I don't own Hetalia, I think we know that by now. All the characters, places, people in Hetalia belong to Hidekaz Himaryua, and I don't own anything that I might've stolen form anyone else. Please review!
Chapter Eight: The Deadline
America's legs felt like jelly when he stepped off the plane. In London, it was eight o' clock in the morning. In America, it was two.
But being in Moscow certainly had him confused. The International Date Line crossed between Alaska and Russia, meaning that he'd taken a trip into yesterday, and then flew into today. He tried to ask about how that exactly worked, but as England and he climbed into a car while France drove off with an excuse about something to do with his Boss, all he got was a lengthy explanation that he didn't understand about how it was possible. When England found out he hadn't been listening about halfway through, he scowled and looked out the window. America sat back in the passenger seat and yawned loudly. He wanted to sleep- but then again, he had promised Canada he was going to save him, so he had to stay awake a bit longer. Only, England probably thought he was going to stay longer than America intended, which was a problem- he didn't really want to intentionally hurt England's feelings by taking off seconds later back to Moscow- could Canada wait a day or two? He didn't know. Well, with France talking about the 'Becoming One' situation he wondered exactly how long Canada could wait.
England's house was actually a flat on the street closest to Buckingham Palace; a white building with little gold trimmings and old furniture. Since America didn't have a change of clothes because the trip had been entirely on a whim, England tried to lend him some of his own- but the height difference between them had all of the clothes squeezing in a couple uncomfortable places. Instead they threw Alfred's clothes that had been through a march in the snow in the wash, while America sat on a bed in the other room wrapped in a blanket. Outside, snow fell- it was certainly winter everywhere, but England's snow was warm and fluffy, whereas in Russia it was packed and hard, so America watched the weather through his window with a view of the palace and cars driving around the courtyard outside it. No matter the weather, people still stood outside the palace and pressed against the bars in hopes for a view of the queen- America wondered if England would want him to visit. He had met the Queen before, however he and England had been bade to stand in the background while their bosses made decisions. Though they had shook hands, while America forced a grin and she mumbled something having to do with his Independence. Obviously everyone British hadn't forgotten about the war; then again, Americans didn't have it all sweet when came to talking to English people as well. America sat on the cushioned seat by the windowsill with a flowery quilt that wasn't very dignifying wrapped around his shoulders and listened to his iPod. About an hour later, he heard England call out to him that his clothes were finished, and he waddled into the hallway, hoping that England wasn't going to pop up and make fun of him, but he didn't. His clothes were a lot softer than he remembered, but that might be because he did his laundry rather wantonly, and from tumbling around the dryer for a half hour, they were cozy and warm. He walked into the kitchen section a little sleep drunk, completely content with his situation, and crashed into a chair by the table.
England looked a little alarmed at first, but he shook his head with two mugs steaming hot of something, and pushed one toward him and sat across from him. England chuckled. "You look like you could use a nap," he said as he took a sip of his drink.
"Dude," America said as he reached for the mug. "I feel like I could pass out right now."
"Well, it's only ten," England said, looking at the time that had changed since America had stepped in his apartment. America didn't like the time zone problem- why couldn't they just all be on one schedule? Of course, England had explained why, but he hadn't listened. England took a pause by drinking again. "Why don't we go on a walk at noon? You haven't been to my country for a long time; I would suppose you'd like to see it a little bit."
America timidly drank out of his cup, expecting the bitter taste of tea- instead, he got something rich and thick, absolutely rolling down his throat with deliciousness. England had given him hot chocolate instead. Clearly he remembered America's distaste for the bitter drink and had given him something else, or he wanted to make him stay as long as possible, either way, he'd even added marshmallows, and America's eyes crossed and widened to try and look at the drink as he slurped it down quicker than he should've. His throat burned, but in a matter of seconds, he'd finished the drink and set the mug down on the table, a little ring of brown over his top lip. He wiped it off, and sank even farther into his chair. "Sure," he agreed, not even remembering what England had suggested. Now he was incredibly tired, and his head started to dip back….
"Come on," England laughed, pulling America out of his chair and to his feet, who protested pathetically for about a second, and then batted England's hands from his. "I was going to take you to the London Eye, but I suspect it'd be very cold. We can ride a double decked bus, if you like."
"Aw, sweet!" America cried, clapping his hands together, then enthusiastically pulling on his aviator's jacket like he hadn't just been almost passing out. He ran to the door. "I love those things, we should just sit on them for hours and sing "The Yellow Submarine" while we're doing it!"
"Um, that's not exactly what I had in mind," England stammered as America pulled him back down the steps and out into the snow. He almost crossed the street when a car was coming straight at them at a dangerous speed, but England gave a gasp and pulled him back while the driver honked his horn and made a rude British gesture that America still didn't recognize.
"Yeah, peace, man!" America shouted, lifting two fingers back at the driver, who sped away angrily. England shook his head, and they walked into the road together when it was safe.
Meanwhile…
Russia went south of his country, past Mongolia and into China. He did have a plan, one that he found rather ingenious, but he did have to bribe China about it. He knew where to find him, in his office building where he was always screaming over affairs with exports to America. If he was lucky enough, he'd catch China in a bad enough mood toward the country, which would help his plan immensely. He walked up the stairs and into the building that he hadn't seen since the Cold War, but he still remembered, all the Chinese people about two feet shorter than him and gaping at his tallness. His hands in the pocket of his long coat, he took another two stair flights, and then rounded the corner through a tiled hallway and into a small office, where he did, in fact, stumble upon a rather enraged Wang Yao.
Russia was one to remember China's strength, but he didn't expect him to be angry enough to throw a file cabinet at the wall next to him while a few humans ducked out of the way in fear. China, wearing a long shirt-like outfit with sleeves that covered his hands that was deep green, and his hair was in the trademark ponytail tied at the left side of his neck. The country crumpled papers in his hands and then whirled on Russia like he grudge was with him, his teeth grit, his eyes wide. The few humans ran out of the room and sprinted out of the hall while China acted like Russia had been there all along, who shut the door behind him, and China through a desk object Russia didn't get a clear view of as it flew at him, broke the glass window on the door and clattered into the hall.
"YOU!" China was obviously ready to be angry at anyone at this point. Usually he was generally happy to see Russia, if that was even possible, but now his boss must've brought something up that he didn't like. Not many countries were very particular with their bosses, China being one of them, so it wasn't hard to believe he was being forced into something he didn't like…again. He flung himself the five-meter distance that closed between them a lot faster than Russia had intended, and China waved the papers in his face while he grabbed a fistful of Russia's long black coat. China's face was red with anger, and he quickly skipped to accusations while Russia tried to push his hands off him. "It's your fault! If we had bombed America thirty years ago like you were intending, he wouldn't own me billions of dollars he's never going to pay me back-aru!" China screeched, his voice an octave higher than Russia's ears particularly liked. "I hate you-aru! You broke your promise-aru, and now I have to DEAL WITH HIM-ARU!"
Well, he definitely caught China at the exact time he was hoping for. As China raged, Russia picked the paper out of his fist and looked at the sums that added up to a number so large that he laughed out loud in America's misfortune. Russia tucked the paper back into China's jacket and smiled. "I actually have an idea that can help you, China," Russia said cheerfully, causing the nation to stop screaming in his native language that Russia thankfully did not understand (which was probably for his own good) and with a small push, he shoved China into a chair to try and get him to calm down. The chair wobbled a little, but Russia bent down to China's height, whose lips were pressed together in anger, and Russia smiled. "I can make up for the money America owes you," he said.
China gave a look with arched eyebrows that obviously marked Russia as mentally unstable. But they both knew that, in the least, and his hands gripped the chair as he leaned away. "I don't want your money-aru," he said angrily as he bent away. Of course he wouldn't want Russia's money- his country wasn't exactly the wealthiest, and that wasn't exactly a promise China wanted to lean on. She clasped his hands together, wrung them for a minute then angrily took his own shirt and threw a mini-tantrum in the chair, almost kicking Russia in the face. "I want America to give me back my money-aru! My people are still starving-aru!"
"I know, old friend," Russia said, smiling, tapping China's leg with his hand. China became immediately uncomfortable, but he was used to the friendliness Russia acted with, and it wasn't hard for his personal space to be a little violated around him, because the bubble of uncomfortable-ness for him was small than most, but it was just in Russia's nature to be involuntarily touching people. China and Russia did have an alliance, which hadn't exactly held together very well since the end of the eighties, but they still remembered clearly the days they'd spent as friends. After the awful serious of crushing tension between America and Russia (China wasn't sure how Russia had lived under so much pressure, but his senses weren't exactly the most up to tune in the world) Russia and China didn't see each other often, but it wasn't a bad thing that he was around now. "I will pay you back. Every cent. I know you won't want me to, but I have a plan. America won't be able to probably ever, and he's been telling you lies for a long time. We both know that, but you can help me crush America-"
China jumped up, causing Russia to have to lean back on the floor in a sitting position with wide eyes. "No-aru," he said stiffly, walking away from him to the other side of the room. That offer was much too familiar for him to freely accept. "The last time you talked like that, your Union collapsed and my state lost hundred of people-aru-" His hands become claws around his heart, and he didn't continue. He didn't need to, his face was pained as he murmured incoherent things about the war.
"But it was worth watching America bleed," Russia said, standing up as well as China turned away on the other side of the room. Russia lifted his hand, recalling the dark red blood that dripped off both of their hands throughout the fifties, and China, who wasn't going to look at him, grimaced.
China remembered America's face as he swore to kill them both, that face they both hated equally, and yet, even though both tier relationships were bitter, they loved him as well. Russia had been spared, he knew there was a possibility Poland would've taken a huge chunk of his land if he had really wanted to after the collapse, not to mention the Baltic States as well had a little bit of triumph to go with, so he couldn't help but give the bitter sense of mercy toward America that had lasted almost thirty years until now. And China- the poor, poverty-ridden country would be nothing if America didn't greedily take in so much from him. Yes, the feeling of a bitter, tasteless love toward that country was a mutual feeling between he and Russia. And yet, China wasn't ready to give in.
"But he wasn't as reliant on your imports then," Russia continued, beckoning China to look at him again, whose fists clenched. When he didn't turn, Russia's face turned from his usual friendly look to something completely solid. Russia continued in a leering voice, his eyes hooded and dark; "I can get America on his knees if you help me, China."
The thought of that was almost too appealing to the both of them. Yet, China still didn't quite give in. He wasn't ready to trust Russia so easily a second time, though he knew that China was one of his only true friends. "How would you do that-aru?" China snapped, this time whirling around, his face and hair disarray. He stuck with still being angry, because it was impossible for Russia to be believed with the first offer. He flailed his hands in front of Russia's face to try and clear the madness that obviously lay there in a purple cloud around his face that was perfectly imaginary. "Without starting a war with your stupid yellow missiles, there's no way you can-"
"I don't need bombs," Russia said. He paused, thinking. "But I do have them," he amended at China's disgusted look as he turned his head away and looked at the wall. The wall, his office, an office with picture from his history and paintings. Most of them were of the children that mostly hated him, but one of them- one small, black-and-white picture he wished wasn't hanging there right now, was of him and Russia, China clothed in a uniform he hadn't looked at in years with lapels and medals, smiling with one arm around Russia's shoulder closest to him, and Russia, with a brilliant uniform as well, both of them waving to a crowd that had long dispersed, and would never support the same cause again.
"You see, China," Russia said softly, spreading out his hands as if to gesture to himself and the long black coat he wore with a black vest layered underneath with a dark red shirt, the color of the flag with one hint of gold in the top left corner, and yet, his eyes were dark, murderous. This was a kind of Russia that no one like to look at, but one China had to cope with. "I am now a federation. Not a country to some, isn't that sad?"
China crossed his arms and pointed his nose in the air to try and avoid Russia's clearly convincing ideas. He had fell for them before, and now he was repeatedly telling himself not to do it again, but he couldn't help himself. "What would you want me to do if I agreed-aru?" He sniffed.
"I want you to threaten him," Russia said simply.
China snapped around, his eyes wild. "NO-aru!" He cried, ready to throw something at him again, but Russia had his hands up in careful balance. "I'm not going to try and bring war on America, you fool-"
"Not war, silly," Russia laughed, trying to pat the top of China's head in a poor attempt of calming him down. "Give him a deadline to pay you back. His expenses are too deep to pay you back too quickly. I can do the rest."
China actually didn't think it was a bad idea. He wouldn't need to do much, clearly. He shifted a little and blinked. "That…doesn't sound to bad-aru," he mumbled. Russia wasn't expecting him something completely ridiculous like last time, at least. Then he crossed his arms and leaned against the wall and chuckled. "I suppose you want me to make the deadline too soon for him to possibly make up-aru."
"Of course."
Russia was giving the outlook to China as a genius now.
"Alright-aru," China said, walking over to a desk cluttered with papers he'd flung in various places moments before. He picked up an old phone and dialed a number. "I don't know what the rest of your plan is, but I'll call him right now-aru." Then, he gave Russia a pointed look that brought back so many memories of the days where they had walked through the snow-covered fields together covered in blood that was both theirs and America's, coughing with a death that might've came too soon for the both of them. China didn't like thinking about those days- his tactical option had been to beg for America's forgiveness by carelessly making everything he could possibly need for him in attempt to have him not attack him. The phone rang in his air, and he looked pointedly at Russia with tight lips. "Every cent-aru," he confirmed, making his face as serious as he could manage. He was making a huge gamble doing something like this with Russia again, and yet, he trusted Russia as easily as he had before.
"I promise," Russia said with a convincing nod, his arms by his sides. And yet, his voice was like poison, that crazy smile on his lips he'd worn for most of the Cold War, a tone that China wasn't so easy to trust a second time. Russia wasn't looking or dressing as normal as he usually did, which was a sign that he had a pretty good plan. Of course, the Soviet Union's uniform was what he'd worn for a long time, and when it fell, he reverted back to a similar beige coat he'd worn during the second World War. Now his scarf wasn't tied around his neck but hung loosely around his shoulders, it was warmer in China that Russia, so he guessed he'd loosened it when he entered the office, and the long coat was now black like the sort of dark aura he always carried. China looked away from his old friend.
A second later, China gave a frustrated sigh and slammed the phone down, causing the little bell to ding slightly, and he hit the phone so it scooted with a loud protest over the side of the desk. "He's not answering his damn phone-aru," he said, disgusted. "He's probably playing Japan's stupid video games again-aru."
Russia laughed, starting to turn toward the door and leaving China in a destroyed office. "Leave him a message for him to find, then."
China called again, and this time, America picked up. He cleared his throat, relishing the smile on his lips as Russia walked out the door and into the hallway, the same look on his face, and spoke in the most civil voice he could manage without laughing in triumph.
Meanwhile…
"AMERICA GET DOWN."
The nation hung outside the bus while holding onto the railing, lagging outside the window England sat in now. The bus driver gave a concerned glance behind him, shaking his head and mumbling something about tourists. England pressed, concerned, against the window as America cackled loud enough for him to hear, the window blowing and stinging his face with it's coldness a little, then he switched to hold on with his feet as England screamed in horror from the inside and America stuck his thumbs in his ears and made faces at him, waggling his fingers. People on the road pointed and laughed, some stared, even, and when all the blood ran up to his face which was almost frozen now, while England was having a seizure trying to scream loud enough for America to hear him, he grabbed the railing and propped himself back up and made his way back down the stairs, rubbing his arms. He laughed as England stood up, a crazed look on his face, and America sat down beside him with a thump. They were the only ones on the bus, since most people were staying inside because of the cold, so there was plenty of room for his to bother England by goofing off.
And he was bothered. England looked away from him with his arms crossed and sat back down, shoved beside the window with America's body right next to his. "That's enough of your immature attitude," he said through grit teeth. "Really, you could've gotten killed."
"Oh, nah," America was a little too nonchalant than England really liked to admit. He sat back with his hands behind his head, and taking up a little too much room. It was almost lunchtime, so England guessed he was acting so reckless because he was so hungry. "So," America said. "Where next?"
"How about we get some fish and chips?" England said, knowing that if he was going to feed his younger brother anything it should be that. He took America's cell phone from his pocket and handed it back to him, since when America had first thought of the idiotic idea he'd asked him to hold onto it so that it wouldn't fall out of his pockets. "You got a call," he remembered.
"Was it Canada?" America said, shoving it back in his pocket.
"No, it wasn't Canada," England said, a little irritated that America was still worried despite his constant promises that he would be alright.
"Okay, cool," America said.
The bus pulled around a couple streets while England then scooted out of the seat, marking the right place and they paid the fee with a little extra from England for the trouble, then walked out into the snow. As they walked, America marveled the excessive amount of pigeons everywhere and laughed as they flew away when they got too close. England smiled- at least they were having a little bit of fun. They walked into a little restaurant with red and white tiled and ordered their meal, then walked back into the snow while America tossed them a couple of his chips so they might come closer.
Then, about five minutes later, his cell phone rang again, and England quickly took his meal from his hands as America fumbled through his pockets for his phone. England walked a ways to give him a little privacy, and America flipped open the phone and grinned. "Hellllllloooooo!" He said, a little too enthusiastically.
"America," the voice was highly confidential. Someone was obviously not in the mood for joking around, making America frown. "This is China-aru."
"Oh, China, hey," America squirmed under the pressure of talking to China. He tried to avoid him as best he could, because being around him was a bit embarrassing. A little ways in front of him, England was talking to a little group of people who clearly adored him. America had a feeling England interacted with his citizens more than most people. "What's up?" He asked finally, his voice a little nervous.
"I'm calling you about the debt you owe me-aru," China stated clearly.
"Oh, right, that-"
China didn't let him interupt. His voice came back before America could speak any more than he tried. "Yes, that-aru," he said. "I need that money, America. Lots of poverty here, you see. That's why I'm giving you one week to pay me back-aru. I expect the entire sum by then."
"A WEEK?" America screamed, horrified. Across the way, England turned away from the people for a second to give a concerned look. America pulled a hand through his hair, his heart pounding in his chest. "Listen, man, I really don't think I can pull it together by then, can you give me just…a little more time?"
"No good-aru," China said simply. "You have until then. Have a good day!"
The phone went dead. America let his hand fall to his side, his mouth open. He was already almost bankrupt- but this? It would crush him. He'd have to cut more jobs, he'd have to make more people homeless, he'd have to…to….
"America?" England was close in his face as the country wasn't responding. "What's wrong? Hello?"
America took a hard swallow and collected himself carefully. Then his snapped the phone shut, and slid it in his pocket, and looked at England grimly. "I'm dead, man."
I have my mother to thank for telling me about the massive debt America has to China, so she technically gave me that idea. Yes, America owes a lot of money to just about everybody, and if you watch Hetalia on Youtube, there's actually a commercial telling exactly who. I don't know the technical amount of money we owe China, but is has to be a huge amount. This chapter is shorter than the others, but I think it's pretty critical to be so. Please review!