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gospacegay · 7 years

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LRTIHEW: Part Four

The title stands for “Longest Rusame Thing I Have Ever Written”.

First Chapter: https://gospacegay.tumblr.com/post/165808913233/lrtihew-part-one

Previous Chapter: https://gospacegay.tumblr.com/post/165835878803/lrtihew-part-three

There is swearing, fluff, eventual smut, insanity, and lord knows what else.

“Well... You have a lot of experience with this but... I was thinking of killing my president.” Alfred stated bluntly. Ivan was shocked to hear this, keeping his expression blank. “He can not be that bad, Alfred.” Ivan objected, feeling a sick mix of joy and concern. This was definitely a real name type of conversation. The possibility of international anarchy was somewhat exciting.

“He's stripping human rights, deregulating the market... He's a fucking monster. I need to kill him.” Alfred insisted, expression steeled. “Can you ah... what is it... impeach him?” Ivan asked, still knitting. “It's going to take a year to work, and... He needs to be out now. He wants to go to war with China. Fucking China. That dude is as tough as you are.” his guest fretted, clearly losing his cool.

This was serious. China would look for allies and Ivan would be torn from his comfortable neutrality. The global markets... Ivan didn't want to think about what a potential market crash would do for his already struggling citizens. “Okay. I will help you kill him.” the Russian agreed, keeping his regular demeanour.

“Oh thank you! You have no idea how stressed out I've been about this!” Alfred crooned, sweeping Ivan into a massive hug. Not certain what to do, the taller nation awkwardly patted America on the back. “It will be fine, yes?” he soothed, or hoped he did. He wasn't very good at these positive types of interactions. Released, the Russian settled back in his rocking chair.

“Oh I'm so excited! I was thinking, oh he's not gonna go for it or be a huge dick, but oh my god you're so chill about this!” Alfred squealed happily, bouncing all over the place. “Yes, I am chill, as you say. Now, how do you wish to kill him?” Russia answered calmly. “I want to rip his head off.” Alfred answered quickly, expression dreamy as he clearly imagined it. Ivan couldn't help but truly smile, seeing a kindred spirit of carnal destruction for a few seconds. Maybe they could be friends, someday.

After a long night of scheming and evil plans, the duo ordered takeout from the functioning half of Moscow. Dinner was fish with fries, a heaping helping of coleslaw on the side. The dessert squares turned out to be nanaimo bars, which were absolutely delicious. After killing the bottle of vodka, a mostly sober Ivan and a drunk Alfred decided to sleep.

With the power still off, Ivan's bedroom had turned into an icebox. Alfred was largely useless, still unable to hold his liquor after two centuries. Must be a trait he inherited from England. Dragging a mattress from a long abandoned guest bedroom, Ivan set it up in the warm living room. A few dusty blankets later, everything was ready.

Getting comfortable, the tall Russian looked over at his guest. “Where am I supposed to sleep big dummy?” Alfred slurred, slumped over the worn love seat. “Wherever you wish, though it is advisable to share the mattress. Body heat is wonderful for blizzard survival” Ivan answered, meaning it in the most platonic way possible. He had saved many lost and cold travellers in the past by keeping them awake and close. It was possible to freeze to death even inside structures, if the heat couldn't stay in effectively.

“I'm not layin' with you commie. Uh, not commie. Whatever.” Alfred complained, correcting himself mid insult. “I am curious America. You have not called me communist for almost a year. Perhaps you have gleamed my reasons for the soviet union?” Ivan wondered out loud, one of several questions that weighed on his mind.

“Communists are still evil, and capitalism will always prevail.” The tanned American argued predictably, then sighed. He looked remorseful a moment, continuing, “But I'm trying not to hold it against you anymore. You were starving at the time, or at least your people were. Starving people do crazy things, like kill the royal family, or start cult societies. Evil stupid cult societies.”

Ivan had been hungry prior to the massacre that triggered the soviet union. Hungry enough to kill, to do something regrettable. His precious Romanovs had ignored the signs. He loved them, he did and always would, but they had been so dense. They took little heed of his condition, presuming him to be sick, ignoring his warnings. They died for that sin, painfully and horribly.

“At least you understand that much.” Ivan whispered, glad someone understood even a sliver of his motives. Rationing the few pieces of firewood left, Ivan tossed a few on to keep the heat in the room alive. Sleep came quickly, the cold of day having sapped Ivan of his energy. He slept poorly, shivering and getting up frequently to stoke the fire.

After an unknown amount of time Ivan woke to weak light of morning. The snow plastered windows filtered the room pale grey. A lukewarm America was wrapped tightly around him under the covers, still wearing that fluffy sweater. Fearing the worst, Ivan checked Alfred's pulse. It was much too slow. As dangerous as Ivan could get when enraged, he had no wish for people to die on his watch. Unless they particularly deserved it, life was indeed sacred.

The fire was completely dead today, the room plunged to hair raising temperatures. If Ivan was feeling uncomfortable in this environment, it could kill his temperate to subtropical guest. Using a newspaper as kindling, Ivan built the fire up again and started boiling water. Alfred was still unconscious, pulse low. “Please wake up America.” Russia muttered anxiously, taking off his treasured scarf and winding it around the other nation's neck and face. Desperate, he resorted to holding his guest close and attempting to rub heat into his back. He had to react to something!

After twenty fearful minutes, a very groggy America came back to life. “Never coming back here again.” he coughed, looking exhausted. Relieved, Ivan brought him a fresh extra strong coffee. “Drink, America. It is warm.” he urged, not giving the younger man a choice. “I am glad you are not dead. Your soon-to-be-murdered boss would be very displeased with my government.” Ivan commented once Alfred was fully revived.

“You mean... you still want to help? I thought all the plans were drunk talk.” Alfred answered, looking very happy. “This act will bind us as comrades.” Ivan purred, quite pleased. “What do you mean? Why are you acting like a bond villain?” Alfred demanded, looking apprehensive. “We will be friends, yes? Then you can return a big favor for me!” Ivan explained, letting his inner glee seep through his normally flat expressions.

“I'm not killing Putin. Even if he is a jerk.” Alfred refused, munching on freezing cold bread from the kitchen. “No, silly American. You will not bring harm to my boss. He is mine.” Russia replied with ease, not bothering to disguise his dark possessive nature towards the end. “Oooh, crushing much on the Putinator. You know hes getting old right?” Alfred teased, ignoring the warnings like always. Ivan scowled but said nothing. His favorite strong willed leader aging less than gracefully was a concern gnawing at the back of his mind.

After a cold breakfast of cereal and breads, the duo set to work shoveling out the front door. It took three hours of labor, but the punishing blizzard had finally settled in the night. The amber glow of street lamps came closer, humming to life one city block at a time. Finally, Ivan's house was live again. It was just in time for both of them to have hot showers before heading to the airport. They separated peacefully at the waiting area, for Alfred had a military jet on stand by.

They would not physically see each other again for many months. Convening too often would arouse suspicion, outside their normal boxes of behavior. While not dead, Alfred's president was almost immediately absent from office, horrendously ill. Ivan knew the man would be sleeping most days, vomiting and becoming blistered. The pain of the blisters would drive him to assured madness. He would eventually die, when his heart gave out from the stress. Ivan knew this intimately.

During the cold war, Ivan had entirely embraced the hate and darkness within. His people produced nuclear bombs, rockets, and guns never seen before. They also engineered insidious diseases, all of which ever left a laboratory. Strains of disease so virile they had to seal the files for then underground in hidden bunkers. The particular strain infecting the American president was so obscure, it's name was stripped from soviet records. It had a fatality rate of eighty percent, they highest they ever tested on dogs.

Although the president's death would be a bit on the flashy side, it could easily be explained away with deadly allergies to certain foods or alcohol. After all, the main catalyst for the disease had laced every drink the man had for months. His body was primed for any disease at all, immune system almost permanently crippled.

#lrtihew #rusame #russia #america #story #hetalia #aph

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