Unwilling Hero (2/??)
Title: Unwilling Hero (2/??)
Author/Artist: starfoxx322 and pixystixys
Character(s) or Pairing(s): America, England, (UsUk) and Russia
Rating: PG-13 (Probably M overall for mentions of sex and mentions of rape)
Warnings: Language, violence, MAJOR angst, guys kissing
Summary: Russia wants a world war and only America can give it to him. How far will they both go to get what they want?
This chapter: Russia calls America to his home again, this time for a status check... but of course he's not content to let America leave without hurting him first
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A few days after their disastrous first meeting, America stalked into Russia’s office, furious. Those Russian people were extremely annoying!! Following him everywhere, dictating his every move, it was enough to drive a nation to the brink of insanity! And on top of it all, Russia wanted a meeting with him. “Those bombs are scheduled to drop tomorrow,” he snapped at Russia, thoroughly displeased with the way things were turning out. “Happy, Commie?”
That horrible disconcerting smile of Russia’s spread across his face. “Why, yes.”
America gritted his teeth. “Now let England go!”
“Of course not!” Russia exclaimed, as if the idea was completely unheard of and America was a complete fool for suggesting it.
At this, America raised his voice, his anger rising in his chest. “Why not?!” he demanded, balling his hands into fists at his side, telling himself to calm down, for England’s sake.
The seemingly sweet smile that continued to haunt the tall man’s face did not fool the American one bit. “I still need your cooperation in this scheme of mine, and your sweet Arthur is the only way to ensure it.”
America started shaking in fury and spoke through his teeth. “What else is there left to do?”
Russia sighed, frustrated with the fact America did not seem to be catching onto the plan. “There is a war to fight, comrade, and you will be doing the fighting for me, so that I may swoop in at the last moment and be a ‘hero’ to the countries you have devastated,” he told America, in a tone suggested that America had the attention span of something even more worthless than a gnat.
Something inside America snapped. That bastard didn’t even know what the word hero meant, much less how to be one! How dare he look down on America try and take America’s place as protector of freedom! No more. He tackled Russia to the ground and secured his hands around the Russian’s neck, trying his hardest to squeeze the life out of the other man. “Call it off!!” he yelled in the Russian’s face, voice quivering with fury.
Large gloved hands tried to pry America’s hands of their owner’s neck, but to no avail. “I... will have him killed... if you don't let go...” Russia gasped as he struggled to fight America off.
There was no way in hell that the young nation was letting that happen. America tightened his grip, fully intending to end it right there. “No one can hear you if you can't breathe!”
One of Russia’s hands gave up the struggle to get America to release his hold. Instead it slipped down into one of Russia’s coat pockets and pulled out a walkie-talkie. “Shoot... the prisoner..!” Russia managed to get out before the lack of oxygen made it impossible for him to speak.
The moment the words left Russia’s mouth, America froze, letting go. No, no, not again! He couldn’t let it happen again. England! “No! Don't!” he pleaded, hoping he could reverse the circumstances that had brought him to the threshold of this tragedy yet again.
Sitting up, Russia gasped for breath. “Too late...”
America could hear a shot go off in the distance as he climbed off Russia. “NO!” he screamed, slamming his fist against the ground. It hurt, but not enough to block out the throbbing pain tearing through his heart. England… Arthur… Arthur!
Russia pulled himself to his feet and towered over America. “He hasn't died, of course,” he said, not to console the smaller nation, but to inform him of the fact England was alive and Russia could keep hurting him if he so chose. America didn’t need to be told that England had not died; it takes a lot more than a gunshot wound to kill a nation. That didn’t erase the fact that England had to be in momentous amounts of pain. He tried to hold back his tears. He wasn’t going to let him see him cry, not today.
“But we can assume that he is in a lot of pain, da?” Russia didn’t need to tell America that either. Why didn’t he just shut up? America’s whole body ached for England, to hold him and know that his lover was safe. And Russia’s voice continued one relentlessly, making America hurt even more
“And it is all your fault. If you had only listened, poor Arthur would be safe...being shot twice in two days... How do you think it must feel? Too me, it seems very painful. What do you think, comrade? Perhaps we should ask him ourselves da?”
“No, leave him out of this!!” As much as he wanted to see England and make sure he was going to be okay, America didn’t want Russia anywhere near England. It could only end in pain and England already had gone through enough of that.
This was apparently not in Russia’s plan. “So you don't want to see your lover then?” he asked in a mocking sort of tone. “Very well, perhaps I will visit him later so he does not get lonely...”
“DON'T YOU DARE…” America started furiously and trailed off, remembering that trying to order Russia around was a very bad idea as far as England was concerned.
“Why shouldn't I?” Russia asked innocently. “It must be frightening and lonely to be locked up in a small dark room all day.”
America’s eyes narrowed. The way Russia was talking disgusted him. It was almost as if he cared. What a pathetic lie. “I don't trust you alone with him.”
A flicker of something unpleasant passed over Russia’s face. “It isn't for you to decide, now is it? Not when his life hangs in the balance...I wonder when this is over will he even be sane enough to function...or will the pain have driven him mad?”
America tried to keep his voice down. “What are you doing to him?”
An icy smile was turned on him. “That is for you to decide, comrade.”
“Let. Him. Go.” America had to try to persuade Russia even if it wouldn’t work. He knew it was useless, but he had to do something, or he would go insane.
Russia’s face became a mask of innocence and he held up his hands. “Me? I have done nothing. The pain that he receives is because of your misconduct. His blood is on your hands.”
So Russia was going to play up a guilt trip; he intended to get into America’s mind by making him blame himself for this situation. America wasn’t going to show weakness here; he couldn’t. “I've done nothing wrong,” he retorted, and it was true. This was all Russia’s fault because he was batshit and wanted to rule the world!
“Ha,” Russia scoffed. “Right and wrong are completely abstract words. They are defined within a person or a society.
“Wrong by you then.” America stood up. He was in no mood to play word games.
Russia merely shook his head and smiled evilly. “I can say that I am completely free of guilt here, because I have not been the root cause of England’s suffering.”
America’s voice rang sharp and clear, daring the Russian to challenge him. “You're still the one causing it!!”
Unafraid of the smaller man’s outburst, Russia countered him calmly. “You, however, have misbehaved and caused the person you say you love to be shot.”
That struck a chord with America. “Say you love”? That hurt and it enraged him more than anything else the other man had the gall to say to him. “I do love him,” he replied icily, giving the Russian a murderous look.
“My hands may hold the gun, but your words and actions have pulled the trigger, not once, but twice. Can you really claim to love him after knowingly hurting him?”
Russia’s seemingly calm and unflustered demeanor and the way her continually denied that America loved England had gotten to be too much. America started shouting, “I do love him! I'd rather die than him be hurt!”
“Don't worry, comrade, that will be arranged very shortly. In the meantime, I would be more careful with what you do and say. We do want England to be able to return to the world safe and sound, do we not?” Russia glared at America, obviously sick of his attitude. That dirty look and the mention of England reminded America of his place and he merely nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Russia looked very pleased at this. “Excellent. It seems we are on the same page. Now if we have nothing more to discuss, I think it is time I visit dear Arthur. “He must be in so much pain...”” He turned towards the door, intending to leave America behind as he did god-knows-what to England… England who had been shot twice, plus who knew what other forms of torture, England who was probably scared and lonely even if he wouldn’t admit it, England who he loved and needed to be with… That was it. He couldn’t let that communist bastard be alone with England.
“NO!”
His voice broke through the air, causing Russia to stop and look back at him questioningly, even though
America was sure Russia knew what he wanted. America didn’t want to be reduced to pleading, so he asked, no, he demanded outright. “Let me see him.”
“Why should I?” Russia countered, his eyes glinting. “It is very much not your decision whether or not you can visit.”
America lowered the confidence level in his voice to something Russia would consider passive and not challenging. “Please...”
The other nation continued on as if he had not heard a word America was saying. “And as long as you behave, I will not hurt him. Plus, you said that you did not wish to see him.”
America fell to his knees, ready to kiss Russia’s feet if that was what it would take. “Please. Please let me see him.”
“Oh, so you have changed your mind?” he said placidly. “Come then. Let us give dear Arthur a visit.” America nodded unsure of whether to get up or not. It was too hard to tell what would anger his unstable enemy, and he didn’t want to risk anything when he could lose his chance to see England.
Russia moved behind him. “Are you going to stand or not? I doubt that you would want to crawl the whole way there.” America nodded, that yes, he would stand, and hurriedly got up. As America stood, Russia secured handcuffs around younger man’s wrists.
“Dammit,” muttered America. The bastard had apparently seen right through him. He had been planning to grab England and run, but that was no longer an option.
“Just a safety precaution, comrade. After all, it would not do well for you to get the idea that you could try to rescue your beloved.” He put a blindfold over America’s eyes. “Now come.”
He dragged America off, down twisting turns and winding stairwells. America felt like they were just walking in and endless circle of ups and downs. There was no way Russia’s mansion could have been that big. Unless Russia was purposely leading him around for fun, and to confuse him. That bastard. Did he have to be one step ahead of everything? Finally, after what seemed like a little longer than forever, they stopped.
“We are here.”
Russia opened the door and took off America’s blindfold. They were in a small, dark room with only a rusty cot in the middle. There was source of light, except for the light that came in from the hallway outside. England lay on the cot, eyes closed, looking very pale, still covered in dirt and dried blood. He was chained to one of the legs of the cot using the collar from yesterday. Upon seeing this America’s eyes filled with tears. Completely forgetting about anything that was not England, we ran over and knelt by the cot.
“Arthur!” he called, hoping and praying desperately for some sort of reaction, but the Brit didn’t respond. America strained against the handcuffs, wanting them to disappear or magically fall off somehow, so he could hold Arthur and stroke his hair and anything else to comfort him in the middle of this nightmare.
“Arthur! Wake up! Arthur! I'm sorry...” he cried desperately. This time England seemed to have heard him and let out a small groan.
“Arthur....” America said tenderly then trailed off, overwhelmed with happiness. England was alive. That was all that he needed to know. England was alive.
The beautiful emerald green eyes that had could look through his soul and capture his heart opened slightly. “Al...fred?” God, how America loved British accents, especially England’s and he loved hearing his name in such an accent. “Is this a dream?” England mumbled. It hurt America to see his lover in such a state that he couldn’t believe America was there. He didn’t care what Russia said, they had definitely hurt him a lot more than what American had seen.
As he continued to gaze upon his lover, America’s eyes filled with tears as all the little things he loved about England hit him all at once. “I'm here. It's not,” he said softly, wishing he could offer some physical comfort, anything, to make England better.
Reality set in and England’s eyes opened wider as he realized America really was there next to him. “Alfred!”
Although he was determined to not let Russia see his tears, America started crying softly, completely overcome. “I'm sorry, Arthur, so sorry.” He knew he had told Russia that he wasn’t at fault, but he couldn’t lie to himself and he couldn’t lie to England. If he had just kept his temper…!
England tried to move to touch him and wipe away his tears, but the movement strained his bullet wounds in his side he and ended up grimacing in pain. “Don't... apologize, you git. I'm fine, it’s nothing,” he murmured softly, trying to comfort America as much as America was trying to comfort him.
But seeing England show that he was in pain just hurt America even more. They had fought in the trenches together. If England was showing he was hurt, it was very bad. He had to be exhausted, both physically and mentally, and in a lot of pain. “D-Don't move,” America whispered. “I'm sorry,” he continued in a barely perceptible voice, wanting his remorse to bring England healing.
England’s eyes grew tender as he saw the pain dance across America’s face and spill down his cheeks, mingling with the tears. “You've got to keep fighting him, love,” he said as he gently reached out to wipe away the tears and the, more carefully this time so he wouldn’t strain himself.
America leaned into his hand, treasuring the caress. “I can't....you'll get hurt.”
England continued trying to comfort him. “You can't give him what he wants. Don't worry about me. I've lived through worse.”
America didn’t want to hear that, wouldn’t listen to anything that involved England getting hurt. “He’ll kill you...I can't let that happen.”
“He won't kill me. Not so long as he needs you. Don't worry about what you do or how it will affect me. It won't matter once you kick his bloody ass and come dashing in to save me like the heroes of those fairytales you used to love to have me read.”
Deep down, America knew that England was right, but America did not want to acknowledge it. “N-No....he'll hurt you. I-I can't let that happen.” He sobbed openly, letting it all out, not caring if Russia was watching him and laughing.
England pulled his head down so that it was resting on his chest and stroked his hair. “Love, I’m much stronger than you give me credit for,” he murmured, trying to placate his lover.
America sobbed into England’s chest, needing to feel this contact between the two of them.. “Still....I can't let him hurt you,” he cried. Right now, he could feel England’s warmth and hear his heart beating, and it was wonderful. He couldn’t let that go away, couldn’t see England in pain, because he would break without England by his side now.
England’s tone turned from comforting to serious. “Alfred, what matters right now isn't me; what matters is keeping the world safe from him.”
“But, you are my world,” he pleaded, begging England to accept his excuses. He knew it sounded cheesy and stupid but it was the truth.
England wouldn’t hear America’s excuse. He continued on, “Once you do that, I promise I will be at the end, waiting for you to rescue me.”
And America wouldn’t hear reason. “I can't let him hurt you!”
England sighed, and cradled America’s head in his arms as best he could. “Oh love, sometimes we have to do hard things and let things go for something better in the future. If you hadn't rebelled, and I had kept you for my own, do you think we could be what we are now?”
America shook his head. England had a point, but the American still wasn’t going to give in to logic. “But....that was different,” he said weakly, knowing it was a pathetic excuse.
England nodded. He had to admit that was true. “Yes. It was.”
“Your life wasn't in jeopardy…” America muttered.
Shaking his head, England clarified what he meant by different. “That was ten thousand times more painful than this is now. Because then, I didn't have you and now I do.” America snuggled closer to England, warmed by those words. England held him tighter and lowered his voice to a whisper. “As I said before, I won't be killed as long as he needs you.”
America shook his head. “But he's a homicidal maniac...he'll kill you. This isn't a joke.” Why couldn’t England just accept this? Why did he have to point out what was right and what America had to do, even if it was hard and almost excruciatingly painful?
And England continued to plow on, pushing America to be the hero. “Well, that's why you have to rescue me first. In this situation... there are 3 options from what I have seen: you can roll over and die, you can be the heartbroken loser, and or you can be the hero!” The proper English gentleman was showing himself in full force, making it harder to argue against him.
America pulled his arms against the handcuffs to demonstrate his point. “Not much I can do here...I just…I can't risk losing you.”
“I hope I raised you well enough to know which option you should take,” England said sternly, telling America that what he had said was not the right answer
“But Arthur I....” America still protested, then glanced over his shoulder to see if Russia was watching. Russia will kill you. I can’t let him do that. I’ll do anything to stop it.
England knew what he meant and shook his head lightly. “I'm prepared to face my death if i must, but I fully intend to go down fighting.”
America was shocked by England’s words. “You're not going to die! I'm not going to let him kill you.”
“That's okay. For now, this is okay. I know you, Alfred Jones. You'll find a way…Alfred Freedom Jones.” America stayed quiet, unable to come back against that. There was a slight chuckle from behind them, so quiet that they could have imagined hearing it. Most likely Russia was watching them and enjoying the pain he was putting them through. It was probably what he had planned all along, to drag America here and laugh at them and their hopeless plans and displays of sentimentality.
Ignoring Russia, England continued on. “Exactly! There is no way I'm going to die, not with you fighting for me. So fight. Maybe not here and now...but you must fight him Alfred. There is only one happy ending, and to get it, you’re going to have to fight like hell.”
America pressed close against him, mustering his strength for the long fight ahead. “I love you. I-I won't let you down. I'll get you out...even if I die trying.”
England weakly smiled. “I love you too... my hero.” He leaned in to kiss America, and America kissed him back the best he could, hating the how the handcuffs hindered him, but glad he was still able to share this intimate contact with the person he loved above all else.
“Visiting time is over~” Russia’s voice broke into their shared peace as he pulled them apart mid-kiss.
America shook his head and fought to get back to England. “No, no, no, no, no!” He desperately needed him, even if it was only for one second more.
“Da. Comrade it is time for you to leave.” With America handcuffed, Russia clearly had the upper hand and was slowly winning the fight to get America away from his lover.
America struggled against him, knowing he would more than likely be the loser. “No! Don't!”
England reached out and touched Alfred's face, even though it meant moving in a way that had to hurt his injuries. “I'll be waiting, okay you git? You better not let me down!” He snapped weakly, the pain making it harder for him to be his normal tsundere self, but America understood what he was saying behind those words perfectly. I love you. I know you’ll come through for me.
The place where England’s fingertips touched America’s cheek blossomed with warmth and drove America to fight against the Russian even harder. It all was to no avail. Russia had been toying with America, not using his full strength up until now, when he practically picked up and kicking and thrashing America and half dragged half carried him out the door.
As he was pulled farther and farther away, America looked into his lover’s lovely emerald eyes, no longer the unwilling hero. He wouldn’t give up. “I won't,” he promised, fully intending to save the world and England with it. England merely nodded, clearly in pain, and eased himself back into a laying position, eyes still fixed intently on America.
“I love you!” America called as he was towed out the door.
England replied feebly, but with passion nonetheless, “I love you, Alfred!”
“Come now comrade, he'll be there when you get back...so long as you behave.” Russia hissed in his ear,
America felt happier somehow as he left the room, as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. And in all honesty, one had. He knew how to move forward, what to do to escape this awful situation.
“I'll be back! And I'll get you out! I promise!” America started struggling against Russia even more, trying to get a last glimpse of England. “Get your hands off me!” he snapped, sick of being manhandled.
Russia merely gave him a diabolical smirk. “As you wish, comrade,” he said as he pushed America to the ground and slammed the door shut with a resounding bang that echoed through the hall, seeming to emphasize how alone America was once again..
T
he young nation grunted from the ground where he had landed. “Fuck you, communist bastard.”
“Well, if that’s what you want...” Russia’s intimidating figured loomed over him, almost promising that this was not a joke and he would.
America got back up and quickly moved away from the taller man. “No! I-I take it back...sir.”
Russia shrugged in response and tossed America a blindfold. Grudgingly, he put it on and they set off yet again on their journey of twists and turns through Russia’s mansion. I’ll be back, England, he silently promised as he was herded away. I’ll be back to save you and everyone else. I will be your hero. I promise.
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An: So... I totally forgot to mention that this is heavily based of an RP between pixystixys (America) and myself (Russia, England.) So now you know.
Also, a million and one thanks to our beta. I have no idea what her LJ name is, but you know who you are and we love you. We also apologize for the state that this story was in before it got to you and fully acknowledge that it would not be able to be safely viewed by the general public without you.
Author/Artist: starfoxx322 and pixystixys
Character(s) or Pairing(s): America, England, (UsUk) and Russia
Rating: PG-13 (Probably M overall for mentions of sex and mentions of rape)
Warnings: Language, violence, MAJOR angst, guys kissing
Summary: Russia wants a world war and only America can give it to him. How far will they both go to get what they want?
This chapter: Russia calls America to his home again, this time for a status check... but of course he's not content to let America leave without hurting him first
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A few days after their disastrous first meeting, America stalked into Russia’s office, furious. Those Russian people were extremely annoying!! Following him everywhere, dictating his every move, it was enough to drive a nation to the brink of insanity! And on top of it all, Russia wanted a meeting with him. “Those bombs are scheduled to drop tomorrow,” he snapped at Russia, thoroughly displeased with the way things were turning out. “Happy, Commie?”
That horrible disconcerting smile of Russia’s spread across his face. “Why, yes.”
America gritted his teeth. “Now let England go!”
“Of course not!” Russia exclaimed, as if the idea was completely unheard of and America was a complete fool for suggesting it.
At this, America raised his voice, his anger rising in his chest. “Why not?!” he demanded, balling his hands into fists at his side, telling himself to calm down, for England’s sake.
The seemingly sweet smile that continued to haunt the tall man’s face did not fool the American one bit. “I still need your cooperation in this scheme of mine, and your sweet Arthur is the only way to ensure it.”
America started shaking in fury and spoke through his teeth. “What else is there left to do?”
Russia sighed, frustrated with the fact America did not seem to be catching onto the plan. “There is a war to fight, comrade, and you will be doing the fighting for me, so that I may swoop in at the last moment and be a ‘hero’ to the countries you have devastated,” he told America, in a tone suggested that America had the attention span of something even more worthless than a gnat.
Something inside America snapped. That bastard didn’t even know what the word hero meant, much less how to be one! How dare he look down on America try and take America’s place as protector of freedom! No more. He tackled Russia to the ground and secured his hands around the Russian’s neck, trying his hardest to squeeze the life out of the other man. “Call it off!!” he yelled in the Russian’s face, voice quivering with fury.
Large gloved hands tried to pry America’s hands of their owner’s neck, but to no avail. “I... will have him killed... if you don't let go...” Russia gasped as he struggled to fight America off.
There was no way in hell that the young nation was letting that happen. America tightened his grip, fully intending to end it right there. “No one can hear you if you can't breathe!”
One of Russia’s hands gave up the struggle to get America to release his hold. Instead it slipped down into one of Russia’s coat pockets and pulled out a walkie-talkie. “Shoot... the prisoner..!” Russia managed to get out before the lack of oxygen made it impossible for him to speak.
The moment the words left Russia’s mouth, America froze, letting go. No, no, not again! He couldn’t let it happen again. England! “No! Don't!” he pleaded, hoping he could reverse the circumstances that had brought him to the threshold of this tragedy yet again.
Sitting up, Russia gasped for breath. “Too late...”
America could hear a shot go off in the distance as he climbed off Russia. “NO!” he screamed, slamming his fist against the ground. It hurt, but not enough to block out the throbbing pain tearing through his heart. England… Arthur… Arthur!
Russia pulled himself to his feet and towered over America. “He hasn't died, of course,” he said, not to console the smaller nation, but to inform him of the fact England was alive and Russia could keep hurting him if he so chose. America didn’t need to be told that England had not died; it takes a lot more than a gunshot wound to kill a nation. That didn’t erase the fact that England had to be in momentous amounts of pain. He tried to hold back his tears. He wasn’t going to let him see him cry, not today.
“But we can assume that he is in a lot of pain, da?” Russia didn’t need to tell America that either. Why didn’t he just shut up? America’s whole body ached for England, to hold him and know that his lover was safe. And Russia’s voice continued one relentlessly, making America hurt even more
“And it is all your fault. If you had only listened, poor Arthur would be safe...being shot twice in two days... How do you think it must feel? Too me, it seems very painful. What do you think, comrade? Perhaps we should ask him ourselves da?”
“No, leave him out of this!!” As much as he wanted to see England and make sure he was going to be okay, America didn’t want Russia anywhere near England. It could only end in pain and England already had gone through enough of that.
This was apparently not in Russia’s plan. “So you don't want to see your lover then?” he asked in a mocking sort of tone. “Very well, perhaps I will visit him later so he does not get lonely...”
“DON'T YOU DARE…” America started furiously and trailed off, remembering that trying to order Russia around was a very bad idea as far as England was concerned.
“Why shouldn't I?” Russia asked innocently. “It must be frightening and lonely to be locked up in a small dark room all day.”
America’s eyes narrowed. The way Russia was talking disgusted him. It was almost as if he cared. What a pathetic lie. “I don't trust you alone with him.”
A flicker of something unpleasant passed over Russia’s face. “It isn't for you to decide, now is it? Not when his life hangs in the balance...I wonder when this is over will he even be sane enough to function...or will the pain have driven him mad?”
America tried to keep his voice down. “What are you doing to him?”
An icy smile was turned on him. “That is for you to decide, comrade.”
“Let. Him. Go.” America had to try to persuade Russia even if it wouldn’t work. He knew it was useless, but he had to do something, or he would go insane.
Russia’s face became a mask of innocence and he held up his hands. “Me? I have done nothing. The pain that he receives is because of your misconduct. His blood is on your hands.”
So Russia was going to play up a guilt trip; he intended to get into America’s mind by making him blame himself for this situation. America wasn’t going to show weakness here; he couldn’t. “I've done nothing wrong,” he retorted, and it was true. This was all Russia’s fault because he was batshit and wanted to rule the world!
“Ha,” Russia scoffed. “Right and wrong are completely abstract words. They are defined within a person or a society.
“Wrong by you then.” America stood up. He was in no mood to play word games.
Russia merely shook his head and smiled evilly. “I can say that I am completely free of guilt here, because I have not been the root cause of England’s suffering.”
America’s voice rang sharp and clear, daring the Russian to challenge him. “You're still the one causing it!!”
Unafraid of the smaller man’s outburst, Russia countered him calmly. “You, however, have misbehaved and caused the person you say you love to be shot.”
That struck a chord with America. “Say you love”? That hurt and it enraged him more than anything else the other man had the gall to say to him. “I do love him,” he replied icily, giving the Russian a murderous look.
“My hands may hold the gun, but your words and actions have pulled the trigger, not once, but twice. Can you really claim to love him after knowingly hurting him?”
Russia’s seemingly calm and unflustered demeanor and the way her continually denied that America loved England had gotten to be too much. America started shouting, “I do love him! I'd rather die than him be hurt!”
“Don't worry, comrade, that will be arranged very shortly. In the meantime, I would be more careful with what you do and say. We do want England to be able to return to the world safe and sound, do we not?” Russia glared at America, obviously sick of his attitude. That dirty look and the mention of England reminded America of his place and he merely nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Russia looked very pleased at this. “Excellent. It seems we are on the same page. Now if we have nothing more to discuss, I think it is time I visit dear Arthur. “He must be in so much pain...”” He turned towards the door, intending to leave America behind as he did god-knows-what to England… England who had been shot twice, plus who knew what other forms of torture, England who was probably scared and lonely even if he wouldn’t admit it, England who he loved and needed to be with… That was it. He couldn’t let that communist bastard be alone with England.
“NO!”
His voice broke through the air, causing Russia to stop and look back at him questioningly, even though
America was sure Russia knew what he wanted. America didn’t want to be reduced to pleading, so he asked, no, he demanded outright. “Let me see him.”
“Why should I?” Russia countered, his eyes glinting. “It is very much not your decision whether or not you can visit.”
America lowered the confidence level in his voice to something Russia would consider passive and not challenging. “Please...”
The other nation continued on as if he had not heard a word America was saying. “And as long as you behave, I will not hurt him. Plus, you said that you did not wish to see him.”
America fell to his knees, ready to kiss Russia’s feet if that was what it would take. “Please. Please let me see him.”
“Oh, so you have changed your mind?” he said placidly. “Come then. Let us give dear Arthur a visit.” America nodded unsure of whether to get up or not. It was too hard to tell what would anger his unstable enemy, and he didn’t want to risk anything when he could lose his chance to see England.
Russia moved behind him. “Are you going to stand or not? I doubt that you would want to crawl the whole way there.” America nodded, that yes, he would stand, and hurriedly got up. As America stood, Russia secured handcuffs around younger man’s wrists.
“Dammit,” muttered America. The bastard had apparently seen right through him. He had been planning to grab England and run, but that was no longer an option.
“Just a safety precaution, comrade. After all, it would not do well for you to get the idea that you could try to rescue your beloved.” He put a blindfold over America’s eyes. “Now come.”
He dragged America off, down twisting turns and winding stairwells. America felt like they were just walking in and endless circle of ups and downs. There was no way Russia’s mansion could have been that big. Unless Russia was purposely leading him around for fun, and to confuse him. That bastard. Did he have to be one step ahead of everything? Finally, after what seemed like a little longer than forever, they stopped.
“We are here.”
Russia opened the door and took off America’s blindfold. They were in a small, dark room with only a rusty cot in the middle. There was source of light, except for the light that came in from the hallway outside. England lay on the cot, eyes closed, looking very pale, still covered in dirt and dried blood. He was chained to one of the legs of the cot using the collar from yesterday. Upon seeing this America’s eyes filled with tears. Completely forgetting about anything that was not England, we ran over and knelt by the cot.
“Arthur!” he called, hoping and praying desperately for some sort of reaction, but the Brit didn’t respond. America strained against the handcuffs, wanting them to disappear or magically fall off somehow, so he could hold Arthur and stroke his hair and anything else to comfort him in the middle of this nightmare.
“Arthur! Wake up! Arthur! I'm sorry...” he cried desperately. This time England seemed to have heard him and let out a small groan.
“Arthur....” America said tenderly then trailed off, overwhelmed with happiness. England was alive. That was all that he needed to know. England was alive.
The beautiful emerald green eyes that had could look through his soul and capture his heart opened slightly. “Al...fred?” God, how America loved British accents, especially England’s and he loved hearing his name in such an accent. “Is this a dream?” England mumbled. It hurt America to see his lover in such a state that he couldn’t believe America was there. He didn’t care what Russia said, they had definitely hurt him a lot more than what American had seen.
As he continued to gaze upon his lover, America’s eyes filled with tears as all the little things he loved about England hit him all at once. “I'm here. It's not,” he said softly, wishing he could offer some physical comfort, anything, to make England better.
Reality set in and England’s eyes opened wider as he realized America really was there next to him. “Alfred!”
Although he was determined to not let Russia see his tears, America started crying softly, completely overcome. “I'm sorry, Arthur, so sorry.” He knew he had told Russia that he wasn’t at fault, but he couldn’t lie to himself and he couldn’t lie to England. If he had just kept his temper…!
England tried to move to touch him and wipe away his tears, but the movement strained his bullet wounds in his side he and ended up grimacing in pain. “Don't... apologize, you git. I'm fine, it’s nothing,” he murmured softly, trying to comfort America as much as America was trying to comfort him.
But seeing England show that he was in pain just hurt America even more. They had fought in the trenches together. If England was showing he was hurt, it was very bad. He had to be exhausted, both physically and mentally, and in a lot of pain. “D-Don't move,” America whispered. “I'm sorry,” he continued in a barely perceptible voice, wanting his remorse to bring England healing.
England’s eyes grew tender as he saw the pain dance across America’s face and spill down his cheeks, mingling with the tears. “You've got to keep fighting him, love,” he said as he gently reached out to wipe away the tears and the, more carefully this time so he wouldn’t strain himself.
America leaned into his hand, treasuring the caress. “I can't....you'll get hurt.”
England continued trying to comfort him. “You can't give him what he wants. Don't worry about me. I've lived through worse.”
America didn’t want to hear that, wouldn’t listen to anything that involved England getting hurt. “He’ll kill you...I can't let that happen.”
“He won't kill me. Not so long as he needs you. Don't worry about what you do or how it will affect me. It won't matter once you kick his bloody ass and come dashing in to save me like the heroes of those fairytales you used to love to have me read.”
Deep down, America knew that England was right, but America did not want to acknowledge it. “N-No....he'll hurt you. I-I can't let that happen.” He sobbed openly, letting it all out, not caring if Russia was watching him and laughing.
England pulled his head down so that it was resting on his chest and stroked his hair. “Love, I’m much stronger than you give me credit for,” he murmured, trying to placate his lover.
America sobbed into England’s chest, needing to feel this contact between the two of them.. “Still....I can't let him hurt you,” he cried. Right now, he could feel England’s warmth and hear his heart beating, and it was wonderful. He couldn’t let that go away, couldn’t see England in pain, because he would break without England by his side now.
England’s tone turned from comforting to serious. “Alfred, what matters right now isn't me; what matters is keeping the world safe from him.”
“But, you are my world,” he pleaded, begging England to accept his excuses. He knew it sounded cheesy and stupid but it was the truth.
England wouldn’t hear America’s excuse. He continued on, “Once you do that, I promise I will be at the end, waiting for you to rescue me.”
And America wouldn’t hear reason. “I can't let him hurt you!”
England sighed, and cradled America’s head in his arms as best he could. “Oh love, sometimes we have to do hard things and let things go for something better in the future. If you hadn't rebelled, and I had kept you for my own, do you think we could be what we are now?”
America shook his head. England had a point, but the American still wasn’t going to give in to logic. “But....that was different,” he said weakly, knowing it was a pathetic excuse.
England nodded. He had to admit that was true. “Yes. It was.”
“Your life wasn't in jeopardy…” America muttered.
Shaking his head, England clarified what he meant by different. “That was ten thousand times more painful than this is now. Because then, I didn't have you and now I do.” America snuggled closer to England, warmed by those words. England held him tighter and lowered his voice to a whisper. “As I said before, I won't be killed as long as he needs you.”
America shook his head. “But he's a homicidal maniac...he'll kill you. This isn't a joke.” Why couldn’t England just accept this? Why did he have to point out what was right and what America had to do, even if it was hard and almost excruciatingly painful?
And England continued to plow on, pushing America to be the hero. “Well, that's why you have to rescue me first. In this situation... there are 3 options from what I have seen: you can roll over and die, you can be the heartbroken loser, and or you can be the hero!” The proper English gentleman was showing himself in full force, making it harder to argue against him.
America pulled his arms against the handcuffs to demonstrate his point. “Not much I can do here...I just…I can't risk losing you.”
“I hope I raised you well enough to know which option you should take,” England said sternly, telling America that what he had said was not the right answer
“But Arthur I....” America still protested, then glanced over his shoulder to see if Russia was watching. Russia will kill you. I can’t let him do that. I’ll do anything to stop it.
England knew what he meant and shook his head lightly. “I'm prepared to face my death if i must, but I fully intend to go down fighting.”
America was shocked by England’s words. “You're not going to die! I'm not going to let him kill you.”
“That's okay. For now, this is okay. I know you, Alfred Jones. You'll find a way…Alfred Freedom Jones.” America stayed quiet, unable to come back against that. There was a slight chuckle from behind them, so quiet that they could have imagined hearing it. Most likely Russia was watching them and enjoying the pain he was putting them through. It was probably what he had planned all along, to drag America here and laugh at them and their hopeless plans and displays of sentimentality.
Ignoring Russia, England continued on. “Exactly! There is no way I'm going to die, not with you fighting for me. So fight. Maybe not here and now...but you must fight him Alfred. There is only one happy ending, and to get it, you’re going to have to fight like hell.”
America pressed close against him, mustering his strength for the long fight ahead. “I love you. I-I won't let you down. I'll get you out...even if I die trying.”
England weakly smiled. “I love you too... my hero.” He leaned in to kiss America, and America kissed him back the best he could, hating the how the handcuffs hindered him, but glad he was still able to share this intimate contact with the person he loved above all else.
“Visiting time is over~” Russia’s voice broke into their shared peace as he pulled them apart mid-kiss.
America shook his head and fought to get back to England. “No, no, no, no, no!” He desperately needed him, even if it was only for one second more.
“Da. Comrade it is time for you to leave.” With America handcuffed, Russia clearly had the upper hand and was slowly winning the fight to get America away from his lover.
America struggled against him, knowing he would more than likely be the loser. “No! Don't!”
England reached out and touched Alfred's face, even though it meant moving in a way that had to hurt his injuries. “I'll be waiting, okay you git? You better not let me down!” He snapped weakly, the pain making it harder for him to be his normal tsundere self, but America understood what he was saying behind those words perfectly. I love you. I know you’ll come through for me.
The place where England’s fingertips touched America’s cheek blossomed with warmth and drove America to fight against the Russian even harder. It all was to no avail. Russia had been toying with America, not using his full strength up until now, when he practically picked up and kicking and thrashing America and half dragged half carried him out the door.
As he was pulled farther and farther away, America looked into his lover’s lovely emerald eyes, no longer the unwilling hero. He wouldn’t give up. “I won't,” he promised, fully intending to save the world and England with it. England merely nodded, clearly in pain, and eased himself back into a laying position, eyes still fixed intently on America.
“I love you!” America called as he was towed out the door.
England replied feebly, but with passion nonetheless, “I love you, Alfred!”
“Come now comrade, he'll be there when you get back...so long as you behave.” Russia hissed in his ear,
America felt happier somehow as he left the room, as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. And in all honesty, one had. He knew how to move forward, what to do to escape this awful situation.
“I'll be back! And I'll get you out! I promise!” America started struggling against Russia even more, trying to get a last glimpse of England. “Get your hands off me!” he snapped, sick of being manhandled.
Russia merely gave him a diabolical smirk. “As you wish, comrade,” he said as he pushed America to the ground and slammed the door shut with a resounding bang that echoed through the hall, seeming to emphasize how alone America was once again..
T
he young nation grunted from the ground where he had landed. “Fuck you, communist bastard.”
“Well, if that’s what you want...” Russia’s intimidating figured loomed over him, almost promising that this was not a joke and he would.
America got back up and quickly moved away from the taller man. “No! I-I take it back...sir.”
Russia shrugged in response and tossed America a blindfold. Grudgingly, he put it on and they set off yet again on their journey of twists and turns through Russia’s mansion. I’ll be back, England, he silently promised as he was herded away. I’ll be back to save you and everyone else. I will be your hero. I promise.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
An: So... I totally forgot to mention that this is heavily based of an RP between pixystixys (America) and myself (Russia, England.) So now you know.
Also, a million and one thanks to our beta. I have no idea what her LJ name is, but you know who you are and we love you. We also apologize for the state that this story was in before it got to you and fully acknowledge that it would not be able to be safely viewed by the general public without you.