America stirred the third spoonful of sugar into his cup of coffee. He didn't care that it was ridiculously early. He didn't care that he was probably being watched at that very moment.
It was important enough that he was able to get this for himself.
After the crystals had dissolved, he glanced around him, then picked up the cup and gulped a good part of it down. He felt the caffeine rushing to his body, but wasn't about to stop drinking. The coffee was gone in two more swallows.
His limbs now jittery from caffeine buzz, he stood up from the picnic table, absently tossing the cup into the trash. He looked at the different trailers in turn, his head turning in quick jerks. Completely silent, each and every one of them. He took a deep breath.
That was about to change.
With the flick of a button, the huge speakers on the table began to crackle, the music they were being sent coming clearer and clearer every second. Alfred grinned madly, staring around at the campground that was beginning to come to life.
The footsteps behind him, of course, must have been England. France was not an early riser, so the Brit must've been alone. Germany had probably already been awake, and he started shouting at Alfred before his trailer door was opened. China peeked out to see what was going on.
Alfred cared about one person only, though. He ignored the gathering nations around him and stared directly at one trailer door.
He took a deep breath. I'm taking a huge risk, a part of his mind whispered.
He ignored it. He hadn't gotten a caffeine high for nothing. He can't touch me. His heart pounded in his chest, and it leapt up to his throat as the door creaked open.
His face dark and his scarf rippling dramatically, Russia began walking towards Alfred. There was a purpose in his stride and a gleam in his eyes that told all the other nations to stand back.
Alfred met his purple-eyed glare evenly. You can't touch me.
The music was still crackling from the speakers. Russia ignored it and walked up to the picnic table, looking across it at his lover. He was now close enough to Alfred so that if he spoke, only the two of them could hear it.
Russia's lips barely moved, but Alfred didn't bother straining to hear it—anything that Ivan said rang in his soul as well as his ears, no matter how low he talked.
"You've woken us all up, Alfred. That's not nice."
"You can't touch me," Alfred replied.
He didn't understand why he could hear whatever Ivan said to him. All he knew was that he had begun noticing the way that Ivan's words felt as familiar as thoughts inside his own head after the rape.
Ivan smiled, and seemed about to respond to Alfred's cockiness, when someone rushed up behind the two.
"Alfred! What in hell are you doing?" Someone grabbed Alfred from behind and whirled him around, so the American was staring straight into his Canadian brother's face.
Alfred grinned. "Having fun, Mattie. Ever heard of it?" He jerked a thumb back at Ivan. "Oh, and there's no need to worry. He can't touch me."
Matthew glowered. He'd been woken up rather suddenly, and as such was not wearing his glasses. The effect, and the angry expression he wore, combined to make him look very unfamiliar to Alfred. The American relented and allowed himself to be dragged back to his new trailer.
He consented to a last, smirking backward glance and saw that Ivan had not moved, and was simply staring at them. The Russian's face had returned to that eerie, emotionless mask, and Alfred found himself gladdened in that his bluffs were at least partly in truth.
It was lunchtime. Matthew, having already made himself and his brother lunch, was bustling about the kitchenette, cleaning stuff up and keeping an eye on Alfred. The American seemed somewhat depressed. Ever since he had come to Matthew with the story that Ivan had beaten and raped him, Matthew had been quick to find a way to protect him. Gilbert had been sent back to a German hospital within the day, and Matthew was able to transfer Alfred to his trailer. He wasn't sure about this in some respects. Having Alfred around brought back memories of their childhood. Alfred had been an arrogant brat even then, and he had picked up quickly on England's harsh personality. He also showed a slight streak of protectiveness, but also, even more so, a tendency for needless violence. It was made worse by how he didn't know his own strength as a youth.
The uncomfortable memories, however, were being pushed to the back of Matthew's current impression of America. His brother was moping about, having his coffee almost black, snapping at Matthew whenever certain subjects loomed too close, and generally being in a foul gray mood. Today he seemed particularly down. Matthew could stand his brother's unhappiness no longer and sat down across from him.
"Al, what is it?"
Alfred jumped slightly. "Sorry, bro—forgot you were there," he apologized, flushing.
"It's nothing." Matthew leaned forward, looking Alfred in the eyes. "Alfred, you're feeling down. I can tell. Don't pretend I'm making this up!" he snapped, seeing his brother shake his head. "Now, just tell me, Al. What's wrong?"
Alfred turned and appeared to take a great interest in the wallpaper behind him.
"Alfred F. Jones. Listen to me."
"Why do you care?" Alfred muttered grumpily.
Matthew stood up and walked around the new table. He placed a hand on Alfred's shoulder. Alfred didn't look at him. "Because I'm your brother, Al," he said simply.
The trailer was silent for nearly a full five minutes. It was going through Matthew's head that this must be some sort of record for Alfred to keep quiet this long when he spoke.
"You remember what I said that other night?"
Matthew gaped down at him. "Eh? You—you can't—you were drunk when you said that."
"I sobered up pretty well as soon as you asked if I was having sex with Ivan." He turned and smirked at Matthew. He continued to stare, his jaw working incredulously, but the only thing that seemed to come out of his mouth was, "Eh?"
That night, Alfred was simply tormented by what he had said. It was true—he had loved Ivan. He couldn't explain that. But what about now, when his body was still bruised and defiled?
He was drunk. And I'd just shot him…
But then he remembered the look of Ivan's heart, and the disgust and loathing that seemed to rise in him at the thought of it. He shuddered, and automatically wiped his hands on the sheets. Ivan's emotionless face, too, flashed through his mind, and he felt an unnatural surge of terror. He swore that he could see the blank, mask-like visage looming at him through the darkness of the room, and cowered.
He can't touch me. With an effort of will, he forced his mind onto a different track, and soon was smiling at how nice it was to be with Mattie again.
But it wasn't long before he was thinking back to Ivan. He was drunk, I'd just shot him, and, you know, the rape wasn't, like, pure agony or anything...
The morning found Matthew looking at him worriedly again. "You all right? I heard you tossing and turning all night."
Alfred shook his head. "No, I'm fine."
Matthew gave him a long, searching glance, but finally returned his attentions to the croissant lying on the table before him. After about a minute, he paused and seemed to remember something. "Hey, Al."
Alfred put his coffee down. "Yeah?"
"I found this on the doorstep while going for coffee." Matthew reached down beneath the table and pulled out a large sunflower with a note tied to it. His mind whirling, Alfred reached out to take it.
It was a huge sunflower, of the type that Russia loved the most. Some of the petals had been plucked out, and it was wilting somewhat. Alfred plucked the scrap of paper out, easily untying the red ribbon it had been secured by.
The writing was neat, as if the author had learned English lettering out of a textbook. It said simply, "I want you back."
It was signed, in similarly neat letters, Иван Б.
Okay. Recently, I've been wasting my life by taking notes on the relationship of two of the most slashed characters in literature, so I haven't been working on this much. But take heart in the fact that the plot is drawing to a close, and that there may soon be some new fanfics up in my account. (And no, I can't say that it will be an exciting close. I have the plot worked out in my head, and it might be over in a few chapters, but if enough people are protesting, I might figure out a way to work somethign in. I read your reviews, people!)