APH: Into the Maze ((RussiaxAmerica))
Into the Maze
“Okay. This is going to be totally-” America paused in the middle of a 360° spin (arms flung straight out at his sides so that passerby had to duck to get around him), realized that nobody was following him, and marched back to the truck where Russia was still standing with his arms crossed. America linked their elbows together in a very business-like way and proceeded to haul Russia across the parking lot. “Okay. So this is going to be totally awesome!” he continued, a wild grin spreading on his face. His pulse was racing; it took everything he had not to skip or jump or drag Russia down into the wet grass with him so that they could roll around a little. Autumn made him want to do those kinds of things.
“If you say so, galupchik,” Russia smiled patiently.
America cocked an eyebrow- he had never fully gotten over the suspicion of Russia calling him names just because he couldn’t understand that ridiculous language (it probably had something to do with all of the bad things Russia had said about America behind his back, even if that had been a long time ago). America narrowed his eyes, which never failed to give away the fact that he was analyzing a situation, and seemed to decide that Russia’s tone was one of endearment because his shoulders relaxed, his gaze wandered up to the clear blue sky, and he started to hum.
Russia could see the excitement stirring on America’s face like a current of rebellious waves. It gave the younger nation an air of recklessness. It was a tangible energy, a child’s energy. Normally Russia found that quality to be curiously charming, but today he didn’t know how long he would hold up tolerating the immaturity that went along with it. It was cold and the air was still damp due to the previous night’s rain. Not that Russia minded the wetness. The violent weather had proved to be a beautiful backdrop for their latest intimacy: lightning splitting the pitch black window panes, burning the air itself with an electricity matched only by that inside the bedroom, bodies crashing together with a force louder than thunder, every sound amplified, drowning out the storm…
Russia stuffed his free hand deep into his coat pocket, trying to find those cigarettes that he desperately needed. He didn’t mind the wetness. It was just the cold, and this terrible, thick mud the rain left behind in the morning. He lifted a boot and watched clumps of the slop slide slowly off the bottom. It was like stepping a foot-deep into cement. Not to mention he had a headache that only intensified every time America used a phrase like, “Dude, that car is pimpin’!” or, “You’re just jealous ‘cuz I’m such a baller!” Unfortunately, America used those phrases often. Russia finally succeeded in locating his Belomorkanals, and just in time.
“Woah! Check out that pimpin’ tractor!”
Russia suppressed an agonizing sigh. “Da, I see it. It is very green. And loud.” The shriveled old man sitting atop it, bearing his scraggly yellow-white beard and crooked straw hat proudly, caught them staring and gave a wave. His smile revealed that most of his teeth were missing.
America waved until the tractor had passed by. It bumped and wobbled over the deep ruts in the ground made by sinking cars. There was some kind of attachment on the back tractor that was pulling a load of twenty or more people along behind it. Most of them were kids, all of them were clutching onto bright, round, orange pumpkins seated in their laps, and all of them were holding on for dear life as the cart’s wheels jumped over the uneven ground.
“Man, I love tractors.” America stared after it with a fondness that made Russia jealous, in spite of himself.
“I know,” Russia replied. “I do not understand your strange fascination with farming equipment.” He instantly regretted the remark because, suddenly, America felt the need to share some of his culture. ‘Culture’ meaning America wiggled his ass around and belted out “She Thinks My Tractor’s Sexy” at the top of his lungs. When Russia did not join in on the refrain, America added a pelvic thrust to the mix. People were starting to stare, and for good reason. America’s ass was very nice.
“Oh come on, you’re not gonna sing it?” America whined.
Russia used the last of his remaining mental strength, and calmly shook his head. “No, thank you. I will decline this time.” He popped a cigarette between his dry lips and searched for his lighter. His scarf billowed across his vision, making the task more difficult than it should have been.
“Hey, I thought I told you to quit that.” America’s accusatory voice came to him from somewhere on the other side of the soft, wooly barrier.
“Hm?” Russia pretended he hadn’t heard. He breathed out all of his tension with a flick of that glittering metal. He raised the flame to his mouth, but the wind was too strong and it wouldn’t take. He felt a strong, warm hand close over his, prying the lighter away.
“Let me.” America flicked it again and held it up to Russia’s lips, cupping his fingers around the flame to protect it until Russia’s cigarette was smoldering softly. The smoke was whisked right away, spiraling into nothingness on the breeze.
“Spasibo.”
America’s mouth had tensed into a tight, flat line. Russia pretended he didn’t notice. He looked down at the mud clinging to his boots, weighing him down so that he sunk further with each step.
“Hey, the least you can do is offer me one.”
Russia blinked in surprise, meeting America’s eyes with uncertainty. The blond had a playful, demanding expression on his face now, one meant for teasing. He extended a hand towards Russia imperiously. Russia set a cigarette there, gently, and watched as America lit up.
“I do not understand you,” Russia informed him. Russia said that often as a joke, but he was never lying. America, who at times seemed too easy to read, made it just as easy to throw Russia’s every expectation of him out the window with a single move. It was so natural for him to switch from carefree and genuine to sober and dangerous. Maybe Russia liked that, he decided. Even if it made him nervous.
They started to walk again, slower.
“So, tell me again, what is the purpose of this trip?” Russia asked once they had finally made it out of the parking lot (he thought it was ridiculous that people enjoyed parking at the far end of a field and walking a few acres of mud to get to the pumpkin patch when there were clearly trailers to drive them back to their cars, but America had insisted that it was part of the experience). There was a red barn up ahead with crowds of people milling in and out of the open doors. They were holding steaming Styrofoam cups and skewers of corn-on-the-cob. It seemed… cozy.
America took a long, contemplative drag. He would never admit it, but he preferred the taste of cheap Russian cigarettes over any of his own brands. He had missed that taste.
“The point is to have an awesome time picking out pumpkins and to bring them home for Halloween,” America answered. His spirits seemed to have lifted again now that Russia was showing an interest. “Every year, you buy a pumpkin, scoop the guts out, and then carve a face into it. Then you put a candle in it and set it on your porch and it looks sweet as hell. It’s all about festivity.”
Russia did his best to seem intrigued, but failed. “Correct me if I am wrong, but I believe you told me years ago that your Halloween is a celebration for the children." In fact, he was certain that was how America had described his version of the holiday.
“Well, yeah,” America’s shoulders shifted slightly. “Primarily.”
“Then may I ask what is our point in being here? On this night at my place, the nightclubs are for the adults and the mud is for the kiddies.”
America pulled a face. “Try not to be a kill-joy for once, okay? This is going to be fun.” They passed by the barn and he flicked his cigarette butt into a trash can as they walked.
Russia was surprised. He had been sure America would have run straight for the food. He had to admit he was a little disappointed; there was some sharp and cinnamon-y smell drifting towards them on the breeze. It was wrapping itself around Russia, filling his senses, trying to pull him inside the barn.
“C’mon!” America was ahead of him now, waving a hand over his shoulder. Russia hurried up until they were in step again (which took a lot of effort because America could really book it when he was excited). “Here! This is what we have to do first!”
“…It is corn,” Russia observed.
“Right.” America beamed.
“And what are we going to do with it?” Russia asked when America did not offer an explanation.
“It’s a corn maze! It’s like a challenge. You have to find your way through the rows of corn until you get to the exit. If you take a wrong turn, you hit a dead end and you have to turn around. It can be really confusing, but you don’t have to worry ‘cuz you’re with me and I’m pro at this,” America assured. Russia coughed loudly on his smoke. “This is the biggest corn maze out of all the fifty states. People have gotten lost in here for hours before!”
“And this is considered fun?”
“You bet. If you make it out alive, you get a prize.”
Russia flicked his cigarette to the ground and stomped it out. “Let us go, then.” The sooner they left this place, the better. He was losing patience, fast. He didn’t like the way that people were watching him out of the corner of their eyes. Nervously, like they were mice and he was a giant hungry cat… He would much rather be back at America’s house, wrapped up in a blanket together, arguing comfortably. Out here, he felt on edge.
America grabbed hold of his hand and tugged him into the entrance. “Let’s kick this maze’s ass!”
5 HOURS LATER…
“Alfred, I do not think you know where you are going.”
“I know exactly where we are. We’re…uh…” America stared up at the blackening sky. “Eheheh. We can’t be lost. I mean, come on! This is my land. I know it like the back of my hand.”
“In a few minutes, you will not be able to see your hand. We should have turned around a long time ago. You were not listening to me.”
“I… I can get us out of here. Just give me a second to think.”
“I have let you think for five hours. We need to try a different direction. It is getting dark. I am cold.”
The sun had dropped out of sight long ago and the temperature had dropped with it.
“Wait! We can’t just give up now,” America blurted out, stopping Russia when he tried to turn around. “This is supposed to an adventure. The exit is just ahead. I know it!”
“I am going back before I act on this tempting urge to strangle you to death.”
“What is your problem? I just wanted to do something fun together!”
“You never consider whether or not I am having fun,” Russia said. “That is my problem.”
“You never like doing anything fun!” America defended in a strained voice. He was obviously hurt.
Russia could feel the situation turning bad, but he couldn’t stop himself. He had controlled his irritation for too long and now it was fighting its way out of him. It was like watching something slowly burn. Russia started to walk away. He had to stop this conversation before it escaped them.
“Fine! You can get lost on your own!” America shouted, feet planted firmly in place. It was clear he wasn’t going to follow, no matter what Russia said.
“You are being stubborn.”
“Y-yeah? Well you can find your own place to sleep tonight, too!”
Damn… Russia froze in his tracks. He had learned not to take such threats lightly. “You are going to spend all night out here. We shouldn’t separate,” he lowered his voice, trying to calm his own temper. He could barely make out the outline of America’s face, now. There was a thin sliver of reflection on the rim of his glasses. The rest of him sunk perfectly into the shadows. It would be nearly impossible finding their way back to the farm at this point. Out here, the fields could go on for miles without end. And America wasn’t acting serious. “This is not a game.”
“Not with you, it isn’t.”
“You are being a stupid child!” Russia growled. As soon as the words left his mouth, every muscle in his body seized up. There was silence. A breeze whipped through Russia’s coat, making him shiver. Then there was a rustling noise and the sound of footsteps crunching down the papery stalks.
“I guess this was a mistake.” America was quiet, sounding farther off. The crunching nearly drowned him out.
“Alfred?” Russia stared ahead into the blackness, but he couldn’t even see the corn stalks anymore. He waited a few minutes. There was no answer. Russia grunted in aggravation and stormed off in the direction he hoped they had come from at the beginning of the maze. He took a few bitter steps, stopped, then turned around and ran after America.
It didn’t help that America was smaller and stronger. His legs could carry him faster than most other nations when he was on familiar ground. Russia stumbled blindly ahead at a slow pace, occasionally tripping over a deep rut or getting whacked in the face with leaves. He could feel heavy clods of ice-cold mud clinging to his pant legs, weighing him down. His fingers were going numb. He shoved them deeper into his pockets.
A pack of coyotes was barking and yelping somewhere. Russia hoped they were not as close by as they sounded. Though it would serve America right to get eaten by his own creatures… Russia wrapped his scarf tighter. America was probably freezing. He had refused to wear even his favorite jacket when they’d left the house. He had claimed he was comfortable and Russia had let it go because maybe, later on, America would use it as an excuse to snuggle inside of Russia’s coat so they could share body heat. Russia held a hand up to his throbbing forehead. The clouds had shifted to let an inch of moon peek through, and if he squinted, he could see a clear path in front of him. The ground had leveled out. He had found the maze again. “Alfred?” he called, gaining speed with confidence.
“Ivan?” America was nearby.
Russia’s heart skipped in relief.
“Ivan? Where are you? I can’t see anything.”
“Stay there. I am coming to you.” Russia headed towards the sound, boots slipping wildly in his haste. He could see America standing just ahead. “You idiot,” he huffed angrily.
“I-” America began, once they were face to face. He snapped his mouth shut because his voice was shaking.
Russia raised his big arms around America and pulled him into a hug so tight it was painful.
“E-ease up, big guy,” America said breathlessly, but he buried his face into Russia’s chest and let himself be held.
“I did not mean to make you run away, dorogoy.”
“I know.”
Russia pressed a kiss firmly into America’s hair. He felt America furrow his brow and clench his jaw, which somehow meant more than watching it. He felt America inhale painfully and clutch back with all his strength. He waited for America to say more. Russia was afraid to find out how badly he had damaged them.
“Let’s go home,” America finally said, softly.
Russia closed his eyes for a moment in silent thanks.
“I think I found the way out.”
“Really?” Russia pulled away in surprise.
“Yeah. Come on.” America took his hand, gently this time, and guided him along.
With a few easy turns they made it to a sign stuck in the ground, marked ‘EXIT,’ with an arrow pointing to the left. They turned the corner and the corn gave way to open space. They could see the barn sitting on the hill, all locked up next to the empty parking lot. Empty except for one old, beat-up, dirt-spattered Ford.
“Told you we’d make it,” America joked quietly, giving Russia’s hand a squeeze and starting towards the truck.
Russia shook his head. Every day he spent with America aged him another hundred years. But he liked it that way.
“Let’s go back to my place and warm up.” America grinned. “I know something we can do that you’ll enjoy, too.”
((END <3))