[Fanfiction] True Love's Kiss (2/3)
Title: True Love's Kiss
Author: saemi_mitsuwa
Pairing: Russia/America
Rating: PG13
Summary: Due to a magical mishap, America and Russia are forced to reenact classic fairy tales. Every time they screw up or fight, they just end up in a new fairy tale. They can't escape until they manage one True Love's Kiss....
Notes: Written for hetalia_kink (And Unbeta'd, sorry if there are any spelling/grammar mistakes. Once I put this on FF.NET it'll be edited)
Chapters: One | Two | Three
++
America crawled onto the shoreline. His feet felt lacerated and bleeding, even when he knew they were perfectly fine.
Fuck…fuck
“Ah…America?”
America gasped at the sound of Russia’s voice and curled in on himself, trying to cover his nakedness. Glancing about, he found Russia approaching down the beach towards him.
“Are you…alright?”
America glared at him a moment before letting his eyes fall to the sandy beach.
“This…is the real version of Little Mermaid?” Russia asked, his voice sounding uncertain. “I…I’ll admit that… I have only seen your version. I never had much time for reading fairytales…”
America turned to him in surprise.
“Your…your voice is gone then?”
America shook his head and pressed his lips together.
“Then…?”
America glared at him and opened his mouth, revealing the tongue that was cut away. Russia blanched, a strange look coming over his face before surging forward and falling to his knees in the sand beside America.
“Are you alright?”
America made an outraged face and tried shoving him away. Russia held fast, grasping either shoulder and shook him gently.
“America-” Russia shook him again. “Please… are you alright?”
America met his violet gaze, and sighed, letting his head fall onto Russia’s chest.
“…right, of course.” Russia nodded to himself, withdrew from America and stood, pulling his white shirt off and handing it to him. “Put this on. I’ll see about getting you cleaned up and something…liquid…to eat. That’s what happens…right?”
America shrugged, frowning at his predicament. Taking the shirt, he pulled it on over his head, finding the shirt to be very oversized and ending well past his waist.
“Good enough, I suppose.” Russia offered his hand to America. “Come?”
America stared at it a moment before sliding his fingers over the offered hand.
++
“I…I have to marry her, America.”
America crossed his arms and turned away.
“America, every time I try to say no, that dizzy sensation returns.” Russia reasoned. “If we want to escape this…this nightmare then we must try to re-enact the fairytale…right?”
America seethed, glaring holes into the wall of Russia’s bedroom.
“I…” Russia sighed and pulled away. “I can’t deal with you when you are silent like this. I know it isn’t your fault but…” Russia shook his head. “I…I liked you better when you could talk. Because then I knew exactly how you felt…and exactly what you thought of something. I didn’t have to guess. I never had to…not with you.”
America finally turned to stare at him. Picking up a pad of paper and a charcoal pencil, he wrote frantically onto the paper, tore it away and shoved it at Russia’s chest. Russia took it and read it.
If your so worried, then lets change the fairytale to another one!
“But…America we’re almost done with this one. If we just finish it then we’ll free-”
America flung the charcoal at him and stormed out of the room.
++
America sat alone on the docks, his legs dangling in the water.
I can’t handle seeing some fucking temple girl marrying him. Standing at the altar, dressed in those fancy clothes…exchanging vows and…and kissing each other…”
America shook his head in disgust and folded his arms.
That…and the sea witches warning… America turned up and stared into the star-filled sky. If he marries that girl…then I’ll turn to sea foam…and die.
Just then, three heads surfaced below his feet.
Stiffening in surprise, America jerked away, but found the heads to belong to his sisters. They stared at him, their eyes sad and full of worry.
“Dearest sister,” said the eldest. “We have something that might help you.” She held up a silver and mother-of-pearl encrusted dagger. “We gave the sea witch our hair in return for this.”
The sister to the right of her nodded, and pushed the dagger to America. “It is a way for you to return to the ocean, and become what you once were.”
“If you take this dagger, thrust it into the prince’s heart, and let his blood spill across your legs, you will become a mermaid once more.”
America gaped at the three girls and hesitated. A light headed, dizzy sensation overcame him, and America quickly snatched the dagger from them. The feeling receded. The sisters smiled at him, revealing translucent talon-like teeth.
“Please…return to the ocean, my sister.”
They heads disappeared underwater.
America stared at the spot where they were a moment, his fingers curling around the blade of the dagger.
What…the fuck is wrong with this fairytale?
++
America walked down the long hallway to where the princes room was. His feet pounding into the marble floor despite the stabbing pain coming from each one. The large double door finally coming into view, America grasped the handle, twisted and pushed it open. The room was lavishly decorate, the huge bed set in the center. It was round, and the bed sheets were rumpled, revealing two distinct lumps.
America paused. Wait…two lumps??
America stepped closer, finding Russia laying on one side, and the temple girl, the girl that supposedly save him, which was total bullshit in his opinion, laying at the other side of the bed. Mouth gaping open in shock, America stumbled away and felt the dagger slip through his fingers and clatter to the floor.
The sound startled the two from their sleep. Russia turned to face him, his violet eyes widening.
“A-America-”
“Honey…who is that girl?”
“Ahhh…” Russia glanced from the girl in his bed to America. “Well…um…”
America breathed through his nose, counted to ten, and tried to think of what England might do in a situation like this.
“America, I can explain, it was the spell- I had no choice-”
England…England…fuck me England would completely lose it! What the fuck?! He already married her?? Did he even think about me at all!?
America panted, his cheeks turning red in anger as he slowly stepped backwards. Bumping into the dresser, America turned to face it and placed his hands on the surface.
Okay…okay I can do this. I can handle this rationally. Remember what the boss said about controlling my temper?? Right, Just breathe deeply and-
“Who is she?” The newly wedded princess demanded of her husband. “Is she your mistress? Have you been cheating on me!?”
America curled his fingers into fists and slammed them into the dresser. The wood disintegrated under his fists and fell away in a deafening shatter of wood splinters. Never had he felt so enraged with jealousy before. Gasping, he slapped his hands on either side of the dresser, raised it over his head and turned to face the newlyweds.
Russia sat stoically on the mattress, his legs and arms crossed, awaiting for the spell to kick in and transfer them to a different fairytale. The newly married princess gasped and pressed herself to the wall.
“Why are you so angry?!” the princess demanded, seeming unable to take it all in. “We are legally married! There’s nothing you can do!”
America raised the dresser and smashed it to the floor with an angry growl, as he was unable to express himself with his tongue being cut out. The wood cracked and split open sending wooden splinters everywhere. The princess screamed, and reached for something to defend herself with. Her hands landed on a ceramic glass bowl. Raising it, she flung it at America.
America caught the bowl with one hand. The princess gawked in surprise, her mouth dropping open.
Sending the bowl to the floor with an ear-splitting shatter, America turned his attention to Russia and stalked towards him.
Russia turned to glare at him when America seized his left hand, tore the golden ring from his finger and shook it in the air at his face.
“I already told you, I had no choice.” Russia’s tone was flat and even. “I wanted to finish this fairytale so we can finally leave-”
America placed the ring in the palm of his hand, clenched his fingers into a fist for a second before reopening his fingers. The ring was crushed into a small ball of gold.
Russia studied it with a raised brow.
“Oh now that is mature, America.” Russia couldn’t help but a tiny smile that tugged at the edges of his mouth, a soft chuckling emitting from his lips. “The fact that you are so affected by this amuses me.”
America raised his hand over his head and flung the ring to the floor, the force of which caused it to sink into the solid marble floor with a loud crack.
“Yes. I know you are upset.”
Russia grabbed America and tugged him to the bed as the room started its tell-tale spinning.
“Might as well get comfortable, да? Don’t want you cracking your head open for the third time in a row.”
++
America lay on a feathery-soft bed with dread in his gut.
What will it be this time? Aladdin and the 40 thieves? Beauty and the Beast? Some obscure fairy tale I’ve never hear of?
Stretching his arms out, he felt the bed to be smooth, like soft mole skin, only firm. Frowning, he sucked in a breath and opened his eyes.
The petals of a pink flower surrounded him and curled upward.
…Where in the hell am I?
Sitting up, he found himself to be in a simple sky-blue gown that covered him from his neck, to his arms and stretched down to his bare feet.
…looks like I’m the chick again. Wonderful.
Standing from his makeshift bed, he stepped to the edge of the flower and peered over the petals. The flower he was in was planted in a clay pot that sat upon a window sill inside the first floor of a simple two-story cottage. A river-stone fireplace was embedded into the right wall, the stairs leading upward to the left, and the front door directly ahead. The room was decorated in a rustic fashion, homemade oddities adorning the walls and mantle of the fireplace.
Looking around the room, and then down at himself, America realized he was about two inches tall.
…shit.
++
“…Which is why I want you to marry my son. He deserves a fine girl like yourself.”
America crossed his arms and slouched in the walnut shell turned bed for himself. A female toad gripped his walnut shell in a single arm, lifting it with ease as they jumped to her watery home.
“Really?”
…As if I could give a flying fuck about that. Where the hell is Russia? Hopefully he’s read this story before.
“Yes, now, what is your name girl?”
“…Thumbelina.”
“Lovely! Now wait here, I’ll get my son.” The toad smiled at him, or as close to a smile as she could get, and jumped onto a lily pad nestled in the reeds of a pond. Carefully, she set the shell down and hopped to another lily pad where she disappeared. “Come quick, my son! I have a young bride who will take care of you.”
America, unable to resist the urge, rolled his eyes. Stepping out of the shell, he smoothed down his dress and eyed it for a moment. …I take back everything I ever said about women and dresses. Give me a pair of jeans any day. Plus… this really makes me look pudgy.
“Here he is!” The toad stepped out of the grasses and reeds, dragging someone out with her.
It was Russia.
++
America drug Russia away from his mother, who beamed happily when they disappeared in the reeds.
“Please tell me you know this fairytale.”
Russia stared at him, his clothes nothing but waterlogged rags.
“…I was hoping you would know.”
“You never read it!?” America gasped, his voice reaching that hysterical tone that hadn’t been heard since the 9/11 crisis. “Fuck, Russia, I-”
“Calm down.” Russia admonished, narrowing his eyes at him. “That toad wants us to get married, so…why not do as she says.”
America breathed deeply, repeating the mantra of I can do this. I am a calm and rational nation in his head.
“Okay…okay. Yeah. I’ll say yes to that toad and-“
The dizzy, light headed feeling returned, slamming into his chest and leaving him wavering on his feet. Russia grabbed his shoulders, concern filtering into his violet-eyed gaze.
Gasping, America breathed deeply and shook his head, waiting for the dizzy-spell the pass.
“…that is not how the story goes…is it?” Russia asked, his voice soft.
America swallowed and stared at his feet, unable to meet Russia’s gaze.
The two stood clinging to each other, the silence a thick cloud between them.
“Then… you must finish the story without me.”
America looked up suddenly, his eyebrows knitting together and face scrunching up.
“Don’t.” Russia glared at him. “We have to finish this...if you don’t, we’ll just be put in another fairytale, and if you don’t like that one, we’ll go to another and another… it will be an endless cycle. I refuse to live like this any longer. We have a life, back on earth. We are not meant to remain in this magical fantasy.”
America frowned and pulled away, leveling a glare at Russia.
“…Fine.”
++
Three days later, after escaping a kidnapping by a talking dung beetle and his supposed friends, America found himself in the company of a field mouse. She was friendly enough, offering him a warm place to stay and acorns to eat while a snow storm raged outside. Out of gratitude, and urging by the magical forces of the fairytale, America cleaned her den.
I’m only staying here until the snow storm passes, then I’m leaving and finding the prince…at least…I think that’s how this is supposed to go.
The mouse, looking very much like a typical field mouse, only it was much cleaner, sat to the corner of the room and chewed on a nut grasped tightly in her clawed hands.
“So you were born from a flower? And are now seeking companionship?”
“That’s right.”
The mouth chewed, her black beady eyes gleaming thoughtfully.
“You are such a kind, well rounded girl. And since you are looking for companionship, perhaps you might marry my neighbor?”
America paused in his sweeping.
“…And…who is your neighbor?”
“Why he is a mole, a very nice fellow, but he cannot see very well and has trouble getting around.” The mouse chittered happily. “I’m sure he’d love you!”
America stared at her a long moment and returned to sweeping the dirt floor.
“Ah…I think I’d rather wait for someone else.” America started carefully, worried the fairytale might interfere. Moments passed without the dizzy feeling, and America continued more truthfully. “And why would I wanna marry a mole anyways? We’re not even the same species!”
The mouse blinked at him.
“Ah. Right…um…yeah.” America sighed and clenched the broom in his hands. “I can’t marry your neighbor.”
Silence passed. The mouse set her half-chewed nut to the floor.
“You are waiting for someone else?”
“…Yes.” America swallowed and stared at the floor. “I’ve been waiting for a long time.”
“Do they return your feelings?”
America paused in his sweeping.
…My feelings. What are the hell are my feelings? I mean…I care about Russia. I feel…sad when he’s sad… upset when he’s angry…happy when he’s happy…I think he’s physically attractive, even though everyone teases him for his height and being ‘big-boned’…but…
“I…I don’t know.”
The mouse huffed.
“You don’t know?”
“What?” America frowned. “You don’t know him! He is…the most stubborn, hard to read guy I’ve known! He’s secretive about everything, he hates opening up or having conversations about emotions when its obvious he needs to vent, he drinks vodka like its water, his mood swings are scary, he-”
“But you care about him? You have…feelings for him, even when all you can do is complain?”
“No, I-!” America leaned back against the wall. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Then why do you care about him?”
He stared at the field mouse.
“I…ah…”
America fell silent, and for the first time in his long life, he didn’t know what to say.
++
The snow storm passed after a few days, but it was impossible to leave on foot. America was forced to stay with the mouse until spring. He spent the days cleaning and doing chores to pass the time, but at night his thoughts were fill with the tall, pale, violet eyed Russian. I can’t keep rejecting the fairytales, just because Russia and I don’t…don’t…end up together. I have to push him from my mind…I can’t keep thinking of him like this…even if I miss him so much.
He sighed and rolled over in his makeshift bed. If this was like any of the other fairytales, most likely it involves me marrying a prince of some sort.
The day spring came, he left the mouse’s home and started off on foot. Spending days walking through immense forests and thick underbrush, he crested a hill and found himself in another strange forest, only the trees were replaced with tall flowers, their stalks thick and leaves fuzzy. America sighed, and looked upwards, finding the sun completely blocked out by the flowers, which were most likely marigolds, considering his tiny size.
“I’ll have climb up to the bud if I wanna see where I’m going-“
A male voice came from above, it was low and commanding. The voice of someone in charge.
Bingo.
America grasped the stalk, kicked off his cloth girly shoes and crawled up the shaft of the flower, resting at each leaf before continuing onto the bud. Parting the thick yellow petals, America pushed himself through and rolled, hitting the center with a sigh of relief. The male voice quieted, and footsteps sounded.
“…Girl? Are you alright?”
America opened his eyes. A handsome prince stood before him in red and golden clothing, his hair brown and curly. Dainty wings sprouted his back and glittered in the sunlight.
“I’m fine!” America slowly pushed himself up to his feet, rejecting any help from the prince, thanks to his inner feminist citizens. “Name’s Thumbelina, I’ve been traveling and looking for someone to take care of me-” He couldn’t help the cringe. “-and to find a companion. Will you be able to provide that?”
Please fucking work.
America finally straightened and looked around.
“a companion? Why you’re lovely enough, and my parents have been after me about finding a bride so-”
The prince’s voice fell away into nothingness and America turned his eyes over the landscape.
An endless field of sunflowers surrounded them. The intoxicating smell and large flowering buds directed to catch the sun’s golden rays of light... the thick yellow petals almost blinding in the mid-day sun. A breathless sigh escaped, and America felt the feelings he’d kept smothered away, hidden in the deepest darkest corner of himself break free and flood his chest to the brim, stealing his breath away.
It was no secret that Russia loved sunflowers. For whenever America had the pleasure of visited Russia’s home on official business, there was always a vase in the kitchen filled with sunflowers. Most often they were from his sisters, as Russia hastily explained upon questioning him, but America knew the real reason. His time spent with Lithuania had been enlightening, to say the least. It was during New Year’s eve, after one too many drinks, that the smaller nation told of the awkward conversation he’d had with Russia once, where the elder nation told him of his dream.
L-Living in a warm place...Surrounded by sunflowers.
America frowned suddenly, his chest tightening.
Russia…oh if only you could see this…but…your still at the murky pond, with that toad…where you’ve been waiting all winter for the fairytale to end. Waiting for me to… to marry this prince.
America thought of Russia and the handful of times to two spent together without it dissolving into some kind of argument. Russia helping him during his civil war, offering advice for the young nation. Russia visiting with his Tsar, hunting buffalo and taking in the America’s landscape, Russia sharing his vodka flask with America… Russia and him working together in the last world war... Russia sitting with him and eating a burger as their bosses conversed nearby…Russia’s hand lingering on his own… A ghost of a smile on his lips.
“…Oh.”
“…-Miss-Miss??” the prince’s voice suddenly came into focus behind him. A hand gripped his shoulder. “Are you alright?”
“No.”
“Well…just come with me, I’ll take you to my father’s castle and-”
“No.” America turned around to face the prince. “I can’t.”
The prince peered at her, his eyes growing hurt.
“…Why?”
America swallowed and twisted his fingers together. His insides felt as if they were being ripped apart and set on fire all at once.
“Because… I don’t love you.”
The dizzy feeling fell upon him like a hammer to an anvil. America collapsed to his knees and fell onto his side, curling in on himself.
I’m sorry, Russia.
Author: saemi_mitsuwa
Pairing: Russia/America
Rating: PG13
Summary: Due to a magical mishap, America and Russia are forced to reenact classic fairy tales. Every time they screw up or fight, they just end up in a new fairy tale. They can't escape until they manage one True Love's Kiss....
Notes: Written for hetalia_kink (And Unbeta'd, sorry if there are any spelling/grammar mistakes. Once I put this on FF.NET it'll be edited)
Chapters: One | Two | Three
++
America crawled onto the shoreline. His feet felt lacerated and bleeding, even when he knew they were perfectly fine.
Fuck…fuck
“Ah…America?”
America gasped at the sound of Russia’s voice and curled in on himself, trying to cover his nakedness. Glancing about, he found Russia approaching down the beach towards him.
“Are you…alright?”
America glared at him a moment before letting his eyes fall to the sandy beach.
“This…is the real version of Little Mermaid?” Russia asked, his voice sounding uncertain. “I…I’ll admit that… I have only seen your version. I never had much time for reading fairytales…”
America turned to him in surprise.
“Your…your voice is gone then?”
America shook his head and pressed his lips together.
“Then…?”
America glared at him and opened his mouth, revealing the tongue that was cut away. Russia blanched, a strange look coming over his face before surging forward and falling to his knees in the sand beside America.
“Are you alright?”
America made an outraged face and tried shoving him away. Russia held fast, grasping either shoulder and shook him gently.
“America-” Russia shook him again. “Please… are you alright?”
America met his violet gaze, and sighed, letting his head fall onto Russia’s chest.
“…right, of course.” Russia nodded to himself, withdrew from America and stood, pulling his white shirt off and handing it to him. “Put this on. I’ll see about getting you cleaned up and something…liquid…to eat. That’s what happens…right?”
America shrugged, frowning at his predicament. Taking the shirt, he pulled it on over his head, finding the shirt to be very oversized and ending well past his waist.
“Good enough, I suppose.” Russia offered his hand to America. “Come?”
America stared at it a moment before sliding his fingers over the offered hand.
++
“I…I have to marry her, America.”
America crossed his arms and turned away.
“America, every time I try to say no, that dizzy sensation returns.” Russia reasoned. “If we want to escape this…this nightmare then we must try to re-enact the fairytale…right?”
America seethed, glaring holes into the wall of Russia’s bedroom.
“I…” Russia sighed and pulled away. “I can’t deal with you when you are silent like this. I know it isn’t your fault but…” Russia shook his head. “I…I liked you better when you could talk. Because then I knew exactly how you felt…and exactly what you thought of something. I didn’t have to guess. I never had to…not with you.”
America finally turned to stare at him. Picking up a pad of paper and a charcoal pencil, he wrote frantically onto the paper, tore it away and shoved it at Russia’s chest. Russia took it and read it.
If your so worried, then lets change the fairytale to another one!
“But…America we’re almost done with this one. If we just finish it then we’ll free-”
America flung the charcoal at him and stormed out of the room.
++
America sat alone on the docks, his legs dangling in the water.
I can’t handle seeing some fucking temple girl marrying him. Standing at the altar, dressed in those fancy clothes…exchanging vows and…and kissing each other…”
America shook his head in disgust and folded his arms.
That…and the sea witches warning… America turned up and stared into the star-filled sky. If he marries that girl…then I’ll turn to sea foam…and die.
Just then, three heads surfaced below his feet.
Stiffening in surprise, America jerked away, but found the heads to belong to his sisters. They stared at him, their eyes sad and full of worry.
“Dearest sister,” said the eldest. “We have something that might help you.” She held up a silver and mother-of-pearl encrusted dagger. “We gave the sea witch our hair in return for this.”
The sister to the right of her nodded, and pushed the dagger to America. “It is a way for you to return to the ocean, and become what you once were.”
“If you take this dagger, thrust it into the prince’s heart, and let his blood spill across your legs, you will become a mermaid once more.”
America gaped at the three girls and hesitated. A light headed, dizzy sensation overcame him, and America quickly snatched the dagger from them. The feeling receded. The sisters smiled at him, revealing translucent talon-like teeth.
“Please…return to the ocean, my sister.”
They heads disappeared underwater.
America stared at the spot where they were a moment, his fingers curling around the blade of the dagger.
What…the fuck is wrong with this fairytale?
++
America walked down the long hallway to where the princes room was. His feet pounding into the marble floor despite the stabbing pain coming from each one. The large double door finally coming into view, America grasped the handle, twisted and pushed it open. The room was lavishly decorate, the huge bed set in the center. It was round, and the bed sheets were rumpled, revealing two distinct lumps.
America paused. Wait…two lumps??
America stepped closer, finding Russia laying on one side, and the temple girl, the girl that supposedly save him, which was total bullshit in his opinion, laying at the other side of the bed. Mouth gaping open in shock, America stumbled away and felt the dagger slip through his fingers and clatter to the floor.
The sound startled the two from their sleep. Russia turned to face him, his violet eyes widening.
“A-America-”
“Honey…who is that girl?”
“Ahhh…” Russia glanced from the girl in his bed to America. “Well…um…”
America breathed through his nose, counted to ten, and tried to think of what England might do in a situation like this.
“America, I can explain, it was the spell- I had no choice-”
England…England…fuck me England would completely lose it! What the fuck?! He already married her?? Did he even think about me at all!?
America panted, his cheeks turning red in anger as he slowly stepped backwards. Bumping into the dresser, America turned to face it and placed his hands on the surface.
Okay…okay I can do this. I can handle this rationally. Remember what the boss said about controlling my temper?? Right, Just breathe deeply and-
“Who is she?” The newly wedded princess demanded of her husband. “Is she your mistress? Have you been cheating on me!?”
America curled his fingers into fists and slammed them into the dresser. The wood disintegrated under his fists and fell away in a deafening shatter of wood splinters. Never had he felt so enraged with jealousy before. Gasping, he slapped his hands on either side of the dresser, raised it over his head and turned to face the newlyweds.
Russia sat stoically on the mattress, his legs and arms crossed, awaiting for the spell to kick in and transfer them to a different fairytale. The newly married princess gasped and pressed herself to the wall.
“Why are you so angry?!” the princess demanded, seeming unable to take it all in. “We are legally married! There’s nothing you can do!”
America raised the dresser and smashed it to the floor with an angry growl, as he was unable to express himself with his tongue being cut out. The wood cracked and split open sending wooden splinters everywhere. The princess screamed, and reached for something to defend herself with. Her hands landed on a ceramic glass bowl. Raising it, she flung it at America.
America caught the bowl with one hand. The princess gawked in surprise, her mouth dropping open.
Sending the bowl to the floor with an ear-splitting shatter, America turned his attention to Russia and stalked towards him.
Russia turned to glare at him when America seized his left hand, tore the golden ring from his finger and shook it in the air at his face.
“I already told you, I had no choice.” Russia’s tone was flat and even. “I wanted to finish this fairytale so we can finally leave-”
America placed the ring in the palm of his hand, clenched his fingers into a fist for a second before reopening his fingers. The ring was crushed into a small ball of gold.
Russia studied it with a raised brow.
“Oh now that is mature, America.” Russia couldn’t help but a tiny smile that tugged at the edges of his mouth, a soft chuckling emitting from his lips. “The fact that you are so affected by this amuses me.”
America raised his hand over his head and flung the ring to the floor, the force of which caused it to sink into the solid marble floor with a loud crack.
“Yes. I know you are upset.”
Russia grabbed America and tugged him to the bed as the room started its tell-tale spinning.
“Might as well get comfortable, да? Don’t want you cracking your head open for the third time in a row.”
++
America lay on a feathery-soft bed with dread in his gut.
What will it be this time? Aladdin and the 40 thieves? Beauty and the Beast? Some obscure fairy tale I’ve never hear of?
Stretching his arms out, he felt the bed to be smooth, like soft mole skin, only firm. Frowning, he sucked in a breath and opened his eyes.
The petals of a pink flower surrounded him and curled upward.
…Where in the hell am I?
Sitting up, he found himself to be in a simple sky-blue gown that covered him from his neck, to his arms and stretched down to his bare feet.
…looks like I’m the chick again. Wonderful.
Standing from his makeshift bed, he stepped to the edge of the flower and peered over the petals. The flower he was in was planted in a clay pot that sat upon a window sill inside the first floor of a simple two-story cottage. A river-stone fireplace was embedded into the right wall, the stairs leading upward to the left, and the front door directly ahead. The room was decorated in a rustic fashion, homemade oddities adorning the walls and mantle of the fireplace.
Looking around the room, and then down at himself, America realized he was about two inches tall.
…shit.
++
“…Which is why I want you to marry my son. He deserves a fine girl like yourself.”
America crossed his arms and slouched in the walnut shell turned bed for himself. A female toad gripped his walnut shell in a single arm, lifting it with ease as they jumped to her watery home.
“Really?”
…As if I could give a flying fuck about that. Where the hell is Russia? Hopefully he’s read this story before.
“Yes, now, what is your name girl?”
“…Thumbelina.”
“Lovely! Now wait here, I’ll get my son.” The toad smiled at him, or as close to a smile as she could get, and jumped onto a lily pad nestled in the reeds of a pond. Carefully, she set the shell down and hopped to another lily pad where she disappeared. “Come quick, my son! I have a young bride who will take care of you.”
America, unable to resist the urge, rolled his eyes. Stepping out of the shell, he smoothed down his dress and eyed it for a moment. …I take back everything I ever said about women and dresses. Give me a pair of jeans any day. Plus… this really makes me look pudgy.
“Here he is!” The toad stepped out of the grasses and reeds, dragging someone out with her.
It was Russia.
++
America drug Russia away from his mother, who beamed happily when they disappeared in the reeds.
“Please tell me you know this fairytale.”
Russia stared at him, his clothes nothing but waterlogged rags.
“…I was hoping you would know.”
“You never read it!?” America gasped, his voice reaching that hysterical tone that hadn’t been heard since the 9/11 crisis. “Fuck, Russia, I-”
“Calm down.” Russia admonished, narrowing his eyes at him. “That toad wants us to get married, so…why not do as she says.”
America breathed deeply, repeating the mantra of I can do this. I am a calm and rational nation in his head.
“Okay…okay. Yeah. I’ll say yes to that toad and-“
The dizzy, light headed feeling returned, slamming into his chest and leaving him wavering on his feet. Russia grabbed his shoulders, concern filtering into his violet-eyed gaze.
Gasping, America breathed deeply and shook his head, waiting for the dizzy-spell the pass.
“…that is not how the story goes…is it?” Russia asked, his voice soft.
America swallowed and stared at his feet, unable to meet Russia’s gaze.
The two stood clinging to each other, the silence a thick cloud between them.
“Then… you must finish the story without me.”
America looked up suddenly, his eyebrows knitting together and face scrunching up.
“Don’t.” Russia glared at him. “We have to finish this...if you don’t, we’ll just be put in another fairytale, and if you don’t like that one, we’ll go to another and another… it will be an endless cycle. I refuse to live like this any longer. We have a life, back on earth. We are not meant to remain in this magical fantasy.”
America frowned and pulled away, leveling a glare at Russia.
“…Fine.”
++
Three days later, after escaping a kidnapping by a talking dung beetle and his supposed friends, America found himself in the company of a field mouse. She was friendly enough, offering him a warm place to stay and acorns to eat while a snow storm raged outside. Out of gratitude, and urging by the magical forces of the fairytale, America cleaned her den.
I’m only staying here until the snow storm passes, then I’m leaving and finding the prince…at least…I think that’s how this is supposed to go.
The mouse, looking very much like a typical field mouse, only it was much cleaner, sat to the corner of the room and chewed on a nut grasped tightly in her clawed hands.
“So you were born from a flower? And are now seeking companionship?”
“That’s right.”
The mouth chewed, her black beady eyes gleaming thoughtfully.
“You are such a kind, well rounded girl. And since you are looking for companionship, perhaps you might marry my neighbor?”
America paused in his sweeping.
“…And…who is your neighbor?”
“Why he is a mole, a very nice fellow, but he cannot see very well and has trouble getting around.” The mouse chittered happily. “I’m sure he’d love you!”
America stared at her a long moment and returned to sweeping the dirt floor.
“Ah…I think I’d rather wait for someone else.” America started carefully, worried the fairytale might interfere. Moments passed without the dizzy feeling, and America continued more truthfully. “And why would I wanna marry a mole anyways? We’re not even the same species!”
The mouse blinked at him.
“Ah. Right…um…yeah.” America sighed and clenched the broom in his hands. “I can’t marry your neighbor.”
Silence passed. The mouse set her half-chewed nut to the floor.
“You are waiting for someone else?”
“…Yes.” America swallowed and stared at the floor. “I’ve been waiting for a long time.”
“Do they return your feelings?”
America paused in his sweeping.
…My feelings. What are the hell are my feelings? I mean…I care about Russia. I feel…sad when he’s sad… upset when he’s angry…happy when he’s happy…I think he’s physically attractive, even though everyone teases him for his height and being ‘big-boned’…but…
“I…I don’t know.”
The mouse huffed.
“You don’t know?”
“What?” America frowned. “You don’t know him! He is…the most stubborn, hard to read guy I’ve known! He’s secretive about everything, he hates opening up or having conversations about emotions when its obvious he needs to vent, he drinks vodka like its water, his mood swings are scary, he-”
“But you care about him? You have…feelings for him, even when all you can do is complain?”
“No, I-!” America leaned back against the wall. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Then why do you care about him?”
He stared at the field mouse.
“I…ah…”
America fell silent, and for the first time in his long life, he didn’t know what to say.
++
The snow storm passed after a few days, but it was impossible to leave on foot. America was forced to stay with the mouse until spring. He spent the days cleaning and doing chores to pass the time, but at night his thoughts were fill with the tall, pale, violet eyed Russian. I can’t keep rejecting the fairytales, just because Russia and I don’t…don’t…end up together. I have to push him from my mind…I can’t keep thinking of him like this…even if I miss him so much.
He sighed and rolled over in his makeshift bed. If this was like any of the other fairytales, most likely it involves me marrying a prince of some sort.
The day spring came, he left the mouse’s home and started off on foot. Spending days walking through immense forests and thick underbrush, he crested a hill and found himself in another strange forest, only the trees were replaced with tall flowers, their stalks thick and leaves fuzzy. America sighed, and looked upwards, finding the sun completely blocked out by the flowers, which were most likely marigolds, considering his tiny size.
“I’ll have climb up to the bud if I wanna see where I’m going-“
A male voice came from above, it was low and commanding. The voice of someone in charge.
Bingo.
America grasped the stalk, kicked off his cloth girly shoes and crawled up the shaft of the flower, resting at each leaf before continuing onto the bud. Parting the thick yellow petals, America pushed himself through and rolled, hitting the center with a sigh of relief. The male voice quieted, and footsteps sounded.
“…Girl? Are you alright?”
America opened his eyes. A handsome prince stood before him in red and golden clothing, his hair brown and curly. Dainty wings sprouted his back and glittered in the sunlight.
“I’m fine!” America slowly pushed himself up to his feet, rejecting any help from the prince, thanks to his inner feminist citizens. “Name’s Thumbelina, I’ve been traveling and looking for someone to take care of me-” He couldn’t help the cringe. “-and to find a companion. Will you be able to provide that?”
Please fucking work.
America finally straightened and looked around.
“a companion? Why you’re lovely enough, and my parents have been after me about finding a bride so-”
The prince’s voice fell away into nothingness and America turned his eyes over the landscape.
An endless field of sunflowers surrounded them. The intoxicating smell and large flowering buds directed to catch the sun’s golden rays of light... the thick yellow petals almost blinding in the mid-day sun. A breathless sigh escaped, and America felt the feelings he’d kept smothered away, hidden in the deepest darkest corner of himself break free and flood his chest to the brim, stealing his breath away.
It was no secret that Russia loved sunflowers. For whenever America had the pleasure of visited Russia’s home on official business, there was always a vase in the kitchen filled with sunflowers. Most often they were from his sisters, as Russia hastily explained upon questioning him, but America knew the real reason. His time spent with Lithuania had been enlightening, to say the least. It was during New Year’s eve, after one too many drinks, that the smaller nation told of the awkward conversation he’d had with Russia once, where the elder nation told him of his dream.
L-Living in a warm place...Surrounded by sunflowers.
America frowned suddenly, his chest tightening.
Russia…oh if only you could see this…but…your still at the murky pond, with that toad…where you’ve been waiting all winter for the fairytale to end. Waiting for me to… to marry this prince.
America thought of Russia and the handful of times to two spent together without it dissolving into some kind of argument. Russia helping him during his civil war, offering advice for the young nation. Russia visiting with his Tsar, hunting buffalo and taking in the America’s landscape, Russia sharing his vodka flask with America… Russia and him working together in the last world war... Russia sitting with him and eating a burger as their bosses conversed nearby…Russia’s hand lingering on his own… A ghost of a smile on his lips.
“…Oh.”
“…-Miss-Miss??” the prince’s voice suddenly came into focus behind him. A hand gripped his shoulder. “Are you alright?”
“No.”
“Well…just come with me, I’ll take you to my father’s castle and-”
“No.” America turned around to face the prince. “I can’t.”
The prince peered at her, his eyes growing hurt.
“…Why?”
America swallowed and twisted his fingers together. His insides felt as if they were being ripped apart and set on fire all at once.
“Because… I don’t love you.”
The dizzy feeling fell upon him like a hammer to an anvil. America collapsed to his knees and fell onto his side, curling in on himself.
I’m sorry, Russia.