Red Fall: 2/?
anonymous
June 23 2009, 04:20:55 UTC
“Ivan,” Alfred snarled, his fingers resting on the gun in his pants. The light-haired man grinned at him, looking warm is his heavy coat, the tails of his ever present scarf fluttering in the harsh wind.
“Alfred,” he cooed, “where is your coat? It is very cold, da?” Alfred spared him a malice-laced smile.
“Cold? Hardly. Guess you’ve never been to the Dakotas in the winter; this can’t even compare,” he said, “And that’s America to you, comrade.” Ivan’s laughter was swept up by the wind, causing it to echo about.
“I can call you whatever I please,” Ivan said, crossing his arms, “The victor always does as he pleases.”
“I don’t remember surrendering to you, you crazed fuck, and I don’t plan on it, or has all that vodka finally gotten to you?” Something flashed behind the violet irises, a dark and violent spark.
“You are losing, my dear Alfred; General Winter is a fickle being, and I am currently in his favor; surrender now and I won’t have to completely annihilate you.”
“Forget it, commie; I’ve lasted five years and I’m not giving in know. So you can take that surrender and shove it, da?”
The spark ignited; in a flurry of movement Russia’s pipe had struck Alfred directly in the chest. Stumbling backwards, Alfred managed to get off a shot, tagging the Russian in the shoulder with a bullet.
“What barbaric weapons you have; I guess I shouldn’t have expected much, though,” Alfred said with a cheeky grin, trying to cover the pain. It was hard to breathe and darkness danced in his vision. Something was dribbling from his mouth, blood, probably, but the scarlet blossom on his opponents shoulder made it all worthwhile.
“How rude,” Russia mumbled, holding his shoulder, “we will have to work on your manners, da?” Alfred laughed but stayed still; previous wounds pulsed with pain and his legs trembled. Where were those men?
“Go to hell,” Alfred managed, spitting blood-saturated saliva onto the snow before him. As he raised his gun for another shot, the pipe caught him alongside the head. Swaying briefly, the gun slipped from his grasp as he crumpled to the ground. Alfred viciously attempted to stand, to move, to do something, but he was so tired…
Heroes never give up.
Heroes never fall.
Heroes always win.
Perhaps that’s why the crazed, ringing laughter brought tears to Alfred’s eyes as he sank into the darkness of unconsciousness.
(Ah! This is long, sorry! I promise dark stuff is coming! And call me A-Anon, if you’d like ((and if that’s okay)). :3)
HOLY FUCKING SHIT ILU YOU MAKE OP SO HAPPY~~~! so far, this is a very VERY nice fill! I hope to see more from you again cause this is awesome and I love multiple fills haha man, Ivan certainly didn't give Alfred a break D:
Red Fall: 3/?
anonymous
June 24 2009, 00:18:59 UTC
(*wibbles* Thank you for your amazing comments! It makes this first timer really happy. :) Again, please pardon any typos or grammer mistakes.)
Awareness come slowly and painfully; pinpricks of consciousness ghosted across Alfred’s mind as he lay trapped between the darkness and reality. He only needed that one extra push, a microcosm of action to bring him to coherency. The silkiness of the sheets against his legs, the muted sunlight through the curtains, the stark white of the bandages-
Bandages? What bandages?
Alfred’s eyes finally opened to the dim light of the room; wearily, he looked around. There was too much white for his taste, too bland for the palate of the exuberant hero. The white chiffon curtains shyly hung over the windows and a small desk and chair were pushed against the far wall. Alfred attempted to move and got little response; perplexed, he examined himself.
White gauze was wrapped around his entire chest, accentuated with a few drops of crimson here and there. He managed to lift his arm and feel his head, the source of a reverberating pain which made his teeth chatter (had he been drinking with England again?), or maybe it was cold seeping through the windows-
Everything came rushing back; the cold against his flesh, bloody spittle oozing from the corners of his mouth, that echoing, demented laughter…
Ivan.
Ripping back the sheets, Alfred maneuvered his body to the edge of the bed and touched his feet to the floor. Upon standing, he immediately crumpled to the ground, causing a colorful string of curses to tumble from the American’s mouth. How long had he been like this?
Shaking his head to clear his swirling vision, he stumbled to his feet, clawing at the wall to remain vertical. Wrenching the door open, he slowly moved into the hallway, his eyes darting quickly to either end. No one in sight. He took a moment to rest against the wall, breathing heavily; why was he so weak? Surely the fight couldn’t have taken that much out of him?
He watched detachedly as white puffs fell outside, adding to an already monumental amount of snow; well, there went that escape plan. His ears pricked at the sound of muffled voices. Shifting along the wall, he pressed himself as close as possible as he eavesdropped, listening through the small crack in the door.
“What is his condition, dear Liet?” a child-like voice crooned, a sound that could only belong to one violent-eyed, hulking mass of Russian. The voice that answered was flimsy, broken in a certain regard.
“He should heal well, sir, though, um, he has a severe concussion which may result in memory-loss. And his ribs were practically destroyed…s-sir; he might be unconscious for quite some time.” America raised an eyebrow; was that Lithuania? He sounded so-so small. There was a brief moment of silence.
Red Fall: 4/?
anonymous
June 24 2009, 00:22:41 UTC
“Are you questioning my methods, Liet?” the sing-song tone questioned; Alfred could here the shifting of a chair and heavy, measured footsteps.
“N-no, sir,” came the shaky voice of Toris, “I mean, I was just-I only meant to show the extent-I’m s-sorry, sir, p-please don’t be upset with me. You know that I would never say a-anything against you…”
“I know my little Liet, you just don’t think sometimes do you? Perhaps we need to talk privately again about your behavior, da? It would all depend on whether you can be a good boy or not… Now, now, there is no need for tears or trembling; an apology will suffice for now.”
“Thank you, s-sir,” Lithuania said in choked, hiccupping breaths, “I’m very, v-very sorry,” and after a pause he added, “I…I l-l-love you, Ivan.” America could hear the larger country purr in satisfaction and Alfred clenched his fists.
Monster.
His head was starting to swim again, Alfred noted; he needed to keep going, as much as he wanted to beat the Russian to a bloody pulp. As he prepared to quietly move past the door, the sound of shattering china exploded through the hallway.
A shaking mass in a scarlet uniform, which stood over the now broken tea cups, stared at Alfred, wide-eyed and gaping in surprise. Wind-swept blonde hair framed his large eyes and his hands were trembling uncontrollably as milk and hot liquid seeped into the floor. Alfred gave a startled look towards the door and time seemed to freeze; he wasn’t sure if he could handle Russia in his current state. He made eye contact, pleading, begging, the young Baltic to keep quiet.
“M-mr. A-america?” Latvia whispered, his lips barely moving; but it was too loud for the silent hallway, too loud for the door to muffle. Ignoring the rips of stitches and flesh, Alfred broke into a stumbling run. If he could just make it to the end of the hallway…
“Raivis? Those were not my nice teacups, da? You know what happens when- Well, well, look who has decided to join us.” Alfred froze, chills creeping up his spine; composing his face into the nastiest snarl he could manage, he turned to face his enemy.
Red Fall: 5/?
anonymous
June 24 2009, 00:29:33 UTC
Ivan stood, a sickly smile plastered to his face as the shocked, tear-streaked Lithuania gazed upon the American with horror.
“Ha; wouldn’t want to miss out on the party, you sadistic bastard,” Alfred said, his tone dripping with malice, “I was thinking you could just let me go before I have to beat you so badly that even Belarus won’t love you anymore.” There it was again; that horrible laughter that made Alfred hollow inside.
“You don’t seem to be able to fully comprehend the situation, my dear Alfred,” Ivan began as he started towards the heavily breathing American, “You have lost; I am simply waiting for the formal surrender from your government. Your capture has caused, how to say, a panic, da?”
“Fuck you,” Alfred growled, “I die before I’d let my government surrender to you!” Ivan smirked, a horrible manifestation of promises of pain.
“Is that a challenge?” Ivan said as he continued to advance, merely an arms-length away now. He leaned into bandaged man, breath ghosting Alfred’s ear, “For I will certainly enjoy breaking you.”
Taking his chance, Alfred smashed his head into the Russian’s; stumbling back, a tumble of Russian poured from his enemy’s mouth. Holding his own severely throbbing head, he took off down the hallway, running for all he was worth.
But it wasn’t enough.
A strong arm encircled his waist, tightly gripping the recent wounds. Alfred bit back a scream, resulting in a muffled whimper. He would have collapsed had his pride not forced him to stand.
“I’d say that manners lesson is in order, da?” Ivan whispered fiercely into Alfred’s ear, stressing the end of his sentence as he squeezed the younger nation’s waist. Alfred bit his lip, drawing blood from the pressure.
“I want to hear you scream, my ‘land of the free,’ scream for me,” Ivan added, his fingers tracing shapes around his captive’s neck. Suddenly, he gripped with intense force, choking him with fervor. Alfred began to thrash and struggle, but in his weakened state, he couldn’t put up much of a fight; slowly, the struggles stopped and darkness edged his vision as he focused on each breath. Eyelids fluttering, he fell backwards into Ivan’s arms, eyes glassy and bloody saliva drooling from his mouth.
Ivan smiled.
“Liet,” Ivan said, switching back to his innocent tone, “Clean him up and then bring him to me. There is…a great deal to discuss.” Toris barely had time to react as the limp American was thrown into his arms and sank to the floor with Alfred in his lap.
“And if I find out that you’re coddling him, well, I can always take back what I said,” Russia added with a smile over his shoulder, “And Raivis? When I come back, this carpet better be clean enough to eat off of, da?”
As soon as Ivan rounded the corner, Toris sprang into action. “Raivis; Raivis, look at me!” he said furiously to his still trembling brother as he shook him by the shoulders, “You need to clean this up; don’t give him a reason to hurt you. You’ve got to move!”
“B-but, Ivan has Mr. A-america now, too! W-what are we g-going t-to do?” the blonde managed, tears sparkling in his eyes. Toris grimaced; he knew this was bad, but he confidence in the Hero in his arms.
“Don’t worry about him right now; you know how strong Mr. America is, right? Have faith in him; he can win,” Toris said, though the last part was spoken in a whisper. The young nation nodded and slowly began to pick up the shattered pieces, sniffling all the while.
Draping the still unresponsive America over his shoulder, he began the slow trek back to his room. At least he could clean the poor soul up before…before that. Holding back tears, the Lithuanian hoped with all his might that he was right about Alfred.
And from around the corner, Ivan smiled, his eyes glinting in the darkness.
(Goodness this is long (and has more Baltics than America)! ^^; A-Anon apologizes, but hopes you'll still enjoy. Expect a daily update (maybe more) and remember I'm always open to comments. Thanks. :)
Re: Red Fall: 5/?
anonymous
June 24 2009, 03:29:36 UTC
this is still so good anon; I love the baltics so I really liked the fact that you included them too, specially because of how hopeful they are of America, I missed Estonia though~ I'll be waiting for the next parts!
Re: Red Fall: 5/?
anonymous
June 24 2009, 14:44:06 UTC
Omg LATVIAAA~~~~!
I LOVE you anon! It's so awesome to see a Russia/US fill that includes the Baltics!
God, is it so horrible that I love America getting beat down every time he tries to escape? FFF YOU GO ALFRED! SHOW THAT COMMIE WHO'S THE LAND OF THE FREE!!
Red Fall: 6/?
anonymous
June 25 2009, 00:37:37 UTC
(...A-Anon thinks she might have gone a little overboard ^^;. I've never written torture, so it might suck, sorry. :( But A-Anon tried her best! Please pardon any grammer mistakes and enjoy.)
The silence in the room was deafening; blindfolded with a coarse strip of fabric, all of Alfred’s other senses were painfully aware. He could feel the gritty material digging into his face and a damp and rotting smell invaded his mind. No sounds, other than that of his ragged breathing, filled the room. Ivan hadn’t even shown his face yet, the sick fuck, and it had been several days …It had been days, hadn’t it? Alfred wearily shook his head; he was losing track of time in this place.
Every once in a while in quick, quiet footsteps, Toris would come to him, urging him in hushed whispers to eat and drink what he had brought; it was never a lot, a piece of bread and some water, but it probably came from Toris’s own share, and Alfred was always grateful. But Toris always left as quickly as he came, leaving Alfred alone in the darkness.
It wasn’t his fault; the Baltic was already risking a great deal to help him.
But…
He was just so lonely; though he would never wish for the company of the Russian, the Hero thrived on interaction, on conversation, on laughter…
Just not that laughter.
Alfred was jarred from these thoughts by the slow creaking of the door; lifting his head slightly, Alfred forced a small smile to his face.
“Hey,” he said, his own hoarse tone sounding foreign, “Welcome back; get caught up serving tea to that loon, again?”
“I find that statement ironic, dear Alfred,” a sickly sweet voice began, “since this is the first time I have graced you with my presence.” America felt his mouth go dry and the smile fractured on his face.
“Ivan,” he whispered, his throat burning painfully, “took you long enough to get down here; having trouble on the front?” A hum of chuckles answered him back.
“You wish, little patriot; I was merely reminding Liet that coddling the prisoners makes me very upset; while he was adamant about his misguided beliefs, I think that I finally convinced him of the right path.” Alfred paled; was that why Lithuania hadn’t come today?
“You mean you beat him until he finally agreed with you,” Alfred growled, “Lithuania deserves better than you; so do all the Baltics.” He felt two fingers tip his chin upwards and warm, vodka-saturated breath across his face.
“It is you, then, who has been corrupting my toys? Who made me punish sweet Liet? I don’t like to hurt my little Toris, but he needs to remember that Mother is always watching and Mother always knows best,” Ivan said, burying his head in the crook of the American’s neck, “Mother thinks that one more punishment is in order.”
“Don’t fucking touch me,” Alfred said viciously, though with a slight edge of uncertain fear. A harsh slap across the face was his reply.
“You will not speak to mother that way; apologize,” Ivan said, his tone cool and calm.
“Go to hell.”
Ivan’s boot connected with Alfred’s shin, causing the American to cry out in pain. Flames licked up his leg as he collapsed as far as the chains would allow, his legs threatening to give out beneath him.
Red Fall: 7/?
anonymous
June 25 2009, 00:41:36 UTC
“Fu-fuck you,” Alfred mumbled, feebly trying to regain his footing. The Russian continued to pummel him, breaking bones and drawing blood, but his target refused to give anything more than a terse reply; there were no tears, nor was there begging. The Hero was sure he could pull through this. Just last one more punch, one more hit-
And then the pipe connected with his chest.
Alfred howled in pain, fragile, previously broken bones shattering once again. Involuntary tears leaked from his eyes as rattling breaths choked his frame. His body felt heavy and limp as his chest shifted with each small inhale.
"Apologize,” Ivan said, his tone still even, though it had become even sweeter than before. Alfred fell into a coughing fit, his body wracked with shuddering tremors as a metallic taste filled his mouth.
“A-ah…Aaa-ah…”
“Oh? One more hit then?” Ivan said as he raised the pipe for another go; as he moved to swing downward, the shaking voice interrupted.
“A-ah, p-plea-se, n-no m-more,” Alfred managed, his blindfold completely saturated with tears. The tall man paused; lowering his pipe, he let the end hit the floor with a clink.
“What do you say?” Ivan drawled, his voice toned as if he were addressing a child.
“M’ srr’y,” Alfred mumbled, trying to limit his movements.
“Da? What was that?”
“I’M S-SORRY!” Alfred gushed, a new fit of coughing accenting his outburst. Red trickled from his mouth, dying his lips a lovely scarlet. Purring with pleasure, the Russian leaned forward, his tongue darting across his captive’s bloody lower lip. Shuddering in repulsion, Alfred pulled himself as far away as possible, trying to force back his gag reflex. His pride lay crying at his feet.
“Good boy,” Ivan hummed, savoring the remnants of ruby on his tongue. Alfred stifled the urge to cry; Heroes never cry Heroes never cry Heroes never give in-
Alfred repeated this mantra, head hung, as the larger nation gently ruffed his hair and gave him a chaste kiss on the forehead.
“Be a good by while Mother is gone, da?”
Alfred said nothing as he heard the footsteps retreat and the door click shut; the insufferable silence was filled only by the sound of teardrops hitting the floor.
Red Fall: 8/?
anonymous
June 25 2009, 00:46:04 UTC
It was almost six days before Ivan came again, not that Alfred knew; lost in pain and his constant mantra, which repeated like a broken record (the hero-the hero-the hero), it had felt like eternity. Alfred didn’t even look up as the door was opened; he thought it must have been another fragment of his mind, spurred by gnawing hunger and hurt. Still blindfolded, it was the smell that caught his attention.
The smell.
He could feel his mouth whet from the aroma, the mild fragrance of flaky bread and melted butter. His ribs shifted painfully at the thought of swallowing, but he was almost too hungry to care.
“Mother is back, little patriot,” the sugar laced tone said, “You have been good, da?”
Alfred wearily nodded his head, his temples pulsing with pain. He felt hot and sleepy; when had that come upon him? He heard the clink of china and suddenly a cool hand felt his forehead; as he felt himself leaning into the touch, he pulled back immediately, disgusted with himself. The Russian tutted.
“My rebel has a fever,” Ivan murmured thoughtfully, “This will not do. I cannot feed you in such a condition.” The American growled in displeasure, though the threatening edge had long since whittled away.
“Do not take that tone with me; you will be fed when I deem so, da? Now, I am going to move you; I advise you not to struggle,” the violet-eyed nation said. As the cuffs released his wrists, Alfred shot to his feet, but immediately crumpled into Ivan’s waiting arms, squirming and flailing.
“Do not test me,” Ivan rumbled primally, “I would not want to drop you on the hard-wood floors by accident.”
Slowly, the American stopped, his figure much like that of an over-loved rag doll. He barely felt Ivan remove his blindfold through the haze; his eyes fluttered as he met the smiling face of the Russian, the dim light seeming to blind him.
“That is much better,” Ivan noted, “What a good boy you are.” Alfred whimpered softly as he buried his head in his captor’s jacket, unable to stomach the crazed gaze. Held like a shy bride, Alfred gripped Ivan tightly as they went through the door and up a flight of stairs. Another door and, suddenly, they were back in the large foyer of Ivan’s house. Humming a soft lullaby under his breath, the blonde carried the American through the halls and approached the kitchen.
Alfred could hear the sounds of a foreign tune, obviously much loved through its careful annunciation. Was it Toris? Entering through the swinging doors, warmth and the scent of cooking food made Alfred further slacken in Ivan’s grip.
“Dear Liet,” the Russian sweetly began. Slightly tensing, Toris turned from the stove, a boat of gravy balanced in one hand.
“Yes? What is it-Oh my god!” the Lithuanian shrieked in shock, the dishware shattering on the floor. The brunette stood trembling, his wide-eyed gaze trying to connect with Alfred’s glassy one.
“N-no A-America,” Toris whispered, the words tumbling out of his mouth. Two sets of footfalls approached the opposite door, and two young men burst through.
“Toris, we heard the crash-my god…” the first began, but faltered. The light reflected off of his bespectacled stare, his mouth parted in shock. Young Raivis, who had followed Eduard out of concern, was now choking back bile, utterly horrified at the scene in front of him.
Red Fall: 9/?
anonymous
June 25 2009, 00:50:22 UTC
“You promised, Ivan…Ivan, you promised you’d leave him alone and wouldn’t hurt him if I took my punishment and I did! I-Ivan, why…? It’s all I asked for…” Toris sobbed angrily, tears streaking down his face at the thought that his pain had been worth nothing.
“Ah, but it is because of that I couldn’t give it to you, my Liet; you were being selfish. I left Alfred alone, for almost a week, da? I thought it was too cruel,” Ivan said with a smile, “But that is another matter; the little patriot burns with his twisted ideals; it is the first step in the right direction, to get rid of all the bad. Make some broth while I take him upstairs, da?”
The Russian left the room with a smile, the mass in his arms mumbling, ‘Toris? Is he okay? Toris…?’
The Lithuanian sank to his knees, tears clouding his vision as he pounded the floor; the broken bits of china bit into his hand, drawing red.
“Why? He promised; that bastard PROMISED!” Toris yelled in frustration; the middle-child quickly came to his brother, grabbing the country’s hands to prevent further damage.
“Toris, this isn’t going to help! Stop!” Eduard pleaded, giving his brother a rough shake. For a moment, Lithuania gazed at him dazedly before collapsing onto his shoulder.
“What have I done? What have I done?” the eldest moaned. His brother gripped him tightly, mumbling small phrases of comfort that didn’t seem to mean anything. The youngest stood apart from his siblings, salty trails marking his cheeks.
“What will the Hero do now, brother?” Raivis questioned softly, trembling, “what now?”
((Yeah, A-Anon went overboard.^^; But she hopes you still enjoyed! There are still several more parts planned, so please keep reading (and commenting; all of these nice comments make A-Anon so happy <3 )!))
“Alfred,” he cooed, “where is your coat? It is very cold, da?” Alfred spared him a malice-laced smile.
“Cold? Hardly. Guess you’ve never been to the Dakotas in the winter; this can’t even compare,” he said, “And that’s America to you, comrade.” Ivan’s laughter was swept up by the wind, causing it to echo about.
“I can call you whatever I please,” Ivan said, crossing his arms, “The victor always does as he pleases.”
“I don’t remember surrendering to you, you crazed fuck, and I don’t plan on it, or has all that vodka finally gotten to you?” Something flashed behind the violet irises, a dark and violent spark.
“You are losing, my dear Alfred; General Winter is a fickle being, and I am currently in his favor; surrender now and I won’t have to completely annihilate you.”
“Forget it, commie; I’ve lasted five years and I’m not giving in know. So you can take that surrender and shove it, da?”
The spark ignited; in a flurry of movement Russia’s pipe had struck Alfred directly in the chest. Stumbling backwards, Alfred managed to get off a shot, tagging the Russian in the shoulder with a bullet.
“What barbaric weapons you have; I guess I shouldn’t have expected much, though,” Alfred said with a cheeky grin, trying to cover the pain. It was hard to breathe and darkness danced in his vision. Something was dribbling from his mouth, blood, probably, but the scarlet blossom on his opponents shoulder made it all worthwhile.
“How rude,” Russia mumbled, holding his shoulder, “we will have to work on your manners, da?” Alfred laughed but stayed still; previous wounds pulsed with pain and his legs trembled. Where were those men?
“Go to hell,” Alfred managed, spitting blood-saturated saliva onto the snow before him. As he raised his gun for another shot, the pipe caught him alongside the head. Swaying briefly, the gun slipped from his grasp as he crumpled to the ground. Alfred viciously attempted to stand, to move, to do something, but he was so tired…
Heroes never give up.
Heroes never fall.
Heroes always win.
Perhaps that’s why the crazed, ringing laughter brought tears to Alfred’s eyes as he sank into the darkness of unconsciousness.
(Ah! This is long, sorry! I promise dark stuff is coming! And call me A-Anon, if you’d like ((and if that’s okay)). :3)
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YOU MAKE OP SO HAPPY~~~!
so far, this is a very VERY nice fill!
I hope to see more from you again cause this is awesome
and I love multiple fills haha
man, Ivan certainly didn't give Alfred a break D:
Reply
I'll be F5ing forever.
Keep working -thumbs up-
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Awareness come slowly and painfully; pinpricks of consciousness ghosted across Alfred’s mind as he lay trapped between the darkness and reality. He only needed that one extra push, a microcosm of action to bring him to coherency. The silkiness of the sheets against his legs, the muted sunlight through the curtains, the stark white of the bandages-
Bandages? What bandages?
Alfred’s eyes finally opened to the dim light of the room; wearily, he looked around. There was too much white for his taste, too bland for the palate of the exuberant hero. The white chiffon curtains shyly hung over the windows and a small desk and chair were pushed against the far wall. Alfred attempted to move and got little response; perplexed, he examined himself.
White gauze was wrapped around his entire chest, accentuated with a few drops of crimson here and there. He managed to lift his arm and feel his head, the source of a reverberating pain which made his teeth chatter (had he been drinking with England again?), or maybe it was cold seeping through the windows-
Everything came rushing back; the cold against his flesh, bloody spittle oozing from the corners of his mouth, that echoing, demented laughter…
Ivan.
Ripping back the sheets, Alfred maneuvered his body to the edge of the bed and touched his feet to the floor. Upon standing, he immediately crumpled to the ground, causing a colorful string of curses to tumble from the American’s mouth. How long had he been like this?
Shaking his head to clear his swirling vision, he stumbled to his feet, clawing at the wall to remain vertical. Wrenching the door open, he slowly moved into the hallway, his eyes darting quickly to either end. No one in sight. He took a moment to rest against the wall, breathing heavily; why was he so weak? Surely the fight couldn’t have taken that much out of him?
He watched detachedly as white puffs fell outside, adding to an already monumental amount of snow; well, there went that escape plan. His ears pricked at the sound of muffled voices. Shifting along the wall, he pressed himself as close as possible as he eavesdropped, listening through the small crack in the door.
“What is his condition, dear Liet?” a child-like voice crooned, a sound that could only belong to one violent-eyed, hulking mass of Russian. The voice that answered was flimsy, broken in a certain regard.
“He should heal well, sir, though, um, he has a severe concussion which may result in memory-loss. And his ribs were practically destroyed…s-sir; he might be unconscious for quite some time.” America raised an eyebrow; was that Lithuania? He sounded so-so small. There was a brief moment of silence.
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“N-no, sir,” came the shaky voice of Toris, “I mean, I was just-I only meant to show the extent-I’m s-sorry, sir, p-please don’t be upset with me. You know that I would never say a-anything against you…”
“I know my little Liet, you just don’t think sometimes do you? Perhaps we need to talk privately again about your behavior, da? It would all depend on whether you can be a good boy or not… Now, now, there is no need for tears or trembling; an apology will suffice for now.”
“Thank you, s-sir,” Lithuania said in choked, hiccupping breaths, “I’m very, v-very sorry,” and after a pause he added, “I…I l-l-love you, Ivan.” America could hear the larger country purr in satisfaction and Alfred clenched his fists.
Monster.
His head was starting to swim again, Alfred noted; he needed to keep going, as much as he wanted to beat the Russian to a bloody pulp. As he prepared to quietly move past the door, the sound of shattering china exploded through the hallway.
A shaking mass in a scarlet uniform, which stood over the now broken tea cups, stared at Alfred, wide-eyed and gaping in surprise. Wind-swept blonde hair framed his large eyes and his hands were trembling uncontrollably as milk and hot liquid seeped into the floor. Alfred gave a startled look towards the door and time seemed to freeze; he wasn’t sure if he could handle Russia in his current state. He made eye contact, pleading, begging, the young Baltic to keep quiet.
“M-mr. A-america?” Latvia whispered, his lips barely moving; but it was too loud for the silent hallway, too loud for the door to muffle. Ignoring the rips of stitches and flesh, Alfred broke into a stumbling run. If he could just make it to the end of the hallway…
“Raivis? Those were not my nice teacups, da? You know what happens when- Well, well, look who has decided to join us.” Alfred froze, chills creeping up his spine; composing his face into the nastiest snarl he could manage, he turned to face his enemy.
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“Ha; wouldn’t want to miss out on the party, you sadistic bastard,” Alfred said, his tone dripping with malice, “I was thinking you could just let me go before I have to beat you so badly that even Belarus won’t love you anymore.” There it was again; that horrible laughter that made Alfred hollow inside.
“You don’t seem to be able to fully comprehend the situation, my dear Alfred,” Ivan began as he started towards the heavily breathing American, “You have lost; I am simply waiting for the formal surrender from your government. Your capture has caused, how to say, a panic, da?”
“Fuck you,” Alfred growled, “I die before I’d let my government surrender to you!” Ivan smirked, a horrible manifestation of promises of pain.
“Is that a challenge?” Ivan said as he continued to advance, merely an arms-length away now. He leaned into bandaged man, breath ghosting Alfred’s ear, “For I will certainly enjoy breaking you.”
Taking his chance, Alfred smashed his head into the Russian’s; stumbling back, a tumble of Russian poured from his enemy’s mouth. Holding his own severely throbbing head, he took off down the hallway, running for all he was worth.
But it wasn’t enough.
A strong arm encircled his waist, tightly gripping the recent wounds. Alfred bit back a scream, resulting in a muffled whimper. He would have collapsed had his pride not forced him to stand.
“I’d say that manners lesson is in order, da?” Ivan whispered fiercely into Alfred’s ear, stressing the end of his sentence as he squeezed the younger nation’s waist. Alfred bit his lip, drawing blood from the pressure.
“I want to hear you scream, my ‘land of the free,’ scream for me,” Ivan added, his fingers tracing shapes around his captive’s neck. Suddenly, he gripped with intense force, choking him with fervor. Alfred began to thrash and struggle, but in his weakened state, he couldn’t put up much of a fight; slowly, the struggles stopped and darkness edged his vision as he focused on each breath. Eyelids fluttering, he fell backwards into Ivan’s arms, eyes glassy and bloody saliva drooling from his mouth.
Ivan smiled.
“Liet,” Ivan said, switching back to his innocent tone, “Clean him up and then bring him to me. There is…a great deal to discuss.” Toris barely had time to react as the limp American was thrown into his arms and sank to the floor with Alfred in his lap.
“And if I find out that you’re coddling him, well, I can always take back what I said,” Russia added with a smile over his shoulder, “And Raivis? When I come back, this carpet better be clean enough to eat off of, da?”
As soon as Ivan rounded the corner, Toris sprang into action. “Raivis; Raivis, look at me!” he said furiously to his still trembling brother as he shook him by the shoulders, “You need to clean this up; don’t give him a reason to hurt you. You’ve got to move!”
“B-but, Ivan has Mr. A-america now, too! W-what are we g-going t-to do?” the blonde managed, tears sparkling in his eyes. Toris grimaced; he knew this was bad, but he confidence in the Hero in his arms.
“Don’t worry about him right now; you know how strong Mr. America is, right? Have faith in him; he can win,” Toris said, though the last part was spoken in a whisper. The young nation nodded and slowly began to pick up the shattered pieces, sniffling all the while.
Draping the still unresponsive America over his shoulder, he began the slow trek back to his room. At least he could clean the poor soul up before…before that. Holding back tears, the Lithuanian hoped with all his might that he was right about Alfred.
And from around the corner, Ivan smiled, his eyes glinting in the darkness.
(Goodness this is long (and has more Baltics than America)! ^^; A-Anon apologizes, but hopes you'll still enjoy. Expect a daily update (maybe more) and remember I'm always open to comments. Thanks. :)
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daily update!? HOMG MARRY ME!
I am quite curious where you'll be taking this
still loving this and F5ing
yup
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I'll be waiting for the next parts!
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I LOVE you anon! It's so awesome to see a Russia/US fill that includes the Baltics!
God, is it so horrible that I love America getting beat down every time he tries to escape? FFF YOU GO ALFRED! SHOW THAT COMMIE WHO'S THE LAND OF THE FREE!!
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Love how in-character Russia is. <3 you make my inner psycho squirm
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The silence in the room was deafening; blindfolded with a coarse strip of fabric, all of Alfred’s other senses were painfully aware. He could feel the gritty material digging into his face and a damp and rotting smell invaded his mind. No sounds, other than that of his ragged breathing, filled the room. Ivan hadn’t even shown his face yet, the sick fuck, and it had been several days …It had been days, hadn’t it? Alfred wearily shook his head; he was losing track of time in this place.
Every once in a while in quick, quiet footsteps, Toris would come to him, urging him in hushed whispers to eat and drink what he had brought; it was never a lot, a piece of bread and some water, but it probably came from Toris’s own share, and Alfred was always grateful. But Toris always left as quickly as he came, leaving Alfred alone in the darkness.
It wasn’t his fault; the Baltic was already risking a great deal to help him.
But…
He was just so lonely; though he would never wish for the company of the Russian, the Hero thrived on interaction, on conversation, on laughter…
Just not that laughter.
Alfred was jarred from these thoughts by the slow creaking of the door; lifting his head slightly, Alfred forced a small smile to his face.
“Hey,” he said, his own hoarse tone sounding foreign, “Welcome back; get caught up serving tea to that loon, again?”
“I find that statement ironic, dear Alfred,” a sickly sweet voice began, “since this is the first time I have graced you with my presence.” America felt his mouth go dry and the smile fractured on his face.
“Ivan,” he whispered, his throat burning painfully, “took you long enough to get down here; having trouble on the front?” A hum of chuckles answered him back.
“You wish, little patriot; I was merely reminding Liet that coddling the prisoners makes me very upset; while he was adamant about his misguided beliefs, I think that I finally convinced him of the right path.” Alfred paled; was that why Lithuania hadn’t come today?
“You mean you beat him until he finally agreed with you,” Alfred growled, “Lithuania deserves better than you; so do all the Baltics.” He felt two fingers tip his chin upwards and warm, vodka-saturated breath across his face.
“It is you, then, who has been corrupting my toys? Who made me punish sweet Liet? I don’t like to hurt my little Toris, but he needs to remember that Mother is always watching and Mother always knows best,” Ivan said, burying his head in the crook of the American’s neck, “Mother thinks that one more punishment is in order.”
“Don’t fucking touch me,” Alfred said viciously, though with a slight edge of uncertain fear. A harsh slap across the face was his reply.
“You will not speak to mother that way; apologize,” Ivan said, his tone cool and calm.
“Go to hell.”
Ivan’s boot connected with Alfred’s shin, causing the American to cry out in pain. Flames licked up his leg as he collapsed as far as the chains would allow, his legs threatening to give out beneath him.
“Apologize.”
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And then the pipe connected with his chest.
Alfred howled in pain, fragile, previously broken bones shattering once again. Involuntary tears leaked from his eyes as rattling breaths choked his frame. His body felt heavy and limp as his chest shifted with each small inhale.
"Apologize,” Ivan said, his tone still even, though it had become even sweeter than before. Alfred fell into a coughing fit, his body wracked with shuddering tremors as a metallic taste filled his mouth.
“A-ah…Aaa-ah…”
“Oh? One more hit then?” Ivan said as he raised the pipe for another go; as he moved to swing downward, the shaking voice interrupted.
“A-ah, p-plea-se, n-no m-more,” Alfred managed, his blindfold completely saturated with tears. The tall man paused; lowering his pipe, he let the end hit the floor with a clink.
“What do you say?” Ivan drawled, his voice toned as if he were addressing a child.
“M’ srr’y,” Alfred mumbled, trying to limit his movements.
“Da? What was that?”
“I’M S-SORRY!” Alfred gushed, a new fit of coughing accenting his outburst. Red trickled from his mouth, dying his lips a lovely scarlet. Purring with pleasure, the Russian leaned forward, his tongue darting across his captive’s bloody lower lip. Shuddering in repulsion, Alfred pulled himself as far away as possible, trying to force back his gag reflex. His pride lay crying at his feet.
“Good boy,” Ivan hummed, savoring the remnants of ruby on his tongue. Alfred stifled the urge to cry; Heroes never cry Heroes never cry Heroes never give in-
Alfred repeated this mantra, head hung, as the larger nation gently ruffed his hair and gave him a chaste kiss on the forehead.
“Be a good by while Mother is gone, da?”
Alfred said nothing as he heard the footsteps retreat and the door click shut; the insufferable silence was filled only by the sound of teardrops hitting the floor.
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The smell.
He could feel his mouth whet from the aroma, the mild fragrance of flaky bread and melted butter. His ribs shifted painfully at the thought of swallowing, but he was almost too hungry to care.
“Mother is back, little patriot,” the sugar laced tone said, “You have been good, da?”
Alfred wearily nodded his head, his temples pulsing with pain. He felt hot and sleepy; when had that come upon him? He heard the clink of china and suddenly a cool hand felt his forehead; as he felt himself leaning into the touch, he pulled back immediately, disgusted with himself. The Russian tutted.
“My rebel has a fever,” Ivan murmured thoughtfully, “This will not do. I cannot feed you in such a condition.” The American growled in displeasure, though the threatening edge had long since whittled away.
“Do not take that tone with me; you will be fed when I deem so, da? Now, I am going to move you; I advise you not to struggle,” the violet-eyed nation said. As the cuffs released his wrists, Alfred shot to his feet, but immediately crumpled into Ivan’s waiting arms, squirming and flailing.
“Do not test me,” Ivan rumbled primally, “I would not want to drop you on the hard-wood floors by accident.”
Slowly, the American stopped, his figure much like that of an over-loved rag doll. He barely felt Ivan remove his blindfold through the haze; his eyes fluttered as he met the smiling face of the Russian, the dim light seeming to blind him.
“That is much better,” Ivan noted, “What a good boy you are.” Alfred whimpered softly as he buried his head in his captor’s jacket, unable to stomach the crazed gaze. Held like a shy bride, Alfred gripped Ivan tightly as they went through the door and up a flight of stairs. Another door and, suddenly, they were back in the large foyer of Ivan’s house. Humming a soft lullaby under his breath, the blonde carried the American through the halls and approached the kitchen.
Alfred could hear the sounds of a foreign tune, obviously much loved through its careful annunciation. Was it Toris? Entering through the swinging doors, warmth and the scent of cooking food made Alfred further slacken in Ivan’s grip.
“Dear Liet,” the Russian sweetly began. Slightly tensing, Toris turned from the stove, a boat of gravy balanced in one hand.
“Yes? What is it-Oh my god!” the Lithuanian shrieked in shock, the dishware shattering on the floor. The brunette stood trembling, his wide-eyed gaze trying to connect with Alfred’s glassy one.
“N-no A-America,” Toris whispered, the words tumbling out of his mouth. Two sets of footfalls approached the opposite door, and two young men burst through.
“Toris, we heard the crash-my god…” the first began, but faltered. The light reflected off of his bespectacled stare, his mouth parted in shock. Young Raivis, who had followed Eduard out of concern, was now choking back bile, utterly horrified at the scene in front of him.
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“Ah, but it is because of that I couldn’t give it to you, my Liet; you were being selfish. I left Alfred alone, for almost a week, da? I thought it was too cruel,” Ivan said with a smile, “But that is another matter; the little patriot burns with his twisted ideals; it is the first step in the right direction, to get rid of all the bad. Make some broth while I take him upstairs, da?”
The Russian left the room with a smile, the mass in his arms mumbling, ‘Toris? Is he okay? Toris…?’
The Lithuanian sank to his knees, tears clouding his vision as he pounded the floor; the broken bits of china bit into his hand, drawing red.
“Why? He promised; that bastard PROMISED!” Toris yelled in frustration; the middle-child quickly came to his brother, grabbing the country’s hands to prevent further damage.
“Toris, this isn’t going to help! Stop!” Eduard pleaded, giving his brother a rough shake. For a moment, Lithuania gazed at him dazedly before collapsing onto his shoulder.
“What have I done? What have I done?” the eldest moaned. His brother gripped him tightly, mumbling small phrases of comfort that didn’t seem to mean anything. The youngest stood apart from his siblings, salty trails marking his cheeks.
“What will the Hero do now, brother?” Raivis questioned softly, trembling, “what now?”
((Yeah, A-Anon went overboard.^^; But she hopes you still enjoyed! There are still several more parts planned, so please keep reading (and commenting; all of these nice comments make A-Anon so happy <3 )!))
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I don't even LIKE America that much, but this fic omfg please update soon anon. I'm begging you.
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