Hi there guys! I am a long time reader/fan of this website but this is the first story I have ever submitted! So I am a little new to the workings of the site and ask that you please be patient with me!
This story was inspired by the WIP comic I'm doing on DA, just search my user name on Deviantart, Nenema.
Anyway hope you enjoy the first chapter, I apologize for it's shortness. Please feel free to tell me of grammar mistakes, I will greatly appreciate it and take the time to correct them :]
Hot…when did it get so hot? Granted it was July and that particular month was known for being stifling at times. However the sun wasn't even out yet for peet sake! Curling into himself Alfred scrunched up his nose; the slow movement made him aware of just how damp the bedding had gotten from his sweat. With a frown he tried unsuccessfully to will away the sick stickiness that clung to seemingly ever nook and cranny of his body. It really must be one of the worst sensations he morosely decided, when hot air touches damp, clammy flesh. He took in a few shaking breaths before slowly opening his eyes. Had Alfred a mirror opposite of him, and his bedroom not quite so dark he would have known immediately something was very wrong.
Everything seemed slow, intensely thick and just so so hot, Alfred couldn't recall waking up to ever take quiet so much effort. Then again why had he waken at all? There was a small tendril in his chest, just behind his diaphragm that tightened into a spiny coil of panic. Bringing himself to a quick upright position Alfred's blue eyes sharpened, pupils dilating as he held his breath and listened. The old mattress groaned angrily protesting the sudden disturbance. Alfred did not, could not hear the mattress's squeak over the steady building sound. America's ears were overflowing with the dull roar of panic, the sound reminding him of angry honeybees. The heat seemed to intensify just then by at least fifty degrees. Blotchy smudges of bright neon red hungrily consumed his vision before fading out to a murky green. Gritting his teeth till it hurt he brought his slick palms to eyes, pressing in, Alfred desperately willed himself to calm down.
"It's ok…I'm ok. It's ok. I'm ok." The words tumbled skittishly from his trembling lips. "It's ok…. I'm ok…I'm ok. I'm ok."
The red was growing bolder, nipping and biting sharply at his already diminishing nerves, rivaled only with that of the burning heat. The heat. Alfred's hands fell away from his eyes to find purchase again in his hair, mouth falling open. It suddenly dawned on him that it wasn't the room that was hot….it was him. America was blistering and burning away from deep within his core, Alfred's heart nearly burst with bright, sharp dread. Swallowing thickly he realized he had felt this sensation before.
Alfred wrenched the blankets from his legs and stumbled to his covered window. Absently he noted the dusty dim light tracing the borders of the curtains a saturated red. The blond gripped the starchy blue fabric, fingers digging in and shaking terribly. When had he gotten this hot? He'd felt fine the night prior when he went to bed. The coil of panic stretched up and tightened around his throat choking him.
"Impossible. I haven't done….This can't happen today! Not today! It's my…my…" Pale fingers peeled away the curtains. Alfred stopped breathing and promised himself he was still dreaming. That he had to be dreaming. Deep down he knew however that his dreams didn't consist of sickly sweating or a heat that licked at him from within. His dreams never instilled in him such a terrible and intense panic. Most of all Alfred's dreams never featured black birdlike war planes appearing over the bloodied morning horizon of his capitol.
"No….not today! This doesn't….can't happen on…." The planes grew closer, low growling voices louder until Alfred covered his ears. "Not today…"
He felt as if his heart was exploding and he could suddenly feel them in his capital. Alfred's people's screams began ringing in his ears and chest, splintering him apart. He felt them dieing. It was his children's deaths that were burning him.
Falling to his knees Alfred's blue eyes glossed over, turning crimson. The subtle change in eye color that transpires in a nation who is being invaded. His capitol burned as the foreign warplanes unloaded their bombs, smoke rising in fat, macabre shapes, chocking out the sky… his sky. The need to help, protect and save his people crushed the logic to save himself, Alfred forced himself to his feet once more. Staggering through his house sobbing America forced himself out the safety of his front door to a world bleeding.
It was July 4th, five thirty in the morning when America was invaded. July 4th was Alfred's birthday.
Thundering through his large empty house Ivan wrenched his door open, gasping frantically and violet eyes wild. He paused only for a second before hurling himself forward once more shoving roughly through the knee-deep snow. Russia could not see, could not feel, and could not breathe! Feeling as if his world was being pulled into a bottomless void where Ivan was sure he would drown there from panic. Like a cup left to long under a sink facet, Russia threw back his head voice overflowing him.
"General winter!" Russia screamed to the dreary surroundings that trembled at his frigid rage. The usually calm nation was shaking and seething. Ivan's face set in a stone as he came to a stop, throwing back his head again. "GENERAL WINTER!"
Russia had woken up to his phone shrieking not but five minutes ago, his boss's frantic voice beating like frightened wings in his ear.
"Ivan! America has been invaded!"
Ivan didn't stick around to hear what else his boss had to say. Even if he had Russia wouldn't have been able to hear him over that one sentence repeating and ringing over and over in his ears. He hadn't even changed out of his sleeping attire, only sparing but a morsel of time to pull on his snow boots. Considering it briefly now Ivan grimly wished he hadn't even sacrificed that precious time.
"GENERAL WINTER!" Ivan could hardly remember ever yelling so loud, his voice sounding strange to him…. almost broken. 'The only way. This is the only way.' Ivan shivered as he scanned the sleepy snowdrifts. He could not take a plane; he would not make in time. Russia could almost see Alfred in his mind's eye, beaten, bloodied and so horrifically shattered. Ivan could envision America's vibrant blue eyes turning red then going glassy, Russia's blood ran cold.
Ivan was about to yell again when suddenly the wind picked up and the sky darkened. Russia almost smiled in relief… almost. The wind's invisible fingers gently began brushing through his ashy tresses as a mother's hand would to a beloved child. Ivan knew then that he was there and listening, summoned by his child's frantic screaming. The invisible fingers plucked questionably at his nightshirt prompting him to speak before he could freeze. Russia wasted no time in a lengthy explanation; General winter already knew what was happening in America, to America. General Winter was everywhere and nowhere and Russia was running out of time.
"You will take me to America now." Ivan demanded, the wind withdrew its caressing fingers and stood eerily still. Ivan squared his shoulders and clenched his fists. "It is the only way to reach him in time."
"How shall you even begin to know where to find him?" The raspy whisper came from behind Ivan but he did not turn around. "He is lost amongst his people…"
"I will find him." Ivan snarled. "I will find him!"
"Such a request you ask of me Vanya…. " The whisper brushed past her ears, circling around him. Russia stood motionless, violet eyes brutally darkening.
"There is no other way." Russia hissed in desperation. "He's dying! He's dying!"
The wind picked up, howling. "What shall you do when you find them?" The soft intangible voice of General Winter inquired.
"I will return the favor they bestowed onto Alfred of course."
"Get dressed Vanya, hurry!" The wind pushed him urgently back toward his door; Russia let it guide him and began stumbling and sprinting. Raceing through his house once more Ivan snatched his clothes, yanking them on as he went. The last item he grabbed was his water pipe, it's metal gleaming as dangerously as Ivan's eyes. Slamming the heavy oak doors shut, Russia bounded back out into the clearing and waited.
His breath coming out in heavy uneven white puffs, he was about to shout for General Winter again until he felt himself being lifted. The ground suddenly raced away from Russia's feet. Ivan's vision filled with rich violets and deep grey blues of his homeland's sky. He felt a hot, tight knot settle like thick dough in his stomach and he grinned his childish smile. Russia grinned until he was sure his cheeks would start splitting. Ivan would make them pay. He would make them wish so desperately that they had never set foot on American soil or even laid eyes on Alfred. Ivan was giddy at deciding they will soon not be able to lay eyes on much of anything ever again.