Prove Me Wrong (Rusame)

Snowed In

Russia's POV

I was trapped.

No contact with the outside world, the snow blocking off any signal I could have or at least making it very spotty. I couldn't see outside, what I could see was pure white. No one could make it here, the temperatures were dangerous to be out in for any length of time. No one could reach me.

It was perfect.

At least it would have been. 

"Damn, I guess Canada was right when he said there was a snowstorm. Im going to listen to him next time."

Being trapped in my house would have been fine. Trapped here with America? Someone can just shoot me now.

"I should have kicked you out when I had chance." I groaned through gritted teeth, not bothering to turn and actually face him. 

"Butcha' didn't." He looked to me, speaking in a weird voice. I raised an eyebrow at him and rolled my eyes when I realized he was making yet another reference to something I didn't care about.

My hands were in my pockets, the large sweater over me providing some form of comfort. The journal that had belong to my father was held in my hands still, my thumb rubbing the cover of it. I could feel the grooves of sickle and hammer, along with smaller scratches that could have been from anything over the years.

"Hey, you okay?"

I blinked, noticing I had begun to get tears in my eyes again. I rubbed them away before turning to America. He gave me his look of pity again and I didn't have it in me to tell him off for it. Last night I had read through half of the journal, tenderly touching the pages afraid that they would crumble to dust just like-

"I held my eyes open forrr too long."
He knew I was lying, I could tell. But he didn't say anything further and I didn't want to talk about it. 

"Okay. You want some breakfast? I can probably cook something up." He grabbed my sweater sleeve and started pulling me to the kitchen. He had done that the entire time he was here. Pulling me this way and that way, but also holding onto me wherever I went somewhere. He would not leave me alone, and when I went to the bathroom he had checked every nook and cranny making sure there was nothing in there that could hurt me. If he thought there was, he grabbed it and held onto it until I was done. Then as I went to sleep, he insisted on staying in the room with me until he knew I was asleep. An annoying thing he did too was make sure that he saw my hands. I had to hold them on the pillow, in his line of sight at all times. Stupid, but I did it anyway.

"Ve don't have Amerrrikan prrroducts." I reminded him.

"You got eggs?"

"Da."

"Milk?"

"Da?"

"Potatoes?"

I raised a brow, telling him he didn't need to ask that. How else would I make my vodka?

"Boom, breakfast right there. Scrambled eggs and potatoes!" He let go of my arm and pointed to a chair to sit down at. I rolled my eyes but obeyed. America can be very noisy and annoying when he didn't get his way. And I was not in the mood to deal with a loud American.

I watched him move about my kitchen with little hesitation, grabbing the things he needed from the places they were. He looked overly familiar, but I reminded myself he had been in my kitchen plenty of times to know where everything was. Why he still remembered since he hadn't been by in a long time puzzled me. Muscle memory perhaps.

After a few minutes, I pulled out my father's book and held it under the table. I flipped to the entry I had left on and started reading.

I had met with the Third Reich today.

I shut the book with a loud slam.

America jumped and spun around. "What the hell was that?"

I looked at my father's chair then back to him. "Nothing."

To prevent any questions I set the book down on the table in front of me. He saw and nodded slightly, turning back to the stove quietly. 

Ridden of his attention, I looked down at the book in front of me. I remembered him mentioning him but it was quick notes. How he had killed his father, as my dad did to my grandfather. Small things, how he had grown to be in power and a much stronger country. But this? It was one of their first meetings, and after knowing what I did? I didn't want to read anymore. 

He had trusted him, trusted him with his life.

And he had taken that and stabbed him in the back.

A plate was set in front of me and I flinched away from the noise.

"Whoa, you okay man?" America asked sitting down across from me. I nodded and looked down at the food he put in front of me. Scrambled eggs and square spuds.  It was basic, simple but it looked good regardless.

Quietly we began to eat our food. I put the journal back in my pocket.

"You know, we are going to be stuck here for a bit." He spoke up, trying to make small talk. I wasn't really in the mood for it, but that wouldn't stop him. I looked up at him to see what he wanted to talk about, then back down at my food.

"You wanna talk?"

"Nyet."

"That sounds like a yes to me."

I paused my eating to give him a look. He returned mine with a smug smile. I loosened on my glare and looked back down to my food. I knew he was right, and I had been wanting to talk to him for the longest time but I was hesitant. One, I can't trust him to ever tell the truth to me anymore, and two I can't allow myself to trust a country I know so little about. I knew America, yes, but he was hiding something. And if he knew most of my secrets, I needed to know his.

"I'll talk if you tell me about kountrrries in the kaves."

America suddenly choked on his food and quickly coughed it out, slamming his fist against his chest. I didn't move, only noted down his actions. Once he was done, he looked at me and made an audible gulp. I heard his foot tapping underneath the table, seen his mouth twitching downwards, his hands fumbling around each other as he struggled to find a suitable way to have them, and then his loud clearing of his throat. It was obvious he was nervous.

"This is about you." He quickly spat out. "And I told you, nothing happened."

I narrowed my eyes at him and tapped my fingers on the table in a rhythmic pattern. He flinched slightly, his face just barely scrunching up with each repetition. I knew some people don't like things like that in high stressed situations. They break faster. I was hoping it'd be the same with America.

Instead of cracking under my stare, he shook his head and adjusted his glasses. Then he leaned closer and interlocked his fingers. "Russia, you have been trying all day to avoid telling me what is wrong."

God damn it, he has more will power than I thought.

I sighed and decided on finishing my plate. Once he knew that I wouldn't talk, he finished his too. 

Again, he wouldn't let me leave as he did the dishes. I sat there, tapping my fingers and watched him move around my kitchen again. He had made me breakfast, cleaned up afterward and won't let me hurt myself. If I wasn't pissed at him still, I would have thanked him. Knowing that I felt guilty. He was trying to make up for what had happened and I keep shooting him down. Granted, I owe him nothing, but that's not what it felt like.

As America was finishing up with the dishes, I stood to try and find some vodka. There is no way I am going to be feeling guilty about America of all countries. At least not sober.

"Isn't it a little early to be drinking?"

I opened my vodka and shook my head no. "Anytime is vodka time."

"Fair enough, weird-ass Russian," he joked drying off his hands. I didn't bother with a cup, just drinking straight from the bottle as I regularly do. I got a good chug in when America rolled his eyes and lead me to the couch. 

"Yeah sure, if you get drunk enough maybe then you'll talk to me."

"Doubt it."

We sat down on the couch and he playfully shoved my shoulder. "Yeah, Yeah. At least drunk you likes me. Calls me 'Nice Country.'"

"Drrrunk me is drrrunk, zat's why." 
He laughed at me and I smiled. As soon as I realized I did I downed another drink. No. I'm angry at this bastard. Even if he can be a little funny, I'm angry at him. 

"Whatever, what do you wanna watch?" He grabbed the TV remote and turned it on. I didn't give an answer, knowing it would be pointless. When it turned on, all that showed was static, almost matching the flurry outside.

"Well damn. You got Netflix? Internet?"

I shook my head no and heard him sigh in discontent. I freely chuckled at that.

"DVD player?" 

I nodded. "Movies arrre all in Rrrussian."

"God damn it."

"I zought you knew Rrrussian."

"Enough to get by in a conversation and guess what you were talking about."

I took another drink of my vodka as he figured out what he wanted to do now. The sound of static filled the room, the only sound other than his ramped foot-tapping. When I set my drink down on my leg, he grabbed it from me and started to take a drink from it. I was startled for a second then I glared at him. How dare he take my drink. 

"I rather be slightly buzzed than board."

"Vith how yourrr drrrinking it? You'll be drrrunk in nyet time." I shook my head at him, standing up to grab another bottle of vodka. 

"Where are you going?" He jumped up to his feet quickly, my bottle still in his hand. I pushed him back down onto the couch and told him, "kalm down, I'm grrrabbing another drrrink frrrom kitchen."

"You have twenty seconds." He told me, crossing his arms and looking at me with a pouting face. He is such a child.
Relishing in my twenty seconds of freedom, I hurried to the kitchen to find another bottle of alcohol. When I opened the cupboard I wanted to curse him out. How dare he take my last bottle of vodka! I growled and looked into the adjoining cupboard. Oh, that bastard is lucky. I had some whiskey in the back. I haven't had that in a little while now. Maybe a change for tonight will do me good.

"Russia! Your time is up!" America called from the living room. I rolled my eyes at the order, knowing very well I had a few seconds left to open the bottle. I did just that and decided to take my time walking back. 

"Do Russians not know how to count or something?" He asked me, then took a drink from the bottle. "you know this stuff tastes better when you freeze it."

"Ve know how to kount, but ve also know how to piss Amerrrikan's off as vell." I smiled at him and he stuck out his tongue at me. As I was sitting down, I addressed the second thing he had said, "and I don't kare about taste. When I drrrink, I vant to get drrrunk and zat's all zat matterrrs."

"Russians." America did a weird thing with his hands, holding them up and slightly shoving them my way before setting them back down. 

I noticed he drank a considerable amount of the vodka, enough to get him pretty drunk pretty fast. "Holy hell Amerrrika, arrre you trrrying to get vasted?"

He looked down at the bottle, then back at me. "Maybe." He held the bottle up to his mouth and looked to the side.

I set my hand on the bottle and pushed it down. He frowned at me but didn't resist. "I vas one who vanted to get drrrunk. Not you."

"Uno reverse card bitch." He laughed at me, loosely waving around the vodka. I frowned, grabbing the bottle from him before he dropped it and set it down on the small table in front of us. Stupid American not knowing how much to drink. Especially since this was my vodka. My last one in fact. I can't even stop by to see if Finland has made any more, I'm snowed in and I can't leave America here by himself. And I can't take him with me, the cold would kill him.

. . . Then again maybe I should.

Deciding to make my alcohol last, I chose to only drink a little bit of my whiskey and save my vodka for later. 

"Ruusssia~" America cooed from next to me. I slowly turned my head to him and raised an eyebrow.

"What?"

"I need more of that, I'm not that drunk yet." He nudged his hand towards the vodka.

"Oh trrrust me, you vill be." I pushed his hand away and he grabbed my wrist. I frowned and tried to pull my hand free, but instead, he tried pulling me closer to him. He gave me a toothy smile and I could see my glare in his sunglasses reflection. Once again the memory of his eyes hit me. There was something different about them, I had been able to determine for certain, but what it was or could have been I didn't know.

He opened his mouth to speak and I was thrown back into the present. "Well, Ruski, how do you feel about talking about your problems to the good ol' US of A?"

"Unlikely. How do you feel talking to me about zoes kountrrries in kaves."

He let go of my hand and shoved me back quickly. I sat up, expecting that kind of response from him. What I didn't expect is for him to be as forceful as he did. I rubbed my shoulder, and America immediately went into apologizing. 

"Russia, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you."

I glared at him, as I had been doing all day. "If you vant to make up forrr it zen tell me what happened."

Instead of doing as I asked, America grabbed the whiskey from my hand and started downing that. I grabbed the bottle from him, surprised by his actions. I looked at him startled, holding the bottle close to me like it was some child. Whatever he knew, he was trying his best to forget. I couldn't let that happen. I didn't have any answers, and I needed those. There was no way I'd let him hide something that now involves me. Did he forget that I got kidnapped, too?

"There has to be something we can do."

America stood and started walking around. He stumbled for a second and almost fell onto the table. I grabbed the bottle of vodka I had set down there to make sure he didn't spill it. I could tell from his stumbles the alcohol was getting to him. Oh great, I'll have to deal with a drunk American. God damn him, this was for me.

"I have my speaker, I'm going to play my music." He told me, not bothering to ask for permission. 

"I don't vant to listen to yourrr crrrappy Amerrrikan music."

"Why are you targeting me, man?"

"You arrre only other one herrre."

The speaker he pulled out of his coat pocket was pretty small, but as it powered on it boomed in a large voice. He's lucky where I live is a vast winter land, not for the noise control no. So that no one can hear him crying out for help as I murder him.

Even with my wish of finally being rid of him, I didn't get up to stop him.

"What's a song that could possibly make you hate me more than you already do?"

He tapped his chin with dramatic movements and obnoxiously loud humming. I shook my head at him, taking another drink of my whiskey. I wanted to reach that blackout drunk again, but with America already on his way there, I couldn't afford it. Still, I could get at least somewhat drunk. 

My thinking was interrupted by the music that began to play from the speaker. At first, I didn't recognize it, but it started out with the sound of what I guessed were drums. As it went further in though, I realized what I was listening to.

America bounced with the music, holding the speaker up and waving it around. I let out a long sigh and shook my head, lowering my view into the bottle. This song, oh god I didn't know how to feel about it. I mean yeah sure the history stuck a little with me, but my god it was fucking funny.

My foot tapped with the beat to the song as America sat the speaker down on the table as it started its repetition of chanting "hey".

America bounced with each one, mouthing the words, going faster as they did. When they stopped, so did he. 

This ought to be good, I thought to myself taking a drink.

America stood in front of me, on the other side of the table. He wiped his head around to face me and sang along with the lyrics,  "there lived a certain man, from Russia long ago. He was big and strong with his eyes a flaming glow."

I shook my head watching his arm movements that went along with the lyrics.

"Most people looked at him with terror and with fear," he mocked me by sticking out his tongue, but then switched to using his hand for a fan.  "But to Moscow chicks, he was such a lovely dear."

"He could preach the Bible like a preacher. Full of ecstasy and fire." I shook my head at him and he nodded his head, becoming for me to stand up with him. "But he also was the kind of teacher women would desire." He winked at me and I took another drink.

"Ra ra Rasputin. Lover of the Russian queen. There was a cat that really was gone." He danced to the beat of the music, doing moves that I guess where supposed to mimic the ones I do.

"Ra ra Rasputin. Russia's greatest love machine. It was a shame how he carried on."

As the music played I watched him make a fool out of himself. He attempted to do another one of my dance moves, the prisyadka. But of course, he didn't have enough strength to do it and he fell over in a matter of seconds. Watching him fail like that made me laugh and I fought the urge to get up and show him how to properly do it.

America stuck out his tongue at me and started to dance with no clear pattern again. It was amusing, and with out thinking I started clapping along with the beat to help him time his moves.

"He ruled the Russian land and never mind the Czar," he stopped and pointed at me, before doing a dance he had once called 'the pennywise dance', "but the kazachok he danced really wunderbar. In all affairs of state he was the man to please. But he was real great when he had a girl to squeeze."

On squeeze, he wrapped his arms around himself and hugged himself tightly. He winked at me and I rolled my eyes. 

"For the queen, he was no wheeler dealer though she'd heard the things he'd done. She believed he was a holy healer who would heal her son.

"Ra ra Rasputin, lover of the Russian queen. There was a cat that really was gone. Ra ra Rasputin, Russia's greatest love machine. It was a shame how he carried on."

He stopped his nonsensical dancing and stood in place, looking at me with a monotone expression. "But when his drinking and lusting and his hunger for power became known to more and more people, " he used hand motions as if he was giving a speech, "the demands to do something about this outrageous man became louder and louder!"

The music went into its second round of chanting "hey" and America attempted to do the prisyadka again and failed. Still, that didn't stop him, even if he struggled to get up correctly. I sighed and stood up, setting down my drink. He stopped what he was doing and looked up at me. I shooed him away and started doing the dance properly. I got through the rest of the chanting, kicking with the beat. America cheered and laughed, clapping and stomping with the beat. 

When those stopped, I did a few other dances that I knew America couldn't do. He didn't have the stamina or strength for them, and it was nice to be able to show off to him. 

I stood back up straight and turned to him as the song went to its next verse. "'Zis man's just got to go', declarrred his enemies."

"But the ladies begged, 'don't you try to do it, please'," America replied to my line.

"No doubt zis Rrrasputin had lots of hidden charrrms," I flexed my arms and held a closed-eyed smirk.

"Though he was a brute," America set his hand on my arm and I opened my eyes just as he fell towards me, "they just fell into his arms."

I caught him and held him back up, where he spun around to face me again. "Then one night some men of higher standing set a trap, they're not to blame." 

"'Come to visit us', they kept demanding and he really came."

We stood side by side as the music turned to the chorus. For a moment, there was a click and suddenly we were both dancing the same and in sync with one another. The dances weren't too hard for him to do but Russian enough for me. (Example: see the Just Dance video on the song. Relive the cringe with meee)