Red Fall: 1 and 2/25
This was orginially posted on the Kink! meme and has been re-posted here by request. Enjoy. :)
This is this Anon!’s first fill (ever, not just on the Kink Meme), so I hope it doesn’t suck (and that the OP doesn’t mind multiple fills). Please pardon any grammar or spelling errors. Feedback is appreciated. :)
Original request is here: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/4567.html?thread=7162839#t7162839
Alfred gave the gauze a hard yank with teeth, splitting it with a muted rip. Scraping the remnants of adhesive off of an abandoned tape roll, he secured the loose end to the soldier’s leg.
“You’ll be alright, soldier,” Alfred said, summoning a weak smile to his face, “your leg should heal fine.” His leg would heal fine; that is, if the cold didn’t lead him to a blue-lipped grave first. It was so fucking cold. Even in the quasi-heated tents the cold did not retreat. General Winter was perhaps even a more formidable fighter than the enemy.
The enemy.
Alfred couldn’t stop a scowl from smearing across his face at the thought of that man’s smile; the smile he wore as he shot Alfred’s countrymen, the laughter that rang as red seeped into the snow at his feet.
Alfred roughly kneaded his temples; when had everything gone wrong? It seemed as if everything had been fine and then, out of nowhere, Russia had attacked. America certainly hadn’t taken it lying down, though; Alfred made sure that all the
-grads he could think of were reduced to rubble.
However, even the greatest Heroes tire; Alfred could feel the aches in his body, the splintering pains that kept him awake through the inky nights. He never let the soldiers see the bloodied bandages or the scarlet tinged spittle; he was America, he should have been able to take care of himself.
“Jones, sir!”
Alfred was broken from his thoughts by a trembling private whose face was speckled with frost.
“What is it, Private Smith?”
“They’re here, sir,” the private practically squeaked, “The Russians!” Alfred mentally cursed everything he could think of; he wasn’t ready yet, goddamnit, he needed more time, any time…
“You are to get all of the wounded men out of this area, understood? I’m not letting any of those commie bastards get near my injured. Once that is done, gather the remaining soldiers to fight,” Alfred said, his eyes like steel behind the cracked lenses of Texas. As he walked towards the exit, he shed his jacket and threw it at the still shaking fighter, “And for godsake, put that coat on!”
The cold stung his skin, tears forming and freezing instantaneously. He ran to the edge of the tiny camp and came face-to-face with one violet eyed, smiling bastard.
"Ivan,” Alfred snarled, his fingers resting on the gun in his pants. The light-haired man grinned at him, looking warm is his heavy coat, the tails of his ever present scarf fluttering in the harsh wind.
“Alfred,” he cooed, “where is your coat? It is very cold, da?” Alfred spared him a malice-laced smile.
“Cold? Hardly. Guess you’ve never been to the Dakotas in the winter; this can’t even compare,” he said, “And that’s America to you, comrade.” Ivan’s laughter was swept up by the wind, causing it to echo about.
“I can call you whatever I please,” Ivan said, crossing his arms, “The victor always does as he pleases.”
“I don’t remember surrendering to you, you crazed fuck, and I don’t plan on it, or has all that vodka finally gotten to you?” Something flashed behind the violet irises, a dark and violent spark.
“You are losing, my dear Alfred; General Winter is a fickle being, and I am currently in his favor; surrender now and I won’t have to completely annihilate you.”
“Forget it, commie; I’ve lasted five years and I’m not giving in know. So you can take that surrender and shove it, da?”
The spark ignited; in a flurry of movement Russia’s pipe had struck Alfred directly in the chest. Stumbling backwards, Alfred managed to get off a shot, tagging the Russian in the shoulder with a bullet.
“What barbaric weapons you have; I guess I shouldn’t have expected much, though,” Alfred said with a cheeky grin, trying to cover the pain. It was hard to breathe and darkness danced in his vision. Something was dribbling from his mouth, blood, probably, but the scarlet blossom on his opponents shoulder made it all worthwhile.
“How rude,” Russia mumbled, holding his shoulder, “we will have to work on your manners, da?” Alfred laughed but stayed still; previous wounds pulsed with pain and his legs trembled. Where were those men?
“Go to hell,” Alfred managed, spitting blood-saturated saliva onto the snow before him. As he raised his gun for another shot, the pipe caught him alongside the head. Swaying briefly, the gun slipped from his grasp as he crumpled to the ground. Alfred viciously attempted to stand, to move, to do something, but he was so tired…
Heroes never give up.
Heroes never fall.
Heroes always win.
Perhaps that’s why the crazed, ringing laughter brought tears to Alfred’s eyes as he sank into the darkness of unconsciousness.