Shit goes down... that's why this is so long.

Warning: Tension, drug use, weapons, an almost-fight, innuendo.

Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN HETALIA. I have fun manipulating their characters, though

And Then There Were Nine

Arthur was startled awake by approaching footsteps. He blinked his tired eyes, looking at his watch. 6:17… Damn! He'd been asleep for over fifteen minutes! Now Francis or some other member of the group was coming over to scold or taunt him. Hell if that happens! Arthur moved to turn around from his place sitting crosslegged on the floor, when something cold and metallic was pushed against the back of his head. He recognized the cock of a gun, and his heart began to race. He must have fallen asleep and someone was able to get in! I'll never be able to live this down… if I live after this.

A chuckle sounded from behind him. "You have fallen asleep, hm? How negligent." The voice was deep and jeering.

Arthur didn't respond, afraid that if he said anything, he would be shot instantly.

That seemed the right thing to do. The man laughed again, a rumbling growl that made a chill shoot up Arthur's spine. "You cannot account for your actions, I see? Oh, well, I suppose I will, then." He pushed the gun further into Arthur's head.

Okay, this was crazy. He had to say something. "Wait! Who are you? A rebel?"

No response. But the barrel of the gun was still pressed close to his skull.

Arthur wet his lips. "If… if you tell me what you want, I'll give it to you. Anything. Just tell me what you want…"

There was a minute-long silence that seemed to last an hour to Arthur, who was now sweating nervously.

The man behind him finally said, "Tell you what I want, hm? How about you give me…" He paused, seeming to decide what he wanted. "A hand?"

At first, a flash of fear pulsed through Arthur, thinking that the man was requesting his actual hand. But then his logic kicked in and he asked anxiously, "You-you want me to… help you?"

"On the contrary, comrade, I want to help you. Give me your hand."

Arthur could hear it now, the accent in the man's voice. He should have known. Arthur laughed with relief (which was certainly a first for him when greeting this person) when he grabbed the hand offered to him and was pulled rapidly upward to come face-to-face with no other than Ivan Braginsky.

"Russia, you sneaky bastard," Arthur couldn't keep the laugh out of his voice as he released Ivan's chilled hand.

Ivan smirked. "At your service, comrade. I have traveled far to get here, and I see many others have as well."

So, Russia's not dead after all? I'll have a hell of time telling Alfred this. Arthur returned the smirk. "I'm sure America will be delighted to see you again."

Ivan chuckled. "Isn't he always?"

"Yeah, still have your pipe?"

"Always,"

"Good," Arthur said. "Because America's the deafest git I've ever seen. You'll need to wake him up, you know."

A creepy smile consumed Ivan's face. "Good. I'm in need of a stress reliever."

"Just don't get too slap-happy, okay?"

"What the fucking hell is this?!"

They turned to see Alfred and the rest of the group staring at them, their guns out and ready. Feliciano was cowering behind Matthew, who had his rifle aimed at Ivan, and Lovino was peeking out from behind the well-armed Ludwig.

Arthur rolled his eyes before answering, "It's Russia, you gits. Put down your weapons."

"Russia?" Alfred's now alert voice echoed throughout the terminal, making them all cringe as their ears were assaulted. "Is this supposed to be some kinda joke, Artie?"

"It is not," Ivan responded, and Arthur laughed aloud when he saw all the color drain from Alfred's face. "I am alive and here, Amerika. It is good to know that you missed me."

"How did you even get here?"

"The same way you all have, I suppose." Ivan replied. "Though I wanted to die by the hands of my own people, I was handcuffed and forced to take a flight here. Rather inconvenient for me, but I am getting used to it."

Alfred scoffed bitterly. "Your commie ass should still be in Russia."

Ivan gave him his signature shut-the-fuck-up-or-I'll-kill-you smile. "I wouldn't be saying that, America. After all, I have nothing to lose." He pulled aside his coat for a moment to partially reveal his hidden pipe.

Alfred's expression changed to that of horror and he took a few steps back. "C-c-cool it, dude. I didn't mean it, heheheheh…"

There was a long stretch of silence before Ivan asked with a warning look, "What? Aren't you all glad to see me?"

Everyone forced smiles and gave weak replies of 'uh huh', 'always nice to see you, man', and 'nothing like waking up to you in the morning'.

Ivan smiled with the replies. "Good. So, bring me up to speed on our status, da?"

Arthur filled in what he could, some of the group adding to the story as he went along. He revealed the suicide of their pilot and the rebels' plan to attack the terminal at 11 the next morning. At the end, Arthur added, "We are all armed in some manner. What do you have to offer?"

The way Ivan's eyes excitedly lit up made Arthur's stomach turn over. Maybe he shouldn't have phrased his question that way…

"You already know I have my pipe," said Ivan, reaching under his coat again—the coat that concealed pipes and pickaxes and all sorts of horrendous things. What more could he possibly have? "But I also have this." He took an assault rifle out of his coat, seeming to show it off. Arthur was alarmed to see that it had been polished like it was a trophy of some sort.

Alfred broke away from the group to walk over to Ivan, though cautiously, to examine the gun. He eventually snorted, "AK-47. As expected,"

"Of course," Ivan smiled again, and Alfred took a few steps away. "You were expecting something else?"

"That thing's not loaded, is it?" Alfred asked somewhat shakily as he scooted closer to Arthur, who stood calmly, watching Alfred with amusement.

Ivan gave him a puzzled look. "Well, if it was not, I couldn't properly use it then, da?"

"What else are you hiding in that coat, Russia?" Arthur asked curiously.

Ivan carefully stowed away his rifle, making Alfred noticeably relax. "That is for me to know and for you to find out." he said with a smile.

"Th-that's not right!" Alfred stuttered, looking pleadingly at Arthur. "Right, Artie? He can't keep information like that from us!"

"He is entitled to his privacy." Arthur said, amusement bubbling up inside of him as Alfred blanched. Even though he himself was scared shitless at the idea of Ivan having more lethal devices hidden on his person, Arthur preferred plaguing Alfred with paranoia, as he was always so easily prone to it, especially with Russia. "He will reveal whatever else he has with him whenever he feels up to it."

Alfred gave him a loathing glare before he retreated to the far corner of the terminal to sulk, his back to them.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Childish git…" Then he turned to Ivan, studying his outfit more closely. "Are you wearing your World War II army uniform?"

Ivan adjusted his officer's cap. "Da, comrade. I wanted to die with honor. Ironic that I will now be wearing it to survive amongst a civil war."

"Let's just hope it doesn't see too many battles." Arthur said.

"On the contrary," Ivan replied. "It is a seasoned veteran."

"R-Russia?" Matthew flinched when Ivan turned his gaze on him, letting out a soft 'eep.' "Are… are you hurt?"

Ivan paused a moment, examining himself as if his whole body was frozen with numbness. "Nyet, comrade. Just a bit hungry and tired."

"America broke a vending machine down that hall." Arthur motioned to his left. "There's food there if you want it. But you know how American food is. I suggest you don't go near the stuff unless you want to die of a heart attack."

Ivan shrugged. "I haven't eaten in a while. Besides, it would take a lot to kill me."

Ivan held Arthur's gaze for a moment too long, and a shiver coursed up Arthur's spine. "It's your choice." His voice wavered as he spoke.

Ivan smiled, as if in satisfaction and said in his creepy, childlike voice, "Be back soon~"

Arthur shivered as he watched the Russian depart. Thank God I'm not related to him… though then I might stand a better chance of not being killed by him.

He walked back over to the group where Gilbert seemed particularly riled. He was pacing back and forth anxiously, his usually carefree attitude gone. "Fucking dammit! Why the hell does he of all people have to show up? It's enough already that we're fucking screwed, now we have a mentally-cracked ex-Soviet with an AK-47 and who else knows what glaring us down…"

"Sit down, bruder," Ludwig sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He had stopped trying to wrestle Lovino down to extract the bullet from his shoulder and he was already well beyond frustrated. "You are making this worse."

"Ve~! Russia is here!" Feliciano exclaimed. "Now we'll all be safe, right, Germany?"

"I'm not so sure about that, Veneziano."

"If that borscht-eating bastard tries to come near me or Feli, I'll rip is frozen dick off." Lovino growled through gritted teeth.

"You seem to be talking about castration a lot lately, Lovi~" Francis smirked suggestively, reaching out to twirl a finger around his ahoge. "Have something on your mind, mon chéri?"

Lovino let a gasp and a 'chigi' escape before he could stop himself, pushing Francis roughly away from him. "Keep your perverted hands to yourself, Wine Bastard."

"It's too early in the morning to be arguing, you guys." Matthew cut in softly. "Doncha think?"

And… he was ignored.

"Oh?" Francis leered. "Did I do something stimulating?"

Lovino was giving him a death glare. "I'll do something stimulating to your nose if you keep on!" He curled his hand into a fist, showing it to Francis, though he was slightly trembling.

Francis forewent the warning. "I wouldn't mind you doing anything stimulating to me, chéri."

"You know what I mean, dammit!"

"Do I, Lovino?"

"Fucking bastard! I'm surprised you've even survived this long, what with all the diseases you've most likely picked up from your sleeping around!"

Francis looked more than offended. "How dare you accuse me of such negligence! I know when to use protection."

"You'll sure as hell need it now, damn bastard!"

"Are you suggesting something, Lovino?" Francis waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Lovino was red in the face, about to yell back another remark, when Matthew decided that enough was enough and he was too damn tired to care if he was punched in the face. "GUYS, ENOUGH!"

Everyone's eyes went to Matthew, wide and surprised. Even Alfred turned to see what the hell was going on that could possibly move Matthew to use his rarely-heard 'scary voice.'

Matthew sighed. "Okay, I think that's enough for tonight. But you guys can continue with your shouting match if you want—I don't give a damn. I just want to get some rest before the rebels start using me for target practice tomorrow morning. But that's just me."

Ludwig stood. "You're right. Rest would serve us well now."

Francis pouted, disappointed that he hadn't gotten to hassle Lovino more, but eventually gave in under Matthew's stern gaze. "D'accord, mon fils. Come, shall we share a few chairs together?" He smirked.

Matthew rolled his eyes. "I'm perfectly fine sleeping on my own, Francis."

"Who said that I intended to sleep?" Francis said suggestively.

Matthew felt his ears heat up, but he wouldn't let his brother verbally molest him. He also wouldn't let himself give a fierce remark like Lovino. He knew how to handle his haughty older brother. "I did. And unless you feel like dying tomorrow, I suggest you take my advice."

A smile of satisfaction adorned Matthew's face when he heard Francis give an arrogant snort, and the former turned on his heel, retreating to where he left his makeshift bed across the terminal.

Francis didn't follow. Damn, and he was on a roll too… Trying to make up for his fumble, he smiled and laughed, "Honhonhon, a little spitfire, isn't he?"

Ludwig raised his eyebrows. "Ja, whatever. I am going to get some rest. Italies, come with me."

"Ve~Okay!" Feliciano agreed immediately with a grin.

Lovino, though, looked malicious. "Who made you the boss of me, bastard?"

Ludwig sighed in exasperation. "Fine. You don't have to follow my orders. I was merely offering to help you with your wounds."

Lovino looked dumbfounded for a moment. He hadn't expected sympathy from the Potato Bastard. Oh, well, that still didn't change anything. He was still a wurst-eating dick. "I don't need your pity, dammit. I can take care of myself."

"Not with that bullet lodged in there, you won't." Ludwig said.

Lovino didn't know what to do. Damn, he was backed into a corner! After a moment's pondering, he replied with a sigh, "All right, bastard. But one slip-up, and I'll—!"

"Ja, ja, I know." Ludwig cut in, ignoring the glare he received from Lovino. With that, he turned around and headed for chairs a few rows away from Matthew, who was already dozing, the two brothers following close behind him.

That left Gilbert, Francis, and Arthur standing in the center of the terminal.

"Well," Gilbert began with a shrug and a smirk. "If we're going to die, I might as well die happy."

Francis lifted an eyebrow. "If you want to have sex with me, ami, you should just say it. I know you'd be anything but ashamed and I won't be either."

"Nah," Gilbert waved his hand in a dismissive gesture, making Francis frown. "I'm much too tired for sex. But I have brought some of my awesome booze. You want some?"

Francis grimaced a bit, but eventually shrugged. "I'm more of a wine-drinking man, but I guess beer isn't that far off. Anything to get my mind off this hell."

The two retreated to sit beside the arch of Gate 3, Gilbert pulling a flask from his bag and they passed it between them.

Arthur huffed and angrily grumbled to himself. It looks like I'll be the one on watch again. Selfish gits… His eyes wandered over to where Gilbert and Francis sat, drunkenly laughing with each other. Alcohol did sound good at the moment…

"You look troubled, comrade." Ivan's voice startled Arthur. The taller man had finished eating, it seemed. He must have been as hungry as a bear. We all are… Arthur thought.

"Damn, don't scare me like that. So, how was the 'meal'?"

Ivan smirked. "It is my specialty. And the food was awful, as you warned. But at least my stomach is well. I can say less for my arteries…"

Arthur laughed. "Yeah, well, that's what you get." A moment of silence stretched between, during which Ivan smiled creepily at Arthur, making him extremely uncomfortable. Sure they had been comrades in the World Wars, but that was when Ivan was in his own country, far away from Britain. Though deeming him and his people as pariahs after the first war and not including them in the peace treaty was probably not the best thing to have done if Arthur wanted no hard feelings between them…

He cleared his throat nervously and his eyes wandered over to Alfred, still sitting with his back to them across the room, slumped over with the bad posture Arthur remembered scolding him about when he was younger. "Stupid git… always over dramatizes everything. So incredibly childish and imperceptive—it's a wonder to think I actually raised him." When Ivan didn't say anything, only stared at him curiously, Arthur sighed and said, "I'd better go check on him. Lord knows what stupor of paranoia he's gotten himself into by now."

Arthur walked casually over to Alfred, stopping a few feet from him when he noticed a swirling coil of smoke rising from where the younger man sat. A moment of panic flashed though him. The idiot's set himself on fire! … No wait, that can't be right… we'd certainly hear about by now, unless…

Arthur cautiously approached him, craning his neck to seek out the source of the smoke.

Alfred noticed his shadow and turned around, his eyes puzzled at the sight of his older brother. "Hey, Iggy, whatcha doin'?"

Arthur winced as his beautiful language was chopped into bits by the American's bad grammar. "That's precisely what I was going to ask you. Is that a… cigarette?" Arthur's mind was addled by the scene: Alfred sitting hunched over, a cigarette held lightly between two fingers. Alfred hadn't smoked since the sixties, when he concluded cigarettes were bad for your health and promptly quit cold turkey. Though, Arthur didn't know why he only ruled smoking out as unhealthy, what with all his other addictions and bad habits.

"It's a joint," Alfred said, surprising him further. He offered his own to him. "D'you want one?"

"Uh… well…"

"Haven't you ever smoked weed before, bro?"

"Well, yes," Arthur replied, looking slightly offended. "I've done plenty of drugs in my lifetime." Is that something I should be bragging about? Oh, who cares! He sat beside Alfred, taking his joint and took a long drag, holding in a cough. He had been too busy dealing with the Uprising to smoke like he often did. Well, it definitely has been a while… He could taste Alfred on the poorly-rolled paper—strong and beefy. Ugh.

"Strange," Arthur mumbled, blowing smoke from his mouth and watching lazily as it crawled upward to the ceiling, his mind going peculiarly light. "With all your anti-smoking campaigns, I thought this would be the last thing I would see you doing. And then you have Mexico and Canada shipping all sorts of drugs into your country, and you always try to be the hero—"

"Shut up," Alfred said coldly, lighting himself another joint. He just wanted the stress to go away. Screw sticking to promises.

"Pardon me?" Arthur tried to keep from growling. Disrespectful brat!

"Just… don't." Alfred continued, taking a long pull on the end and blowing the smoke through his teeth. "I don't need to know how much I've fucked up in the past year."

Arthur felt his heart sink.

"And fucked up you have." Ivan's voice made them both jump. He was standing beside them, swigging something that was most likely vodka out of a flask and not looking the least bit drowsy. "I will take one of those." And he snatched the pack from Alfred's hand, taking a joint and lighting it without any source whatsoever, making them both gawk.

Alfred glared at him nonetheless. "Oh, I'm the fuck up?" He let out a spiteful laugh. "Look back through a couple chapters in your own history and then tell me who fucked up the most."

Arthur flinched, not knowing whether to get out of the way of what looked to be a fight in the making or stay put and stop it. Though he knew the latter was not likely to end well for him.

But Ivan only smiled his 'fuck you' smile, though Arthur didn't quite know if he should be relieved or not. "I keep warning you to not insult me, Amerika, and yet you still go on as if you mean to provoke me." Ivan puffed his joint, somehow making him look even bigger than he already was.

Alfred snorted, smoke streaming from his nostrils as he did. "I'll 'mean' to do something else pretty soon if you don't drop it. I mean it, Russia. I'm not scared of you."

Ivan frowned, flashing his pipe once again. "Want to bet?"

Alfred took a last pull off his joint and stood, dropping it and quelling the light with the toe of his shoe. "Leave me the fuck alone, commie bastard. I'm not in the mood for your bitching."

"Oh, but I wasn't the one who was bitching in the first place, stubborn swine."

"What did you just call me?"

Oh, God… Arthur stood, coming uncomfortably between the two seething men. "Look… gentlemen, this is not the way to settle disputes…"

"Oh, and what is your method then, England?" Ivan growled, glaring him down with eyes that were as deadly as knives. "Screwing people over?"(1)

Arthur reddened with anger. "Now, see here, I'm not the only one to blame for that—"

"Shut up, Iggy, you're making it worse." Alfred roughly shoved him aside and Arthur gave an 'oof' as he staggered out of the way.

Everyone was staring at them now. Francis and Gilbert had broken out of their drunken reverie, watching them idly, too drunk to do anything. Ludwig was observing the fight with his hand on the grip of his gun, Feliciano crying hysterically behind him and Lovino watching with distant annoyance.

"Ya know," Alfred said with venom. "You're a real ass. I wish I would have known it long before I agreed to have anything to do with you."

"If I would have known that you're such an incompetent fool, I would have never commissioned Cuba to attack you and just nuked you myself." Ivan rebuked bitterly.

Alfred was positively red with rage now. His hands were balled into trembling fists at his sides. "Was it because you didn't know or because you were such a coward that you didn't attack me yourself, huh?"

In a flash, Ivan was standing chest-to-chest with Alfred. A streak of fright flashed in Alfred's eyes at their sudden closeness and made Ivan smirk. "Your mouth spews poison and your ears are deaf to all but what you want to hear. Your eyes are blind from looking too long at yourself, trying to make yourself better when you can't admit you're weak. Your mind is numb from denying your mistakes. Your heart beats for yourself, for it is to enhance your own pride when you 'help' others. Your desire to be the hero you've wanted to be has sent you on a never-ending path to inflate your own ego. Because of these things, you have ignored the rest of the world." Then with a final sneer, Ivan bent down to his level, almost nose-to-nose with the now furious Alfred and said, "Because of these things, you deny that the destruction being dealt to your country and your people is your fault." He hissed the last two words.

Alfred stared maliciously at Ivan for a moment. In that moment, Arthur thought that from Alfred's now waist-high fist, the knuckles white with rage, he was going to be the witness to an all-out fight between the two powers. But Alfred seemed frozen by his anger and also a bit… lost. As if he didn't know what to do.

He's trying to convince himself it's not true. Arthur finally gauged, recognizing the torn confusion in his ex-colony's eyes.

And Ivan stood there. Just stood there. A smile on his face. His arms crossed. Relishing the fact that his long-time rival was breaking down before him. He chuckled, as if daring the other man to punch him, to give him an excuse to start a fight. Because if he didn't start it, then that would be more proof that his statements were all true.

Alfred took a step back, then another, until he was no longer so close to Ivan. Arthur felt helpless. What would he do to stop them? He couldn't just shoot them!

Come on, Germany, you know how to deal with this shit… He tossed a desperate glance at Ludwig, but the man seemed just as hesitant as Arthur felt. So, even Germany is scared of him.

Well, that was just peachy.

Alfred stood there for a long while, a heated debate going on inside of him. Was it true? No, it couldn't be… he was good, he knew it… isn't that what he lived for? Had he gone too far? No… the hero could never go too far, never… but, then again, the hero also wouldn't let his city—his country, no less—fall into such a state.

Not knowing what to do, Alfred raised his fist and, at the last minute, turned and punched the wall beside him with a frustrated grunt. When he withdrew his fist, there was a large hole in the plaster that surely would have knocked someone out cold if it had hit its intended target.

Arthur was speechless as Alfred turned on his heel and stomped off, muttering angrily under his breath as he turned a corner that led to a souvenir shop and was gone.

Ivan tsked and shook his head. "Still weak, I see."

Arthur was aghast and bit disgusted. "Russia that was… wrong." He had to admit that it was a bit too over the top, despite the fact that Alfred was always so increasingly haughty and annoying.

Ivan gave him a dangerous look disguised behind childish violet eyes. "What? I just told him what he needed to know. If he takes what I said into consideration, it will do him a lot of good."

Arthur was about to say something else, but figured that no matter what he said, he couldn't change Ivan's mind and he would just get pounded anyway if he tried. So, instead, he followed Alfred's trail into the small shop, seeking him out. He eventually found him, smashing snow globes and other collectibles in uncontained rage.

"America!" Arthur shouted at him, but Alfred just continued smashing his way through the shop. "America, please, stop this! You'll hurt yourself!" Arthur ducked to avoid an ornament flying at his head. "Alfred!"

Alfred immediately stopped, dropping the souvenir and turning around to face him. His face was red and blotchy and his eyes were bloodshot—it looked like he'd been crying or rather struggling not to. Arthur rolled his eyes and approached him, albeit cautiously, and drew him into an embrace. Alfred gave a soft, hiccupping sob as he buried his face in his brother's shoulder. "Childish git," Arthur muttered and patted him on the back. "Why is it always me who ends up tending to you?"

"It's not true," Alfred murmured after he'd calmed himself a bit. "It's not true—is it, Artie? I mean, I know I've done a lot of shitty things in my life, but—" He swallowed dryly at this. "But I've always made up for it in the end, right? I-I don't know what to think anymore, bro… being a hero is all I have."

Arthur felt sympathy well up in his chest. He knew it had taken a lot for Alfred to admit to that. "You're what you make yourself to be, Alfred. Haven't I always told you that?"

"I kinda thought you took that back after the Revolution began."

Arthur frowned. "But I did tell you that, didn't I?"

"Yeah…"

"Then be who you want to be, not what you think you have to be. If you don't like what you've become, you can always change."

"So… have I done anything wrong?"

Arthur chuckled somberly. "Well, I think we all have something to account for regarding that. But everyone makes mistakes sometimes, Alfred. No one expects you to be perfect but you."

"But I want to be perfect."

"No," Arthur corrected. "You want to be perfect because you think you have to be."

"But if I'm not the hero," Alfred said slowly, and a bit chokingly. "Then who am I?"

Arthur pulled away and looked him in the eyes. "Whoever you want to be, Alfred. Not whoever America has to be, but what you, Alfred, want to be. You fought for this, didn't you? This choice?" Good Lord, I'm turning into a useless sap…

Alfred seemed to brighten. "Oh, yeah, right…"

Arthur rolled his eyes and scoffed. "Whatever, just… try not to talk about this too much. I have my own reputation to keep up, you know. And I don't want to come across as a weak link."

"Okay," Alfred said, smiling weakly. "And Artie?"

"Yes, Alfred?"

"Thanks, bro."

"Don't mention it—really."

There was a ruckus outside, and both brothers turned to see Lovino loping around the corner. When he caught sight of them standing close together, Alfred still trying to compose himself, the Italian grimaced. "Pardon me, lovebirds, but the Potato Bastard wanted me to inform you that someone is here to join us."

"Really, now?" Arthur blinked. "Who the hell could it be? Let me see… if it takes 9 hours to get from Italy to New York, then what country takes 10 hours other than Russia…?"

Lovino gave an impatient grunt. "I don't know, dammit! Just come out here!"

Arthur frowned, not looking forward to working with Lovino at all. If I'm lucky, Lovino will be put into his place just like Alfred and stop harassing the crap out of everyone.

Alfred took the lead, and he was grateful; there would be nothing to allude to the fact that they had just shared a rather… private moment in the shop, most of which was pretty much demolished. Well, it's not like it matters now.

They rounded the corner, following Lovino as they walked to the center of the terminal where the rest of the group was gathered, even Matthew and the drunken Gilbert and Francis. Alfred and Arthur pushed their way through the crowd until they were staring, dumbfounded, at their next guest. Mostly, it was Arthur who was in shock.

There he was, proud in his hoodie and mask, the haughty and painfully irksome Turkey.

No translations

References:

1-Alludes to England's promises to India and various countries in Northern Africa and the Middle East who contributed troops to WWII on the promise that they would receive their self-governance in return. This promise was not followed through with and was one of the reasons for India's revolution and parting from the British Empire.

A Word From the Writer: Turkey! Wait a sec... he didn't have a chapter on his escape! I know. I decided to add him to make the group add up to an even number. You'll see why in later chapters.

And mean Russia is mean. But at least America got the kick in the ass he needed, huh?

Until next time~!