здесь делаете?"
"Huh?"
" Я спросил, что вы здесь делаете. Вы слишком глупы, чтобы понимать русский язык? Возможно, вы родные?"
"Uh, hey, I can't understand whatever language you're speaking. D'you think you could move that gun away from my face?"
"Nyet." said the voice. It was a deep baritone voice, heavily accented. "You speak English, da? So you must be Amerikan, da?"
"I am America, man! Stop pointing your damn gun in my face!"
The man lowered the gun. He had silver-blond hair, oddly violet eyes and was extremely tall, clad in a coat and long white scarf despite the summer heat. "I am sorry, da. I did not realize." He stuck out a large, long-fingered hand clad in a black glove.
"I am Russia. Finally, I can meet the little country Amerika, da." The man's baritone voice had suddenly turned lighter, with a childish tone to it. He shook America's hand, a solid, almost bone-crushing handshake.
"What're you doing here?" questioned America, cautious of the warnings issued by his boss.
"Colonizing, da. Yourself?"
"Er...Surveying." He wasn't going to tell this gigantic Northern country that he was planning to colonize too.
"I see. I think we shall get along well, da."
Present Day
"We did get along well back then, didn't we?"
"Da. You were so adorable."
"Are you tellin' me I'm not adorable now? What the fuck dude?"
"Careful Fredka, your Yankee is showing. Of course you are. You were just younger."
America blushed. "Stoppit, dammit. I'm usually in New York anyway."
Russia smiled at his sunflower. He was feeling much better now that he'd told some of his darker memories. The happy one of his first meeting with America had also put him in a good mood.
"I think some hot chocolate would be nice, da?"
"Hell yeah!"
A/N: WHOOO! FAAAIIIL! Hahaha not really. It was hard to write the Mongolia memories the way I wanted to. it was just too much. Anywhore, I'm satisfied for now. Basically, I'm going into Russia and America's memories of each other and how they have solved (or created) issues in the world around them.
Translations:Что вы здесь делаете?-What are you doing here?
Я спросил, что вы здесь делаете. Вы слишком глупы, чтобы понимать русский язык? Возможно, вы родные?-I asked you what you are doing here. Are you too stupid to understand Russian? Perhaps you are a native?
Next chapter: A War Against Myself.