Other Side of the Wall RussAme

It wasn’t supposed to be this way.
Alfred groaned quietly, not wanting anyone else to find him.  It wasn’t his fucking fault his plane crashed on this side of the wall.  He couldn’t help where his plane crashed.  And those stupid commis helped themselves to the supplies in it, hadn’t they.  Fuck them!
He groaned again and tried to move to stand up, but his left arm and leg protested too much.  They were probably broken. He sighed and leaned back.  How long would it take for him to die or Iggy to figure out he was missing and send someone to find him?
He breathed into the cold, night air, the puffs of breath illuminated by a nearby streetlight.  Maybe he would freeze to death first.
Alfred heard footsteps heading towards him and tried to scoot out of the way, not eager for another beating.  The person stopped next to him and he squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for another blow.
“Bist du gut, Kamerad?” a voice asked, not having an accent that Alfred normally associated with neither Germans nor Russians, although the language sounded German.
“I’m American,” he said quietly, “I only speak English.”
“American?” the voice asked, “What are you doing on this side of the wall?”
Alfred laughed bitterly.  “My plane crashed.  I had no fucking choice in the matter.”  The person kneeled down and carefully picked him up.
“My apartment is nearby.  If you don’t mind sharing it with my brothers and I, we can help you get better.”
“I’m not in much of a position to argue,” Alfred said, smirking slightly, “Any help would be appreciated.  Thank you.”
----
Ivan had gotten home not more than ten minutes before he went out to the hallway to take a smoke, and was surprised to see Toris, carrying someone up the stairs.
“Вам нужна помощь, Toris?” he asked, smiling at the Lithuanian.
“A-ah, Ivan!  Н-Hет, я думаю, что я делаю хорошо.”
“How many languages do you speak?” the person in Toris’ arms asked – in English, in a clear, southern American accent.
“Four,” Toris replied quietly, not looking Ivan in the eyes.  Ivan knew, that Toris knew what he was.  A Secret Service agent.  He wondered where Toris had found the beaten American.
“Let me have him,” he said, quietly, “I’ll take care of your American.”
Toris paled and closed his eyes, holding the American out to Ivan.  Ivan smiled and took the blonde boy.
“I will see you later, Toris,” he said quietly, taking the American into his apartment and shutting the door.
----
Alfred sighed as the man put him down on the couch, surprisingly gentle about it.  He looked around the apartment, clean and small.  He noticed uniform hanging up on a line of string going through the apartment, and started to laugh in a tired, sad way.
That was the uniform that Iggy had told him to stay away from at all costs.
This man was part of the Secret Service.
“Hey, Commi,” he said, “Could I ask you one thing, before you turn me in?”
The man paused what he was doing, startled.
“I mean,” Alfred continued, “I just want one thing from you before you have your friends haul me off to do whatever you people do to Americans on the wrong side of the wall.”
“Yes?” he man asked, raising an eyebrow.  Alfred had intrigued him.
“Can I have a glass of orange juice?  I’ve been craving some ever since I got over the Atlantic.”
The man blinked, surprised by the request.
“I guess…” he said, wary of Alfred.  Alfred smiled, a grateful look on his face.
“Thanks man,” he said, closing his eyes.  He listened to the man walk away, and a fridge open.  A drawer opened next and there was a clanging of glass.
The man was soon next to him, a glass of orange juice in his hand.  Alfred smiled and reached to take it from the man.
Their hands skimmed for a moment while Alfred took the glass, and he knew.
He would be safe here.