Past-Part Fills Post 1 -- CLOSED
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[[I am SO SORRY for taking so long to get any more of this up. School was super hectic, and I went through a huge bout of writer's block on this that actually hasn't really left yet, which is why I think this part is rather disappointing, especially after such a long wait. I was surprised to see that the part had maxed, so I hope anyone reading this ends up finding it in it's new spot here. :) I will try to make updates more frequent from now on. So...thank you all for even reading this. <3]]
Alfred was having a lot of trouble getting to sleep that night. He found himself tossing and turning more than usual. He couldn't stop thinking about what Ivan had said. It was a ridiculous idea, of course, Alfred knew that, but...what if...just what if...he was right? He felt stupid for even considering it, but then, what did it matter if he spent a bit of time thinking about it? It couldn't hurt anything.
What if he was right, and the people Alfred thought were his friends really were just pretending? What if they really did hate him? It wasn't like they would tell him that. He was a very powerful country; everyone wanted to be his ally. They wouldn't tell him their real feelings. What if they were all talking about how much they hate him and want to see him die behind his back?
No, it was impossible. They were his friends. He felt like a traitor for even entertaining the idea that the crazy commie bastard might actually be looking out for him, might actually care more about him than the others. No, it was stupid and idiotic and he refused to think about it any longer. Ivan was just lying to him because he knew the others were coming for him, for Alfred, and he was so mentally unstable he couldn't handle that so he had to make things up. Yeah, that was it.
~
Unbeknownst to Alfred, Ivan came to, as he called it, 'check on him', though it was really just because he liked seeing the American, again that day, or rather, night. Most people did not know this, a fact which seemed to work out well for Ivan though he made no effort to hide it, but he could move extremely quietly when he wanted to, especially considering his size. Another fact of which Alfred was unaware was that Ivan had made sure the hinges of the door to his room were quite well oiled, and the door made no noise when he pushed it open.
It seemed the American had lain awake for a long time, because he was deeply asleep now and didn't do so much as stir when Ivan entered the room. He could, of course, be feigning, a possibility of which the Russian was well aware. But he doubted it. His beautiful little bird was dispirited, and all knew a depressed bird would not fly. He crouched down, near enough to watch Alfred carefully, see his chest rising and falling with his even breath, without being so close his mere presence would awaken the man. He simply stayed crouched there, watching him, for a long moment.
Alfred...Alfred was just so precious...so beautiful and fragile...it pained Ivan greatly that he did not seem to understand this, that he insisted on engaging with the world in what Ivan was sure would have proven to be a suicidal tendency had he not intervened. Alfred was not safe out there. Unhappy though he was in here, at least here he would be safe. He would not be hurt.
It took a great deal of willpower on the Russian's part not to reach out and touch him. He was just so peaceful looking, in his sleep, though he may have had trouble getting to said sleep. The lines of pride and will and too much responsibility for one so young faded from his face, leaving him looking tranquil and untroubled. It was the way Ivan wished Alfred could look all the time. And perhaps, in time, he would, for Ivan would take all the burden of responsibility from him, would take as well all need to impress the other countries, the perpetual need to be a hero.
He stood up before he did something he would regret, like awakening the man. He would let him sleep, for tomorrow was a new day, and when he came back to check on him, Alfred would still be here.
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Keep at it anon- I'll just be here f5ing quietly throughout the week :)
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A few days passed, though to Alfred it felt like so much longer, and when Ivan came once again to visit him, the American had a surprise for him. For, though he was dispirited...he was not down and out yet. He was a fighter. He'd been in bad situations before, and he'd always gotten free somehow. This was really no different. In fact, this was much better than many times he'd been imprisoned, because he was not being starved, and he was not injured at all. He was in perfect health, apart from the soul-crushing boredom. So if Ivan thought simply keeping him locked up would make him behave...he had another think coming...
...
"Alfred...?" called Ivan softly, opening the door slowly, peeking around it as he did. In the past few days, the Russian had grown sadly complacent with Alfred. Since Alfred rarely tried to escape anymore, he had ceased his tiring, ever-staying vigilance. He was no longer careful in opening the door, thinking Alfred had given up already. And he was almost right. Sadly, almost did not equal completely.
When he stepped fully into the room, the first thing he was greeted by was a surprisingly strong hand on his shoulder and a fork in his face. He was quick to realize where it had come from. He had given Alfred a fork with one of his meals the day before, not really thinking about it...Alfred had seemed especially happy with that meal, and now he understood why.
"Damnit, you commie...let me out of here this minute or I will stab you in your fucking eye," was the warm welcome that greeted the Russian. Ivan remained calm, made no sudden moves. Though he was stronger than Alfred physically, at this moment in time, Alfred had the upper hand. It would be best for the both of them if he simply played along.
He raised his hands in the universal gesture of surrender.
"Alfred..." he said in a calm, soothing voice. "You don't want to hurt me. You know you don't," he reinforced. "What will you do if you hurt me? Escape? To where? And how? You do not know where my car is, nor where the keys are. I will tell you right now that they are not on my body. And you will not find them no matter how hard you look. So what will you do then? Walk through the snow? It is many many miles to anything else, Alfred...hurting me would be a very bad idea..."
Alfred's hand shook with the fork. It was poised right in front of the Russian's face, ready to strike. He wanted to strike...to gouge his motherfucking eye right out of his head...it would be only what he deserved, after all...right? Right. There was nothing wrong with wanting such a thing. Ivan had done horrible things...to do such a thing to him would be to do the world a favor...would make him a hero. A hero would do it, personal consequences be damned. Yes. He should do it. He would do it. He would do it right now, just watch him...
...drop the fork to the floor.
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"Alfred..." he heard Ivan murmur softly. He didn't want to hear it...didn't want to hear whatever the fuck that lunatic might have to say to him. What was he going to do to him now? Hit him? Beat him? Starve him?
"Alfred," he heard him say again, and this time he looked up, eyes shimmering slightly as he held back his tears of frustration. He'd planned that so well...he'd thought of everything! He'd had him scared, he was sure of it, and all it would have taken was a small movement of his hand, and he could have been on his way out of here right now...on his way home...
"Shut up! Shut the fuck up, you goddamn fucking bastard! I don't want to hear any of your patronizing shit about how this is for my own good, or how I'll understand later! I don't want to understand later! Don't you fucking get it? I want to go home! I want to go home, you fucking...fucking..." He couldn't even think of another insult worthy of hurling at Ivan. None seemed to accurately capture the sheer amount with which he loathed him.
So to make his point clear, he brought his fist up, suddenly and without warning, and slammed it into the side of Ivan's face. He was kind of expecting the Russian to stop him, so he was delightfully pleased when he felt it collide with the other man's face.
Ivan resisted the urge to take a step back. He did not raise his hand to his face, as was the instinct. He simply let the warmth from the force of Alfred's hand spread across his cheek, forming a distinct contrast against his pale skin. His mind was racing; he'd known Alfred was going to hit him a split second before he did, and he actually may have been able to stop him. The Russian was capable of very fast movements, after all.
But...he knew Alfred needed this. It was an important part of his education. He needed to release his pent up anger and frustration in a way other than simple yelling. He needed to do something. It was in the basic nature of the American. And now that he had done that...had finally lashed out in such an obvious way...he would relax. When he saw such a thing had not helped him in the least, he would not attempt it again. He would grow more and more dispirited and depressed the longer he was cooped up here...and eventually...he would begin to listen to Ivan...
"Alfred...my dear..." he said, testing out the adjective, to see how he would react to such a thing. "I am not mad at you." He gave a soft, sincere smile. It was true. He was not mad at him in the least. "You do not need to worry...I am not going to hurt you. I know that is what you think...from stories you have heard from the others," he continued, a slight, almost unnoticable scathing lilt to the last word, "But I am not. I am not going to harm you in any way. I understand, Alfred...you are angry, and are right to be. Kept in a strange, foreign country...all on your own, without any of your friends...this must seem hellish, am I correct?" He kept his tone light, almost conversational. It caught Alfred off guard, and he scowled.
"Yeah, you're correct, you fucker. This sucks," he confirmed angrily. "And you know it does. So don't give me this bullshit like you care or something. Good cop bad cop doesn't work with only one cop."
Ivan smiled dotingly. How adorable! He also noticed that Alfred had not reacted at all to his use of the familiar adjective...which meant he was either used to it, which was impossible since Ivan had never used it aloud to refer to him, or his mind just accepted it as something normal. That was exciting progress.
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Alfred glared at him, gaze filled with icy daggers.
"Sure, Braginski. Whatever. If you're not going to do something to me, then get out. Leave me alone. I'm sick of seeing your ugly face," he said, rather petulantly.
Ivan shrugged and nodded. He would accomplish no more with Alfred today, anyway. Though this hadn't been in his plan for the day, it worked out well for him. This was an important day. It was certainly not a waste, though Alfred would not see it as such. Alfred would spend the night sulking and pouting...and in the morning, when Ivan came again, he would either ignore him or scream at him, though seeing as how many times the American had tried screaming to no avail, Ivan predicted the former.
He smiled softly at him and backed out of the room. To turn around and exit would be to show weakness...and at such a critical time in Alfred's education, he could not afford a screw up like that. Alfred could not see Ivan for even a moment as something weak. Ivan needed to project to him the image of infinate strength...infinate wisdom...that way, when Alfred's fighting spirit had been calmed, and he was ready to ask the important questions...he would not doubt Ivan's answers.
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I cheer on Alfred while at the same time I want Ivan to win and, more importantly, to see how he wins.
Ivan chose the perfect way to break Alfred. I can't see Alfred breaking from pain but this...he's already losing a bit with his thoughts and hesitance at attacking Ivan.
Ivan seeing what he does as 'education' is just so dark and amazing at the same time. His reactions and thoughts are so psychopathic (or sociopathic? I can never remember which qualities go to which) that I get shivers. Especially the last paragraph.
Good luck on defeating writer's block!
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:anon can hear the Hallelujah chorus:
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I'm glad to see that fighting spark in Alfred, even if I'm morbidly fascinated with watching Russia slowly snuff it out. America certainly wouldn't go down without some sort of fight, and you handled the situation excellently. Alfred's devistation at his slip-up -and the implications of the slip up himself, that purhaps some part of him doesn't sit so well with wanting to attack Russia- really shows just how much everything is affecting him. No matter what he thinks about his situation, it is getting to him...and the fact that it's happening so subtly is so like Russia.
As for him, well...~ You already know that I think your rendition of Ivan rocks to the nth degree, and your return didn't disappoint of this account either. Somehow, Russia labeling his treatment of America as "education" just adds a whole new creepy level to him. It really does emphasize just how much he sees Alfred as something to own, like a pet that hasn't been completely trained yet -and the petnames only add to that. So epic. He's just so clever and in control in this, instead of that blind rage and brute strength you see on the meme a lot, and it's always such a refreshing picture.
Glad to see you back!~ *bookmarks to ensure she misses nothing this time around*
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That was intense...riveting would be a better word I think.
That is the essence of reforming the youth.
When a teenager or child gets grounded instead spanked, it's because the point is to bore the unruly kid to the point of submission so they would learn their lesson. Because it's in our nature to be active and be entertained. That's why kids look forward to the start of school during summer vacation because it gives them something to do, even if they do hate it.
Ivan taking that to the extreme is the perfect way to break Alfred is genius. Regardless of his power, he's still young and the greatest enemy of the youth is boredom.
Capthca: dreamy Telephone. Hmmm....A phone would seem beautiful to Alfred by now.
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...I'm incapable of saying more.
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