Forever and Always

21

"The protests are getting bad," Ivan stated, rubbing his hair. Samuel looked over him sadly, before nodding. Alfred was unconscious under him.

"There's been protests before- like Stonewall and such, and during them he locked himself away," Samuel noted, "I don't know if he would do that now- but it seems to be getting worse and worse."

"Locked myself away?" Alfred mumbled, opening his eyes. The blue of them glowed. He laughed, "Hell no, bud. I was a Friend of Dorothy. The day I let my comrades set everything on fire without me is the day I fuck off and die."

"You're okay!" Ivan exclaimed, petting his hair. Alfred glanced at him, confused.

"What's going on?"

"Protests started last night, in Minneapolis. A man named George Floyd is dead."

It seemed to register quickly.

Ivan covered his face as a blast of electricity went around the room- even though he knew that Alfred was careful about hitting people when he did that, it was still impulse.

But, when he looked back up, he didn't seem to be staring at Alfred. It was like he was a different person- like he was Dyami, the killer of his own parents and the ruler of the Thunderbird Clan. Alfred seemed to fade into him, and even though they looked the same, they weren't the same.

Samuel took a few steps back as Alfred started walking- but he didn't need to go looking. Minnesota was there in only a few seconds, the same glowing eyes on her.

"Mommy?" Minnesota asked, seeming like a child even though she was an older teen, "Can I go have fun?"

"Get your justice," he hissed, and she gave the slightest of bows, a smirk tearing through her features.

Minnesota had never been creepy- she was short and chubby with light blue and purple eyes and a big heart. But now she seemed angular, like she was the one holding the knife. He never understood how the Americans switched up like they did.

Dyami started walking away and Ivan followed behind. Rulyn was waiting outside of the door, and she confirmed what she already knew- drop the kids off to their major cities.

A few of the midwest kids weren't going to their own states, instead most were going to Texas or California, and Vermont was apparently also going to Minneapolis with Minnesota because he was out for blood.

Ivan followed behind him until they got to a clearing that Alfred had always enjoyed.

As soon as they were there he said no words, taking in a deep breath before blowing out a blast of fire almost fifty meters tall from his mouth. Ivan took a step back, looking up at where it had been before it disappeared.

"Because I'm a nation born in protest, protests and rebellions and worker strikes and all that commie shit makes me stronger," Alfred laughed at his own little joke, and Ivan adopted a confused look.

"So the Charlottesville rally?" It felt weird to bring it up- nobody in America liked to talk about it, not even the fascists, apparently.

"No." he looked unamused, "That is no protest. That is a call to uphold a status quo that was abandoned for a reason."

He looked around, "Not to mention, even if I did get stronger from it, what the hell do you think it would make me do? Chant 'Blood and Soil' and fuck my cousin? I'd still be the same me."

Ivan snickered, walking up to him and cupping his cheeks. Alfred didn't reach up to even touch him, and Ivan gave a hurt expression.

Alfred shrugged, before moving, and Ivan felt winded just from the pressure put on his hands. Alfred walked over to a tree and flicked it. The entire ancient looking tree toppled into the clearing.

"If I touched you, I might break you," Alfred mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck, looking to the ground. Ivan still smiled, walking over and kissing his cheek, watching as Alfred looked up to him so sweetly before kissing the side of his nose.

Alfred giggled, the sound soft, and yet it still ricocheted off the trees into a song that the birds mimicked and mocked. Ivan looked around. Although Alfred seemed fine, he wasn't sure.

They eventually decided to lay down in the field that the clearing supported, Alfred mumbling something weird in a language Ivan had tried to learn but had ended up being too difficult for him.

Ivan laid down next to him, before noticing that some of his scars were inflamed- that went up from his shoulders to the back of his neck, specifically.

"Why is it all red?" he asked, running his hand down the scar. Alfred seemed to freeze, and glanced over to him.

"That's from the Ludlow Massacre."

Ivan looked at him confused, and Alfred sighed, "One of the first workers strikes- they were oil and coal workers for Rockefeller. The national guard got called in, and they massacred around three-hundred people."

Ivan opened his mouth and shut it just as fast. He didn't exactly know how to respond to that. How do you respond to that? Pretend it was no big deal- say something like 'thankfully it was only three hundred'- no, that wouldn't be right.

"I'm sorry."

Alfred gave him a strange look, and he settled into the grass to ignore the fact he was an idiot.

Alfred rolled over to him- still not reaching out to touch him but just wanting to be in his line of sight, letting out another large blast of fire from his mouth, before getting up.

Ivan pushed himself up onto his elbows to watch him as he ran around through the grass like a kid with too much energy, pushing himself up to join him. It seemed his mood shifted as everything progressed. He skidded to a stop before a sapling before taking it out of the ground like someone would a stick that was in the ground, looking over to Ivan.

Ivan shook his head, yet still caught it as it was thrown at him like a javelin.

He put all of his strength into it as he threw it, sending it across the field. Alfred ran around to catch it, blasting it further into the air with wind before it could hit the ground and then running around like that. Ivan continued to watch him, one hand on his hip before he realized it was being thrown at him once more.

He caught it in one hand, before throwing it again. Across the field he could hear Alfred's laughter. He really was like a child at that moment. Then again, he supposed he was founded in days like this- where angry people's cries filled the air alongside smoke. He really was founded in the anger of people.

Something he almost wished he was. He was just founded by some people who wanted to make money off of the oil.

Alfred smiled and waved his hands around, and Ivan let out a deep sign before joining him in his play.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sorry this chapters so short- I haven't been feeling well recently and it's been making it difficult to write.

Also, I was reading another fanfiction about America, and I saw the words (paraphrased, this was pretty much it) 'Alfred was proud of South Dakota for his successes, like Mount Rushmore' and I cringed so badly I closed the tab and my computer. So, because Americans don't learn history, I'm making a book on American history. It will be out soon.

To explain the Mount Rushmore stuff in not a lot of detail- Mount Rushmore is built on sacred Sioux land, and was built by a member of the KKK. Great thing to be proud of.