He continued to hum the cobbled together tune, watching as he found himself strolling through all too familiar halls. America paused, furrowing his fingers through his golden hair and blinked as he watched England walk closer, grumbling under his breath. He could smell the waft of tea and faint odor of burnt foods as he swished by, making it feel like he was already back in one of the many meeting buildings and all the nightmares were dreams years away.
And then a laugh came from behind him and it was like a breath of fresh air. The deep richness of that chuckle acted like a balm and America turned around to see Russia walking down the hall, pulling at the edge of his scarf as though to hide the smile blooming on his face. Heart warmed, it took the younger man a minute to recognize that he was looking at his own image once again.
This time though, there was no anger boiling behind blue eyes. Like gazing at a film from far away, America watched himself animatedly wave his hands, smiling and poking the older nation’s arm. Russia was shaking his head and America’s image grinned. America was still guarded though and remained tense until his image and Russia walked closer and he could see into familiar blue eyes.
He relaxed instantly, knowing that look in his images eyes. It was what America felt inside everyday, sparking up joyously and spreading across his face. It was the warmth that enveloped his body, chasing away any coldness the world injected into his blood.
America leaned against the wall, watching the two walk by, and felt a small smile tug at his lips. With Russia he was himself. He could be Alfred and Russia could be Ivan; two people at their most basic core, rebuilding together to make something better and stronger. It was nice to see the dream at least hinted at that, rather than the psychopathic version of himself he had just seen. America frowned and shifted.
Biting at his lip, America pushed off the wall and treaded close behind Russia, reminding himself that there was a reason this dream wasn’t pleasant. The younger nation continued to listen to the conversation and looked around the hallways for any shadow that might be lurking. But everything was tranquil and America rubbed at the back of his neck. His image winced slightly and put his hand to his side.
“Are you all right?” Russia asked, his voice lowering and his step slowing down.
“I’m fine.” America watched his image flash a smile and give a thumbs-up. He folded his arms and studied the image carefully.
“America…”
“Really, I’m fine. “ His image gave a huff of air in amused annoyance. “I told you, for the…like…trillionth time, it looked worse than it was. Stop being so pensive, kay?” he slung an arm over Russia’s shoulders and gave a small peck on the cheek. Russia continued to frown and batted away America’s images’ attempt to pinch his cheeks and force the frown into a smile.
America glanced down to the floor. It seemed Russia had been more concerned about the cut than he had let on. He snorted as the thought of having to strip for him and prove that the cut was fine flashed across his mind. Blue eyes flickered back to Russia as the man carded a gloved hand through his pale blond hair, shaken out of the daydreams that had started to form.
“You seem pale today,” Russia said.
“Eh, I haven’t had my third burger of the day yet.”
America’s lips turned upwards in a small smile as Russia smiled as well and tried to futilely explain that burgers weren’t the cause of paleness, nor were they any good for his health. America continued to watch, not knowing what to do in the dreams without the appearance of an obvious enemy. Already in the past two dreams he had simply watched as Russia’s heart broke and crumbled with his sister and America’s apparent betrayal. He didn’t want to see it break again.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Here and Now 42
(Anonymous) 2011-09-29 05:39 am (UTC)(link)He continued to hum the cobbled together tune, watching as he found himself strolling through all too familiar halls. America paused, furrowing his fingers through his golden hair and blinked as he watched England walk closer, grumbling under his breath. He could smell the waft of tea and faint odor of burnt foods as he swished by, making it feel like he was already back in one of the many meeting buildings and all the nightmares were dreams years away.
And then a laugh came from behind him and it was like a breath of fresh air. The deep richness of that chuckle acted like a balm and America turned around to see Russia walking down the hall, pulling at the edge of his scarf as though to hide the smile blooming on his face. Heart warmed, it took the younger man a minute to recognize that he was looking at his own image once again.
This time though, there was no anger boiling behind blue eyes. Like gazing at a film from far away, America watched himself animatedly wave his hands, smiling and poking the older nation’s arm. Russia was shaking his head and America’s image grinned. America was still guarded though and remained tense until his image and Russia walked closer and he could see into familiar blue eyes.
He relaxed instantly, knowing that look in his images eyes. It was what America felt inside everyday, sparking up joyously and spreading across his face. It was the warmth that enveloped his body, chasing away any coldness the world injected into his blood.
America leaned against the wall, watching the two walk by, and felt a small smile tug at his lips. With Russia he was himself. He could be Alfred and Russia could be Ivan; two people at their most basic core, rebuilding together to make something better and stronger. It was nice to see the dream at least hinted at that, rather than the psychopathic version of himself he had just seen. America frowned and shifted.
Biting at his lip, America pushed off the wall and treaded close behind Russia, reminding himself that there was a reason this dream wasn’t pleasant. The younger nation continued to listen to the conversation and looked around the hallways for any shadow that might be lurking. But everything was tranquil and America rubbed at the back of his neck. His image winced slightly and put his hand to his side.
“Are you all right?” Russia asked, his voice lowering and his step slowing down.
“I’m fine.” America watched his image flash a smile and give a thumbs-up. He folded his arms and studied the image carefully.
“America…”
“Really, I’m fine. “ His image gave a huff of air in amused annoyance. “I told you, for the…like…trillionth time, it looked worse than it was. Stop being so pensive, kay?” he slung an arm over Russia’s shoulders and gave a small peck on the cheek. Russia continued to frown and batted away America’s images’ attempt to pinch his cheeks and force the frown into a smile.
America glanced down to the floor. It seemed Russia had been more concerned about the cut than he had let on. He snorted as the thought of having to strip for him and prove that the cut was fine flashed across his mind. Blue eyes flickered back to Russia as the man carded a gloved hand through his pale blond hair, shaken out of the daydreams that had started to form.
“You seem pale today,” Russia said.
“Eh, I haven’t had my third burger of the day yet.”
America’s lips turned upwards in a small smile as Russia smiled as well and tried to futilely explain that burgers weren’t the cause of paleness, nor were they any good for his health. America continued to watch, not knowing what to do in the dreams without the appearance of an obvious enemy. Already in the past two dreams he had simply watched as Russia’s heart broke and crumbled with his sister and America’s apparent betrayal. He didn’t want to see it break again.