Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Russia had been sharpening wood for a long time.

Yes, wood.

Living in a literal forest, he didn't have much else.

No metal, no especially pointy rocks...

But the wood, by now, seemed sharp enough to cut through skin, and likely a good deal of flesh.

And his veins.

In case he ever needed it.

He spent so much of his day simply sitting in a corner of his little hidden den, sharp slice of wood in his hands, contemplating the idea.

He knew he could never hang himself.

The drawn out pain, the suffering, the struggling, fighting against what he had brought upon himself, second guessing and regretting every one of his choices.

He knew that if he was going to die, it would be something painless.

He wanted to die immediately, before he had a chance to second guess himself.

And definitely without feeling too much pain.

And of course, why was he living in a literal forest, a piece of wood in his hands, pathetically waiting around for his fate to catch up with him?

He had decided long ago, that he could chuck all the blame onto his father.

His father, the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics, or Soviet Union for short, was the founder and leader of the Communist Creed.

Their core beliefs revolved around the simple, understandable idea that every person deserved to have basic, necessary resources.

Food, water, a place to live.

And followers received those.

It was... very simple.

Everyone worked, for the good of the community, those who worked harder helped more people, they didn't receive an outright benefit, but-

Couldn't people understand the fact that they were helping the entire group? Couldn't people be satisfied with staying alive and living a safe, comfortable life?

Apparently not.

As Russia found out, it was very hard, border-line impossible to satisfy a human.

He always wondered why his father tried, but then again, they were angels.

It was their single purpose.

To help humanity.

So what they did... helped humanity.

But, once again, humans couldn't see that.

Because they began drifting off to another religion.

One that promised a chance at extreme wealth and power.

One that gave the oppurtunity to rise to unhuman heights, or fall so low no one would even care about you.

One that was led by demons.

Yes, demons.

Take a moment to pause, and consider that.

People living normal, peaceful lives, decided to run away from their religion, headed by angels and join literal demons.

Russia would never understand people.

But they saw the great wealth that some, corrupted followers of the Cult of The Capitalists held, and were instantly drawn to it, each thinking that they were special, that they could rise to the same rank.

And obviously, at some point...

The only members of Communist Creed were just the Soviet Union and his family.

And even his family was starting to drift away.

After Lithuania, Latvia, and Estonia willingly entered the Cult and were turned to fallen angels...

Well...

Things really began to fall apart.

And not just for them.

The entire family was in constant conflict, they had no freaking followers...

It was basically a count down until stupid peasants grabbed torches and began hunting them down as if they were demons, and not angels.

And obviously, the demons headed the entire thing.

And, long story short, everyone was caught and (likely) killed.

Except for Russia.

Because he was hiding.

And he was good at hiding.

Except for one, tiny little detail.

His wings.

Yes, as an angel, he had wings.

White wings to be specific.

When he was younger, he had loved his wings.

They made him look so much cooler and brighter, helped him fly, made him feel awesome-

But, currently, wings had literally no benefit.

No uses.

In fact, they often worked against him.

If he was being chased by demons and he tried flying.... well...

He'd just be an easy target.

His wings made it hard for him to run through tangled overgrowth and denser parts of forests, the ideal hiding spots.

And, obviously-

Feathers dropped.

A lot.

He was able to clean after himself for the most part.

And stay in one area.

But if he somehow missed feathers, or if they were simply blown away by the wind...

It would be far too easy to track him and find him.

So Russia stayed put, fiddling with his piece of wood, not entirely sure why he was still alive, but feeling, just vaguely comforted by the fact that, if things took a turn for the worse, he had the power to do something about it.

He wouldn't let himself die the same way his father had.

Or become a traitor like some of his siblings.

He was going to choose how his own life went.

.

.

.

America tilted his head, humming contentedly as he skimmed through reports for the week.

All stupid stuff like who moved in, who starved to death, who got rich, who murdered someone else and stole their home, etc.

America did not control his people- much to their glee.

He left them to themselves.

Independence, one could say.

Freedom.

And people enjoyed this very much, until they found their large homes the subject of their neighbors' envious violence, and found themselves at the pointy end of a sword.

Oh, yes.

Freedom.

America giggled to himself, curling his thin, barbed tail around by his side.

Once he was done responsibly reading through important events, and thoroughly understanding what his people were going through, and definitely being ready to step in and assist them with whatever needed-

He stood up and took a stroll around his room.

It was dimly lit, with just a hint of sunlight.

Some demons were sensitive as fuck and seemed to burn and get hideous tans whenever they were near the light, but America was fine with light.

He didn't love it, but he didn't whine and wail and throw a fit whenever a few rays of sunshine landed on him.

He strolled over to his personal favorite side of the room, decorated by glass display boxes.

Holding feathers.

Angel feathers.

He smiled to himself as he walked back and forth by the wall, looking at every single feather...

He had personally hand picked these from every member of Soviet's family.

Including the (definitely not) almighty Soviet Union himself.

And including some of his treacherous offspring, right before they fully turned into fallen angels.

There was one, single, teensy little problem that still bothered him.

The empty case between the Soviet Union and Ukraine.

He leaned back, looking at the one box that didn't have shimmering, glowing feathers, wondering why his people were so goddamn incompetent.

Like, what the hell?

It's one, fucking angel.

How can you not find him?

And, as if he had sensed his thoughts (maybe he had, America had never asked whether he could read minds), Canada strolled right through the door.

"Heyyy!" America called, faking cheerfulness "Canada, my man-ada, what's up bro?"

Canada hesitated a bit as America flung himself across the room and flopped down on his leather sofa, grinning up at him.

"Give me some good news CanMan, you know I love bad things, but only when they're bad for someone who's not me." America smiled, showing all his pointy teeth, and Canada gave a small, uncertain laugh.

"Well... uhm... one of the trackers, he found a... uhm..."

America raised an eyebrow, and Canada stopped stuttering.

He slowly held up a tiny poofball-

No, not a poofball.

A white, shimmering... down feather.

America reached out and held it, watching as it glowed, seemingly trying to fight against his badness.

Then the glow went out.

He tilted his head curiously, turning it this way and that.

Yup.

No guessing who that came from.

"So, Canada... a down feather is great, but you know that's not what I'm looking for." America stood up and slowly, nonchalantly began strolling around the room.

Eh, more like pacing around Canada.

"So, tell me what happened after your so-talented tracker found this feather. I'm guessing that he searched the entire parameter and found this lone angel. Am I right?"

Canada avoided his gaze.

America sighed and sat down "Why am I surrounded by idiots? Why can't anyone do a single, simply job right?"

"With- with all due respect, it's a good deal harder than it sounds. This angel seems to be... good. At hiding."

America paused before directing Canada with a small, dry smile "Well I'm sure everything will be much easier soon."

"... What?"

America smirked and held up the now darkening down feather "It's molting season."

Chapter Text

But then... what if they just blew away in the wind?

Russia let out a hiss of frustration, talking a moment to drop his head into his hands and think.

focus

Focus.

FOCUS.

Alright, there's no way I can stay right here.

I'll need to move, but traveling around a forest while molting..?

Good Lord, save me-

This is not going to work.

Russia was especially aware that they had recently increased searching.

In this area.

He must have shed some feathers without realizing...

He closed his eyes tightly, before something flashed through his mind.

He reached for his sharp wood and tilted his head, considering.

But then again, what was there to consider?

Without any hesitation, he flung the wood into oblivion.

There was no point in keeping up this game any longer, pretending to be someone he wasn't.

I'm an angel.

I live, and try my best to help humanity for as long as God lets me live.

I am but one of God's humble servants.

Taking my own life is an action against God.

As much as it may prevent harm from coming my way-

I exist to help people.

To guide them.

Dying isn't just an escape.

It's failing.

My entire purpose.

And with that, Russia felt his last threads to sanity snapping.

He had to get out of here, had to get out of here.

He needed to move, if he stayed in one place, his feathers would fly around, and sooner or later, some demons would check this area-

But if he was constantly moving, maybe he could elude the demons.

At the very least...

Russia glanced down at his hands, curling his fingers and watching a slight glow emit from his skin.

If he was found... he could light up and shock the demons for long enough to maybe get away...

He was an angel.

He wouldn't lose to a handful of demonic, godforsaken weasels.

He spread his wings dramati-

No, nope!

The edges of his wings, and the top of his head, instantly hit the walls of the cave around him and he let out an angry hiss.

Alright!

First he'd have to crawl out of this little cavern-

Then he could make his melodramatic angel poses and escape-

.

.

.

"D-don't tell America but I've never actually... hunted. An angel before." Canada said nervously.

"Awww don't worry li'l bro!" Australia ruffled his hair playfully, before dramatically lowering his explorer hat, horns poking out from the top "You're with the best!"

"I'm sure that's what every demon would say about themselves." Canada muttered glumly.

Pride.

"Oh, c'mon mate! Don't sound so upset about it! Someone might think you're turning angel!"

Canada looked up "Turning... angel? Is that possible?"

"Oh, I d'know. No one's tried it yet!" Australia shook his head and began studying a leaf.

Canada considered that for a moment.

Becoming an angel...

Was it possible?

He himself certainly wasn't a perfect demon-

But he wasn't angel material either-

Right?

What were his sins?

Hm...

Supporting America and the capitalists?

Looking by while others suffered?

Where were the major sins?

Was he really that pathetic?

Oh-

Hm...

Did loathing count as a sin...

if it was against yourself?

Canada considered that.

Hating God's creation...

Oh, yes, certainly!

That was a sin for sure.

He couldn't help but feel himself droop a bit.

No turning-angel for him.

Oh my GOSH you absolute imbecile!

You think that someone like YOU would turn into an angel?

Just because of a little comment that Australia made? Do you seriously just immediately start thinking about EVERYTHING that EVERYONE says?

You have issues!

You're hardly a demon, certainly not an angel-

What even are you?

Choose a side to support and stick to it!

Stop dreaming of fantasies that will never exist!

And most of all, stop feeling so bad for yourself, being all whiny-

'Oh poor me, I'm just a nobody, I'm a failure'

Like- no one cares! No one cares about you, so stop caring about yourself until you're actually a worthy person!

Canada snapped back into reality.

Right.

He had to prove his worth.

Had to.

That was the only way he could get anywhere in life, become anyone, true angel or true demon, or whatever he was meant to be.

So, Canada forced some shaky semblance of a confident smile and leaned a bit closer as Australia pointed out some leaves clearly crushed by foot. Maybe... maybe this was his chance to prove he could be a real demon...

Chapter Text

Russia was, in simple terms, panicking. In more complicated terms, he was rapidly panicking, the terror and helplessness flooding through him, waves crashing in and filling his mind until he was certain he would drown- he couldn't breathe, he couldn't breathe- not here- not hiding behind a tree, wings folded as close to his body possible as he shook and trembled and swallowed back screams and resisted the urge to run for it and inevitable be taken down-

Because as he trembled and hid behind this tree- bare feet away stood two demons, studying the landscape-

Canada's scarlet eyes lit up, "I see a feather, over there, behind that tree-" He took a step forward.

"Nah, nah-" Australia laughed, readjusted his hat, "You're silly Canada- look at how obvious and exposed that feather is, how it's placed near the center of the trail, like it's meant to be there- an angel on the run would be more tricky- I think they're trying to lead us on a different path-"

"B-but- I can feel the angel presence-" Canada flicked his tail, peering uncertainly into the thick, crowded growth of trees, "I can sense it-"

"Ah, but these angels aren't stupid y'know- it's all just a trick!" Australia straightened, eyes bright, "But we're not stupid enough to fall for a pathetic trick, no- the angel wants us to go there-" He pointed at the tree hiding the trembling Russia, "- so we shall go there-"

He pointed boldly in the opposite direction, with all due confidence.

Canada glanced hesitantly back at the trees, before sighing, "A-alright, I guess... you're the expert..."

"You're damn right I am!" Australia replied cheerfully, turning around brightly, "Now, let's go catch ourselves an angel!"

Russia stood there, trembling, waiting- a moment longer- and then, as they disappeared- he finally relaxed, exhaling deeply, his wings going limp besides him.

He took a moment to just breathe, and feel free and alive- and then, he stood up sharply. He didn't have time to stand around and be dramatic, he had to keep moving- the trick would buy him some time, but at length, once the two demons found no sign of him being on the other side, they'd return here.

Russia glaced down at the feather on the ground, unsure whether he should move it away- that would make it look more suspicious though, and confirm that he'd passed through here-

With a sigh, he let that damn feather be, and turned away, wings folded neatly and pressed against his back. With any luck, he'd make it out of this forest and far enough to stay out of reach. With any luck, he'd continue to survive- perhaps make a revival of the Creed. If luck had really been on his side at all, he wouldn't be here right now.

But luck always had another chance to side with the right person- maybe he had another chance-

With that in mind, he relaxed a bit, stepping forward- he couldn't lose hope, he had to trust, trust that fate wouldn't screw him over yet again-

Afterall, what did he have, if not hope? What was there left, but distant dreams of some future that could only exist in his mind, a promise he gave himself that kept him alive, day to day...

He walked slowly, a bit more thoughtfully as he approached the edge of the forest, gaze landing on something that was a similar deep brown to the trees- but cut and piled up neatly- a cabin. A house.

He stared, quietly, taking a few steps forward, imagining, hoping- a house. With a person inside. Maybe they would help him. Maybe.. maybe they could shelter him, and he could convert them to the Creed, and they could quietly spread word to others, and they could use this small, secretive house as a base to meet and launch a larger movement, gaining more followers and strength, restoring his father's religion-

Russia beamed brightly, wings fluffing up with hope and excitement- he straightened, trying to look as presentable as possible-

And he knocked the door.

And Estonia opened it.

Russia's smile faltered, wings slacking as he stared at her- her-

His sister, with two ivory horns poking from her head- His sister, with scattered black and pale blue and white wings- His sister, the traitor, who had joined the Cult, the enemies, the demons, betrayed his father, betrayed him-

His sister- who gasped, blue eyes widening as she lunged forward and wrapped him into a hug.

Russia froze, a bit stunned, before he lowered his head, gazing down as Estonia sobbed and hugged him tightly and pleading for forgiveness-

"I'm sorry-" She choked out, hiccupping feebly, making no attempt to wipe away the steady stream of tears, "I'm so sorry Russia, I swear I never meant for all of this to happen, I didn't think it would go so far, I just wanted to be free, just wanted to see what it would be like, if- if it would be easier, if I would be happy, but- everything's broken, and everyone's gone, and- I thought that you died, but-"

She sniffled, before peeking open her bright blue eyes, shining with tears, offering a tiny, weak smile, "But... you're here... you're alive, Russia, and..." She stared, eyes widening at his wide, bright angel wings, as if remembering a distant world, a distant path, when she, too, had glowed and shone, and-

"Estonia..." Russia whispered softly, lowering his head, "I forgive you."

She smiled up at him, before promptly bursting into tears again, burying her face into the front of his shirt and sobbing.

Russia gently stroked her hair, offering her a reassuring smile, "It's okay Estonia, it's fine, I understand what you did, you didn't mean for any of this to happen-" His smile grew a bit tighter, he didn't want to cut her melodrama and emotions short, but, dammit if he was running low on time, "Estie... could you maybe... let me inside..? I'm kind of being hunted by demons?"

She looked up at once, eyes widening, "Oh!" She gasped, "I forgot, oh gosh- come inside Russia, hurry up!"

She grabbed him by the wrist and immediately tugged him inside, quickly closing the door behind them.

The inside of Estonia's cabin was neat and modest, filled with tables and sofas and chairs and cushions- it looked warm. Comfortable. Welcoming.

"Take a seat!" Estonia smiled brightly, waving towards the sofa.

Russia blinked- how long had it been since he'd been inside a house? Sitting on... a sofa... sofas were soft- some of them had scratchy material he used to whine about as a child, but-

Involuntarily, a gasp escaped his lip as he settled down- and the sofa seemed to cave in slightly, the plush material settling around him, so.. so soft-

Estonia seemed slightly troubled by Russia's awestruck expression, but she offered a weak smile, "I'll go get some tea, we-"

Just as Russia was looking forward to finally having a warm, soothing drink. The door knocked. Because of course it did.

... the door knocked. And who else would be at the door besides-

"Quick, down the stairs, into the basement-!" Estonia hissed, shooing him down the stairs and into the basement door, "I'll lock it behind you- if you hear me unlocking it, that means they've found out where you are, you'll have a bit of time to try escaping through the window-"

Russia, stunned and shocked and terrified and utterly torn away from a moment of soft comfort- could offer nothing but a feeble nod as she closed the door and locked it.

He glanced around the basement. It was small. Dark. There was no window. She must have forgotten.

He took a deep breath, before moving towards the door and trying to listen-

Distant talking- the familiar voices of those two demons in the forest- any moment now, she would send them away...

But no. She didn't. They kept talking in low, hushed voices- and after a moment, the sound of a teapot boiling.

... okay. So maybe, to seem casual and innocent, she'd invited them to sit down and have some tea-

God, Russia wished he could have some tea...

But he didn't. The demons did. So he stood here and waited, shimmering wings fluttering nervously, just waiting-

More light chatter. The clinking of cutlery-

Okay.. now she was offering them some food- dammit, were they having a full meal up there?

Ah well, once they were done, they would leave, suspicion free.

There was a pause, the sounds stilling- Russia waited for Estonia to say some cheerful departure note and send them away, but-

The sounds started again, footsteps, growing louder- and then-

The basement door was pushed open. There was Canada, Australia- and Estonia. She looked away, quietly, averting her gaze, looking a bit guilty, but not entirely repentant.

Russia stared, eyes widening, wings tensing as he felt the betrayal course through him-

Australia awkwardly cleared his throat, holding up a pair of handcuffs, "So. Uh... maybe can you- put these on...?"

Russia stared at him blankly, somehow managing to incredulously raise an eyebrow- before taking a step back, inhaling sharply, spreading his wings-

And filling the room with a flash of blinding light-

The demons screamed, dropping to the ground and shielding their eyes, Estonia cried out with half-pain, more surprise- Russia shoved past her, she reached for him, but he ran up the stairs, slamming the basement door shut (it didn't lock, unfortunately), and bursting out of that stupid, cursed little cabin, breathing heavily and just- running-

But he was so tired, the flash of light draining him of much of his strength- as he continued running, his steps were more wobbly, spontaneous, he stumbled and crashed against trees but kept pulling himself up, moving with more desperation and less reason, his strides like a drunk man who ran, not knowing why, not knowing how, but simply doing it because why the heck not-

Finally, at length, he found himself running into yet another tree- he paused, leaning against this one, eyes closed, breathing heavily- his vision blurred, and his body lowered a bit, the glow of his white wings fading down-

And then, with all due grace and majesty-

He flopped forward and passed out onto the forest floor.

Chapter Text

Russia groaned softly, furrowing his brows. There was a pause. Then, he shifted a bit, his limbs stiff and sore, feeling stretched out, even as if they were tearing at the slightest movements- he wanted nothing more than to just go limp and sleep off the exhaustion, the soreness, the pain, but-

Russia furrowed his brows, blinking open his eyes, gazing up- he froze, wings slacking besides him.

Australia grinned into his face, " 'Allo mate, nice of ya to finally wake up!"

Russia made a valiant attempt to stumble away, but- his wrist- both his wrists- he was handcuffed, and Australia was grinning broadly and holding the chains.

"Alrighty then, off we go!" Australia declared cheerfully, dragging him up into a standing position-

Russia let out a cry of pain as his stiff, exhausted muscles were stretched out.

The red and white demon besides Australia, Canada- gave Russia a quick expression, cloaked with sympathy and... something else.

And they walked.

It was, with all honesty, really kinda awkward.

Australia took the lead, tugging on the chains every now and then, Russia following quietly, wings folded by his side, expression blank as he tried processing the fact that he'd been captured by demons- and Canada walked a little to the side, studying their expressions, their perfect expressions- the smug, selfish demon and the quiet, complaint-less angel-

"So... uh..." Australia cleared his throat, the outgoing demon clearly feeling uneasy in the awkward silence, "It's... very nice weather, isn't it?"

Russia glanced up at the tangled branches and shielding leaves, all joined together, dappling and glowing in a thousand shades of deep green and fuzzy lines of lighting, everything dappling and shifting with the slightest hints of sunshine breaking through-

"God's creation is always beautiful." Russia replied simply.

Australia laughed, "Damn that's a- a good angel line, yeah-"

Russia blinked quietly.

Australia looked at the ground, swallowing a bit, wishing this angel was kicking and screaming so he could go into triumphant, sadistic villain mode- wishing they were pleading and begging or trying to say anything, because damn it if he hated this, being here, awkwardly, simpering, trying to speak to this stupid angel, the probably last angel left out there, now captured by him-

Australia took a deep breath before slipping on a smug, confident smile and walking on, seemingly without another care in the world.

Russia looked away, fidgeting a bit, glancing at his handcuffs- he furrowed his brows slightly. They'd been placed on while he was asleep, and- as he shifted a bit, pressing his fingers together and pulling back his wrist- one hand slipped out.

He stared, blankly, glancing at Australia who was loudly humming some chaotic music, and then back at Canada who was giving Australia a neutral, yet unbelievably intense and focused stare-

Russia sighed- why did it matter anyways? There was no way he could take on two demons- and... anyways... honesty? It would.. make him... look good? Maybe earn their respect-?

Russia reached out and tapped Australia on the shoulder. The demon glanced back, eyes widening in surprise as Russia held up the loose handcuff.

"It's not tight enough. I could get out of this." Russia said quietly.

Australia slowly rose an eyebrow, "The other cuff loose as well?" He asked.

Russia nodded.

Australia dipped his head, readjusting the handcuffs to close more tightly around Russia's wrist. After a moment, he glanced up, "By the way- the name's Australia."

"Canada."

".. I'm Russia..."

There was another pause of silence.

".. where are you taking me...?" Russia finally asked.

"To the Cult's palace- to America-" Australia's chest puffed out with pride, "He's my brother-"

"My brother too-" Canada muttered.

Everyone ignored him.

"I... I think we shouldn't travel through town-" He paused as they approached the edge of the forest, "Humans can get too.. overenthusiastic, maybe- we should take some kind of safer route-?"

Really, Russia just really wasn't keen on public humiliation and jeering crowds and pointing fingers.

Australia nodded thoughtfully, "Yea, good point, mate. They're some nice side roads we can take directly to the palace-" He grinned a bit, "America's gunna be real happy to see you- it's been a while, really- you're quite the crafty angel, I dunno how you stayed out of our reach for so long-"

"But... you managed to catch me-" Russia said in a slightly encouraging tone.

"You're damn right I did, why- I saw through each of yer traps and scoured the wilderness and studied every footstep you took and-"

As Australia ranted eagerly about how amazing he was, Russia glanced back, offering a friendly smile to the more quiet demon, Canada.

It was not returned.

Russia paused, before giving a tiny, internal shrug and straightening, tensing a bit as they finally exited the forest, the place of his refuge and safety for years upon years-

And now... now he would have to face all he'd been avoiding and running away from-

He took a deep breath, folded his wings by his side, and prepared to face whatever fate had in store for him.

He didn't feel ready. No, he felt like running away screaming and jumping into a river and splashing around because he couldn't swim and screaming more and finally dragging himself out of the water and screaming again-

But he was kind of handcuffed and being led away, so he didn't have much of a choice in that matter. He could scream, but then he'd seem crazy, and probably stupid as well. So he squared his shoulders, lifted his head, and gazed forward.

Canada watched with quiet, analyzing eyes from a corner.

.

.

.

America sniffed the meal cautiously, ".. what is this stuff?"

He poked at the elliptical blobs on his plate. His servant peered over, "I.. believe that's rice, Sir."

"Rice??" America scoffed, sitting up, "I didn't ask for rice!"

"You did request, and I quote, 'anything, literally anything, I don't care, I just wanna eat something, damn you hurry up and get me food'."

"But this isn't anything! This is rice!" America growled, growing more agitated, "It's rice!"

The servant sighed, eyes dull from years of servitude to this idiot, "Perhaps you should mention in advance what foods you will not accept."

America scoffed, "Whatever! You should know this stuff! I don't eat rice- or beef or lamb- or vegetables that aren't stir-fried or steamed, or plain fruits, or-"

The servant pulled out a notepad, quietly jotting everything down.

As America was somehow, miraculously approaching the end of his list, an advisor poked their head in, "America, Sir. Australia and Canada have returned from their angel hunt."

"Oh-" America yawned, pushing at the rice on his plate and molding it into... something. Some... blob of rice. Yeah, that was it, "Tell them that I'll fire them if they keep returning empty handed, siblings or not-"

"But... Sir, they didn't return empty handed."

America glanced up, "I'm not getting my hopes up, damn you. You're going to say that Canada found a baby duck or something."

"No Sir, no baby ducks."

"... baby raccoon?"

"No Sir- an angel. Russia. They found Russia. And he's here. Waiting for you."

America gasped sharply, eyes widening-

"Russia- Oh my gosh, Russia's here, this is the happiest day of my life!" America cheered, shooting up from his seat.

Suddenly, he froze, years of hope and dreams and waiting and imagining this meeting, again and again, suddenly sinking through him- after all this time...

"Russia's here- Holy shit this is the most terrifying day of my life!" America screeched, starting to pace, "How do I walk in? Normally, or flaunting or imposing or-??? What do I say? Do I act nice? Mean? Smug? Triumphant? Do you think he'll judge me? Will he think I'm weird- or cool- or-?"

"America." The advisor said flatly, "Calm down. You're a demon. A demon who has captured the last remaining angel and has complete power over him and nothing to fear."

America blinked, before taking a deep breath and running a hand through his hair, "You're right, you're right- God, I'm just- so nervous, I've been imagining this for so long- will he think I'm cool? Will he be scared of me? Will he respect me?"

"Yes, yes, of course he will, he'll do all that-" The advisor replied in an apathetic tone, shooing America to the door, "Now go out there and be a demon."

America grinned, "That's what I am-" His tail curled by his side, he took a deep breath-

And he swung open the double-doors, stalking into his throneroom.

His pale blue eyes narrowed as he spotted another advisor standing there- they immediately looked up as he entered- before nodding at a side door, "The angel is in there."

And America could feel it- feel the presence of a pure, powerful, potentially beautiful being- and he felt excitement tingling through him- he couldn't wait... oh, he couldn't wait-

So, to keep from waiting, he quickly stalked over to the door, making sure to add a little flair, a little pizzazz to his steps- and he paused, a hint of annoyance crossing his features at the loud bickering coming from inside the room-

What the fuck were they up to?

.

.

.

"Dammit Russia, just kneel!"

"No!"

"You're about to be in the presence of the demon king! Kneel!"

"I'm not gonna kneel to an immoral weasel!"

"Oh yes you are!"

"Oh no I'm not!"

"Oh yes you- Goddammit America don't sneak up on me like that!!!" Australia screeched, jumping back, eyes wide.

America stood there- America, wearing a crisp business suit with a red tie and white rose- America with a thin, barbed tail and pale blue eyes- America, staring with confusion at Canada and Australia and Russia who was halfway pushed to the ground and halfway fighting to stand-

"... What the fuck is happening here?"

Chapter Text

"America!" Canada immediately straightened, giving Russia a chance to stiffly stand up, brushing off his clothes with a scoff, scowling at everyone-

And America stared-

There was Canada, and Australia- and between them was an angel- not just an angel, the angel- with his white, blue, and red flag- blue-grey eyes, peculiar choice of dark grey clothing and fluffy jacket and hat- and of course... those shining white wings-

"Russia..." America smirked, settling on a random chair that was suddenly behind him, crossing one leg over the other, "Nice of you to finally be here..." At once, his mind was swarmed with second guessing- Should I have said something cooler? Would- took you long enough...- have also worked, or is that just weird? Was it weird anyways? Does anyone notice that I'm sweating? Holy shit, he's looking at me-

Russia raised an eyebrow, leaning back a bit, and studying America with an appraising expression.

"Um..." America blinked, "I'm America."

"I assumed that."

"Well- uh- now you know for sure-" America offered a tight smirk, reaching his hand for- what? A handshake? Grabbing Russia? A slap? He wasn't sure. Russia clearly wasn't sure either, since he drew back a bit, eyes lighting with a hint of caution.

Caution- ha- was the angel scared of him?? America paused- Dammit- of course he's scared of me- why wouldn't he be scared of me??

Russia straightened, lifting his head- his face was lined with sharp, yet oddly gentle features, his blue-grey eyes intense but calm as he studied America.

There was another pause of silence.

Where had those paragraphs of prepared quirky speech gone? The dramatic lines and snippy comebacks and sarcasm and smugness- Why did America's mind feel empty, like after all his imagining, he was face-to-face with reality, and somehow wholly unprepared-

"So..." Russia glanced to the side awkwardly- before taking a deep breath, lifting his head, "What now? What are you going to do- kill me? Pluck out my feathers? Revel in my downfall?"

"Uh... yeah..." America said slowly, "But it sounds more predictable and less menacing now that you've said it-"

Great. An idiot, Russia thought without any enthusiasm.

America leaned back, eyes bright as he studied Russia's face, his expression, and reflected on his spoken words and the unspoken thoughts he must be having- the angel seemed more stern and serious than anything, which initially screamed boring!, but his deep, intelligent eyes shone with frustration and angry statements he would never utter and thoughts he'd never let see the light of day- and America was intrigued- did this angel ever smile? Laugh? Did he like jokes? Relaxing? Was he a workaholic? Did he enjoy the finer things of life, or just stand around and be grumpy and busy?

This angel was a puzzle, a puzzle with all the pieces somewhere else, and America needed to tear those pieces away and try putting them in place. He needed to tear those pieces out of Russia's slender fingers-

"So- uh- America- aren'tcha proud of me?" Australia piped up eagerly, like a child waiting for a parent's praise, "I caught the angel and all-"

America glanced back, offering a tight smile, before patting Australia on the shoulder, "Course I'm proud, how could I not? My brother being the best angel hunter in the kingdom- those other pathetically flailing demons couldn't find him for years, but you went out there for one day and snatched him right up-"

Of course, that was ignoring the fact that Russia had been molting, and that Australia had been given a specific location to search, and the fact that apparently Russia's traitorous sister betrayed him yet again (why Russia trusted her was beyond America's comprehension). But still. Demon or not, America wasn't one to let his siblings down.

Australia beamed, his eyes brightening- one of his weird tarantulas crawled out from under his hat and stared at America with eight, beady, calculating eyes, as if reading his mind- dammit, it probably was- damn Australia and his weird creatures-

"Maybe you should go now-" America said quickly, though he maintained a crisp, professional tone, "Your job has been finished. I will take it from here."

Australia nodded, taking the tarantula in his hand as he and Canada left through the main doors.

America sighed, relaxing a bit, before turning back to Russia with a grin

"So... I guess it's just you and me..." America walked forward in a flaunting manner his pale blue eyes bright and focused on the angel in front of him.

Russia crossed his arms, his white wings folding neatly by his side, "So.. now are you going to kill me? Rip off my delicate angel face? Pluck out my bright, shining feathers?"

America smirked lightly, "I like you..." He decided.

Russia's expression faltered for a moment, his wings fluttering a bit confusedly, and possibly nervously.

"You're fun- the other angels just squawked about morality, and declared I would receive my due punishment- but you're actually fun to talk to... I like that." America smiled, a bit more softly, looking more intrigued than anything, "I like that..."

There was a long pause of awkward silence. Australia, on the other side, ears pressed to the door and eavesdropping, gave a tiny cough. America ignored it.

"So..." Russia cleared his throat, ".. are you going to kill me?"

"What do you think?" America asked cheerfully.

Russia's eyes narrowed, "I hate it when villains say stuff like that-"

"Villains? Villains?" America laughed, "Do you really think I'm the villain here? I've simply freed people under the oppressive rule of angels- given them the chance to build their own life-"

"They're stealing and killing eachother! There's chaos! Bloodshed!"

"Not my fault-" America shrugged, "They wanted freedom, they wanted to do what they wished without some greater power hovering over their shoulders like a strict parent- now they have their freedom. And they can see what free people are like, when they can let their true nature lose-"

"That's not a good thing! Humans are meant to be tested, but they must be prepared for the test- they must be guided, and shown what's right and wrong- it's better for them to be forced into goodness than left to lead themselves into destruction."

"Sounds like something an angel would say~"

"I am an angel, damn you!" Russia snapped, "I have moral values!"

"I do too... but I simply choose to ignore them- it's really all about choices, isn't it?" America mused, "We choose to be good, choose to be bad-"

"Not all of us." Russia replied a bit stiffly, "I'm an angel. I was made this way, I continue to be this way, the same way that you are a demon, and will continue to be such."

America gave a shrug, "Maybe. But couldn't I choose to be good? Couldn't you choose to be bad?"

"Could you?" Russia snapped, "Is it really so easy to go against your nature?"

America shrugged yet again, "Ah well- I guess we'll never find out since I tend to like my nature..."

Russia crossed his arms, "You're a demon! You're not supposed to feel good about being bad!"

"Well I do!" America replied as brightly and confidently as he could.

"Do you? Really?" Russia asked, a bit more quietly, "Or do you just say that to cover your guilt, your conscience? Do you really feel okay, knowing that you killed the other angels, killed my family?"

America's smile faltered for a moment- just a moment- before he smiled sadly, "You really think I killed them, don't you...? Well- come on, I have something- or someone to show to you-"

Russia paused for a moment, his blue-grey eyes flickering around the room. There was a door to a hallway he could run down, a window he could jump out of, he could fly away and disappear, but-

he'd... probably just get caught again anyways, right? ... no point in trying...

Russia sighed, folding his wings neatly by his side as he followed America down the stairs, to some surprise hiding in his basement... or dungeon... or whatever was down there...

Chapter Text

"You see, I didn't kill them all..." America explained, continuing to walk down the seemingly endless expanse of stairs, the space around them growing darker each step they took.

Russia glanced around with a hint of unease shining in his blue-grey eyes, his wings fluttering nervously, a soft white glow around them.

"Of course, I couldn't just let them loose, couldn't let them stay strong and powerful and overthrow me, so- I decided on something I knew would work in my favor." America smirked lightly, finally coming to a stop, standing on a dark, flat stone floor, hands clasped behind his back.

Russia spread his wings, serving as some kind of flashlight, peering into the wide, dark stone hall before them, "... what?"

"In simple terms, you could say that I simply chose to starve them of light."

Russia peered into the darkness. There was no glow that would tell of angels in the darkness. No glow at all.

"Are they... alive...?" Russia asked slowly, uncertainly.

"Of course they are!" America laughed, "I'm not that much of a monster, y'know?"

"So instead of giving them a quick, painless death, instead of letting them stay strong and proud until their last moment- you shoved them into this-" Russia could already feel his heart wrenching, wings fluttering with anxiety at the small, dark spaces, "You're draining them of everything they have, everything they are-"

"Yeah?" America shrugged, "So what? They stay down here, I.. visit. Once a month. Or a year. Or a decade-"

"Damn you." Russia muttered quietly.

America glanced back with an amused smirk, "So.. I suppose this will be your new home from now on."

Russia glared quietly, crossing his arms, "Is my dad here?"

"... no." America admitted, "But he's irrelevant- you act like I could allow someone as powerful and memorable and... capable as him to simply sit around in a dungeon, and plan, and scheme, and rot away-"

"So you killed him."

America smiled, his eyes a bit more gentle, "What did you expect?"

Russia paused- before scoffing, folding his wings, and pushing past America, not sure where he was stomping off to, just-

"... Russia?" There it was- a small, weak, shaky voice, coming out from somewhere in the dark...

Russia tensed, turning slowly, spreading his wings for more light, "Wh-who said that? Who's there?"

"I'm... here...?" Someone asked softly, uncertainly, as if their own existence was questionable, "Russia. It's me. Don't you.. remember me....? I'm real."

Russia furrowed his brows softly, "Keep talking..." He said slowly, taking a step forward, trying to pinpoint where the small, shaky voice was coming from.

"Russia... Russia help me.. I don't know where I am... who I am... it's been so long... are you real?... am I real?.... is any of this real....?"

"It is." Russia promised, taking a step forward and spreading his wings, lighting up the cell in front of him.

Curled up weakly, behind stone bars, trembling softly- was Kazakhstan. The once bright, nervous, hardworking but excited and playful angel, with his golden wings and eyes, and inexhaustible energy-

Russia could have never imagined seeing him so... thin, and frail, and weak, and shaky and uncertain- but he didn't have to imagine. It was the dim, fragile reality in front of him.

Kazakhstan froze, yellow eyes widening as Russia crouched down in front of him, pressing a hand to the bars- he stared at the light that shone around Russia, stared at the figure and face of a real being, a real angel in front of him-

Kazakhstan trembled, weakly spreading his wings- his shaky, ruffled, dim golden wings, the flight feathers clipped for more symbolic reasons than anything-

"Kazakhstan..." Russia said softly, reaching through the bars and cradling his brother's pale, gaunt face, "I'm here. I'm real. It's okay."

Within moments, Kazakhstan was sniffling, and then sobbing, his face pressed against Russia's hand, his wings flopped uselessly by his side-

"Sh... it's alright... it's okay... I'm here..." Russia whispered softly, moving his face closer to the bars

“Aww…” America cooed softly, watching from a corner, “How sweet-“

Russia turned to glare sharply at him, “And what are you doing? Just standing there? Enjoying the show?”

“Actually, yeah, this is pretty fun-“

“What’s wrong with you?” Russia stood up sharply, spreading his wings.

“Uh- in case you haven’t noticed, I’m a demon- what did you expect? For me to crouch down and hug your pathetic whining brother and declare everyone free and let you all fly away into a dramatic sunset?”

“That would be nice…”

“But I’m not nice- that’s kind of, the entire point of my existence.” America blinked, “Yeah. I’m… uh… mean. A very mean, scary demon.”

Russia slowly raised an eyebrow, “You sound like someone trying to act like a demon.”

“But I am a demon!” America declared, a bit louder, “It’s not acting, it’s all real! Super real!”

“Okay, okay, calm down-“ Russia rolled his eyes, “Are you always like this?”

America shook his head, “To be honest- I feel more confident around other demons, ‘cuz I know I’m way better than them, but- around angels, it gets all awkward and weird, like- you guys are good and glowy and stuff, and I’m- I’m a demon, and we’re enemies, and I’m bad, and… yay?”

Russia’s eyebrow rose yet further, “Yay?”

“Yes. Yay.” America agreed solemnly.

Russia exhaled deeply, rubbing his temple, his wings twitching with a hint of agitation. Was an angel supposed to have such a short temper? Frankly, he didn’t care. He was an angel, one of the last angels, and everything he did was angelic and right, so screw social expectations.

“So… uh…” America tilted his head, “What now?”

“What now??” Russia asked incredulously, “You’re the demon that’s been hunting me for- God knows how long- you’re supposed to have some kind of plan!”

“I do, I do, but- like- I wrote down all my ideas on a piece of paper- inside my mind- and now that piece of paper is covered with other pieces of paper, and I can’t remember all my awesome ideas- but I swear I had them, I- oh!”

Suddenly, America sprang forward and grabbed Russia’s wing.

“Hey!” Russia squawked with alarm and anger as America forcibly spread his wing out, tilting his head, admiring each shining feather.

Russia bit his lip, holding his breath as America stroked the edge of one of his longest flight feathers- he looked away, unable to keep a… nervous? Scared? Confused?.. blush from flickering across his face.

“I’ll be taking one of these…” America’s fingers moved to the base of Russia’s feathers.

“Hey!” Russia snapped, tugging his wing back, “You can’t just pluck out my feathers as you please!”

“Yeah I can!” America grinned, “Just try and stop me!”

“Why do you want one of my feathers anyways? What do you do? Keep them in a glass case and hold them and stroke them-?”

“… pretty much, yeah.”

Russia furrowed his brows, “You’re weird-“

“I’m a demon.” America replied simply, reaching for Russia’s wing again, “And I would very much love to have one of your feathers, to- hold… and caress lovingly… and gaze upon with wide, lustrous eyes-“

“You absolute creep!” Russia snapped, darting away, Kazakhstan watching with wide eyes from a corner, “You’re not getting one of my feathers!”

“Yes I am!”

“You can’t force me to let you take one!”

“Yes I can!” And with that, America lifted his hands- and summoned a slim, dully colored, but impossible sharp iron sword.

Russia raised an eyebrow, before majestically lifting his own hand, and after a moment- a glowing sword of light appeared, with a golden handle that his fingers curled neatly around-

America screeched with alarm, “Dammit, why is that thing so bright, can you turn it down????”

“It has settings on the side, one minute-“ Russia tilted his head at the handle, turning a knob until the blinding, angelic light dialed down a bit.

America exhaled deeply, “Okay great- now we can fight!!”

“Do you really think you could take down an angel in swordfighting?” Russia scoffed.

“Of course!” America replied cheerfully, “And even if I can’t, I would never admit to it! I’m too proud!”

“I’ve never heard a demon flatly say that they’re prideful and arrogant…”

“Well I’m proud of being proud! I’m an awesome demon, the best of the best!”

“And you’ll find that I’m an incredible swordsman.” Russia lifted his sword, spreading his wings, “So go ahead. Try me.”

America tilted his head curiously. Then, he placed his sword at Kazakhstan’s neck.

Russia facepalmed, “Damn you- stupid demon-“

America giggled, “Aw- did you think I’d really risk my incredible ass and engage in a swordfight with a powerful angel like you? When there’s an easier option right in front of me? Honey, I’m a demon, not a storybook villain, I have better things to do than engage in lengthy fights and make you my mortal enemy-“

“For the love of God-“ Russia muttered, before waving a hand, his sword vanishing, the light in the room dimming down, “Just take your stupid feather.”

“Aw, right!” America cheered, tossing his sword away and skipping forward, looking like a kid in a candystore as Russia reluctantly spread his wings.

“I love your feathers…” America murmured after a moment, “They seem completely white on the surface, but when you look more closely, they have these little highlights, these tiny speckles of blue, and grey- and just a tiny hint of red- it’s really pretty to look at…”

Russia wrinkled his nose as America literally pressed his face into his wing, studying each and every feather with amazed, analytical eyes, “Just- hurry up, this is getting weird-“

America inhaled happily, “Your wing smells good~”

“… get out!” Russia screeched, flapping his wing, America jumping back with the yelp, “What the heck is wrong with you???”

“Fine, fine- damn, it was just a compliment-“

“A weird one! Don’t talk about how I smell!”

“Alright, geez-“ America sighed, before his fingers drifted towards the center of Russia’s wings, to a medium sized feather that had pale blue highlights- it was nearly as sleek as the outer flight feathers, but had just a hint of fuzz like the downfeathers below, “I’ll take this one.”

And without any warning- America tugged out the feather. Russia squeaked with pain and alarm, before instantly snapping his jaws shut, face flushing.

America burst into laughter, twirling the feather between his fingers, “My God, that was the most hilarious sound I’ve ever heard an angel make- if I keep pulling out more feathers, will you make that sound again?”

“Stop it-“ Russia muttered, folding his wings protectively by his side, “You took your feather, now shut up and leave me alone-“

“Alright, alright…” America curled his fingers around the feather, before stepping forward and unlocking Kazakhstan’s cell door.

Russia raised an eyebrow, “What are you doing?”

“Letting you into the cell, obviously.”

“… oh.”

America smirked, “What, you thought I’d just let you run free?”

“With a demon like you, I don’t know what to expect.”

“Ha- well, now you know.” America gestured towards the cell door, “Step right in, this will be your future home for, uh, probably the rest of your existence.”

Russia rolled his eyes, but stepped through.

America closed the door, and skipped down the hall like a toddler, clutching the feather and beaming brightly, as if this was the best day of his life.

Russia sighed, before settling down next to Kazakhstan, “I guess it’s just you and me…?”

Kazakhstan glanced up, quietly, before snuggling up against Russia, burying his face into his chest. Russia smiled a bit distantly, stroking his brother’s wings, gazing quietly at the hall America had disappeared down. He couldn’t tell whether he preferred a dark, lonely eternity- or that damn demon coming skipping down the hall again-

Chapter Text

America tilted his head, fingers fidgeting absentmindedly with the finger in his hands- it wasn’t his recently acquired ‘Russia feather’- just one from one of those other angels- he glanced at the cases. Yeah, Lithuania-

He twirled the feather around his fingers, studying the dim, glossy shade of yellow- since Lithuania was a fallen angel, there really wasn't much shine to his feathers, but- oohhhh...

America smirked, standing up and making his way over to the cases- placing Lithuania's feather back in, and then studying Russia's glowing feather. Now that was a sight to behold- for some reason, Kazakhstan's feather was glowing as well, which was strange, considering his weak state-

America shrugged, picking up Kazakhstan's feather, running a finger along the edge of it, waiting for the light to dim.

... it didn't.

America furrowed his brows, literally stroking the feather, back and forth, and that damn angelic light never went out- what was happening? His pale blue eyes glanced up at Russia's glowing feather. Did this.. have something to do with the two of them? Did angels grow stronger, or more angelic, or whatever the fuck it was called, when they were together? Should he separate them or something?

He considered this for a moment- what were they up to anyways? Plotting his demise? Chanting angelic angel-stuff? With a shrug, America decided that- well- he was bored. He might as well check in on them, see what was up with them since he'd brought Russia here, what- a week ago? And the angel had been stuck in a dungeon this entire time, with his whiny chicken brother. That was, basically hell. Kind of. Minus the burning, and screaming, and fire, and actual pain, but- still. Basically hell.

America started down the steps to the dungeon- which was connected directly to his room so he could stroll down and visit whenever he wanted, but damn- why was the staircase so long? It had seemed so dramatic and quirky when he'd first been capturing angels and leading them down, but... now? No, it just felt stupid. And long. And his legs were kinda sore-

As he journeyed deeper and deeper, the space around him became darker and darker- America stumbled a few times, swearing and cursing under his breath- Darkness was cool and chill and all, but he couldn't see a thing, he didn't get demons who just existed purely in the dark- some had night vision, but America didn't have any of that shit, and it wasn't fair, because how was he supposed to be a hecking demon if he couldn't see in the dark?

With an angry huff, he stomped down the last stair and swept open the last doors in his path-

And his eyes instantly landed on the almost comforting glow in the distance- a soft, pale pale shade of blue, practically white, and a golden yellow-

He moved closer, spotting Russia and Kazakhstan curled up against one another, wings wrapped around eachother, both fast asleep, their faces calm, at peace-

That's so damn adorable...

America smiled, leaning forward-

When Russia woke up, the first thing he saw was America, inside the cell, his grinning face inches from Russia, mouth curled into a sharp-toothed smile-

Russia yelped with alarm, instantly jolting back and fluttering his wings, Kazakhstan waking up with a loud whimper and hiding his face in his wings-

"Rise and shine, sleeping beauty~" America took a step forward, watching with some satisfaction as Russia struggled to compose himself, just from the simple shock of seeing America's face-

... is my face that ugly?

"Get away-" Russia groaned, rubbing his eyes, trying to look more awake, "I don't want you to be here right now-"

"Well I want to be here." America replied pleasantly, "So I'm here. Because I do whatever I want."

Suddenly, Russia stands up sharply, spreading his wings, "Just shut up! I am so done with you!" Russia shouts, a week in complete darkness, and the addition of America's leering face suddenly equaling his breaking point.

"Well I'm not done yet~" America slouched elegantly against the wall, "I'm just getting started-"

“Damn you!!” Russia shouted, finally completely losing it, “I hate you, I hate your smug little face and stupid mind and even stupider words, and I hate how confident and sure of yourself you are when you deserve to roast in hell, and I hate-“

America blinked innocently- Russia hated… loathing… that didn’t seem very- angelic, did it? Standing here, watching Russia shout in his face, glowing wings ruffled, face twisted with fury, all because of Russia- it was kind of hot.

… what?

America tilted his head, considering these thoughts as Russia’s shouting tired a bit. As Russia paused for a quick air break, America inhaled deeply, coming up with a crazy, chaotic, horrible idea- He was all for it.

He stepped forward rather calmly, reaching out, and taking hold of Russia’s wrists.

Russia paused, tensing for a moment, before narrowing his eyes, “What are you trying to do now, demon?” He spat, trying to tug his wrists away- but only succeeding in pulling America closer.

Russia blinked, slowly, appearing a bit uncertain. It was such a sweet, puzzled little face-

America smiled, leaning forward- and pressing a surprisingly gentle kiss to his lips. Russia froze, eyes widening, wings spreading involuntarily, body stiffening and going still for a moment- just a moment-

And then, he absolutely lost it, screeching and protesting and trying to pull away, “D-damn you, you stupid demon! Stop it! Let go of me! Get off!”

America, laughing, only pulled him in for a tighter, more passionate kiss, relishing in the devious and mischievous feelings flickering through him- he was kissing an angel- if this didn’t make him purely demonic, he didn’t know what did! He pressed in closer and closer, practically curling up against Russia’s body, starting to push harder against his lips, trying to gain access to his mou-

In a sudden, shocking, but not entirely unexpected moment- Russia suddenly spreading his wings, giving a jolting, blinding flash of distressed angelic light-

America fell back, shielding his eyes until the light was gone- before looking up, crouching on the ground, grinning breathlessly, “That was amazing-“

“Get out-“ Russia’s hands trembled a bit as he stepped back, a concerned Kazakhstan watching from a corner, “Get…. out.”

And America got out.

Somehow, he managed the harder uphill climb of his stairs, body tingling with warm, fuzzy, lingering excitement, mind buzzing with curious thoughts-

He entered his room again, closing the door, and glancing at the case of angel feathers- before pausing.

Russia’s feather was no longer glowing with the same angelic light- it seemed to have… dimmed down. Why? If anything, what America had done should have energized Russia, left him more alert- America narrowed his eyes, studying the feather- was the light really about strength? Or.. was there something else going on…?

.

.

.

Russia buried his face into his hands, breathing heavily, feeling all alone in the darkness, even as a confused and worried Kazakhstan peered at the faltering light emitted from his wings.

Dammit- Dammit- Russia felt disgusted, revolted, angry, offended- but even then- he couldn’t hide the flush covering his face, the warmth creeping across his body, the feeling- that feeling- of energy, and heat, and… a sense of… what was it? He knew it was wrong, but he- he didn’t… no, there was no way he’d enjoyed that-

It was just this cursed, stupid demon playing tricks on his mind, trying to make him impure and corrupted-

And Russia wouldn’t fall for this- no…

He curled his fingers into fists, taking a long, deep breath. He was tired. God, he was so tired…

Russia sighed, leaning back against the wall, and letting himself finally relax.

It was just an in-the-moment thing, he was sure. He had been caught off guard. There was nothing more to it.

With time, with careful thought, he would be back to normal-

And with that in mind, Russia closed his eyes, letting the darkness fully cloak his vision.

.

.

.

America tilted his head at the feather case- God, he wanted to go down there, see Russia again, see his face, how he’d reacted to all this-

But then again, it would be pretty weird if he kept poking his head in, every two minutes… Plus, the adrenaline had worn off and America needed a long break before enduring the journey up and down those damn stairs-

And, of course, as demon king, he was busy. He had work to do!

America paused- before falling back, landing on his back on his leather couch. Nope! No work for this lazy demon-

He stuck out his tongue, randomly flailing around for no particular reason, just existing and doing whatever he felt like-

He paused, before wrapping his arms around a nearby pillow. It was soft. Squishy. Russia looked a bit soft, with all the fur on his jacket and hat, but he didn’t look squishy-

Still…

America closed his eyes, curling up closer to the pillow, burrowing against it- imagining it being Russia- Russia’s slim, delicate body and annoyed features that were now alight with coy love- he imagined Russia smiling- flirtingly- Oh… Russia flirting, now that was a dream that would never come true- still, it was a dream, and America was in control of that-

So he curled up closer, snuggling his face against Russia’s cheek, burying his face into the crook of his neck, feeling his strong, beautiful, angelic wings wrap around him-

His hands wrapped tighter around the pillow, and he squished it a bit harder. Then, following a sudden impulse- he curled his nails into the fragile fabric, feeling them easily tear through- he leaned back, before sinking his fangs into the pillow, scratching and biting and snarling and clawing, and absolutely ripping and mangling that pillow into shreds, feathers coming out, drifting around him-

The feathers were probably the most realistic part… America tried getting another vicious bite, before some of those tiny, poofy feathers floated into his mouth, then the back of his throat-

At once, America choked, the heat of the moment forgotten as he coughed and gagged, dropping the shredded remnants of the pillow and clutching his throat, wheezing as he finally expelled the last treacherous feather-

“CANADA!!!” America called out a bit hoarsely, still coughing and trying to remove the dry, crawling feel of feathers inside his throat.

After a moment, Canada burst in, sweeping open the doors quickly, though his expression was calm- it didn’t stay calm for much longer as he saw the scene in front of him-

America, clutching the utterly ravaged fabric of a pillow, tiny feathers gliding around him, some stuck to the side of his face-

“Who- who puts feathers inside of pillows?” America choked out, rubbing his throat ruefully.

“I mean, it’s an old pillow- softer than the newer types, but- with… all due respect…” Canada raised an eyebrow, “Why were you eating your pillow?”

“I wasn’t- I-“ America sighed, “I was pretending it was Russia-“

Canada’s eyes trailed across the scene before him, “… what?????”

Chapter Text

“What do you want?” Russia asked coldly, sitting in a corner of the cell, knees up to his chest, wings limp besides him.

“Russia… come on… no need to be so aggressive- not everything I do is with malicious intent-“ America said slowly, taking a step forward-

“You’re a demon!” Russia snapped, “You expect me to trust you?”

“No. No I don’t. But I expect you to respect me. I am the one in charge of you now. And I expect you to act like it.”

Russia scoffed, glaring up at him, “And- what happened last time? What the hell was that??”

America looked away, sighing, “Uhm- I- kissed you-“

“I’m aware! But why did you do it?”

“Because I wanted to-?”

“You can’t just run around, doing whatever you want-!”

“I can, I’m a demon!” America snapped, “That’s the entire point- I’m a demon, you’re an angel, I do bad things, you sit here preaching morality-“

Russia glared, standing up stiffly, “What do you want? Here to brag or be stupid? Here to grab me and try kissing me again?”

“I mean… I wouldn’t be opposed to the idea…”

Russia tensed, before snapping back, “Don’t you have any female demons to be chasing after?”

“I’m not exactly a- uh- lady guy-“

Russia stared incredulously, before rubbing his temples, “Fine then- male demons?”

“Not really, most are my servants and I’m too busy bossing ‘em around to have thoughts like that about them-“

“And why me?”

America tilted his head, “Uh- you’re.. pretty cute, I guess-“

Russia raised an eyebrow.

“You’re an angel.” America finally said, “It’s different, I-“ He took a deep breath, deciding to finally say what a demon should, “I enjoy corrupting your pure soul.” He said flatly, in a single breath.

Russia’s eyebrow rose even higher.

“Dammit, just- I dunno!” America sighed, “I just- I just wanted to is all, and-“ He fidgeted, a bit nervously, whispering, “I want to do it again-”

Russia drew back, “No- okay, go- go find someone else to harass and molest-“

America’s gaze trailed around the room, before landing on Kazakhstan, who had hid in a corner of the room, hiding his face, and opting to never witness these two again.

“Dammit- no, don’t look at my brother!” Russia snapped.

“Can- can I just hold your hand??” America pleaded.

“What is wrong with you??”

“I don’t know!” America wailed, “I just want to be near you- you’re so interesting, and fun to talk to, and- and I just-“

Russia glared, eyeing him a bit cautiously, “Stay away from me.”

“I don’t want to!”

“No one cares what you want!”

“I do, and- and I-“ America took a deep breath, “I want you.”

“… shut up, and don’t say a single other stupid wor-“

“I love you, Russia!” America finally gasped, “I love you, and your stupid, serious face and your pretty blue eyes, and your shining wings, and your weird sense of gloomy fashion, and the way you talk and watch and breathe and exist and-“

“Shut up-“ Russia replied, voice choked with anger and bewilderment.

“I- I love you, Russia- and I want you- I want to be with you-“

“I don’t, damn you! I hate you!” Russia shouted.

“Well- we have all of eternity together- I’ll be here, everyday-“ America’s eyes were bright, somehow absent of any deviance, “And I’ll keep trying Russia, you’ll love me soon enough-“

“Fuck you-“ Was Russia’s angry, apathetic reply.

“Oh, believe me-“ America replied smugly, “One day you happily will.”

There was a long pause of awkward silence.

Then, Russia’s face twisted into a snarl, “Get- out!”

“I’m getting out, I'm getting out!”

Chapter Text

Russia sighed as he heard footsteps- he turned around, already knowing what was coming.

Kazakhstan peered up a bit nervously from the corner he’d been huddling in, his golden wings glowing dimly. And, with an air that was more nervous and hopeful than expected, America finally came close enough to the dim light to be seen.

“So… uh…” He said slowly, with an anxious smile, “It’s.. pretty dark down here- would you guys like it if I added in a few lights?”

Russia slowly raised an eyebrow.

“Or, like- maybe you guys want food? Water? You don’t need it to survive, but- it makes you feel more alive! And maybe you’d like more company, hm? Maybe-“

“America.” Russia said flatly, “If you think I’m going to go down on my knees in exchange for you giving me a flashlight or glass of water, you’re more ignorant and self-conceited than I thought.”

“N-no, that’s not what I’m doing at all-“ America laughed nervously, running a hand through his hair, “Ha- Russia, that’s- not what I want, I just- I’m just… being nice.”

“You’re a demon.” Russia pointed out coldly, “You expect me to believe that?”

“.. well… maybe I just- want to be nice. And- and see you happy-“ America fidgets, “I’ve never seen you smile- I want to see you smile-“

Russia scoffed, crossing his arms, “Yeah, right. Demons don’t do anything without ulterior motives.”

America sighed, leaning back, his eyes quiet, "I-"

More silence.

Kazakhstan shifted in the corner, peering up, studying Russia's flickering white wings, and America's genuinely confused expression, the two the absolute image of instability-

"... Russia." America suddenly said, slowly, "I- I... I just wanted to say, I'm- sorry."

Russia raised an eyebrow.

"I'm sorry for- for grabbing you, and- kissing you, it- I don't know, it was- fine at first, I mean- like a joke, but- but then I..."

"Look- America-" Russia took a step forward, his blue-grey eyes narrowed, "Have you ever apologized for being a total jackass to a single other demon or angel?"

".. no?"

"So I don't want your hypocritical little apology-!" Russia snapped, jabbing his finger at America's chest, "You are a demon and a liar and if you think that I'll fall over and love you just because you try acting like a decent human being, than you're more stupid than I thought!"

"That's not what I'm trying to do!" America wailed, "I just felt bad, so- so I apologized!"

"You felt bad for what? For violating my personal space? Why don't you apologize for destroying my family?"

"I- I- I can't apologize for that, that- that's part of who I am, my job, what I'm supposed to do!" American protested, "But- you-"

Russia glared, quietly, stepping away, facing the wall, and turning his back to America-

America sighed softly, his tail drooping. It was... okay. He had time.

.

.

.

Russia leaned against the wall- lifting his head and sighing as he heard the door open. Another week- or a day?- another visit from America acting like a sad teenager-

Russia stood up, readjusting his hat for some reason, as if he wanted to look good- he subtly fluffed up his wings as he turned his head, facing America with just the perfect angle to his sharp, yet gentle features-

America stared, blankly, "Um. H-hi..."

Kazakhstan sighed, curling up and preparing for another fight.

"I brought- um-" America held up a plate of various foods, grapes, bread, water-

Russia narrowed his eyes, "Are you trying to bribe me? With food?"

"That's not what I'm doing, I just- I just want you to be happy! I'm just giving you food, because maybe you'll like it, and-"

Russia huffed, before folding his wings and snatching away the plate of food, glaring at America as he popped a grape into his mouth, making a point of chewing it slowly and letting no emotion show on his face.

America watched, tail curled nervously, hopefully.

Kazakhstan sat in a corner, staring at the food. He was hungry. He glanced at Russia, who didn't even seem to notice him, didn't seem to remember him, too focused on glaring at, on hating America-

.

.

.

"Just a hug!" America protested, reaching forward as Russia dodged and moved away, "I just want to hug you! Platonically! I'm sad and I want a hug!"

"Go get hugs from someone else!" Russia snapped, ducking away from another attempted grab.

"No one else cares about me!"

"Well I don't either!"

"I just want a hug!!" America wailed, seemingly having completely given up on being sane and composed-

At last, his arms wrapped around Russia, and he held on tight, literally sobbing in his arms-

Russia stared, absolutely bewildered- he exchanged an awkward glance with Kazakhstan, then cautiously poked America on the face-

The demon sniffled, looking up tearfully.

Russia studied the broken, pleading, vulnerable demon before him- he folded his wings, the light flickering for a moment as his blue-grey eyes softened with just a hint of something- not a feeling- but an idea-

.

.

.

Russia blinked, before offering a small smile, and leaning a bit closer, not saying a thing, just- subtly shifting a bit closer, studying America's soft, confused, yet hopeful face- his pale blue eyes, and nervously curled tail- he didn't look half-bad... Russia could do this...

As America shuffled just a bit closer, hesitantly stretching out a hand- Russia smiled, lifting his own hand, the two intertwining their fingers.

"Russia, I-" America blinked, tightly clasping Russia's hand, "I... I love you, Russia-"

Russia hesitated for just a brief moment, his white wings flickering- before he dipped his head, a slight smile filling his features, "I don't hate you that much- even though you're still an idiot-" he glanced up, "Not an awfully ugly idiot, though-"

America's eyes lit up so, so much at that tiny comment- it was exhilarating to have so much power over such a demon- Russia lifted his head, blue-grey eyes gazing directly at the demon in front of him, "... I can say I'm sorry for.. being such a jerk to you." He finally sighed, "You didn't kill all my family, I mean- you're a terrible person, but you treated me okay, and- maybe I was just getting my biases in the way, you're- not too bad. As demons go."

America's eyes glowed, and he eagerly leaned closer, placing two hands cautiously on Russia's shoulder, as if testing the water, trying to see how far he could go-

"Russia." America said, quietly, eyes hopeful, some of his nervousness melting away, "I want to kiss you."

Russia tilted his head, considering- Kazakhstan watched from the corner, waiting for Russia to shove the demon away- instead, Russia smirked, "I mean.. I won't stop you-"

With too much excitement, and too little thought or planning- America lunged forward, grabbing Russia in a possessive manner and pressing their bodies together, sealing their lips together in a messy, passionate kiss, his tail curling eagerly, he'd waited too long for this, far too long-

Russia suddenly ducked away- before pushing America back, spreading his wings- and kissing America himself, the demon too stunned and shocked by this turn of event to reclaim his dominant position as the angel easily surrounded America with his wings, bringing him in closer and closer- America finally went limp, letting him take charge, feeling oddly safe and comforted, trapped between Russia's soft, feathery wings and his body-

Russia drew back, ending the kiss, studying the demon trapped in his embrace for a moment. America smiled, a dazed, excited little smile, leaning closer, expecting another kiss-

And in a single motion-

Russia slapped him in the face, moving his wings away so that America crashed to the ground, pale blue eyes widening with pain and shock and utter confusion-

Russia stood up stiffly, spreading his wings, and glaring at the demon crouching below him, "You disgust me- you thought that I cared? That I loved you? You're disgusting, absolutely disgusting-"

America lay there, stunned, frozen in place-

Russia scoffed, spitting at his feet, before turning around, stalking out of the cell, shoving open the dungeon doors, and disappearing, somewhere into the light.

Kazakhstan blinked from the corner, glancing at the frozen America, and where Russia had once stood- Russia, who had lied and manipulated and hurt and left without him- with a quiet sigh, Kazakhstan cured up, burying his face into his golden wings. He was tired. So, so tired-

Chapter Text

Russia pushed past small crowds of demon servants and demon advisors and demons and- God he hated them, hated them all, those stupid, smug, evil little monsters, they had ruined his life, destroyed his family and peace, it was all their fault that he was here-

But he wouldn't stay here any longer. Not if he- and his sword- had a say in it.

The demons scattered away from him, seeming alarmed by the angel storming past, fingers curled around his glowing sword, wings spread, eyes narrowed with a dark aura drifting around him-

One demon nervously held out a hand, pitifully attempted to stop him-

And Russia whirled around, plunging his sword straight into the demon's chest before tearing it out a bare second later, as if he was disgusted by letting the blade even touch such a filthy, worthless piece of creation- the demons screamed and cowered back, and Russia bared his teeth, glaring at them each- his sword's light flickered, darkened by innocent blood- but it didn't matter, he was doing this for a reason, he would escape, reinstate his father's religion, reinstate goodness, reinstate himself, because he was goodness and perfection, trapped in this filthy, suffocating world of darkness-

He turned away, walking quickly down the halls, everyone parting to let him pass, like flies being swatted away- their eyes were wide with horror and terror, like he remembered Belarus’ eyes being as she was shoved down, as demons tore away her weapon, her protection, and dragged her away- and Russia had hid behind a bush, Russia should have jumped out and saved her, sacrificed himself, but he hadn’t, because he needed to survive, he was their one hope, he was the only one who could accomplish anything-

He’d stayed back, and he’d survived this long, and he’d continue to survive as such- his mind flickered back to Kazakhstan, curled up sadly in a dark cell- no matter, it was too late to go back, Russia didn’t have time to bother saving him- he was weak anyways, weak enough to get captured in the first place- Russia would be fine without him. It was selfish, maybe, but-

No. No… angels weren’t selfish, he was just… being… sacrificial. Giving up some things for the greater good. And if those ‘things’ were his family, then so be it-

With a huff, he swept open yet another set of double-doors, coming closer and closer to the exit of this damn palace- the crowds thinned, the halls grew brighter, and Russia was close to being free, so close that he could feel it as he spread his dull wings and curled his fingers around his blood-stained sword- he was so close…

.

.

.

Russia froze, his wings tensing as he stared ahead-

Because in front of him, by the gates, the one thing that kept him from leaving this place-

was China. Soviet’s most trusted ally. His most loved ally, now stood before Russia, bearing a pair of scattered gold and black wings and a set of horns-

Russia's eyes flashed, before he stepped forward with a growl, "You traitor-"

China squeaked with alarm, instantly stumbling back, "R-Russia, what-" He stared at the angel in front of him, the angel with an unstable, flickering glow to his wings and a bloodstained sword and hate shining in his eyes, "Russia what happened??"

"You traitor..." Russia repeated, taking a slow step forward, "How dare you- you betrayed my father- he died, because angels like you turned your backs and him and turned to evil instead of fighting for good-"

"Russia, please, just listen to me- you're missing the-"

"How dare you even speak to me???" Russia swung his sword in a wide, angry arc, and China squeaked with alarm, ducking, and retreating back.

"Russia, please listen, I need to tell you tha-"

But Russia didn't listen- he had no patience, no mercy, all he could feel was hatred and resentment and pure, utter loathing and wrath-

"Traitor!!!" Russia shouted, tossing away his sword in favor of simply lunging forward and tackling China to the ground- the fallen angel squeaked with alarm, struggling as Russia shoved him down, shouting and screaming and punching and just seething with pure rage and hatred for this stupid angel, this stupid demon, that had betrayed his family, betrayed him, destroyed everything, it was all his fault, his fault, his fault-

Finally, by some miracle, a sobbing, terrified China managed to struggle away, retreating into a corner and huddling against the wall, yellow eyes wide with fear and horror-

Russia stood up sharply, glaring down, spitting at the very much beat-up fallen angel- before turning and storming away.

He didn't have time to doubt the rather violent measures he'd taken in a bout of anger- China had been a traitor, it was his fault, Russia didn't exactly know what it was, but he blamed China all the same, blamed China and Estonia and America, and everyone- he was the right one, the good one, he was the angel-

With that thought, he stalked off, into the night, into the forest, eyes narrowed, head lifted boldly- as he entered the woods, he spread his wings, the edges of the once shining white feathers now tipped with a dull grey, a darkening shade that faded into the shadows, as if no light remained.

.

.

.

America coughed weakly, not sure whether to laugh or cry at the pure irony of it all-

He’d been manipulated by an angel.

An angel.

God, he was broken, wasn’t he? What kind of a demon was he? What kind of a leader was he? Broken down and letting himself be vulnerable for something as petty as lust-

But no… that wasn’t it, it wasn’t lust, because America could feel it-

He could feel it as he lowered his head and stretched his now glowing wings, knowing he was the only source of light in this dark cell of his own design-

Because as he sat here, burning with injury and shock and betrayal and love, he could feel it- feel that he had no wrath, no resentment, he could feel the forgiveness flowing through him, feel that- no matter what had just happened- all he wanted was to have Russia back in his arms.