The nightmare grimaced as America punched him harshly in the stomach and he let go. The real America twisted to look down at what exactly they were falling towards and swore, arms automatically reaching out for something to grab onto as he saw the ground quickly getting closer. His fingers of course met nothing but the cool air as they fell. “Shit, no!” he yelled, covering his face with his arms as he realized he was about to meet the solid ground at a deadly speed. The nightmare laughed gaily.
It hurt. He bit through his lip as he crashed against the ground. He had hit the ground at a good speed, and fast enough to hurt, but it was nothing like he was expecting. America should have been dead from that impact, a broken doll of mangled ribs and scrambled organs. Instead, his mouth tasted like copper shavings, but he was still very much alive. America rose to his hands and knees, staring at the ground as his arms shook lightly and his stomach churned. From under the shadows of his arms, America watched the nightmare flipped over, winked from behind his glasses, and suddenly dissolved into the thick shadows that encapsulated the room America was now in.
He turned his gaze back to the floor, his glasses nearly slipping off his nose and clattering to the ground. He didn’t trust himself to stand up at the moment. America listened to his breath, the only sound in the silent room. He shook his head at listening to the sharp and ragged pants. The damn nightmare had taken a lot out of him. His elbow buckled with the weight of supporting his body weight and America toppled to the side. Looking up to a black sky, he continued to pant quietly, swallowing quickly every so often in a lame attempt to slow his breathing down.
America wasn’t sure how long he lay there, but by the time he realized that someone was standing behind him his breathing had lengthened into the deep mellow pattern of sleep and he felt as if someone had stuffed his brain and mouth with cotton. America’s blue eyes shot open as he heard the crack of metal against the cold stone floor. It was a hollow sound, one that America knew fairly well and groaned into his fingers.
He rolled onto his back, looking up at Russia curiously. He was in his old tan coat, one Russia had left in an old box in his basement more than twenty years ago, looking as formidable as great propaganda could only hope to project. There wasn’t a single shred of recognition there in those violet eyes that America knew so well. Not even the dullest glimmer of gentle joy that always seemed to be lurking there, even when he was so mad he was screaming at him in Russian and afterwards wouldn’t acknowledge him for a week. That had been a bit of a common occurrence in the birth of their relationship.
There was nothing there in his eyes or posture that said Russia was looking down at anything but a pure enemy and America froze. He held his breath and stilled, like a rabbit realizing it was about to be ripped apart by a starving wolf. “Have you come to mock me?” Russia asked softly.
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Here and Now 69
(Anonymous) 2012-04-01 06:19 am (UTC)(link)The nightmare grimaced as America punched him harshly in the stomach and he let go. The real America twisted to look down at what exactly they were falling towards and swore, arms automatically reaching out for something to grab onto as he saw the ground quickly getting closer. His fingers of course met nothing but the cool air as they fell. “Shit, no!” he yelled, covering his face with his arms as he realized he was about to meet the solid ground at a deadly speed. The nightmare laughed gaily.
It hurt. He bit through his lip as he crashed against the ground. He had hit the ground at a good speed, and fast enough to hurt, but it was nothing like he was expecting. America should have been dead from that impact, a broken doll of mangled ribs and scrambled organs. Instead, his mouth tasted like copper shavings, but he was still very much alive. America rose to his hands and knees, staring at the ground as his arms shook lightly and his stomach churned. From under the shadows of his arms, America watched the nightmare flipped over, winked from behind his glasses, and suddenly dissolved into the thick shadows that encapsulated the room America was now in.
He turned his gaze back to the floor, his glasses nearly slipping off his nose and clattering to the ground. He didn’t trust himself to stand up at the moment. America listened to his breath, the only sound in the silent room. He shook his head at listening to the sharp and ragged pants. The damn nightmare had taken a lot out of him. His elbow buckled with the weight of supporting his body weight and America toppled to the side. Looking up to a black sky, he continued to pant quietly, swallowing quickly every so often in a lame attempt to slow his breathing down.
America wasn’t sure how long he lay there, but by the time he realized that someone was standing behind him his breathing had lengthened into the deep mellow pattern of sleep and he felt as if someone had stuffed his brain and mouth with cotton. America’s blue eyes shot open as he heard the crack of metal against the cold stone floor. It was a hollow sound, one that America knew fairly well and groaned into his fingers.
He rolled onto his back, looking up at Russia curiously. He was in his old tan coat, one Russia had left in an old box in his basement more than twenty years ago, looking as formidable as great propaganda could only hope to project. There wasn’t a single shred of recognition there in those violet eyes that America knew so well. Not even the dullest glimmer of gentle joy that always seemed to be lurking there, even when he was so mad he was screaming at him in Russian and afterwards wouldn’t acknowledge him for a week. That had been a bit of a common occurrence in the birth of their relationship.
There was nothing there in his eyes or posture that said Russia was looking down at anything but a pure enemy and America froze. He held his breath and stilled, like a rabbit realizing it was about to be ripped apart by a starving wolf. “Have you come to mock me?” Russia asked softly.
“What?” America asked, sitting up slowly.