Radioactive [Open]

He was at the White House when it happened.

The iceberg resembling the Cold War had recently grown to larger proportions than ever. Alfred's boss and Ivan's boss were at a fierce standoff, leaving Alfred and Ivan waiting on tenterhooks. Did they really want this? Wasn't this enough of a headache the first time around? Game pieces were placed into their positions, neither Alfred nor Ivan willing to make a move to end this stalemate.

Someone wasn't content to leave the pieces in their current arrangement. Someone opted to move a piece forward.

And then all hell broke loose.

Alfred had been called to his boss' office for an emergency meeting. He had never heard a boss so frightened in his life. He threw on his best clothes and practically sprinted down the hall. He threw open the doors to his boss' office. Then he collapsed to the ground at once, a burning sensation radiating through his chest.

Pain. He wasn't new to pain. Brief flashes of the Civil War and Pearl Harbor flashed through his head. No, this pain was different somehow. Worse. This realization made Alfred slightly nauseous. What could be worse than the Civil War?

It was only the beginning.

Sensations, much like the one in his chest, began to creep throughout his body. It was all he could do not to cry out in pain, though as hard as he tried, he could not help but writhe a little on the floor. Alfred was no longer slightly nauseous. He felt a warm liquid bubbling up in his throat. Though it hurt to move, Alfred was able to roll himself to his side before vomiting. If Alfred wasn't disconcerted before, he was upon seeing the color of his vomit. Red. Red, red, red. He was vomiting blood. Something was eating him apart from both the inside and out. What was capable of doing such a thing? He was a nation, not a human. What force could be this powerful, this frightening, that it had him at his knees at one fell swoop?

Alfred felt another burning sensation sweep down his forearm. Wide eyes darted down to his arm, mostly covered by the suit. With some effort, Alfred was able to rip his suit upward. Another wave of nausea hit, but this one was not from the effects of the unseen force wreaking havoc on him. No, this came from the sight of the burn on his arm. He recognized it. He'd seen it before, on a human. A human woman who was present for the bombing of Hiroshima or Nagasaki. Alfred couldn't recall exactly which. All he knew was that this was no ordinary burn. This was a radiation burn.

Nukes.

Checkmate.

Alfred covered his ears as the screams started. He knew it was only a matter of time. He could see his people suffering, hear them, feel them. He closed his eyes as tears rolled down his cheeks, a familiar wave of guilt coming over him. Was this what Kiku felt at the end of World War II? Had he really put another being through this? He wouldn't wish this on his worst enemy.

His worst enemy.

His worst enemy was standing against the opposite wall. Alfred's vision was blurred, so he could not make out the features at first. But he would recognize that scarf anywhere.

"You..." He hissed.

He was the one who'd done this. It was Russia. He was responsible for it all. And he had the nerve to show his face at the White House? On Alfred's land? If Alfred had more strength, he would have lunged for Ivan at once, to wipe the creepy smile off of the dirty commie's face once and for all. As it was, though, a slight jarring caused Alfred to vomit once more. He was in no condition to do much of anything.

Besides, he soon became aware of something else.

Ivan was smiling, but it wasn't even his usual smile. There was something present in Ivan's eyes that Alfred had never seen before, in the hundreds of years that he'd known Russia. It was fear, desperation. Pain. Ivan was clutching at his chest. He had a familiar looking burn across his face. His skin was red, cracked, peeling, blood escaping from cracks in the skin. Alfred knew at once that he looked just like that. And then, before Alfred's eyes, Ivan collapsed on to the floor.

Alfred tried to scream, but all he could force out was a strangled sounding groan. Alfred was the one who emitted it, yet it didn't even sound human to his ears. It sounded like a wounded animal on his last limbs.

Mutually assured destruction.

He found himself asking why. No...he knew why. Who. He wanted to know who. Who had dropped the first bomb. His boss...the President of the United States of America...obviously misread his face. "You want to know who won?"

"There are...no winners..." Alfred stammered out. "Who?"

A wry smile came across the President's face. "We did, of course."

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" He cried out as his eyes flew open.

Alfred slowly became aware that he was no longer in pain. In fact, he was no longer in the White House. He was no longer anywhere resembling where he'd been before. It had all been a dream, one horrific nightmare. And it most certainly wasn't the first.

Alfred had fallen asleep on a bench in the hallway after a meeting. This was the first time he'd had such a dream in the public eye. With this realization, Alfred also became aware that he wasn't alone. Fortunately, if he'd cried out, it hadn't attracted a crowd. Alfred didn't know if he would be able to live with that.

There was someone there though. Were Alfred in a normal mood, he would have laughed and tried to play everything off. Were no one there, Alfred would have gone on with his day as though nothing happened...as though his heart weren't still racing, as though the tearstains on his cheeks were from something ridiculous like too much dust in the air or something.

Alfred found that he didn't care, though. He didn't even care the identity of the person there with him. He just pulled them close to him, closing his eyes tightly, grateful for the feeling of a warm body to provide comfort to him. He felt like a small colony all over again, seeking refuge from a fictional monster under the bed.

Only in this case, the monster was real. And he could strike at any time.

[All of the words not in italics he says out loud. Also, this takes place around 1983.]

[atrb=cellSpacing,5,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 380px; -moz-border-radius-topleft: 75px; -moz-border-radius-topright: 75px; background: url(http://fc01.deviantart.net/fs26/f/2008/074/e/3/pattern_by_miseryloneliness.png), bTable][atrb=style, background: url(http://i113.photobucket.com/albums/n222/amoline/fefe_zps98801651.png); -moz-border-radius-topleft: 75px; -moz-border-radius-topright: 75px; height:250; opacity: 0.8][style=text-align:left; font-family: courier new; font-size: 8px; letter-spacing: 0.5px; margin-top: 100px; background-image: url(http://fc01.deviantart.net/fs26/f/2008/074/e/3/pattern_by_miseryloneliness.png); color:#ffffff; text-transform:uppercase; width:345px; margin-left: -2px; padding-top: 2px; padding-bottom: 2px;]To feel that sharpness when you get hurt, or to weep when you feel agony, that kind of natural pain is nothing to be embarrassed about.[/style]

[atrb=style, background: #FAFAFA;][style=font-family: arial; font-size: 10px; color:#2a1113; line-height: 10px; width: 380px;text-align:justify; padding-bottom:1px;] Soviet intelligent services were on alert as of 1981, waiting and watching for the US to launch a surprise nuclear attack, although the element of surprise was somewhat lacking when they were preparing for the surprise. That was beside the point. America had recently adopted an even further rigid stance against the USSR. His administration wouldn’t stand for any vulnerabilities and either would the Soviet officials, much to the concern of their citizens as well as the other nations. England’s own prime minister sought to use this war scare to influence Reagan’s thinking about the USSR… not that it was necessary in Arthur’s blunt opinion. Reagan seemed to be holding his own quite well when it came to keeping steady and strong judgment over this situation. Arthur, himself, was keeping very firm ground when it came to his own opinions about the Cold War. He was undoubtedly, inarguably, and completely against the USSR. He always had been for several decades; even flickers of it were present before the start of the Second World War. Then again, Arthur’s relationship with Ivan was always a very hot and cold, rocky and smooth association. Their leaders traded their royals so frequently that their own flesh and blood eventually turned against them, producing sickly, frail people. All in an effort to mend the nearly irreparable damage between them. England never trusted Russia and Russia in turn never trusted him. They were in alliances only when it was convenient—all the while, England frequently pondered all the ways that he could stab the bastard in the back between their forced pleasantries. Even years into the future, their relations wouldn’t improve. Only grow more complicated, apparently even going so far as to murdering-leads-to-firing each other’s representatives out of sheer spite. Yes. It’s complicated. But that was only the tip of the iceberg of England’s ire for Russia… The Cold War, in a way for England, was the surfacing of some really bad blood between the East and the West, like poison surfacing on a badly healed wound. The East primarily being Russia and those forced to be with him. The Iron Curtain was only the beginning and it was still a source of some nasty happenings. It was this sort of cloud that seemed to hang over the current world meeting; one that England was barely able to tolerate. The tensions dividing them were still as prominent as if the Iron Curtain was a physical presence between the actual nations. England, stubborn and malevolent as he was, had a very special glare reserved for the tall Russian across the table and he wasn’t going to relent, even seven decades later... The look grew worse the moment he also noticed that America seemed out of sorts. His immediate thoughts lie with that despicable cloud hanging over them. It had been weighing on everyone, but for some reason, it dug a little more painfully for Arthur to see the youngest of them bearing the forefront of this entire situation. After the meeting, England stayed behind to gather his notes and rationality. World meetings have truly been grating on his ability to hide behind his usual stiff, polite expression. Ah. fuck it all… no one was around to see his foul mood... The edge of his folders made a sharp noise as he straightened the edges against the desk. Later, he made several phone calls, relating a few important details about the meeting, before even pulling himself together enough to finally leave the room. It was only when he turned the corner did he hear America's barely perceivable mumble, forcing his eyes straight towards the bulk currently curled up on the hallway bench… that can’t be comfortable. England pursed his lips, casting a wide glance about the hallways, checking to make sure that it was clear. He debated between leaving the boy alone or waking him; tell him to get some proper sleep in an actual bed... He was about to do just that. Standing next to the bench, a hand poised over America’s shoulder when the larger nation spoke again. "There are...no winners..." Alfred stammered out. "Who?" Arthur paused, his expression unreadable, just before Alfred cried out and his eyes opened, startling the older nation. With a hammering pulse, he was about ready to leave as quickly as possible, guessing that Alfred would also be procuring the same public mask as he always did—pretending that this never happened, that the tears never spilled, and that nothing was bothering him... Because Arthur wouldn’t know anything about that. No. None at all. An apology mixed with an excuse was ready on his tongue just in case, but was shocked to feel Alfred tightly pulling him close. Breath felt like it was caught in his throat with only the smallest of a sharp intake of air. This was… unexpected. The fact that Alfred didn’t care that someone had seen him, the glaring vulnerability and the tearstains, was enough to force Arthur to drop his own hollow mask as well. He brought his arms hesitantly around Alfred, moved in a way so that anyone who may have been wandering down the hall would see Arthur’s back first, hiding Alfred’s expression, unconsciously making an effort to protect his dignity as well as being something to hold onto. Emotion was doing awful things inside Arthur’s chest for these brief moments. Everything felt tight and sore inside, like there was something fighting its way to the surface. There was a weight over his heart and he wasn’t sure how to remove it. For the time being; however, he bit his inner lip to stifle it. To keep it buried. His hand went down Alfred’s back in a comforting motion. ”It’s okay,” he mumbled, once or twice. He couldn’t remember. Maybe he was still whispering it. ”You’re here now… it was only a dream,” he continued in that murmuring, soft voice of his—a tone that he never took with anyone. It was a softness he’d forgotten that he’d once possessed… and probably still did beneath all the roughness and outer shows of malice. At least not for the past 300/400 years… But still, Arthur’s curiosity continued to burn, wondering what in the world could have caused Alfred to react like this. Must have been one hell of a nightmare. [/style]

[atrb=style, background: #FAFAFA;][style=font-family: arial; font-size: 10px; color:#2a1113; line-height: 13px; width: 380px;]notes... So, Arthur-muse reacted to this the most in the end, lol. It was close, though. I'm sure you can guess who the other one was. xD tag... Alfred location... After world meeting credit... onigirishi of OTE, background credit goes to miseryloneliness of DA[/style]

The most haunting nightmare was a realistic one. Most nightmares were scary and/or disturbing - Such was the nature of the affliction. However, a nightmare rooted in fantasy was easy to rationalize away. A nightmare that preyed on more realistic dangers could have a much more profound effect on the sufferer.

The circumstances of Alfred's dream were not as farfetched as he would have liked. Alfred thought back to the Cuban Missile Crisis, the closest Alfred and Ivan came to being on the brink of nuclear war. So close that Alfred could taste it. He licked at his lip when he realized that it was not just his imagination - He was tasting iron. He was biting down on his lip so hard that he'd drawn blood.

A shudder went through him as the taste reminded him forcefully of events within the dream. His eyes trailed down to his arm. He brushed up his sleeve, letting out an audible sigh of relief. No radiation burn. Only then could he truly focus on the identity of the person with him. Though he could only see the other from behind, he had a suspicion as to who it was.

The words, spoken in a very familiar voice, served to offer proof of his suspicion. Once upon a time, he would have considered England to be the very worst nation to come across such a scene. He still was not a fan of his former caretaker seeing him like this, but Arthur's presence did serve as a small comfort. Arthur was someone that he knew was on his side in this fight. He, too, was at odds with Ivan.

As Alfred slowly became more aware of his surroundings, he consciously tried to calm himself down. He could still feel his heart pounding beneath his ribcage, almost threatening to burst forth from his chest. That was the first call of order - Getting his heart rate to slow, thereby slowing the release of adrenaline into his bloodstream. He took a few deep breaths, finding that this helped - His heart was still faster than usual, but not pounding so hard it practically hurt. He also quickly wiped the tears away from his face, trying to remove any evidence that that happened.

"Ivan." Alfred stated with his arms still around Arthur, not yet pulling apart to look at his face. As comforting as it was having him there, he wasn't so sure he wanted to look Arthur in the eye just yet. He was still wrestling with his emotions, and wanted to get somewhat of a grip on them before he let Arthur get a good look at his face.

"He...and I...World War III." How else could he explain it? Everyone knew what World War III between Alfred and Ivan meant, and he didn't even have to say the 'n' word. His mouth was dry at the powerful reminder of the situation that he and Ivan were in. They could destroy each other with ease if they wanted. And yet, ironically, that was the one thing that kept them from destroying each other.