Red Ascent: Sequel to Red Fall 4-6/?
Silence.
Trembling hands gripped at the hard-packed dirt floor, mouth opened in a wordless scream. Eyes, wide and unseeing, stared at the ground, the centers darting about with no heed to what they landed on. His mind was a tape on rewind, no sound, images racing across his consciousness.
There was no stopping it.
The feeling of teeth on his ear, loving murmurs spoken into hair as unrelenting hands mapped his body with their calluses. The softness of a handkerchief wiping his face as he cried, his shaking hands and countenance smeared with the blood of his former comrades.
‘You don’t need them,’ a voice echoed from deep within the memory, ‘They do not have what we possess; all you need is me, my little one.’
Ivan.
Alfred emptied the contents of his stomach, sickened to the point where he thought he might die. Even when there was nothing to purge, he continued to heave, wishing he could tear his insides out for what he had done, what he had forgotten.
He pounded the floor in frustration, warmth leaking from his eyes more with each hit. He continued until his knuckles were raw and his hands were overrun with tremors; burying the fingers in his straw-blonde locks, he sobbed, the rusty dog tags lying at his feet.
All of his memories, ones that had been thought to be gone forever, washed over him; he had-he had been that man’s lover… He had given Ivan his everything, all of him, both body and soul. He had-he had been-
Completely and utterly defeated.
Taking deep, gulping breaths, Alfred tried to calm himself. He just had to piece the parts back together, his mind still whirling with gaps and disconnections between events.
But he remembered Private Smith.
The small, nervous child of eighteen who had wanted to fight for his country, even though he would be chilled to his marrow and his main companion would be the frost. Those innocent eyes, the tiny, tremulous frame that never seemed to warm;
‘And for godsake, put that coat on!’
Alfred let out a bark of laughter; he remembered how cold he had been himself and wondered what had ever motivated him to commit such a stupid action.
It was because Smith was a soldier; a soldier fighting for livelihood of America, of Alfred, and the child deserved better.
“He deserved so much better,” Alfred whispered, roughly wiping the tears from his eyes, fumbling for the thin metal chain. Stuffing the tags into his pocket, he reached for his head, massaging his temples as equilibrium slowly returned to him. He just needed to pull all his thoughts together-
Oh shit.
Alfred scrambled to his feet, the dust clouding around him; where did Ivan think he was right now? Wasn’t he not supposed to come in here, or something? He vaguely remembered the Russian mentioning a point akin to that, but his mind was still so fuzzy…
He couldn’t find out.
Ivan could never know that Alfred had regained his memories; the American knew that he would just torture the thoughts back out or even worse, kill the bespectacled man to spare himself the trouble. Alfred bit back a snarl.
Ivan was going to pay for what he had done.
But not yet; Alfred needed to prepare first, to correct his own errors. A throbbing pain had wedged itself between his eyes, pulsing with sharp stabs.
What errors, again?
He was having trouble connecting with the present; with the reemergence of his old life, the recent picture had become faded and cracked, the films tinged with sepia. What had become of his friends, his fellow countries?
A feeling of unease in the pit of his stomach was not the answer he wanted.
Closing his eyes, he tried to conjure the information; how did he usually act? He was pretty good at lying, sure, but he needed something to go off of.
What came to mind was not what he expected.
Heated cheeks and shy smiles; gripping at the tall country’s coat and interlocking their arms; wanting, hoping for his feelings of devotion to be returned, I love you, Ivan-
Stop.
He would never love that sick fuck.
This thought in mind, Alfred fingered the dog tags in his pocket, the feeling bringing him a form of relief. Pausing only briefly, Alfred opened the door and slid out, shutting it quietly behind him.
The hallway was beautifully decorated with rich reds and golds, the floor a perfectly polished marble. Thick drapes hung confidently over the large windows, through which one could see the twinklings of night. A flurry of white flakes swirled through the inky air, lit only by the calm light of the sleepy moon.
Looking down both ends of the passage, Alfred grimaced; he couldn’t remember how to get back to his room. It seemed like the recent years were slipping away before he could stop them, leaving him little information to enable him to fight his enemy.
Choosing left, Alfred began to walk, trying to keep his steps even and calm, though his heart was beating rapidly in his chest. He nearly jumped out of his skin when a man addressed him.
“General Alfred, sir,” the man said, giving him a crisp, firm salute, “Your presence is requested by Master General Braginski. Please follow me, sir.”
“A-ah, very well,” the American managed with as much composure as he could muster. The warrior nodded and turned, and the straw-haired man began to follow.
As they walked, he looked at the soldier’s uniform; it was clean and dark, the black jacket and trousers accented with crimson and pearly white. He looked to be an officer, the uniform pristine and its aura dominating and deadly.
Involuntarily fingering his own uniform, he discovered that there were several medals pinned to his breast and a few sets of stripes above them.
His mouth went dry as he wondered what he had done to receive such honors.
Reaching a set of double doors, the man opened them, allowing Alfred to enter before himself. Closing them with a click, the soldier snapped his heels together as he faced the desk in the center of the room.
“I have brought General Alfred as you requested, Master General Braginski, sir.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant Smith; dismissed.”
Smith? His Smith? No, no: the hair-it was too dark, too dark and the eyes were too hard and this was a man, not a child-
Alfred felt his heart rate increase and his breathing just barely quickened; since when had he been so panicky? He needed to calm down.
He barely noticed as the soldier left; the American was only focused on the desk in the center, the chair turned towards the balcony.
“Where have you been, my rebel? It has been almost three hours since we spoke.”
Ice raced through Alfred’s veins at the sound of Ivan’s voice, his heart nearly stopping in his chest. Was it the tone? The words he used? He didn’t understand; why was he so-
Afraid?
“It was merely a vase, da? The sunflowers have begun to wilt, my patriot. They thirst,” the Russian said, standing from his chair, emphasizing his words with a hiss. The cobalt-eyed man could feel his fingers shaking and clenched his hands to stop it, looking down at the floor.
Footsteps, heavy and slow, came closer to him, the boots hitting sharply on the wood below.
“Why do you not answer me, little one?” the voice said once it was directly in front of him. Fingers effortlessly titled Alfred’s chin upwards, and violet eyes met blue, “You are so pale,” Ivan noted, politely interested, softly adding, “there is poison in your blood again, da?”
And the American could almost feel it; fire burning through the ice, eating him alive. His head throbbed with pressure and he felt weak and small next to the elder country’s large form. His mouth was filled with sand and his ears rang with the screams of the dying.
“I-I feel-sick,” Alfred managed, mumbling; he felt his knees give out as he fell into Ivan’s waiting embrace, his mind favoring the darkness over consciousness.
Ivan gave a hard look at his collapsed partner’s form, his mouth drawn into a thin line. Suddenly, a grin wormed across his face.
Yes; constant care and surveillance.