Warnings: some angst, some fluff, Major Character Death (??? Sorta. Maybe it should be mentions of major character death…), some mature language
Alfred recruits Russia to help him do a list of ten things.
Notes: I posted this on ao3 awhile ago then completely forgot to post it here, whoops. Also, I know that the flight times are really messed up but for the sake of plot just imagine a plane that goes really really fast and almost never needs to stop for fuel.
Alfred rocked back on his heels and shoved his hands in his pockets, looking over his shoulder almost nervously as he waited for the man to open the door. He puffed out a breath of air and watched as it left his mouth almost looking like smoke, like he used to do when he was a kid. Sometimes Alfred would pretend he was a dragon breathing fire when he did that, and other times he would pretend he was smoking. Now he was just cold.