The Fallen [America]

[Russia - Ivan Braginsky]

Ivan usually enjoyed attending the G20 Summits because it provided an opportunity for friendly discussion and the occasional playful threat. However, this G20 meeting, Ivan felt less than joyful. In all honesty, he was exhausted. His people had been performing more and more test on him, leaving him little chance to rest and relax. Each time he returned home, he would be shuffled off for more testing in a lab, only to be shuffled back out when he was needed on an assignment, like the G20 Summit. He did not even have an opportunity to sleep on the plane because it was the only time his staff could brief him about their priorities before the Summit. As such, during the meeting, Ivan nearly nodded off, his eye lids barely stayed open and his form slightly slouched. The only things that kept him awake were the occasional outburst from other nations, which would led to him jumping partially in his seat as he would turn to look at his notes to determine where the discussion might be. He needed a good night’s rest, so he would be better prepared for the Summit meetings tomorrow.

When the meeting ended, he gathered his belonging rather slowly. He blinked a few times as if to wake himself up before bringing his belongings under his arm. There was no reason to converse with the other nations since he was not in the state of mind to be engaging, so he made a beeline to the door. However, the pathway to the door was already blocked by a loud and vociferous America talking to another nation. He often spoke with his hands, making it difficult to get by him. Ivan pouted slightly. America and his relationship, at current, was not the best but also not the worse. Nonetheless, he had little patience for America at this moment.

“America, you have been eating much candy, da?” He said, suggesting weight gain with a smile, as he bumped his body against his as he attempted to walk pass him and out the door.

Unbeknownst to Ivan, that he had just trapped Alfred in a time slip.

July 17, 1918

Alfred would find himself in an older looking two-story house, specifically the living room with only a few pieces of furniture. Darkness flooded the room. The only source of light coming from the moon which reflected on the wooden floor. There was a slight tinge of dust on the objects, apparent that it was not being cleaned thoroughly. The house was also not a good insulator, and even though it was the Summer months, coldness filled the house.

Steps could be heard coming down the stairs softly, with a small candle light. A woman dressed in a long white night gown was eventually seen, and she blinked, pleasantly confused with the sight of Alfred. “Mr. America?” she puzzled. It was Alexandra Feodorovna, Empress of Russia, but she looked vastly different than her appearance the last time Alfred had seen her. Her confusion quickly turned to hope. “Have you come to help us? Do we have safe harbor to America?” she said joyfully and new light in her eyes.

[America - Alfred F. Jones]

G20 summits were the literal worst. First, everyone would sit around and talk about how awesome he was, then they would listen to Germany talk about how awesome he was. He could only take so much before it was just exhausting to hear how awesome he was. Don’t get him wrong! The attention was great but the discussions were always so boring. This had only gotten worse in the past three years with the turn over in his leadership. They were all just jealous that he was able to handle himself so well.

The meeting drug on for what felt like ages. Alfred actually propped his feet up on the desk at one point and started messing with his phone. He scrolled through Facebook and Instagram to check if he had any new messages. His thumb could be seen tapping the screen every time he came across something he liked. When it finally ended he verbally groaned and got up. That was absolutely unbearable as usual. Alfred stretched when he stood up and arched his body to the side. Folds in his suit came up over where they should have been as he did. That was okay, he was off work as it were. As he stretched Ivan made a snide remark about his weight. “Yeah eat your heart out.” He quipped back very quickly only for Ivan to suddenly become distant from him.

His vision tunneled. The world around him seemed to fall and then speed up as if he was rushing through space. Alfred stumbled forward and whipped his head from side to side once everything stopped. “What?” He asked the dark room that he was standing in. What was all this? This dusty ancient room seemed somehow familiar. A voice came out of the dark and gripped his heart. He knew that voice.

Alexandra, the queen of Russia was standing there at the foot of the stairs. For too long he just stood there in shock as if he’d seen a ghost. It was impossible that she was standing there but it was just as impossible that he was standing here. “Safe.. Harbor” He repeated her words for a lack of his own. Seeing her was enough to bring back a lot of terrible memories. Alexandra had loved Alfred as far as he knew. She’d always had good things to say about him. Maybe he was dreaming? Or….Was this a nightmare? “…What’s the date?” He asked quickly to see how much time he had. This could either be a wonderful dream….. or a horrific nightmare.

[Russia - Ivan Braginsky]

Alexandra looked genuinely happy when Alfred repeated the words safe harbor back to her. She went towards him with her lit candle and quickly grabbed onto his arm, wanting herself to make certain she was not imagining it. These last few months had been terrifying and bleak, but now, here was hope. “I am so happy you are here. I will tell Nicholas.” She then paused with his next question. They had not given them access to the outside world, so she was uncertain of the actual date. “I believe we are in July,” she commented.

The front door was kicked in and smashed against the wall with a loud crack. Ivan whistled as he walked into the small house in his full military attire. It would be an attire familiar to Alfred because it was the uniform of a Soviet. His red scarf was wrapped tightly around his neck and his posture looked intimidating. It had been a rough couple of years, but his frame of mind had finally come into focus. Marxism was the answer! It was the answer Ivan so desperately sought, and it would provide him with both strength and success for all of his people. No more elites stealing food and wealth from the people, while the rest starved. No more elites sitting comfortably in their palaces while the poor were sent to the battlefield to die. No more inequality. “Nicholas!” Ivan said in a sing song voice, looking up the stairs to where he knew the bedrooms were.

He smiled darkly and was about to move up the stairs when Alexandra spoke up. “Ivan,” she said softly, a continued smile of hope graced her lips. Ivan was her nation after all. Ivan had lived with their family, played games, and built snowmen together. He was like a son to her. “You have finally come,” she said letting go of Alfred, not recognizing the danger. She ran towards him.

All Ivan saw was a traitor to his people, and his response was quick. He backhanded her hard, and she hit the ground with a cry. The candle stick falling from her hands and being stomped out by another man behind him. “You have failed and do not deserve the breath you take,” he spoke down to her until he seemed to finally notice the unexpected presence in the room. He blinked, uncertain if he was imagining it. During some of the worst parts of the revolution, he sometimes had visions of him. His features lightened briefly as he appeared generally confused. “Alfred?” he puzzled, second guessing himself.

Italics - Russian

[America - Alfred F. Jones]

Alfred placed his hand on hers when she took his arm. It was absolutely surreal to feel her touch him. The war had been hard on everyone but Alexandra was always fond of him. He figured that Nicholas felt like he was an alright guy at least. He blinked a few times and just tried to get his thoughts straight. July….His face paled and he focused on her quickly. “Alexandra… We have to-“ He heard something slam downstairs and he visibly jolted. For a moment he hesitated. Heavy footfalls proceeded up the stairs and Alexandra left his arm.

The were here, it was too late. Somewhere deep inside himself he knew that it was too late. The next thing he would see is the Bolsheviks raiding into the house and ruining all shred of happiness that was found here. Whoever owned those heavy footfalls came to the top of the stairs and his heart dropped. That was something that he couldn’t purge from his mind no matter how much of this was a nightmare. It was something that he wished he didn’t know. Before this moment he was at least able to doubt. He had always believed Ivan to be responsible, but with his denial it was possible to believe it could have been against his will. Instead the thing that he already knew deep down was true.

His gaze focused on Alexandra running to him. The strike made his body impulsively jump forward. It was as if he would rush to her aid only to stop at the sound of his name. A knot welled in his stomach and traveled into his throat. Alfred’s hands shook and his feet moved as life the ground underneath him couldn’t sit still. A battering ram of emotions flooded him knowing the murderer in front of him. The psychopath in front of him. He wanted to kill him. But….

This wasn’t what happened….Or was it? The longer he stood there the longer it seemed to him like it might have been. He wanted to save her, but what would that do? What if he had saved everyone? What if he prevented Anastasia's capture? What if he’d prevented Ivan from hurting them? From murdering them? Would they have drug out the cold war? Would he have gone to space? Would he have landed on the Moon? Would he have bankrupted Ivan? Would the Soviet Union even have happened? Would he have stopped communism in his tracks?

Would Ivan and him still be together?

“Would you love me?” Alfred asked without even realizing he said it out loud.

Alfred looked like a deer that was stopped in headlights. It was like his body had seized and stopped all functioning, paralyzed with choice and being overwhelmed. It was moments like this Arthur’s voice came into his head and told him to take deep breaths and focus on the sound of his voice. He didn’t have to be a slave to his emotions. He could be anything he wanted to be and he could feel any way that he wanted to feel. He didn’t have to let whatever he was feeling rule him.

“Ivan?....” His voice choked a little as he came back to his senses. All of his emotions began to fall into place like dominos and his fists tightened as he fought back his blood boiling.

[Russia - Ivan Braginsky]

Ivan’s breathing hitched at the sight of the boy across from him. He had yearned for him these past years. His letters….he had written so many letters to him, wanting to see him as clearly as he saw him now. The letters were filled with pain, brokenness, and insecurity, and while the letters sent back brought supplies and support for the White Army, it never brought back what Ivan truly wanted. It never brought Alfred to him, and eventually, it did not even bring supplies.

Alfred had abandoned him to his fate.

Yet…here he was….now, at all times! Why was he here? He swallowed thickly, as he tried to contain his emotion and deal with the fact that his mouth had become incredibly dry as he looked rather bewildered to see the man before him.  He was only further thrown by his question.

Love?

His heart twisted as if a sharp icicle had pierced it. He had fallen in love with Alfred. He fell in love with his laugh and smile that brightened up even the gloomiest of days. He fell in love with his dreams of the sky and the stars. He fell in love with the happiness that he brought him. He remembered the teasing when Ivan was bucked off his horse into the mud, and Ivan responded by throwing such mud into Alfred’s face. He remembered the playful competitions, from random races to cooking competitions. He remembered their time in Alaska, all alone, away from pressures of their governments, forgetting about the rest of the world. He had never felt his heart beat as much as it did with Alfred, because it only beat with Alfred. He had fallen in love with him, deeply in love.

His gift in return? Abandonment. Betrayal. Alfred had never loved him. He had been an old fool for thinking the boy could. Alfred had been using Ivan. It was what nations did. Yet why was Alfred here?

The question puzzled Ivan as he continued to look into those sky-blue eyes, until he caught the flash of anger. Ah, it all made sense. He was not here for him. Nyet, he was here for them, the traitors. Foolish Ivan for once again thinking Alfred may care. He smirked, rather darkly, as he felt back in place as his emotions for the boy in front of him numbed and his heart froze. Alfred would not distract him from his mission tonight.

“The past is the past, America,” he remarked, not daring to say his human name. He pulled out his gun and cocked it back. He heard the bedroom door opening and Nicholas demanding to know what was going on. Ivan had originally planned to do all of this in the basement for cleaning purposes, but he could not have Alfred interfering. The White Army was dead, and Alfred had shown which side he was on. “You should not be here, but if you wish to watch these traitors you supported die, be my guest.” He smiled and then fired the gun, the bullet piercing right through Alexandra’s head, causing blood to splatter on the ground.

Nicholas screamed behind him, and Ivan quickly ordered in Russian for his men to take the rest of them downstairs.

[America - Alfred F. Jones]

It was still hard to believe that he was seeing what he was seeing. There was no possible way that Ivan was here but in his heart he had known it all along. The man that he’d fallen in love with all that time ago was a psychopath and nothing had changed from that. It made it difficult to believe anything that they ever had was genuine. Ivan was using his vulnerabilities to make him think that he was a good person and when Alfred saw through it that was the end of that. Ivan had shown him his true colors after this date and it was only confirmed by many things to come.

The past was the past hit too hard. From what he knew about these time slips he couldn’t change anything that happened. No matter what he did right now he was still going to come back from it and everyone would be dead. The Soviet Union would have rose to power anyway and nothing would have changed. Still, there was a apart of him that wanted to try despite everything. Alfred’s head crane back for a moment as he heard Nicolas voice. There was no way he was going to be able to save them both. “No! NO” He shouted and held his hand out just as he looked back to see Ivan pull the trigger.

Alexandra dropped to the ground and his heart shattered just the same as if he’d gotten the news for the first time. Here he thought that Ivan might have been shattered too, but he was the cause of it all. In his hesitancy he’d already lost one of them. Alfred’s hardened gaze focused on Ivan and he rushed forward to attempt to tackle him around the waist. He didn’t know what he was trying to accomplish anymore but he wasn’t going to let Ivan do this in front of him. If Alfred wasn’t so overwhelmed with the rest of the world in the first place, maybe he could have prevented it in the real timeline. The guilt would eat him alive. “Traitors! YOU’RE THE TRAITOR! YOU’RE A MURDERER!” He screamed at him as he tried to grapple Ivan to the ground. It was another experiment. How was his strength in this time? Did he keep his strength from the real timeline?
"How could you do this to me? To everyone? To them? You told me you loved me! You told me you loved your people!"

[Russia - Ivan Braginsky]

His eyes had fallen to Alexandra’s limp body on the ground. Her hand seemed to be reaching towards his shoe, and flash memories of how often that very hand reached for him crossed his thoughts. She would call him inside with a smile and straighten his outfit. She would gently brush back his hair and even stand on her toes to kiss his forehead as a mother might. He immediately ripped his eyes to push the memories down, and as soon as he did, he looked up to see Alfred running towards him.

The wind was knocked out of him as he hit the ground roughly. He grunted with the weight and strength. What the? His features visibly confused as he looked to the young nation on top of him. He had known Alfred to have a natural strength, but this, this was something else entirely. In all of his century, he had never met a nation with the amount of strength Alfred had shown….it was terrifying.

Ivan’s current strength had grown within the past year, but his strength did not compare to this. A sense of fear washed over him as he thought of how prior nations had over powered him, and it made him even more determined to become stronger. He had to become stronger. He had to be stronger than all nations, so he could ensure his people’s protection. He would become stronger.

His violet eyes narrowed with his statement. Murderer. They were all murderers. War and death were one in the same for a nation. Even though Alfred was stronger, he attempted to push him off. “You are hypocrite. You accuse me when you too did the same in your own civil war,” he said, touching a sore subject on purpose. After all, Ivan had been with Alfred for multiple portions of that war, comforting and supporting him as he could. Unlike Alfred, he had been there, holding Alfred’s body against his as he cried and broke down.

However, his questions continued, and it only furthered to anger him. Alfred was an idiot. A complete idiot! How had he ever loved this idiot self-centered brat?! “I lied,” he lied in answer to all of his questions, angry with it all, angry with Alfred, the situation, and even more himself for how much he still loved this boy.

Noticing his men were confused by what was occurring, he snapped at them in Russian for them to move. His men grabbed Nicholas and pulled the children out of their room, dragging them down the stairs. While it occurred, Ivan pressed his gun to Alfred’s side. “You are interfering with internal affairs. If you do not leave, I will forcefully remove you,” he stated darkly.

[America - Alfred F. Jones]

Alfred had crashed to the ground with him unexpectedly. His eyes were burning with rage even if he was confused that they were on the ground. Normally he’ have just lightly tipped into Ivan or at least gotten him to a wall. He hadn’t been able to take him to the floor in a while. His own strength was a low priority compared to stopping what Ivan seemed to be intent on doing. Just feet away was Alexandra dead in a pool of her own blood. It was blood that belonged to Ivan and yet here he was with these traitors.

His eyes widened and softened for a moment with Ivan’s statement. Hypocrite? How was he a hypocrite? What he had done was nothing like this. Alfred left Arthur he didn’t murder him and his whole family. He never murdered his own…Not like this anyway. The revolutionary war was Arthur’s fault. He’d given him plenty of time to leave and he didn’t want to. Arthur had given him no choice but to defend himself. This was cold blood. This was actual calculated and planned murder for the rise of something disgusting. He wanted to drowned the world in communism and if Alfred had the ability to prevent such slavery he was going to try. It didn’t even matter if it would not effect the present. Alfred was never going to stand by and let it happen.

Lied hit him harder than he’d wanted. The stormy ocean in his eyes had turned softer. The calm had hit him through his racing pulse as he kept a hold of Ivan on the ground. His weight was fully on him and even with the gun to his side he moved his hands to his neck. “You can lie to me. I can take it but you wont lie to them. You will not lie to them, about what you are doing. They are going to see you for what you are… A cold blooded murder and a traitor to your own people!” He shouted and his hands began to squeeze his neck. “Release Nicholas and surrender right now!” Alfred demanded with not signs of stopping the squeeze. It was clear he didn’t fear Ivan shooting him. If it was his self at this time he might have been afraid but Ivan had shot him many times since.

[Russia - Ivan Braginsky]

He kept the gun pressed against Alfred’s side, expecting the boy to remove himself eventually. After all, this affair was an internal matter and no outside nation had a right to involve themselves with Ivan’s internal affairs. The majority of nations had such internal disagreements, and for that reason, it was understood that there was little involvement from outside nations. If nations wished to get involved, they would provide supplies to the side they wished to help or provide emotional support to the nation experiencing the difficulties. To put simply, the difference between a revolution and a civil war was the outcome of the war. If the party in power at the start of the war remains in power, then the war would be known as a civil war. If the party in power at the start of the war loses power to another, then it would be known as a revolution. These wars were difficult for a nation because often times, the nation represented both sides of the war, leading to inward turmoil and chaos. Out of all nations, he had suspected Alfred to understand. It was not long ago since Alfred had his own Civil War. There had been a fair share of Confederate executions. Therefore, Ivan thought, even with Alfred’s nativity, he would still recognize his internal affair and remove himself from his person.

But he did not.

He did not move at all. Instead, he looked at him unsettlingly calm until he felt his hands around his neck…and his grip tighten. Ivan swallowed thickly genuinely confused as Alfred gripped tighter and tighter, screaming at him with words that made no sense. Traitor to his own people?! Alfred had no right. No right! To call him a traitor! Alfred had shown little to no involvement during the entire revolution! He had abandoned Ivan to the will of his people, and when the will was finally won and determined…it was then! It was then that Alfred decided to directly input himself into his own internal matters! Call him a traitor, a murderer! The mere thought infuriated him, and yet, as he held the gun to his side and his lungs screamed for air, he couldn’t pull the trigger. He looked up into those blue eyes he had fallen in love with, and he could not do it. His hand shook with the gun, and his own eyes became wet. Alfred wanted to kill him, and for some reason, that thought hurt him worse than anything he had yet to experience.

A tear slipped from his eye, and he couldn’t even wipe it based on their current position. “I hate you,” he said through a choke breath as his own heart twisted in pain. He needed to fire the gun. He needed to fire, or Alfred would kill him. Before he could do anything, one of his men hit a chair hard on Alfred’s head, breaking it over his body.

[America - Alfred F. Jones]

The gun was an ever pressing threat to his side nut in comparison to everything else happening it didn’t matter. Russia could pull the trigger and it would rip through him but he was so angry and confused that he didn’t care. He saw the tear and it only made those feelings more intense. How dare he drop a tear from his face. What did he have to be sad about? He was causing all of this! Every tear shed today was going to be his fault!

“Hate me?” He seemed almost hurt by that if he wasn’t so angry. His fingers continued to tighten around his throat. “HATE ME!? YOU DID THIS! HOW DARE YOU CRY FOR BLOOD YOU SPILLED!” He shouted squeezing harder until something cracked and broke around him.

His fingers came off of Ivan immediately like he’d been jolted out of some nightmare. It was unfortunate that the nightmare was still very much real. Pieces of wood fell around him in his confusion and he slowly looked back to see who had done it. Someone that was with Ivan, a human. It was a human soldier and a Bolshevik at that. His rage had completely stopped and he found himself sitting on Ivan dejectedly. No matter what he did here he wasn’t going to be able to change anything. This soldier had hit him thinking he was doing the right thing. It was all Ivan’s fault.

Alfred ignored the Bolshevik and looked back down at Ivan. His eyes were having trouble focusing on him without getting angry again, but he wasn’t trying to choke him anymore. His shoulders dropped and he found himself just shaking his head. “I don’t understand…I don’t know why you just wouldn’t tell me. Why you wouldn’t ask me for help…Instead you just… Do this.” Alfred only stated more dejectedly than before. He looked defeated from the event. His attitude had changed so quickly from rage to an almost stoic calm. Alfred was rarely ever calm. "How could you hate me?....I thought you loved me....I guess...I guess I didn't know you at all." He almost mumbled, feeling like the idiot now. Why did he want to believe somewhere deep down that Ivan didn't do it. Something about being able to deny it with possibility made him feel better.

[Russia - Ivan Braginsky]

Ivan’s lungs screamed for air that he could not reach. His hand continued to shake with the pistol as he kept it pressed to his side, knowing that it would be his only escape from death at Alfred’s hands. It was a small action, but it would also represent the end of all that they had together. Even though he knew it was over when Alfred had abandoned him, when Alfred looked at him with such hatred and disgust, and when he actually began to choke him to death, a small part of him still held onto hope that there was still a chance.  A chance that it was not over.  But if he pulled this trigger, that small hope would be crushed. The end of the love that they once had would be official.

Thankfully, he was not forced to make such a decision because his comrade interfered. The chair did not harm Alfred at all, but it seemed to snap him out of his murderous rage. Ivan gasped and coughed for air, immediately wiping his eyes as he caught his breath. He spoke raspy to his soldier, “Go. Downstairs. I have it handled, comrade,” wanting to protect this man from Alfred potentially turning his violence to him. The soldier obeyed, though admittedly stunned to see that the chair did not even bruise the blonde.

Nicolas and his family had all been dragged to the basement during Alfred and Ivan’s disagreement, leaving the two nations alone above the stairwell. Ivan sat up partially rubbing his neck, meeting Alfred’s blue eyes with an overwhelm of emotions, specifically anger. His questions to follow were as absurd as the earlier ones. His eyes still wet, unable to control it because he was far too exhausted. He had known the night would be difficult. He had known, and for that reason, he had frozen his heart before coming. It kept his emotions at bay and allowed him to work with ease, but he had not calculated Alfred being here. Why was he here?! The tears continued to slip down his cheek, not that he would acknowledge them. Alfred always melted Ivan’s heart. He would blame it on the fact that boy’s temperature ran a couple degree higher than most, and even more degrees higher than Ivan’s, at least that was Ivan’s best explanation for it. His heart had melted, and the rarely used muscle began to beat, releasing the emotions he wished to keep hidden. He could not control his own outburst, “I did tell you! I wrote weekly to you for months, asking for help! I told you!” He pushed Alfred off, more tears coming down his face. He stood up, his gloved hand pressing in the puddle of blood around them as he did. Alexandra’s blood. Alexandra who had treated him like a son. He stared at his hand, his own body starting to shake with the lost and frustration that he was not nearly done with this night. “I asked…” he said softly, “you never came. You never came.” He repeated the words and closed his eyes, taking in a sharp breath through his nose, smelling the blood in the room. “You think this is easy for me?” he said almost out of breath. He pressed his hands to his face, not caring that it smeared all over it. His heart continued to beat. He hated this infernal organ that tortured him so. “It is too late,” he said softly, barely above a whisper, and he finally let his hands slide off his face, leaving it blood red. “You are too late,” he smiled, though it appeared rather sadistic. “Why would I love someone who never loved me?” he answered simply to his last question, ignoring the beating in his chest.

He would have left it at that and headed downstairs, but a young child’s whimpering could be heard at the door to the room. “Ivan?” the small girl spoke softly, and Ivan paled with it, a flash of sadness passing through his features.

He immediately ignored Alfred and went to the door. “Anastasia,” he said genuinely sweet, kneeling down to her level, “I am so sorry we woke you.”

Anastasia sniffled, and even though Ivan’s face and uniform was covered in blood she had no hesitation in wrapping her arms around his neck and hugging him tightly. “Ivan, I am scared. What is wrong with Mama?” she asked.

Ivan wrapped his own arms around her, picking up the smaller child and holding her close as he stood. Tears streamed down his face, but he did not sound like he was crying, instead, he continued to counsel her. “It will be okay. She is not feeling well. It will all be over soon. Let’s go outside. Build a snowman perhaps?” he asked as he went to the stairs.

She sniffled, “It’s not winter, Ivan.”

“Little Ana, I will make it snow in July for you, yes,” he said softly.

[America - Alfred F. Jones]

What was going on behind him couldn’t bother him anymore. There was only one path laid out in front of him and it had already happened. As much as he kept reaching forward to stop it, nothing was going to change. His eyes only glanced to the side as Ivan called out Russian orders to the man that had hit him with a chair. Ivan took back his attention and he couldn’t stop the squeeze in his chest from Ivan’s tears. It didn’t make any sense how he could do this and shed one tear.

Nothing that he was saying made any sense. He didn’t receive anything…. Did he? He didn’t remember. That war was so hard on him. He’d never been so stretched in his life. He’d never done anything like that before ever in his life! “Ivan you cant…You Can’t” His eyes watered as he tried to explain but the worlds were not coming to his mouth. What was he even trying to say? That he didn’t get the letters? That it didn’t matter if he did? Was he supposed to say that he was just new to all of this and didn’t know how to handle it? Was he supposed to say it was a great time for Ivan expect him to drop everything? How could he ever expect him to do any of that!! Everyone wanted so much from him. Alfred couldn’t be in every place at once.

He was lost in trying to find words when the word love hit him. Never loved him? The words twisted his heart more than he’d admit to. He swallowed back tears and just tried to navigate the explosion of thoughts that kept him paralyzed in place. It was hard to remember that he was anyone else right now or had seen Ivan without this context. Right now everything was far too real….But this was what happened…. This happened….

It was real.

“Ivan.. Wait!” He shouted and quickly followed him. He still didn’t have words but he needed to get Ivan to listen to him somehow. He was trying to tell him how he felt. The problem was that he didn’t know exactly how he felt, everything was so tangled together inside him. His heart thrummed in his chest hard and made everything so unclear. Even Arthur's voice telling him to breathe was too distant to hear. He came to a halt as he heard the little voice and saw her for the first time in ages.

Alfred’s shoulders dropped and he froze for another moment. “Ana….” He said softly behind Ivan. It had been so long since he’d seen her. He’d wanted to see her smile. The royal family had taken a liking to Alfred and Ana was one of them. Ana was by far his favorite. Innocent and well loved she was taken from the world….and it was all Ivan’s fault. As Ivan turned to the stairs he finally rushed with his hands out. “No! NO! Ivan! You can’t… You can’t” He began to stoke but sucked back tears. He didn’t know what his intentions with Ana were right now, but he knew how it ended. “Ana come here. Come to Alfred. You remember me… ” He said first in English in a panic behind him. Upon realizing it he repeated the sentence in Russian that he knew perfectly. He reached out to try and take Ana from over his shoulder. He just needed her to reach for him and he knew he could take her. He had the strength to save her she just needed to reach for him.

[Russia - Ivan Braginsky]

No matter Alfred’s explanation for abandoning him, it would never be enough for Ivan. There was no justification or excuse that would provide enough of a reason for Ivan to consider forgiveness. There was nothing. Alfred’s words meant nothing because his actions had already spoken volumes. His expectations for Alfred may be high, especially for someone as young as him, but Ivan had already experienced much abandonment in his life. Each time more heartbreaking than the next, this time, by far the worse.

He thought, foolishly, that Alfred had loved him. The nights, the laughter, the soft teasing whispers, and playful touches. He had grained in his memory the moments in summer days, staring up at Alfred’s beautiful smile, dashing blue eyes matching the sky above him, and those golden locks, and...feeling happy. Ivan had felt happy, genuinely happy and light, as if all the terrible and horrible things in his past had melted away for these moments with Alfred. His heart, which had been often cold and heavy in his chest before, had lifted with warmth and would beat rapidly in his chest almost making Ivan feel like a child at a festival. It was an odd feeling, and he…he opened himself up to it, knowing the risk, the fear, the potential for destruction, Ivan opened himself up to actual love. He gave his heart to this boy, this stupid arrogant boy. God, what a fool he had been. No, he would never forgive him, never trust him, ever again. He would never let any nation ever again have his heart, it was too fragile and weak for this.

He sucked in a sharp breath, firmly attempting to ignore Alfred as he held onto his little girl closely. His tears making her hair wet as he kissed the top of her head. He knew what he had to do, but how could he? He did not know if he had the strength for it. Alfred’s protest only making it worse, so much worse.

Anastasia kept her arms tightly wrapped around Ivan’s neck, still visibly upset and confused. She recognized Alfred, as the silly nation that was quite clumsy and funny. She remembered Ivan was always happier when Alfred was visiting, but Ivan did not appear happier now. She didn’t understand much English, but when he spoke in Russia, she seemed genuinely surprised and smiled softly. “You learned Russian?” she commented, still holding onto to Ivan, not understanding Alfred’s urgency. The many times Alfred visited, Ivan had to translate between them, not that Anastasia minded.

Ivan started down the stairs, determined to procrastinate this as long as he could. He would help little Ana build the largest of snowmen, the largest. His heart twisted in pain as he tried to calm himself, tried to remain calm and focused on the task at hand. His attempts to block out Alfred were futile when he heard the words as well, the Russian words, leaving Alfred’s lips in near perfection. He paused, not understanding. He had spent decades attempting to teach Alfred the language but teaching him at times was like teaching a wall. He had only managed to teach Alfred a few basic phrases, how did he? How did he learn? “You learned Russian,” Ivan said as well, though it was clear he was confused. He finally glanced back at Alfred. His brows furrowed, “Why?” In that moment, Ivan would look like a mess. His silver hair tossed, blood on his face, with streams of tears dripping down through it, his scarf somewhat open, revealing the bandaging on his neck. He kept Ana close in his arms, holding her as if his own life depended on her. “Why?” he repeated, still in Russian, as if testing to see how much Alfred actually knew.

[America - Alfred F. Jones]

He couldn’t help but find himself a little taken off guard by her statement. Right now, he was just trying to get her to reach out for him so he could take her away from Ivan. Ivan had gone absolutely insane, like he knew he did. A part of Alfred had always known that this was him and that the assassinations were no surprise. A part of him deep down had always known, but he enjoyed being able to give Ivan the benefit of the doubt while he could. Now everything would change. He would never be able to unsee her eyes in this moment and how dare Ivan ever dishonor this by omitting himself from blame.

“Of course I did.” He said breathlessly in Russian and held his hands out closer for her to reach. It was futile of course because Russia already had plans for her. Alfred didn't even know if anything he did here could change anything but he wasn’t about to give up on trying. If he was here he would have stopped it and he doesn’t see why going back changes anything at all. He was still going to stop Ivan, because that was what he had to do. “Because…” He continued but paused carefully as he thought over his answer. “Because I wanted to know you.” Alfred answered as honestly as he could.

There was a lot tied to the answer given. Alfred had always wanted to know Ivan better, even from the beginning. Even when their relationship was perfect he’d wanted to know him better. However, he didn’t learn Russian at this time and he knew it. There was no reason to yet, but there was about to be. This incident in particular was just the beginning to a long and hard road that he was going to attempt to tackle along side of Ivan. He wouldn’t tell him now that what lead him to learn it perfectly was a combination of needing to spy, crack codes and be prepared for nuclear war with him. Right now those words would be meaningless to him. Alfred would have loved to learn Russian any other way from him, but he had forced his hand in the end with this madness.

“Ivan, just give her to me. You don’t need to do this… We can start over.” He continued to try and convince Ivan to just let it go. He could see that he was crying, see the bandages under his neck. The entire scene was offensive. How could Ivan be emotional with the chaos that he was causing? Ivan could stop it at any moment and Alfred wanted to remind him that he could. The damage had been done but it wasn’t too late. Ivan was still capable of turning things around. He always had hope for him in this way. Mad? Yes. Crazy? Yes. But Ivan wasn’t beyond hope. Alfred had experienced hope with Ivan. Ivan had given him hope at one point. Ivan had believed in him at one point and he wanted to believe in Ivan now.