Chapter Text
June 1945
There was a key part of him, waiting in the hallway, that knew something fundamentally was different. America knew as he straightened his uniform, and smoothed out his hair, that something fundamental about the world had changed.
He wasn’t the only one either.
“When do you think they’ll call us in?” Russia was fidgeting around in his uniform, the front of his jacket covered in medals for this and that and what not. America was glad that he didn’t have to wear his, and that he could just be in his Air Force uniform that meant more than any medal he was ever given. But the tall Russian was suited to the extreme military outfit, even if America would never admit it, and so he tried not to focus too much on the jangling of the medals for fear his eyes would wander elsewhere.
“They have to get everyone else in there first. And they’re injured a lot of them, so it may take a bit.” He stared at the door, straining slightly to distract himself from the nagging feeling that had taken him over like poison gas.
Something was different. And understanding why was not in his wheelhouse yet.
“Something feels off, da?” Russia’s voice broke him out of his thoughts and he turned on a heel, an eyebrow raised at the seemingly psychic statement.
“Yeah. I was just thinking about it.”
“Maybe.” Russia took a breath, as if weighing what he was about to say.
“Maybe it is because we are not allies anymore.” They both blinked and Alfred tried not to sneer. They both knew that; weren’t supposed to know, weren’t supposed to talk about it. Leave it to Russia to bring it up like dirty laundry on the back end of a war.
“Maybe. I don’t know. I don’t think it’s that.” And it wasn’t. As much as they had worked to chase Germany back to where he belonged, he knew that his government had never trusted the USSR. Not since its conception would he have considered the man standing besides him a friend or even a formal ally.
“Then it is the thing I am not supposed to say out loud.”
America turned suddenly, his heart dropping in his chest like a bomb. Like the bombs he knew would come eventually. Did Russia know about that? Did Russia have bombs of his own?
“What’s the thing? Come on, you can’t just bait me like that.” He tried to play it off with a snort, and Russia stared at him with blanker eyes than his humor warranted.
“We’re the big boys now.” The phrase was so familiar, and yet so foreign slipping through Russia’s typically broken and formal English that America chuckled quietly until it hit him.
They were the big boys now. Europe was in shambles. And they weren’t. They were the gods of a new age, just as their imperialist predecessors had been before them.
“Doesn-Doesn’t mean we’re friends.”
“We’re rivals.” Russia clarified, an icy tone slipping into his voice again as his blank stare met America’s startled expression.
“We’re equals.” The thought was both terrifying and exciting at the same time and despite himself he smiled. He hadn’t truly ever had an equal, someone to spar with that he could feel was on the same level as him. He thought back to the flimsy book of paper in his suitcase, sitting on the bed of his hotel room. The colorful words and pictures in it, so bright and new, and a thought came to him of him and Russia standing side by side, red against blue, head to head.
“We could be like superheroes.” He turned again to see his adversary stiffen.
“What? No.” The single word, simple in its dismissal, crumbled the optimism inside of America’s chest. He knew Russia, and he should have been expecting this. Still, there was a part of him that longed for the glory of being a superhero, in the same way he’d always yearn to go west or explore.
“Alright.” He looked down at the ground, the shine of his black shoes glinting. There was still a universal rule that was more important that glory, than community, than friendship.
There were no friends at the top.