Clamorous chatter pounded against her fragile eardrums, as she puffed out an angry breath, pausing to take a small sip of water.
Natalya growled to herself as she watched her beloved America from a distance. Somehow, the docile lunch break that had lasted for literal hours, of Alfred and the others blabbering on and on about the old days, was suddenly moved to a walk in jazz club.
Francis has been rather peckish for a bottle of something that could top him off plain tipsy. The solution to this? Take him, the angry Englishman, and two "underage" guests along with them.
The jazz was alarmingly hectic, an array of jazz instruments bobbing about in the hands of energetic musicians, as the crowd cheered in encore and drank their sorrows away.
"Oh you had to choose a jazz club," a drunk voice babbled through the evening of voices.
Natalya turned an angry eye toward the three countries who dragged her along.
"Takes me back," Alfred snapped, staring off at the jazz band playing in the background.
"The roaring twenties were quite a time for dear old America," France defended.
England muttered to himself as he pressed a scotch glass to his lips, and downed the alcohol in one gulp.
"Oh what a bother you two are," Arthur whined. "While America was prancing about his little paradise, the rest of the world was in the slump of debt after that bloody stupid war."
Francis rolled his eyes, and waved down the bartender to pour the Frenchman his third glass of red wine of the evening. "I went into the depression too ya know!" America snapped, pouting and crossing his arms. "It hit my country pretty damn hard!". Drumming angry fingers against the counter, Alfred urged Francis to level with him so they could share a small strip of whispers.
Francis chuckled and nodded, whistling the bartender back over.
"Scotch on the rocks for this gentleman," France ordered, pulling a crisp 10 dollar bill from his blue navy suit. The bartender frowned for a brief moment and eyed America carefully. "Does he have an ID on him?" They grumbled, pushing away the money without a second glance. Francis furrowed a moody brow and yanked the bartender closer by his shirt collar. "I'm afraid I didn't make myself clear," Francis grumbled, taking out a large set of more ten dollar bills. Taking a shaky hand to the bartender's shirt, he shoved it down into his chest and pushed him back. "He is 21, how dare you make assumptions! I'll have you know I'm a very important person, and I can get you a heftily bad review. Do I make myself clear, monsieur barman?"
The bartender tugged at France's gripped and quickly nodded. Letting the shivering server go, Francis chuckled and leaned back in his seat. "He's too young to drink!" England protested, staring daggers into France's smug face. "Angleterre, he's been around for centuries, he can take it!". Arthur grumbled a pathetic, "he's only 19," and turned around to watch the band.
As the bartender came back with a scotch in hand, Natalya watched as France and America flung themselves back into conversation. "As you were saying, the twenties were indeed absolutely divine," Francis giggled. "Everything was at its prime. The music, the cuisine, the people, the money!"
Suddenly. Francis leaned forward to stare over America's shoulder, right at a rather bothered Natalya. "And the sex," Francis lightly added, giving Belarus an eyebrow of suggestion.
Natalya's face burned of hot coals, and she swiveled away, staring at her feet.
She heard a smack and a giggly squeal, which she presumed was France getting his stupid noggin beaten. "That's gross! Cut the shit already!" America sighed.
Her cheeks continued to turn red as she heard America scoot out from his seat and cross the room to her.
"Er...I don't know if you heard that last part...but if you did, I have nothing to do with it, Francis is on his horny watch right now, you'll have to excuse him."
Natalya's cheeks lit an angry red as she spun around to make eye contact with him.
He sat in his heroic aura, holding a scotch that was halfway downed in his hand.
"What happened to just us?!" Belarus snapped. Alfred flashed her a surprised glance. "Waddya' mean, Natty?"
All day. All damn day she had to watch others fond over him and even touch him. God she hated sharing that piece of snack she called her true love. "It's been us for the last couple of weeks!" Natalya barked. "Just me and you, no other country! This was supposed to be our date! Instead we're out at some low quality, shitty music bar!"
Natalya stamped an enraged foot down and covered her face with sudden embarrassment. America placed a friendly and assuring hand on her shoulder and slowly rubbed it. "Hey hey, you aren't having fun?" Alfred gasped. "What about the café with you and the other two? You all were getting along."
Lunging our, she seized Alfred by his shoulders and pulled him in close. "That's because we were talking about you!" Natalya shrieked. "You keep me sane through all of this madness. I would sit through hours of your childhood stories because you make me happy."
Hands shaking, chest heaving, eyes watering, Natalya stumbled back and looked up at Alfred. He glanced back in silence, slightly alarmed, yet guilt stricken. "I..." he whispered, clutching his forehead, looking into his reflection on the scotch glass.
Tears stung to her eyes, as Belarus slowly took her seat back at the counter. All she wanted was him. Through all the patience and reforming, she was waiting for him. Waiting for him to touch her like he had done the first time they met, and how he held her hand as he helped her up the steep trail among their many hikes. But she was the one left alone.
She was in a daze, a murky pond of fuzzy feelings and thoughts. She couldn't grab hold and pull herself from the murky waters of her confusion.
So she put out a hand and waved down the bartender, motioning him to come closer. "Two of what he has," Belarus grumbled, her head sinking onto the cold wooden counter. The bartender looked between her and America, then shivered, not wishing to be frazzled like he was before.
Alfred could only stare silently at his Belarusian friend, remaining motionless. Finally, she felt something being placed in her lap. It was a crumpled twenty dollar bill. Embarrassed and angry at his random gift of charity, she grasped it in her hand. "I'll give you some space," America whispered. "Don't go crazy tho. Just please calm down so I can talk to you again like we always have."
As Alfred walked away, she heard the clink of two glasses being placed in front of her. Lifting a shaky head up from the counter, she saw her sour face glaring back at her in the gold liquid of alcohol.
She drank the two in an instant. It wasn't enough to pull herself from this sudden gloom resting on her shoulders. Natalya looked down at the twenty crumpled in her hand. She silently cried to herself as she asked for a bottle of vodka, feeling as if she were stiffened in the shadow of her brother. But anything would do if she could stop the tears and confusion.
The music began to make her head ache, along with the suddenly increase in volume of chatter. She reached the near bottom until Alfred came back.
He looked out of focus to her, his fine figure bobbing about in her head. "That's enough," America whispered, trying to take the bottle from her hands. "I'll tell you when I'm done!" Belarus snapped, tugging back at the bottle of vodka. "Natty this isn't you," America cooed, placing his hands atop hers and drawing in closer. "I'm sorry that was a real jerk move of me back there. We should have talked it out instead of going off to drink."
Her head was hot and dizzy as he grabbed the bottle from her, placing it back onto the counter top. "I don't want you to feel left out. I promised you some time for us, and I intend to keep it."
Natalya's head throbbed miserably as Alfred clasped her hands and pulled her onto her shaky feet.
"The song over there's gettin' pretty good, aye? How about we go dance?"
Belarus heard protest swim through her murky thoughts, but remained glumly silent as the American pulled her onto the dance floor. The song was slow and gentle, just like the hands that suddenly rested on her hips. She couldn't tell if it was the alcohol or her sudden lust in erousal, but she felt suddenly so warm. "I don't know how to dance to jazz," Natalya protested, trying to push her sweaty body from his. "Nonsense!" America chucked. "With jazz, you can dance like there's no tomorrow!"
Eyes meeting, smiles shared, Alfred spoke words that made Natalya weak. "Slow dance though, you just gotta follow your partner. Not as heard as you'd make it out to seem."
She blinked a couple times, trying to make her way through the mist of intoxication, wondering if she heard him correctly. "S-slow dancing?" Natalya sputtered, suddenly tripping on herself, and falling into his arms, her head against his ample chest. "Yeah," America said sheepishly. "I did promise you a date..."
A messy smile, and a handful of his bomber jacket in her hands, she sunk into him and held him tight. "A-and this was the only song playing at the moment. I had to get you away from the bottle," Alfred nervously added. Belarus brought a trembling fingers to his plush lips, drunkly shushing him.
At this point she couldn't tell if she drunk on love or on vodka.
"Just shut up," she blubbered. "Let me have this moment."
Hoisting herself up, she put her hands on Alfred's shoulders, as he put his back on her hips. Stars spilled and glinted from America's eyes to the beat of the percussion, and the tip of each eighth note from the trumpet. It all felt so perfect, as they swayed to the beat. The more she looked at him, the more Alfred suddenly looked like he was falling apart. Not falling apart in a bad way necessarily. But as if he were to melt into her just as she did before. His stepping was sloppy as he continued to stare at her, and his face was red, and his hands clammy and gripping tightly to her hips. Never before had someone been more in such an unforgettable moment. A hand was placed onto his cheek, as if to assure and calm him. He closed his eyes against her touch as he smiled contently, pulling her even closer.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Francis and Arthur still at the bar counter, the Frenchman shaking Arthur violently, fanboying and pointing at the two, jumping up and down with glee.
Natalya closed her eyes to submerge herself back into him, as chest met chest, and head met head. His forehead was so warm, as their noses touched. She couldn't stop shaking, feeling she were just at the start of possibly kissing him. As the band slowly came to a close, so did Alfred. He straightened himself up and let go of her waist. "I-I er...think we should get you back to your hotel. You must be getting one hell of a headache from the vodka!"
As he strode away back to the pair to bid them farewell, Natalya stood there in utter heartbreak, wishing he could touch her again, and for them to be so close as they were just then. She watched as Francis seemingly teased Alfred, causing the American to turn a bright red. Even the Englishman came over to give Alfred an emotional hug, babbling on suddenly so proud. She felt like she stood on that dance floor for an eternity until he grabbed her hand again and tugged her from the crowd. She held his hand tightly as they made their way to the exit, and into the cool evening air. It smelled of damp leaves and sap in the playful breeze, the ground beneath them slightly damp. The parking lot was somewhat crowded, a loud and roaring river cutting deep through the ground next to the building. Clouds built up in the sky, lightly sprinkling the earth below with rain.
America let her hand slip from his, as he pulled out his cell, the hazy shade of blue from the screen giving him a ghastly look. "I can call us an Uber," he suggested. "Might take 15 minutes top."
He frowned at his phone as he scrolled through his options. Belarus bit her lip and stared off into the cool night, watching shadows scatter about at the occasional flash of headlights from a car on the neighboring road.
She couldn't stop repeating that dance in her head. How close they were to kissing just made her-
She locked her eyes on a stray foot in the shadows, a cold shiver shooting up her spine. Who in hell's name would be lurking in the shadows like that in this weather?!
She turned back to a Alfred and tried grabbing for his arm, to give her some sense of comfort.
"Alfred, when is that Uber going to arrive-."
She looked back at the shadow, only to see the foot had vanished. Feeling rather uneasy, she let go of Alfred and took a cautious step forward. Her whole body was trembling as scared and unsure thoughts crowded her brain, making her skull throb. She couldn't see anything past the inky blackness of that accursed shadow. She felt colder than usual...
Her shoulders trembled as she shivered, wrapping her arms around her body to stay warm. She was used to the cold, but this amount of cold made her-
Just as the clatter of a phone spun her back into reality, she came to a conclusion, knowing she was already too late. She spun around and met the icy eyes of whom she feared would be here.
The glimmer of rusted pipe, cold pale hands pressing to Alfred's. Ivan held America in a chokehold, the pipe digging into his neck, and Alfred's body being crushed against Russia's massive from. Alfred was lifted slightly off the ground, his feet slightly dangling, as he clawed desperately at Ivan.
"Don't you dare drag him into this," Belarus demanded, slipping a knife from her stocking, and aiming it right at her big brother's head.
Russia's lips curled into a devastating smile, as he dropped Alfred from his grip. He clambered onto the concrete below and gasped for air, touching a shaky hand to his raw neck.
"I knew that this might have been the case all along," Russia growled behind a gentle smile. He tightened his grip on the pipe and marched forward, inches closer to Natalya.
"What have I said about confining in the enemy," Ivan hissed, twirling his infamous pipe like a dainty little stick in his bearish hands.
"I confide in him because I'm in love with him!" Belarus protested, her hand burning against the tight concrete grip to her weapon.
Rain ran down her face and in each tangle of hair, soaking her petite blue dress. "He doesn't love you, Natalya!" Ivan bellowed, arching his hand slightly, his pipe trembling with his grip. "He'd do anything to stay on top from us! He did so in the Cold War, and he can do the same now!"
Anger radiated from the twitch in his eye, as he raised an arm. She no longer felt cold, but sickeningly warm. It was as if she could already envision the events that were about to unfold. A coat of red atop her stomach, sopping onto the streets. That painstaking familiar puddle of crimson horror on America that damned day, on his scars, and on her very own. She couldn't back out. She wouldn't. Everything she had fought for was now leading up to this moment. She was free of the long term abuse from her brother. Now she has never been more happy, dancing atop sonatas of true love and etudes of euphoria. She cried and she wouldn't dare stop. If only she were faster, the knife could have left her hand and into Ivan.
But those same soft large hands that held her to the sound of jazz, was now careening in front of her, the pipe and his bare palms making contact.
"The Cold War is over, Ivan!" Alfred reasoned, the wind now roaring in everyone's ear. The two enemies stood in the now pouring rain, Ivan pressing all his weight into America, as he held up the pipe from his face. "I helped her people!" America screamed, wincing as the pipe slid to the side, making him adjust his weight. "You could have prevented the war, but you were too stubborn, too arrogant!" Ivan hollered through the wind, his pastel scarf angrily flying about behind him. "I didn't have a choice!" America wailed, his glasses slipping from his nose. "You couldn't keep one promise! And look where that took you!"
Ivan roared in anger, and threw his weight down onto the American. Alfred yowled, his glasses tumbling to the ground. Crimson red snakes down his palm, dripping into the earth with ease. Both hands were now filling with blood. "You and your people are to blame for your own actions!", Ivan laughed angrily, sensing he was winning the struggle. "We had to do to keep our country as one!"
Alfred looked just as determined, and full of rage the first time she ever met him. The end of World War Two, the streets of Moscow, leaders shaking hands with one another, countries bowing to one another with respect. Everyone looked drained, and exhausted beyond hope.
His eyes were still flaring with a fight boiling in him. The bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki had put his nation in celebration. But he looked saddened, yet enraged. She thought nothing of him, yet was drawn to that fiery madness. That day, her brother and him had shook hands for a job well done. There was no friendship in their stare. All they could think of was that dreaded nuclear bomb. Lust was what was left in their friendship. A handshake after Ukraine, she was face to face with this American, as he expressionlessly shot out his hand, as the two shook hands, meeting for the very first time. That moment was nothing to her. Even now it wasn't. She never really met the real America until 1991. He came like a deity that cold hopeless day. He could only make her so warm until now...
Now before her, she saw the same American who emotionless lay exchanged a handshake with. She didn't resent him for that. It only built onto her lust for him. Knowing that he could be as vulnerable as he was to her, made her crave his affections even more.
As if he read her mind, Alfred plunged all his might into the pipe, throwing Ivan backward off of his footing. The metal pipe clambered to the ground, as the two stood there panting for a moment. Two eyes met the pipe of pain, and America and Russia kept forward, bounding with all of their might to grab the pipe. Ivan's hand wrapped around the infamous pipe just as America threw his knee into his gut. Ivan gasped for air as he tumbled down, pipe still in hand. Alfred leapt for the pipe, but was met with another hand wrapped around his neck. Squeezing tight, Ivan tried to choke Alfred as he desperately wrestled the pipe from his hand.
Anger boiled up, watching the way he choked Alfred. His bleeding palms, his read face and raw neck. Everything she worked for, all the discipline she gave herself to conceal those carnivorous instincts, all came out.
Her mind split into the same broken mindset she once had. "Let my America go!" Belarus screamed, ripping through her vocal chords. She dug into her dress for a second knife, so quickly that she had slit herself, her palm gathering in red just like Alfred. All logic had left her, Natalya's only motive to get her dear American back, so he could hold her and that she could hold him back.
Letting out an inhuman scream she tore forward, arms and knives in each hand flailing about. Just as she was close enough to strike a knife into Russia, she felt someone pull her back, and pin her hands behind her back. She was forced to her knees as she knelt under the stranger's weight.
Natalya growled and looked up, to be met with the Frenchman's blue eyes.
"What are you doing?!" Natalya howled, wriggling away from his grip. "You can't win this fight!" France shouted, pressing down onto her. "This is a fight none of can win!"
Natalya screamed with anger and spun around, biting down into France's arm. Francis yowled, as Belarus slid away from his grip, jumping to her feet and snatching her knives. "I want him back!" Natalya yelled, tearing forward yet again.
Francis bolted toward her, and this time, she was met with two pairs of hands holding her back.
Arthur and Francis pulled at her with all their strength. "Those two are both very powerful nations!" England screamed. "If we interfere, we could all get seriously hurt!"
She could only feed her frustration by watching the two wrestle back and forth for the pipe. Alfred's neck was red and purple, bruises from the brute force Ivan used while choking him.
"No!" Belarus sobbed, as the Russian finally managed to throw Alfred off of him. His glasses shattered beneath his weight as Ivan raised his pipe to end it all.
Belarus tore herself from the two countries and ran as fast as her legs could carry her.
Prowling on all fours, she leapt up and landed atop Ivan, wrapping her arms around her neck. Ivan bellowed out an angered cry, as he flailed about, trying to hit her with his metal pipe.
As she squeezed at his neck harder and harder, she saw England and France run to America, helping him to his feet.
Natalya felt her dominant instincts overtake her, as she loosened her grip on Ivan's neck. She had to be the one to hold him, and to stare in horror at the black eye and bloody palms had worn. He was hers and only hers. That's how it had been all along!
Ivan seized the opportunity of weakness, and flung her off. She went tumbling across the ground, and down the slope, toward the river.
"Belarus!" Alfred screamed.
She lost his expression as she tumbled off of the edge and into the cold beneath her.
___________________________________________________________________________
Hey germs! Wow holy shit I'm sorry this update took a whole month. I've been rather busy dealing with a lot. On one hand, I've taken a big break because I just scaled Rosalie peak and Mt.Evans for a backpacking trip in Colorado. 15 miles and 13 hours, over 3 days of the most painful hiking I've ever done. I may have totally fucked up my leg and cut open my finger, but I had the most fun I've had all year with my dad and my aunt. It's really beautiful you should look up beartrack lake and Roosevelt lake in Colorado it's breathtaking, we set up camp in those locations.
Secondly, my book, Bold and Brilliant has been taking off in popularity so it's been needing lots of demand. If you like jojo and Josuyasu, I highly recommend it you should go read it.
Anyways I'll try to go back to updating normally. But as a treat I made this chapter as long as I could with some fluff XD OH YEAH ALSO please if you have any ideas drop them in the comments, do it I dare you. I need some more for the next update and future ones.
Til next time!
-Jameson