The Ploy~ RusAme Fanfic

Chapter 6

CHAPTER SIX

~Ivan~

I stood at the bus stop, anger emanating in a powerful, brooding cloud around me. Ukraine had woken me up earlier than usual this morning because she had gotten up so early to get ready. I wasn't able to sleep, not that I ever did anyways. Every time I did, bad memories would resurface and I'd be plunged into nightmares and regret. The circles under my eyes never went away, and I doubt they ever would.

Ukraine had probably been getting ready to see Canada. It's disgusting really. No Slav should be hanging out with anyone associated with that insufferable capitalist.

I looked back at Ukraine, who had her blonde hair up in an intricate braided bun. That's probably what took her so long this morning. I knew very well how long it took girls to get ready, especially considering the fact that I have two sisters.

Her outfit was also very planned out. She was wearing a white camisole, tan oversized cardigan, a black skirt, and white sneakers. It's clear that she thought a lot about her outfit, and even clearer that she wanted Canada to see it.

How Ukraine could think about that stuff after Father died, I don't know. It was like no one cared. Nothing changed. But I'll fix that by avenging my Father. He didn't deserve to die.

I clenched my jaw and looked out at the blue sky, the crisp fall air buffeting my face in a calming manner. My aggravated temper calmed down a bit. That was, until I heard America talking as loudly as possible from across the street.

I exhaled heavily in annoyance when I spotted America and Canada making their way to the bus stop. America nudged Canada suggestively in my sister's direction and Canada turned bright red.

How had I let that idiot tackle me yesterday? Seeing how docile and flustered he was at the sight of my sister, it was almost unbelievable to think he had managed to tackle me. It wasn't like I was light either. Canada had always been strangely protective over America though, so maybe that's why.

I crossed my arms and looked down my nose at America's dirty blonde mop of hair. He wasn't short, but he wasn't tall in my country either. America is around six foot, but I'm six-eight. Everyone's short compared to me. Canada's a bit taller than America at around six two, but there's not that much of a difference between us either.

As usual, America was wearing his camouflage hoodie and black skinny jeans, his darkly-tinted sunglasses protecting his eyes. He crossed his arms, leaning proudly into his hip. Noticing my gaze, he slightly tilted his chin up in my direction, and I felt his eyes lock onto mine. I stiffened slightly, something telling me that he was amused.

My eyebrows drew downwards as I eyed him boldly, making my mistrust of him crystal clear. A corner of his mouth twitched up slightly, so small that I barely spotted it before his face reverted back into a passive look. He glanced away and my eyes narrowed. Weak.

I watched as he tousled his hair nervously, a worry line creasing in between his brows and Canada instantaneously noticed. He shot America a small, worried look before stepping closer to him, a secret language seeming to pass between them. I watched amazedly as America moved discreetly so that he was no longer in my sight of vision, strategically tucked behind Canada's taller form.

Seriously, how had I missed this? Canada crossed his arms over his chest and glanced dangerously at me from the corner of his eye.

I scowled and looked away, realizing that I'd been caught. How was I supposed to destroy America if Canada was in on whatever he was hiding from the rest of us? I scowled, frustration flooding me. It was pathetic how much America relied on other countries to protect him. It was incredible how he could be a global superpower and still be so helpless as to need others to protect him from me.