Ivan closed his locker, wondering how long he had until the bell rang for first period. What did he have first period again? Ah yes, English, the one class he found difficult. The English they used in that class was nothing like the English he had learned. The man they seemed to worship in that class, Shakespeare, his language surely was not English. It was strange and difficult and didn't make sense to him. He had many times been tempted to rip the play or sonnet to shreds. Didn't the teacher say they were going to finish this play and move on? Could he burn it then? His smile widened as he thought of different ways to harm the confusing words.
"Ivan! Hey Ivan!"
Ivan turned around when he heard his name being called. No one ever called for his attention, most people stayed away from him. Yet, he recognized the voice to be Alfred and found the shorter boy rushing over to him.
"Da?" He asked with a tilt of his head. Alfred seemed to vibrant again, chin held high. Good, he was back to normal, his blue eyes bright once more.
"Look...thanks-for-saying-that-stuff-yesterday" Alfred said hurriedly, cheeks tainted pink in embarrassment. "So you're scarf still needs to be fixed at the end, right? My Dad can mend it easy."
Ivan blinked, the quick words skipping over his brain. His English wasn't that good. He did, though, understand the second request, his hand instinctively reaching up to his scarf. The tear had grown no matter how careful he was. He knew how to sew, but he was horrible at it. His large fingers took him ten minutes to just thread the needle. Sewing had been his elder sisters forte, she was a master at mending old clothing so that they didn't need to spend on new garments. He didn't want to taint his sister's scarf with his clumsy needlework.
"Da, that would be nice." He answered stiffly, unsure what else to say. People didn't normally go out of their way to aid him. For that matte why was Alfred?
"Cool, so give it."
Ivan tensed and stared at him, shaking his head quickly. "Nyet."
Alfred raised an eyebrow. "Then how is my dad going to fix it? Just give it to me, I'll be careful I promise! And then I can bring it back tomorrow good as new!" Alfred assured excitedly. But then he frowned as the Russian shook his head again. He was trying to be nice! Returning the favor by offering to fix the scarf he ripped. The other was just so difficult.
"We have Art today right?" Alfred continued, undeterred by the others so far negative responses. Art was only twice a week, second to last period of the day. Another class he shared with the taller student. "Just give it to me then. I'll return it first thing tomorrow morning."
"Nyet, Alfred. I will not give you my scarf." Ivan said firmly, he couldn't leave it out of his sight. It was very important to him, his last link with his elder sister. He wanted it fixed but couldn't even bear the thought of having it away from him. It was almost a protective shield his sister had placed on him, a last barrier from the evils this world possessed. Ones he had already been subjected to and still haunted him in his sleep.
Alfred tried to hold in his groan. It seemed the other was pretty adamant about his decision. At least he had the rest of the day to convince him otherwise. Alfred was very persuasive, as in he asked repeatedly until the other finally acquiesced from annoyance overload. The system always worked. He'd get the scarf by the end of the day, no matter what.
Ivan was beginning to wonder why he had decided to focus his attention on the American. Yes he was vibrant, happy and colorful. And yes, he was the only other person who had the courage to speak to him. But he was also extremely annoying. The entire day he had been subjected to the others constant nagging about his scarf. ("Give it! Give it! Give it to me!" "Nyet!")
Did the idiot not comprehend how important the garment was to him? No, wait, he shouldn't call him an idiot... It had been a gift from his sister! Not that he would tell him that, much to personal to disclose to someone who still regarded him as an enemy. The incessant whining was feeding the urge to hurt. He just had to keep calm and control himself.
Art class came around and Alfred was getting desperate. He needed that scarf. Ivan's layers of shields were beginning to break from the constant badgering and he knew he was going to snap soon. Throughout the day he had to keep taking deep breaths and expel violent thoughts from his mind. He needed Alfred to stop.
Ivan had never had an Art class before moving to the States. Frivolous things like it were frowned upon in the old orphanage. They didn't even have different colored pens, let alone a rainbow of paints to use. At first he found the class to be quite stupid, a waste of money, but he soon found it to be enjoyable. It helped to just turn of his mind and draw whatever his fingers felt like drawing.
Most of the time his hands would try and capture the picture on his wall, the beautiful bright sunflower. Yet, when he tried to paint it, he seemed to get the colors wrong, the yellow not vibrant but dull and sad. Sometimes the stalk seemed to bend, wilted and alone. It frustrated him to no end. His sunflowers could never capture the happiness that exuded from the one on the wall.
In Art he forgot everyone else, forgot about his past. Alfred was in his class but mostly kept away from him and he left him alone. Ivan was fine with that, preferring his empty corner to draw. Of course today, with Alfred's little "mission" he received no such peace. In fact, Alfred even dragged his canvas and chair over to his secluded corner, the legs screeching on the tile floor. The Russian's patience was wearing very thin. Keep calm.
"So" Alfred began, and Ivan mentally cringed, trying to prepare himself for the next barrage of pleas. "You going to give me the scarf right? So that my Dad can fix it?"
"For the last time Alfred, no." Ivan snapped trying to focus on the blank canvas instead of the American. He really wanted to punch the others face in, just a little. But he knew he couldn't at school, no matter how much the other deserved it. Ivan caught himself before he snapped his paintbrush in two. With a calming breath he began to paint the canvs with whatever color he found near him. He wasn't paying to much attention to it, most of his concentration on keeping his mind in the realm of sanity.
"Oh come on! For God's sake I'm trying to be the hero! Why are you so difficult? I promise I wont hurt the scarf!" The other whined.
"Why are you trying to help me? If I recall you hate me." Ivan remarked, digging his paintbrush into the canvas, still not paying attention to what he was drawing. If Alfred were to accidentally fall out of the window, would they punish him? Everyone knew Alfred could be clumsy, a strategically placed foot that eneded up tripping him couldn'g get him expelled, right?
He blinked when he realized he had yet to receive a response and that Alfred had actually stopped talking. Ivan shifted his gaze to the other, finding him staring at the ground embarrassed with a slight flush to his cheeks. How cute.
"Because...I'm the hero!" Alfred finally answered, trying to hide his flushed face. And because you actually believe in me he shook the thought away. He couldn't say that, way too mortifying. Plus, then Ivan would get the idea that he actually liked him as a human being. No. The other was a freak, he was just being the bigger, nicer person and keeping his word. That was it. And he didn't hate him, just found him...disagreeable.
Ivan raised an eyebrow, his smile reforming on his face. "Oh, is that it?" He teased, mocking the other was just so entertaining. The Russian did enjoy seeing Alfred's face flush crimson when embarrassed, red was such a pretty color. Though it looked much better on Alfred's cute face then on his hands. He never wanted it on his hands again. He didn't want to think about that now, especially when he knew how worn down he was today. He needed to keep the bad thoughts out of his head, lest he hurt someone.
Lest he hurt Alfred.
"Shut up." Alfred retorted with a frown, and turned to his still blank canvas. He wasn't very good at art, usually he just goofed off and drew inappropriate comic like strips. He wondered what Ivan would draw, his eyes turned to the others canvas before they widened in surprised.
"Holy- What are you drawing?" He cried out and Ivan glanced up, startled by his outburst. Violet eyes turned to the canvas quickly and finally registered the image being drawn. Ivan started to tremble. Is this what his fingers drew when he was not focusing on them? What his subconsciousness begged to torment him with?
A deep puddle of red blood was drawn and lying in it was a cold faucet pipe, accusing finger prints on it in red. Then there was the beginnings of a face lying in the blood. The facial expression was yet to be drawn in except for the wide dark eyes. The eyes Ivan saw in his nightmares that plagued him every night.
In swift, shaky movements he grabbed the canvas and broke it in half before throwing it into the trash quickly. His breath came out in ragged gasp and he gripped the counter by the garbage tightly for support. No. He did not just draw that. He wished to forget those times. His mind whirled as a barage of more memories he worked so hard everyday to suppress flooded in. The voices of his past murmuring darkly in his ears. Some louder than others.
"Brother, you killed father."
"Katyusha be gone in an hour or we'll have to remove you by force."
"I promise, one day we'll all be together again."
"But Brother, you've killed before."
A hand touched his shoulder bringing him back from his thoughts. He whirled around, violet eyes wide and smile thin. He relaxed when it was only Alfred and not a ghost from his past.
Alfred took a hesitant step backwards, retracting his hand and stared at the shaking Russian. "Are you ok? You're kind of freaking me out..." Seriously, what was all that about. He draws a really creepy picture than goes crazy. And he still refused to give him the stupid scarf!
"N-nothing. Everything is fine. Just fine." Ivan assured, leaving the other before he asked more questions. He grabbed another canvas and got rid of any red paint around him. No more blood. No more blood. He needed to calm down, his mind kept racing. The voices kept hissing. He needed to calm down.
Alfred stared at him unconvinced and thoroughly confused. The hell was going on? It didn't seem like Ivan was going to tell him anything either, the bastard. He sighed in frustration before taking his seat again. He guessed it would be a topic for another day since he was on an important mission.
"Fine I wont ask...but you have to give me the scarf."
"Nyet." Ivan responded, voice soft and controlled, almost icy. He needed to focus, needed to still his frantic brain. Don't break down, don't hurt anyone. Please. He concentrated on his painting, determined to draw an innocent sunflower and not some vignette of his past. Memories kept trying to resurface and he pushed them back with renewed vigor.
Alfred growled and glared at his own canvas, still white. He wished he could just tear the scarf off the others neck, but that's what caused this whole issue. He took a pencil and started scribbling on the canvas. Ivan wasn't paying attention to him anyway. He grinned slightly as he finished his simplistic sketch.
"Look" He ordered, holding up his majestic piece of art to the other. Ivan glanced over wearily. Alfred had drawn what he assumed was himself, wearing a cape and holding some lump triumphantly in his hands. Well thats odd, but he would engage the other in conversation. It might distract him from his darkening thoughts and the threat of a breakdown.
"Why are you holding a dead animal?" Ivan asked, for that was what it looked like.
"Dead animal? That's your scarf! Damn it!" Alfred frowned and tried to prolong the stupid garment as Ivan giggled slightly. "Dick."
"Why did you call me a part of the male anatomy?" Ivan said confused. Alfred rolled his eyes, the Russian could be pretty naive.
"It's an insult ok."
"Not a very clever one. I'm a male so of course I have a one."
"You don't get it-"
"Unless, you were merely referring to wanting to see it?" The taller teased and enjoyed the deep flush that contrasted the others blue eyes.
"NO! God. Never mind." He growled, glaring at the Russian. "Just wanted you to give me the damn scarf."
"You are not getting it. Maybe you're picture would have held more weight colored?"
"Fine." Alfred snapped, getting up to get some paint. He would need a dark yellow for his hair, blue for his eyes. Oh, he should put an American flag in the background to rub it in the commies face. Then he would need some red too. He grinned slightly as he poured an ample amount of red, white and blue on his paint-holder-thingy-he-had-never-bothered-to-remember-the-name-of.
Ivan, meanwhile had turned back to his sunflower, which seemed even sadder and paler than usual. It wilted considerably and Ivan sighed in resignation. Why couldn't his sunflower's ever be as beautiful as the one in his room? Probably because his fingers were still trembling, his mind not fully calm yet. Just take a few more deep breaths and don't think about it.
Alfred turned around ready to transport his painting supplies, his smock already stained. Not that he really cared, that's what it was there for after all. Alfred wondered how Ivan kept his own clean and white. Freak. He had decided to just bring an open bottle of red and blue, knowing he'd need a bunch. He wasn't being wasteful at all.
Of course, he wasn't paying much attention and didn't see the paintbrush on the ground near his seat. "Shit!" He cried out in surprise as his foot flew into the air and his whole body came crashing down. His hands shot out to try and catch himself on something, the paint no longer a priority. Ivan turned around at the sound of the shout just in time to be sprayed with patriotic paint.
The lonely sunflower on the canvas was stained red. Flecks of blue only appeared at the edges because that paint didn't gain as much air.
Ivan took in a shaky breath and looked at himself. His shoes were blue, so were his black pants. The bottom of the smock was also the navy color. But afterward, it was red. Red where it mattered. Especially his hands, his hands seemed to be dripping in angry blood. His bare hands, gloves taken off in order to work the brush better. He felt blood dripping down his face and he started to tremble. Things resurfaced in his mind in astonishing speed even as he wished them desperately away. It was too late, breath coming in short shallow gasps. Before he realized it, his legs were moving and he was running out of the room.
Alfred watched him go, still trying to get his bearings. Crap, there goes Ivan and all his chances to get his scarf. He got back on his feet quickly and ran after the Russian shouting his name while ignoring the lenient art teacher's demands to come back. Shit, what was up with that reaction? He had expected the other to yell at him, not run away with a look of a small frightened little boy!
He slowed his pace, having lost sight of the other teen. Where could he have gone? He looked around frantically before spotting incriminating red hand prints on the door to the men's bathroom. Hesitantly, he moved toward it, he could hear water running and what sounded like murmuring. Was someone with Ivan? No one spoke to Ivan...Well, except for him.
He opened the door and stepped inside calling out the Russian's name tentatively. He stopped mid step when his blue eyes met the frantic figure at the sink. Ivan was hunched over, smock laying discarded on the floor, not unknotted, more like torn off. His hands were plunged into the sink as he scrubbed them desperately. And he was whispering to himself, something in that commie language because Alfred had no idea what he was saying.
"Ivan? What's going on?" He asked, trying to keep the fear from his voice. He was not afraid of the Russian, though the others erratic behavior was quite frightening.
At the sound Ivan turned his head sharply, his whole body tense and defensive. Eyes wide and violet pupils dark and small, as if the light was too bright. He stared at the other, breathing shallowly and quickly. "It won't come off. It won't come off. It won't come off."
"What won't come off?" Alfred questioned confused. Fuck it, he was scared. This was like the beginning of those horror movies. If Ivan's head spun around he didn't care, he was bolting out of the room.
"The blood! It won't come off! It's always there. Always there. Angry blood, accusing blood. Mocking. No matter how much I try it wont come off!"
"Blood? It's paint Ivan!"
Ivan shook his head wildly, eyes unfocused and Alfred felt his heartbeat increasing and all his instincts told him he should run. This was just too weird. But then he saw that Ivan was crying, that tears were falling from his violet eyes and he couldn't leave. Something was very wrong and he was somehow responsible. He was the hero, he had to stay and he had to help.
"Blood is everywhere. All over the floor. On my hands. On the pipe. Everywhere. And Father... Он - мертвый. Я убил его. Я убил его. И Зима. Я убил его. Я - убийца. Кровь - всегда там, напоминая мне. И Katyusha уходит, они убрали ее от меня. Оставленный мной с только кровью. Я ненавижу это. Это не будет отрываться. Это никогда не будет отрываться. Почему это не может оставить меня в покое? Я хочу, чтобы все это остановилось! Пожалуйста. Пожалуйста заставьте это остановиться! Заставьте это оторваться!" The boy was hissing out frantically, eyes darting around the room, seeing things that weren't there.
But they were! They looked so real, so very real. The walls around him were covered in blood, blood that seemed to glare at him. In the corner dead and clutching at his neck was Mr. Winter his eyes staring at him. He could hear his sister crying but he couldn't see her. Natalia stood behind him, watching and accepting. She didn't understand. But worst of all was in front of him.
Father glared at him with such utter hatred, advancing slowly and calculatingly. He smelled of vodka and his eyes were bloodshot. With those eyes boring into him Ivan no longer felt like the tall intimidating teenager he was. No, before his Father he felt like the terrified nine year old who was forced to end the others life. Why couldn't they all leave him alone? Every night they visited and tormented him. Now they were attacking him at school. He couldn't do it anymore, he didn't want to lash out violently but the voices in his head were screaming at him to do so.
Alfred continued to advance on the hysterical boy. Enough was enough. Ivan backed away from him, fear showing in his dark eyes as he continued to murmur in hurried Russian. Alfred noticed and acted quickly, his hands springing forward to grasp at the others wrists pulling him back toward him. Ivan started to try and wrench his hands free, his Russian getting louder and louder.
"IVAN! Calm down! There is no blood!" Alfred yelled and just got the other to fight back harder, screaming at him in a tongue he didn't understand. The American was getting frustrated and nervous and he didn't know what was going on. He needed to get Ivan back to normal. As normal as he usually was. There was something terribly wrong, why was Ivan acting so scared?
"Ivan! Ivan, look at me ok. You need to calm down. Stop trying to get away! I'm not going to hurt you. It's Alfred, ok?" He tried and felt the other stop resisting as much. "Just take a deep breath on three, ok? One, Two, Three." He took a deep breath, his heartbeat calming as he saw Ivan follow. "Now let it out. Good. Just keep breathing. There is no blood. It's just paint. Everything's fine. Nothing bad is going to happen." Ivan was taking slow breaths, slowly relaxing his rigid body. His violet eyes came back into focus, staring into worried blue pools.
Father seemed to melt away as his voice hit his ears. That was not the sound of the harsh slur of words of his father. He listened more carefully and heard the American's name. Father disappeared leaving behind Alfred, looking worried and scared. The world didn't seem so scary anymore. Mr. Winter left the corner and his sister no longer cried. Everything horrible was gone, faded away and Alfred remained.
"Are you ok now?" Alfred asked, hand still holding the others wrist. Ivan gave a slow nod and the grip disappeared. Ivan took a step back, feeling the wall against his back and he slid down it. Sitting on the floor with his knees up he continued to take in calming breaths. He had lost it, in front of Alfred too. He needed to get better control over his mind, what if he got worse? What if Alfred hadn't of been there and he had gotten homicidal? What if he had hurt Alfred? Or worse killed him? He was capable of doing that and the thought scared him more than anything.
Alfred looked down at him still trying to figure out what the hell had just happened. And now Ivan looked so small, sitting down all vulnerable. He almost reminded him of a scared small boy who didn't know what to do anymore. Alfred felt a surged of protectiveness over him, must have been his awesome heroic instincts, not because he actually felt sympathy or something for him. Nope, not at all.
Ivan hadn't noticed yet but he still had red paint on his cheeks. Alfred did not want another freak out so without a word he grabbed a paper towel and wet it down. The Russian watched him wordlessly as Alfred crouched down and kneeled in front of him. He brought the paper towel near the others face, watched him flinch and close his eyes, body tensing.
"Relax. I'm not going to hurt you." Alfred reassured as he rubbed away the stains from the surprisingly soft skin. While he was at it he wiped away the tears that had slipped the others eyes. "There." He announced, pulling away and throwing the wad at the garbage, and grinned as he made it. He was about to stand up when a hand grasped his arm tightly. He turned his face around, confused by the action and met frightened violet eyes.
"Don't leave" Don't leave me like Katyusha did. Please. Ivan whispered in a broken voice and Alfred stared at him.
"I'm not leaving, don't worry. But we need to get back to class. Are you going to be alright?" Ivan was scaring him again, in a different way. How could someone go from hysterical psychopath to frightened lost child so quickly? Was it some secret ability commies had? Nah, Ivan was just probably a freak.
Ivan nodded and got up shakily, bringing the other with him. Alfred suddenly remembered the height difference between them (Ivan was way too freaking tall!) and it made the situation so much more awkwarder. The Russian was still holding tightly to his arm, eyes still frightened. He didn't want to go out in public with the other clinging to him!
"Ivan come on. You need to stop. Lets just forget this ever happened ok? We'll go back to normal and everything. But you need to act normal again."
Ivan nodded slowly and let go of him. Then hesitated a moment. Alfred tensed as he felt the other wrap his arms around him in what he assumed was a very nervous and awkward hug.
"...Thank you Alfred." He breathed out tentatively, hoping he was doing this correctly. Alfred felt his face reddened substantially. Why was Ivan so embarrassing? God! He patted his back awkwardly before pulling away.
"Yeah yeah. That's enough." He said quickly, rubbing the back of his neck and wishing the redness on his face gone. "Now lets get back to class, damn commie bastard." He added quickly. Ivan smiled, one that didn't seem very creepy.
"Da, little American, I believe the bell shall ring soon anyway."
"I'm not little!" Alfred snapped, thank God they were back to arguing. He didn't know how long he could take the awkwardness.
"Whatever you say Alfred." Ivan smirked down at him, patting his head before leaving him behind. Alfred gritted his teeth and followed him out of the bathroom.
"You're just freakishly tall because of some commie plot against freedom." He ground out.
As the pair walked back the bell rang but they didn't hurry their pace. Frankly, Alfred felt exhausted. He was still confused and no matter how much he wanted to know why Ivan had a freak out he wouldn't ask. Him and his stupid promises. They always backfired on him. Still, he was a man of his words and he wouldn't speak of the event again.
They got back into the classroom in order to grab their bags not caring about their drawings. Alfred shouldered his backpack ready to go to his last class and then return home. He wanted to take a nap and he never wanted to take a nap. He suddenly wished it were Friday instead of Thursday. At least Thanksgiving was next week, long vacation and he got to pig out. Awesome.
"Alfred."
The American turned around and tilted his head at the sound of the others voice. Ivan looked at him intensely as if debating inside him.
"You...You promise to take care of it?"
Alfred furrowed his brows before they widened in understanding. The way Ivan was touching his scarf gave it away. He nodded excitedly. "I promise! You'll have it back tomorrow morning and it'll be all fixed up." He assured.
Ivan hesitated before slowly unwrapping the garment from his neck. He felt so naked without it. But for some reason, he trusted Alfred. He trusted him with the most important thing in the world and he hoped the other understood American had brought him back from the edge and he was grateful for that, so he would let him take his precious scarf.
He held the scarf out and then pulled it back when the American reached for it.
"This is very important to me Alfred. It's from my sister. If you do anything to it I will have to hurt you." He threatened darkly and Alfred nodded quickly, shivering from the cold threat on his life.
He could go from hysteria, to frightened child to scary threatening creeper. Ivan was such a freak. Still, he accepted the scarf and folded it carefully, slipping it into one of the pockets in his backpack. As he zipped it closed, careful not to get the fabric caught he realized something.
"You have a sister?" But Ivan was gone. Alfred was alone in the Art room and he sighed. "Commie freak" he hissed out before leaving the dark room. The nerve he had! Didn't even say goodbye after everything. He could just go home and burn the stupid article of wintry clothing.
No, he wouldn't do that. That would be cold and almost evil, especially since Ivan seemed to trust him enough. Wow, Ivan actually trusted him... The guy who broke his nose...
Did that mean he trusted Ivan too?
Translation of Ivan's Russian dialogue during his freak out:
He's dead. I killed him. I killed him. And Winter. I killed him. I'm a murderer. The blood is always there, reminding me. And Katyusha is gone, they took her away from me. Left me with only blood. I hate it. It won't come off. It'll never come off. Why can't it leave me alone? I want it all to stop! Please. Please make it stop! Make it come off!
And here's the next chapter as promised!
Am I evil for deriving pleasure from Ivan's pain?
Oh well, it was fun writing this chapter which only had Ivan and Alfred *le gasp*
Well they are the main pairing... Francis needs to come back because I loves him, I'll make him important somehow in the next chapter...
So next chapter Ivan tries to cope without his scarf and Alfred is determined to make sure he doesn't mess up, but the weather might be against them...
:D
So Review my lovelies! I adore all of you! Spam my inbox! Spam it with your reviews! XD
See you all next week in the next chapter!
Oh and Alfred totally wants to see Ivan's dick...he just doesn't know it yet...X)