The Winged

Chapter Two

Awoken a mysterious amount of time later by knocking, America’s eyes cracked open. Irritation sparkling under the blue irises. His head still aggressively ached. Perhaps more-so at the small flood of light provided by the world around.

It didn’t help that his back's insistent cramping had worsened.

Annoyed, he took his sunglasses and pushed them onto his face. Aggressively shoving himself off the bed, and regretting it a second later as his body repaid the action with pain

This was going to be ridiculous. He thought as his body protested his now tamed movements.

He'd fallen asleep in his suit.

The once well ironed material was now crumpled. His bags had magically appeared in his room overnight.

He cringed.

Another knock pounded against his door. Annoyance prickled beneath his skin.

"Can you fucking stop?" He questioned swinging open the door before his mouth went agape.

When he opened the door he found himself nearly face to face with two very surprised country humans.

Russia and China. 

He snapped his mouth closed once the original shock wore off. Something in him shifted as he saw China’s wings. The lengthy elegant feathers matching the taller country’s long frame.

They were beautiful. The snow white wings ending in a piercing black.

His lover's much darker wings spread across the red countries back as both of their feathers prickled at the sight of him.

He forced his eyes to narrow, posture stiffening despite the affection bubbling in his chest. 

"Great, I'm guessing you two are a part of my grouping?” He asked sharply. 

Seeing their feathered limbs made his own long for the freedom. Instead the frail appendage’s own feathers were confined and compacted by layers of duct tape and firmly squeezed against his back by the stiff corset material hugging his frame.

It was highly uncomfortable, but highly effective.

“Yes.” Russia's deep voice answered briskly. America wondered if it was simply seeing the twos wings that was making his insides scream for him to get closer to the two, as they didn’t seem to be having the same thing as him, where it felt as though your body was trying to tear you apart trying to go two different ways.

He remembered the first time he’d found out about Russia. The news spread throughout the globe rapidly as Soviet declared the appearance of his son's wings. 

With the weaknesses of being a winged, there were also strengths, including support from the other bound country, and the status that came with it. The winged seemed to only come from more powerful nations, and therefore their existence in your family established you even farther as a powerful political figure globally.

He’d had one close call with Russia’s father though.. The large country had come to search America’s children for possible mates, the red man had found a feather.. And it had taken quite the convincing to get the red giant out of his house and away from the young states. 

Of course someone decadent from Britain and France would be a suspect, but America had his wings for so long, and mates staying away from each other out of their own volition was unheard of, so he himself was off that list.

Luckily for him, even if he was to be suspected, the witch hunt for Russia’s mate ended quickly once China too sprouted wings. He’d spent most of his time evading the two afterwards.

He broke himself from his train of thought. "Oh." It came out softer then he'd meant it to. He quickly corrected himself. "What do you want?"

He was now hyperspace of how ridiculous he might have looked. In an obviously crinkled suit, hair tangled. He truly couldn't have been more obvious with having just awoken.

"We.. volunteered to wake everyone up this morning." China admitted, pressing into the large Russians side. The sentence came out oddly quiet.

They always got nervous around him. A result of his quick feigned temper with the two most likely.

He could feel the familiar anxiety pricking in their abdomen as he stood silent.

"I know the way to the dining room." He didn't wait for a response as fear seized his chest and he quickly swing the door closed.

God he really hoped his desperation hadn't bled through into his voice.

One shaky inhale later and he was getting himself dressed. He was glad he overpacked. 

He pulled out his medications and swallowed it dry. Hastily pulling on his casual clothes, he deemed it good before haphazardly tossing the bag to the side.

Assuring to himself the lumps on his back were nearly invisible he walked out. Ignoring the familiar protest from the hidden limbs.

You know, he'd lied before. About knowing where to go.

He hadn't been in this castle for years.

The universe really couldn't make up its mind if it hated him or liked him, for his conundrum was solved once a door swung open and a head popped out.

Small problem. It was Japan.

Don’t misinterpret, she was kind and thoughtful in every sense of the words.

But she was also extremely observant, and exceedingly interested in being his friend. Both extreme problems in his book.

Really, there's nothing he couldve done as her eyes met him.

The action igniting something as an unfamiliar look passed over her face, and then within milliseconds she was at his side. Fingers firmly planted into his arm as a sudden chill wracked over him.

"America!" She greeted cheerily. Her usual energy was clearly as present as ever.

He stared back. Glancing down the hallway then back at her. Realizing that this was now his fate, he sighed in resignation. "Hi.. Japan." He greeted hesitantly in return.

He had no idea why she had so much interest in him. He could only guess that she knew he was hiding something. Which was nearly as dangerous as his mates being so close. 

He'd finally figured it out. The universe just hated him.

"I'm so glad I caught you this morning. Do you mind if we walk together?"

He didn't really have a choice.

"I guess not." 

For how hard he tried to shut her down over the years, she was truly persistent. No matter how cold he was to her, she still radiated her normal joyful mood. Occasionally he'd get a glimpse of something that screamed ulterior motives.

These months were going to be actual hell.