Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Britain was the one who pushed open America's door at 6 in the morning, sweeping open the curtains- staring down coldly as America groaned, tugging his blanket over his face, trying to block out the brightness that meant light and morning and work.

"America, get up." Britain said crisply.

In response, America burrowed further into his blankets, folding his brown eagle wings closer to his body and releasing a series of mumbled nonsense.

"America. This is warning two."

America carefully extended his hand out from the safety of the blankets, as if to wave a white flag of surrender, or hold out a hand to shake- before simply holding up his middle finger.

"So you have chosen the hard way." Britain eyed him with a look of utter disappointment as he grabbed the edge of America's blankets, sweeping them away at once- America screeching, wings ruffling as he scrambled to try retaking the lost feeling of warmth and comfort- Britain's yellow owl eyes were as cold and merciless as ever, "I do not understand why you are simply incapable of waking up on time. There is much work to do, a few minutes of sleep will not make you feel anymore rested-"

"It does..." America mumbled in feeble protest, rolling over onto his stomach and pressing his face against his pillow, "In the present..."

"Well, my boy, the present is over." Britain said flatly- before something in his eyes glimmered, "But the presents are still here... though if you take too long squirming around on your bed, I may just give them all to Australia instead..."

At once, America shot up like a bullet, pale eyes wide, wings fluffed out, "Holy shrimp, it's my birthday!" He leapt out of bed, yelping as his stiff limbs whined in protest, stumbling briefly before straightening himself, quickly sliding his feet into his fluffy pink pig slippers, impulsively grabbing Britain's arms and pulling him in for a hug, "Dude, why didn't you start there?? I would've been up in a flash!"

Britain scoffed, slowly peeling himself away from the touch, "I am not a dude, I am your father."

America blinked, "No, you're totally a dude. Like, a guy. You're a guy-" He squinted, "Right? I mean, how else did you-?"

"America, I simply mean that you should show proper respect when conversing with me. I do not appreciate the usage of street slang inside my house."

"Boo- buzzkill-" America stuck out his tongue, "You're so boring and sophisticated, yapping out with your fancy pants vocabulary- thou art an imbecile, America- curse thou, you uncouth, impudent twit-"

"I have never called you a twit once in my life." Britain replied calmly, turning away, "Though that is all subject to change if you continue to lack the ability to remain focused. You have turned eighteen now, and as an adult, you have many new responsibilities- although today is a day of celebrating the new oppurtunities and gifts you have." His eyes narrowed, "Literal gifts as well."

"Duuuuude!! I, like, totally forgot again!"

"You have the memory of a goldish."

"Pretty sure they did an experiment or something, and goldfish have great memories, so... I'm taking that as a compliment~"

Britain sighed, "Just- wash up, make yourself presentable, and get downstairs- everyone's waiting for you. And I'm sure you know what else is waiting."

"Cake!"

"... yes, but- something a bit more... important...."

"Did you finally get me that new video game console I've been asking for? Because dude, I am ready to get everyone over to my house, and stay up all night shootin' virtual baddies and ruining our eyesights-"

"America." Britain sounded exasperated at that point, "Think. You are an adult now. What happens when you become an adult?"

America's face twisted with displeasure, "Taxes-"

"America!!"

"Okay, okay, dude, chill, I'm thinking-" America held up his hands, wings drooping by his side as he thought, "Are you going to.. start charging me to live here...?"

"Regrettably not."

"Do I hafta, like, get a legit job."

"You are being moved up in my business, but that is not what I mean."

America furrowed his brows, "Okay... what do adults do besides work and give the government their money?"

"... America." Britain's voice dropped, "You're an adult. You can choose a mate."

America stared, wings hesitantly rising, before slumping down again, "Oh. Yeah, I- forgot about that part. Um. Wow. Great. Really great. Fun. Yippee-"

Britain raised an eyebrow, "Yippee-?"

"Woohoo. And stuff."

Britain nodded in silent agreement, "This is important, America- whoever you choose will remain by your side for the rest of your life. Just as they have the responsibility to serve you and remain loyal, you will have the responsibility to protect them and provide for them."

America shrugged, scratching the back of his neck, "... I dunno, do I have to do that? Right now? I mean- I dunno if I'm up for all that protecting and providing stuff, like... I'm not the most responsible dude if ya know what I mean..."

"You will be fine, America. It's not as hard as it seems. Just choose someone you know will be agreeable. Someone you know will be respectful, and obedient. Someone who won't be a goddamned headache in the future."

America nodded, slowly, "Yeah.. makes sense, I don't really like headaches-"

Which was why who he ended up choosing made no sense.

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Russia stepped into class, offering his usual cold, glaring scowl. The teacher, and everyone else, ignored him. Which was good. Prey-hybrids were sent to separate schools, where they were taught core subjects- math, reading, history, all that stuff that was important and made you money- but the school was also designed to pound additional subjects into their brains. Cooking and cleaning and obedience and manners- Russia scored as low as possible in all those, if just out of spite.

... except for cooking, because he enjoyed cooking. Who didn't enjoy making something tasty, and proudly eating it? Who didn't enjoy being able to take care of themselves? Having to take care of someone else- especially an arrogant, self-entitled predator-hybrid... that was where Russia drew the line. But considering how he was the school's most withdrawn, moody student, his only 'friends' being his own siblings, whom he barely interacted with inside the school walls- with any luck, he'd remain in the shadows.

He took his usual seat behind Japan- a fellow cat-hybrid who always wore pastel colors, and tried to look 'kawaii', and prided herself on being an adorable little gremlin. Her ears constantly flicked up and down, as if trying to remind everyone 'hey look at me I'm so cute come here and love me', her tail swishing back and forth- blocking the whiteboard from Russia half the time, revealing it a second later- only to cloak it again once a moment had passed. She had a way of being quiet and polite, yet always snatching everyone's attention. Russia had no doubt that she'd be snatched up quickly.

... good riddance.

To his left sat Germany- a rather agreeable boy... most of the time. Like Russia, he was often more isolated and withdrawn, though it was less by choice, and more by nature. His mottled brown hare ears were perpetually pricked up, as if searching for a risk, his body tense, eyes wide and focused behind his glasses. He was... intense. Jumpy. And if startled, he hit hard, an arm or leg jutting out and striking you, followed up by a quick mumbled apology.

To his right, sat Iran. Being trapped between Iran and Germany felt like being trapped between a war. Not that they were fighting with eachother, or anyone, but that they were so tense- whereas Germany exploded with panic and anxiety- Iran exploded with violence. The fact that he had the strong, arching antlers of a Persian fallow deer did absolutely nothing to lower his status as a walking safety hazard. For a prey-animal, he was deeply impulsive, easily agitated- known for beating up other students who got in his way-

So Russia didn't get in his way. He maintained... if not friendly, at least cold relations with the two besides him. Not cold meaning silently hateful, but cold meaning that things between them were peaceful and quiet. Ice. A frozen barrier. Walls. Safety. All that stuff.

And of course, right behind Russia- was the wall. He didn't want anyone behind him, potentially watching what he was doing all the time- to be fair, he didn't think anyone cared what he was doing or would even bother watching him, but it was his instincts, giving him that slight feeling that he was always unsafe. Exposed to a potential danger. Wordlessly, he glanced to either side of him, feeling the ice harden, feeling the walls settle in place as the bell rang and class started-

He sighed, relaxing as he leaned back and tugged his ushanka a bit further down- wincing as it pressed down on his already flattened ears. Unlike Japan, who seemed intent on glorifying her appearance as best as she could- or Iran, who was too head-strong and unapologetic to even bother with the impossible task of hiding his antlers- Russia covered up every sign he may be a prey-hybrid, doing what he could to be something more than... a future mate. He was Russia. A person. Yes, a prey-hybrid, but how much of a difference could that make, really?

Not every prey-hybrid was a... soft, weak-willed, mushy little... thing... that just wanted safety and comfort and a strong predator-hybrid to... whisk them away so they could live in a house for the rest of their life and... cook and clean and be polite. And he was pretty sure that there was no way anyone could tame someone like Iran- and if there was one exception, there could be more.

And maybe he was an exception. Hopefully. Possibly. ... probably. Yes.

Russia had turned eighteen last week, which made him.. technically eligible to be claimed and whisked off. But outside of technicalities? He was far from eligible. Unwilling, unagreeable, unskilled, un...polite. un.. capable of sewing things, overall a horrid little shadowy monstrosity that hopefully, like Iran, would remain single and free for the rest of his life. If there was one thing that Russia had learned from his father, it was that predator-hybrids were all horrible.

Just as prey-hybrids had the instincts to be jumpy, to crave protection, and safety, and schedule, and comfort... predator-hybrids always wanted more, and always took more- nothing was enough for them, they needed power and excitement and novelty, and chaos and power and power and power-

And whatever power Russia had over himself, who he was, who he could be- he wasn't about to hand that away to someone. With a quiet hum, he glanced up, tilting his head and leaning slightly to the side as he tried finding room to see the board beyond Japan's constantly swishing tail. Math class was the same as always- learning a process and formula, maybe understanding why it worked.. and then applying it to the same problems with different numbers.

Again, again, again. There was a kind of comfort in that constant repetition. It was, if not a particularly interesting, at least a calm way to start the day. Even if he was sandwiched between Germany and Iran. Maybe because he was sandwiched between them. There was a kind of security in knowing that no one would dare approach you, considering who you were besides-

He started to relax, humming quietly, tail curling against him from where it was hidden in his jacket. He hated the feeling of having to hide his features, hated how constricting it felt, but he was certain he'd hate the feeling of being exposed much more. He glanced at his paper, jotting down another equation, scanning his gaze over it, quickly, trying to at least get used to seeing it. The more familiar he was with an equation, the faster he would memorize it, the more easily he could use it-

He tapped his pencil against his paper thoughtfully- before sighing as Japan's tail briefly paused right in front of his face as she tensed and tried to figure out what the teacher was yapping about. Iran and Germany were both staring straight ahead, as if they were absorbing the teacher's words. Across the classroom, at the very front, Israel sat there with an aloof expression, playing with the edge of his scarf, packet having been completed two weeks in advance. He was just here to take tests and get credit.

Israel's dark eyes met his for a brief moment- the look cold and dismissive, yet eerily focused. Russia blinked, before offering the hoopoe-hybrid a scowl, watching him tilt his head curiously in a quick, sharp movement that could be considered skittish if not for the purposeful manner he made every move in. .... with all honesty, Israel was the only one who could really intimidate Russia. Despite being a blatant prey-animal, he matched no stereotypes. He excelled in everything. He was always a step ahead. He was neither meek, nor bold and attention-seeking.

He was... well... Israel. He existed. And he was staring at Russia, and it was starting to creep him out. Russia glanced down at his hands, before shooting a meaningful look at Iran- who had yet to peel his eyes away from the whiteboard.

... seemed like he was on his own. He lifted his head, his eyes meeting Israel's, trying to remain calm. What were they doing? Were they this bored? Was this a challenge? Didn't only predators challenge eachother? What was the point of this?? Why- why was Israel not blinking what in the fu-??

Russia blinked- realizing, in a somewhat startled moment, that the teacher had fallen silent long ago, since she walked to her laptop- as she seemed to be checking something, she'd continued lecturing in a more distant tone- before falling silent. She was staring at him. That was why Israel was staring at him. And that was why Iran and Germany were still fixated on the teacher, as if waiting for something to happen.

The teacher took a deep breath, straightening herself and slipping on a tight smile, "Congratulations, Russia- this is quite a pleasant surprise- you've been chosen."

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America was quick to splash water over his face and thunder down the stairs, feet striking each step with unapologetic force as he sprinted down, eyes bright-

"Guys, guys, guys!!" America shouted as he finally burst into the livingroom, eyes glowing as he spotted the table set with a perfect breakfast- with eggs and hash browns and bacon and waffles and doughnuts and coffee, "I'm eighteen!!!"

France offered an unreadable smile, clapping politely- Australia jumped up besides America, the two leaping up and down, America spreading and folding his wings, Australia's wings- that of a black-shouldered kite- fluttering by his side, "Eighteen, eighteen, eighteen, eighteen!!!" They screeched together-

Canada and New Zealand, who had been given a day off from prey-school, watched with quiet smiles, hesitant to join in on the chaos.

"Guys, this is going to be sick-" America grinned, "I'm gonna invite Italy and Turkey and Mexico and everyone over, and we're going to-"

"Mexico?" Canada finally piped up, eyes wide, "I thought you stopped being friends with her...?"

"Bah-" America waved a hand dismissively, "Just a tiny misunderstanding, she won't miss my birthday for the world-" He plopped onto a chair, grabbing a Boston Cream donut and taking a huge bite.

"America..." France offered with a gentle smile, "Drink water first before eating anything, especially something sweet-"

America rolled his eyes, taking a sip of coffee, "I can eat what I want, mom- I'm a whole adult-"

"I'm going to be a whole adult in two Januarys-" Australia piped up, eyes bright.

America took another bite of his donut, chewing thoughtfully, "Wait, Can Man, how old are you again?"

Canada gave him an almost hurt look, his speckled black and white loon wings flopping by his side, "America, we're twins. I turn 18 today too. That's why me and Zea came back from school to stay home for a week-"

"Oh, oh yeah, dude-" America snapped his fingers, "Nearly forgot- hah, think someone's going to choose you soon?"

Canada's face paled as he buried his face into his glass of milk, wings wrapping tightly around his body, "... hopefully not."

"C'mon, doesn't every prey-hybrid want to be chosen? Don't you guys, like, spend your whole life waiting for someone to swoop you away?"

"I don't want to be swooped away." Canada mumbled, eyes downcast, "I don't want to go-"

France gave him a pitying look, gently rubbing the base of his wings as he slowly relaxed, "It's alright, mon cher, you'll be alright-"

America gave the display an unimpressed look, taking another sip of coffee, "Yo! Dad!" He glanced around, "Where's Dad...?"

"Getting your first present-" Australia grinned, "The rest of the party is in the afternoon, but your most important gift is right in the morning..."

America raised an eyebrow in a questioning manner- before sighing and leaning back with a huff, "Of course- I have to choose someone, I mean-" He rubbed the back of his neck, "Couldn't I wait a bit...?"

"I thought you'd be excited-" Australia glanced at him with a bright smile, "You get to take in an adorable little prey-hybrid, and take care of them, and snuggle, and share food, and share a bed, and share-"

"Shush- shush it-" America groaned, shoving his face away, "I'm not ready for this-"

"And hey, if it doesn't work out, you can always return 'em and pick out a new one- there's ten day warranty-"

Canada's wings wrapped further around himself, expression growing miserable.

"Ay, that's a good point!" America snapped a finger, "I may as well make the best out of this, I could choose anyone- and they'd want me, y'know? I'm, like, the coolest dude ever- everyone loves me on Insta, and I make TikTok videos, and am super rich, there's no way they won't want me, but..." He tilted his head, considering, "I don't want some lame guy who's just going to fall over and love me at first sight, just knowing my name- especially if just for my money..."

"Guy?" Australia quipped.

"Hush- anyways, maybe I should choose someone a bit... different- someone who doesn't look like they want to be chosen-"

Australia slowly raised an eyebrow, "Doesn't that mean they won't like you?"

"No, no, you don't get it- see, they won't like me at first, but then he'll fall for me, and it'll be real love, the awesome type, and I won't even need to bother with the warranty because I won't return him for being fake or something- y'know?"

Australia gave him a skeptical look, "If you say so..."

"America?"

America's head shot up, eyes wide as Britain stepped in, "Dude- where were you? And what took you so long, I-"

Wordlessly, Britain slid over an iPad- America sighing as his eyes trailed over the site. The site was designed like a yearbook, with multiple pages and photos of prey-hybrids- at the top you could input your location and identity, and it would show all the best results. A bit like shopping. That part... was honestly kinda cool.

With a hum, he began scrolling down, eyes trailing across the photos, before he poked Australia, "See, dude? I mean, look at some of these people-" He jutted a finger at a fox hybrid, wearing a tight red dress, ears pricked, tail high behind her, eyes narrowed, lips pursed into a coquettish smile, "Look at her- trying to seem as sweet and pretty as possible, like she wants to be picked-"

"So pick her!"

"Nope!" America scoffed, "That's boring-she's boring. Predictable." His eyes scanned the screen, tapping on the next page, narrowing his eyes. Among the many bright, eager, smiling faces, were prey-hybrids who were more.... covered up. Those who hid their features, or tried to appear ugly and defiant and not at all desirable. That was who America was after. Someone who didn't want him out of obligation or a thirst for wealth and comfort- someone who didn't want him at all until they met him, and really truly fell for him. Then, life would be totally awesome. And stuff.

"Hey Dad?"

"What is it, son?" The voice came from directly behind his ear- America yelped, realizing that Britain had been leaning over his shoulder, staring down hungrily at the screen.

"D-dude- uh-" America glanced back with a slight wince, "How did you choose mom?"

France glanced up, eyes softening as she straightened herself, hands neatly folded on her lap, expectant gaze fixated on Britain.

"It wasn't a very hard choice..." Britain smirked, making his way across the table to her and leaning closer, a hint of blush dusting across her features, chicken wings fluffing out, "Right when I saw her, I knew she was perfect..."

"But how? Was there a spark?" America's eyes were wide with awe, "The soulmate spark? True love at first sight?"

"She had perfect grades in cooking, sewing, and etiquette." France's face drooped, "What else would I want from a mate?"

"Dude, that's boring! You can't choose a partner just to- take care of you, and clean the house! I mean- I can take care of myself!"

"That's very much debatable."

Ignoring France's crest-fallen look, Britain made his way back to America, his blue and red eyes fixated on the screen, "Anyone in mind?"

America hesitated- before tapping on a photo that showed a pale, scowling man in a crisp business suit, his bird wings blue, black, and white. Under his photo was the name Israel.

"America, why."

America furrowed his brows, studying the prey-hybrid's records, "Says here that his name is Israel... he's a hoopoe-hybrid, some kinda bird- you said you wanted to keep bird-hybrids in the family."

Britain crossed his arms, glaring, "Look at his face. Look at those eyes. I do not like him. He looks too... defiant. Confident. I think he would speak back."

"We could banter, that could be fun!" America studied his face a moment longer, before tapping on his record, "And hey, he has good grades!"

"In all the wrong classes-" Britain scoffed, scrolling down, "Okay, he scored well, but- why is he taking business courses??"

"He could be useful with the business? You know I suck at that stuff."

"And you would have a prey-hybrid teach you? He'll get ideas about being in charge-"

"Dude, chill- it's not the end of the world..."

"Choose someone else. Now."

America rolled his eyes, going back to the main page and scrolling around.

"Oh, hey, look at that guy-"

He pointed a finger at one of the photos- depicting a prey-hybrid that was a species of deer, his flag green, white, and red- antlers lowered and menacingly pointed at the camera, eyes cold and merciless.

"He looks like he'll kill you in your sleep." Australia commented, "He seems a bit... feral."

"I-ran. That's a funny name-" America hummed, bookmarking his page.

"For the love of God, are you doing this just to spite me??" Britain demanded, "Choose someone normal!"

America pouted, eyes trailing across the page, "Oh, look, it's a bunch of boring people who know how to cook ten types of pastries and dust bookshelves, wow, how amazing, I'd love to spend my life with someone who acts like my servant and won't have an honest conversation with me-"

"America..."

"Okay, okay, chill!" America huffed, "You know what, I'll just- close my eyes, scroll up and down, and choose someone."

"You can't leave this to pure chance! Your choice has to be perfect!"

"Pretty sure Fate has the perfect choice for me." America replied curtly, closing his eyes, finger gliding up and down the screen, until finally freezing. He hesitated, eyes closed as he lifted his hand- one finger jabbing down at a random point, "... did it hit someone?" He asked, not yet opening his eyes.

Britain and Australia were silent. Slowly, America blinked open his eyes-

In front of him was a photo of a tall, majestically scowling man- his flag was white, blue, and red- his eyes a deep blue-grey, narrowed defiantly at the camera, yet in an almost serene, calm way, as if this was simply his nature, his default, no strong emotions behind his eternal grudge against whoever met his eyes. He was dressed in a black coat lined with white fur- soft, warm, clearly prioritizing comfort over appearance. There was a deep blue scarf tossed over his shoulders, covering his neck and chin, a dark grey ushanka on his head, covering up any sign that he even was a prey-hybrid-

If not for the description that listed him as Cat-hybrid, America was certain that he would have mistaken this man for a predator.

"Dad..." Australia's voice was shaky, "Dad, he's staring really closely at the fluffy tall guy- Dad make him stop, that guy creeps me out, he can't bring him into the house-"

America's finger reached out to the man's sharp features, finger brushing against him- it hit the screen, and as he gently stroked the picture, it simply scrolled down. He wanted to stroke the real one. Wanted to look into this man's eyes and see if he would scowl more, or if his gaze would soften, if he would be interested in America- or if it would take time and effort to crack through that icy exterior- he could imagine curling up against him, burying his face into all his fluffy clothes, inhaling deeply, exhaling, relaxing, against him, arms wrapped around him, everything still and quiet and peaceful and beautiful-

"Dad make him stop, he looks serious about this, he's blushing-!!"

Wordlessly, Britain leaned closer- before, with a scoff, breaking the spell, "Look at him- you can hardly tell what he is, he seems like a man who would hide knives up his sleeves- and look at his grades, they're ghastly- he failed cleaning- how do you fail cleaning???"

"Maybe by not cleaning?" Australia suggested.

"America. I refuse." Britain said coldly, "There is no way you're choosing this... Russia person- he's probably the worst option there could be." He paused at America's intense look, "... America. Look, you can... go back to Israel, you were interested in him, right? Maybe we do need someone more hard-working and capable, he could be your secretary, and- America? America, look at me, you're not doing this, you-"

Wordlessly, America tapped on Russia and added him to the checkout stage.

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.

"... Excuse me?"

Russia stared ahead blankly, eyes fixated on his teacher, who pressed her hands together, offering a bright, somewhat nervous smile.

"You've been chosen. By a predator-hybrid. To be their mate. The first in your age group to be chosen, actually, I'm quite impressed! America must have really seen something in you..."

The room was dead silent. Russia dared to glance back at the faces staring ahead- ranging from stunned, to jealous, to downright murderous. He'd never wanted to be claimed by everyone's apparent celebrity crush. He'd never wanted to be claimed at all-

"He wants to pick you up as soon as possible, it's his birthday apparently, isn't that sweet?" The teacher hesitated briefly, before leaning closer, glancing at the cold glares from the others in the class, "You should probably go now. Now would be a good time."

Russia offered a numb nod, his expression blank as he slowly walked to the back of the class, everyone's eyes on him- sliding his notebook into his backpack without even processing his actions, face devoid of any emotion, eyes fixated down, as if trying to look away from the rest of the world, who had yet to look away from him-

As he made his way to the door- glancing back for a brief moment at hostile faces, at Germany offering him a somewhat confused final smile, at Iran giving him a surprisingly pitying look, at Japan staring, stunned at him, as if he'd stolen everything from her, kicked her, and skipped away- he wondered, briefly, if he could run. If there was a chance, he could just.. leave. What if he never showed up?

Then, the more logical part of his brain took over. The part of his brain that beat the stupid part to death, and left him on emotionless auto-pilot. He turned back, blankly to the door, at the school halls he'd walk down for the last time (not something he was exactly sad about), considering the feeling of being free, of being himself- for the last time.

As he began going down the stairs to the main office, two questions entered his mind.

Why does America want me? Is he stupid or something?

The answer to the latter was a resounding yes. The answer to the former... still had yet to be seen. Maybe there wasn't an answer. Nothing besides the impulsive urge predator-hybrids had, to make a silly immediate choice, not caring how it would tear apart the life of another-

.... but despite everything, Russia wasn't about to stand by, smile sweetly, and watch as someone ripped his life to shreds. If this man thought he wanted him... well... Russia would just have to prove him wrong. What else was there to do?

With a sigh, he gave the lady at the front desk a nod, before pushing open the front doors, stepping into the light- into the start of a new life- and wanting, more than anything, to simply turn back, back to being unseen in the shadows.

Chapter Text

"Get away, Aussie, you're still too little!"

"Am not! And none of your friends are adults yet either!"

"I only turned into an adult today- we're all, like, the same age, basically- you're two years younger than me, I can't have you tagging along everywhere- especially since I'm going to be meeting..." America hesitated, trying to find the right word, before finally settling on: "Russia."

Australia pouted as he sat down- snatching another plate of cake- though his eyes were still bright and interested, "So you just go pick him up from school? Like a parent?"

America sighed, "I- I guess so-"

"You know that's going to be the most awkward thing in the world."

America winced- wings ruffling slightly, "I know..."

"He's probably gonna hate you. He looks like he hates everyone, but then he'll especially hate you-"

"He'll warm up to me soon enough..."

"But not today!" Australia replied cheerfully- stabbing his fork into the cake and carving out a chunk, "Today's gonna be all weird and awkward- and then you hafta bring him home!" He cackled, "And keep him in your room~"

America groaned, face sinking into his hands, wings drooping, "I'm not ready for this- eighteen isn't old enough- I wanna be a child again..."

"Wanna trade?" Australia asked hopefully.

"That's not even possible, but- still, nope." America straightened, fluffing out his wings and narrowing his eyes, "I'm totally ready for this- it'll be like meeting any new person, and... he's mine, so he can't be too hostile. We can spend the day getting to know eachother- I could take him out to the movies... a restaurant... maybe we could adopt a pet! And raise it together..."

"Like a child." Australia said flatly.

America wrinkled his nose, "Pets are way better than children. They don't speak English, for one- and they take less money, and they're not as annoying. We could have a bunch of pets together- dogs and cats and birds-"

"Those would all eat eachother."

"Just dogs?"

"He doesn't seem like a dog person."

"... cats." America finally said reluctantly, "Won't that be weird for him though? Like he's a- cat hybrid, and- he has a pet cat?"

Australia shrugged, "It's not weird for us when we see a bird shitting out white goop on everyone's cars. We're just a more advanced, evolved version of them-"

America huffed, "Fine then-" He tilted his head back, "I should try to show off how rich I am- buy him a bunch of stuff- that should make him happy, right? I can basically give him anything he wants, so there's no way he'd be upset with me for choosing him- he'll probably be grateful!"

Australia leaned over the iPad screen- studying Russia's narrowed blue-grey eyes, the cold, yet natural scowl, as if his resting face was one of utter apathy and unfazed defiance, "He doesn't look like someone who could ever be grateful-"

America scowled, "He's a prey hybrid, he might act all silly and rebellious, but it'll all be fine, we're going to be awesome together-"

"If you say so..." Australia shrugged, thoughtfully chewing on his mouthful of cake, "When's everyone else getting here?"

As if on cue, and probably on cue since this is a story someone is writing and progressing along with whatever series of events is most convenient, the doorbell rang.

"I'll get it-" France made a move to stand up from the table.

"No no, it's fine mom, you should rest-" America smiled brightly- patting her rather demeaningly on the head as he skipped past, "It's probably my friends, so I'll go get them-"

He beamed as he swung open the door- coming face to face with his... friends. Sure, half the time they were fighting and exchanging punches and racial slurs, but that was all obviously what friends did, so-

"Happy birthday, bitch." Mexico scowled as soon as he opened the door, arms crossed over her chest- Italy craning his neck past America to peer into the livingroom and see if there was any food- Turkey flinching at the usage of a no-no word.

"Hey! I'm not a bitch! Bitch is only for women!" America protested, wings fluffing out defensively-

"How sexist of you-" Mexico muttered, pushing past him with a slight hiss from her fangs- stalking into the livingroom, "Where the fuck is the birthday cake?"

"My question exactly!" Italy giggled gleefully, scampering in after her- France and Canada already having vacated the kitchen space-

Turkey hung back for a moment, eyes wide, "May I come in?"

America sighed, rubbing his temple, "Y-Yeah, thanks for asking-"

"Who the fuck bit half an Oreo and put it back on the plate???"

America smiled tightly, watching as Turkey awkwardly shuffled up and immersed himself in the chaos.

How fun.

Even as he managed to claim a seat at the table and keep his immediate surroundings clean and tidy, despite Italy spilling an entire glass filled to the brim with orange juice within two minutes of sitting, and even as curses and shouts and little grains of crumbs and crispy rice from the snacks set out were thrown around- he couldn't help but feel more exhausted, instead of enlivened, by all the noise and chaos-

His mind was already somewhere in the future, to a meeting that had yet to take place, a relationship that had yet to form, a person whose eyes he had yet to look into... who he had yet to claim as his own...

Yet it was all guaranteed to happen, wasn't it? That was just the nature of things.

Gazing at his house, at his friends (gremlins who used him for food and a free space to argue), he couldn't help but wonder what Russia was doing at this moment. No doubt, just like him, he was hopefully, excitedly, anxiously awaiting their fated meeting... with bated breath, and hopefully just a tiny hint of happiness or eagerness...

.

.

.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

Russia screamed, hurling his duffel bag into the wall, which- if it could speak or move or do anything besides stand by helplessly- would have been sobbing in pain by now. And he would have probably joined it. How the hell had he been chosen, what the fuck??? Some madman named America wanted him?? Or just ordered him for the fun of it, for the challenge of some cliche little rebellious, stubborn prey hybrid to tame, or some shit-

Russia groaned, sinking down to his knees and burying his face into his hands. He had about twenty minutes to pack everything up and leave, before people would be wondering where he was. Then they would come check in on him, and lead him off either way- twenty minutes to come to terms with what was happening, and figure something out-

What was there to do? What could he ever do? Just stand up.. start pulling his clothes out of the closet he shared with his roommate... folding them hurriedly and plopping them into his bag.. sweeping random papers and notebooks off his desk and tossing them in as well... retrieving his toothbrush and toothpaste and brush, and all the random stuff he might need, might not need-

Just being a good little prey-hybrid and preparing to meet his mate. Preparing to move in. Shouldn't he be fighting against this? Yelling out that he refused to be married to some entitled predator-hybrid he'd never met in his life? Wasn't it his choice?

... clearly not, since it seemed that even in this private moment, all he could do was helplessly, stupidly obey what he was told to do.

He sighed as he gazed into his bag- filled with the bare necessities for living somewhere new. Nothing personal. Nothing strikingly his own. Nothing ever was, he'd known his entire life that this would happen eventually, that he'd be handed off to someone else, like- like some animal being adopted...

Why was he so angry about it? Everyone else seemed to accept it easily, happily enough- most looked forward to this day, so why couldn't he... want this? Why couldn't he fight back? Why was he always stuck somewhere in between, not naive enough to be grateful for whatever bullshit life put him through, not strong enough to fight back against what he knew must be wrong-

What was the point of pretending anymore? He wasn't like Iran, strong and stubborn and wholly untamable- someone who made even the most arrogant predator-hybrids flinch back and eye warily. Iran was independent, and would probably continue to be so his entire life. Society didn't break him- if society approached him, he'd slam his antlers forward and break society-

Or even Israel, who learned the rules of the game, who found something he was capable of doing, to better his status, improve his own hand of cards- no doubt he'd get some good paying job with all the business stuff he dedicated himself to, make money and be rich and comfortable, and- even if he was chosen, he had something that made him more than just... him. Something that gave him some leverage, some strength in any situation. He had his brains and business and wealth, and-

Russia was poor, and weak, and stubborn, and lost, and- just sitting here, awkwardly, clutching his duffle bag to his chest.

He was about to go off and live with a random predator-hybrid he'd never met in his life. They would be... mates. Maybe have children. This was a fact of life for anyone like him. And it was his fault for not fully accepting that until now, for thinking that maybe he had the choice- that if he acted strong and bold and unlovable enough, if he acted like someone who would never be grabbed and tied down, and forced into a scenario he never wanted to be in, then no one would reach for him and hold him down-

He was so, fucking stupid for never preparing himself for something this inevitable.

Scowling down at his bag, blinking away furious tears- more mad at himself than anything else- he turned to look around the room one more time, making sure he wasn't missing anything.

Tucked snugly under his blankets, hidden from his roommate's view, was a tiny stuffed cat. Soviet had sewn this for him himself- picking out dark grey cloth the same color as Russia's fur, blue button eyes and a little pink nose- just a toy for a child, but like a child, Russia had yet to grow up and accept the world he always knew he'd have to face. Like a child, he sat there- cradling the toy in his hands, tears burning in his eyes, feeling like he was losing a lot more than mere independence.

Feeling like he was losing himself.

His fingers curled around the toy as he closed his eyes tightly- before shoving it inside the bag and zipping it up quickly- picking it up and walking briskly out his room, and into the halls.

He was excused by the front desk immediately- the secretaries' faces ranging from proud, to relieved, to utterly apathetic. No matter how much mental screaming and ranting and coming-to-terms-with-life's-bs he'd done, he still hesitated as he turned- the school's entrance hall was dim, calm and sheltered, a little haven for prey-animals. He'd attended this same school since he was a little kid, and his entire life had been leading up to.... this moment. He was meant for this. By nature, by social ranking, by... whatever.

But he didn't want this. He didn't want to step out of these dim halls, into the harsh light- into the arms of some man named America who he knew nothing about- nothing but nature, that for some reason he was in control of everything, including Russia, and that was all there was to it. He just had to play along with the role another had prepared for him- smile and dip his head and do whatever he was told to, because he didn't have another option- he didn't have anything. Not even himself.

He glanced around as he began stepping, uncertainly towards the double-doors, both the entrance and exit to the school. He'd been sent here for one purpose- being prepared for a mate- and he was leaving since, somehow, he'd achieved that purpose by merely existing. He'd never wanted to be here in the first place. He didn't want to leave. He didn't want any of this, yet no one cared about his feelings or thoughts, no one cared about anything besides the blunt fact of what he was-

... wasn't his dad supposed to be here? Shouldn't someone be letting him know that he was about to be whisked away? Wasn't parental permission a thing? Supervision? But... he was, technically, an adult now, and... technically he already belonged to someone else. Someone who was waiting outside for him. He tried to imagine what this America would look like- some hulking monster, taller and stronger than him, with dark, glinting eyes and pointy teeth- rich and privileged, dressed in a suit and a silver watch and shiny shoes-

And then what? He just stepped out there, and- and then he just.... lost everything. As if he'd ever had anything to start with...

"Uh- Russia, right?" One of the secretaries- a deer hybrid- asked uncertainly, "Y-You need to step out. Your mate is waiting for you."

Russia glanced back- blue-grey eyes wide at the sudden interruption. Fuck, how long was I just standing there and dramatically monologuing in my mind?

Even if he sure as hell didn't want this, it was about time that he came to terms with the fact that he didn't exactly have a choice-

He willed his body to move and do what it had to, even as his mind screamed and pleaded and cursed and begged, and- with a sigh- he stepped up to the exit, pushed open the double doors- and stepped out, into the light of his new life.

.

.

.

"What's taking so long?" Mexico yawned, jaws unhinging a bit beyond normalcy, revealing her long fangs- the snake-hybrid looking beyond bored. Her brown eyes were lined in dark mascara, appearance apathetic- even though she clearly cared enough about America to be here- and put some effort into how she looked. She was dressed in a short, frilly light green t-shirt and pair of shorts, a golden snake necklace and set of matching bracelets adorning her neck and wrists, "Shouldn't they be out by now?"

America crossed his arms defensively- shifting in his less than comparable outfit: a plain white t-shirt, a black suit he'd messily tossed on, and pair of black slacks, the outfit mostly ruined by his choice of white sneakers, "He's probably saying goodbye to all his friends because everyone loves him so much."

Italy perked up- greyish brown wolf ears sharply pricked, "He? So you chose a guy afterall? Ha! I knew it! You are a homosexual!"

America squawked, wings ruffling as he whapped the other man in the face, "Hey! It's supposed to be a surprise! And no, I'm not- whatever you said, I'm just gay-"

Turkey- a grey wolf-hybrid- side-eyed them all, looking thoroughly unimpressed, "The door's opening-"

America whirled around- lowering his sunglasses to reveal his wide, pale blue eyes- breath hitched-

An alarmingly tall figure- he's as tall as me...- pushed his way out of the building. He was slim, though purposefully wearing a bulky, fur-lined coat and scarf, and that ridiculous fluffy hat, appearing somewhat larger- almost in a defensive manner. His features were sharp and scowling- his blue-grey eyes reluctantly darting up- freezing at the scene before him.

"Heyyy- America's husband~" Italy learned towards him, giggling, "Wow you're tall-"

"America what the fuck." Mexico said flatly, eyebrows arched in elegant judgement.

Turkey rubbed his temples with a sigh, looking purely exasperated with life.

"Uhm- h-hiii...." America stepped forward awkwardly- wielding two icecream cones, both cookies and cream, "I'm America."

Wordlessly, he handed over one of the icecreams to Russia, who accepted it with his slightly trembling free hand, the other tightening around his duffle bag. Russia had intended on stepping out there with a scowl, and just glaring at whatever his potential mate did, in the naive hopes that they would realize he hated everything and send him back.

Now he had an icecream.

Fuck my life.

"Look, uh- oh-" Alarm crossed America's features as some of his icecream began dripping out of its scoop and down the waffle cone- he quickly dipped his head, licking at the melted icecream, Turkey furrowing his brows- Mexico clearing her throat.

Russia stared at him blankly.

America glanced up- quickly retracting his tongue and blinking innocently, "Uh- do you want to- eat your ice-cream?"

Russia continued staring.

America's expression shifted into something akin to an anxiety. Italy's tail drooped at the prolonged silence. Turkey glanced at his phone. Mexico narrowed her eyes.

"Sooo- this is awkward~" Italy finally broke in with a grin.

"R-Right- yeah- it is, isn't it?" America laughed nervously- taking another lick of his icecream- his tongue scooping out a glob of it and quickly swallowing, "I mean- uhhmm. Russia. That's how you say your name, right?"

Russia nodded, slowly, eyes wide.

"So, I'm America, and I'm your mate now, so. Uh. We're going to live together."

"And sleep together and have babies!" Italy added cheerfully. Mexico kicked him in the shins, earning a cringe and pitiful whimper.

"So... uh.." America licked at his icecream, "This is- like- really awkward, because we're just meeting for the first time- haha, right?" Russia stared. America was pretty sure that the man's expression hadn't shifted the entire time. "B-but, we'll get used to eachother really soon, and we're going to be super close and everything."

Mexico furrowed her brows, "He isn't blinking. Maybe he's defective. You can always return him and choose another one."

"Si!" Italy agreed brightly, "Maybe a cute little bunny~"

"Don't talk about him like that!" America said, almost protectively- before giving Russia a nervously eager look, "We're going to be- hanging out today and getting used to eachother. You can feel comfortable and safe around me, okay? I'm not gonna do anything to you-"

"Until night time~" Italy cooed.

America ignored him- noting with some concern how Russia's blue-grey eyes got even wider, lips pressed together tightly- expression having slowly shifted from a scowl to a muted look of horror. He really was just a scared little kitten...

"Look, I have a bunch of bonding activities planned for today!" America leaned closer to him with a bright smile, hoping it could ease the other's tension. It didn't. "Just- relax and eat your icecream right now, and then we're going to have a bunch of fun! Okay?"

Russia stared, a moment longer- before processing the feel of icecream dripping down- the cool, sticky substance settling around his fingers, still tightly gripping the cone. His spell of stillness broke, and he dipped his head- tongue darting out to lap it away- America's pupils dilating at the peek at his tiny, pink cat tongue.

"Let's- sit down somewhere-" America said, quickly, gaze fixated on Russia's face. He reached out to touch the other man's back and guide him to a bench- pausing as Russia flinched away from him, "... oh. Sorry, uh- just... over here."

He stepped backwards over to a bench- gaze brightening as Russia tensely followed him. The two sat down, America quickly looking down and attending to his melting cone. Russia did the same after a moment's pause.

There was silence. This was.. honestly pretty bad. He should have taken up Britain's offer to supervise the whole thing, but...

"So, do we just stand here, or what?" Mexico asked incredulously.

America shifted closer to Russia- who briefly glanced up from his icecream- offering an apologetic smile, "Look's like I'll be busy with him today, so- uh-"

Italy offered an understanding look, "Si, I get it! Spend time with your new mate~ I know that when I turn 18, I'll spend the entire day with mine.."

"Happy birthday, America." Turkey said flatly, "Enjoy your day. And congrats on adulthood."

America nodded with a lazy smirk.

Mexico left wordlessly, expression more than a little annoyed.

"So... I guess it's just you and me~" America turned with a grin- Russia bunched up besides him, shoulders hunched- expression more anxious than before as he lapped at the icecream, "So... uh... tell me about yourself. Favorite colors, and all that."

Russia glanced up- practically burying his face into the icecream, America nearly swooning at the sight of the prey-hybrid's blue-grey eyes, peering up uncertainly at him, "... my name is Russia. I like the color blue."

America nodded, "Great, uh- anything else? Any personality stuff? Any likes or dislikes?"

Russia looked away, "No."

America blinked, "Oh. Okay." He took an especially large lick of his icecream, expression thoughtful, "Hobbies?"

"I cook."

"For fun, or because you have to?"

"For my family."

America's eyes brightened, "Family! What type of family do you have?"

"My father. And my fourteen siblings."

America blinked, "Excuse me?"

"... what?"

"Fourteen siblings?"

"... yeah."

"Are they all... prey-hybrids, like you?"

Russia stared at his icecream "My father is. Thirteen of my siblings are. But my brother is a predator-hybrid."

"Your... brother.." America said, slowly- eyes narrowing hesitantly, "You have a brother. Who's a predator hybrid. Is he- uh- protective?"

"No." Russia licked his icecream, "He doesn't like me."

"... oh." America blinked.

"Or my siblings. Or my dad."

"Oh. Okay then. Uh- do you get along with the rest of your family?"

"No."

America cleared his throat, "Okay then, uh... that's. A pity." He looked away, "Well- I have a very nice family."

"Of course you do." Russia muttered, a bit quickly- America's eyes narrowing at the sudden show of boldness. Russia stared, eyes wide, as if waiting for retribution.

America decided to ignore it for now, "I have my mother- she's a prey hybrid, a chicken. My dad is a predator- an owl. And then I have a brother, Australia, who's another predator- he's a goshawk. Then my other brother and sister, Canada and Zea- I mean, New Zealand- are both prey-hybrids like you! Maybe you'll get along well?"

Russia stared, ".. and you're rich." America nodded, looking uncomfortable- unsure whether Russia was suddenly about to be more or less interested in him. "And happy." America nodded, eyes brightening. "It must be so fun. To be able to ruin another person's life."

Russia suddenly stood up- dumping his half-eaten icecream into the trash, and turning to walk back into the school.

America stared, stunned- before leaping up, "H-hey, wait, what the hell? You can't just- leave, what- what did I do wrong?"

Russia scowled with obvious resentment- flinching as America grabbed his wrist, "I'm pretty sure there's, like, a rule that says you can't just- walk off and not listen to me."

"So am I just some servant to you? A little animal to control?" Russia shot back, eyes flashing. He was... pretty much done being quiet. The initial introverted awkwardness of meeting a new person was gone. Now it was time to be impulsive and emotional.

"I- I mean- kinda?" America replied hesitantly.

Russia stared, "... okay, I'm leaving-" He tried tugging away- America's fingers tightening around his wrist.

"You can't just walk off." He insisted, once again, "We're mates now. You're supposed to stay with me."

"Why do you want me anyways?" Russia demanded, "You don't even know me! And you can tell I'm not- a model prey animal."

"I don't care!" America nearly wailed, "I just chose you, because why the hell not, and now we're going to hang out and have fun and fall in love!"

Russia scoffed, "In your dreams-" He muttered, trying to tug away.

"Why don't you want me???" America demanded, "I'm rich, and super friendly, and I just bought you icecream-"

Russia gave him an incredulous look, "You're an absolute stranger who wants to marry me and treat me like you own me-"

"I do own you! That's how the world works!"

"Well fuck the world!"

America gasped at the foul word leaving the mouth of a (supposed to be) delicate, meek prey-hybrid, "You cursed!!"

"What are you, a two-year old? Can't handle a few curse words?"

America sniffled- looking distraught- before wrapping Russia into a hug, his strong, yet surprisingly soft and fluffy wings folding around him and squeezing him close, "I don't know what the world has done to you- to make you so cold and resentful towards it... but you have to much left to live for and love, and I will support you and show you all the good you have left-"

What the fu-

"What the hell???" Russia shoved him off- slamming his chest with duffel bag- America gasping out breathlessly as he fell back, eyes wide-

There was a moment of somewhat confused silence. America seated on a ground- palms scraped from his fall and pressed against the rough floor. Russia wielding his duffel bag defensively, as if afraid of a single touch more-

"I- I uh-" America stared, "I've never thought that- prey-hybrids curse, so I thought maybe you're- really upset or disturbed." Which would explain a lot.

Russia scoffed, looking away, "No more than any other prey-hybrid."

"Hey, most prey-hybrids are..." America avoided the word normal, "A bit more... cheerful and content with life than you seem to be. I mean- I know Canada and Zea are happy and all- and mom."

Russia slowly raised his eyebrows, "How do you know?"

"Because. Uh. They don't complain about stuff." America sat up, "When I'm upset about something, I complain about it- like- a lot-" He gestured vaguely, "But I've never heard them complain about anything, which means they don't have anything to complain about?"

"Wow. You're an absolute dumbass."

America flinched, "Hey, that's not fair! How am I supposed to know how someone feels without them telling me?"

"You don't! And you never will, because predator-hybrids like you don't care about feelings!"

"W-Well prey-hybrids like you aren't supposed to have- random- aggressive feelings!"

"Well fuck you!"

"Y-yeah, you too..." America replied awkwardly- still sitting on the floor and staring up at him.

Russia stared, blankly- before sighing and looking away, "... what now?"

"Uh. I thought maybe we could go to the movies."

"... that works."

"Are you excited?"

"No. I couldn't care less. But at least you might shut up in a movie theater. And maybe I can sneak away in the dark-"

America gasped, eyes wide with horror, "You wouldn't!"

"Calm down-" Russia snapped, "I'm not going to run off, that would be stupid. No matter how dumb the societal circumstances are, the last thing I would do is run away."

"You promise?" America asked hopefully- stretching out his pinky finger, "You promise that no matter what happens and no matter what we feel... we're gonna find some way to figure it all out and stay together? Even if just cuz we're supposed to?"

It wasn't a promise that Russia had ever wanted to make- even, in this moment, that he wanted. Still, he reluctantly stretched out his pinky- curling it awkwardly around America's- before sighing and stepping back, "There."

America seemed to slump back with relief- offering a tired smile, "Okay. Let's go to the movies now."

Russia sighed- reaching out a hand and helping him stand, sighing as America's smile grew brighter as he stood up-

"And Russia?"

"What?"

"This is going to be awesome. Okay?"

"... yeah, okay."

"And you're going to be really happy with me."

"Maybe."

"Do you promise to at least try?"

"... fine."

"Okay. That's enough for me."

Russia scoffed- it wasn't fair that America got to act so childish and cute and innocent, when he was supposed to be some hulking, dominating monster who Russia could fight against, and hate for controlling him. Still, when a shiny black car pulled up, and a chauffeur tugged his duffle bag out of his hand and packed it into the back- he was all too willing to disguise his awe at this new lifestyle with pure, absolute apathy-

There's nothing wrong with pretending, he thought to himself as he carefully sat on the clean leather seats, trying to keep his eyes narrowed and annoyed, Afterall, I don't know what's going to happen, or what he's really like... I should be ready for anything.

And if that anything included America shamelessly scooting over next to him- leaning against him- and making a not so secretive attempt at snatching off his ushanka to peek at his cat ears (earning nothing but a sharp slap to the wrist)- then he would withstand it, because he had no other choice to- and maybe, just maybe.. because the world was like this for a reason. And there was something good he could get out of it.

He glanced over, side ways at America- only to flinch as he realized the eagle-hybrid's pale eyes had been focused intently on him the entire time-

... this was going to be a long car ride...

Chapter Text

Russia did his best to stay calm during the car ride. His gaze had initially trailed hopefully to the windows- only to find them so heavily tinted he couldn't see anything outside. What was the point of windows if you couldn't see through them?

The car itself was... comfortable. Terribly so, with the soft, smooth leather seats, plush cushioning, and air conditioning dutifully blasting away gentle streams of cool air. He stared at his hands for a moment, feeling the urge to remove his ushanka and let his ears prick up, free them from being flattened against his hair-

But with America's gaze fixated on him, pale blue eyes wide with curiosity and an oddly scientific shine, as if analyzing his every move- he wasn't at all keen on exposing his sensitive cat ears, anytime soon.

"Soo... uh..." America shifted- making no effort to hide his obvious advances and attempts at leaning closer to Russia, "Wanna talk about anything?"

Russia raised an eyebrow- slowly scooting to the side, away from America- only for the eagle-hybrid to flop limply against him, slowly sliding down and onto the car seat. Russia sighed, rubbing his temple as he ended up pressed against the door- America nearly lying on his side, still bearing that stupid, goofy smile, looking pleased beyond any measure at doing something stupid and annoying.

Just as he was considering shoving the other man away- America sat up, pressed firmly against him- Russia still backed against the door- oh, hell no. He didn't like this position at all.

His blue-grey eyes narrowed as he tried considering his options. He could just push America away, though that would risk angering the eagle-hybrid, or maybe he would grab Russia's arms and pull him closer, and that would open a whole other can of worms that should have never been opened. He could just sit here- since America seemed content to limply lean against him and smile stupidly. Or-

Russia tilted his head, curiously- before grabbing the edge of America's dark brown wings- earning a sharp yelp as the other man scrambled up, limp body tensing, huge wing fanning out, "Are these sensitive?"

"U-Um- kinda-" America mumbled, trying to tug his wing back. Russia didn't let go of it.

"You seemed quite eager to be leaning against me, hm?" Russia gazed at him, blue-grey eyes narrowed and shadowed with sleep deprivation and a tiny underlying hint of insanity, "You like skin-to-skin contact?"

"M-maybe-"

Russia's fingers trailed- a bit gently along America's flight feathers, the eagle relaxing considerably, his feathers even fluffing out invitingly- before the cat-hybrid found the frame of his wings- fingers curling in, tighter, squeezing at the bone through his feathers and skin.

America squawked, screeching with indignation and batting at him wildly, feathers ruffling, falling back with an even louder squawk as Russia pinched at the sensitive joint- before shoving him back.

"Never touch me, or lean against me without asking first." Russia said coldly, "If we're both going to at least try to figure this out, then we need to set some boundaries."

America nodded mutely, eyes wide- wings drawn protectively close to his body.

Russia scoffed, crossing his arms- feeling a hint of pity for the alarmed eagle-hybrid. He wasn't entirely sure how sensitive bird-hybrids' wings were, but knew that, with how tight his grip was, the other man's loud noises of pain and discomfort had probably not been entirely exaggerated.

With a sigh, he leaned back, hesitantly patting the spot besides him, "You can come closer if you want. And do your wings hurt at all?"

America sniffled- staring at him with huge, pale blue eyes- before scooting closer almost meekly, obviously playing coy as he batted his eyelashes like a pleading kitten, fluffing out his wings, "... they hurt so much. That was so mean of you."

Russia scoffed, looking away sharply at the tinted window, pretending to be fully invested in the view of dark grey nothing, "Now you've learned your lesson. No touching me without asking first."

America blinked- wings drooping, "I-I'm sorry." He finally muttered, fidgeting, "I just thought if I leaned against you, a-and all that, we could get used to eachother faster, and-"

Russia sighed yet again- glancing over at him, his gaze softening a bit.

America instantly noticed the tiny shift in expression- scooting closer and gazing up, blinking shyly, "Can you pet my wings a bit? So they feel better?"

Russia raised an eyebrow slowly- before leaning closer, his fingers brushing more gently across the eagle-hybrid's large, yet oddly soft wings- carefully nestling into the layers and layers of feathers, stroking them slowly-

America crooned, eyelashes fluttering down as he seemed to melt into the touch, his other wing fluffing out as if hungry for the same treatment.

This was a predator-hybrid- leaning against him, crooning and practically begging to be pet. Russia couldn't say that anything in school had prepared him for this. And yet, he also couldn't deny the sudden thrill it gave him.

His other hand reached out, both continuing their soft, thorough stroking of his feathers, America releasing blissful mumbles- Russia's lips twitching, curling into a reluctant smile at the hilarious sight.

Had he somehow ended up with the most pathetic, undominant predator-hybrid in the world, or was the very concept of their natural hierarchy a little messed up? Were all people- predator or prey- like this? Craving touch and affection from another, even if in different ways, with different intensity? Was it all mere stereotypes that held them in these countering positions of power and weakness, or were they all just stupid pathetic little guys who wanted to be pet sometimes?

In all fairness, if Russia was the one curled up against someone else, his ears being stroked with the same gentle, thorough touch, he'd probably he falling apart as well. Somehow, the thought made him feel almost equal to America- which was stupid, but the idiot was literally turning into a puddle of goop under his fingers.

"Sirs, you- oh." The chauffeur blinked- the car had stopped and he'd slid down the barrier, exposing himself to the sight of the eagle-hybrid limply flopped down and having his wings stroked by his new mate, "... uh. We're here."

Russia blinked- staring ahead blankly- then looking down at Ameria- hissing and drawing back at once, wiping his fingers on the sleek leather seats and glaring, "Get up, idiot-"

America whined, pulling himself up groggily, feathers ruffled, eyes still soft and hazy, "Where did you learn to use your fingers like that?"

Russia nearly snarled, "Don't make it sound so perverted- and I had 14 younger siblings, I had to learn how to make them calm down."

America smiled, sitting up and yawning, "I like you."

Russia raised an eyebrow, a reluctant blush creeping across his cheeks as he remembered the feel of America's soft feathers against him, the slight twitching of his strong, yet willingly limp and yielding wings, "Whatever. Let's go."

He stepped out first as soon as the chauffeur opened the door- looking a little stunned and shaken by what he'd witnessed- America stepping out, seeming a bit dizzy- though his eyes brightened at once, wings folding neatly at his side as he saw the sight in front of them.

A huge, looming movie theater, towering taller than any building in the small street- white boards displaying the names of movies in blocky black letters, golden lights glowing around the oddly fancy architecture, a red carpet spread out over the steps, a considerable crowd continually streaming in and out.

Russia tensed at once- flinching as America gently took his hand, beaming, "Let's go inside!"

Russia managed a small scoff- following him with wide eyes- his fingers gripping America's hand tighter as they approached the loud chatter and laughing, the noise surrounding him and squeezing against his mind, people, so many people all around them- he was starting to breathe more heavily, steps quick and hurried, body shifting closer to America, who seemed utterly oblivious, sniffing the air for hints of popcorn and scanning each movie poster they passed by.

Russia bit his lip as they entered- the lights bright and yellow, shining on an even larger crowd, people waiting in lines and chattering, on their phones or studying the lists of movies being screened- children running around and shrieking with glee, popcorn and M&Ms littering the fancy carpet.

He shifted closer to America- this time voluntarily, fingers gripping him impossibly tight, nearly desperately, hoping for some kind of relief, some offer of comfort or familiarity, something to lean into and-

"Take off your hat!"

"Huh?" Russia looked up, eyes huge- America facing him with a huge, teasing grin.

"This is a fancy, respectable theater!" America declared, just as two kids tackled eachother to the ground, throwing candy at one another's faces, "You should take off your hat."

"No one cares." Russia said flatly.

"I care."

Russia scoffed, looking away- trying to maintain his perpetually pissed look, despite the mounting panic as the ceaseless noise and chaos around him continued, "And am I supposed to care that you care?"

"Yup- because I'm your mate now~" America smirked- snatching away the ushanka, earning a loud hiss from Russia. Before he could attempt to snatch his hat back, America suddenly thrust it into his hands, "I don't wanna carry it the entire time- but keep it off, you shouldn't wear it indoors."

Russia rolled his eyes incredulously, holding his ushanka close, fingers curling into the soft material- barely noticing how America's gaze lingered on his soft, velvety grey cat ears, watching them twitch as all the noise continued around them.

"C'mon-" He brushed a hand against Russia's arm, smiling gently, "Let's pick a movie."

Apparently, 'let's pick a movie' meant 'let me choose whatever movie has the coolest looking actors with guns', and that was how Russia found himself pressed firmly into his seat, staring- stunned and more than a little intimidated.

Okay, he was fucking terrified- the entire room dark, his eyes fixated on a huge, glowing screen- the sound of gun shots and bullets blasting out, ricocheting off the walls and echoing in his ears, sprays of red on screen the only color against the dark suit-clad men and dim alleyway-

Russia whimpered- managing to close his eyes tightly, cowering down- arms wrapping around himself weakly, hugging his ushanka to his chest, ears flattened- teeth grit tightly, trying to ignore the noise, trying to concentrate on any plot that might exist, but the sound of shooting and screaming and death was everywhere, all around him, and his instincts were screaming at him to run, to escape, yet he was stuck to his seat, crouching over, panting heavily, eyes closed tightly, trembling and desperately praying for silence-

America on the other hand had his wings fluffed out, pale eyes staring with awe, and an almost mystified expression at the violence exploding on screen, growing more giddy as every baddie was shot down, as the main character effortlessly reloaded his gun and aimed again in a single, smooth move, mowing down another row of enemy gangsters-

For a moment as the screen switched to focus on a dying man, clutching at three bleeding bulletholes in his chest. America's gaze trailed sideways to Russia, hoping to see the man as excited and immersed in the film as he was- freezing as, instead, in the dim, flashing lighting, he spotted the cat-hybrid hunched over and gasping for breath as if he was the one shot and shoved into a world of guns and gore- his adorable little ears flattened, pressed nearly against his skull, eyes closed so tight he looked like he wanted to block out everything and disappear-

America glanced, anxiously at the screen, at the main character jumping behind a wall and flawlessly aiming at his archnemesis- who somehow dodged his bullet and shot back- before he turned his head back to Russia. Fuck, what was he supposed to do? The prey-hybrid looked like he was having an- entire panic attack-

Awkwardly, he picked up Russia's hand, squeezing it- biting his lip as he continued shuddering and gasping for breath. Hesitantly, not sure what he was doing and whether he was even allowed to- his hands reached out- wrapping as best around Russia as he could, a wing fanning protectively around him, as if trying to shield him-

Russia released a choking sound, somewhere between a sob and gasp- blue-grey eyes blinking open, shining with tears- before he nuzzled against America, burrowing desperately against his touch. America tensed, eyes wide- before tugging the other man closer, leaning over the armrest of their seats and trying to hold him as comfortably as possible- Russia whimpering and nuzzling him, rubbing his cheeks and nose against his chest-

America released a small, pitying murmur- a hand slowly trailing up to his ears, brushing against the soft fur- eyes widening with a look of awe- before slowly, uncertainly, he began to stroke the base of Russia's ears- the cat-hybrid going limp, purring and snuggling against him weakly, still sniffling and trembling, but pressing himself desperately into all the comfort he could get- America stroking his ears with more confidence now, rubbing at them gently as Russia purred and curled up against his hug-

"Oh, for Christ's sake, take it outside, will you?"

America yelped at the voice behind them- flinching as he realized they were inside a movie theater filled with watching people. He hesitated, glancing at the screen that had now shifted to the main character's dramatic monologue about his dead dad- hesitating- wings twitching- before he scooped Russia up, cradling the prey-hybrid to his chest, and carrying him ou-

Oh. Nope! Russia was tall, and heavy so, he just- tugged him up, clasped him close to his chest, and- kinda dragged him out- bursting out of the theater double doors, out to the empty hallway-

The sound of the movie- and the others playing- was a mere hum, America sinking down with relief to the floor- gazing down at Russia who was pressed firmly against him, trembles slowing down- huge blue-grey eyes staring up at him.

There was a long, awkward moment. Now free from all the sound and panic, Russia was processing the fact that he was snuggled up in America's arms, his ears half-flattened and fluffed out, breath coming out in short, heavy gasps.

He looked away, "... I'm sorry." He managed to whimper.

America shook his head, expression genuinely guilty, "No, no- I should be sorry for taking you to that movie. I was a dumbass for not realizing that prey-hybrids probably... don't enjoy that kind of thing."

Russia flattened his ears, still staring at the floor- not entirely reassured, not sure why he was so upset for screwing up something America had been enjoying. Didn't he want to? Didn't he want to at least try to fight back, to- to make sure America didn't want him at all, make sure he could go back to being... free, and independent, and... alone?

He slumped tiredly against America's chest- huffing as he was suddenly lifted, America dragging them over to a nearby seat. He tensed as America pulled away- the warmth and comforting pressure of another person pressed against him suddenly gone.

"I'm gonna grab us something to eat, okay?" America patted his head, a bit roughly, before pulling away, steps hurried, face turned away, clearly trying to hide the obvious blush.

Russia blinked- sitting up on the plush seat, eyes wide. It was quiet now. The hallway dim. The only sound the distant buzz of movies still playing. He glanced around, shifting, his tail curling around his legs, before pulling away and settling by his side.

He tried not to think about what had just happened, though he was suddenly aware of the fact that he'd been purring, and burrowing against the eagle-hybrid like a pathetic terrified kitten....

"Aand- I'm back!" America jogged up to him, holding a huge bucket of buttered popcorn, and a few boxes of random candies, "What do you like?"

Russia scooted over, making room for America to plop down besides him- before he curled up a bit wearily, shakily opening a box of Whoppers, popping one in his mouth- tail curling at the smooth, almost nutty and chocolatey malt taste.

America smiled, watching him eat the chocolate piece by piece- before taking a handful of popcorn and shoving it unceremoniously into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully as he pulled out his phone, "Wanna watch anything?"

Russia perked up- leaning over the mountain of junk food and peering curiously at America's phone as he opened his YouTube, the homescreen an array of movie clips and reaction videos- America humming and scrolling urgently past My Little Pony clips with a tight smile, before pointing at a compilation of 'The Internet's Funniest Videos'.

He directed Russia with a soft smile, "Wanna watch some funny stupid shit?"

Russia smirked- offering a shrug, "Yeah, sure- but we don't need your phone for that, you could just look in a mirror-"

America rolled his eyes- leaning closer with a smile and clicking on the video.

The next half hour passed with giggles, and random 'you would totally do that' comments, and shared stupid stories, and the two inhaling their junk food with absolutely zero guilt or shame- leaning closer and relaxing into one another. Even as one movie finished and a crowd swarmed out, America held Russia closer, rubbing the base of his ears comfortingly, nearly beaming when the prey-hybrid didn't tense or back away.

As everything quieted down again, and Russia took another handful of popcorn, watching with a small, scoffing laugh as a man slipped into his swimming pool, his mind couldn't help but trail back to his family.

Having 15 children, with one father living off of retirement funds, basically equated to being concerningly poor. They'd never been to a movie theater before, if they ever watched something, it was after Soviet finally managed to get their old, broken down TV to work- putting on some demented cartoon that somehow hypnotized a majority of the hoard of kids.

Ukraine was usually wholly uninterested, Kazakhstan busy keeping everyone else's attention fixed on the film, Russia preferring to stay snuggled up against Soviet, dozing off as his father held him close, hugged and pet his ears gently. It didn't matter if there were 16 people in one room, if there were no snacks, if the TV screen was smaller than Kyrgyzstan. All he felt and knew from those moments was love, and warmth, and comfort, and the feel of family, of people around him-

He'd give anything to be back there. In the pure simplicity of that life. Just being held close and loved. Rolling around with his plentiful siblings. Huddling up to nap together whenever they wanted. Hugging and helping one another relax. Making games out of everything, from the water running out, to a giant hole in the roof, to the empty fridge-

His attention was suddenly torn away from his memories as a text message lit up on the screen, video pausing to reveal a text from someone called "carman".

"Oh- the chauffeur's waiting." America blinked- slowly clicking off his phone, "Do you... want to... go do the next thing?"

Russia shifted, drawing back, feeling oddly stiff and heavy from staying curled up in the same spot for so long- stretching out and yawning, tail rising, back arching, "Yeah- sure-"

America staring, his wings fluffing out- before he blinked sleepily, nodding, "O-Okay... let's go."

They both stood up shakily, tossing out whatever remained of their snacks (mostly empty boxes and a few chocolate covered raisins neither wanted to touch), America blinking heavily, feeling the repeated urge to yawn- drowsy and dazed, in silent awe of how much a bit of quiet time and rest had absolutely knocked him out-

He glanced over to Russia who was leaning against him, eyelashes fluttering down tiredly, body relaxed. By nature as a prey-hybrid, he was someone vulnerable, constantly tense and defensive, hostile and on the lookout for every and any threat- what he needed was peace, and comfort. Safety and security. And everything beyond that, comfort and convenience, all the luxury and wealth America could hand over- America could give him everything he could have ever wanted and hoped for... warmth and affection and safety and comfort, forever...

Choosing Russia had been purely impulsive, but despite how stubborn the cat-hybrid appeared... he was just adorable, and somehow America found himself wanting to spend an entire lifetime holding him close-

There was only a question of whether the other would let him. That didn't seem to be much of a concern as Russia leaned against him as soon as they sat down in the car, half-asleep and openly dozing off.

Hesitantly, the chauffeur glanced back, "Do you still want to.. visit the pet store, and ice cream shop, and other places?"

America considered- glancing down at Russia, now completely asleep, lips parted in silent breath, "... no, how about you just... drive us to the park?"

The chauffeur nodded- barrier quickly sliding up- America smiling as he curled up around Russia, hugging the sleeping prey-hybrid closer. His gaze was bright, if not tired- a finger poking Russia's nose, "You're such a cute little kitten- yes you are- look at your adorable little face-" He cooed, thumb trailing over Russia's cheek.

As much as he'd like to press closer against the other man, kiss him like he saw in all the movies, there was no way in hell that their first kiss was going to be right away, on their first day together, while Russia was fast asleep.

That was just lame.

He'd need to make it perfect, make it special- and Russia would have to make the first move. He smirked to himself- even if Russia was obviously stubborn and reluctant, and had only opened up to him when he was in need of comfort, it wouldn't be too hard to make the prey-hybrid really fall for him.

And once he did... well... then there was a number of things he'd like to try-

He was jolted out of his trailing thoughts by the car door opening- the chauffeur sighing and gesturing towards the park, "I'll just be waiting here. Don't take too long, your father instructed your return by five."

"Yeah, sure, sure-" America waved a hand dismissively- carefully trying to drag Russia out of the car without waking him up- lifting his body up, awkwardly pushing the cat-hybrid to learn against him- face flushing a bit as he held the other man's body up by his waist, effectively dragging him over to a bench and plopping him down.

He was starting to feel like he was carrying a corpse around to bury somewhere, but that was fine.

He awkwardly sat next to Russia's limp body- gazing down at him with wide eyes- before tugging him closer, wrapping a wing around him and hugging him against his side. Russia mumbled something in his sleep, ears twitching as the sun shone warmly on them, his body softening, face somehow growing more relaxed-

America smiled, snuggling up closer to him, fingers threading gently through his hair. If being with a prey-hybrid was just.. chilling, and napping, and relaxing, then this was a choice he wasn't going to regret. Really, Russia was an amazing influence on his otherwise loud and energetic lifestyle. He'd never wanted to nap in the middle of the day before, never felt tired when there was so much to do, yet now... he just wanted to.. lean against the other man, slowly closing his eyes, the sun's warm rays beating down on his face, making his eyelids, his entire body feel more heavy, leaning more and more on Russia, the two practically slumped against one another-

He parted his lips in a half-hearted yawn, trying to blink open his eyes again- his fingers reaching out, trailing against Russia's cheek- before going limp as he completely dozed off.

.

.

.

Russia woke up with a start, eyes widening immediately, body tense. He was outside, and the sun was high up in the sky. He suddenly felt uncomfortably warm with his coat and heavy clothing on. He made a move to sit up- blinking as he realized that America was slumped against him, lips parted into gentle snores, a trail of drool shining down to his chin.

Russia blinked again.

They were outside. The park, probably. It was sunny, and warm, and America was leaning against him, fast asleep. He glanced up at the sky, then down at his apparent new mate. The day's events suddenly came rushing back to him-

Though considering how anti-climatically calm and chill the entire day had gone, it was less of a torrent of memories, and more of a quiet Oh. as he began to process everything that had happened.

The car was one thing- America was young and inexperienced and raised to be the heir to some business, a strong and respectable predator-hybrid (which he was already failing at), and had clearly been offered minimal physical affection. Him falling apart under Russia's careful pets was understandable and not something that should be dwelled on. Even if he'd looked indescribably adorable.

The movie theater was another thing- Russia had panicked, and America's protective instincts must have kicked in, evacuating him from the site that had caused him distress, and trying to comfort him.

Now... this. He'd completely fallen asleep, simply dozing off in the middle of the day, the middle of America's birthday- and he hadn't been forced to get up and do something fun and loud that would appeal to America... he hadn't been taken home and tossed in a corner until he woke up and was 'interesting' again... and he didn't seem to have been touched or... violated in any way in his sleep. The only contact he could feel from America was the predator-hybrid leaning against him, a hand limply settled on his head.

He'd fallen asleep in the middle of America's birthday, and despite everything the predator-hybrid must have hoped to do... he'd simply taken him here, so that he could take his nap in peace.

Russia blinked, staring at America, who remained asleep. Carefully- he began to squirm, trying to wriggle out of his grasp. He managed to tug his head away, America's hand limply flopping down- fingers twitching for a moment, before closing around empty air.

At once, America's pale blue eyes flashed open and he leapt up with a squawk- Russia screeching as he was struck by the other man's flailing limps, falling off the bench and rolling over into the grass, eyes wide and spooked- America yelping, freaking out even more at having scared the cat-hybrid-

It took a bit for them to both recover from all that- Russia climbing back onto the bench warily, America rubbing his eyes and blinking sheepishly, "We should... uh... probably head back now."

Russia dipped his head, fidgeting, "... yeah. Sorry about falling asleep, and-"

America waved a hand dismissively, offering a lazy smile, "Don't apologize for sleeping- when you need to sleep, you need to sleep, and... it was also pretty nice to just. Relax with you for a bit."

Russia hesitated for a long moment- before meekly returning the smile, allowing the eagle-hybrid to cheerfully take his hand, leading him back to the car, where the chauffeur had evidently received the 'everyone is getting some much needed rest' memo and fallen asleep- an issue that America promptly solved by banging on the window.

America was used to his birthday being one, loud, jumpy activity after another- yet at the end, he felt more satisfied, more content with this quiet and napping, this shared time with his new... mate.

Russia. He knew next to nothing about the man, besides an atrocious amount of siblings, and grievances with society, and all the surface level personality stuff- yet he'd spent half the day curled up and napping with him, and somehow that had... happened.

... he still felt a bit sleepy, he decided as they took their seats in the car- Russia suddenly finding the tinted windows to be a subject of great interest, and America- for once- out of stupid things to say.

Their first day meeting had gone nothing like they'd expected, yet somehow more wonderful and acceptable than they could have ever imagined. Even if Russia couldn't consider himself even vaguely romantically interested in the other man, he felt... safe. Here. With him. Which was shocking, and a bit concerning since it had only been a day.

Maybe he just didn't have another choice. Or maybe America was really just as stupid and lost and confused as him, unsure about the rules of the world, but still playing along because he had to, still hoping that things would work out in his favor- that his life, and the people inside it, would be okay.

It was getting harder to remind himself that none of this was right- that there was something horribly wrong with the fact that he'd randomly been chosen and had no choice in being dragged off to a predator-hybrid's home, that this system was horrible and he should be fighting against it, even... even if maybe right now it... wasn't so bad. Even if, out of all possible scenarios, this could be the best- regardless of the fact that such scenarios shouldn't have been forced on him in the first place.

He shouldn't be here, never wanted to be, but...

A small smile crossed his features as America's wing brushed against his cheek, "My wings hurt again." The predator-hybrid said with an exaggerated pout, batting his eyelashes.

He let his mind, and any complaints and reluctance, sink away into the background as he focused on stroking and massaging the other man's wings, his own body relaxing as his fingers sank into the layers of feathers, as he let himself sink into the feel of the man besides him. America. His new mate.

He'd be living with this man- maybe for the rest of his life- and maybe that wasn't such a bad thing. He felt safe, and protected, and warm and cared for, and not threatened or intimidated at all by the pathetic presence of the other.

By the time the car came to a stop, America was once again half-asleep and limp in Russia's lap- the cat-hybrid's fingers drifting to a stop against his feathers and slowly drawing back.

The chauffeur opened the door, and one thing was certain- they were home. His new home. The place he'd be living in with.. other people. And- and stuff. Yes.

He stepped out hesitantly, America clumsily, sleepily following him. Russia froze, eyes wide as he came face-to-face with a huge, towering structure- a house at least three stories tall, with flawless white paint and red roofs, and large windows and a neat lawn, a porch and flowers, looking like something out of a painting-

"Yeah, it's a bit small for all six- now seven of us, but my room's pretty big." America smiled, giving him a pat on the back, "It's gonna be fine."

Russia smiled tightly- leaning a bit closer to him as they made their way to the door.

"Dad's not going to like you at first." America started, as they stepped onto the porch, "He didn't like me at first, when I was an infant, but he's warmed up a bit, maybe. You'll be fine though, he won't bother you, and my siblings are all nice, and my mom cooks really well-"

Russia stared at him uncertainly, blue-grey eyes wide. America paused- giving him a gentle, reassuring smile- taking his hand, and pushing open the door.

And together, they stepped inside.

Chapter Text

"Mom? DaaaaAAAaad! I'm home!"

America pushed open the door- Russia peering uncertainly over his shoulder into the wide, dimly lit space. The interior of the home was surprisingly bare: two leather couches pushed against the wall, a coffee table in between them, a vase of lilies drooping in the lonely darkness. Hanging about halfway up the plain, off-white walls were paintings of Victorian-esque buildings and unrecognizable people in fancy uniforms. Once his eyes adjusted- from the light to the relative darkness- he was somewhat startled to see the immediate, sharp turn into a hallway- America leading him past what seemed to be a gloomy little 'reception room', and into the larger living room.

His eyes were instantly assaulted by the glitter of a huge, alarmingly low hanging chandelier- suspended mere feet above the dining table. The table itself was long, cloaked by a clean, white tablecloth, the chairs surrounding it made of dark wood with red velvet cushions, all the windows shielded with heavy, white and gold curtains, the floor covered in a plush white and yellow carpet, a smaller bend in the room leading to a huge stairwell.

"Where the hell is everyone?" America scoffed, crossing his arms, "I bet they already forgot-" He flopped, unceremoniously into a chair- glancing up at Russia with a hesitant smile, "Sorry there's nothing prepared for you- I thought my mom would have at least made something to eat, but she's probably napping or something with Zea and Can- and Aussie's probably out playing with his friends, and Dad just doesn't give enough fucks-"

"On the contrary-" A smooth, quiet voice interjected behind them, "You will find that I give a suitable amount of..." He hesitated, "A less vulgar version of that word."

"Dad!" America stood up sharply- sounding equal parts happy and pissed off. Russia stared, eyes widening.

America's father- Britain- was a tall, slim, imposing man, with narrowed yellow eyes, sharp features, and a pair of neatly folded owl wings. His gaze was piercing- but cold and unreadable- analytical without showing the results of whatever it was he examined, "You're home early. And I don't see any puppies or kittens- besides-" He gave Russia a brief nod- the cat-hybrid not sure whether to look offended, or maintain his lost and bewildered expression.

America laughed a bit nervously, running a hand through his messy hair, "We ended up doing... a bit less than I planned, we were both tired-"

"You? Tired? On your birthday? Usually you're bouncing off the walls and screaming until the sun goes down." Britain scoffed- before his yellow gaze fixated on Russia, "And- the cat-" He gestured vaguely, "Is he going to introduce himself, or gape at me like a fish out of water?"

Russia blinked with alarm, flinching back slightly, "U-Um- hi, my name is-"

"His name is Russia-" America butted in, all-but shoving Russia away from Britain, "And he's my new mate, and he's super awesome, and definitely doesn't want to talk to you, so goodbye-"

"W-wait- um- maybe I should-" Russia hesitated as he was dragged off in the direction of the stairs- blue-grey eyes wide, glancing back uncertainly at Britain who- for his part- simply stood there, looking slightly annoyed, but not seeming at all alarmed or infuriated at his son's dismissal. If Russia had been so flippant and disrespectful to Soviet, he probably would have ended up hurled into a wall. America, however, didn't seem even slightly uneasy about any of this- instead beaming brightly as they headed upstairs.

"My room is awesome- I have a bunch of video games, and legos, and even books if you like those- and, like, fifty stuffed animals. You like snuggling and stuff, right? Oh, and I have this really cool lamp shaped like a rocket, and I'm pretty sure I still have, like, twenty fidget spinners unless Aussie stole those-" America yammered as he jogged up the stairs, holding Russia's hand tightly.

When they finally reached the top of the staircase, he led Russia down a long hallway, stopping at the second door on the left- offering him a smile, before sweeping it open-

The room was huge- Russia stepping in uncertainly and peering around, somewhat dumbfounded. Somehow, the room was as big as, if not bigger than, the entire house he'd shared with his humble family of sixteen. And somehow, not a single space was left empty. A huge bed with dark blue blankets- speckled rather childishly with white stars- was pushed awkwardly, not halfway against a wall, but aligned towards the left, the drawer besides it bearing an odd, rocket shaped lava lamp, glowing steadily. The floor was covered with random cushions and stuffed animal pigs, tossed around without any heed for organization or aesthetics- the walls covered in posters of random bands or movies or newly launched video games, messily taped in place. Against one wall was an alarmingly giant stuffed pig, sitting on its hind legs and staring ahead with blank, beady black eyes, and one wall, the only one left mostly bare, had a door- probably for some kind of closet.

"It's- uh- kind of messy-" America grinned, having the decency to show some embarrassment as he kicked a cushion across the room, "But it's nice, right?"

Russia stared a moment longer, his ears twitching uncertainly, before he stepped inside. His hands subconsciously drifted together and started to fidget.

"You don't have to be so nervous-" America offered a smile, "You can sit down... anywhere-"

Russia gazed around the room, expression tense and hesitantly thoughtful. "... what do I do?" he finally asked.

America paused, glancing up from where he'd flopped into the giant stuffed pig's lap, "Hm?"

"What do I do? From- now on... like, do I.... uh... do anything?"

America hesitated, furrowing his brows, "You mean like... cooking and cleaning? Uh- mom usually handles that stuff, I'm sure she won't put you to work yet, but it would be kinda cool if you cooked some things you like-"

"I mean- as a whole." Russia paused, not entirely sure what he was asking, or what answer he was hoping for, "I just.. live here?"

"Yeah."

"And... stay in this room?"

"You can leave the room if you want, I'm not keeping you prisoner or anything-" America rolled over, pulling up a cushion- eyes lighting up as he found a half-eaten bag of potato chips, "You probably shouldn't wander around until you meet everyone else though- mom can give you a tour later, and-"

Russia suddenly sat down on the floor- though the movement was so fast, forced and jerky, it almost seemed like he'd fallen down- America flinching and straightening at once, "Hey, what's wrong?"

Russia stared at the room- then back at America. He didn't know what he was doing anymore. When he stayed at school, he'd return to his little shared quarters- spending the rest of the day hunched over some notebook, doing his homework and arguing with his roommate and having the privilege of thinking and worrying about nothing besides his next exam. At home, he normally took over cooking and cleaning duties and stop-Ukraine-from-hitting-a-younger-sibling duties, everyday dedicated to just- keeping his family running? Fed and alive and somewhat functioning?

Here he was, in this... new place, with new people, a mate, and it didn't seem like he... needed to work, he didn't go to school anymore, so what was he supposed to do? Just lounge around all day? Stay here like a.. a pet? America must have some kind of job, he'd leave everyday- and would Russia just be alone, curled up in a corner and waiting for him to return? Did he want America to stay besides him? He didn't want any of this, he wanted to leave- he had to keep reminding himself of that, but-

"Hey- uh- Russia-" America had evidently teleported (walked from the other side of the room) to him while he'd been zoning out, "Are you okay?"

Russia stared up at him, blue grey eyes wide.

"This is- probably... hard to adjust to?" America tried, fishing for all the reassuring terms he'd been taught, "It must be- really overwhelming." He nodded, solemnly, "I understand your pain. I feel you, I see you-"

Russia gave him a bewildered look- before groaning, standing up sharply and rubbing his temples, "I just- I don't know what- to do anymore?"

America considered for a moment, ".. same. Honestly, I don't do shit at work, I just get someone else to do whatever my dad trusts me enough to assign to me, and sit around in my office and play on my phone. And now I have- uh- you-" He awkwardly booped Russia on the nose, earning a hiss, "And I'm supposed to- take care of you? What does that mean?"

Russia's eyes narrowed, "So you're a lazy slob."

"I was a lazy slob-" America corrected, "But now I'm a married man and I swear to be better."

Russia raised an eyebrow, "Then why don't you start now, by cleaning up your room?"

America scrambled up, "Hey! There's nothing to clean, it's just a bit- unorganized, is all!" Russia gave him an incredulous look- kicking away another cushion to reveal a pile of candy wrappers, "A-and- you're supposed to be doing the cleaning anyways!"

Russia stared at him for a long moment, ears flattening. Then, without any warning, he hurled the cushion at America's face.

"Hey!"

"Your room, your mess! Clean it up right now- has no one ever taught you any semblance of responsibility before? I may- apparently be your mate now, but that doesn't excuse you living in a pigpen!" He picked up one of the stuffed pigs, "Literally-"

America huffed- before flopping onto his back on the carpet, "Nuh uh! You can't force me to! You're not mom!"

"Can your mom force you to clean?"

"Uh- no, actually, she can't." America considered, "No one can, cause I'm a free man and I will not be forced into labor, or anything I don't consent to."

"I was forced into this marriage." Russia said drily, "You chose me, and dragged me here, away from my perfectly fine life, so the least you can do is clean your room."

America hesitated- a more intelligent look crossing his features- something thoughtful and almost regretful, resembling a hint of genuine guilt- before he flung a plush pink pig at Russia's face.

Russia yelped, leaping back with alarm, fur fluffing out as he landed awkwardly, crouching on his hands and feet, eyes wide, expression more than a little startled. America stood up sharply- standing over him- Russia tensing, instinctively squeezing his eyes shut, a hint of fear crossing his expression-

"Did I scare you? I'm sorry, I didn't think that would-" America sighed as he crouched down besides Russia, offering an awkward pat to his head, "Did that trigger your prey instincts or something?" Russia scowled feebly, pulling away from his touch. "Dude, I'm sorry- I was just- uh- you threw something at my head, so I threw something back at your head, and-"

Russia sighed- pulling away- looking exhausted all of a sudden, "I'm just jumpy- that's all, I'm not... usually like this."

America hesitated- before a hand carefully reached out to push back a strand of Russia's messy hair, "It's okay, today was probably a lot for you. You can nap for a bit if you need to- I'll. Clean up the room. Kind of."

Russia arched an eyebrow incredulously- before sighing, "Where do I sleep?"

America pointed at the bed.

"Where do you sleep?"

America's finger remained in place, still pointing at the bed.

Russia's ears flattened, "One bed?"

"Yup." America smiled cheerfully, "It's big enough for us both~"

"There's no guest room?"

"There is, but... we're mates now, so we should- probably-"

"Shouldn't I get an adjustment period?" Russia asked- his voice a bit sharper, as if asking America 'Are you going to let me have that?'. America considered for a moment, furrowing his brows.

"I mean... does staying in a guest room really make a difference? You'll still be in a new place, with new people, and a completely new life-" America flopped forward- curling up by his feet like a dog, "But you won't have my wonderful company~"

Russia raised an eyebrow, "But I'll have a separate bed."

America huffed, rolling over, "If you need a separate bed so much, I'm fine with sleeping on the floor- I just think you'd prefer having someone nearby. Prey-hybrids, like, always sleep with someone else, right? My mom always makes this weird huddle with Zea and Can, and they all snuggle up together, and it makes them feel safe or something."

"Bold of you to assume I'd feel safe sleeping next to a predator-hybrid."

America smirked, "I'd have assumed that all of today proved my assumptions correct-"

Russia huffed, crossing his arms, "I was distressed and later exhausted- forgive my usual senses of caution and stranger danger for being a bit dulled-"

"Uh, number one-" America rolled over again until he was on his stomach, "I'm not a stranger anymore, so I'm not danger. And number two-" He sat up, eyes wide, "I don't mean to... hurt you, in any way. I don't have any bad intentions, okay? I'm just a guy who turned eighteen today, and apparently I had to choose a mate or something, so I ended up choosing you, and here we are. I never really wanted to have a mate- no offense or anything- and I really don't know what I'm doing, but I promise that while you're here, I'll never hurt you. Or do- anything- like, bad. And stuff. You can trust me on that. I'm just a dumbass."

His words were said with such solemn sincerity, that Russia felt inclined to believe them. Or at least his last statement. That was a definite truth.

"Fine. But I still don't want to sleep in the same bed as you- that's just weird."

America grinned, "One day you'll be begging to sleep in the same bed as me~"

Russia scoffed, "I don't beg for anything- and anyways, you're making it sound like you want to share a bed with me or something-"

America wiggled his eyebrows.

Russia sighed, "I'll take the floor- I'm used to it, and I wouldn't want to deprive you of your bed, rich boy."

"Hey, no!" America whined, "I'm sleeping on the floor!"

"No I am!"

"Me!"

"No!"

America opened his mouth to retort once again- before sighing, wings flopping down limply, "I would hate to continue arguing, using my strength and societal advantage as a predator to get what I want from a poor, feeble prey hybrid like you-" America sighed dramatically, Russia hissing as his head was patted sharply, "So I believe it would be best for me to simply give in now- I'll sleep on the bed, and-" America leapt up, pouncing onto the bed and grabbing a pillow, "Have fun on the floor, loser!"

Russia flicked his ear, looking genuinely unimpressed and a little pissed at this new development. With a sigh, he flopped down on the floor- burying his face against a stuffed pig, "As long as it makes you shut up, sure-"

America perked up as Russia closed his eyes, snuggling against the plushie- briefly considering hopping down and curling up around him, pulling the cat-hybrid close, wrapping his wings around him and nuzzling his neck softly- but he also had no clue why his mind was so vividly drawn towards... that image. It had been less than a day, and their weird instincts were already bringing them concerningly close. Was this why the arranged mating worked so well? Prey and predator were just drawn to one another? Every arranged couple he'd seen so far seemed to coexist in perfect harmony- the same fate must be meant for him and Russia.

It was simply... how things worked. Strong, protective predators, with their meek, nervous prey seeking out comfort and security that only a predator could provide. It was just how things were, and even if he hadn't been keen on playing along- he was glad that he ended up with Russia. The cat-hybrid was fascinating, ridiculously stubborn and flippant, yet often just as instinctively meek and desperate and clingy as he was meant to be, even if he refused to admit it. And, of course, he had a handsome face, and those adorable, fluffy, dark grey cat ears, and that bushy tail, and depressingly gloomy clothing style-

He was just... lying there. Curled up on the floor in front of him. They were mates now. They were staying together. Forever. And somehow, he didn't feel in the least disappointed by the news of yet another responsibility- not when that responsibility was a snuggly, napping bundle of scowls and curses and surprising softness-

He could live with this. With Russia. Maybe one day, they'd move out of this house- he'd start actually dedicating his time to work- they could have babies, and Russia would be waiting for him after work everyday, and be the one to make coffee for him in the morning (America didn't even drink coffee but he assumed that was a step to becoming a responsible adult), and they'd go to restaurants together, and America would keep him safe and happy, protect him from everything that had ever made the cat-hybrid feel the need to act cold and stubborn and distant, everything that had made him untrusting and tense, and-

"Quit staring at me, creep."

America flinched at Russia's sleepy mutter, eyes wide at being caught zoning off while gazing at Russia's resting face- before he smirked, settling down into bed again, nuzzling his cheek against a pillow, "Night night, Russia-"

"It's not nighttime yet."

"Afternoon afternoon, Russia~"

Russia groaned, burying his face into the pig plushie and offering a middle finger- America practically beaming.

This was going to be fun...

.

.

.

Britain was, by his own words and actions, a very traditional man. He'd been raised by a specific set of values that he believed to form the basis of an ideal lifestyle. And in following them, his life had certainly been ideal thus far.

By sheer luck- or perhaps a stroke of well-intended fate, he had been born into the family of a wealthy businessman, England, and grew up learning everything his father knew, be it business or manners, lying flawlessly or charming his way out of responsibility. When he decided he had learned enough, and was prepared to start his own life beyond his father's suffocating wing, he was more than pleased that England happened to suffer an extremely natural death.

The poor man had made so many enemies with his cutthroat style of business, so many people longing to have what he had. When he began to receive threats, ominous letters appearing inside his own bedroom, inside the safety of his home- it was only natural that he grew nervous, stricken with terror at the knowledge that someone who could enter his house- or someone already inside his house- wanted him dead, and had every means to kill him.

Britain, ever the dutiful son, had him cremated nearly as soon as he passed away of a completely natural heart attack. His father had grown so old, feeble and easily frightened- his death was only expected, the empty syringe in the garbage can ignored, no investigation, no suspicion. He inherited England's business without any problems, and began building his own empire.

Adding France to his life had been a carefully calculated decision- she was a pretty, pleasant young woman, a bird-hybrid like him, with a meek and cordial demeanor. On their first day together, he had done the proper gentlemanly thing and taken her to a nearby restaurant, where they introduced themselves to one another and ate a small meal and grew used to eachother's company. As soon as they arrived, he took her to bed. She did not get pregnant the first time.

As irksome as that was, he decided to give her a second chance to prove her worth- and then a third. When she finally ended up with child- as the news was revealed that she was expecting two sons, he decided to graciously forgive her delayed fertility. He was a good man, afterall. Patient, as long as he received what he wanted in the end. Canada being born as a prey-hybrid was certainly a disappointment, as he could be snatched up and taken away by anyone, but at least Britain had two sons now- two healthy children. One of them an ideal predator-hybrid, to follow in his footsteps- the other who would hopefully stay quiet and not get in his way and eventually be carried off by someone else.

Good riddance.

Two children certainly wasn't enough, he'd been hoping for at least two predators in the family, just in case one needed to be disposed of- so they tried again. France had twins. One predator, one prey. Annoying, but the predator was male again, and this prey-hybrid was a rather cute and agreeable girl whom his demeanor softened towards over time.

Both of his 'heirs' were horrible. America and Australia were loud and boisterous and chaotic and wholly uninterested in matters of business and money, preferring instead to flail around outside and eat fast food and tease their meeker twins. On the other hand, somehow, Canada had ended up greatly interested in pursuing a higher education, intrigued by matters of the economy- and New Zealand, though uninterested in business, was a bright, literary minded young woman.

The fates were playing him like a goddamn fiddle, he'd received everything he wanted yet somehow it had been all- twisted, and convoluted from his original intentions. But that was fine, everything would work out. America and Australia were likely... simply a bit late to mature. He'd hoped that with a proper mate, America could start learning more responsibility- perhaps if he genuinely fell in love, he'd feel more motivated to work and make a living, and guarantee a stable life for his family.

He wasn't sure if that was happening. That tall, dark cat-hybrid was the opposite of ideal, by no means a traditionally praised prey-hybrid, but- if America genuinely liked him, that still had to count for something. Everything would work out somehow, as long as the cat stayed quiet and out of his way, and served as motivation for America's improvement.

He was certain that everything would work out in the end, because he was doing everything right, and was an intelligent, decent, hard-working person, and even if life was a little confusing or chaotic- especially when America was there- eventually, it would all simmer down into normalcy. Up to this point, his only regret, perhaps, was not trying for more children.

When France had initially approached him, explaining in an almost terrified tone that she didn't want to have more kids, he had done the right thing and slapped her. Of course, he agreed with her at that point- four was more than enough, any larger amount would be too hard for him to reign in and control. The slapping part had just been to make sure she wasn't encouraged to continue making her own decisions and behaving defiantly.

But now that he thought about it, he hadn't exactly been in control of how his children turned out. It seemed, the more he tried to shove them on a certain path, the more they tried to run away and do stupid shit. However, if he'd had a larger amount of kids, there would be a higher chance that one would turn out ideal. Why couldn't they just be more like him? As his father's sole son, he'd understood that he'd been born privileged, with access to some of the greatest opportunities a man could have- wealth and status, and all he had to do was maintain it, all he had to do was not horribly fuck things up, and he hadn't, but why were his kids such irresponsible little pricks???

Eighteen was old enough to straighten up and start being a man. And sixteen was old enough to stop running around and busying oneself with sports and swimming, and other wastes of time. It didn't matter how good you were at flailing around in the water, or kicking a ball- what mattered was what was in your head, and how you weaponized it to get what you needed. Though with that logic, Canada would end up more competent than his brothers, which was simply impossible. So status had just as much to do with it. But status alone wouldn't guarantee that America or Australia could properly handle his business. Oh, he could just imagine his meticulously built empire, falling apart under a reign of pure incompetence and apathy... or, even worse... leadership falling to another family...

There was a sudden, light knocking at his door. He froze, realizing he'd been pacing around his room like a caged animal- sighing and opening the door, "Yes, dear?" He asked, gaze softening a bit at the sight of his sweet little daughter.

New Zealand blinked up at him with huge violet eyes, "Mommy said that dinner's ready, and we all hafta go down and say hello to America's husband-"

Britain smiled, patting her on the head, fingers trailing through the soft curls of her hair, "Thank you for letting me know, dear. Come on, let's head down together."

She beamed brightly- taking his hand and starting to scamper down the stairs, Britain offering a somewhat genuine laugh as he was led down.

The dining table was set for seven now- an extra chair and set of plates and utensils in between America and Canada's usual spots. Britain and France sat on either end of the table, Australia and New Zealand on one side, Canada and America on the other. At the center of the table, as usual, was a minimalistic white vase- for the first time in what must have been years, bearing something besides peonies.

When France had entered his home, she was as quiet and obedient as he'd hoped- but did attempt conveying her own thoughts and feelings through a peculiar, but suitable vessel: flowers. At first, she had used bright, warm colored flowers that symbolized her hope and attempted love, all her naive feelings towards a future she assumed they would have. Once she realized that her only purpose here was to cook and clean and raise the children, and that her emotions were the last thing being taken into account, she'd stubbornly turned to completely white flowers, devoid of any color or attempt at communicating. Overtime, as she reluctantly accepted her place, he found buttery yellow peonies at the table every day, perfecting matching the gold and white of the carpet, a mere decoration, another piece of the house.

He'd assumed that was the last of any strong feelings or attempts at change from her. But evidently, Russia's arrival had brought about new flowers, ones he hadn't seen in a long time. Yellow hyacinths. Jealousy.

Britain raised an eyebrow as he glanced up- she was still in the kitchen, probably fuming and pacing and imagining all the horrible things she could say. She was frustrated, envious- and she was a simple woman, so he really wasn't surprised. Someone like Russia- a stubborn prey-hybrid who had seemingly never tried to be perfect, never learned what he was supposed to, never done a single thing to deserve a predator-hybrid's attention- was here in this house, with this same wealth and comfort, a simple life of luxury awaiting... and America. A childish, silly, lovey dovey eagle who cared less about what really mattered and more about what felt like it mattered. A man who didn't bear the same responsibility and seriousness, who would probably entertain all of a prey-hybrid's emotional wants and needs... A man who would waste time on making his mate feel loved, and trying to earn love and affection instead of simply demanding and taking what he needed.

But that was really none of his business- what was his business was the fact that France was in the kitchen, waiting to server dinner... Zea was already seated, folding her white napkin into an elegant swan... Canada was seated stiffly and staring at the candelabra... Australia was lying on the stomach, playing some game on his phone... and America and Russia were nowhere to be seen.

"New Zealand? Did you call your big brother to come down for dinner?"

Zea hummed as she carefully creased her napkin, "Yup! I called him twice! But he didn't reply, even though I knocked on his door and yelled. Maybe he's sleeping."

Britain sighed, "Probably."

"Or maybe he's dead."

"Improbable, but not impossible."

Zea hesitated, before glancing up, "Maybe the new guy killed him and took all the expensive stuff in his room, and jumped out the window and left."

Britain blinked, "You need to stop reading such dark novels, dear."

Zea beamed, kicking her legs excitedly, "But they're so fun!! They're way better than textbooks, and there are always plot twists and-"

Britain held up a flat palm, lowering it to signal her to shut up- Zea instantly snapping her jaws shut, eyes wide, "I'm going to go upstairs and get your brother and his... new mate. Tell your mother she can start bringing out dinner."

"Oki!"

Britain sighed as he stepped up the stairs again, fingers trailing along the smooth railing. America slept a lot, but... never right now, when he could be demanding more things for his birthday, or playing video games, or terrorizing Canada. And he'd said that he hadn't done much with Russia... so why was he so tired? This was frankly ridiculous... what if that feral-looking cat-hybrid had really knocked him out? In real life, he didn't seem as intimidating as in his picture, but... he was rather tall and America was an idiot.

Britain turned the doorknob cautiously, stepping into the room. The windows were wide open, dim light filtering in from outside. America was sprawled out in bed, snoring softly- and curled up on the floor, snuggled up against a toy pig, was Russia.

Really? On their first day here, America had taken the bed for himself and made a prey-hybrid sleep on the floor? How unusually callous of him.

"America." Britain said sharply. At once, Russia scrambled up, blue-grey eyes wide as he sat up, staring at Britain with an alarmed look, "... oh. Hello there."

Russia blinked.

Britain gazed down at the cat-hybrid with a hint of genuine curiosity. Despite being tall with a hint of lean muscles, Russia still had the same delicacy as other prey-hybrids, his huge eyes making him look timid, in a nearly endearing manner. Not to mention those soft, flattened cat ears and his long, gently curled tail. Britain had never really been interested in anything other than a bird-hybrid, just for the sake of avoiding horrible mutant offspring, but... he had to admit, despite the less than standard appearance, the cat was far from unattractive. Young and fit, his lean body devoid of any irksome, fatty curves-

"... what is it?" Russia finally asked- tensing slightly at Britain's scrutinizing look.

Britain blinked, before straightening his wings, "Dinner time."

Russia nodded awkwardly- carefully standing up and shrugging his coat back on, plopping his fluffy hat on his head, Britain's eyes narrowing as his ears were covered. This was... a weird situation. America was fast asleep, unable to buffer the meeting between his father and his new mate. Russia had... no idea what to say. Why was Britain staring at him? Should he go downstairs? Or was he supposed to wake up America? Shit, was he supposed to thank the owl-hybrid for letting him know it was dinner? Or thank them for the food once he started eating?

Russia stared up at Britain. Britain stared back.

"Uh. Thank you." Russia finally mumbled, not sure what he was thanking the other man for, simply desperate to reply and push the responsibility of filling the awkward silence onto Britain. Maybe he should wake up America, just so he could be his light-hearted, casual self and fill in all the strained silence. With less hesitancy than he probably should have displayed, Russia turned to the bed- reaching out and grabbing America's shoulder, "... wake up."

America didn't even shift. That much had been expected. Russia shook America's shoulders, "Wake up." He said, a bit more stiffly. Part of him was tempted to just shove America off the bed to wake him faster, but he could feel Britain's yellow eyes burning a hole into the back of his head. It was not a good feeling. "Just get up." Why couldn't America just wake up? Were all predator-hybrids this unbothered in their sleep? "Up."

But America did not get up. Russia was starting to get a tiny bit pissed. Here he was in this new house, with his apparent father-in-law staring bullets into the back of his head, about to go down to dinner with his new family- and his brand new 'mate' was snuggled up in bed and snoring, utterly oblivious to the sheer awkwardness he'd left Russia stranded in. America seemed to be a deep sleeper- which really left Russia only one choice.

Briefly forgetting- or ceasing to care about the presence of Britain behind him- Russia grabbed the edge of America's wing, squeezing the tip- America waking with a screech, flapping his other wing loudly, Russia yelping and flinching back at the sudden noise and movement, America scrambling up before toppling onto the floor, right on top of Russia.

Britain sighed, rubbing his temples, "Lovely display, both of you. Now please head down for dinner."

America blinked- before a small 'oomph' from below, paired with aggressive squirming, brought to his attention a very startled but pointedly unimpressed Russia trapped beneath him. America yelped, jumping back- Russia scowling and sitting up stiffly, "Why are you such a deep sleeper?"

"Why would you wake me up by squeezing my wing?"

"I had to wake you up somehow!"

"Couldn't you just-" America blinked, noticing that Britain had already turned to the staircase, starting to go downstairs, "Shoot, let's just head down for dinner..."

Russia reluctantly nodded, standing up and dusting himself off, offering America his hand and helping the eagle-hybrid up, "Anything I should know about your family...?"

America considered, "You've already seen my dad around a bit but- uh, I guess he has pretty traditional values." America hummed, taking the stairs one at a time, at an exaggeratedly slow pace as he held Russia's hand, "You don't need to watch out for my mom at all, she never really says much or voices her opinions. My siblings are annoying, but they don't do much either. I mean- we're just a normal family, y'know?"

Russia glanced up at the walls, eyes trailing over various framed business awards and photographs of Britain smiling and shaking hands with politicians. Right, a normal, regular shmegular family...

"Just be yourself!" America beamed as they stepped into the livingroom.

Russia raised an eyebrow.

"Or... or a slightly more mellowed out, stereotype of yourself."

Russia nodded in reluctant understanding as they turned the corner to the dining room- eyes assaulted at once by the glittering chandelier and expectant faces waiting for them.

His eyes quickly trailed over the table- seven chairs set with plates, an unnecessary array of forks, a glass- and of course, the other people sitting there. His apparent new family. The person he assumed was France- America's mom- was a rather petite, soft-looking chicken-hybrid with fluffy white wings, pale blue eyes, and a scowl on her face. There were two boys at the table- one seemed to be Russia's age, a goose-hybrid with brown and white wings and dark eyes- and a rather excited looking kite-hybrid besides a kiwi-hybrid who must have been his twin sister. Britain himself was at the head of the table, eyeing the pair with an unimpressed look, "Well? Are you going to stop gawking and sit down?"

"Oh- uh- yeah..." Russia blinked, hating how he froze up and let America guide him to his seat, "... Hi."

The kite-hybrid waved, "Heyy- I'm Australia! America's brother!"

Russia offered a nervous nod, "I'm... Russia." This is so weird why are they all looking at me why am I even here I don't want to be here-

At the resulting pause of silence, no one else offering to introduce themselves, America cleared his throat, pointing at each person, "France- my mom. Britain- you already met him, my dad. Canada, next to you- then Australia introduced himself already, and New Zealand."

New Zealand managed a tiny wave. Canada just stared at Russia with a pitying look.

France suddenly stood up swiftly, moving to the kitchen- Russia blinking with alarm, "... what's she doing?" He murmured to America, who offered a reassuring smile.

"No big deal, she's just bringing in the first course- dad doesn't trust any servants, so mom takes care of cooking and serving."

Russia furrowed his brows, "When does she have time to eat?"

"In between serving, obviously." America shrugged, tapping his empty water glass, "It's inconvenient, I know- it would be way easier to have a few servants, but-"

"America, maybe once you inherit my business and begin making your own money, you can choose to blow it all on giving any poor, wretched man an opportunity to snatch belongings out of your home and poison your food." Britain sniffed, glancing up as France appeared again, pushing in an entire levelled cart with tiny plates of... something puffy and white, covered in a golden liquid.

"I would just have security cameras, duh." America sniffed as France set down his plate- tapping his empty glance again, smiling as she finally picked up the pitcher that was a few inches away from him, pouring some water for him, "That way if they ever tried anything, I'd catch them and sue their asses."

"And would you spend your entire day squinting at security cameras, and making sure no one's trying to kill you?"

"Uh, no, I'd just." America buried his face in his glass of water, gulping thoughtfully, "I'd just use them as a threat."

"Dad and America usually argue about stuff like this at every meal-" Canada suddenly murmured, a bit shyly, peering at Russia, "It's just... a thing they do."

Russia offered a small smile and nod- before blinking as France set a tiny plate down in front of him, "Uh... thank you." He smiled weakly, staring at the tiny white thing, with its golden sear and odd... sauce? And tiny green... shredded leaves? America had stabbed his smallest fork into it, eating it in a single bite, "... what is this?"

"The amuse-bouche." France said tersely as she took her own seat, sniffing water with an oddly belittling air, "A seared scallop on cauliflower purée with truffle oil."

Russia blinked, staring down at the white blob, before reaching for the fork closest to him- Australia squawking with alarm, "That's the dinner fork!"

"Oh- uh- sorry..." Russia grabbed the smallest fork, the one he'd seen America using, suddenly aware of everyone's judgmental gaze fixated on him. Why did it matter what fork he used?? Was this one of those weird things rich people did to feel superior to normal people who didn't need five courses and seven forks? His gaze was a bit sullen as he poked at the small blob, cutting it in half and placing one half on his mouth- blinking with a hint of surprise.

The texture was foreign, but... it was far from bad, but not anything memorable. The flavor was mild, a bit buttery- the bottom and top sauces more earthy, with a creamy texture, the blob all-but melting in his mouth, with a small crunch from the green things, "This tastes good, thank you-" He offered a nervous smile to France, who glowered, standing up sharply and taking away everyone's plates.

America yawned, "Meals always take way too long- we should get servants and a bigger table so each course can be set up-"

Britain rolled his eyes, "A meal isn't meant to be an excuse for you to stuff your face with food. Meals are an elegant gathering and opportunity to slowly, quietly appreciate proper cuisine."

Russia blinked. He had been under the impression that a meal was supposed to fill your stomach and keep you alive, but... he certainly wasn't going to say that right now. He tried to offer France a smile and 'thank you' as she took his place, but received an angry sniff. Didn't America say she was usually quiet and expressionless?

Okay... so his new 'family' really didn't like him. Why? He'd been the one dragged here against his will, it wasn't like he wanted to be here- he could be glaring at everyone and throwing a fit and running out the door, and- ... oh, that smelled good.

He perked up as France pushed the cart, now filled with thankfully larger bowls, with a creamy orange-ish soup, smelling strongly but not unpleasantly of fish and something spicy.

"Ugh, lobster again?" America peered with a scowl at his bowl. Russia picked up the bowl carefully, bringing it to his lips and tilting it back, tail curling with pleasure at the smooth, silky soup, with a rich, creamy seafood flavor, soft chunks of what must be lobster, and-

It took him a moment to realize that everyone was quiet- only a brief clink as America's spoon paused midair, Canada slowly raising an eyebrow, Australia coughing- not nearly discretely enough- into his napkin, barely disguising a silent laugh. Russia blinked, nervously setting down his bowl and licking his lips. What is it this time?

As Britain stared with an offended look, and New Zealand gawked, Canada leaned closer to him, "You're- uh- supposed to use a spoon-" He whispered anxiously- flinching as France released a scandalized squawk, breaking the stunned silence.

"Look at that! He drank from that bowl with his mouth like some dog! America, what kind of uncivilized beast have you let into our home?" She screeched, Britain rubbing his temples with a frustrated look.

"Hey, it's really not that big of a deal!" America protested, his wing protectively fluttering closer to Russia, whose face was flushed- not just with humiliation, but a growing sense of frustration.

"It's okay, guys!" Canada offered a bright smile, "Don't be so hard on him, he's just not used to... eating like..."

"Like what, a normal, dignified person?" France snapped.

America opened his mouth to say something stupid- before Britain raised a hand, looking exhausted, "Of course... that does raise the question of what kind of family he's from."

Russia blinked, "... a big one?"

Britain laughed drily, "Wonderful- but I mean..." He gestured vaguely, "Tell me a bit about your parents. It's only right that we learn more about you, now that you're about to join our family."

America smiled brightly at this, shifting closer to Russia, utterly unaware of the chaos about to ensue. Russia sighed, "I... have a dad."

Britain nodded, "I would be rather concerned if you didn't. And your mom?"

Russia hesitated, "She... wasn't around."

"Dead? Or.."

"I don't know." Russia mumbled, looking away- America squeezing his hand with a confused, but still reassuring smile.

"You never knew your mother?" Britain asked, as if seeking confirmation? Russia nodded glumly, earning a loud scoff, "A runaway prey hybrid by the looks of it." Britain muttered, giving France a pointed look, "She probably ended up in a whorehouse somewhere-"

Russia coughed, staring at his hands, "N-no... she wasn't a prey-hybrid, she was the..."

Britain stared, "Your father... is a prey-hybrid?"

Russia nodded.

"And his mate is potentially dead, or abandoned him?"

"Well- she left him, I'm pretty sure- I don't know about the others."

"The others??" Britain demanded, a look of disgust crossing his features- before he shook his head and fluffed out his wings, "Fine then- do tell me how your father is managing to raise you and your siblings. Has he found a new mate?"

"... no."

"Does he have a job?"

"No-"

"No? How does he make money?"

"H-he uh- has some retirement funds, and... government aid."

Britain snorted, "Of course- so your family is poor as dirt, and instead of finding a mate to protect and provide for you all, your father opts to occasionally whore himself out without settling down?"

"Dad, that's enough-" America started, before Russia pushed his hand away.

"My dad isn't a whore!" Russia snapped, "Predator hybrids just suck!"

Britain raised an eyebrow- America starting to fidget, "Guys, let's just talk about this later- everyone seems a bit upset right now- Russia's just really tired, it's only his first day here-"

He was quickly silenced as Britain lifted a hand, "No, no, do continue Russia, I would just love to hear you explain your words."

Russia scowled, America looking away and awkwardly poking at his soup, "My dad is smart, and hardworking, but since day one all that predator-hybrids have done is take advantage of him. They have their fun with him, then leave and return to their own mate, feed him fake promises and betray him and hurt him- the reason he hasn't mated with anyone new is because he hasn't found anyone, and he no longer believes that there's anyone who can be genuine and care about him and our family without any selfish intentions. No predator-hybrid has ever stayed committed, has ever been honest, they just assume that they can take advantage of him, and he's had no choice but to let them. After the... last guy..."

Russia broke off into sudden silence, staring down at his food, a slight tremor in his shoulder, "He hasn't been keen on letting anyone inside again. We manage fine without a predator, even if it's hard it's better than..." He trailed off, America squeezing his shoulder and offering a nervous, reassuring smile.

Britain stared blankly at the scene- before scoffing, "So he's had a few bad experiences with some players- if he can cook and clean and have children, he should be happy to find anyone- so what if they play around with other prey-hybrids? That's completely normal. I've done it." France stared at her lap, fingers clenching into fists. "I'm sure that eventually, America will do it." America released a scandalized squawk, shaking his head vehemently. "It's just a fact of life, and if a prey-hybrid can't accept that, I don't think they deserve a mate. Your father sounds like a sensitive, cowardly, arrogant little slut who dares think that he deserves all the affections and attention of a superior person-"

"Just shut up!" Russia snapped, Canada looking away nervously, New Zealand whimpering, violet eyes wide with alarm.

Britain glared, "A little prey animal like you has no right to tell me to shut up, no right to demand or expect anything from me. Your father was wrong to place his exaggerated ideals for some perfect mate over his own family. He was selfish to let all of you suffer in poverty when someone else would have been happy to take you in and provide for you. He wouldn't have had so many bad experiences if he'd been looking for a mate to stay committed to- you should be grateful that predator-hybrids like America are willing to take in such an insolent beast as yourself. I'm not at all impressed with the little you're capable of, and if you intend to stay in this house, I expect at the very least for you not to throw tantrums at the dinner table or insult us with your narrow-minded, emotion-driven views again."

Russia scowled, before suddenly starting to stand, "I don't intend to stay in this house! I'll leave right now if you-"

America yelped, grabbing the furious cat-hybrid and dragging him back into his chair, "Russia, calm down, it's okay! Dad's just... a bit upset with you generalizing predator-hybrids and all that-"

"You think this is my fault??"

"No.... it's... not anyone's fault!" He replied with anxious cheerfulness, "How about you two just apologize to eachother and-?"

France sniffed as she stood up in a flourish, starting to take the soup bowls off the table, "He's not suitable for this family. He doesn't deserve to be in a house like this with such a patient, caring mate. If he thinks this is so horrible, perhaps he should go back to the slums with his slutty father."

America squawked, clinging to Russia as the cat-hybrid stood up sharply, storming over to the stairs, the eagle-hybrid clinging to his arms and trying to pull him back, "Russia, please, this is just their way of welcoming you, it's fine, everything's going to be fine-!"

France turned to the kitchen dismissively, glancing over with an unimpressed look, "America dear, let him go. He has a horrible temperament. If this is how he reacts to a few scathing comments, he's not worth keeping as a mate. Find someone else."

America scowled, wings flopping down as he kept his arms wrapped around Russia, "What the hell is wrong with you guys? I chose him and want him, and you're all being horrible and insensitive on his first day here! Instead of telling him he's wrong and belittling his family, how about you try showing him his views are a bit extreme and actually act like decent people to prove him- Russia!"

America's fingers clenched into fists as Russia pulled away, practically running upstairs- shooting France one last resentful look before going after him.

By the time he burst into his bedroom, Russia was curled up on the carpet, snuggled against a stuffed pig and sobbing, looking more angry than anything.

"Russia... I'm sorry..." America hesitated, slowly crouching down besides him, "I promise they won't be like this everyday- and if they are, I'll make them stop. We're going to move out soon, and-"

"I want to go home-" Russia choked out, tears shining in his blue-grey eyes- America staring with an alarmed look as the cat-hybrid snuggled against him, "I want go home, I want to go home-"

America sighed- pulling Russia into a careful hug, "I know Russia, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry... I didn't think they'd be this... horrible to you, really."

Russia looked away, staring down at the carpet, "Why can't you just let me leave?"

America's fingers trailed over his cat ears, stroking his hair thoughtfully, "I'm sorry but this is best for you. I promise, we'll sort things out." America smiled, leaning down to nuzzle Russia, "Your family needs money, right? I can send over a bunch for them, we can help them-"

Russia sniffled, "Are you trying to bribe me?"

America offered a feeble smile, "Is it working?"

Russia stared up at him- before sighing and flopping against him, "... maybe. Money would be nice. But the only reason I'm still here is because you're not as big of a jerk as I thought."

America beamed, "I'm happy to hear that. I know this is the last thing you wanted, and... my family hasn't been great to you, but... they'll warm up to you eventually, and once I move up in the business we can move out and they won't matter anymore."

Russia's eyelashes fluttered down tiredly, barely paying attention to the other man's words, America smiling down at him, "You know, you're nothing like I thought you'd be."

Russia scoffed lightly, "Because I'm human, not some stereotype."

"Most prey-hybrids seem fine with acting out that 'stereotype' their entire lives."

"It's easier to do that. To pretend, and live by a script so you can play along with the show and pretend you're living some perfect life."

"And why don't you?"

Russia blinked open his eyes- staring at the wall behind America's shoulder, "I don't know. I'm stupid, maybe. I won't let things be easy. I think this is wrong. The fact that we're born as a predator or prey, and then... you guys just get to...take us away and do whatever you want to us... and for everything instance of a happy, loving family, there's a million prey-hybrids taken advantage of, abused and harmed and lied to... and it's just not right and I know I can't do anything about it because I'm a prey-hybrid too, and I don't have any real power, but I wish I did, I-" He grit his teeth, returning his gaze to the carpet, "I'm scared, okay? I'm just really fucking scared. I've seen what my dad went through, the kinds of people who hurt him, and I've always thought that if no one wanted me, no one could hurt me, but then... you..."

America hugged him again, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek, "I want you, Russia. I want to stay with you and keep you safe, and I want to love you and see you love me one day. But I don't want to hurt you or make you powerless. I don't know what I'm doing or why I chose you, but you're here now and I won't let anyone hurt you, ever again. Okay?"

Russia sniffled, clinging to the eagle-hybrid, not sure why tears were suddenly swarming his eyes, "... okay... but if you ever start acting like a douchebag, I'm gonna take all your money and leave you."

America smiled, "You have my full permission to do that. I'm gonna be the least douchebag predator ever, just to prove you wrong."

Russia huffed, wiping away tears and managing a half-hearted scowl, "You better, and..." He leaned against America's chest, yawning softly, "Is it okay if... I send some money to my family? We need a new fridge, and a better roof, and maybe a TV, and..."

"Shh..." America gently nuzzled his hair, "It's okay. I'll send them all the money you want, just go to sleep now."

Russia hissed, pushing at his chest, "Not tired."

"Yes you are, you moody little cat-" America flicked him gently on the nose, earning an exhausted hiss, "C'mon- let's get you to bed."

With alarming ease, he lifted Russia into the air, plopping him onto the bed- before backing away and curling up on the floor. Russia blinked sleepily, reaching out an arm, "Get up here..." He hesitantly met America's puzzled gaze, "... it's too cold..."

America perked up at once, "You're letting me sleep with you?"

Russia scowled, "I'm letting you be my heated pillow- get up here!"

America grinned, clambering onto bed with far too much energy for the dimly lit bedroom and sleepy cat-hybrid in front of him, flopping down by Russia's side and snuggling around him, fanning his wing out over them.

Russia mumbled quietly- snuggling against the warmth and softness of the other man's embrace, "... I like you... a bit..."

"Yeah?" America smiled, gazing down fondly at his mate, "I like you a lot."

"... good. Because I like it here..."

America blinked, a bemused look crossing his features, "Here?" Considering the scene at dinner, he doubted that.

"With you." Russia explained sleepily, curling up besides America, fingers curling into his shirt. America held back a giggle, eyes shining at the admission of trust he'd somehow earned, maybe just by not being an asshole. Was that really all it took to be a safe harbor for someone living in fear and mistrust? To be a beacon of light in the life of someone who only saw darkness and ill intent in the faces of others? Just a bit of decency and comfort? A tiny hint of understanding and support?

He was glad he was the one to offer that shelter to Russia- glad that the cat-hybrid hadn't ended up with someone who justified all his coldness and anger... or worse, remained alone and spiteful and resentful, without ever experiencing a simple, loving hug.

With a smile, America closed his eyes, squeezing the cat-hybrid just a bit closer. I'm going to take such good care of you Russia, just wait and see... you're going to be so happy I chose you...

.

.

.

"... Papa, America didn't finish his meal." New Zealand pouted, glancing over at the staircase, poking at what was left of her slice of chocolate cake, "He even missed dessert."

Britain sighed, "I know, it's unlike him... he's just upset, taking a mate causes a new degree of protectiveness in some, it seems. He wouldn't have cared at all about such a serious discussion any other day- or retreated to bed so early." He glanced over at France, who was stacking up used plates and carrying them into the kitchen, "That was also quite unlike you. I've rarely seen you grow that... emotional during any discussion."

France sniffed, turning away haughtily, "That stray cat America found is a beastly brat who needs to be put in his place- which is somewhere far, far away from this family."

Britain hummed idly, his gaze returning to his phone, expression apathetic, "You're just mad that he gets the money and comfort you worked so hard perfecting yourself for, and a childish, emotionally supportive mate."

France glared, lifting her head, "So what if I am? I have every right to be-"

Britain rolled his eyes, "Don't get defensive, I'm not mad. I very frankly don't care about your petty feelings."

There was a long moment of silence. New Zealand hopped out of her chair and carried her plate into the kitchen, plopping it into the sink.

"... I do wonder who that father of his is... I'm sure if I could call his school and find out." A sudden thought struck him, and as if noticing his presence for the first time, Britain turned to Canada, "Russia is around your age, right? He must go to the same school, do you know anything about his family?"

Canada flinched, looking away, "I've seen him in school, but he never really... talked to people that much. I don't know anything about him..."

Britain scowled, tapping his finger against the table with an annoyed look, "That won't be- even if he was America's choice, I won't allow someone we know nothing about into our home. I'll get his father's number from school and invite his family over for dinner tomorrow."

France glared, mostly just pissed at having to prepare food for an extra family of guests.

New Zealand fidgeted, before finally peeping up, "Papa... the new guy is kinda scary. Is he staying here?"

Britain sighed, "He might be. Your older brother is quite fond of him."

"... why?"

"I... don't know..."

France looked away, before stepping forward and clearing away the rest of the plates, pale blue eyes hooded, eyelashes lowered like a curtain closing over the stage- offering only a glimpse at what lay beyond, at the actors finishing their final bows after another performance, and returning back to their individual realities.

Chapter Text

Russia mumbled, furrowing his brows as he slowly became aware of a large, warm thing shifting besides him. His hand lazily reached out to grab it- earning a small laugh from something that sounded like a person.

"Russia? I need to go to work..."

Russia growled tiredly, closing his eyes tighter as he hazily pawed at the moving thing, "Stop... go back to sleep... not morning yet..."

The thing suddenly pulled away- and all was still again. Which Russia wouldn't have minded if the thing hadn't taken all the warmth and soft mass besides him away as well. He hissed, reaching out groggily- someone grabbing his hand and placing a gentle kiss to the back of it, "You take a while to wake up, don't you?"

Russia bared his fangs sleepily, before reluctantly blinking open his eyes- freezing as he propped himself up on his arms and came face to face with America. Oh… right. The events of yesterday came rushing back to him: randomly being chosen by the eagle-hybrid, getting dragged off to the movies, arriving at the fancy home with its snobby giant ego inhabitants, and storming back up here... into America's bedroom, America's bed... after that stupid argument.

... his in-laws definitely hated him. That was fine, he hated them too.

"Russia, I have to go to work..." America whispered, pale blue eyes bright with an odd hint of excitement, "I'll see you when I get back home, okay?"

Russia stared blankly at him- before flopping back into bed and snuggling against whatever warmth remained on the blankets and mattress. Needless to say, he did not want to get up and face his current situation, or the people waiting downstairs, "... okay."

"Do you want to head down for breakfast?" America asked gently, leaning closer to his face.

Russia flattened his ears, nuzzling his cheek moodily against a pillow, "No."

"Okay, that's fine-" America whispered, tentatively pressing a soft kiss to Russia's forehead, smiling when he wasn't pushed away, "I'll tell France to leave something out for you when you get up. Rest well, okay?"

Russia glanced up at America for a moment- his expression somewhere between a pout and a glare- before his eyelashes fluttered down and his body sank back into sleep. America was still awestruck at how much Russia could just sleep and sleep and sleep, and never get tired of it. Maybe sleeping so much did make him tired, and that was why he kept sleeping.

America beamed down at the snoozing cat-hybrid- poking his nose with a giggle, before turning away and creeping out of the room as quietly as he could, pulling the door shut carefully. He made a quick stop at the bathroom to splash water on his face and push back his hair- squinting at his reflection for a moment to try gauging how Russia had seen him when he first opened his eyes- before jogging downstairs, "Dad!"

Britain, already at the table, fully dressed in a black suit and half-done with his breakfast, glanced up with an unimpressed look. "America. Late as usual. Someone kept you busy in bed today?"

"Nope!" America flopped into a chair, tapping his fingers against the table as he waited for France to pour him a glass of orange juice, "Russia was a bit grabby and snuggly when I was getting up, but it didn't take that much time-"

Britain raised an eyebrow but decided not to clarify what he'd meant, "We have work today."

"I know!" America viciously stabbed a fork into his syrup-covered waffle, lifting it into the air and taking a messy bite.

"So why do you look so pleased?"

America glanced up with a bright smile- syrup and waffle crumbs surrounding his mouth, "Because when I get back from work, now I have Russia waiting for me instead of Australia bugging me or kicking me in the shins-"

Australia glanced up from his phone with a cold look, "I'm still here, y'know. As soon as you step through that door, I'm still kicking you in the shins, whether Russia is waiting for you or not."

Britain sighed, "Don't be so aggressive, it's unbecoming of your status."

Australia stuck out his tongue, "My status as the youngest in the house-"

Britain scoffed, "You're only two years away from being an adult."

Australia scowled, "When I become an adult, do I also have to find a tall scary cat man?"

America bristled, putting down his fork, "Hey, he's not scary! And he's not that tall..."

"You certainly won't be following the same path as your older brother." Britain replied sharply, poking at his scrambled eggs with a perpetually pissed look, "You will find a suitable bird-hybrid to mate with, someone agreeable, with common sense and adherence to their proper role."

Australia rolled his eyes, "Someone boring like mom?"

France's wings fluffed out in offense, eyes narrowing as she picked up Australia's empty plate and glass, taking them to the kitchen, "Excuse me for doing my job. Should I entertain you as well? Start cartwheeling and juggling?"

Australia blinked with surprise at France's retort, Britain glaring, "The least you could do is be pleasant. Maybe smile and act happy to be here, instead of glowering at everyone in the room."

"Dad, we kinda have to-" America started, Britain sighing as he glanced at the clock.

"You have ten minutes. Finish your breakfast, wash up, put on a nice suit, and meet me outside."

America sprang up- before pausing, "Mom? Russia's still sleeping, bring some food up for him later."

From the kitchen, he heard her offer a mumbled, "Mmhm."

"And some water so he doesn't get dehydrated-"

"Yes, yes." France sighed, stepping back into the livingroom and picking up America's plates, "I'll take care of you and your siblings and father, and now that cat as well. He can sleep the whole day, and you can play or go to work-"

"France, shut up." Britain said drily, adjusting his tie as he peered in the mirror, "I don't need you bitching like this so early in the morning. And you wonder why the children rarely find you to be a delightful presence."

"You just cursed in front of the children." Australia piped up, New Zealand nodding with wide eyes.

Britain scoffed, stepping impatiently to the door, "America, hurry up."

"You said ten minutes!" America shouted from somewhere upstairs.

"Yes, well the sooner we leave the better. If there's traffic, we could be late. And the CEO and Junior Executive of a company arriving late is hardly a good look. There are important things to be done."

"Yeah- yeah, I know-" America released a frustrated noise as he tried slipping his wings properly through the holes in the back of his suit, squawking as the bottom of one wing got stuck underneath the fabric, "Five more minutes!"

Britain rolled his eyes, crossing his arms and tapping his foot impatiently, "America."

France glanced up as she finished clearing the table, "Call me later when you figure out how many extra people I'll be cooking for at dinner."

"Oh- right- I nearly forgot about that-" Britain sighed, pulling out his phone- and offering a reluctant "Thank you dear..."

There was a sudden thud as America jumped down the stairs, wearing his suit with a wrinkled dress shirt, a pair of sunglasses perched on his forehead, wings ruffled and held up at an odd angle. Britain sighed, staring at the eagle-hybrid with a look of utter disappointment- before waving a hand dismissively, "It'll have to do for now. Let's go- and France?"

"... yes?" She glanced back as Britain stepped outside.

"Call the school and let them know that Canada and Zea will be returning tomorrow. But make sure they're not placed in those dreadful dorms with the impoverished people- the chauffeur will take them to and from school everyday."

France sighed as she wiped her hands dry on a towel, evidently having started washing the dishes, "Alright."

"Good." Britain stared at her for a moment longer than usual- before stepping outside with America, towards where their car was parked. They both sat in the back- Britain busy typing an email to the school on his phone, inquiring about Russia's personal information. America was pretty sure that schools were supposed to keep that kind of stuff private, but he was also pretty sure that people would give Britain anything he asked for.

He hummed to some music he remembered from a video game- kicking his legs idly before glancing over at the tinted windows, a slight flush crossing his cheeks as he remembered what he and Russia had done in the car yesterday. Almost curiously, his hands drifted to his wings- slowly trailing a finger over the edge of his feathers. He felt nothing. It was probably different when someone else did it- especially when that someone else was Russia...

Britain cleared his throat as he sent his email, glancing over at America, "Just to remind you, I don't want you lounging around and getting nothing done today. You're the Junior Executive, and claiming that you're still 'in training' doesn't excuse getting other people to do your work for you."

America blinked innocently.

Britain sighed, leaning back, "You will need to take over this company one day, unless you suddenly die or Australia proves himself useful. So I do wish you would take your work seriously."

"I am." America looked away with a scowl, "I think convincing other people to do everything for you is a really good skill for a leader to have. It proves I'm the boss, y'know?"

"No, America, you need to learn how to do things yourself. I expect a wonderful presentation this afternoon."

America froze, "... what."

"Did you forget already? You'll be presenting the quarterly performance overview with your team."

"My... team..." America said slowly, "Yes. Them. The, uh... green guy- who's good at talking?"

"Brazil, yes."

"And the.. the short guy who's good with numbers?"

"Switzerland. He's my finance advisor, you're lucky I'm letting you borrow him. But you're missing two more people."

America sighed, furrowing his brows, "Uh.. the blue and yellow guy who comes up with all the ideas?"

"Sweden."

"And... and the little guy who comes in and pokes the computers and tries unplugging everything?"

Britain furrowed his brows, glancing over, "He dresses fancy? With a silk cravat and ruby brooch?"

America nodded, "Yeah, and he's like a kid basically, I never know why he's randomly toddling into my office and-"

"America, that's my illegitimate child."

"Oh."

"He's your half-brother."

"Right."

Britain sighed, rubbing his temple, "Your other teammate is the a newer employee, Belgium. She's a very bright young woman, reminds me of my own intern from before... what was her name...? Weimar, or something?"

America didn't respond for a moment, back to staring at the tinted window, "... hey Dad?"

"Yes, America?"

"... how many siblings do I have? Outside of Can and Aus and Zea?"

Britain considered the question for a moment, "... at least five. I'm only in contact with a few of them, so the actual numbers are uncertain."

America glanced down at his hands, "... okay."

He was well aware that Britain was unreasonably fond of spending most of his time at work cheating on France. His executive suite, with its skyline view and expensive leather furniture, bookshelves and private bar, was rumored to always have at least two prey-hybrids tending to him, neither of them present for matters of official business. He didn't exactly know why prey-hybrids flocked to Britain of all people- whether they were coerced, or believed somehow that they could bear his child and get something grand out of it. A life with one of the wealthiest men around.

Obviously, Britain was not interested in choosing one of those side chicks to live with, or even adopting any of the children they had. The three things that mattered most to him were his reputation, wealth, and tradition. As such, no matter how he felt about her and his official children, he would never divorce France or take ownership of a bastard child. But even if his family stayed the same, it was still weird to America that there were so many half-brothers and sisters of his drifting around. That Britain was screwing random people in his office all the time.

The ending for most of the wannabe mistresses (or misters, most were male (misters didn't seem like a proper word to describe someone Britain did god-knows-what with in his office)) was filled with their own accusatory shouts and Britain's absolute apathy when they ended up with child. Most simply received a paycheck and some vague threats to never mention his name to anyone else. A few- one in particular- earned his favor and remained close to him, even beyond the initial infatuation.

Denmark, a male mute swan-hybrid (the name of the swan was a 'mute swan' for some reason, Denmark himself was far from mute), had somehow won Britain over entirely with his interest in architecture and snuggly behavior and love for warmth and pastries and the more simple, comforting things in life. Their youngest son- Iceland- an adorable gyrfalcon-hybrid, was often found scampering around the office, touching everything and opening doors and sitting in people's chairs while they were on bathroom break. He was well-known for his distinguished sense of style, insisting on dressing like a tiny prince at court.

He'd heard that they had an older son, Greenland, but America had never seen him- much less any of his other half siblings. It wasn't like they mattered anyways... just random children who shared a lot of his DNA... and his father... He briefly wondered if Britain had mentioned any of them in his will, before deciding not to dwell on it.

For now, he was the official heir to the business. Nevermind that he barely knew what the business did or what he was supposed to do… or that he'd rather do literally anything besides wearing a stuffy suit and sitting in his gloomy office and giving presentations and picking through files, and wracking his brain for any understanding of all those stupid pie charts and official reports.

"We're almost here." Britain finally murmured, his yellow gaze fixated on the window as well, "… and, America?"

"Hm?" America glanced up, pale blue eyes wide.

"… nothing. Nevermind." Britain turned away, stepping outside stiffly as the chauffeur opened the door, "Don't disappoint me, or anything."

America nodded solemnly as he scooted forward, slipping out of the door behind him, "I won't. Not on purpose."

Britain sighed, glancing back as America tugged on his suit, trying to straighten it, switching his phone from hand to hand and using the back of his wrist to nudge his sunglasses higher up on his head. It wasn't that he disliked his son- America had a special spot as his eldest, his heir, the young man who would eventually stand in his place. It was just that America was so… alien to him. Here was a… creature that had been born from him and a woman he was quite frankly irked by, a person who stood in a position of privilege and prestige by pure luck- and never had attempted even once to justify his place. He was, quite factually, a failure to Britain's expectations and needs.

Britain needed a capable son, someone who could handle the company after his death, someone who would make proper use of all the blessings he'd left for them, someone who… was capable of understanding. Understanding responsibility and the merit of hardwork, understanding how to lead a business and not lead everything into disaster- just understand the fact that they'd been blessed with such wealth and status, and were obligated to make the most of it, make even more of it. He'd spent so long imagining a proper son by his side- someone passionate about business, who would attend meetings and speak out and have wonderful bright ideas, and trigger an age of prosperity and renewal. Someone who he'd feel comfortable handing his life's work over to on the day he inevitably passed.

That someone would probably never be America. It was a mark of any remaining, foolish youth in him, that he still imagined and desperately hoped that either of his sons would suddenly turn around and improve. By now, he had mostly surrendered himself to the simple fact that if his business fell into America or Australia's hand… they'd either toss it off to someone else, or lead it into complete ruin. Either he'd resign himself to his legacy being erased… which really wouldn't matter since he'd be dead at this point, and it would be his family spiraling into poverty, which those self-righteous brats honestly deserved… or he could pray that his grandchildren would turn out different.

It was always those third-generation businessmen anyways. He would be happy to play the role of the benevolent, mentor grandfather, inspiring awe and ambition in the heart and mind of a charming little grandchild. Perhaps this was merely how life worked- any semblance of competence and intelligence popped up every other generation. He remembered England had been rather gentle, mostly guided by those around him, owing nearly all of his success to the loyalty of his workers. Britain of course had dismissed all of those simpering fools, taken charge himself, and completely succeeded. America and Australia were a lost cause, but at least maybe… whatever child could spring out of Russia would prove to be worth something.

As he stepped past the doors of the huge, glass and steel tower that housed his company, he was greeted by the welcome sight of the lobby. Smooth, patterned terrazzo floors, a sleek receptionist desk staffed by quiet, formal assistants, potted plants (all fake) and abstract art and modern furniture providing that wealthy, fake aesthetic he so adored. America eyed the metal detector above them with a look of near mistrust as they stepped past it and it beeped cheerfully, a button glowing green. Frankly, Britain doubted a.. gunman, or furious ex-employee would ever stalk in here with a weapon- and if they did, they'd likely take the windows instead of the front doors- but there was nothing wrong with being careful. He passed by the security guards who offered him brief nods, stopping as an attendant scurried up to him. A weasel or ferret hybrid or something- an ermine, was it? They were practically all the same regardless.

"Good morning, Sir!" The attendant greeted him, eyes wide and alert, "The elevator is being held for you, ready to go up to the 50th floor."

America scowled, "How come you get to stay on the 50th floor?" He demanded Britain, "I'm stuck on the 12th…"

"When you're ready to take over the company from me, every floor in this building will be all yours." Britain replied crisply, following the attendant and waving his son away dismissively, "Now hurry up and get to work. You'd better be prepared for your presentation, I don't need to be humiliated in front of my workers again due to your sheer incompetence."

America stuck out his tongue, Britain rolling his eyes before turning back to his attendant, "Is… everything prepared?" He asked, voice lower.

The attendant glanced up with a meek smile, "Uh- yes Sir, your coffee is ready, we've set out an assortment of pastries in case you haven't had a fulfilling enough breakfast, and- Denmark is in your office."

Britain relaxed, a genuine smile crossing his features as they stepped into the elevator, shooing away another attendant who had been keeping the elevator open and waiting, "Lovely. Do send someone to stop by… let's say around noon, and bring a lunch to my office. With a lot of those one-sided sandwich things Denmark likes. I'll be dining in my office today."

The attendant nodded, relaxing as the doors closed and the elevator shot upwards. Britain sighed, peering at his reflection on the metallic walls around him, "Everything okay?" He asked flatly.

The attendant blinked with alarm, "Y-Yes Sir, I'm fine-"

"Not you, idiot, the business. Is everything okay so far?"

The attendant fidgeted, looking away, "Of course Sir, everything is running smoothly. I- uh…"

Britain raised an eyebrow, glancing back, "If you don't have any small talk to offer, then do keep quiet. I don't need you yammering awkwardly. The ride up barely takes a minute."

The attendant nodded mutely, staring intensely at the doors as if praying they would slide open any second and free him from this stuffy solitude with his boss, long tail twitching back and forth nervously. Britain peered down at the furry, quivering tail with a hint of curiosity. He obviously preferred birds, both for company and… other things, but he couldn't help but feel amused by mammals and their expressive ears and tails, and soft fur. He would have considered America lucky to not care at all about tradition and have chosen whoever he'd wanted, but it wasn't as if Britain himself was so deprived of pleasure from his feathered companions that he pined after mammal-hybrids. They were cute, but it was best to stick to his own kind. God knows what kind of abomination would come from a mammal and bird-hybrid having children.

As soon as the elevator slid to a stop and the doors opened, Britain stepped out with a considerably more cheerful expression. Finally, almost at his office… as far away from home and France and his disappointing children as he could be… 50 floors and a considerable amount of miles away from them, and just mere steps away from his beloved.

The attendant sighed, looking somewhat exhausted as they opened the door to his office, closing it behind him as quickly as possible, as if eager to get away. But Britain couldn't care less as soon as he was engulfed by his beautiful office-

It was huge, of course, sized more like a large suite than a simple office- a floor-to-ceiling glass on two sides, giving a sweeping view of the city skyline below. The other walls were covered in dark paneled wood, an oversized mahogany desk a few feet away from one glass wall. The desk was polished clean, a simple black leather swivel chair behind it. A sleek computer monitor, leather-bound planner, Montblanc pen set, and a dull-colored globe were neatly set out. Along the side wall was a huge, built in bookshelf he could have sworn he hadn't touched since the day it was added, filled with expensive leather-bound volumes, books of finance and business and things he already knew well enough to have no need for busying himself with reading about. In one corner was a polished wood counter with a few low, round leather stools. Another in-built shelf was filled with expensive bottles of whiskey and wine, crystal tumblers and glasses, a small fridge with containers of ice and some champagne he'd hidden away. He had some blobby, abstract art that was unremarkable enough to blend in neatly with his furniture but expensive enough to be a conversation piece, which was all he needed. He stepped briskly past the wide conference table on the side, the retractable screen and leather swivel chairs set out for any urgent meetings, instead turning to the only thing that mattered to him right now-

A set of soft, black leather sofas formed a semi-circle cradling a coffee table covered in trays of raspberry crowns and vanilla wreaths, crepes with chocolate dipping, and no small amount of cream puffs. And of course- Denmark, the male mute swan-hybrid, was curled up against a cushion, white wings spread comfortably besides him as he blinked up at Britain with wide amber eyes, a half-eaten butter cookie held up to his mouth.

"Hello, dear." Britain smiled, taking a careful seat besides him- Denmark blinking and shifting back a bit, taking another bite.

"… hi."

"You seem mellow today. What's on your mind?"

Denmark looked away, snuggling against the sofa, eyelashes fluttering down for a moment, "… just tired. Work. And the kids."

Britain smiled- reaching out and carefully pulling Denmark closer, letting out a murmur that sounded half disappointed, half amused, "I've told you darling, you should just accept my money. I don't know why you insist on being so stubborn and denying yourself the comfort I'm more than happy to hand over-"

Denmark looked away with a half-hearted scowl, even as he snuggled against Britain's chest, "No. I'm not your mate, so I shouldn't depend on you. Then what would happen when you get bored of me?"

Britain sighed, wings ruffling, "Don't be like that, dear-" He gently held Denmark's chin between his fingers, tilting his face up, "You know I'd never get bored of you. I adore you more than anyone else in the world."

Denmark ducked his head away, wings fluffing out with a hint of annoyance, "You don't love me enough to leave France. You don't even love me enough to stop seeing other prey-hybrids at work."

Britain frowned, hugging Denmark closer and pressing a gentle kiss to the side of his neck, "I know you want more, but you're asking too much of me, dear."

Denmark sighed, looking away, "Fine. I'll just stick to taking pastries from you. And claiming your building as my daycare."

Britain smirked, leaning back, "Iceland's here again?"

"Of course, there's no place he'd rather be."

"I can believe that…" Whenever Denmark spent a day in Britain's office, staying with him after a particularly lengthy night shift that allowed him a day off, or celebrating getting his paycheck- Britain often concerned by just how few zeroes there were- he would drop the kids off at the company building. By now, everyone was used to them. Iceland would toddle about, playing on the elevators and climbing into people's chairs and messing up papers, unplugging computers and pushing swivel chairs down filled hallways, scampering about and screeching and squeaking as Britain's personal bodyguards glared at anyone who dared to look even somewhat unhappy with the child's presence, "… how is he?" Britain finally asked.

Denmark raised an eyebrow, "You mean emotionally, or academically?"

Britain cleared his throat, looking embarrassed, "It is- not as if I want him to… take over the business after me, but… if he displays strong interest in business, or- any other field he needs an education for, I would be more than happy to support and sponsor him."

"Britain, he's four years old. I tried teaching him how to add and subtract with Cheerios, and he swallowed them whole and vomited."

Britain nodded thoughtfully, "He's… still young. How is he in preschool?"

Denmark leaned back into the sofa with a sigh, reaching for a raspberry crown and munching carefully, "He's like any other kid, Britain. He plays, he gets into fights, he dresses up fancy, he giggles and won't stay still during naptime- he's not a secret prodigy or business tycoon waiting to emerge from his shell."

"I know, I just-" Britain hummed, looking away, "If you allowed me to give him a tutor, I guarantee before he starts kindergarten he could excel in any subject- he could finish school early, graduate from college early, enter the workforce and-"

Denmark groaned, flopping tiredly over the sofa's armrest, "Britain please, I don't want him to be some extraordinary genius child. I'm raising him like Greenland- as a normal, happy kid, not some carefully trained machine to satisfy your reputation and high hopes."

Britain scowled, "There's nothing wrong with raising a child to be exceptional. You underestimate children so much- let them play around and act stupid, never allow them to simply use their brains or reach their full potential."

"Worry about your own kids, not mine."

Britain bristled, "Iceland is my child-"

"Not officially-" Denmark waved a hand dismissively, pouring himself a cup of coffee, "I mean America. The whole office thinks he's a goddamn disaster. Not to mention that Australia hasn't even showed up at work once after the duck incident."

Britain winced, "Australia has changed a lot since then, he's just… stubborn. I can respect a strong personality."

"And I could respect you a lot more if you talked about anything besides the kids." Denmark bat his eyelashes, "Like me. Not a single comment about how pretty I look?'

Britain sighed, reluctantly letting a smile cross his features as he leaned over Denmark, nuzzling his cheek gently, "You look beautiful as always, darling. I'm sorry for talking so much about the kids, I just… thought I'd shoot my shot."

Denmark smirked, "Nice try, but you're never turning my babies into backup business heirs. Now get on the floor, and-"

The door suddenly burst open, an attendant stepping through hurriedly, shielding their eyes in advance, "Mr. Britain Sir, do you have a moment?"

Britain scowled in disappointment- pressing a quick kiss to Denmark's head and standing up, clearing his throat and readjusting his suit, "Of course I have a moment, I'm at work. And stop covering your eyes, you look ridiculous."

The attendant sighed with relief at the sight of Britain still fully dressed, handing over a file, "Morning report. And schedule for the day. We've managed about three hours for slots of free time, but with the presentation in the afternoon and the followup meeting with your advisors, there's still a lot to do."

Britain hummed, flipping through the contents of the files before tossing it onto his desk, "Very well. And knock next time, will you?"

"O-Oh, yes Sir!" The attendant said hurriedly, scurrying out of the room- Britain watching them leave with an unimpressed room, before turning back to Denmark.

Denmark was lying down on his stomach, wings fluttering eagerly, amber eyes shining as he pouted, "It's so hot in your office-"

"I can- I can turn the air conditioning on…" Britain mumbled, averting his gaze quickly, fully aware of what was about to happen.

Denmark cleared his throat- Britain freezing as the swan-hybrid's gaze grew bright and innocent, "Oh Britain, couldn't you help me take my sweater off instead?"

Fuck- Britain watched with wide eyes as Denmark strolled over to the door- locking it shut, before walking back towards him, tugging at the floppy sleeves of his sweater, "Aren't you going to help me take it off?" Denmark blinked. "It's actually really hard to take off since I have to push my wings through each time- I need help. Genuinely."

Britain sighed, stepping up to him and hesitantly grabbing the hem of the soft, woolen sweater, fingers curling into the thick, red and white material, "… can I please just rip it off? I- I don't think I have the patience to-"

"Britain, this sweater cost me thirty dollars and ten minutes of digging around every aisle to try finding something cotton. If you so much as tug one strand loose, I swear to God I'll dye your wings pink while you're sleeping."

Britain whined, nervously starting to lift the sweater, "K-Keep still- no wait, pull them a bit closer to your back." He lifted the sweater a bit further, before trying to tuck the edge of one of Denmark's wings below the wing hole, earning an angry squawk as he accidentally squeezed a feather too hard, "S-Sorry dear… you really need to invest in those clothes with zippers below the wing holes."

Denmark scowled, "They don't make sweaters with zippers." He retorted drily- relaxing as Britain managed to tug one side of the sweater up, over his wing.

"I could order some made for you-"

"Oh, shut up and get my other wing out too."

Britain bit his lip, concentrating as he carefully lifted the other side of the sweater- awkwardly taking hold of Denmark's wing and guiding it higher, before gently tucking the edge underneath the wing hole and sliding the sweater up, wincing every time the woolen material was tugged too far- sighing in relief as he slowly pulled it over Denmark's head.

Denmark beamed, fluttering his wings happily and swiping his sweater away- examining the wing holes closely for any tears, before beaming in approval, "Now my undershirt!"

"Oh, for Christ's sake-"

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.

.

The elevator ride up to the 12th floor was crowded, and no one gave a fuck about who America was. While most employees, besides assigned attendants, kept a radius of at least 6 feet between them and Britain, everyone seemed to have quickly understood that America was an incompetent idiot who wasn't at the top of Britain's list of priorities, and treating him like a normal person wasn't going to get them fired. So he was squished into an elevator with six other workers, most on their phones or fixing their ties and hair as they headed up. America assured himself that this was a good sign- people weren't scared of him! But… they didn't really respect him either. They kind of just didn't care.

He glanced down at his wrist as he waited for the elevator to stop, despite the lack of any watch. Hesitantly, he tugged at the cuffs of his shirt sleeve for a moment, scanning the space self-consciously. No one was looking at him. That was good. That was horrible. He wanted to go home.

It wasn't as if being at work was so bad, he reminded himself as the elevator finally stopped and he joined the small herd of employees exiting the shaft. Usually he just flailed around and chatted with people, wandered and drank coffee with half the sugar packets available, went out for lunch, and listened with wide-eyes to all the gossip the prey-hybrid secretaries had compiled for each break period. But today, of course, was different. He was now a mated man, and if he wanted to get Russia out of his crazy family house and into a nice, quiet apartment somewhere, he'd need to prove his worth to Britain. And that started today, with the… presentation thing.

"Hey." He slid into his office chair, giving Brazil a nod, "Is the presentation… uh…?" Wordlessly, Brazil- an aloof jaguar-hybrid- plopped a file on his desk, "… oh?" America asked meekly, cautiously flipping it open, staring blankly at the pages filled with words and charts and more tiny words, "What's this?"

"A report from the sales manager. We'll need it for the presentation."

America blinked, "Oh, okay. Thank you." He watched and waited until Brazil took a seat, back turned to him- before quickly grabbing the arm of an intern. They blinked with alarm as he let a nearly demonic grin cross his features, "Hey~, it's your lucky day! I'm trusting you with something important! You can- uh- handle this report, send me the summary when you're done. Preferably before lunch, hm? Oh, actually while you're at it, turn this into slides and email them to me as soon as possible please."

The intern blinked with alarm as the file was shoved into their hands, opening their mouth in question or protest- but America was already halfway across the office, heading quickly for the breakroom, embarrassed and irritated at the reminder that he had no idea how to do anything here. Goddammit, why couldn't Britain hire him a stupid tutor or something, instead of assuming he'd read those textbooks in his room? He hadn't even gone to college yet, so how the fuck was he expected to-?

"America!"

America whirled around, eyes wide- quickly pushing his sunglasses up to his forehead as Belgium, a pretty lioness-hybrid approached him, smiling cheerfully, "A senior staff member wants an update on our project."

"Oh- right, just… tell them we're on track, and… everything looks good so far."

Belgium blinked, "They're calling. They want to talk to you."

Fuck. "Haha, uh- could you please tell them I'm in a meeting right now- a really important one, and just uh… talk to them, get the details, I'll circle back to them later-"

"You never do, though." Belgium muttered, smile fading into something pissed off.

America laughed nervously, holding out his hands placatingly, "C-C'mon Belgium, you know you're better with numbers than me- just handle this call, and… let everyone know that we're ready for the presentation, and-"

"Are we ready?"

America blinked. Slowly, he turned around, scanning the room, "Where's the blue guy?"

"Sweden?"

"Y-Yeah, him- he's the one working on the main slides, right?"

"Of course, but we haven't finished sifting through the bulk of the data yet, we need-"

"What? The presentation's today Belgium, what do you mean we haven't finished everything yet??"

She flicked her tail with irritation, "Your father placed you as head of this project. You're supposed to be approving of everything we're doing, and-"

"Oh my God-" America ran a hand messily through his hair, "I approve of everything, okay? Whatever you guys were doing- I trust that it's all fine, so just wrap everything up so we're ready."

Belgium glared, "You're so annoying, you know that? You think that just because your dad's in charge, you get to do nothing and take all the credit?"

"Okay look, I don't want to be here anymore than you want me to- believe me, if I had the choice I wouldn't be in this building at all!"

"Yeah, I can believe that- you'd rather be lazing about in a big house with a swimming pool, not doing any work, not even bothering to pretend you are-"

"For God's sake, Bel, it's not like that!" America groaned, "I don't know anything. Please, just-"

"Uh huh, go on. Weaponize your incompetence so you can make us poor, pathetic underlings do everything for you."

"For God's sake, I'm a teenager with no education beyond high school! I don't even know why I'm allowed to be in charge of anything here!"

"You're so pathetic, you know that?" Belgium snapped, "For your own good, I hope you never get a mate- you shouldn't have even been born a predator-hybrid with how incompetent you are, you could never take care of another person-"

America sputtered, eyes wide, "Jesus Christ lady, calm down! I get that you're pissed, but that's way too far! And for your information, I have a mate! So I'm definitely uh- responsible and-"

Everyone in the room went silent. America blinked, glancing around nervously. Some people looked scandalized, others unimpressed- a few prey-hybrids seeming disappointed, "… what?"

"Seriously? You?" Belgium scoffs, "I bet you just plucked a random guy off the street- you probably still use that weird ass website people reserve prey-hybrids on."

America blinked, "Doesn't everyone use that?"

"Of course not!" One of the secretaries- Argentina- snapped, seeming more annoyed than usual, her wings fluttering as if offended, "Though I'm not surprised you'd think that, with how cut off you are from the rest of the world. Normal people actually interact with a prey-hybrid before deciding to claim and keep them- and they have a proposal, and a wedding, and vows-" She narrowed her eyes, stalking up to him and studying his hand, "I don't see a ring."

America flinched, "Th-there's supposed to be a ring??"

"Two rings- one for you, and one for your mate. Don't tell me you chose a random prey-hybrid, plopped them in your house, and just left them there?"

America swallowed drily, "… well… yeah…"

"Argentina, don't be so hard on him!" Another secretary piped up, "It doesn't matter when rich people do it- anyone would be happy to be with a rich guy like him."

America's face flushed, "Th-thanks, but uh… is it just because I'm rich? I mean, I think I'm a cool guy… good… personality…"

"It's not about money, it's about respect!" Argentina snapped, "We're not in a population boom anymore, most families don't even decide to have children after all the drama surrounding The Prolific Age."

The secretary smirked, "Yeah, but I'd be glad to be snatched up by a rich guy, any day- just sitting in a big fancy house, eating and doing whatever I wanted-"

"-being treated like a pet." Argentina interrupted, gaze cold, "Being dehumanized into an… incubator, or personal chef, or cute accessory for parties. Raise your standards, bitch."

"It- it's not that bad…" America mumbled meekly, staring down at his hands.

"Guys." Brazil said flatly, "We're at work. Save the drama for your break."

"Brazil!" The secretary swooned, turning around, "How much money do you make, again?"

Brazil offered a middle finger, turning his gaze back to his computer, earning a chorus of giggles.

America blinked awkwardly- watching Argentina shoot him one last scowl as she turned away, before glancing back at Belgium, "So… uh… about the-"

"Just go sit down." Belgium said flatly, "We can manage this without you- clearly we'll have to since you don't seem capable of doing anything besides being ignorant and lazy. Get yourself a cappuccino or whatever, we'll finish the presentation and send you a few lines to say."

America cleared his throat, looking away, "… okay. And really, I'm sorry I-"

Belgium had already turned away, leaving him standing awkwardly in the middle of the office. Goddammit, he hated it here. These people were all bitches who didn't care how hard things were for him- he was being forced into this humiliating position by his pathetic, annoying whore of a father, he didn't want to be here, didn't want to put up with all these whiny people-

… he needed to calm down. It wasn't… so bad. Everyone was doing stuff for him, the least he could do was seem happy about it. Even if he didn't want to be here- these people were trying to make money, and dammit if he was making their lives harder, dammit if he deserved to be yelled at a bit. He could have just… learned how to do everything. Could have just been better. Even if he was fine right now, what would happen if Britain suddenly kicked him and Russia to the streets? He couldn't take care of himself on his own- much less Russia- and he sure as hell wasn't dragging him back into poverty. It wasn't likely that Britain would kick him out- he was his eldest child, but…

When had he even cared about this? He'd been perfectly content before to flounder about in his position, to do whatever he wanted, but… now he had Russia, and Russia was depending on him. He was just a poor, spiteful little cat-hybrid who'd suffered so much before, and… and was probably more competent than him. Russia had gone to school too. Maybe he'd paid more attention? Maybe he was good with books? Maybe he could help America out? That sounded pretty damn pathetic, but… Russia didn't seem all too happy with being stuck at home all day, without anything to do… besides napping, of course.

A vivid image flashed into his mind at once- Russia's slim body snuggled up against blankets and pillows, soft grey cat-ears twitching in his sleep, tail curled in contentment, eyelashes lowered, lips parting in slow, even breath- … Russia's so cute. I hope he's had breakfast.

He glanced over at his computer, picking off the edge of a peeling sticker, his mind occupied by a single thought. I wonder what he's doing right now…

.

.

.

If he wasn't certain that neither people nor cats hibernated, Russia would have been convinced he'd entered a deep, seasonal sleep meant to last for months. He awoke groggily at some time past the afternoon- the sun's bright, piercing rays trying to poke their way through the curtains, his body heavy and damp with sweat. It hadn't exactly been constant sleep that kept him tied to the bed- nor a state of bleary exhaustion- moreso waking up, wanting to take a shower, realizing that he was no longer in the dorms and instead in the home of other people and he didn't want to awkwardly stumble out and ask to shower in their bathroom, so instead he went back to sleep.

By now, he was realizing that he was going to achieve very little by lying here all day and… admittedly waiting for America to come and advocate for his right to use the bathroom. He was also very hungry. He didn't really want to pathetically crawl down to the kitchen and try getting food from that angry chicken woman. But he was really hungry. Wait. America had gotten up in the morning for breakfast. Had he left anything out for him?

Russia pricked his ears, sitting up and glancing around the room for a moment- before sighing in disappointment. Figures… had no one thought to wake him up? Was he seriously gonna spend the rest of his life in this room, waiting for America to come feed him and interact with him, like he was some kind of pet?

… probably. He really didn't want to go downstair and see everyone again. Carefully, he crawled off the bed, settling awkwardly on the carpet before glancing around- blue-grey eyes narrowing sharply. Operation Find Some Food was a go-

The first place he looked was under any pillows, stuffed animals, or blankets suspiciously arranged to hide something America hadn't wanted to clean up. He discovered two half-eaten bags of chips, some hard candy, a sticky note with a pen drawing of Britain burning at stake, and a crushed juice box that was staining the carpet. He threw away the juice box, put the sticky note up on the wall for the world to behold, and began to examine the chips carefully. Their expiration date was set for two months in the future- but they were opened and stale. He studied the inside- annoyed that America had mostly left behind the smaller, oily chip bits at the bottom. He ate them anyways.

As he thoughtfully sucked on a piece of the candy- some weird berry flavor- he decided to check the rest of the room. With complete triumph, he discovered his duffel bag- likely dropped off in the room at some point after they'd arrived. He was genuinely excited to open it, to find things that were familiar and his, quickly stacking up some t-shirts and pants, undergarments and a toothbrush, towels and a bedsheet- and his tiny stuffed cat. Russia stared down at the limp blob of cheap grey fabric and blue button eyes, filled with its cotton stuffing. Carefully, he lifted it by its tail, watching its limbs and head droop down. Then, he glanced back at all the stuffed animals adorning the room around him. It wasn't… embarrassing to have a childhood toy, was it? Especially one with so much sentimental value.

Instinctively, he cradled the stuffed cat closer, staring down at its blue-grey button eyes, the color so similar to his. It was such a small thing… so small and squishy and pathetic in the face of the soft, fluffy, towering pink pigs around him. Still, he curled up around it, nuzzling his cheek around it and closing his eyes.

He immediately opened his eyes, startled. There was no way in hell he was going back to take another nap. His stomach was far from full- there was still a little sphere of berry-flavored hard candy trapped between his tongue and the roof of his mouth- and…

He could just wait for America, couldn't he? Wouldn't it be rude if he just stomped down there and demanded a meal and shower? But wouldn't it be pathetic? If he sat here, meekly waiting for his… mate?

Russia made a weird face- not at the candy's more tangy core, but at the fact that he was referring to America as his mate now. When had he started accepting everything? Even if… he didn't have a choice, really, and this was somehow the way life was meant to be- this family sucked, and he sure as hell didn't want to keep living here. Briefly, he thought of America, promising him that they'd move out together… but dammit, he didn't want to completely depend on the eagle-hybrid, especially not with how childish and incompetent he seemed. Especially not just because he was a predator-hybrid and he stood in a societally appointed position of power. But then again, it wasn't really like Russia wanted to try entering the workforce- who knew what kind of job he'd manage to take… and he'd have to go to college for any decent work, and his family definitely couldn't afford that… but America had money, and at least he was nice…

Scowling, Russia rolled over, lying down on his stomach and curling his fingers around his stuffed cat, staring at it blearily. It wasn't like this situation was much worse than home… he had lots of space, it was quiet, it was… cold. He was alone. Even if his ridiculous amount of siblings was less than ideal most of the time, at least someone was always there for him, at least… at least they could support eachother. If he was stressed or upset, he could cling to Ukraine and vent until the annoyed lynx-hybrid plopped him off in a pile of little siblings… or he could snuggle up against Soviet and cry, his father used to an army of wailing children, comforting him instinctively and holding him close until he dozed off. Obviously, he'd be awaken a few minutes later when someone was hungry, or Kazakhstan accidentally broke something. It was stupid, after so long of being frustrated by being trapped in a tiny house with more than a dozen tiny gremlins, but… he wanted them back. He didn't want to be here right now- he shouldn't have to be here right now.

But he was. And he hated himself more than anything for just accepting that. The window was right there- if he really denied his assigned place in life, really wanted to wage war against his apparent powerlessness, he could just leave. Would people really go after him? Couldn't he just run away? That was what Soviet had done before, but… he'd been found, eventually. But Russia was pretty sure that America was not nearly as persistent or maniacal as his uncle. If he left right now, he could return home. Soviet would understand, more than anyone else. He'd be safe home, far away from selfish, stupid predator-hybrids and rich people and all that shit.

But… he wasn't running. And it wasn't because he was hungry or tired.

… America, please, just hurry up and come back-

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.

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I wanna go home…

Sweden's miraculous arrival and organization of everything had done little to alleviate America's growing shame and anxiety. He just wanted to get out of here, fuck this- being in the office was like school, but even worse because he was expected to do things besides finding homework answers online or passing tests- expected to interact with these people who all worked so hard to be here and hated him because he didn't, hated him because he didn't deserve his place, didn't do shit, didn't know how to do shit-

And he was just… standing here, Belgium confidently closing up the presentation, eyes shining as she received polite, though rather uninterested applause from Britain and his board of advisors. Younger America- or two days ago America- would have reassured himself that these employees would have never gotten a chance to be so close to such high ranking members of the company without him. Younger America was probably right, but dammit if older America still felt awkward and ashamed that he hadn't contributed anything but existing. When had he gotten moral values, again?

Still, the presentation ending meant the brunt of his work for today was done. Soon enough he could retreat home, and see how Russia was doing, and worry about something besides things he knew he couldn't handle.

The car ride home was silent. Britain glanced over at him a few times, seemingly considering questioning him on the presentation. Usually he'd comment on how he just knew that America hadn't done anything- try quizzing him on the contents of the slides and exposing him as completely clueless. But today, at least, he noticed the guilt and tension on America's expression and decided to stay silent. If anything, he was pleased. America had never looked even the least bit guilty about his incompetence before, and whether this new feeling of misplaced responsibility was due to Russia, or the small fight he'd been informed of, it was certainly a start.

A small start, though. Britain still wasn't keen on bringing up college again- it was embarrassing enough that his son had barely graduated high school.. sending him to some run-of-the-mill public school, to flounder about and be everything short of exceptional, would probably send Britain to an early grave. And it wasn't really as if you needed a degree to go into business-

He was torn from his thoughts as his phone buzzed- and he quickly tapped the screen, turning it on. A message from Denmark: "Get home safely! And thank you for the pastries :3". Britain smiled involuntarily, tapping on the message to open their chat, and considering what to say. It was nice that Denmark could act like he cared- whether he did or not was certainly up for debate, but at least he attempted checking in on him. That was more than what France ever did.

Deciding not to nag him any further about accepting financial support, he merely gave a thumb's up and hearted the message, not noticing America staring at his soft smile with a disbelieving look. As much as he wanted to relax, there was still one more task for the day. The dinner with Russia's family…

He sighed, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. He'd contacted the school- and then called Russia's... father. The quality on the other end had been horrible, he'd barely been able to hear him, but he'd figured out that the father was fine with going to dinner, and would bring his other elder son. A predator-hybrid. He really hoped they didn't end up causing a scene and trying to take Russia back, or something stupid like that.

Frankly, he just wanted things to simmer down. He didn't like Russia, France didn't like Russia, but America adored him and that was all that mattered. Eventually America would at least try a bit harder at business, maybe with the promise of an apartment for him and his mate dangling over his head, and he could have a somewhat capable heir in place until he got to size up any grandchildren.

He didn't really think that America- or any of his current children- could ever be exceptional in the ways he wanted. So he would place his hopes with the next generation, and with that ill-mannered cat-hybrid in his house right now. He just hoped that once this mess was cleaned up, and everything did calm down, it would all have been worth it.

But with the way his life was going, he severely doubted that.

.

.

.

France was besides herself with guilt and alarm. Yes, she hadn't exactly brought Russia his breakfast. Not because she was busy- calling the school and letting them know when Zea and Can would return to classes, and starting to plan a decent dinner for an extra family (Britain let her know that only Russia's father and a brother would be attending) hadn't taken that long- but because she… she didn't want to. It was stupid to be so petty, but she didn't like the cat-hybrid, the way he'd simply slipped into this family despite all his short comings, the way he dared to blame predator-hybrids for their obvious faults, the way he fought back and still got the one thing she'd spent her entire life silencing and oppressing herself for- a mate and a comfortable life.

Really, she hadn't expected this to go on all day- she'd assumed he'd stay holed up in America's bedroom in the morning, sure, but that around lunch time, as her darlings enjoyed a peaceful lunch without their tyrannical father, he would be hungry enough to come down and ask for food. She imagined him being all entitled- demanding to be fed, and maybe she'd haughtily force him to cook for himself as he should, retort that she wouldn't be doing anything for him, he was supposed to be taking care of America in addition to himself. Since he was younger than her, he should be taking care of the house now! She'd been more than prepared to enter her evil mother-in-law arc and finally have some authority over someone else- even if not over herself- but… Russia hadn't come down.

Lunch ended, and the clock struck two, then three… And there was no sound or sight of the cat-hybrid. Was he still sleeping? Or… was he just… scared to come down? The performance last night had been admittedly less than welcoming, but if he was hungry wouldn't he just come down and try getting food? Was he that terrified of facing her again? It wasn't as if what she'd said had been wrong…

But it was five and he still hadn't come down. He hadn't even finished dinner last night. How long did it take someone to starve? A few days at least, but he didn't have water up there either. If America came home and found out she hadn't fed him…

She stepped past Australia and Canada who were on the floor, huddled over some game on their phones as New Zealand sat curled up on the sofa, reading quietly. Cautiously, she headed up the stairs- glancing around awkwardly. The bathroom door was shut, but there was no light from inside- which meant he was probably still in America's bedroom. Carefully, she touched the doorknob- before turning it, and pushing the door open as slowly as possible, wincing at the audible creak.

And there, curled up on the floor, snuggled against a little toy cat- was Russia. She slowly raised an eyebrow. Sleeping. Of course he was still sleeping. Had he even gotten up and considered feeding himself? Then there was the obvious question of why he was on the floor. Had he crawled down there himself, or had America forbidden him from sharing the bed? She knew America could be possessive of his personal space- nearly throwing tantrums whenever one of his siblings tried going on his bed or touching his things- but making his own mate sleep on the floor like a dog? Seriously? … was America not as gentle and caring as he seemed? He hadn't exactly wanted to take a mate, had he? Britain had simply pushed him into it once he came of age… if he was mistreating Russia… the poor, hungry cat-hybrid looked so pathetic curled up on the floor with his raggedy little toy… It wasn't really his fault that his family was poor. It wasn't even his fault that he'd been chosen by America… So why was she mad at him? Because he'd done less than her and still gotten this far in life? Because he'd done everything she'd denied herself of- talking back, slacking off, sharing her opinions and speaking her mind- and still… he had more than her.

She stared down at him quietly, wings shifting in thought. Because of mere envy, had she really taken Britain's side? Spoken down to this poor, pathetic little cat-hybrid as if he was some dangerous creature seeking to force his way into her home and steal everything they had? He was just another prey-hybrid, chosen and dragged somewhere beyond his will- though perhaps, in an even worse circumstance than her. She'd had the blessings of a somewhat stable, happy, wealthy family, while he'd been stuck with a poor father who'd gotten knocked up time and time again and then abandoned. This poor creature had suffered so much while she'd turned against him, against someone who was a victim in all this. Instead of supporting him, she'd held a position in solidarity with her pathetic, perverted, gay ass excuse for a husband.

But not anymore. Studying Russia for just a moment longer, she made up her mind. It was a very small decision- one more out of obligation than a sudden switch in moral allegiance- but she still felt very proud of herself as she leaned very close to Russia's ear, and squawked, "GET UP!"

Russia awoke with a yelp, scrambling up and nearly tripping over himself, blue-grey eyes wide as he stared up at her. France smiled innocently, gazing down at him almost fondly, "You didn't have breakfast."

Russia blinked, "N-No… sorry…?"

"Do you want something to eat?"

Russia stared up at her, eyes huge, "Y-Yes please…"

She beamed, wings fluffing out as she gazed down at him with soft, pale blue eyes, "Well take a shower first. You're covered in sweat."

Was she mocking him again? What was this?? He blinked with alarm, turning quickly to his duffel bag and grabbing his shower, "Uh… where should I…?"

"Come on-" She reached out a hand, "I haven't even given you a tour of the house yet, silly me. You must think I'm a horrible hostess."

Well really, Russia was a bit more off-put about the whole calling his dad a whore thing than not receiving a personal home tour, but… he wasn't really going to complain. The chicken woman seemed to be in a good mood right now. She'd also been in the bedroom before he woke up.

… had she been watching him sleep?

Dazed, he accepted her hand and blinked stupidly as she remarked on how tall he was, seeming more relieved by his relative height than anything. His dad had also been taller than most people expected. He remembered that clearly. Sometimes people mistook him for a predator-hybrid, a bear because of his ears-

"You'll probably be spending a lot of time in this room- America's bedroom, but there's no reason you shouldn't be familiar with the rest of this house." She chattered cheerfully, gesturing around as they stepped into the hall, "Right besides America's room is the room that Canada and New Zealand share. Across, is Australia's room. And at the end of the hall is Britain's room. You'll probably want to stay away from there. We have two bathrooms upstairs- and another downstairs by where my room is. You'll probably want to use this bathroom- it has a nice sized shower. Did you bring your own soap and shampoo? What about a change of clothes? Yes, run back and grab them- you can take a shower while I get something ready for you to eat-"

By the time that Russia had finished cleaning himself up (more than half the time dedicated to trying to figure out how to turn the shower on and turn the water warm), France had settled in the kitchen, waiting for him with a plate of leftover scrambled eggs, pancakes, and some of the pasta she'd made for lunch.

Russia was already disoriented from wandering around the house on his own. When he awkwardly made his way down the stairs, he passed by America's siblings- who glanced up at him with complete hostility (except Canada who just looked concerned). Once he glanced around confusedly and found the kitchen, he awkwardly met France's gaze.

"Uh.. thanks."

France beamed, fluffing out her wings, "Of course, mon cher. Sit down and eat- I'm sure that America will be very upset if he hears you didn't leave the room for so long."

Was that what this was about? Staying on her son's good side? Did she still hate him, and now she was playing the gracious hostess to make sure he didn't say anything bad to America? Eyeing her with more suspicion than was probably warranted, Russia carefully took a seat at the kitchen island. He was immediately distracted by the fancy marble top, and rows of glass jars and cute containers of spices, and the vase of flowers blooming splendidly at the center of the island. He was 95% sure that the flowers were fake, but they still looked pretty and that was all that mattered.

Even though he didn't entirely trust France, there was a fairly good chance that the food wasn't poisoned, and even if it was, he'd rather die with a stomach full of pancakes and scrambled eggs than live a day longer while hungry and wretched. So, with absolutely no degree of cautiousness, he reached out for a pancake- blinking as France nudged a fork and knife in his direction. Right…

"Sorry." He mumbled, awkwardly sticking his fork into the pancake and sawing a chunk off, clonking the knife onto his plate and awkwardly bringing the fork to his mouth.

France looked somewhat scandalized, but still managed a tight smile, "No problem at all, dear. You just need to learn, that's all."

Russia swallowed, considering. He didn't particularly want to learn how to eat while dirtying as many utensils and plates as possible in order to increase the inconvenience of whatever poor chap was meant to wash the dishes- but while he was here, it probably wasn't worth it to trigger anymore disdain from his… in-laws. So he offered a quick nod, taking another bite, "… This is good. Thank you." It didn't even compare to the pancakes his dad made. These were thicker- fluffier, but besides the amber liquid he didn't want to touch, there was no jam or butter to spread over them and roll them up with. He doubted these short chubby pancakes would be able to withstand being rolled up anyways. Still, they didn't taste bad-

France gazed at him gently, "Have you ever had pancakes before?"

"Uh…" Russia blinked, "Yes?"

France nodded, giving him a pitying look, as if she didn't believe him, as if she thought that poor people didn't eat anything except canned beans and stale bread. But he wasn't going to complain as his stomach growled, awakened by its first tastes of food in half a day and demanding even more. He would have probably chomped down half the plate if the necessity of a fork and knife- and France staring at him like an old lady feeding a stray kitten- weren't slowing him down so much.

Before he could move on to the scrambled eggs, eyeing the bright, sunny, fluffy blobs with a look of genuine intrigue- his ears pricked at the sound of a key jiggling in the doorknob. He turned back just as he heard the door slam open. Before he could even try standing and peeking over, France had stood in a single smooth motion and was already halfway to the livingroom.

"You're home." She said crisply as Britain and America stepped through the door, "How was work?"

"It was so hard!" America whined at once, speaking over Britain who'd attempted saying something, "And stressful! I'm tired!"

France gave him a puzzled look, since Britain had been complaining since the beginning of times that America never did anything at work, but she offered her son a pat on the back, "Russia is in the kitchen."

America perked up at once, "He is? You didn't like- kill him or anything, right? I'm not gonna step in there and find cat soup or something."

France sighed, "Just go to the kitchen, dear, your father has something boring to talk to me about."

America stuck out his tongue, but didn't pursue the conversation any longer- kicking off his shoes and tossing his sunglasses onto the coffee table at the home's entrance, narrowly avoiding striking the vase of fake lilies.

Britain glanced down at France, "Will dinner be ready for nine people?"

"Yes, I have all the ingredients prepped, I'll start cooking in an hour or so."

"… good."

"How was work?"

"You already asked."

"You didn't reply."

"America spoke over me." Britain cleared his throat, looking away, "Work was fine. The company is running smoothly."

"How's Denmark?"

Britain blinked- before scowling and looking away, seeming more embarrassed and defensive than anything, like a child caught playing with a toy in the presence of someone more mature and uninterested in such trivial entertainment, "He's… well. He works very hard, you know. He's a good man."

"I know." France said coolly, "Nothing like me. A poor, worthless woman who does nothing but the exceptionally easy work of keeping an entire house spotlessly clean and preparing five course meals three times a day since you refuse to trust any servants."

Britain rolled his eyes, brushing past her and towards the livingroom, "What has gotten into you lately? Is the cat-boy pissing you off that much? I get that it's boring to be cooped up in home all day- but you can go shopping or something if the house is in good shape. Take the kids out somewhere before school, I don't know and don't care- keep yourself entertained however you want with whatever money you want as long as the house and kids are fine, and as long as I don't have to hear your bitching anymore." He didn't stop as he headed upstairs, France following him with a very intense side-eye, "Honestly, what does it take to keep someone like you satisfied anyways? I go to work everyday, make all the money you could want, provide a beautiful house and food and all you have to do is take care of a few kids- I don't know, maybe raise them to be a bit responsible and smart- and cook some food. You got the rich husband you probably spent your life preparing for, and I'll be the bigger person and admit that you've been a perfectly decent wife so far- you've done what you were supposed to, and I am grateful for that, but I've been fulfilling my job just fine as well! I don't care if your stupid prey-hybrid hormones make you think this is all horrible and unfair, just recognize that your emotions are exaggerated and senseless and don't bother me with them!"

France blinked calmly at him as he suddenly whirled around, glaring at her accusingly, "And why are you still here?"

"You were talking to me. I assumed you would be more mad if I ignored you and left."

Britain scowled, "I wasn't talking to you, I was ranting about you, and you don't ever seem to listen to what I say, so why even pretend to at this point? Just get out of my room and work on dinner or something."

France was happy enough to step out of his room- but not before giving the space a quick glance around. It had been years since she'd been in his room for anything besides cleaning, been in his room at the same time as him- and it was admittedly strange to see framed family photos, the bed she'd once shared with him, the vase of fake roses- and Britain in front of them.

As she headed downstairs, she was pleasantly surprised to see all of her children together. Australia and Canada had abandoned their devices and were sitting on the floor, New Zealand on the sofa besides Russia and America. Zea seemed to be asking Russia about his ears and tail- poking them and gesturing wildly as he laughed and explained something. America was gazing at Russia like he was the most beautiful thing he'd seen in his life, pale blue eyes swarming with intense adoration, Australia shooting him a nearly nauseated look.

"Mommy!!" New Zealand scampered up, eyes wide, her kiwi wings ruffled, "Russia has ears! And he can move them!!"

France blinked down at her, offering a small pat to the top of her head, "Yes dear, people tend to be able to move parts of their body."

"His tail is so fluffy!!! It's like having a pet!"

"Zea, no-"

"I wanna keep him forever!!!!!!"

America scowled, protectively curling around Russia who stared with obvious bemusement- Australia feigning disinterest as his hand discreetly batted at the tip of Russia's dangling tail. Canada pushed himself off the carpet to stand up, dusting his hands off, "Mom? Is there anything you need help with?"

France beamed, nodding towards the kitchen, "Yes dear, sorry but dinner will be a bit bigger than normal- it would be a huge help if you could join me in the kitchen. And, America?"

America blinked, glancing up, his arms still wrapped around Russia, "Huh?"

"Keep an eye on your little siblings, will you?"

"But they're- like- teenagers!"

"You don't even know my age." Australia said flatly, "You are a horrible brother."

"Whatever!" America huffed, "They're way too old to need babysitting!"

"They don't need babysitting." France replied smoothly as she nudged Canada towards the kitchen, "But I think you'd like to prevent Australia from pulling off Russia's tail."

America blinked- glancing down and spotting Australia stroking Russia's tail with a mesmerized look, "Hey! Stop touching my mate!" He snapped, grabbing Russia's tail and swiping it away- earning an alarmed yelp.

"But it's so soft! I wanna touch it!"

"You have feathers, go touch yourself!"

"Blegh! You're so weird! I'm telling dad you told me to touch myself!"

"You're the one making it weird, weirdo! Go to your room!"

"Nuh uh, you're not mom! You can't make me!"

America carefully pushed Russia away- before hurling himself down to the carpet towards Australia, the kite-hybrid screaming as he was tackled and pinned down. New Zealand blinked, crawling back onto the sofa besides Russia and curling up besides him, Russia quietly petting her hair as they watched America attempt murder.

No one had exactly told him anything, but- from France's words of a bigger dinner than normal, and her conversation with Britain when he first stepped in, he'd realized by now that his family was coming. Dinner for nine… France and Britain was two, America and his siblings four… six, with him it was seven (and he assumed he was being fed again), so… two people. It was pretty obvious who was coming… Soviet and Ukraine.

He wanted to see his family. Of course he did. But maybe… maybe his family as in the adorable herd of screeching siblings he could snuggle up and tussle with and try to control… and not his dad and short-tempered brother. Really, he wondered what they thought. This wasn't entirely expected. Yes, it was commonplace for a prey-hybrid to be simply plucked off the side of the street, chosen on a whim and swept away, but… he wasn't exactly the most desirable prey-hybrid, and that had been an image he'd maintained with the greatest purpose. Honestly, he'd expected to finish up school and find work somewhere, support the family, take care of Soviet, never worry about all this mate business.

Now that he was here… he'd never wanted to be in this situation, but dammit if America was the most harmless, adorable predator-hybrid ever and his siblings were surprisingly cute and friendly, and his mom was an absolute menace day one but had somehow turned into a nice chicken woman overnight… He just couldn't hate being here. But Soviet would. After a life of warning Russia away from predator-hybrids, a life of cautionary tales and fear and very loud scratching noises on their door in the middle of the night. And Ukraine... Well...

Honestly, Russia hoped that he would feel bad? Try to protect him? Maybe insist that he returned. Wouldn't that be something, Ukraine standing up and declaring, "Russia, as much as I've complained about your cooking and how lazy and gloomy you are, you're still my brother and I love-" No… that wasn't right. "- and I have an obligation as your brother to take care of you! So I shall do whatever it takes to save you from this unjust union, and take you back home! The family wouldn't be the same without you! Who else would constantly babysit 13 children and wake up early to make breakfast for everyone and keep records of whatever scarce money we have and try to buy enough food for everyone with it who do nothing but roll their eyes at receiving nothing but complaints for all their efforts and-" Okay, now he was just ranting. But still! Ukraine would definitely be angry he'd been forced into this, would demand him back if just to continue doing the chores- and then America would push back! Insist that Russia was his mate, and… and then what if they fought?

Russia blinked, a bit dazed as he imagined his brother and mate in the most cliche, yet heart-fluttering of fights, fighting over him. He ignored the sound of America viciously slamming a cushion into Australia's face, his brain swarming with visions of the an utterly primitive, yet oddly enticing combat. But then again, that would probably just end with Ukraine getting kicked out of the house like a misbehaving pet, and Soviet having to awkwardly apologize. Plus, Russia really wasn't sure if America could fight. Glancing over at him now, watching his limbs thrash about irregularly, punching and pushing without any apparent thought… Ukraine would tear him into tiny pieces. And he wasn't entire sure if he wanted to see America turned into a mess of shredded flesh and broken bones. Okay, he definitely didn't want to. But there were still so many factors to consider… he wanted to go home, of course, wanted to see his family again, but if America really planned to move out with him then he could be near his family and be in a decent home with his own life, and send money to his family and… and be with a silly, sweet, easily flustered potato of a predator-hybrid. And that really wasn't a horrible way to live.

By the time that America and Australia were out of breath, the air was just starting to grow warm with whatever France and Canada were cooking. Shouldn't he go help? He was a prey-hybrid too… So what? That didn't mean he was about to resign himself to a life of servitude but… he was going to eat too. Wasn't it just decency to help prepare food? Russia flicked his ear thoughtfully. Would France welcome him being in the kitchen anyways? Well… with the ridiculous amount of tiny meals she had to make, she probably needed all the help she could get.

Well then, that was settled. Russia carefully nudged New Zealand away, watching curiously as she flopped onto her side and screeched, wings ruffling viciously. He stood up, heading towards the kitchen- and grabbing America's arm along the way.

"Russia! Hey I- wait what- where are we going?" America yelped as he was dragged off towards the kitchen, digging his heels in the ground, "Russia what are you doing-?"

Russia stopped at the kitchen's entrance, peering in uncertainly. Canada and France were clearly in a world of their own, both dressed in matching aprons and busy kneading dough, chopping potatoes, and blending some kind of sauce.

America perked up, "Are we here to taste test?"

"No." Russia said flatly, "We're here to help your mom cook."

America drew back as if burned, "Huh?? But I can't cook, that's her job! And I just got back from work so I'm tired and-"

"You were perfectly fine with attacking your brother a few minutes ago. Are you really too tired to help her chop a few vegetables or fry something?"

America fidgeted, looking away, "I've never really- uh- cooked anything before. What if the fire touches me?"

"The fire's not going to touch you, America."

"Well what if I cut my hand off???"

"You're not going to cut your hand off, America. Maybe a few fingers, but that's a worthy sacrifice for you to learn how to cook."

By now, France had noticed them- glancing over with a confused look. She wiped her hands on a towel, stepping uncertainly towards them, "What's wrong?"

America blinked- before sniffling loudly, "I don't wanna cut my fingers off…"

"What???"

"What America means to say-" Russia interjected, "Is that we want to help with cooking. If there's… anything you want some extra hands with."

France perked up, eyes shining with a hint of surprise- before a smile crossed her features, "Of course I need help, I'm cooking for nine today! We're making gougères, Salade Lyonnaise, Potage Parmentier, Boeuf Bourguignon, and for dessert, a Tarte Tatin."

Russia stared at her blankly, "… what."

France sighed, "Cheese puffs, salad, leek and potato soup, beef, and an upside down caramelized apple tart."

America stepped back, "Well- that sounds very complicated, and like something my inexperienced self would just get in the way of, so… I'll just be… going…"

"Oh, of course dear, you don't need to help- go rest-" France started, Russia grabbing America's arm.

"Nope. Get back here, you're helping with something." He insisted, America whining in distress.

"Mama-"

"Don't bring your mom into this, get your ass in the kitchen and find something to do."

"He can help me with the salad." Canada suddenly interrupted, "I just need to make some croutons and poach these eggs."

America sniffled, "Isn't poaching illegal?"

"Not to eggs, now get over here." Canada sighed, guiding America to the back of the kitchen, where he was busy cutting a baguette into cubes for croutons.

France blinked, "He doesn't need to help…"

"Yes he does." Russia said flatly, "Everyone should know how to cook."

"He won't need to cook…"

"What, you think I'm going to do all the cooking for him?"

France blinked, "Yes? You- you're supposed to-"

"Well I might be the worst son-in-law ever, because I'm not going to be doing all the cooking and cleaning for him. He needs to at least how to do the bare necessities for survival on his own. And cooking isn't even that bad, it's fun."

France stared at him blankly- before handing over an apron, "… you know how to make soup?"

"Give me the recipe and I'll figure it out."

In the background, Canada shouted something as America impaled a baguette with a tiny paring knife, trying to saw into it. Russia was starting to wonder whether France wanted him out of the kitchen because she really thought it wasn't his responsibility to cook- or to avoid the imminent disaster that occurred when he was in the presence of a multitude of knives and fires.

Still, things did settle down- Russia humming as he poured stock over the simmering butter, leeks, and potatoes, skimming off any foam and checking the recipe, "20-25 minutes?"

"25 usually. Then check the potatoes with a fork to make sure they're tender." France called, busy checking on the braised beef, "And Canada dear, how's the tart coming along?"

"In the oven!" America called from where he was sitting on the counter, nursing a bandaged hand (he'd attempted slicing the apples in his hands like Canada instead of using a cutting board), "Taste testing the vanilla icecream!" New Zealand- who'd also wandered into the kitchen- reached for the icecream with a whine, earning a hiss from America, "Hey, I worked for this! You wait for dinner!"

Even Australia had been set to work arranging a variety of pastries- madeleines, Palmiers, and mini eclairs- on a set of fancy plates, apparently bearing the same affinity for taste testing as America.

"Time?" France called.

"Seven forty!" Canada replied, "I think they're coming around eight- we may need to stay in the kitchen for a bit longer since the soup and tart are still finishing-"

France sighed, "Okay dear- I need to greet the guests, and Russia should see his family when they arrive. Do you think you and America can handle the rest?"

"Yup!" Canada replied cheerfully, America pouting and putting down his spoon, New Zealand clawing at the tub of icecream.

Russia leaned over the pot of soup, a small smile crossing his features. It had been a while since he'd cooked for so many, or with so many- and there really wasn't a better feeling than a kitchen filled with warmth and good smells, with other voices and people focused on creating delicious, filling meals for everyone, time disappearing with chopping and stirring and slicing and frying. Even America seemed to be enjoying himself, slowly stirring the silky mashed potatoes and adding an unhealthy amount of butter, Canada briefly intervening to add salt and grated nutmeg.

"This looks so good-" America mumbled, a smile crossing his features as he added one last slice of butter, stirring it in.

"Food always tastes better when you make it yourself." Canada said with a small smile, America considering.

"I dunno, food's tasted fine so far and I haven't done anything." He retorted, though he still directed an adoring look at his mashed potatoes.

As things calmed down in the kitchen, France slipped off her apron, peering in a mirror to fix her hair and practice polite expressions she clearly hadn't saved for Russia's first day here.

"America?" Britain's voice was distant, almost foggy through the warm, hazy air in the kitchen. America ignored him, busy lapping cheerfully at a spoon of his mashed potatoes, ignoring his burning tongue, "America, where are you??"

Upon noticing that America had no intention of leaving his spot on the counter, or his mashed potatoes, France stepped out with a sigh, "What is it, dear?"

"Where's America? I need to speak with him about work."

"He's in the kitchen."

"Why is he in the kitchen?"

"He… helped with the cooking."

"What? Why would he-?"

Finally sensing that things were about to go south, America hopped off the counter, spoon still in his mouth, and poked his head out the kitchen, "… bwuh?"

"America, what's going on?" Britain asked, with a tiny hint of desperation, "You were just eating something, right?"

"Yuh." America gave the spoon one last lick, before glancing up, "And I helped make mashed potatoes! I mean- I practically made them all by myself, Canada just told me what to do."

"… why would you cook something?"

"Because Russia said I should help in the kitchen- and now I get to make everything taste like I want it to- mom never puts enough butter in the mashed potatoes."

"Russia? He's making you do this?"

America shrugged, "It was his idea, I mean- is it that big of a deal? Not like I was doing anything else."

"It is a big deal if you're doing something meant for prey-hybrids! What, do you want to be a chicken like your mom?"

America ruffled his eagle wings with obvious offense, France raising an eyebrow as Britain continued, "There are rules about these things, America- it's not your place to be puttering about in the kitchen and tending to food! Next you're going to say you don't want to work, you want to stay home and take care of babies while your mate makes money-"

"I don't even have babies… yet…"

"You know, last week I found a bottle of mascara in your room-"

"Dad! I just wanted to see how it would look…"

"You're turning into some kind of tame!"

"Dad!!!"

Before France could step in to America's rescue, there was a sudden noise that made Britain freeze in his place, eyes wide. The doorbell ringing. They're here…

France yelped, stepping back quickly before running to the dining table, fixing the tablecloth, "Australia, bring the cookies! Now! New Zealand, get two pitchers of water- Russia, is the timer for the soup up yet?"

Britain shot one, final, suspicious look at America before clearing his throat, pushing his hair back, and slowly approaching the door.

"Well hello there, it's nice to meet- … you." Britain trailed off, smile fading. Facing him was a tall, broad-shouldered prey-hybrid of alarming size, wearing a fluffy brown ushanka and trench coat, his red skin and piercing golden eyes making it impossible to mistake him for anyone else. Besides him was a male lynx-hybrid, pale grey eyes strikingly familiar, expression cold and haughty, "… oh."

Slowly, Soviet lifted a single hand in an odd cross between a wave and a half-surrender, "… Britain. Hello."

.

.

.

"Wow! It really is a… small world, huh?" France gushed, chattering as she hurried between the kitchen and the table. Soviet and Ukraine had been seated, Britain across from them, giving Soviet the same look a mathematician would give an especially puzzling problem. A look of complete, and utter confusion.

Soviet, for his part, simply sat there and offered a meek, nervous smile, blinking far too fast and far too often, "It's nice to see you again. Uh… it seems…" His gaze hesitantly darted around the room, "You've been doing well since college."

"… yeah." Britain stared, mentally adding, You clearly haven't…

France couldn't help but smirk, a pleased trill going through her at the glorious sight of this. Soviet, that rich brat who always had those German twins drooling over him, had ended up like this? Single and poor and rearing more than a dozen children? After so confidently chasing all his dreams in college, trying to get a degree, blah blah blah- he hadn't ended up better than her, somewhere in a mansion with a doting spouse and his own career- he'd ended up even worse than her!

Her selfish, spite-fueled celebration was quickly cut short when she stepped back into the kitchen and spotted Russia's nervous look as he sat at the counter besides America, "… Russia, what's wrong, dear? Aren't you going to say hello to your family?"

Russia fidgeted, looking away hesitantly, "… I don't know if they want to see me. Ukraine might be mad that- I won't be helping around the house anymore, and that I got chosen, and dad might be scared for me, or- or…" He stared at his hands, "… You guys might. Be mean to him."

France blinked, "Oh?"

Russia managed a scowl as he leaned against America, ignoring the eagle-hybrid's proud look at being chosen for support, the same status that would have otherwise been appointed to a wall or cushion, "Everything you guys said to me on my first day here- that sucked, okay? You and your…. husband thing were… rude, and I don't care if I sound like a little kid complaining about being bullied, but that was just wrong. I don't care that much since I've heard worse all the time at school, but- if my dad gets talked down like that again, he… he's more sensitive than me, he's seen a lot worse, too. I don't think he could handle it. Being in a fancy place like this, with a million rules and people looking down on him, mocking him, saying all this shit about him to his face- and for the record, Ukraine will probably also lose his shit, but in a very different way that will end with someone getting scratched or bitten."

France flinched, wings ruffling with alarm, "Your brother bites people?"

"If he's mad, then yeah- don't look so pleased because he's proving one of your weird stereotypes, none of my other siblings bite people." Russia paused, considering, "Except Moldova. And dad bites, sometimes, but- we have people to bite, okay?"

France sighed, suddenly looking a lot more tired, "I can assure you that… even if we were rather rude to you, your father will be granted proper decency as a guest. I'm fairly certain that Britain was on friendly terms with him during-" France paused, considering, "… oh, that's not good. That's not good at all."

Russia raised an eyebrow, "What?"

France waved a hand dismissively, "Nothing, go out and greet your family. America, you too, make a good impression on them. And it's dinner time for everyone, not just for our guests. Australia this isn't an excuse to hide in the kitchen and eat cookies- I told you to bring those to the table!"

As Russia turned to the door, about to step out into the livingroom, he couldn't help but be seized with… awkwardness. Hesitance, like he was almost embarrassed to step out there and see his own father and brother. He didn't know how they felt about this, didn't know what he could realistically expect from them- in some way, he felt like it was his fault that they were here, his fault that he'd been claimed and now his dad was probably about to be mocked and degraded, regardless of whatever France said. They were all here in a place where they were looked down on, just because he was powerless and stupid and… what would he do? When he walked out and saw them again? What would he say? How could he face them again? He felt like a stranger, dammit, like he was a different person now that he'd been claimed, and it had barely been two days and he already felt alien, because the Russia he knew two days ago, the Russia his family had known for all his life, would have refused and fought back and cursed and denied everything instead of just giving in. He supposed that meant no one really knew the real him. Not even he knew how… pathetic and complacent he really could be.

"Russia?" America's hand appeared on his shoulder, Russia briefly flinching away, "Are we going out to see them?"

Russia blinked, "Oh- yeah. Sure."

"So… uh…" America blinked as Russia didn't move towards the door, "Your family. That's cool. I know you said you don't really get along with them… and your brother doesn't like you, but. Everything's fine with them, right? Like… they're not that bad?"

"Not really."

America stared at Russia, looking almost concerned, before squeezing his hand, "Russia, if you don't want to see them again, then that's fine. You can count on me, just tell me if they've ever hurt you, and I'll go out there and tell them to fuck off and-"

Russia froze, "You think my family's abused me or something??"

America blinked, before shrugging sheepishly, "You said you don't like them that much, and you're clearly…. very angry and closed off and traumatized by something that happened-"

"I'm not traumatized, I just have a short temper around idiots!"

"Wait, so- your family hasn't done anything bad to you?"

"No! My little siblings are a bit annoying, and we did get smacked around a bit as kids, but nothing serious. Next time before you build me a tragic backstory in your head, ask me first, okay?"

America perked up, "You don't mind talking to me about that stuff?" He asked hopefully- Russia blinking, glancing down at their intertwined hands before clearing his throat and looking away.

"I guess we're mates now, so you might as well know. And… I should probably prevent any more misunderstandings, before you stomp out and slap my dad in the face because of some fantasy backstory you made for me."

America laughed, before gripping his hand tighter, "Okay- ready to go?"

Russia sighed, offering a small smile and stepping outside. He was immediately stunned by the sight of Soviet's large frame seated awkwardly on his chair as he munched on cookies- Ukraine rolling his eyes as their father chatted, seeming almost… friendly with Britain, who for his part, gazed at Soviet with something close to intrigue, eyes shining as he spoke.

Ukraine was the first to glance up and notice him- grey eyes darting down to America, who swallowed and gripped Russia's hand tighter. Ukraine stood up suddenly, Britain flinching as someone left the table during dinner, surely that wasn't allowed!, before storming up to Russia, "Oy! Get your hands off him, birdbrain!" Ukraine scowled, swiping at America's hand, earning a yelp as he flinched away and relinquished his grip on Russia's hand.

"Ukraine!" Russia huffed, "Say hello first."

Ukraine gave him an incredulous look, "What the hell happened? The school called and said you'd been claimed, and then these uppity bastards-" He jutted his thumb back at an offended Britain, "-invited us over for dinner. That whiny bird thing claimed you?"

America blinked, "A-Am I the whiny bird thing?"

Ukraine scowled, "What, is there another title you prefer?"

"My name. America."

"That's a dumb name." Ukraine said flatly, "Suits you. Anyways-" He grabbed Russia's arm, "We're leaving."

"Hey, wait, what?" Russia yelped, digging his heels into the ground, tail fluffing with alarm, "Ukraine, a- at least- have… food… first." He stammered. Did Ukraine mean that he wanted to leave, or that he wanted to leave with Russia? America looked upset, stepping closer to him almost protectively- Britain was watching, why couldn't Ukraine just be quiet and sit down, and-

"Amuse-bouche!" France declared cheerfully, in a nearly sing-song voice as she appeared with a tray of the little puffy cheese balls, setting them on the table with a flourish. Ukraine blinked, sniffing the air- pupils dilating, tufted ears pricking sharply- before he scowled and let go of Russia, stalking back to his seat, flopping down, and grabbing a gougère. Britain stared with alarm as he viciously bit into it, sharp teeth tearing into the soft, soufflé-like pastry with ease.

He considered it for a moment, before flicking his ear, unimpressed, "It's half air. Where's the rest of dinner?"

Soviet blinked, "Ukraine, be polite."

Ukraine offered a middle finger, Britain gasping- France nearly giggling, Russia shooting her an annoyed look. As nice as she could act, that chicken derived no greater pleasure from anything than people fulfilling stereotypes and being worse than her.

"Ukraine, this nice family is offering you food, why do you have to be so-" Soviet started, Ukraine immediately interrupting.

"They kidnapped Russia!"

"They did not kidnap him!" Soviet sighed- before giving Russia a tired smile, "Hello, Russia."

"… hi dad." Russia mumbled, taking a seat across from him.

"Is everything okay? You're being treated fine?"

Russia nodded, blue-grey eyes wide. America took a seat besides him- Soviet's golden eyes instantly locking onto him, studying him rapidly as if sizing him up, trying to figure out if he was a threat, someone harsh and harmful that could hurt Russia. Apparently, he decided against it as he watched America reach eagerly for a pastry- hand smacked away by Britain as he sniffled and pouted. The eagle-hybrid was like a child, soft and emotional and easy to read. Russia didn't seem particularly uncomfortable around him, and he didn't look like someone that intended to, or even had the capacity to physically harm him. Soviet narrowed his eyes, studying America's teeth as he munched cheerfully on a cookie he'd managed to swipe away. They were mostly flat except his front canines- normal person teeth. His only animal features seemed to be his wings, which were folded consciously by his side to avoid bumping into anyone, feathers fluffing out with pleasure as he reached the jelly-center of the cookie.

By now, Soviet's gaze was frozen on America, eyes almost blank, expression considerably resembling his hybrid species more than usual. It was normal for him to be mistaken, at first glance, as a bear- especially when he had his hat off as he did now, when his round ears and large, bulky frame were visible. Even acknowledging his timid demeanor, there were few that could immediately recognize him for what he was. A lemming-hybrid.

Britain cleared his throat, Soviet flinching and glancing back at him, eyes wide. He blinked as Britain nudged a plate of cookies closer to him, like an offering, before smiling, "Shall we continue our conversation now that the kids are situated?"

New Zealand, Canada, and Australia had taken their seats as well, France triumphantly seated besides America to enjoy the show. The show would have been far more enjoyable if Britain hadn't been intent on continuing his previous train of thought, "So… you've had, how many children again?"

Soviet fidgeted, before glancing down at the cookies and taking one, seeming content to trade his words for some culinary indulgent, "Fifteen."

Britain's eyes brightened with interest, watching almost dotingly as he munched on the butter cookies with a vacant look in his eyes, "I've known many prey-hybrids who could barely reach ten before having all sorts of health issues- do you think it has to do with species? Have you had any children recently?"

Soviet swallowed, considering, "Not for a few years."

"Did you stop because you couldn't have anymore, or-?"

"I'm not sure. I just tried to stay away from predator-hybrids for a while." Soviet admitted, Britain perking up.

"So you think you could have more?" He asked, Ukraine raising an eyebrow.

Soviet nodded, offering a small shrug, "I don't see why not. Having babies isn't hard."

Britain studied his broad, strong frame- glancing briefly at Frane's more slim, fragile form with obvious disdain, "It would appear so, for you at least. And how many per litter have you had?"

Soviet took another butter cookie, "Depends on… who I had them with, but. The most I had was five."

Britain's eyes shone, "Five in one litter? Fascinating- and I've heard a… similar rumor, of course don't take me as someone who believes in everything I hear, but- is it true that cat-hybrids can have as many as six children in one litter?"

Russia choked on his water, America's wings fluttering with alarm as he coughed- hesitantly patting his back and watching the cat-hybrid wheeze and gasp, eyes wide.

"Nuh uh!" New Zealand suddenly shouted, "If someone's choking, you can't pat them! You gotta whap the water out so they don't die!" She screeched, smacking Russia's back and sending him into another coughing fit.

Britain gave her a proud look, before turning back to Soviet, "Well?"

"I- uh-" Soviet blinked, glancing at Russia nervously, "I mean- I don't see why it wouldn't be possible." Russia gave him a betrayed look.

Britain hummed, seeming pleased- France standing up sharply with a scowl, "I'll get the salad ready."

"Salad?" Ukraine wrinkled his nose, "Isn't that just leaves and stuff?"

"It has eggs and lardons in it!" America sniffed, "You clearly don't know anything about saladie lie-yo-nays!"

"America, it's salade lyonnaise." Canada murmured. He was ignored.

"What the hell is a lardon?" Ukraine scoffed, "Have you people never heard of chicken or beef?"

"It's pig fat! And it tastes good!" America insisted, Ukraine rolling his eyes and slouching back in his seat. Britain gave him a cold look, like he was a bug that he would have squashed if he hadn't been too disgusted to approach it.

When France finally brought out the salad, the table fell into surprising silence. Everyone ate quietly- briefly sneaking glances at eachother, but wisely deciding not to say anything. At least until America apparently had enough of Ukraine glaring bullets into his skull, "Hey Russia-" He said, making a show of tapping Russia's shoulder and learning against him, earning a low growl from Ukraine, "I think your brother really wants to say something to me, he's been staring at me this entire time. How about you introduce us to eachother?"

Russia blinked, "Oh, right, I haven't done any introducing- sorry. Uh… That's my dad, Soviet, and my brother. Ukraine. Dad, Ukraine, this is America- he's my.. uh…" Russia trailed off, Ukraine scoffing and meeting America's gaze.

"How old are you?" He asked, America blinking.

"Me?" America furrowed his brows as Ukraine confirmed with a sharp nod, "That's a. Weird thing to ask someone you've just met. No greetings, no nice to meet you?" He asked, managing a small laugh.

Ukraine scowled, "Stop being stupid and trying to act funny and likeable. I asked you a question. Are you a child, or do you just act and look like one?"

America's wings ruffled at once, eyes flashing, "Hey, I'm an adult, okay? And so what if I'm being nice, you're acting all rude, I haven't even done anything to you!"

"Haven't done anything to me? Of course you'd think that, you stupid rich fuck. I bet you haven't worked a day in your life, or even had a single independent thought. There's probably nothing behind your freaky pale eyes except entitlement and cravings for weird rich people food like caviar and duck liver!"

America wailed, "I've never eaten a duck liver before, and I don't want to! Russia, tell your brother to stop being a bully!"

Russia slowly lowered his face into the palms of his hands and mentally screamed.

"Seriously? Making a prey-hybrid stand up for you? You can't even defend yourself against words, and you think you have any right to take my brother for yourself??"

"Ukraine, stop-" Russia started.

"Is that why you're so angry at me?" America crossed his arms, "Russia said that he doesn't even like you guys that much!" Russia choked again, giving America a desperate cue to shut up, "He's suffered so much living with- so many siblings, and being so poor, and I'm just trying to offer him a better life-"

"A better life??? Have you even asked him what he wants? Given him a choice? You're kidnapping him!"

"It's not kidnapping!" Britain and America protested at the same time, before exchanging a confused look.

"Bullshit." Ukraine muttered- France finally slamming her hands against the table.

When everyone turned to look at her, she blinked nervously, "Can you please stop cursing?"

"Why? Is my language too crude for a bunch of fancy pricks like you, in your cushy, white picket fenced house, with your fancy tablecloths and curtains, and…." Ukraine gestured vaguely at the candelabra at the center of the table, "Weird fake gold candle things-"

France perked up, "That's real gold, actually."

"Then don't mind if I do-" He picked up the candelabra, Britain furrowing his brows.

"What are you doing?"

"Ever hard of dowry? You're taking my brother away- I have enough questions about that- but first of all, what the hell are we getting out of this?"

Britain blinked, "Why should we give you anything? He's just a prey-hybrid."

Ukraine raised an eyebrow, "Uh huh? Just like that little goose over there?" He pointed at Canada who let out a nervous squawk.

"M-Me?"

"Yeah, guess what." Ukraine leaned across the table, gazing down coldly at Canada, "You're my mate now."

The entire table erupted into chaos and furious shouts, France turning pale, Soviet reaching for another eclair.

"I mean- he's just a prey-hybrid, right?" Ukraine smirked, "And with my dear brother gone, and my poor, weak, pathetic excuse for a father growing old, we need someone to cook and clean. At least I'll put him to good use instead of using him as eye candy or an incubator for a bunch of babies no one needs."

"You're not marrying my son!" Britain snapped.

"Your son is marrying my brother!"

"Ukraine, stop it, you don't even care about me!" Russia protested.

"Who the hell said that?" Ukraine scoffed, "I care about you, you pathetic little cat. Now get your ass up and come home, you're not going to be some pet for these rich brats just because they have money and weird food. They didn't let me take the goose, that means refusal is an option, so refuse and let me take you home."

America let out a distressed noise, somewhere between a whine and a chirp, before grabbing Russia's arm, "Pleaaaase, please don't go!!!"

Britain scoffed, eyeing the pathetic display of his heir- before glancing over at Canada, "Fine. You can have him."

Ukraine blinked, "… what?"

Canada's face slipped for the first time, from silent, expressionless obedience to a look of complete horror, "WHAT??"

Britain shrugged, offering a tight smile, "It's about time you stopped leeching off the family anyways. You were going to get married at some point, why not just go now and get it over with? Doesn't matter if the family's poor- it's not like I'd need to ask for money from in-laws anyways."

Canada sputtered, "B-But papa, you- I… I don't want to-"

Ukraine cleared his throat, "Can I… can I just have Russia? I really didn't-"

"Britannia!!!" France finally wailed, "You are not giving my son away based on the ludicrous, impulsive demands of some poor slum boy!"

Britain slammed his hands on the table, standing up sharply, "When did I ask for your permission?? When has it ever been your choice? Shut up and get back in the kitchen!"

France reeled back, eyes wide. Ukraine blinked awkwardly, still holding the candelabra. Soviet hesitantly chewed on his third eclair. Britain turned with a strained smile to a tearful Canada, who was on the brink of sobbing, "Canada. Congratulations. You have a mate now. Take good care of him, as is your duty."

Canada sniffled, "Papa, no, don't let them-"

Britain slammed his hands on the table again, eyes cold, "My patience is up. Just go- you're his now."

Canada stammered, "B-But-"

"This isn't necessary-" Russia started, looking at Canada with obvious concern, "This really isn't-"

"Shut up!" Britain snapped, "Canada, you are a prey-hybrid! This is your duty! Someone expresses interest in you, they claim you as a mate, you shut up and do as they say! This goes for everyone in this house! You!" He pointed at a whimpering Canada. "You!" His finger jutted towards France, who slammed a bowl of soup onto the table. "You!" Soviet blinked with confusion, nibbling at a cream puff. "Not you though, dear." Britain smiled down at New Zealand, "You're just a sweet little girl. I'll find you a lovely mate from a good, rich family." New Zealand beamed and clapped her hands.

Britain whirled around, facing Canada again, "Did you really think you could stay here forever and mooch money off of me for the rest of your life? You are never going to inherit my business, or even work a single job in it. Now get out of this house and go somewhere where you can be useful for once."

"Wait, this really isn't necessary-" Russia started, flinching as Britain turned to him.

"I don't like you. But America does. America is my son and my heir and you will stay here and make him happy, and you don't have a choice!" He ran a hand through his hair, starting to laugh manically, "No one has a choice! You all have to do what I say because I'm in charge and I deserve to be here, I am head of this family and of society and everyone will do what they're supposed to or so help me God, I will not be responsible for whatever I do next."

There was a long, awkward pause of silence. Canada was curled up on his chair, sobbing quietly. Russia stared helplessly at everyone around him, America looking terrified, Ukraine giving them an almost sheepish look.

Britain sighed, rubbing his temple, "Look at this mess. I try so hard to keep everything perfect, to stay calm and kind, and all of you step out of line and run all over the place, so far away that the only way you'll hear and listen to me is if I shout at you and drag you back-" He sighed yet again, before giving Soviet a strained smile, "I've been a horrible host haven't I? I'm quite sorry for that dreadful display. Well- there's no reason to let it ruin dinner, is there? France, bring out the third course-"

The rest of dinner was quiet. No one dared to break the silence. Eyes darted frequently to Canada, who barely ate- France patting his back and murmuring softly to him whenever she passed by him while bringing food to the table. America was frozen, wings limp, eyes wide and unfocused. Ukraine had the grace to look somewhat sheepish as he poked at his mashed potatoes. Britain was the only one who looked perfectly serene and at ease, eating slowly and offering occasional compliments to a despondent France, delicately dabbing at his mouth with a napkin and offering pleasant smiles to anyone who glanced in his direction.

When France cut into the tarte tatin, offering Canada an especially large slice with extra vanilla icecream on top, the goose-hybrid finally broke, resuming his sobbing. Ukraine cleared his throat, looking away awkwardly- Soviet wholly distracted by the dessert in front of him. Britain sighed as he took a bite of the tart. It tasted fine. All the food had been exceptionally well made, France was finally being quiet, everyone had stopped screeching- but Canada was crying, and that irked him. Did he feel bad? A little. But it wasn't as if he was wrong. So what if he didn't want to hand his son over to that ill-mannered lynx-hybrid? If America had the right to claim Russia, Ukraine had the right to claim Canada, and once he applied the rules to everyone fairly, they'd have no choice but to accept their places and fall into line. And of course, Ukraine didn't look like he really wanted to keep Canada- maybe he'd use him to get some money from Britain, and when Britain refused, his son would likely be returned- much more obedient and grateful to him. It was like… a little scare to make him fall into place. Nevermind that Canada had always been rather quiet and obedient, and such a scare was probably more needed for Australia and America.

When everyone had finished eating- or at least put their forks down and pushed their plate away, unable to fully enjoy desert after all the prior drama- Britain took it as a sign that the show was finally over.

He was the first to stand, reaching a hand over the table to Soviet who blinked, accepting it and meekly giving it a shake.

"Uh… thank you for having us over for dinner." Soviet mumbled, eyes wide.

Britain smiled tightly, "Of course, it was my pleasure. Feel free to come by at any time." Please don't.

Soviet smiled and nodded, though he stepped back quickly, glancing down at his hand as if it had been desecrated. He turned to Russia, expression growing a bit more somber, "You're okay?"

Russia sighed dejectedly, "Yes dad, I'm fine here, I promise. If I'm ever not fine, I'll just leave." America snuggled closer to his side, expression almost protective.

"So, uh-" Ukraine edged away from the table and towards the hall that led to the door, still holding the golden candelabra, "Can we go now?"

Britain raised an eyebrow, glancing down at the candelabra, then up at him, "Ukraine."

"… what?"

"You're forgetting something."

Ukraine hesitated- before awkwardly reaching out and gripping the top of Canada's arm, earning a loud sniffle, "Uh… c'mon. Goose. Let's go." Canada stood up shakily- giving France a desperate look as she stared helplessly at her, eyes swarming with tears.

"Goodbye!" Britain beamed cheerfully, waving as Ukraine awkwardly held the candelabra in one hand and Canada's arm in the other, Soviet giving whatever remained of the pastries an almost apologetic look as he stepped away. Britain's maniacal smile didn't slip until the three were led to the entrance hall and shooed out the front door. When the door finally closed, the smile slipped.

He glanced back briefly- at America's stunned face, France turning away from him, New Zealand pouting and staring at the door her brother had disappeared behind. Then, he sighed and stepped past them, heading upstairs, "I'm retiring to my room for the night. Don't bother me."

There was the sound of a door slamming shut and locking, then silence. Dinner was over.