True Love's Kiss
By: Verin Mystal
Summary: Due to a magical mishap, America and Russia are forced to reenact classic fairy tales. Every time they screw up or fight, they just end up in a new fairy tale. They can't escape until they manage one True Love's Kiss...
Note: Written for the Kinkmeme at LiveJournal

America stared at his reflection.

A small boy stared back.

"This…this can't be happening."

America glared at the locked door. It's been months since I lent him all those video games… Why hasn't he given them back yet?

He rang the doorbell again and again, his finger jabbing into the plastic knob impatiently. Minutes past, and he sighed.

…Oh well…not like I haven't done it before~…

He pulled a paperclip from his pocket, unfolded the wire and jabbed it into the lock.

"What are you doing, America?"

America jumped and nearly tore the door off its hinges in surprise. "Wha-what-?" He whirled around and found Russia staring back at him. "…What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing."

"It's not what it looks like!" America explained in a rush. "It's just England's been putting off giving back a few of my things I lent him and…well..."

"…You do realize that this is breaking and entering?"

America decided to ignore that and continued to pick the lock. "I called and left a message."

"…And that makes it…not illegal?"

"Exactly." America twisted the wire and the lock popped open. "It's his fault for teaching me how to pick locks anyway."

Russia only raised an eyebrow and tucked a folder full of documents under his arm.

"So what are you doing here anyway?" America opened the door and was greeted to a dark house with the drapes drawn closed. "You usually don't just…drop by to chat with England."

Russia hummed and followed America into the home, thoughtfully closing the door behind him. "I had hoped to discuss some trade agreements with him regarding that oil company of his…but it seems he is not home."*

America groaned, his hand automatically reaching up to rub at his temples.

That's the last thing I want to think about right now…

America walked directly to the television that sat in the living room. "They should be right around here…" He looked from side to side, searching over and around the television set. "Wait…they're not here?"

Russia stood in the doorway to the room. "What is it you are looking for?"

"I lent him my video games…wait." America turned around suddenly and ran up the stairs to the second floor.

Russia watched him, his violet eyes holding guarded curiosity. Giving into his inner whims, he followed after the younger nation. "You let England borrow…your video games?"

America stood before a door, his paper clip jammed in the lock once more. "He asked me about them and said he wanted to borrow them."

"…you thought England genuinely wished to play your video games?"

"Well…I thought maybe he wanted to see what he was missing!" America's cheeks heated up and he glared holes into the door, refusing to make eye contact with the elder nation standing directly beside him. "But…now I know better."

The lock popped open once more, and America shoved the door away. The room was large and dusty, filled with old boxes, moldy clothes and books.

"…and England complains about my storage room! Hah!" America stormed into the room and started digging through the boxes. "I bet he threw them in here! Probably didn't want me playing them anymore or something…"

"…You really think England would do that?" Russia questioned, pulling the folder from his pocket and sliding it into his coat.

"He hates my video games and he hates it when I play them whenever he's over visiting…I should've known." America smirked. "He just doesn't know what he's missing!"

Russia stepped inside the room, and looked around. Things from hundreds of years ago seemed to fill every corner of the room. Old moth-eaten clothing, rotting and rusting weapons, boxes filled with other odds and ends. A book case stood at one corner of the room, reaching from the floor to the ceiling. Intrigued, he walked through the mess and stood before the bookcase. The books appeared to be far older than America, many covered in thick cobwebs and layers of dust coating the leather tomes. The titles of each book were etched into the leather binding in pure gold and silver… except for one. The lettering was etched in red, the English words entirely unfamiliar to him. His curiosity getting the better of him, he tugged the tome from its place and turned to America.

"What does this book say?"

America looked up from a box he was rifling through, various objects laying around him in heaps. His eyes widened. "You shouldn't touch those."

"Why?"

"Because…because England always warned me about his, ah…books."…Especially back when I was his colony…

Russia returned his gaze back to the book. "Really?"

America stood and closed the distance between them. "That's…damn that's really old."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because it's in that weird language England used to speak…" America took the book from Russia and pressed his fingers to the red lettering. "I don't recognize any of it."

"Then maybe we should put it away-"

America gripped the book and let it fall open in his hands. The paper was ancient, the writing inside looked to be done by hand, the letters formal and curved and delicate. A sudden wave of dizziness overcame America, the room spun and turned on its axis. Dropping the book to the floor, he clung to Russia, who in turn collapsed to the floor. America fell with him, striking his head on the edge of a box. White spots filled his vision before exhaustion overtook him.

"This…this can't be happening."

America glared into the mirror, and the reflection of a small boy glared back. He looked just as he did during his colonial days, only the clothes were strange and foreign. Raising his hands to his face, he pressed his fingers to his cheeks, his nose, his mouth…everything felt real and alive. He pinched his cheek, and winced at the sudden sting of pain.

"Oh shit…fuck this isn't happening." America felt panic rising in his chest like a balloon on the verge of bursting. "Where…how-?"

"Hansel!"

A voice boomed from the other room. America slowly turned around, stepped across his tiny room to the door.

"Uh…?"

A tall man with slicked back brown hair and a rugged outfit turned the corner.

"Hansel, the sun has been up for two hours now. Don't you know better than to dawdle so?" The man glared at him, his eyes a strange teal color. He grabbed his hand, and dragged him down the hall. "You're sister is waiting."

"H-hansel…?" America gaped at him, his jaw dropping. "Wha-… sister?"

The man turned a corner and pushed him into the room. America stumbled and bumped into someone. "Ah- who…?" Regaining his balance, he stepped away and found someone roughly his same height standing before him clothed in a dress of plain earthen colors. The person had ashy-blond hair, pale skin, violet eyes…wait.

Russia had his fingers dug into the dress, his cheeks turning an interesting shade of pink as he shivered in embarrassment. America gawked, his mouth slowly splitting into a hysterical grin. Russia glared at him darkly, his teeth grinding against each other.

"Stop laughing."

America smothered his mouth with his hands and snorted from his attempts to stifle his laughter.

"Come you two, we must leave."

America and Russia glanced to each other, both holding similar looks of "What the fuck is going on?", and then stared at the man.

"Where are we going?" America asked suddenly. "And who are you?"

The man stared at them. "I'm your father. What's the matter with you? Did you hit your head?"

He shook his head, took both of their hands into his own, and pulled them through the door.

America and Russia followed the older man, who claimed to be their father through the woods. They distanced themselves from the man until they could whisper to each other without the risk of being overheard.

"What the fuck is going on?" America hissed to Russia. "Why are we kids, wearing strange clothes, and…and… my name is Hansel. Hansel. Wait. Isn't that… oh my god."

"This couldn't be a dream." Russia tried reasoning, tried thinking about the entire situation logically. "This-"

"It's magic."

"This could be some kind-…Magic?"

America leaned in close. "That book we found, remember?"

Realization cleared the glaze of confusion from Russia's stare. "You think that book started all this?"

"It was different from all the others, and it was really old… what if it was magical or… or cursed?"

"You mean… that…book cursed us. And now…we're stuck in…?"

America turned away, focusing his gaze back to their father.

He was gone.

"Okay…okay. So we're stuck in a fairytale. Big deal!" America forced a laugh and turned to face Russia once again. "All fairytales end happily ever after right? So… we're in the story of Hansel and Gretel. Nothing bad happens to us!"

Russia crossed his arms over his chest and tried to look normal despite being clothed in a dress. His cheeks were rosy and face still held the plump, youthful roundness.

"That's your version." Russia fidgeted and fiddled with his girly clothes. "That book was old."

"…So…this doesn't have a happy ending?"

"I don't know, I never read it."

"What?" America rushed over to him and gripped Russia's shoulder's with his tiny hands. "But you have to know!"

"I didn't spend my youth reading fairytales." Russia glared at him and pushed him away. "Shouldn't we be thinking of a way to get out of here?"

"But…but this is a spell…or a curse right?" America started pacing before Russia, an old nervous habit. "And from my experience with England's weird spells… there's only a certain way to break them."

"…Go on."

"Well…uh…what if…we had to follow the fairytale like…like how its told? Like-"

"You think reenacting this fairytale will break the spell."

"Yes!" America jabbed a finger in the air at Russia. "I think that's how we'll break the spell."

Russia rolled this around in his mind. "…So what is this fairytale we're in?"

"It's about a brother and a sister, Hansel and Gretel. I'm Hansel, so that obviously makes you the chick."

"…Yes." Russia admitted in a growl. "I'm Gretel then."

"So it starts out with Hansel and Gretel being left in the woods by their dad, the woodcutter, cause their step-mom is a bitch who doesn't love her step-kids. Hansel, being the awesome older brother, brings bread and leaves a trail of bread crumbs from their home to where their Dad abandons them. Unfortunately, birds eat the bread crumbs."

"Smart."

"So they wander through the woods, trying to find their way home, when they come across a Gingerbread house. A witch lives there and locks Hansel up and makes Gretel do housework. The witch tries to fatten me up, but tricks the witch and both escape back to their awesome dad."

"What happened to the step-mom?"

"She dies."

"Ah, how convenient." Russia sighed and scratched at his arms that were covered in the sleeves of the dress. "So do you have the bread?"

America blinked and wilted in realization. Panicked, he checked his pockets and came up empty handed.

"…So we can skip that part." Russia turned and started wandering away. "We're supposed to be lost now anyway-"

"But-but wait we can't just…something bad could happen!" America ran after him and grabbed the end of his dress. "Russia-"

The woods suddenly turned on its axis and spun about him wildly.

America collapsed to his knees, clutching his head, squeezing his eyes shut.

Don't pass out, don't pass out!

He bit down on his tongue, but felt his limbs grow heavy, felt that sinking feeling in his gut.

Stay awake-!

He fell over onto his side, and darkness welcomed him.

America opened his eyes and found himself standing before a large window.

"Wha-…where…?"

He turned around, and pressed his hands to his abdomen, chest, neck and face. A wall-sized mirror entered his vision, and he took in his appearance. A fancy coat of white with red and gold trim covered his upper torso. Golden, braided cloth hung from his shoulder, hanging off as a priceless decoration. His pants were made of the finest cloth, both heavy and hand-stitched. White gloves covered his hands.

"...Fuck." America tore the white gloves off, finding them more annoying than anything else and looked over the room. A huge four-coaster bed sat at one end of the room, while a massive walk-in closet stood at the other side. He slowly walked to the closet and peered inside. Nervous tension flooded his gut. Row after row of gorgeous courtly suits and robes and other fine evening wear filled the closet to the brim. Priceless leather boots and shoes, all of different shades of brown and black, sizes and purposes.

With each new thing he discovered, the sicker he felt.

"…Where the hell is Russia?"

A heavy knock pierced the silence. A muffled voice came from the other side.

"Are you ready for your morning ride, Prince Charming?"

America poked his head from the closet and gawked at the huge double doors that lead to his room.

… Prince…Prince Charming?

"It's such a lovely morning, isn't it Prince Ch-"

"Please…please don't call me that."

"…Prince?"

"The other part."

"But your highness…that is your name. Charming."

America felt his pride shatter into a million pieces.

What kind of Fairytale am I in anyway? I'm a prince…and I'm in some classic kingdom… that's like every single fairytale ever.

"…Prince? Is that what you wished to be called?"

America shook himself from his inner thoughts.

"Prince is fine." America pulled out his old fashioned English-accent from his youth, hoping it sounded more regal. "Regardless, we're walking amongst my subjects. Wouldn't want them to think less of me, hm?"

"Ah! Of course! How could I forget, my Prince?"

…And England say's I can't act. Hah! If only Russia could see me now.

America kept his head high and back straight, going back to the old lessons he learned as a boy.

The elder man bowed his head, obviously some kind of servant to the Prince.

The kingdom was small and full of tradition and romance, looking like some classic castle America only saw in fairy tales. The horse he was on was a golden chestnut, with all the fancy training that came with it, changing the way it walked and acted. America found himself longing for his wild stallions back home. The buildings all looked like something out of a painting. Trees and wild flowers filling in the spaces, people all dressed modestly and acting friendly to each other, the birds singing and the happy conversations of the people… Russia being shoved out a stable door and falling into a mud puddle…wait.

"Honestly, Cinderella! Have you lost your mind?" A teen-aged girl stormed over to Russia, waving a finger in the air at him. "So far you haven't done a single thing right since you woke up!"

Russia slowly picked himself up from the puddle and leveled a glare so deadly that the last time America saw something like it was when Germany broke its alliance with Russia during the last world war.

"Sleeping in! Back talking and holding an attitude!" The girl stomped her foot into the puddle, splashing more filthy water at him and dug her fingers into his hair, jerking his head backward. "I don't understand why mother lets you live here anymore! You're nothing but a fat and lazy-"

America threw his reins to the side and jumped off his horse in a single motion. Feeling his temper starting to boil over, he stormed over to the girl, gripped her arm, and tried desperately to keep himself in-character.

"Unhand her."

The girl looked up and gasped.

"You-…your majesty!" The girl stepped away and curtsied. "Forgive me if I have offended you!"

America released the girl and slowly counted to ten.

"I…I dislike such abuse." America finally admitted in a strangled voice and turned to Russia.

I can't believe that girl said those things about him…he…he isn't any of those things…I… America forced himself to think of the current situation. Cinderella…Cinderella…fuck me there's like a million different versions! What the hell do I say?

Russia was on his hands and knees in the mud puddle, looking every inch a miserable man forced into women's clothing. America stared at him and knelt on the ground, earning a shocked gasp from the girl and the elderly man that came with him. Slowly, he held his hand out, offering it to him.

"…Can you stand?"

Russia glared at the offered hand, and raised his violet gaze to America's blue pools. For a moment, it looked as if he wanted to slap his hand away, and do something violent with the broom he clutched with a death grip. The moment came and went, and Russia lifted his own hand, larger than America's, to set into the prince's palm. America smothered a smile, forced his regal face back into place, and carefully lifted Russia to his feet.

A million thoughts passed through America's mind.

"Thank you." Russia's hand lingered on America's a tad too long, as the teen-aged girl started quivering in jealous anger. "Your…majesty." The title was forced through clenched teeth.

America stared at Russia and released his hand. "I…I would never allow such abuse in my presence." …I hate talking like this. So tiring… "Especially with…a girl as beautiful as you-" A dizzy feeling erupted within him. America jerked away and jabbed a finger in the air at the teenager. "Not that she isn't beautiful as well!" America quickly amended, and the dizzy feeling receded.

Guess that was the wrong thing to say.

Russia stared at him oddly, a question resting on the edge of his tongue that he wished to asked, but knew he couldn't. Finally, he feigned shyness and bowed his head. "You…say too much."

America forced himself to turn away and face the teen-aged girl. "I hope you treat your servants more…humanely from now on?"

The teen-aged girl nodded frantically, and in a bold move, stepped forward to grab America's hand and press two pink lips to the back of it. "Your majesty… you are a good and kind prince. I, as one of your subjects, would be honored to have you for morning tea."

America nearly gagged.

"Ah…tea?"

"Yes, you look famished." The girl kissed his hand again, her lips lingering on his skin. "Will you accept…my invitation?"

A crack erupted in the air for a moment, effectively ruining the moment. The teenager suddenly jerked away and looked around America.

"Why you- look at what you've done!"

America turned around and found Russia staring in surprise at the now broken broomstick in his hands. The broomstick was snapped in half, either end still gripped in Russia's hands.

"Now we'll have to get a new one!" The girl stormed over to Russia and gripped him by the arm, dragging him back to the stables. "And I'll be taking it out of your pay!"

America stood still for a moment longer, wondering about what truly happened when the elderly man called to him.

"Your majesty, we must get back to the castle. It seems your father has returned early and wishes to speak with you!"

America sat slouched in a tall-backed chair, lush with red velvet cushions.

"I just met with the Prince of the neighboring kingdom, and to my utter surprise, he is married!"

America stared at the thick white carpet and thought of Russia.

"You're nearly twenty and still you refuse to marry! I refuse to grow old and die without seeing grandchildren, to you understand?"

Russia… when that teenager came onto me…were you…jealous? Is that why you broke that broom?

"It's ridiculous, all the other King's sons are married! Why are you holding out?"

And…hearing her saying those things about Russia…he isn't any of those things! He's actually really hard working…and…and muscular…

"….Prince Charming."

America was jerked back to reality at the sound of that name.

"What?"

"…Have you been listening to a single word I've said?"

"You're frustrated at me because I'm not married yet."

The King stared at him. "But…you…you weren't paying attention! How did you do that…?"

America only smiled.

…If only you knew how many G20 and G8 meetings I've slept through only to face a grilling by the boss…plus knowing the story already kind of helps.

"That's it. We're holding a ball!" The King turned to his advisor. "I want you to send this to every house-hold in the kingdom! Every eligible maiden, by order of the king, shall attend!"

"Right away sire!"

America watched the advisor scurry away.

…This…is actually going rather well. Maybe…maybe we'll get out of this spell sooner than I thought?

America stood tall and straight, bowing as each maiden was introduced. The young ladies would come forward in their best gowns, curtsey to him, and then step away. Rinse and repeat.

…Where the fuck are you Russia?

Hours had passed, and if he remembered the story of Cinderella correctly, he had until midnight to meet him. The last he saw the clock tower it read eleven o'clock. His lower back was killing him from all the bowing, and he really wanted to get out of the uncomfortable suit he forced himself into several hours earlier.

…Damnit. I can't take this anymore. I bet he's deliberately hiding from me. He should've been here by now!

Breaking away from the throng of women that surrounded him, he walked through the castle halls, desperately trying to find the elder nation. At the corner of his eyes he saw one of the long velvet drapes flutter. Pausing, America turned and stepped over to the drapes.

"…Cinderella?"

The lump in the drapes didn't move.

America frowned and with a quick look around, yanked the drapes away to reveal Russia clothed in a beautiful silver dress. America couldn't help but think how it made the violet in his eyes stand out more.

"Go away!" Russia growled at him and tried pulling the heavy velvet drapes to cover him once more. "I refuse to go out there!"

America gawked at him and tore the drapes from his hands. "You don't have a choice! I have to take you out there and waltz with you, then we have to sit and talk intimately, then the clock tower strikes twelve at midnight, you run away and leave the glass slipper-…"

"No. No! I am not waltzing in - in…in this!" Russia waved at the gown that covered him. "I refuse to be…degraded like this! And you can't even waltz anyway."

"What? I can waltz!" America exclaimed in a rush of anger, but quickly forced a smile to his face and tried talking in a voice he reserved when calming down a wild animal. "Russia, all they see is a beautiful maiden-"

"But I can see it… And you can see it!"

"Who cares what I see!" America gawked at him in surprise. "All that matters is that we reenact this fairytale!"

"No."

"Damnit, Russia you can't do this! We're so damn close!"

"Look at me!" Russia waved his hand at his torso; the dress fit it rather well, despite his muscular arms and flat chest. "This…I…no!"

Russia finally lost all grasp of the English and fell into his native language. America could hardly make anything out, save for several curse words that all seemed to be aimed at the dress and the fairytale they were currently in.

"Russia-Russia please! If we get through this it will all go away! We'll wake up and laugh about it!"

Russia glared at him and turned away.

"Oh come on-"

The room suddenly tilted and spun, dizziness flooded him.

Not again…!

America stumbled on his feet before collapsing to the floor, knocking his head against the marble flooring with a crack.

America didn't want to wake up. He wanted to lay on this soft bed of something and let the cool feeling cover him from head to toe. He wanted to think of all this as a dream, and that he was going to wake up in his own bed back home. He would tell it to Tony, who would cuss about the weirdness of it, and the two would go on about their business.

He tried taking in a deep breath.

Water filled his mouth and flooded his throat.

Jerking awake, America clutched his throat and looked around. The bottom of the ocean surrounded him. The sunlight barely penetrated the darkness here, ultra-fine sand and boulder's filled in the bleak scenery. Fear took hold, and he tried coughing the water back up. Instead of large bubbles of air erupting from his mouth, only water came out. Instead of the burning pain that came with drowning, a good, soothing feeling flooded his lungs. Blinking in confusion, he took his hands away from his throat.

Translucent skin connected his fingers together, a delicate webbing of sorts. Eyes widening, he looked down and found himself shirtless, and where his legs should've been was a long, muscular fishtail. The scales were a deep blue that glistened brilliant neon when the light touched it. Reaching up to his hair, he found it to be the same, but…

My glasses are gone. America looked around to no avail. I feel naked without them…

Biting his bottom lip, he sighed again, a rush of cold ocean water rushing up his throat and exiting through his parted lips.

…So it looks like I'm the chick now. At least Russia will be happy.

America flicked his tail at the sand below and propelled himself upward, the cool water flowing through his hair, past his face and body.

So…this is the little mermaid. I know my version…but not the original.

He swam to the surface, or at least in what he hoped was the right direction, and thought of the story The Little Mermaid.

In my version…I guess now would be when I go to the surface and see the prince for the first time. The storm happens and I have to save him….

A dark sky opened up once America broke past the water's surface. Black thunderclouds blocked the stars and the moon, lightning flashed and arched across the sky, revealing a large galleon ship, its white sails contrasting sharply with the stormy night sky. Swallowing, America swam towards it and pulled himself up the side of the ship, and sat down on one of the ledges that jutted out from the side of the ship. Curling his fingers over the edge, he peered through a gap in the gunwale and took in the throng of sailors. Many held looks of worry and stared at the storm, discussing it in low, even tones.

…Alright. Where are you Russia?

America searched the sailor's faces. Lightning flashed again, and a head of ashy-blond hair came into view.

There!

Russia sat on a barrel near a group of sailor's, his face only semi-interested as it appeared he was deep in through about something. The normal clothes he usually saw him in at meetings, a nice suit with his scarf that never left his neck was gone, replaced by a white oversized shirt, dark, black-blue trousers and black leather boots. The scarf was gone, revealing the layers of scars surrounding his neck.

Is that why he always wears that thing? To hide those scars?

America frowned, curiosity filling him. I don't see anything wrong with them…sure I have plenty of scars on my body, but I don't feel that I have to hide them…I wonder-

A shout came from the sailor in the crow's nest, and the wind picked up, lifting and stretching the sails. The waves crashed and the ship rocked from one side to the other. America grasped the side of the ship to keep himself on his perch, but a particularly violent lurch to the side knocked him off, sending him crashing to the waves below. Struggling against the churning waves, America broke through the surface once more and watched the sailor's try to get the ship under control.

This is it! I have to watch for him-

A huge wave, larger than the rest, slammed into the side of the ship, and several men were tossed to the violent waves below, including Russia. America dove under the surface and swam towards him, working his muscular fish-tail and moving his arms. A body came into view, one that was unconscious and slowly sinking from the surface. Upon nearing him, America recognized the scarred neck and ashy hair and immediately looped an arm under Russia's arms and curled it around his chest. Pulling him close, America kicked and worked his fish-tail, slowly pulling Russia away from the ship and back to the surface.

After seeing the castle in the distance, America swam towards a nearby beach and slowly drug Russia up the sand and away from the waves as they curled and smashed against the beach. Exhausted, America nearly collapsed beside him, letting his head fall against his chest.

"You are really fucking heavy, you know that?" America sighed after picking his head up. "I've been swimming for hours…how in the hell did Ariel do all that? She's like half my size…"

America trailed off as Russia breathed, his chest expanding, and then falling down to its original space.

"Are…are you okay?" America asked suddenly, and lifted a hand to his neck to check his pulse. It came slow and steady. "I guess that means you're alright…"

His hand lingered on the scarred skin. Russia had never let anyone touch his neck, much less see it as he kept it covered up all the time.

"I wonder… something… really bad must have happened for you to want to hide these away…" America dragged his fingers across the puckered and raised skin, feeling the scars layered on top of each other. "I…don't think it's so bad. I think you should leave your neck uncovered more often." You look more…more handsome like this.

America ran his fingertips over Russia's adams-apple, over his jawline and cheekbones, tracing his finger across Russia's nose, to his forehead, and finally reaching his hairline. A strong urge of curiosity peaked within him, and America threaded his fingers through Russia's hair.

It's… so soft. America marveled, carding his fingers through the locks, rubbing the tips into the elder nations scalp. I always thought it would be…coarse… and thick…but it's actually really fine.

A soft noise came from Russia, and America jerked his hand away as if it had been burned. Swallowing audibly, America waited until Russia fall into the deep, even breaths from before.

"Oh Russia…" America whispered, his voice filled with longing. "…You have no idea how many times I wanted to tell you about…how I…really felt." America shook his head in shame. "Fuck me…I can't even say it now…even when you're asleep…"

America gave a soft, self-depreciating chuckle.

"Even…during that ridiculous war of ours…if you can even call it that…" America shook his head, scowling. "I wanted to hate you so much… to feel the same feelings my people felt." He heaved a sigh, his blue gaze softening. "But I…I couldn't."

A girl's voice sounded from a distance. Jerking away from Russia in alarm, America pulled away from him and dragged himself back into the waves, where he disappeared under the surface.

Russia opened his eyes, picked himself up, and stared into the ocean's horizon.

America clenched and unclenched his fists.

This…this isn't happening. What the…since when are fairy tale's scary?

The sea witch floated across from him, a knife in hand. Her skin was murky and covered with an opaque membrane. Her face was twisted and deformed, her legs a seething mass of tentacles all curling and twisting around each other.

A shudder ran up America's spine.

"Well?" The woman spoke, her mouth filled with dozens of sharp fangs, all pointing inward like an eels. "If you wish to grow legs…and be with the man you love… I must take payment."

"You want to cut my tongue out?" America exploded. "Why can't you just take my voice?"

And even when I get legs…every step I take will feel as if a knife is driving through my foot. Where the fuck did this fairytale originate from anyways?

"…You wish me to cut your voice box out?" The woman raised the gleaming silver knife.

"No!" America waved his hands at her. "No… just…like… not cut it out but…"

"I will only take your tongue as payment. You do wish to see him before he marries…don't you?"

Russia…the prince is getting married?

Jealous anger flushed within him, and he surged forward, opening his mouth and sticking his tongue out.

"Do it."