"I am pregnant," says Russia one morning over breakfast. Posture and tone both perfectly relaxed, he says it casually like how he says global nuclear non-proliferation and doesn't even bat an eyelash when America squeezes the handle of his coffee mug so hard the glass practically explodes in his hand.
"What." There's this huge unsightly(STILL SCALDING) stain all over America's industrially faded jeans now, but America keeps his smile wide and taught and focused on the nation on the other side of the breakfast table. The piddle jokes, however, he keeps to himself. "Excuse me?"
Calmly, Russia picks a stray piece of glass from his toast. "I am pregnant."
The edge of table caught under America's grip cracks. "Uhh."
Russia tilts his head. "Once more?"
"I," repeats Russia, slowly and deliberately, gesticulating vaguely to his abdomen. "Am. Pregnant."
Louder this time, over the sound of a plate breaking against America's fork, "UHHHH."
"Are you suffering some sort of newly developed hearing impairment, or are you merely attempting to destroy most of my furniture?" asks Russia, eyebrows furrowed.
"My bad." Palm to face, face to palm. "Let me just – just give me a moment, okay?"
After a moment, America queries, the pitch of his voice a few decibels higher, "So is the kid mine or what?"
A ten degree drop in temperature later, Russia smiles and affirms with a seethed, "Yes. Unfortunately."
"Are you sure? I mean, I totally forgive you if you like, got drunk and slept with my brother or something. It happens."
Russia informs him he hasn't had sexual relations with England since Nickolas and promptly kicks him out of the house. In the snow, where it's cold.
"But that's not who I –"
The door slams in America's face.
So the first thing America does after nearly freezing his balls off is call his brother.
Canada, not England.
- Yeah, Canada.
( Oh god wait, Russia slept with England. OH GOD, DO NOT WANT. )
"Bro," groans America, "Bro, you've got to be straight with me."
"America, it's five am in Toronto right now. What are you doing."
"Uh, whatever." What a weirdo. "Look, I'm going to ask you a question, and you're going to be perfectly truthful to me, okay. Cause we're brothers, even though I forget you sometimes, and brothers are always totally legit with each other."
Canada grunts, "Do I have a choice?"
"Cool, cool. We're cool." Leaning against the seat of his rent-a-car, America runs his fingers against the steering wheel and stares deliberately out the window. "Did you sleep with Russia?"
There's a pause, and America's jaw drops.
"Dude, you slept with Russia?" The line of his spine straightens. "Dude, I'll kick your ass!"
"You fucking dick!"
"Listen to me!" America has to peel his phone from his ear to save himself from Canada's yelling. "I said no like a million times! Why would I sleep with Russia?"
"Oh. Well." America relaxes, but only a little. "Well, we have the same face and all."
"You could've gotten drunk or high off your mind, maybe…"
"No, non, and no again."
"Are you sure?"
"I'm sorry, but if you don't tell me why you're even asking me this, I'm going to hang up."
Gravely, America tells him.
But then he stops when he realizes that Canada isn't screaming, but instead is laughing hysterically.
lol I'm sorry
No ur not
But I'm shakin n cryin
don't u have seals to club or sth
The second thing America does is whine all over England's couch.
"He's pregnant! How is that even biologically possible!"
Answer: it's not.
England sputters, "Where exactly did you stick it in?"
America stares. "Where the fuck else?"
"I have no idea. I'm not the one with the demon spawn."
"You could have been," accuses America, eyes narrowed, "Don't act like I don't know."
No one drinks tea that afternoon.
End of the first chapter of obviously the best thing I've ever written ever.