Ignorance, My Bliss [33-36/? ]
Update behind the cut! :3 Thanks to all my readers~ <3
It was snowing.
No; such a storm could not be called something that epitomized beauty and peace.
It was a torrent of frost, hitting the house hard from all sides with harsh, gusting winds, hail beating down against the roof and slashing at the windows with surprising force. The skies seemed to howl in pain, saturated with a depthless, empty black; there were no stars, no moon, the little light produced by the huddled houses bleeding and muddied by the heaviness of the atmosphere, like little flecks of blurred orange ink.
Ukraine shivered, pulling the drapes back across the windows to hide the chaos outside; she held her breath as the lights flickered briefly, allowing a stuttering sigh to tumble from her lips as the power re-stabilized. The generator was older than most and had more than a few repairs, but seemed to be holding its own. She did a few mental calculations, determining that she had enough fuel to last for a few days at least, as long as they didn’t leave too many lights on.
Probably.
She pulled her sweater closer, nibbling along her lower lip as she made her way towards the kitchen, where Matthew had been making Alfred dinner, though all the latter seemed to be able to keep down was soup. Ukraine suddenly stopped abruptly, swallowing hard as she peaked out a nearby window, tremulous.
Something was wrong.
She could feel it.
The tears were nipping at her eyes again, so she took a moment to collect herself, wiping the warm droplets onto her shirt sleeve, trying to stifle her sniffles into the crook of her arm.
No: She needed to be strong.
For Alfred.
For Matthew.
“Для меня?” she whispered almost mutely, voice choked and thin, violet eyes reflected glassy and moist in the window. She pressed her hand flush against the surface, coolness quickly seeping into her fingers.
Why was she always the weak one?
She was always the first to cry, milky cheeks flushed with embarrassment, emotion bubbling from her eyes like an overflowing cup; even when her брат, her Ivan, was small she couldn’t keep the tears away, hugging him close as streaks veined down her cheeks, Belarus pressed tight against her other side, trying to fight off the cold. A frown creased her face, rose lips quirked with worry.
“брат…”
Was he still? Could this man (not a child-no, not anymore), whose fingers leaked black gold-which flowed from an even still blacker heart-be her brother?
The wind howled again and she began to tremble, fingers quivering erratically against the window glass, as if she were trying to keep a rhythm. Hastily, she pulled the curtains there as well, clenching the worn fabric in her slim hands. She turned from it, making her way towards the kitchen while trying to wipe any remnants of emotion from her face; she didn’t want to worry Matthew. He-he had enough to be worrying about.
She entered the kitchen, sweater sleeve still pressed against her eyes, assuming the Canadian was busy with the stove.
“U-um, Matthew, how-”
There was a loud gasp of surprise followed immediately by a hiss of pain, a dish shattering loudly on the floor. Ukraine started, rushing over to other, who was trying to gather the broken china into slightly shaking palms.
“O-oh, god, Yekaterina, I’m so sorry; you-you startled me-”
“Нет, it is alright,” she said gently, taking his hand away from the mess; she smiled softly, cheeks prickling pink, “and I have told you before: it is Katya.” She looked away after this, heat quickly rising before noticing his arm.
“Мой бог!” Ukraine managed, regarding the gash on his arm with horror; blood was smeared across his skin, red and sticky, though the cut was surprisingly clean and not too deep; he had been lucky. She stumbled to her feet, rummaging through the drawers for the bandages; finding them, she quickly kneeled, wrapping the wound with wavering hands.
“Я очень сожалею,” the Russian fell rapid-fire from her lips, blurred and runny, “О, Мэтью-”
“K-katya.”
She looked up, breathless, hands pausing in their work; he wiped a previously unnoticed tear from her cheek, letting his fingers linger for barely a breath.
“I’m alright; don’t worry.”
He carefully took the bandage from her hands, wrapping it around a few more times before expertly tying the ends into a knot; he pushed himself to his feet, offering her a hand up, which she shyly accepted. They stood there like that for a moment, as if frozen, her hand resting in his, eyes locked.
Matthew-
“Um, Katya?”
Realizing her position, Ukraine flushed, retracting her hand as if burned; she stared at her feet, trying to scrape together some sort of composure as the Canadian picked up the knife, setting it aside as he turned off the stove. He stirred the soup, taking a taste, and spared the other a smile, reaching for the bowl nearby. Somehow, she finally managed to speak.
“Oh, uh, tomato soup, again?” she said, gesturing towards the now full bowl of soup. Matthew sighed, placing it on a tray along with a small glass of water and a slice of bread.
“Yes-he doesn’t seem to want anything else, though I’ve offered; I know it’s the first thing I made him-because it’s his favorite-but I’m getting worried. He needs more than soup…” Ukraine placed a hand on his arm, mustering enough confidence to meet his eyes.
“Do not worry; with you, he will be better soon,” she offered, voice calm and warm, saturated with an unwavering faith in the other. Matthew gave a wan smile, balancing the tray on his good arm, moving to turn.
“I need to give this to him; I’ll be back in a little while, alright?” Receiving a nod in confirmation, he left, carefully ascending the stairs to avoid spilling a single drop, while in the kitchen, Ukraine cupped her face into her hands, ears burning red.
“Я настолько глуп…”
=~=~=~=
He liked it-
cold.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Eyes burning and the wind howling, moaning; his lullaby wafting through the air, swept up by the gusts, childish and simple in its essence.
The eyes
were upon him. They were watching him
carefully, so carefully, because this
excited him.
Inhale.
Exhale.
“Старшая сестра~” he sang,
snow twirling, gun against his gloves
“где Была Вы~?”
Only the General answered.
=~=~=~=~
“Are you feeling any better?”
“I-I think so,” Alfred finally managed, accepting the spoonful of soup with a little disdain, “Jesus, Mattie, I’m not a toddler, I can feed myself.” Matthew only sighed, refilling the spoon and presenting it again.
“Well, you certainly act like one.”
“Hey!”
The Canadian laughed, a warm, happy sound, resting the spoon to the side as soon as the bowl was emptied; he replaced his brother’s washcloth with a fresh, cool one, briefly checking the other’s temperature with his free hand.
“Good-your fever seems to be going away,” he said, straightening the sheets and quilt, “Though you’re still looking awfully pale; are you sure you don’t want more than just tomato soup?” Alfred nodded ‘no’ weakly, a muted chuckle rasping past his lips.
“I can’t seem to keep anything else down; even water-makes me feel sick,” he added, leaning back into the pillows, lids partially veiling sleepy, unfocused eyes. Matthew gathered the tray into his arms, shifting it to a more comfortable position.
“Well, you’ve been eating it for four days, so don’t hesitate to ask for something else, okay?” Words that were a little playful, trying to lighten the mood. He brushed a piece of hair out of Alfred’s face, finger tracing skin glistening with heat, watching as azure eyes slipped closed in exhaustion. Matthew quietly opened the door, dimming the lights so the room was draped in shadows.
“Sleep well, Alfred.”
=~=~=~=~
Ukraine woke with a start, forcing herself into a half-sitting position, breathing heavy. She looked around; nothing seemed out of place: the fire crackled in the hearth, curtains drawn across the windows, darkness seeping through the tiny gap. She rubbed her eyes, pulling herself up against the back of the couch.
She couldn’t remember falling asleep, though she did remember feeling tired while waiting for Matthew to return. She extended her frozen fingers towards the fire, allowing the warmth to wash over them. Brow creasing, she tentatively brought her hands back, slowly pulling her sweater closer.
Had-had the generator gone out? It was so-
Cold.
She exhaled, breath instantly forming smoky tendrils, vapor rapidly clouding. Her eyes widened, and she shot to her feet, fire quickly fading in the hearth.
No-
“Старшая сестра~”
Ukraine felt her blood freeze in her veins, tears already stinging in eyes as the shaking began; she couldn’t move, as if her legs were encased in ice, numbing them to the point of uselessness. Arms snaked around her waist, a chin resting on her shoulder as hot vibrations tickled her ear. She let out a stuttering breath, forming wispy, staccato clouds; a sob caught in her throat.
“б-браt-”
“Or, perhaps I should speak in English; you seem to be very found of that language now, yes?” He hissed as he tightened his hold on her, possessive, angry. She flinched, tears quickly turning to ice as they streaked down her cheeks.
She had to take the chance.
Somehow wrenching out of his grasp, she barely heard her brother’s furious curses as she rushed the stairs, heat pounding in her chest.
“MATTHEW!” she shrieked, “Matthew, get out, they are here, Matth-”
And then she was yanked backwards, tumbling down the several bottom steps, hitting her head hard on the floor. Mind swirling, she tried to stumble to her feet, the room slurring around her, hand coming away from her forehead stained with scarlet, slick with heat. The arms ensnared her again, the hold much tighter than before; she whimpered, pain radiating across her consciousness as a gag was stuffed into her mouth. Cold lips pressed against her palm, tongue tending to the blood that clung there. She struggled weakly, trying to pull away, pleas muffled by the gag; vaguely she discerned several other countries there, regarding them with a detached air.
“Brother is very upset with you,” Ivan whispered into her ear, relishing the mournful sound his sister produced, “You have made me very upset, Katya.”
“Bloody fuck, can you do this later?” England bit out as quietly as possible, brushing the hood from his face, “We need to-”
“Katya? Katya, are you alright? I thought I heard something…” A voice ventured from far upstairs, tinged with concern, slowly approaching. Ukraine’s eyes widened, furiously shaking her head, trying to call out to the other through the gag; she felt Ivan smile against her skin.
“Well, well, it seems that you have guests,” he nearly giggled, breathless, “We must not forget them.” He dropped her unceremoniously onto the floor, slinking behind a nearby wall as footsteps sounded rapidly on the stairs.
Matthew was running as soon as he saw her, bleeding and limp on the floor, tears streaming from her eyes, lips mouthing soundless pleas.
“Katya, my god-!”
He didn’t see it coming.
Two countries grabbed under his arms, holding him in place as he struggled, shouting furiously; a hand clamped a dirty cloth over his mouth, the fabric reeking of chemicals. He continued to thrash, almost positive that he nailed one of them in the jaw with a well-placed kick. He stumbled back into waiting arms, consciousness slowly fading away. He clawed weakly at his captor’s arms, but his strength was quickly draining. He could just barely hear the muffled screams in the background, the childish giggles, furiously shouted orders-the man holding him chuckled.
“Papa came back for you, cher.”
And then nothing.
=~=~=~=
They opened the door quietly, carefully making their way towards the bed, gazing down at their prize.
The beginnings of Empire.
Arthur gently gathered the sleeping man into his arms, a strange grin tweaking his lips; he nodded at his companions, exiting the room with haste as the others grabbed Texas off the table. Rousing drowsily, Alfred blinked uncomprehendingly at Arthur, whose grin only seemed to widen.
“M’Arhur?”
The Briton chuckled, smile sick as they made their way into the cold.
“Hush now, poppet,” he whispered into the other’s hair, smirking, “Daddy’s taking you Home.”