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derevosky · 8 years ago

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Blue Little Soul: Chapter 1/5

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Categories: M/M

Fandom: Hetalia: Axis Powers

Relationships: America/Russia. Minor: England/France and Germany/Nyo!North Italy

Characters: Russia, Belarus, Prussia, Ukraine, Poland, China, England, Ancient Rome, America, Canada

AU: Human

Language: English

Word Count: 9,247

Summary: Ivan was back in Oregon, or as he would claim, his hometown after five years in St. Petersburg. He had a premonition, and eventually he discovered he had a power to manipulate something he didn’t even imagine that he can.

Chapter 1: Chrysalis

Was it night time? But there was a faint light. Maybe the sun was covered by thick dark clouds. It was raining heavy enough to be a storm, accompanied by thunders that seemed to be near. By a high cliff, there was a lighthouse, fortunately for now, not being approached by the tornado, but still affected the pine trees along the path to it; some were falling down. Ivan was there, for some reason unknown.

‘Where exactly am I? Why am I trapped in a storm? How did I get here… and where is ‘here’?’ He contemplated.

Without knowing what to do, unaware where the strong wind came from. Noticing the lighthouse, he attempted to go there.

‘A lighthouse… maybe I’ll be safe there.’ Ivan thought.

He walked slowly, carefully as his vision was blurry because of the rain and its darkness it casted, distracted by the electrifying feeling creeping in his body. He raised his arms to guard his eyes from the strong gust. A tree fall almost near him, surprising the ashen blond teen. He kept track on the steep trail, trying not to trip on some branches, and broken barks. As he got closer by the lighthouse, there was an abnormally large tornado by the sea, slowly approaching the town. Flabbergasted by the view, he didn’t notice ahead the thrown boat to the lighthouse effectively broken, and its debris was about to crush him. As it was going to fall unto him, he was too shocked to run, instinctively holding out his hand to protect himself.

He jumped out of his seat, almost fell out of it. His muffled hearing slowly cleared. He examined his surrounding as if he just got here; he was in a classroom. He swore he wasn’t sleeping. Why would he?

“Alfred Hitchcock famously called film ‘little pieces of time’ but he could be talking about photography, as he likely was.” Ms. Arlovskaya discussed.

‘Okay, I’m in class.’ Ivan clarified to himself.

(Feliciano’s pen fell to the floor. He picked it up.)

‘Everything is fine. I’m okay.’ Ivan comforted himself.

He was in Ms. Arlovskaya’s class, his favorite photographer that somehow got here in a dead end of a town to teach photography.

(Liz threw a paper ball at Kat.)

“Now can you give me an example of a photographer who perfectly captured the human condition in black and white?” Ms. Arlovskaya inquired the class.

(Gilbert's phone vibrated.)

‘That wasn’t a dream. It felt too real. Was that supposed to be a nightmare?’ Ivan still felt perplexed.

“Diane Arbus.” Gilbert answered with a grin.

“Very well, Gilbert. Why Arbus?” Ms. Arlovskaya was pleased.

“Because of her images of hopeless faces. You feel like, totally haunted by the eyes of those sad mothers and children.” Gilbert explained.

“She saw humanity as tortured, right? And frankly, it's bullshit. Seriously though, I could frame any one of you in a dark corner, and capture you in a moment of desperation. And any one of you could do that to me. Isn't that too easy? Too obvious? What if Arbus chose to capture people at the height of their beauty or innocence? She had a brilliant eye, so she could have taken another approach.” Ms. Arlovskaya deliberated.

“I have to admit, I'm not a big fan of her work. I prefer... Robert Frank.” Gilbert answered as if they were conversing.

“Me too, Gilbert. He captured the essence of post-war America. Then, there was honesty about the economic conditions of the era, but a beauty in the struggle. You don't have beauty without a beat. Which explains why Frank was Kerouac's photographic muse and both were great chroniclers of the 1950s. We've all seen that iconic shot of Kerouac on the balcony - and if you haven't, shame, shame - capturing the romantic urban solitude of the 20th century poet. You understand? Now, contrast Frank's stark Americana with Salvador Dali's surrealist photographs. Like Cocteau, he was a true renaissance man, and his famous self-portraits are famous early examples of that truly awful word you pesky kids love so much, the ‘selfie’. And it's a great tradition, and I wholeheartedly fight for your right to self-expression. So if anybody wants to question the portrait as modern narcissism, they could go back hundreds of years to blame society.” She rambled and noticed this as most of the class didn’t pay attention.

“Speaking of questions, I bet you thought I'd talk all the way until the bell rang. It's your turn to lecture us. Now, based on the chapters I have no doubt you all memorized, who can tell me the name of the actual process that led to the birth of the self-portrait? Anybody?” She tried to peak up the class which just made most of the people quiet.

“This does not bode well. Just jump right in with an answer. This was in the chapters you read. You did read the chapters, right? Your silence is deafening. If this were a photo, I'd call it a still life.” She sighed, waiting for an answer.

(Ivan took a picture of himself using his polaroid.)

“Shh, I believe Ivan has taken what you kids call a ‘selfie’. A dumb word for a wonderful photographic tradition. And Ivan” she said, like a proud teacher.

“…has a gift. Of course, as you all know, the photo portrait has been popular since the early 1800's. Your generation was not the first to use images for selfie-expression.” Now, she was feeling proud for the pun.

“Sorry. I couldn't resist. The point remains that the portraiture has always been a vital aspect of art, and photography, for as long as it's been around. Now Ivan, since you've captured our interest and clearly want to join the conversation, can you please tell us the name of the process that gave birth to the first self-portraits?” she returned to her question.

“You’re asking me? Uhm, let me think…” Ivan, answered profoundly.

“Either you know this, or not, Ivan. Is there anybody knows how to answer?” She said in frustration.

“Louis Daguerre was a French painter who created "daguerreotypes", a process that gave portraits a sharp reflective style, like a mirror.” Gilbert answered then looked at Ivan.

“Now you're totally stuck in the Retro Zone. Too bad, it’s not that awesome. Suck your scarf while you’re at it.” Gilbert added, and Liz laughed.

“Very good, Gilber. The Daguerreian Process brought out fine detail in people's faces, making them extremely popular from the 1800's onward. The first American daguerreotype self-portrait was done by Robert Cornelius. You can find out all about him... In your textbook. Or even... online.” The teacher was relieved until the school bell rang.

“And guys, don't forget the deadline to submit a photo in the ‘Everyday Heroes’ contest. I'll be with the winner to San Francisco where you'll be guaranteed influential by the art world. It's great exposure, and it can blossom your career in photography. So Feliciano and Ludwig, get it together. Liz, don't hide, I'm still waiting for your entry too. And yes Ivan, I see you pretending not to see me.”

‘Gilbert didn’t waste any second on kissing ass, no?’ Ivan mused.

He noticed Yekaterina wasn’t as cheerful as today. He approached his classmate and tried to engage her in a conversation.

“You seemed quiet today, Kat.” Ivan started.

“Just thinking too much, I guess.” She smiled weakly.

“I hear that. Want to have tea with me and complain about life?” He offered.

“Thanks, but not today. I have homework to do.” She said, still smiling that friendly and mother-like smile, although not as bright.

“No worries. Let’s hang out later then.”

“Sure.”

By the teacher’s table, Gilbert and Ms. Arlovskaya were talking about the contest.

“Yes Gilbert, you still have to do your homework this week, even if you're submitting your photo for the competition. Everybody in class is turning a photo, so you see the dilemma.” She deadpanned.

“I know, Ms. Arlovskaya. I just worked so hard on this shot, and I'm sure you know what it's like to be consumed by your work. I just really think ‘Everyday Heroes’ is an important cultural event, and I want to represent Blackwell Academy.” Gilbert raised his concern rather obnoxiously.

“You have just by participating, by putting yourself out there in the world. Well, no matter who wins, this is just a bump on a bigger road. I don't want anybody to feel excluded from this process. But I also want everybody to know that this photographic world is not for everybody. I had my moment in the camera eye and everybody should have that chance, right?” She answered objectively.

“Oh totally. I only want to share whatever gifts I have with the world...” He said.

Ivan approached the two.

“Excuse me, Ms. Arlovskaya, can I talk to you for moment?”

“Yes, excuse you.” Gilbert demanded.

“No, Gilbert, excuse us. I'd never let one of photography's future stars avoid handing in his picture.” The teacher dismissed Gilbert earning a pout from him.

“Do I have to? I don’t really think I have what it takes.” Ivan reacted.

“Ivan, you're a better photographer than a liar. Now I know it's a drag to hear some old woman lecture you... but life won't wait for you to play catch-up. You're young, the world is yours, blah blah blah, right? But you do have a gift, you have the fever to take images, to frame the world only the way you envision it. Now, all you need is the courage to share your gift with others. That's what separates the artist, from the amateur.” She encouraged.

“Okay, Ma’am. I will try. Thank you.” Ivan shyly bowed his head and headed towards outside the class.

The corridor, as usual, was filled with students. Some were walking, laughing at something; some were talking, standing by the lockers. The janitor was mopping the floor, muttering something. Ivan noticed, every now and then, the recurring posters of a missing person at almost every corner of his sight as he was looking for the restroom. ‘Matthew Williams’, he recalled. When he got inside his destination, it was empty. ‘Good.’

Ivan turned on the faucet then washed his face; he looked at the mirror, and remembered to turn off the faucet. He wiped his wet hands on the side of his pants, and took out his polaroid photo.

‘Relax, Ivan. Stop torturing yourself. You have… a gift.’ Ivan doubted. He sighed heavily.

‘Fuck it.’ He tore the photo while a bright blue butterfly flew into the restroom. It landed on a bucket beside the stall. Ivan followed it with careful footsteps. He approached the butterfly with his camera on his hands. He took a photo, and the butterfly flew away; it landed on the sink. Almost getting out of the corner, Feliks entered the room, closing the door. Ivan remained in his spot, hiding.

“It’s okay, Feliks. You're okay. Just count to three... Don't be scared... You, like, own this school... If I wanted, I could blow it up... You're the boss...” Feliks was breathing heavily.

A bespectacled blond entered the room as well.

“So, what do you want?” Feliks asked without looking at who is he’s asking.

“I hope you checked the perimeter, as my step-ass would say. Now, let's talk bidness.” The blond said rather without any sign of closeness.

“I got nothing for you.” Felix deadpanned.

“Wrong, you got hella cash.”

“That’s my family, not me.”

“Oh boo hoo, poor little rich kid. I know you been pumpin' drugs n' shit to kids around here. I bet your respectable family would help me out if I went to them. Man, I can see the headlines now.”

“Leave them out, you bastard.”

“I can tell everybody Feliks Łukasiewicz is a punk ass who begs like a little girl and talks to himself!”

Feliks took out a gun and pointed it at the blond.

“You don't know who the fuck I am or who you're messing around with!” Feliks shouted.

“Where'd you get that? What are you doing? Come on, put that thing down!” the blond panicked.

“Don't EVER tell me what to do. I'm so SICK of people trying to control me!”

“You are going to get in hella more problems for this than drugs.”

“Nobody would, like, ever miss your ‘punk ass’, would they?”

“Get that gun away from me, psycho!”

Feliks pulled the trigger, and shot the blond in the stomach. Without thinking straight, Ivan reached out by stretching his right hand.

“NO!” Ivan shouted, and his world began to slow down. The gun was falling slowly, and floating upwards to the owner’s hands. The world began to move reversely, and suddenly swirled. Everything was too fast to comprehend.

Ivan found himself in a classroom, again, almost falling out in his chair. He was in class. The class with Ms. Arlovskaya.

“Alfred Hitchcock famously called film ‘little pieces of time’ but he could be talking about photography, as he likely was.” Ms. Arlovskaya discussed.

Feliciano dropped his pen, and picked it up. Again.

‘I already heard this before.’ Ivan pondered.

Liz threw a paper ball at Kat.

‘Kat is being bullied again. And if Gilbert’s phone vibrates…’

Gilbert’s phone vibrated. Again.

Surprised, he knocked his camera off the desk, causing it to break.

‘So… I can actually reverse time?’ Ivan gaped at his thought. He noticed his broken camera, and with enough time manipulation, it was fixed.

‘I did it! Wow. I’m, I’m a time-traveller! Okay, so, what happened before? Ah, yes. I took a picture of myself, then Ms. Arlovskaya asked a question.’

“Shh, I believe Ivan has taken what you kids call a ‘selfie’. A dumb word for a wonderful photographic tradition. And Ivan” she said, yet again, like a proud teacher.

‘I’m not dreaming. This is real. What if, I could save that boy?’

“The point remains that the portraiture has always been a vital aspect of art, and photography, for as long as it's been around.” The teacher was still discussing.

‘I need to go to the bathroom!’

“Now Ivan, since you've captured our interest and clearly want to join the conversation, can you please tell us the name of the process that gave birth to the first self-portraits?” She looked at Ivan, waiting for an answer.

“I need to go the bathroom.”

“Nice try, Ivan. But you're not going to get away that easy. We can talk more after class.” She was not amused.

‘Oh shit, Ms. Arlovskaya wants to keep me after class. And I need time to save that boy.’

“Is there anybody here who knows their stuff?”

“Louis Daguerre was a French painter who created "daguerreotypes", a process that gave portraits a sharp reflective style, like a mirror.” Gilbert answered then looked at Ivan, as he was supposed to be.

“Now you're totally stuck in the Retro Zone. Too bad, it’s not that awesome. Suck your scarf while you’re at it.” Gilbert added, and Liz laughed.

An idea formed in Ivan’s head. He decided to rewind time. The world began to swirl again for a few seconds then...

“The Daguerreian Process. Invented by French painter named. Louis Daguerre. Around 1830.” Ivan answered hesitantly.

“Somebody has been reading. Nice work, Ivan.” She beamed, proud of her student.

“The Daguerreian Process made portraiture hugely popular, mainly because it gave the subjects clear defined features. You can learn more when you actually finish reading the assigned chapters. Ivan is so far, way ahead of everybody.”

With a queue in his head, the bell rang.

‘Ivan, you are not crazy. You are not dreaming. It's time to be ‘Everyday Hero’.’

He was about to exit the classroom until Ms. Arlovskaya stopped him.

“I see you, Ivan Braginsky. Don't even think about leaving here until we talk about your entry.”

Ivan winced, then turn around to see his teacher. He walked towards her.

“I'd never let one of photography's future stars avoid handing in his picture.” She noted.

“I'm not avoiding, just...”

“Biding time, waiting for the elusive ‘right moment’?”

“Da. Exactly.”

“Ivan, don't wait too long.”

“…da. I will do my best, Ms. Arlovskaya.”

She nodded. Ivan took this time to leave, and hurried to the restroom. He retraced what happened by doing what he did. He washed his face, ripped his photo, and took a photo of a butterfly. He remained in his hiding spot. He noticed the fire alarm, readied himself with a hammer he picked on the floor, and waited for the moment to come.

“…leave them out, you bastard.”

“I can tell everybody Feliks Łukasiewicz is a punk ass who begs like a little girl and talks to himself!”

Feliks took out a gun and pointed it at the blond.

“You don't know who the fuck I am or who you're messing around with!” Feliks shouted.

“Where'd you get that? What are you doing? Come on, put that thing down!” the blond panicked.

“Don't EVER tell me what to do. I'm so SICK of people trying to control me!”

“You are going to get in hella more problems for this than drugs.”

“Nobody would, like, ever miss your ‘punk ass’, would they?”

Ivan braced himself, exhaled, and started the fire alarm.

“No way…” Felix muttered.

“Don’t EVER come near me, you fucker!” the blond then punched Felix causing him to fall.

The blond rushed out of the restroom while Felix picked up his gun, noticed the stripped photo on the floor.

“Another shitty day…” Felix muttered while exited the room.

‘Did. I… just save… that boy?’ Ivan felt excited while his body was still in shock. His adrenaline slowly draining, reminding him that he violated a school rule, and decided to head outside. When he did, he was greeted by a security guard.

“Didn’t you hear the bloody alarm? That means you should be outside.” Arthur scolded.

“I had to use the bathroom.” Ivan answered quickly.

“Yeah, sure. I can see your face covered with guilt.”

“The alarm tripped me out.”

“Then trip on out here, lad. Or are you hiding something?”

“Thank you Mr. Kirkland, the situation is under control. There's no emergency here. Leave Mr. Braginsky alone and please turn off that alarm, since that's your job.” Principal Vargas joined their conversation.

Arthur decided to walk away, irritated. As Ivan was to walk away as well, the principal stopped him.

“Hold on, Ivan. Come back here” he commanded. Ivan complied.

“You look a little stressed out. Are you okay?” he inquired.

“I'm... I'm just a little worried about my... future.”

“You are sweating pinballs. Is that all you're thinking about? You can always be upfront with me, Ivan. Or have you done something wrong... Is that it? Well, Ivan? Talk to me.”

Ivan was cautious to give an answer. He can either tell the truth or hide it.

He decided to tell the truth.

“I just saw Feliks Łukasiewicz waving a gun around... in the restroom.”

“Feliks Łukasiewicz. You sure?”

“Yes. He was in the bathroom talking to himself with a gun. I saw everything. He was babbling like crazy.” Ivan said as his accent slipping.

“Okay, slow down, slow down. So now you saw this... without him seeing you?”

“I was hiding. Behind stall.”

“I know, I know. I just wanted to be completely clear what happened. Mr. Łukasiewicz happens to be from the town's most distinguished family. And one of Blackwell's most honored students. So it's hard for me to see him brandishing a weapon in the school’s restroom. So what happened next?”

“Then he left. I ran out here wondering what to do. Are you going to bust him?”

“We'll continue this discussion, later, in my office. Please go outside with the rest of your class now, Mr. Braginsky.”

‘Of course this academic drone won't do anything since the Łukasiewicz family owns Blackwell now. Should I rewind and change my story?’

He dropped his thought, and exited the building.

“Attention. Feliks Łukasiewicz, please go to the principal’s office at once.” The school speakers echoed throughout the open field.

Ivan noticed his Spanish history teacher by the door.

“Excuse me, Ivan? I know everybody loves being asked to sign a petition, but would you do Mr. Carriedo a favor and hear me out?” Mr. Carriedo inquired.

“Sure, I always have time for you. What's the petition?

“Arthur Kirkland, our chief of security, wants to put surveillance cameras all around the campus. Halls, classrooms, gym, dorm rooms etc. Blackwell Academy should be a high school, not a high security penitentiary.”

“I guess cameras could have helped Matthew Williams. I can see both sides.”

“You're fair minded, Ivan. And we all pray Matthew is found safe and sound, bless his soul. But this petition isn't about him. Blackwell Academy has a noble heritage, from the Native Americans who founded this land, to the pioneers who shared it in peace, not fear and violence.”

“The Native Americans?” Ivan curiously asked.

“The tribes who were here first, who welcomed the settlers. Both cultures found a mutual symbiosis and thrived. Now before I assign you homework with this lecture, will you please sign the petition to keep our campus from going back to 1984?”

“Absolutely. I don't mind security, but not... pure surveillance.” he signed the paper his teacher hold out.

“I knew you were my favorite new student at Blackwell for a good reason.” he smiled at his student and dismissed him.

He began exploring the campus. It was quite an open field with pine trees scattered along with lightposts and stoned paths; a fountain was at the center with the campus’ historical figure’s bust on top. There were students who were sitting nearby; some tossed coins. Among the grassy field were occupied tables, minding their own clique.

“Hey, you’re that new quiet kid, right? In Ms. Arlovskaya’s class?” Toris suddenly greeted him.

“Ah, hello Toris.” He greeted him back.

“Isn’t she incredible? You know, Ms. Arlovskaya?” Toris gleamed.

“I think so, too. We're lucky to have such famous teacher. And I actually love her works.”

“Me too. Her New York urban stuff is great, but I'm glad he came back to her Belarusian roots. Screw the East Coast elite. It must piss off those pretentious galleries that Natalya Arlovskaya is teaching photography to us Blackwell hicks... plus she is really hot.” He noted as matter-of-factly. “If Gilbert wasn't all over her, I would definitely make a move.” He added.

“No way. You can get her busted. And she's not going to mess around with a student.” Ivan retorted.

“That's what you think.”

“Now how do you know this?”

“You have a lot to learn here at Blackwell. Matthew Williams absolutely had sex with her. Well... I heard that from a good source.”

“So you knew Matthew?”

“Not really. I saw him hanging with the other cool kids like Gilbert. Not my kind of clique. But I heard insane stories about Matthew...”

“Well, you shouldn’t assume, I guess.”

“Beats me, anyway, nice talking to you.”

Ivan nodded then dismissed himself. As he walked around aimlessly, he spotted Wang Yao sketching on his pad.

“Privet Yao!” he waved his hand, approaching the Chinese student.

“Nihao, Ivan. You don’t mind sketching you, do you?” Yao asked his permission.

“I’d be honored, Yao. Makes me feel like a muse.” He giggled.

“Funny you should say that. I was just thinking about my real muse in class, Matthew Williams.” He started sketching quickly some guidelines.

“Hard to avoid his posters all over campus.” His body stilled while Yao added thicker lines to his sketch.

“Kills me to see his sweet face used as a crime photo. He had a good heart.” He shaded some parts smoothly.

Ivan nodded a little so he wouldn’t ruin Yao’s work. As Yao began finishing the details, he squinted, stretched his arm to see the whole work in a different angle. He sketch a little more, and decided that his work was complete.

“Ja-jan! It’s done.”

“Wow! I like how you drew my nose. It’s smaller, da?” he joked.

“Believe it or not, your nose is your asset.” Yao noted.

“Thanks, little one. Anyway, I should get going. Talk to you later.” He giggled, and waved goodbye.

“Bye bye!”

He glanced at his footsteps and he noticed the sidewalk was plagued by a patch of ants, circling like a spiral. A bizzare sight, he noted. He felt his phone vibrated. He read the text he just received.

From: Alice Vargas

Hey, meet me at the parking lot. But, don’t forget my flash drive!

He kept his phone in his pocket, and walked to the dormitories. As he was about to enter his building, unfortunately, Gilbert was there by the stairs blocking the doorway.

“Oh look, it's Ivan Braginsky, the selfie ho of Blackwell. What a lame gimmick. Even Nat —Ms. Arlovskaya— falls for your waif hipster bullshit.” he greeted while Elizabeth and Roderich was there.

“‘The Daguerreian Process, ma’am!’” he mocked his Russian accent. Ivan rolled his eyes.

“You could barely even say that. I guess you got your meds filled. Since you know all the answers, I guess you have to find another way into the dorm. We ain't moving. Oh wait, hold that pose!” Gilbert held out his phone and a shutter sound rang.

“So original. Don't worry, Ivan, I'll put a vintage filter on it right before I post it all over social medias. Now, why don't you go fuck your selfie?” Gilbert insulted him as Ivan walked out away, glaring and grumbling.

‘Oh yes, Gilbert. I will definitely get you albino ass out of the way.’ He smiled in quite a creepy way. He would smack him with a water pipe if he had to, but he had enough trip to the principal’s office. As he looked up, he witness the janitor was painting the walls, and knocked out the paint bucket, unfortunately, far enough from Gilbert. Forming an idea, he saw that the sprinklers by the side of the doorway were turned off. He went to the janitor’s shed which was also the control room, and turned on the sprinklers.

As the sprinklers were on, Gilbert and his friend abruptly stood up from the stairs they were sitting on.

“What the hell? Are you kidding? Look at this...” Gilbert ranted.

“It’s just water, Gil.” Rod remarked.

“Water on my awesome cashmere! Do you know how much this fucking outfit cost?” Gilbert added.

The paint bucket dropped, causing it to splash some of its content to Gilbert.

“No fucking way!” Gilbert whined.

“Oh my god, I’m really sorry.” The janitor apologized frantically.

“Don’t even talk to me or I’ll have you fired!”

“Shit, let me get some towels.” Liz said.

“Hello, Gilbert.” Ivan said with a smile.

“Don’t even say a word, Ivan.”

“Oh wait, hold that pose! And no filter needed before I post this. Now please move. I've had messed up day and I'm going to my room. Poka!” Ivan mocked, earning a glare from Gilbert.

“You do that... I know where you live... So does Felix...” Gilbert warned.

‘Maybe I shouldn't have done that... Now I have to get to my room, then see Alice.’

He walked through the halls, then entered his room. He looked for Alice’s flash drive but instead found a note from Ludwig. “I borrowed Alice’s flash drive. You could get it from me. –Ludwig B.”

‘Great. Now I have to talk to his brother.’ Ivan complained. He went to Ludwig’s room and saw him there typing something on his computer. He looked focused at what he was doing.

“Ludwig, may I know where is the flash drive?”

“Oh, Ivan. You’re here. Uh…” Ludwig was surprised but didn’t show it as much. He looked for something, and found the flash drive near him. “Here it is.”

“Ah, spasiba, Ludwig.” He headed out of his room and then the building.

He witnessed Raivis got hit by a football. He rewinded the time, and warned Raivis.

“Raivis, look out!”

“Huh?” Raivis moved his head, and blinked in shock when he felt the football almost touching his face.

“Wow, thank you, Ivan!” the boy said earning him a smile from Ivan.

‘Yay! I helped someone!’ he chirped. He walked along the path, and saw small dead birds along the way. ‘That’s quite ominous.’ When he was heading outside the dormitory premises, he heard a familiar British voice scolding someone.

“...so don't think I'm blind! I see everything here at Blackwell! Do you understand what I'm saying?” Arthur alleged.

“No! And leave me alone.” Kat answered back.

“Hey, why don't you leave her alone?” Ivan stepped in.

“Excuse us, this is official campus business—“ Arthur snapped.

“Excuse me, you shouldn't be yelling at students. Or bullying them.”

“Hey, hey, nobody is bullying anybody. I'm doing my job.”

“No, you're not.”

“You're part of the problem, lad. I will remember this conversation.” Arthur left them.

“Oh Ivan, that was great. I think you scared him for once... I have to go, but thank you. It means a lot.” Kat said with an appreciative tone while smiling still weakly.

“Anytime, Kat.” He smiled back but wider.

Going through the school campus again, he walked briskly. He spotted the parking lot, and then Alice by her car. Alice saw him approaching, smiled as she usually do while waving her hand energetically like the cheerful girl she was.

“Ciao, Ivan! How are you?” She greeted and hugged him. He hugged back.

“Here's your flash. Spasiba, as usual.”

“No problem. Check out my new wheels.”

“Cool. Very old-school.”

“1978, to be exact. Now we can go to the drive-in. There's one in Newberg, just sixty miles away.”

“You're in wrong time, Alice. But then, so am I.”

“You okay?”

“It's been one strange fucking day.” He sighed.

“Man, I saw that Gilbert didn't take down that pic of you on Facebook. Major dick move.”

“No worries, Alice. I took sweet shot of Gilbert I can't wait to share.”

“Oh, score one for Team Ivan! It will be so karmic to see his ass-clown face all over the nets.”

“I guess he does deserve it for all shitty things he's done to people here.”

“By the way, I saw Yao’s sketch of you online? Not bad, but I could do a much a better job.”

“Yao posted it online already? That was nice.”

“Congrats! You're part of his online portrait posse.”

“Don't be jealous. I'm sure he'll ask you soon.”

“Oh you're a wit, Ivan.”

“It's the company I keep, Alice.”

“So, did you get a chance to check out the movie booty on my flash drive?”

“Da. You had taste, from ‘Akira’ to ‘Twilight Zone’ which seems appropriate today.”

“I consider myself a pop...cultural pirate connoisseur.”

“That does sound better than ‘thief.’”

“Ha-ha. Make sure you watch ‘Cannibal Holocaust’.”

“Seen it. I was more disturbed by all those emo vampire movies in there.”

“Can't a sensitive high school girl love sensitive vampires too?”

“So you're sensitive...”

“Ouch, that sounds awful the way you say it.”

“Not at all. Sensitive is good, unless you're a pushover. You have hip taste and quick mind.”

“Thanks for noticing, Ivan.”

“The right boy will, too...”

“If I was lucky. Speaking of hip and fast, we should cruise out in my car to an actual movie this week. But you seem distracted.”

“I need to talk to somebody ...just to get it out of my system.”

“Dr. Alice Vargas is in the house. I won't even prescribe you any meds. Tell me everything.”

“For reals, Alice, this is between you and me, not social media.”

“Don't insult me, Ivan, go on.”

“I had this incredibly bizarre experience in Ms. Arlovskaya’s class today. I mean, life-changing. Have you ever had dream so real it was like movie?”

Alice was about to say something, but Feliks was approaching them while glaring.

“Ivan Braginsky, right? In Arlovskaya’s class?”

“Da. I’m one of her students.”

“What-the-fuck-ever. I know you like to take pictures, especially when you're hiding out in the bathrooms.” He said as he shoved Alice when she tried to stop him from bringing his face closer on Ivan’s.

“You best tell me what you told the Principal. Now!” Feliks demanded.

“I told him truth: student had gun.” Ivan deadpanned.

“No, you told him I had a gun! That's why he dragged me into his office.”

“And did what, give you stern lecture?”

“Nobody ...nobody lectures me! Everyone tries though ...they try...” Feliks almost broke down.

“You should talk to somebody, Feliks...” Ivan said out of concern.

“Do not analyze me! I pay people for that. Worry about yourself, Ivan Braginsky.” Feliks back at his previous trance.

“Take a step back, Feliks.”

“Oh, man, you're, like, telling me what to do?”

“Hey! You should stop shouting at him!” Alice confronted but was given a head-butt by Feliks.

“You shouldn’t have done that!” Ivan growled, tried to grab Feliks, but was grabbed in the neck by Feliks instead.

“Nobody tells me what to do! Not my parents, not the Principal, or like, that whore in the bathroom!” Feliks dictated.

Ivan scrapes Feliks's cheek with his attempted punch, and Feliks pushed him to the ground. An old pick-up truck drove up to the scene. Ivan got up, panting for air, and looked in the windshield, where the bespectacled blond from the restroom was in the driver's seat. He suddenly recognized who he was.

“Alfred?”

“Ivan?”

“No way, you again?” Feliks interrupted their mini-reunion, and eventually got punched by Ludwig.

“Ludwig?!” Ivan shouted out of worry.

“Don’t worry, we got this.” Alice smiled, and continued to face Felix along with Ludwig.

“Get in, Ivan!” Alfred shouted as Ivan complied.

“Get your punk asses out of there now! Don't even try to run! Nobody messes with me! Nobody!” Feliks shouted as they drove away. Arthur interrupted their fight.

“Feliks is messed up… and dangerous. This day never ends.” Ivan said what was on his mind.

“’Oh, and spasiba, Alfred.’” Alfred spoke in an attempted Russian accent. “After five years, you're still Ivan Braginsky.” Alfred continued in his usual voice.

Ivan looks down and shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

“Don't give me the guilty face; at least pretend you're glad to see me.” Alfred pointed out.

“I am seriously glad to see you. Oh, and spasiba, Alfred. It makes perfect sense I'd see you today.” Ivan said sincerely.

“Yes, it's been that kinda day. So, what did that freak want with you?”

“Hopefully nothing after today. So, how do you know Feliks?”

“He's just another Arcadian asshole. Your friend really took a beatdown for you...”

“Ludwig? Yeah, I owe him big-time.”

“You're not the only one in debt. And you're already causing trouble.”

“Thought it would be quiet here. Feels so weird to be back.”

“So, I guess St. Petersburg sucked hard?”

“No, it felt like real city for artists. Big and bright. Great for taking pictures.”

“Yeah. Must be hard coming back to a hick town like Arcadia again.”

“Not after seeing you.”

“Please. You came back for Blackwell Academy.” He said bitterly.

“Of course, it's one of the best photography programs in the country. And my favorite teacher, Natalya Arlovskaya.” Unfortunately, Ivan didn’t notice Alfred’s tone.

“So you came back to Arcadia for a teacher, not your best friend.” Alfred threw some shade, and Ivan winced.

“Don't you think I'm happy to see you?”

“No. You were happy to wait five years without a call or even a text.” Alfred just glared at the road.

“Give me a break! I was going through changes...like you...” Ivan weakly defended himself.

“I guess those changes included dumping me from your life.”

“That's not true, Alfred...” He frowned, not liking the conversation.

“Bullshit. You thought you'd hook up with all these art pricks in St. Petersburg. Didn't happen, though.”

“You're merciless.” Ivan muttered.

“You've been at Blackwell for almost a month without letting me know. 'Nuff said.” He reminded.

“I just wanted to settle in first and not be such a shy, cliche geek. I totally would've contacted you.”

“I bet you don't use these sad excuses on Ms. Arlov-whatever. Don't use them on me, Ivan.”

Ivan fell back on the seat behind him. He watched Alfred driving for a while, ‘Since when did he start wearing glasses? It looks good on him.’ he thought, then bended down to retrieve his camera, which was smashed during the confrontation in the parking lot.

“Ahh, blyat.” He muttered.

“Wow, haven’t heard that in a while.” Alfred mused.

“Nothing changes, except for my camera decided to be trash.”

“Good thing my step-douche has a boatload of tools. Maybe you can fix it at my place.”

“I need very specific, tiny tools.”

“Nerd alert! My stepdad has a fully-stocked garage. And he actually is a tiny tool.” Alfred smiled, losing up a bit of his scrunched face.

“Welcome home, Ivan.” he said warmly and Ivan thanked him in his head.

Ivan and Alfred drove up to Alfred's house, and parked in the driveway. They get out of the car, and Alfred began unlocking the door with his house keys.

“Come on in, don't be shy.” Alfred tried to be hospitable.

“The house still looks...nice.” A faint nostalgia surged through Ivan.

“Home, shit home.” Alfred remarked as he entered the house.

Ivan followed him upstairs, and entered his room.

“My room’s a bit different than the last time you saw it.”

“It’s cool. At least we can chill out.”

“This isn’t exactly where I chill out. My step-Fuhrer makes sure of that. Close the door, and put on some music while I ‘meditate’.” Alfred began smoking weed.

“So tell me, what does Ivan Braginsky do for fun now that he's a grown-up?”

“Not much. You know me. I like to observe the world more than participate.”

“I can't say I know you anymore; maybe you love to go clubbin' every night.”

“Can you see me at a rave?”

“I'd dose those candy-flippin' morons and watch them twitch into a DJ-dance-death-rattle... Take a photo of that.”

“Pfft, da. Sure.”

Ivan looked for the power switch and turned it on. He searched the metal box under the bed and took the CD. Noticing a picture of Matthew Williams, he pulls it out and unfolds it to reveal that the other side of the picture shows Alfred. He noticed this.

“Hey, give me that!” Alfred snatched the photo out of Ivan's hand.

“Ah, prosti. I wasn't trying to be nosy. Obviously, he was good friend, yes?”

“That's putting it mildly.”

Ivan sat down next to Alfred. Not really wanting to look a know-it-all, he inquired about Matthew.

“So, who is he? Do you mind talking about him?”

“Matthew Williams. He was my...angel.” He answered with longing.

“After my mom died and you moved, I felt abandoned. Matthew saved my life.” He continued.

“I had no idea...” Ivan whispered.

“Well, you never made much effort to find out. I was fourteen, we were best friends.” Alfred countered.

“So, Matthew took my place... I'm glad he was there for you.” He replied weakly.

“Matthew had my back. We were gonna kick the world's ass. You would laugh at how different we were... He wanted to be a star.”

“He looks like a model. Well, he looks like you.”

“We get that a lot. That was his plan. Our plan. Get the hell out of Bigfootville, and into Los Angeles.”

“So, what happened? Did your folks, your papa, try to stop you?”

“My papa was too busy hooked up with Sergeant Shithead.”

“I feel the love... Now, when did Matthew actually disappear?” Ivan said sarcastically.

“Six months ago. He just left Arcadia. Without a word. Without...me.” Alfred weakly responded.

“How do you know he disappeared? Maybe he wanted to start a totally new life...”

“Unlike you, he would've told me, okay? Something happened to him.” his tone took a break from the nostalgia.

“I believe you. I'm just trying to get all deductive...” Ivan sighed.

“Before he left, he said he met somebody who changed his life... Then, poof.”

“And you haven't heard anything from him since?”

“Like everybody in my life. My mom, you...and Matthew... Gone... Can you put on some music now?”

Ivan got up slowly. He inserted the CD into the stereo. "Santa Monica Dream" by Angus and Julia Stone began playing. Alfred lied down on the bed, a sad expression across his face, and he began to smoke.

“Anyway, you can find tools to fix your camera in the garage.” Alfred noted.

“Alfred, are you okay?” Ivan noticed Alfred’s dazed face.

“Sure, I'm awesome. I just want to blaze and be alone for a moment.”

“Horosho.” Ivan left Alfred's room and went downstairs.

He glanced around the living room, and invited himself to a nostalgia trip. ‘It’s been five years.’ The living room was still the same as he remembered, except for the old wallpaper stripping out of its age. The bulky television was gone, and was replaced with a flat-screen. He looked through the sliding door, noticed that the backyard’s swing was still there.

He spotted an open door to the garage and welcomed himself. He searched for the tools, cabinet by cabinet. When he opened another cabinet, he was surprised to see what’s inside. A small television with surveillance of the house. ‘Damn, Alfred’s step-dad is really paranoid and creepy.’ He closed the cabinet, and searched through the drawers instead. He found a manila folder containing Blackwell’s student profiles, and apparently, his opinions as well; he also had a file about Ivan. He skimmed through the detail. ‘Really nosy, doesn’t know how to mind his own business. Quite sketchy.’ He laughed quietly when he read his opinion about him. He read Kat’s file and it bothered him. ‘Related to a scandal in the Vortex Club’ he read. ‘Why would he thought of that? This man has a problem.’ He put the files back to its place, and opened another drawer, wherein he found the tools. He grabbed the tools and headed back to Alfred’s room.

“Sweet, you found the tools? Go work on my table. Just tidy it up a bit.” Alfred said as he noticed Ivan had returned.

He complied and began fixing his camera. He removed the pictures inside of it and put it aside. He screwed some parts as it began to take its form. When it seemed presentable, he pressed the shutter button. The cover did not immediately eject, so he removed the film backing, then reinserted it. It still didn’t work.

“Why are you pain in the butt?” He felt defeated.

Alfred stood up from his bed and moved closer to Ivan. He noticed the photos on the table, and looked at it one by one. He commented each of the photo with compliments, making Ivan smile. He then took the photo of a blue butterfly that seemed familiar.

“Hey! Is this… is this the butterfly in the restroom?!” Alfred exclaimed as if it’s a Eureka moment.

“Ahh, da. Yes. It is. Why?”

“You… you son of a gun. You saved me! You knew Feliks had a gun so you tripped the alarm. Wow, you’re like the KGB or something.” Alfred was still amazed.

“What are you talking about?” Ivan grinned and Alfred threw a pillow at him, causing the camera to fall.

“Now, it’s officially broken.” Ivan deadpanned.

“Hey, since, it was your birthday like more than a year ago. Right?” Alfred smiled, giddy, and searched for something in his cabinet. Well, under it. He pulled out a box, and found what he was looking for. He hid it behind his back and-

“Belated happy birthday, Ivan!” Alfred held out a Polaroid camera, better than his previous one.

“I- Uh, spasiba, Alfred. But isn’t this your mother’s camera?”

“Pfft, no worries. Besides, I don’t know how to take good shots, unlike you.”

“Bol'shoye spasiba, Alfred. I am much honored.”

“Y’know what, we should celebrate! You’re back, and we need to have a homecoming party for you.” He paced through his room and changed the music to a livelier one. He maxed the volume, and started dancing on top of his bed.

“C’mon. Shake that big, white ass!” He howled, earning a giggle from Ivan as he awkwardly began dancing as well.

“Are you even trying, Ivan?” He danced vigorously, bobbing his head.

“Turn off that bloody music, Alfred Bonnefoy-Kirkland!” A voice shouted from downstairs.

“Fucker, I hate it when he does that.” Alfred cursed as he turned off the stereo.

“What now?” Ivan asked.

“I’m going to your room, young man.” His step-dad shouted.

“Oh, shit. Ivan, go hide or something.” Alfred whispered.

Ivan was frantically finding a hiding spot, and remembered that he used to hide in Alfred’s closet. He went inside and remained silent while he heard the door opened.

“Alfred, did you, or did you not take any of my guns in my stash?” His step-dad asked impatiently.

“Wow, what are you even talking about?”

“Is this marijuana? Why am I finding marijuana in this house?”

“Okay, first, guns. Now, weed. Wanna blame me more on something else?”

“I will not tolerate that kind of tone if I were you. Your father and I were worried about you.”

“Yeah, sure. I feel the love.”

“Answer my question, why is there marijuana in your room?”

“I… Uhh, it’s mine.” Ivan lied as he stepped out of the closet. He was surprised to see Arthur Kirkland in Alfred’s room.

“Okay, first of all, I don’t like it when bloody strangers pop out from my son’s closet. And you do know the consequences for having such illegal drug, Ivan Braginsky.”

“You should shut it, Arthur. You shouldn’t care who I’m friends with. And please call me Alfred F. Jones if you really want to call me by my full name.” Alfred butted in.

Ticked off, Arthur slapped Alfred in the face. Alfred glared at him.

“You’ll regret this.” He warned, eyes glinting.

Arthur, without another word, walked away with grief.

“Alfred, are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. So that’s my step-douche.”

“I can’t believe Arthur Kirkland is your step-dad.”

“Yeah, beats me on how Francis looked him in the eye and say ‘Wow I love this man’ because seriously, who could even like that guy? Anyway, I have another surprise.” He went to his table and uncovered something.

He held it in his back then held it out. It was a gun.

“Look at my cool toy.”

“Alfred, chto za blyat?!”

“I know, pretty cool, right?” He ignored his friend’s colorful expression.

“Anyway, let’s go outside. I don’t really feel chill here anymore.” He opened his window and noticed Ivan hesitated.

“What? Are you coming or you’re just gonna mope there and maybe have a heart to heart talk with Arthur?” He continued stepping out through the window.

Ivan followed him, and he was excited.

They went to a familiar cliff. Too familiar.

“Isn't this awesome sauce? Totally reminds me of when we were kids...” Alfred recalled. He noticed Ivan was slowing down and waved at him. “Come on, slowpoke!”

“Wait up!”

‘I haven't been here in forever... So why do I feel like I was just here? Whoa, this is the exact same path I was on during my nightmare today.’

He noticed Alfred was already sitting on a bench by the lighthouse. Alfred noticed him standing like a doof.

“Have a seat, Vanya.”

“You’re in a good mood.” He said as he noticed the sudden use of his nickname.

“Seeing my step-dork get played makes me happy.”

“I'm not as brave as you. And Arthur is indeed ‘step-douche’.”

“I'm sorry you had to experience it firsthand.”

“You have to live with him. Has he always been this way?”

“Ever since my desperate papa dragged his ass to our home! I never trusted Arthur.”

“He freaked out on poor Yekaterina Chernenko today.”

“I know her. She's cool. Only that prick would bully her.”

“He has some kind of weird agenda.”

“He has a lot of secret files. Sherlock still thinks he's gathering enemy intelligence. Did you take a peek?”

“Well, yeah. I couldn't help it.”

“Never change. What did you find?”

“Creepy photos of Yekaterina... other Blackwell students...”

“This dude takes his job too seriously. He still thinks he's at war or something. He has a total surveillance fetish. I worry there are spy cams in the house.”

“I knew you didn't know! Alfred, your house is under surveillance.”

“What are you talking about?”

“There are cameras all over the house. I saw it on a monitor in the garage.”

“I knew it! He is so hella fucking paranoid. I'll keep this a secret for now...”

“Sometimes ignorance is bliss.”

“No wonder I'm so miserable. Everybody in this town knows everybody's secrets...”

“Even yours?

“Not anymore.”

“So what do you have on Feliks?”

“He's an elite asshole who sells bad shit cut with laxative ...and he dosed me with some drug in his room.”

“What?”

“I met him in some shithole bar that didn't card me. He was too rich for the place and too wasted. And he kept flashing bills...”

“Just tell me what happened, Alfred. Now.”

“I was an idiot. I thought he was so blazed it would be an easy score.”

“You needed money that bad?”

“Actually, yes. I owe big time. And I thought I'd have enough for me and Matthew if he showed up.”

“How much do you owe?

“Three grand plus interest. And before I could get a chunk of that from Feliks...he dosed my drink with some shit.”

“God, Alfred, I can't believe this... I mean, I do. Then what?” Ivan was frustrated.

“I know I passed out on the floor. I woke up and that perv was smiling, crawling towards me with a camera...”

“Go on...”

“Everything was a blur... I tried to kick him in the balls and broke a lamp. Feliks freaked, so I managed to bum rush the door and get the hell out. Ivan, it was insane.”

“What did you do then?” Ivan gritted through his teeth. Furious at what he was hearing.

“I figured I would make him pay me to keep quiet. So we met in the bathroom.”

“And he brought a gun.”

“That was Feliks's last mistake.”

“He's still dangerous, Alfred. Not just to you.”

“I won't always be there to save you...”

“You were here today, Ivan. You saved me! I'm still tripping on that... Seeing you after all these years feels like—“

“Destiny?”

Alfred got up from the bench and approached the cliff. Ivan follows him.

“If this is destiny, I hope we can find Matthew. I miss him, Ivan. This shit-pit has taken away everyone I've ever loved... I'd like to drop a bomb on Arcadia Bay and turn it to fucking glass...”

Ivan glanced at Alfred who’s still look at the horizon. The sun was setting and sky was clear until-

Ivan felt his head ache. The world was spinning on its own, darkening.

He was, again, trapped in the same storm. He was on the same path as before.

‘Not again... Why is this happening to me? Why am I here again? Is Alfred still up there?’

Ivan followed a doe, translucent it seemed, to the top of the hill as a boulder fell down the left fork in the road. Thunder crashed and lightning stroke a tree, causing it to fall down in front of Ivan. He rewinded time and walked up the path as the tree fell behind him. Ivan continued to follow the ghostly doe up the steps to the lighthouse. A pile of logs crashed down the path in front of Ivan. He rewinded and stood in the area next to the path as they fell past him. He continued toward the lighthouse. A boat flew out of the tornado and crashed into the lighthouse. Debris rained down and knocked the fallen tree blocking the road into the ocean below. The top of the lighthouse fell down and balanced precariously on the edge of the cliff. It slowly tipped over and fell into the ocean, taking chunks of the cliff with it so Ivan cannot cross it. Ivan rewinded and crossed to the bench area after the debris rained down. The lighthouse roof fell over again behind him. Ivan then read the newspaper stuck on railing. ‘October 11th? Is this Friday? That's only four days away!’ The wind tore the newspaper out of Ivan's hands. He watched the tornado.

‘Oh, no... That tornado is headed straight for the town...’

Suddenly, Alfred's hand touched Ivan's shoulder. Ivan found himself back with Alfred at sunset. Ivan falls to the ground and Alfred kneeled beside him. He looked at Alfred one more time, about to break down.

“Alfred! You're here! I'm back. Oh, Bozhe, this is real--it's real! This sucks.” Ivan rambled, mixed with emotions.

“Ivan, what's going on? You totally blacked out.”

“I didn't black out...I had another vision. The town is going to get wiped out by a tornado...”

“Oregon gets about five tornadoes every twenty years; you just zoned.”

Ivan grabbed Alfred's wrist.

“Nyet, nyet, I saw it! I could actually feel the electricity in the air...”

“Come on, take a breath, okay?”

“Alfred, I'm not crazy. But there's something else I have to tell you... Something...hardcore.”

“Talk to me, Ivan.”

“I had this same vision earlier in class... When I came out of it, I discovered I could reverse time. Like I said: not crazy.”

“But high, right?”

“Listen to me, how do you think I saved you in the bathroom?”

“By reversing time? Yeah, sure.”

“I saw you get shot, Alfred. Saw you actually...die. I was able to go back and hit the fire alarm...”

“Okay, I see you're a geek now with a great imagination, but this isn't anime or a video game; people don't have those powers, Ivan.”

“I don't know what I have, but I have it. And I'm scared.”

“You need to get high. It's been a hella insane fucking day...”

Ivan began shaking his head. A snowflake falls on his face and he wipes it away. Ivan and Alfred watched as snow begins falling all around them.

“What...the hell is this?” Alfred said dumbfounded.

“Snowflakes...?”

Alfred stood up.

“It's, like...eighty degrees. How?” Alfred stated, unable to comprehend what’s happening.

Ivan got up.

“Climate change...or storm is coming.” he commented gravely.

“Ivan...” Alfred looked him in the eye. “Start from the beginning. Tell me everything.”

Disclaimer: I do not own ‘Hetalia: Axis Powers’ nor ‘Life is Strange’.

So, there you have it. A ‘Life Is Strange’ AU RusAme.

Fun fact: Babochka is a Russian word for butterfly which also means “little soul” because the old peeps believed that souls take form of a butterfly. Thus, the title.

Another fun fact: I don’t really write fanfic; this is just a giant incorrect hetalia quote if you ask me. I just got into deep of RusAme hell. I’d appreciate it if someone would like to beta for me, though. I would love to learn how write properly.

If my request in AO3 got approved, I’d definitely post it there.

#rusame #amerus #aph russia #aph america #hetalia #hetalia axis powers #ivan braginsky #alfred f jones #rusame textposts #blue little soul #i tried to write

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