Chapter 11: Superhero Down

Braginski Mansion, North of Moscow

I didn't jump right out into the hallway once I was sure that Ivan was gone, partially because the thought of going out there with a bunch of nationnapping warmongers was pretty freaking scary and I needed some time to muster the necessary courage. I also wanted to think about how best to handle the others if I ran into anyone.

I decided that my best excuse would be that I was looking for the kitchen. After all, I hadn't eaten anything this morning. Spain had taken me straight to the infirmary before Prussia called him away. I could say that I hadn't mentioned it to Thailand because I'd been queasy at the time thanks to the ambrosia, and I hadn't said anything to Russia because I was under the impression that the dinner I'd been invited to was soon. I hadn't realized it was only mid-afternoon until I looked out the window of Toni's room. I thought it was a reasonably feasible story, given that I was captive, disoriented, mildly drugged, and terrified out of my mind.

The nation I was hoping to avoid the most was Russia. I felt like he would see right through me, if I gave him even half the chance. Better for me if I could stay away from him, at least until dinner. Which promised to be fun. Not only would I be pretending in front of Spain and Russia, but all the others as well.

If I couldn't find America, I would at least try to find the stairs that led to the bottom floor. There had to be an exit down there somewhere. I figured that just knowing that there was an exit would help me deal with the strange, almost claustrophobic feeling that had begun pressing on my lungs. Captivity did not agree with me. And if I was found before I got there I would tell whoever found me about my search for the kitchen. Most of them would probably take me there rather than let me go hungry and risk hearing about it later from Spain. I hoped.

The best way this could turn out would be me exploring and then returning before Antonio came back. But I would take what I could get, because I knew that I was unlikely to have this opportunity again. If someone did find me, I'd have to remember to act calm. A small jump or a nervous posture would be understandable as trepidation, not guilt. After all, these people were holding me captive. If I was lucky, my fear might even spark a compassionate or guilty reaction, at least in Thailand or Ukraine. I wouldn't hold my breath for that, though.

There was a good chance that Thailand would be in the infirmary. I had heard Russia tell the others that Kiku was awake, but I didn't know if that meant he was still in the infirmary or up and moving around. Belarus and India were supposed to be in a meeting with Toni, so if I saw either of them that would mean that Toni was on his way back to the room or already there. At that point my best bet would probably be to ask someone to take me back to my room, pretending I was lost. Then they could at least tell Toni that I had asked to be brought back.

I couldn't waste any more time thinking. It felt like at least five minutes since Russia had left, and it was time to go. I tried to calm myself down with a couple deep breaths, then slipped out into the hallway. To my left was the route I had taken with Russia and earlier with Spain. To the right was unexplored territory. It had sounded like Ivan went that way. I decided to go left. Before heading off I turned around to look at the door of Spain's room. Just like the doors I had seen earlier it was made of thick, dark wood and had a small plaque on it with writing in Russian. The writing might have spelled out the room number, but it was useless to me. I focused instead on the artwork around me. Two of the paintings were distinctive enough that I would recognize them again later. I wished that I had an eidetic memory like Estonia, but then Eduard had mentioned that being unable to forget certain things was more of a curse than a gift. I could imagine what he meant – I'd be more than happy to forget this entire experience once I was home again.

I made my way down the hallway, walking as quietly as possible without going too slow. It helped that a long rug ran the length of the hallway, muffling my footsteps. It had an intricate design, with red and blue threads meeting up only to dart away from each other again, interrupted by areas of pale green and white. It had not been cleaned in a while, though. Dust gathered around the edges and I felt my nose twitch. I held a hand over it, ready to stifle a sneeze. The dust surprised me, and I wondered if Russia kept a human staff at all. It was clear Thailand was his only doctor (with India's blundering assistance), and Spain had mentioned that Ukraine did most of the cooking here. It was just an odd idea that perhaps only nations were living in this huge house.

I only passed by a few doors in the first couple minutes. Their spacing led me to believe that the rooms inside were spacious, likely a suite of interconnected rooms. I did not try to open the first two doors I passed because a fine layer of dust had collected on the doors' handles. If they had been opened recently, the dust would be disturbed by fingerprints. The third door had no dust around its handle so I gently tried to open it. Locked.

To be honest, I was a bit relieved. If the door had opened and one of the nations had been inside, that would be the end of my exploring. I continued down the hallway and found two more doors whose handles were covered in dust. I wondered if all this space was going unused, or if each room was crammed with items in storage, perhaps relics of another time, like an old crank-up Victrola. It helped to have something to wonder about.

I reached the junction that I remembered from before. To the right was the hallway that Russia had warned me away from, saying that the others wouldn't like to be disturbed. I couldn't help the fine shiver that ran between my shoulder blades. If Ivan caught me down there then I was in trouble. If "the others" really were down there, running into one of them wasn't a very appealing thought either. But what if Russia had warned me away from there because there was something he did not want me to find?

My nerve failed me. I'd never claimed to be brave, after all. I decided to scout further down what I had begun thinking of as the main hallway. I would come back for this place last, since what Russia had said made it seem like there was a better chance of getting caught down there. I wanted to see as much as possible before then. I kept going straight and passed one more dust-covered door handle before finding one that was dust-free and unlocked. I opened it slowly, wincing at the awful squeal it made. I stepped into the dark room quickly, closing the door behind me in case any curious nations decided to investigate. My hand skimmed along the wall until I found a light switch.

The light revealed a living room somewhere in the middle of the refurbishment process. Newer furniture sat beside their older counterparts, mostly worn couches and outdated decorations. There were obvious similarities between this room and Spain's – the type of furniture, the room plan. I looked through one of the open doors to find a bedroom with a king-size bed, an oak dresser, a bookshelf and a few scattered ottomans. The bedroom had obviously been redone first. Something about the color scheme was bothering me. Deep blue covers, drapes, and seat cushions. The walls, sheets, coffee table and night stands were white. The bedframe, lamp stands, and various other small touches in the room were brass or gold. I couldn't say why it made me uneasy, only that this combination of colors should mean something to me. I didn't have time to waste on it now, though. I quickly looked through the rest of the suite, hoping to find something helpful. No such luck. Not even a pair of scissors to cut the knots out of my hair. I did find it a bit odd that there was a dog bed in one corner, along with two bowls and a couple of chew toys. The bed looked new and the bowl still had a price sticker on it. Whoever Russia was planning to have stay here must have a dog.

I stepped back out into the hallway. I began to find more unlocked rooms in various states of remodeling, each with a distinctive color scheme. I spent less and less time in each one, finally settling for just a quick look around. Each room was either a suite or a studio, none of them without beds. A few seemed to cater to more individual taste; one had a dart board, while another had a painting easel and sketch book. One had a Jacuzzi, which was just plain weird. That room also had a wine rack.

Finally I came to one that I was able to identify. This room had only just begun its refurbishment, and most things in the suite looked as though the previous owner had moved out just yesterday. The half-disassembled radio that looked like a relic from the sixties was my first clue. A Polaroid photograph I found peeking out from under a couch left no doubt in my mind. The picture was of Poland, wearing an accessorized version of his country's military uniform. The photographer had caught him doubled over in a fit of laughter. The Pole's arms were wrapped around his stomach, and his smile was contagious.

This was the room that the Baltics had shared while they lived here. I wasn't surprised that this picture had been missed. The boys had needed to clear out in a hurry when they finally got their chance. Estonia had mentioned his hobby of reassembling old electronics, especially radios. It wasn't even so he could hear about the outside world. He just loved knowing how things worked, and he was still awestruck now and then by how far technology had come.

I scouted through this room more carefully, hoping for a radio, or even just some other memento of my friends'. There were three single beds lined up in a row, just as Estonia had described. I found a button collection in one drawer that had likely belonged to Raivis. I found a few odd socks and a discarded toothpaste bottle, but nothing actually helpful. I thought about leaving the picture behind in case Antonio found me with it but in the end I decided to take it, folding it in two before slipping it into my shoe. It would help to have something to smile about when I was stuck out there in the snow.

I continued down the hallway after leaving the Baltics' old room. There were a few more doors which opened to similar rooms, but the number of locked or dust-covered handles began to increase. It had been at least three minutes since I passed another open door when I noticed light coming from underneath one up ahead. I stopped where I was, debating. Whoever it was probably wouldn't look outside just because they heard someone go by, but when I heard a muffled voice coming from the other side of the door I decided not to risk it. I turned back, walking more quickly now that I could pass by the rooms I'd already checked. I wasn't sure how much time had passed. Twenty-five minutes? Thirty? My luck was going to run out at some point. It was time to check out the hallway that Russia had warned me away from, even though the idea still scared me. I kept my fingers crossed that if anyone were to find me it wouldn't be Ivan.

I walked more slowly when I reached the junction and slipped down the new hallway. I placed each foot carefully, as if I was walking on a frozen pool which could crack at the slightest misstep. This hallway just felt different. The air itself was heavier, settling like algae in my lungs. I came to a door without dust around the handle. There was no light coming from under it, and I prayed that if there was a sleeping nation inside, the door would not be loud enough to wake them up. I opened it very slowly, relieved when it did not creak. None of the lights in the room were on but there was enough sunlight coming from the open windows to see clearly.

I knew right away whose room this was. The tacky, embroidered drapes, the golden suit coat thrown over the back of a chair, the little golden relics scattered over the tables and shelves, and the stone replica of an embracing couple copied from the Kamasutra Temple in Madhya Pradesh made it obvious that India lived here. I stood still and listened carefully for several moments but heard absolutely nothing. Unless I was mistaken, India wasn't here – which was good news because that would mean his meeting with Spain was over. I was torn between leaving right away and taking a quick look around. I might find a phone or a knife, or better yet – a set of keys. I moved around the room on my tiptoes, opening the desk drawers first. There were a few scattered papers written in his language and several sticky notes pasted around the mirror. Some of them contained small sketches that reminded me of cartoons. I found nothing of interest in the bathroom, except that India kept four different types of conditioner with him. There was a briefcase tucked away beside the bed, but all that I found inside of it were more papers and a sketchbook full of cartoons. One of the characters looked like a caricature of England, with thickly drawn eyebrows and a scowling expression, wagging his finger at a much more handsomely drawn India. I assumed he was lecturing. On the following page, cartoon England was being chased by a herd of elephants, with India riding on top of one of them. On the next page an anvil was dropped on him 'O-kay, that's healthy.' I shut the sketch book and kept looking.

There was a scimitar hung up on one of the walls in a decorative, beaded sheath. That was no good to me though. It was either a rapier or nothing. I doubted that it was sharpened anyway.

I was surprised to find a handheld video recorder in his night stand drawer. The only tape I found was the one already inside of it, and I decided to risk the time to find out what was on it. There might be something about America or maybe even a snippet from one of their meetings. I pressed the rewind button, careful to turn the volume down low before playing it. India was holding the recorder facing himself, talking in his own language as he walked around his room, pointing out certain objects. It seemed almost like he was hosting a home decorator TV show. Then he stepped over to his closest and picked up one of his shirts, pointing out small details in it for the camera while yammering on in a confident tone. Ugh. I'd seen enough. I spent a few seconds fast forwarding the tape back to roughly where it had been before replacing it and carefully leaving the room.

I passed three more locked doors and I began to worry that I would never find the stairs. I could see a T-junction ahead of me and I was trying to decide which direction to pick when I heard a door open down one of the branching hallways. Footsteps coming towards me. I froze, thinking 'alright, this is it, just remember to say you're looking for the kitchen -' Then the person began whistling and those carefully laid plans flew right out the window because that was the tune to the German national anthem and the nation coming towards me was definitely Gilbert Bielschmidt.

Fear made me panic. Not Prussia, anyone but him. I whipped my head around, frantically looking for a place to hide. A door just ahead of me. I grabbed the handle and pulled, praying that it was unlocked. The door opened but Christ it was heavy. I was glad to have adrenaline on my side and I slipped through it as soon as I had opened it wide enough. I pulled it shut behind me, only remembering at the last second to close it quietly though it cost me precious time, precious milliseconds in which he could come around that corner and see me –

Closed.

I sucked in quiet gasps of air, adrenaline buzzing through my blood stream, and I became aware of a damp smell like snow melting over old stone. I tried to inhale through my nose instead and was assaulted by the smell of an antiseptic. My stomach rolled. I'd learned to hate that smell after all of the times my brothers had been hospitalized - Matty because of hockey and Francis because of some woman's older brother. The stench hung in the air like a cloud of swollen, glutted mosquitoes. I doubted the doors had been left open to air out this room in at least a decade. I could be sure at least that this wasn't a bedroom, because no one would choose to sleep in a place like this. The scent bothered me, not only because of the antiseptic and the memories it stirred up, but because of its age. We do not often have occasion to smell very old air, and if it is possible for oxygen particles to be decrepit, the ones filling my lungs were definitely there.

I struggled to breathe normally, planning to dart for the shadow of the nearest piece of furniture if the door handle began to turn or if I heard something even remotely resembling "kesesese." I couldn't hear a thing from the other side of the door. That might mean that Gilbert had left. Or it might mean that he was standing right outside the door that he'd seen close when it shouldn't have. I felt sick in a way that was new to me, as if all of my organs were twisting inside me. I was used to being scared for my brothers, but not for my life.

My eyes searched the layers of shadows around me. They were varying shades of dark gray and black, but I couldn't really make anything out except where an object might be. I thought I heard a faint, repetitive sound, something that tickled my memory, but I couldn't tell if it was coming from inside the room or from the other side of the door. I wondered if I'd be able to hear much of anything through the door - it seemed pretty solid. I ran my hands across it, finding it chilly to the touch. It seemed almost like steel, which was definitely a change from the other doors I'd passed. The edges seemed even thicker than the rest of the door, reinforced with a rubber layer that was probably meant to keep in heat . . . and perhaps sound too. Keeping out sound was one thing - but even in my haste I had noticed a raised lining along the outside of the door, just like the one on this side. If its purpose was to keep sound in . . .

The hairs on my scalp prickled, a shiver working its way down the nape of my neck to the base of my spine. 'Please let me be wrong. Let this just be a meeting room, somewhere classified information was discussed with Soviet generals. Please, please don't be what I'm thinking.' Holding my breath, I ran my fingertips along the wall on either side of the door, half hoping to find a light switch, half hoping to find nothing and have an excuse to leave this room without knowing if I was right. 'Because why else would someone use so much antiseptic to clean a room?' that horrible voice in my head wondered despite my attempts to muzzle it. 'What is antiseptic ever so good at cleaning up? The stronger the chemical smell, the easier it is to hide something else . . .' My fingers groped along the wall more frantically. Light, light, I need to know or to leave before knowing-

Without consciously making the decision my right pinkie brushed against a switch and the room lit up like Paris on Bastille Day. My eyes fought to adjust, my hand still curled around the door knob behind me in case I needed to leave as soon as I saw. It was still too damned bright, I could only barely make out a shape in the center of the room –

"So. They decided to send a pretty lady instead of a tall Russian for a change."

My jaw dropped. I could not believe my ears until my eyes adjusted. "A-America." My eyes ran from his head to his feet but still I could barely believe what I was seeing. "You're okay." He was alive. Warmth spread through my stomach and chest like embers against tinder. America was okay.

At least, he seemed to be. He was certainly breathing, and though his voice had sounded dull and a bit hoarse, he was conscious and looking at me with an expectant expression. His eyelids drooped slightly over pupils that should have constricted in the new brightness. Instead they were dilated, only a slim ring of sky blue showing around each black circle. There were bandages wrapped around the back of his head, turned reddish pink in some places by blood seeping through. His short blond hair looked like it was flecked with rust, but I saw no signs of blood anywhere else on him. He was lying on a raised cot-like table, bound to it by thick straps around his legs, stomach, and hands. There was an IV hooked up to his left arm and the heart rate monitor whose sound I'd almost recognized before stood beside it. The table looked terribly uncomfortable, and I was surprised to see a pillow tucked under his head. It looked out of place in this austere setup. Remembering my initial worry, I spared a quick glance around the room. As I'd feared there were metal clamps for restraining arms and legs, a rack which held many intimidating but rusting objects that I could only assume were used for torture. And – dear God, was that an iron maiden? Not wanting to see the rest, I quickly looked back to America, who was watching me with his brow furrowed. Thinking of the fear he must have felt when he saw the awful decorations of the place he was in, I felt a tear hit my cheek and roll down my throat.

"Dieu. Did they - did they hurt you, America?" My horror clashed with a rising fury with Russia. I was not a violent person, but I wanted to see whatever had been done to this nation who was still so heartbreakingly young and looked so much like my brother visited back on the one responsible. It would cripple Matty if he knew that they had used these horrible tools on Alfred.

Still looking confused and wary, the superpower coughed and shook his head, propping himself up on his elbows as best he could to inspect me. "No, not really. The big guy liked to talk about how much fun he'd had in this room in the past, blah blah blah, tried the whole fear trip on me. He didn't really hurt me though. Now the brown-haired one, I could tell he wanted to, but he didn't. So tell me, pretty lady, is that going to be your job?"

I was struck speechless for a moment, my brain struggling to process all of what he'd just said. He hadn't been tortured. Thank heaven. Then his final words reached my left temporal lobe. "No! Of course not. America, I'm here to help you."

He studied me skeptically, but his demeanor did seem more interested. A bit of light shone in his eyes. "I've heard about this trick before, but it won't do you any good. I still don't know what it is you want me to tell you. I actually don't know. Better luck next time."

"America, I'm not with them," I insisted, stepping forward. How could he think that? Sure, we weren't close or anything, but he knew who I was to Matthew. He knew I was neutral. I'd never hurt anybody in my life! But I guessed that I shouldn't feel hurt that he was suspicious. After all, nations I'd trusted were here too, and Thailand was supposed to live by the Hippocratic Oath that all doctors take. It was an oath he'd broken.

"Well, if that's true then what are you doing here? You didn't bring food: that's the blond lady. She's pretty cool, as henchmen go. She gave me a pillow – and don't you get mad at her for that, I charmed her into it," he was quick to add, and I smiled to realize that he was protecting Ukraine. "So what's your angle? You dating one of the bad guys?"

"What? No. Al, I'm a prisoner like you. It's just that one of the -" My throat constricted over the words 'bad guys.' It was still hard to believe that they had to be thought of that way now. "One of them used to be a friend of mine. He has me staying with him. They usually keep the door locked but I managed to get out. I needed to find you. I thought you might be - hurt." I couldn't say dead, now that I knew it wasn't true. Those fears and their repercussions were better left behind.

"So you don't get the full nine yards with the restraints, huh?" He pulled at one of the bindings slightly to make his point. God, were they filled with lead?

"They don't consider me as much of a threat as you." With good reason, I thought. "I'm really glad you're alright, America, but we may not have much time -"

"It's cool if you really are here to help," he interrupted, "but I think you have me confused with one of my business associates. I'm Superman. If the Captain's around, though, he's welcome to assist, despite the whole Marvel-DC clash."

I blinked at him, not understanding. This was not the time for jokes. But something I had overheard Kasem say came back to me: that Alfred wasn't answering to his own name. They hadn't said he actually thought he was someone else. Perhaps he was still just being silly? "Superman?" I said slowly, watching him.

"Uh huh. You've probably heard of me. I saved Metropolis a few years back. It got kind of squished in the process though . . . not bad for a first run, all things considered." He looked at me like he was expecting recognition and perhaps a request for his autograph.

Superman. Of all the insane, immature . . . I kneaded the skin between my eyes, trying to fight off a migraine. He was alive, though, and that was the important thing. And as I studied him I actually thought I could understand how he came to that conclusion. If America had amnesia, and he woke up with restraints even Arnold Schwarzenegger couldn't break out of, being questioned by bad guys, his imagination came up with two options. Given the choice between superhero and spy, he picked the cooler one. And Canada had mentioned how much he read comics.

I wondered how long it would be until he got his memory back. I knew almost nothing about Marvel or DC, but I didn't want to question him too much. I didn't have time to try to jog his memory, and if the others had been trying for days, I probably wasn't going to manage it in the next ten minutes. It would have to wait.

"Uh, yeah. I heard about Metropolis. Nice work there, very heroic. So I'm guessing you don't remember how we got here, huh?"

He frowned. "Nope. I must have taken some memory-erasing serum when I knew that I was going to be captured. Never surrender! But if you remember, how did it happen anyway?"

"It's kind of a long story. I'll have to fill you in later. But I can't figure out why they took you. I mean, rather than kill you. You're a major threat to them if you get out."

He smiled. "You better believe it. But . . ." His expression soured. "They got their hands on some kryptonite. I've been trying to get loose for days. Nada. It's that damned Lex Luthor," he said with certainty, his eyes narrowing. "I'll get him for that, just you wait."

Russia had mentioned that Thailand had come up with a weakening drug, a kind of opposite of ambrosia. I hope it would wear off soon after we got away. Al's strength would come in handy. I guess it made sense in his superhero-addled mind to call it kryptonite. "Lex Luthor?" I asked. Wasn't that one of the major villains?

"Oh yeah," he said, nodding. "Tall, white hair, communist, alien. Strong like me. Hates my guts. Guess he's still upset about me blowing up his spaceship and ruining his world-domination plan. That's what he gets for picking on my home planet."

Ok, so that's what he was calling Russia. I guess it would make sense after the Cold War for America to recognize him as his worst enemy, even with his memories gone. "What does he want from you?"

He looked a little suspicious again, like he was still considering the idea that I could be faking all of this and I was really working for them. Frustrated, I said, "Look, if you have some secret information then just keep it to yourself. It would just be worse if they found out I knew, and I wouldn't last long under torture. I need to figure out why they took you, though."

"Well, they ask a lot of different questions, throwing around names and dates like they should mean something to me. I don't -"

We both heard the door begin to creak open at the same time. Merde!

"Don't tell them I'm here, please, please," I whispered quickly to him as I darted behind several boxes next to the iron maiden, my heart hammering in my chest. 'Don't let it be Russia or Gilbert or the scary girl with the long hair -'

The metal door closed with a bang. I heard boots walking across the floor. I didn't breathe.

"So. The mighty hero."

My hands moved up to cover my mouth. The monster was back in Toni's voice.

Please review if you enjoyed the chapter. I promise I'm not going to abandon this story, guys, but I can't make any promises about when I will update next. Be patient with me and I will do my best to make it worth your while. Thank you to all the wonderful people who have reviewed, favorited and followed.