If you haven't seen that history Channel series 'John Adams' then the title won't make sense to you...so...um...nevermind.
More Confederate America ahead (he's got a foul tongue on him). Justa warning.
And I'm trying to draw some parallels between Ivan and Alfred's beginnings. I tried to make their bosses give them the same lessons so they grow up with similar beliefs, but the way they're taught is much different…I'm not making sense. Just read.
Songs-
'Voices'- by Saosin
'Ghost' by VNV Nation
'Cold War' by Janelle Monae (gives wrong mood, but cool song)
The nightmare had come again. Alfred just hugged his pillow to his chest and stared at the wall in the dark. His stomach churned and he was overheating.
It had to mean something. You can't just have the same horrible nightmare over and over, dreaming about a crazy, impossible death, without it meaning something…
It started peacefully. The beginning of the subconscious thought had been just another memory. It was a fond one too.
~1776
Thomas had always been one of Alfred's favorite people. He wasn't a particularly talented orator, but he knew how to get his points across with words in the written sense. The young America was sitting between Ben Franklin and Jefferson, listening to the discussion eagerly. He was finally declaring the revolution over. He would finally be rid of that bloodsucking leech that the British Empire was.
The teen was wearing a blue buttoned overcoat with large cufflinks, wool breeks tucked into his boots, and an ascot tucked into his collar. It was unbearably hot in the capital building, but Jefferson had specifically told him to look nice today.
Alfred listened intently to each of his leaders. Arthur had told him that other countries had 'bosses', but America worked differently. He didn't have a boss, he had many people who discussed what was best and came to an agreement…and he was quite positive that this method kicked ass in comparison.
Each man had a different perspective. They each sought independence, but they had different views on how it should be carried out and how it would be maintained. Alfred listened to each of them and picked apart their personalities.
Adams was very level-headed, but he seemed too hesitant under the circumstances. Franklin looked at everything from the politics and science point of view. Hamilton was a man of many words but fewer actions than he suggested. Washington saw the military perspectives and related best to the common man.
Alfred's personal favorite was Jefferson. The man tried not to think too much of the future, but to focus on the present and what was immediate. And that- was a kick to England's balls. It was necessary.
"Jefferson?" the teen said, tugging on the cuff of the man's coat.
Thomas was a tall guy, brooding and serious at times, but also very good-humored. He gave Alfred his attention.
"What happens now?"
Jefferson just smiled calmly. "Now, you grow strong. Without Britain holding you back, you can grow to be one of the most powerful nations the earth has ever seen," his smile grew warm and fond. He loved his country as much as the next man. It was just a perk to know him personally.
Alfred glanced down at his own physical figure. He was still in that awkward teenage phase where your limbs all seem too long, your shoulders too small, and your feet too large. The American fiddled with his ascot. It was itchy on his neck.
"Do you really think I'm ready to be powerful?" he said, voice cracking a bit with anxiety.
A rough smack to his wrist and Alfred looked up, shocked. Thomas' mouth was set thin. "Don't doubt yourself now!" he chided. "You're more prepared, and far more deserving, than any of those European imperialists."
"But-" Alfred began, getting cut off by another slap.
Jefferson leaned forward and put his finger up to show this was important. Alfred blinked. "Power is not measured by how you achieve it, or from whom…it doesn't matter if you only had to kill a fly, or if you stormed the gates of hell… Power is measured by how you utilize it. You have to do the right thing, recognize other nations' importance, and not try to impose yourself by gobbling up land that doesn't belong to you." The founding father sat back and smiled fondly. "We can make you strong…but only you can make it count."
He stood to go sign the document they had been writing. Alfred just smiled, truly content. The air felt a bit foggy in the dream-like state, but even the randomly swirling background didn't distract from the Declaration they were signing.
But it was all wrong…it…suddenly wasn't the way he remembered. Ben Franklin turned to look at him. The skin on his face was dripping off like wax, his eyes bulging from their sockets and falling out onto the floor.
Alfred screamed and the building lit in flames.
From there, it went down the exact same way. His capital was charged by a massive mob. Buildings burned and his leaders were stabbed and shot.
There was always a gun. Nobody in the mob ever had a face except Ivan. The Berlin wall always ran across D.C., and there was always fire. Those few things never changed.
Other factors were sometimes sprinkled in. One time, Alfred had climbed into a bomb shelter until he woke up. Another time, the entire thing was a massive blur where his eyes kept rolling in his head and wouldn't focus, but he could hear what was happening. Sometimes, Ivan was holding his faucet, and blood was pouring from the end- with no entrance point…
And Al was always terrified by the time he woke up. The dream was no scarier than anything he'd already lived through…it was just…one of those dream situations where the emotion of it is heightened.
Alfred could hear Emil in the next room over, tapping pots and pans as quietly as he could manage. He had been discharged from the hospital and relocated to his home near the White House. It was more comfortable. Iceland stayed to keep him company, take care of him, and call for help if his condition suddenly declined.
The actual country of Iceland wasn't doing anything- as usual- but that didn't mean that Emil wouldn't. He walked in carrying a tray with some cinnamon oats, eggs, apples, and toast.
He'd never liked cooking too much. Finland usually did more domestic things like that…and Iceland wasn't used to cooking without fish…
But, Alfred didn't have his usual appetite anyway. Emil set the tray down with careful hands and glanced at his temporary charge. At least Alfred's house was packed with Coke…
"How are you?" the quiet boy managed after a moment. For once, the American was the quiet one…
Alfred stared at the ceiling, a blank expression on. His glasses were sitting on the bedside table, smudged and unnecessary. The American was afraid to open his mouth. It might upset the careful balance he'd managed to get his stomach under.
"You have to eat eventually," Iceland said simply. He almost cringed when Alfred's blue eyes rolled back into his head again. The Nordic was seriously wishing his brother or Tino were here…they'd know how to handle this.
Still, Emil was a good friend. He pushed the tray back on the nightstand and carefully pulled Alfred's eyelids back. "I'm not feeding you by hand," he said calmly.
The American pushed himself up and rested his head against the headboard. He was pale and his eyes were duller than they should be. He held a hand out for the toast.
The Icelander watched his ally eat with a stoic expression. He remembered a thousand years ago, being the first European nation to actually find America. It had a different representative back then. And Emil had been a bit upset to hear that this new America had killed off the native representitive. But, Alfred had a way of making up for his mistakes.
Alfred had been the first country to recognize the Republic of Iceland on June 17th, 1944, after Emil had severed from Denmark in 1941. Denmark was occupied by Nazi Germany, so the Allies began providing protection to the other Nordics. Eight years later, Emil and Alfred were working together with England to create NATO.
"Ice?" Alfred said, chewing his toast carefully.
"What?" the teen wondered, moving a bowl of oatmeal before the American could spill it.
"I need some advice…I don't know how to fix my economy."
Emil just stared at the blonde. How did he expect Iceland could be any help with such matters? He had come running to his allies when his economy had crashed three years ago. If he couldn't fix his own problem, how could he be expected to help the world's superpower?
Alfred watched the boy's expression slowly change in thought. He was feeling a bit better after getting some food in his stomach. "Well…what would you do in my position? I mean…who would you go to for advice?"
Iceland considered this question carefully. He had several friends he could go to for advice, but many of them would be insubstantial assistance. "I…would go to Norge," he decided finally.
"So…your brother?"
Emil stiffened. "I prefer not to call him that."
Alfred quirked an eyebrow. "Why not?" he asked curiously, his voice croaking a bit.
The Icelander just closed his eyes calmly. "I prefer to be independent. Norge and I are equals."
Alfred just shrugged. That was probably the best answer he'd get. The American rolled his shoulders and pushed himself to sit up properly. His debt rose every second and it made his bones feel like lead.
He considered going to Mattie for advice, but the Canadian would probably just suggest giving out national healthcare and going socialist. There was always England or France, but they were both having their own issues.
There was only one other 'brother' that Al had…but he doubted his presence would be welcomed…
"Hey…Emil?"
"Já?"
"Can you drive?"
…
Ivan tapped his foot restlessly. He had seen the city several times over. He was tired of all the tourist traps and cheap souvenir shops. This place was drowsy. Everyone was so laid back and quiet that he found himself falling asleep in odd places like bus stops or park benches.
He'd called a jet to come get him and take him home; it was on its way now.
…
~January, 1992
Alfred was sitting at his desk in the lower levels of the White House, grumbling in his office. What other nation had to fill out paperwork on New Year's Eve? He should be watching the New Year's ball drop in Central Park…he of all people should get to celebrate…
But, there was a lot to be attended to now. The Soviet Union had just collapsed, leaving America the most powerful nation on earth. If Alfred was stressed out before, with the nuclear threats and responsibility of the Cold War, he had no idea how stressful it would be in the aftermath. A lot fell onto him now.
President Bush and Gorbechev had come to their terms and declared the United States and the Russian Federation a strategic partnership- whatever that meant.
To Alfred, it simply meant that the new Russia had been reborn…
And he wanted to meet him.
But he was also very…anxious. What if the new Russia was completely different? What if he tried to forget everything that had ever happened between them? What if he only remembered the bad? What if he only remembered the good? What if it wasn't Ivan at all?
But there was always that little voice that reminded him that it would have to be Ivan. When a country permanently dies, they don't dissolve like that…they just die and wake up again as an immortal human- like Prussia did.
Ivan was recreating himself, just as he'd done during the Russian Revolution almost a century ago.
Alfred wondered what he'd look like this time. Would he still have that bulbous nose and the soft blonde hair? Would he still wear that scarf all the time? Would he still have the scars? His eyes had better be the same color…
Either way, things would be much different…
Alfred couldn't shake that stupid hope that they could finally go back to the way they were before. But, it still was a crazy notion. He'd just have to wait it out.
Wars like that often left people at odds for hundreds of years. Even now, France and England had only just become good friends again. Alfred wasn't sure how much further than that they were, but he knew that they were building the Eurotunnel under the English Channel to connect the two countries…so it looked hopeful.
Still, it had taken them two World Wars and an additional fifty years to get to that point…
Alfred shook his head roughly and scratched out what he was writing. Was he really trying to relate his relationship- or lack thereof- with Ivan to France and England's?
"America."
Alfred turned. His boss was standing in the doorway to his office. His hairline was receding and his face was wrinkling, but Alfred had watched that happen to so many presidents he was used to it. But, this man hadn't gotten to a 'first name' basis with his country yet. Alfred didn't mind. "Boss?"
"You have a visitor who would like to meet you," Bush said calmly. Alfred wondered why the President was bringing him his guests. It must've been that his term was going to end this year, so he didn't have a lot to do anymore.
He stepped aside and pulled the door open further.
A young man stepped in. He was tall and slender with sharp shoulders and a long scarf wrapped around his neck. He was wearing a nice black suit and a tie. He bowed slightly, blonde hair falling over his eyes. He stared up at Alfred with a faint smile.
Alfred stared back, unsure how to react. The large violet eyes looked more childish than before. Any wrinkles the American could remember were gone. Alfred suddenly felt so much older…
The President put a hand on the young man's shoulder, squeezing lightly for him to stand straight. "This is America," he said, motioning to where Alfred was sitting.
Alfred just gaped. It shouldn't shock him this much…
"America, this is the Russian Federation."
...
Ivan caught a bus to the airport and waited for his flight.
He'd aged a bit over the twenty years that had passed since then. But, that day had been different for him than it must have been for Alfred. He'd been excited to meet America. And, Alfred seemed nice. But...then he'd started talking...
As the new Russian Federation Ivan remembered everything. He was still himself after all. So, meeting the American was sort of awkward, but at least it was a chance to start over and forget all that.
But, between the two of them, they never let things be that easy. They immediately started up their normal bickering again. But, at least it wasn't as crazy and psychopathic this time...
This trip had been...well, at first it had been more of a kidknapping situation. But, it had been enjoyable after all. And, Ivan felt he'd made progress in his relations to the American. The way their trip ended was...unfortunate, but they had already achieved satisfactory results. Ivan figured it was probably best to cut it off here anyway, before they found a way to ruin it...
…
Iceland was one of the European countries who knew how to drive on the left side of the car. Everyone in his country drove that way before the conversion in the sixties to right-hand driving to conform with the rest of the continent.
Alfred was still being despondent. He didn't even touch the radio. He occasionally spoke, only to give directions.
Iceland wasn't sure if he wanted to meet Alfred's 'brother'…
The American was scratching his lip and biting his tongue. It felt like bugs were crawling in his mouth. Alfred hated being 'sick'. It always made him imagine unreasonable things were happening to his body.
Emil just smirked. "If you itch in the mouth, you will receive a mouthful of knuckles," he chided.
"Is that a threat?"
The crystal blonde just shook his head, watching the road. The sun was still rising and the rainwater from the previous night was evaporating off the blacktop.
"Do…you know dream symbolism?" Alfred asked suddenly.
"En sá?"
"Um…I have this nightmare…it keeps coming back," the American said carefully. "I never get the same dream twice…let alone every night. So, it's just weird."
Emil didn't speak, so Alfred just continued. "Well, it's sort of an apocalypse one I guess… It always starts with some memory of my past, and then things fade off to present day. And, there's a riot in my capital, the Berlin Wall's in America, everyone's getting killed, there's fire, and Russia always shoots me-" he spoke quickly, covering his mouth and hiccupping.
The pale teen just narrowed his blue eyes in thought. He hardly ever dreamed at all, so this wasn't his topic. "I don't know what it means," he decided. "You should try to connect the emotions of it to whatever is picking at you in waking life. Either way, it seems like a subconscious cry for help…"
Alfred watched the road, "I don't get it though…I'm not angry or afraid of Russia or anything…in fact, we're getting along pretty well. I just left him in Canada because I felt sick…I hope I didn't make him think it was his fault…"
Iceland tried to digest this information. This wasn't his responsibility to even be here in the first place. But no one expected anything, so he didn't mind. He somehow felt compelled to help his allies. And both Russia and America were good friends.
Emil knew all about their old relations before communism. The whole world knew about it. If they were going to become close again, the Icelander wanted to help. These two knew how to screw things up like nobody's business.
"Did you tell him where you were going and why?" Emil demanded calmly.
"Ah…well…I kinda had that nightmare and wanted to leave, so I just walked out and Mattie found me and sent me home."
Iceland could've face-palmed. "Did you consider calling?"
…
The two drove on for hours. Emil already knew this trip would be a total waste, but he'd learned by now that it was best to just go along with it.
They arrived in Lexington, South Carolina after ten or so hours of driving, and Alfred hauled his ass up and walked down a dirt driveway to a black-iron gate. He unlatched it and held it open, motioning for his companion to follow.
Iceland had a really bad feeling about this.
They walked up the driveway of a white, southern plantation-style mansion. The front lawn was manicured and the trees were trimmed. There was a chicken coup in the side yard where roosters were going crazy and squawking.
Alfred walked carefully to the door, his legs not working quite right and popping a bit in their sockets. He hadn't gotten up and walked in a few days…
He shuffled up the stairs to the door. There was a painted white porch-swing that looked very inviting. Alfred glanced through the metal wiring on the other side of the glass window, raising his hand to use the knocker.
"GET OFF MY DOORSTEP, FUCKER!"
The glass shattered into Alfred's face and a fist smashed into his teeth. The American flew back onto the white-washed porch with a busted lip and some glass in his hair.
Emil just stared down at him with wide eyes and a gaping jaw. Alfred had really ended up with knuckles in his itching mouth? "I...I told you..." he muttered.
Translation.
En sá? –what?
OH NOES! Was my FrUK showing a bit there for a moment? I think it was~!
And the itching mouth thing is just an Icelandic superstition. Just some cultural information there. Hope ya liked it.
Apparently one can get whiplash when their faja flips them off a water tube going thirty miles an hour…
I've been working on my writing style. I'm trying to be a bit more descriptive and give more personality to the characters. So, i'd love some feedback XD
Review Plz?