1 Fight or Flight

In a sort of daze he watched. The interactions. So many conflicts between 'First-world nations', a group he was slowly being pushed out of. After-all, first-world needed a middle class, and his was shrinking.

Surprisingly, that was the topic of today's meeting. He was almost surprised he stayed on track this long.

"America! You're up!" Germany's voice rang out through the throngs of fights. The blond had been dozing almost since the meeting started, probably tired from playing his Xbox or something, I mean, there was no other reason it could have been.

The sound of Germany's voice did little to faze the American, besides a slight shuffle and him attempting to bury his head more into his arms.

"America, I swear!" England exclaimed from beside him, cutting off his fight with France to start another fight with the American.

"What Iggy, I'm tired," America muttered into his arms, not even bothering to move, "I didn't sleep last night."

"Then maybe you shouldn't have played so many video games!" England snapped, hitting him on the back of the head, hard. China and Japan winced from their spot off to his side, and Philippines looked about ready to throw hands before she was stopped by Malaysia. Otherwise, no reaction from his neighbors.

Now, Alfred would have been fine with that insult to his pride if he had actually been playing video games. But no~ he was the one that had to deal with the Russian selling Russian artillery to his portion of the Italian Mafia. And not only that, another underground fascist advocating genocide, just ready to test his patience.

"America, we need you to present your topic on First-world nations," Germany urged with an irritated look, "you yourself are one, now go!"

"So you know how the hero is totally awesome!" America proclaimed as several nations groaned and stopped listening. It was one of his many tactics, say something stupid, get everyone to stop listening, throw actual facts about his nation into incoherent jumbo, and end with something weird so everyone gets drawn back in.

As he started his speech he threw in the occasional, 'illiterate children don't fight back', 'technically, I'm not even first-world', 'capitalism is kinda slowly killing me', and of course the golden 'ya by the way did you know by today's standards, America is a dictatorship?' before getting to his grand finale, "And that's why my military's so big!"

"America, we're talking about the act of being a first-world nation, not military size," France responded, getting drawn back in by that last comment like everyone else, "Are you honestly that dumb to relate the two? Oh wait, you are."

'Like I'm the dumb one,' Alfred thought bitterly, trying not to let the Frenchman's words affect him, 'you're the that fell for some half-cooked bullshit that I've been using for two centuries.'

He knew nobody listened to him. Other countries had a tendency to leave out everything unneeded, but Americans, no. They'd bring up your shoes while talking about Hitler and wait till your done talking about shoes to talk about how world domination is so easy as long as you have Catholics under you. They could take anything unusual from a speech, a conversation, easily. A great skill to technically never lie in these meetings (something they weren't allowed to do), while still getting away with everything he had been, and is getting away with.

And besides, it just made them more stupid in his eyes.

'Ha, as if,' his mind supplied, 'there's no way that they could be the stupid one, you have to be, we can't lie in these meetings and you get called idiot in every one of them!'

Keeping his smile evident on his face he sat down. Nobody ever noticed it was fake, unlike some nations who were just generally pleased with being around noise (cough Russia cough).

"Aww, is the stupid American getting annoyed?" Russia piped with a smirk, purple eyes narrowing like he was looking at prey.

"Shut it fe-commie," America snarled, keeping himself from calling Russia federalist. It would prove that he was smart enough to remember that, and the other nations didn't even believe that from him.

"Oh!" Russia exclaimed 'happily', a little chuckle coming from his lips, "Maybe I should, hm, bust your teeth in?"

His mind, his people, screamed 'No!', the sound of his youngest generations fair respect (among other things) for Russia and the Russian people filling his mind. He shut it down. The old ways... they would have to leave him here.

'Aw, the little homo trying to be clean? Ya right, burn in hell.'

The old ways kinda really suck. Well, the hood was always a good alternative. I mean, every public highschool is a pretty good power source.

"Itching for a fight, square up mate." America snarled, his mind urging him to pull up his sleeves, yet then everyone would see the band-aids littering them. Russia looked mildly confused, but quickly figured out the term for 'get ready for a fight' in American, although England looked appalled. Well, he always was, didn't matter.

C'mon, control your strength... don't break Russia's spine, Alfred said to himself, trying to relax his body and overflow himself with adrenaline. Being shaky was best if he didn't want to severely damage the other.

"Like I would lose against a shluha like you," the Russian replied, his eyes tinting dangerously. At the insult of being called a whore (which he didn't even fit the definition of, he didn't even have sex that often!) he almost lost his shit. In a fit of rage, he jumped the table to the other side, kneeing Russia right in the nose with as little force he could muster. It still almost knocked the other over, if it wasn't for his scarf catching him. Ivan managed to land a hit square on his eye, breaking his glasses and making the American yelp and stumble back.

'Eyes are important Dyami, don't let them get hurt!' his sister's voice filtered into his head.

'Welp, broke that rule,' Alfred thought. He could hear Germany calling the meeting over in the background as the nations left the two alone to duke it out. As the door finally shut they made their next move.

Both of them were extremely good at defense, not offense. They could and probably would circle each other, eyes watching for openings, for however long it took.

Russia struck first. America wasn't even open for an attack, and blocked easily with his arm. Although his left eye was pretty thoroughly fucked up, little shards of glass protruding from the skin, but his right eye was still working fine, so why attack?

That was until Russia squeezed his forearms with all his might, pulling them closer and hooking his leg, sending America to the floor. He gasped as he was grasped in a tight grip, shoots of pain coming to his head in waves as his scars were (most likely) broken open.

He whimpered as Russia gripped him harder, his eyes faltering with unseen tears.

"Hm, sensitive wrists, da?" Russia cooed, glaring down at him.

"Russia, let go, let go right now," America snarled back, the pain fading to numbness and anger. He swung his leg around and hit Russia in the foot hard enough to knock him over, the Russian catching himself, in turn letting him go. With an evil gaze, Russia looked like he was about to kill the American.

Russia jumped at him, grabbing him by the bomber jacket a pulling. In trained defense, he slipped the jacket off, getting ready to retaliate.

The other looked angry, before he... saw.

An assortment of band-aids covered his arms, protecting specifically large scars from infection. Little patterns made by the knife, dots, long, long lines, and words made of scars were left seen.

America was immediately confused by the expression on Russia's face before he remembered... oh. Oh no.

Quickly, he grabbed his jacket and slipped it back over his shoulders, his eyes watering. Ivan let it be taken with an awestruck expression. Why... why would America be...

God, he didn't even want to think of it. That little angel, his comrade during the 19th century, his enemy throughout the 20th... was suicidal? It didn't make sense. He was happy, all the time.

"America?" He asked, looking to the other, who had backed up against the wall for whatever reason, gripping his arms with a cross expression, his head tilted toward the floor.

"What?" he said, his voice wavering, "You know now. You know how weak I am. Don't worry, I won't tell my boss if you decide to invade."

America couldn't even tell the president if he wanted to, the president didn't even know he existed, only the police force, and for the only reason being so that he knew who to kill. And, the police just thought he was an outside trained assassin that had a biological or orphan kid that take up his job every 30 years or so.

"America," Russia called as the others head tilted up, "You are the only one who knows what truly happened to me during the USSR, da?"

"Ya," Alfred replied, "you got drugged out of your mind and it took ages to wear off, dude, you went nuts."

"And you know that the drug has worn off, da?"

"Sometimes that's questionable," Alfred muttered before switching to a louder tone, "But ya, 1991 technology says you have no more in your system."

"Why would I invade you?" Russia asked. He could hear in his heart his people, completely fine with Americans, with the only mock request of Alaska (and their fear of homosexuals) on their minds.

"Um..." America muttered, "Just, don't tell anyone okay? I'm sure that the Middle East would love that knowledge."

Russia was about to ask another question, but stopped himself. What should he do? He felt like he barely knew America anymore. His mind was out of sorts--

Well, at least until America's phone rang. America instantly dove to it, answering it faster than he had ever answered the phone before.

"Al, where are you?" Her voice came through, "You said you wanted me to pick you up after the meeting, yet it's been five minutes and low and behold."

"I'm coming out now," Alfred's voice whispered, "I got a little held up."

With a sigh he hung up, and started collecting all his belongings, stuffing them into his leather bag... sack? No, it was too intricate to be a sack.

"Please Russia, I beg of you," America pleaded, turning to him with his still watery eyes, if Russia didn't know better, he would have thought he was having an anxiety attack, "Don't tell anyone."

"America, it's been almost 30 years," Russia finally said, watching America go to the door, "We are friends now, da?"

"Da," America repeated with a weak smile, leaving extremely fast. Russia could take a guess he was being picked up by someone else, but by who?

He didn't have that good of a relationship with Canada if their fights in the hallway were any indication, England and France constantly harassed him, Germany... he was on a date with Italy this afternoon, he overheard them talking about it. Japan? No... couldn't be him, he and China were going to Los Angeles, and were flying there right after the meeting.

All the other country's he thought of... none of them could be with him at the moment. Not even Lithuania, and those two were extremely close friends.

His curiosity could lead him to something stupid, and there was no way that America was erm, dumb enough, to go with someone he didn't trust.

He hoped.