New Memories
Russia drove as fast had he could without slipping on the ice coated roads. Snow flew down around him. He was happy to be out of that madhouse. Belarus had arrived unannounced, and found it fit to chase Canada around the house with a knife because she caught him cuddling with her brother. Russia had stormed out of the house, sick of the psychopath that was his sister. He felt bad for leaving Canada and for acting so childish. Russia tried his best to behave well for the Canadian. He loved him a lot and didn't want to lose him over something as stupid as this. He should call. . .
But it wasn't like Ivan could get signal here. He had made his way to the middle of nowhere. He'd figure out a way to make up for this later, when he got home. For now, he just wanted to drive and try to think clearly. He did regret leaving poor Matthew alone with Belarus. If he had not been thinking of it as a fight or flight situation, Russia would have taken Canada with him. But, again, it was too late for that.
Ivan took a few breaths. It was all over now. His sister hadn't stalked him down the road, and he only saw one oncoming car. He relaxed a little. He'd stay the night at a little in that was a mile or two down the road, and then he would go home in the morning, back to Canada. Back to the loving arms of the boy who smelled like maple. Yes, that's what would happen. . .
Russia was spacing out. He didn't see the lights coming his way. When he did, it was too late to swerve. Ivan had drifted onto the other side of the road, and now the huge truck was heading toward him at high speeds. He slammed on the brake, trying to save himself somehow. All it did was worsen things. The car skidded and spun in circles. He was in total loss of control.
A silent prayer went through his mind. Please let me live to see Matvey, he begged some unknown force. That was Russia's final thought before the truck rammed into his car head on.
A steady beeping sound. Blurry lights. A too-clean scent. Russia knew what this was. A hospital. But what was he doing at a hospital? Surely that was silly. He couldn't be there.
But he was. When he opened his eyes, he was lying on a bed with rails, and a monitor kept track of his heart. Tubes fed into his wrist. He looked to the right, where a small group of chairs sat. People were in those chairs. Who were they? A blonde boy with a loose curl of hair and a white bear. . . Were bears allowed in hospitals? And who was that sleeping girl in the blue dress and bow? He didn't recognize them at all.
The boy smiled as he saw Russia had opened his eyes. "Mon Russie!" he cried, moving the bear away and running to the man in the bed. What language was he speaking? Was it French? What did it mean?
"Who are you?" asked Russia bluntly.
The boy gave a look of confusion and hurt. "What do you mean? I—I'm Matthew. Canada. You're boyfriend." The blonde blushed at the word. Russia frowned.
"You're Canada?" Russia knew that he was Russia. He knew he represented the nation, but he didn't remember any Canada. Then he thought a moment at the last part. "I'm not gay." The boy gave him a grimace.
"I—Ivan. What's going on? I love you." He looked confused and upset.
"I'm sorry, but I don't know you, and I certainly do not love you. Now, would you tell me why I'm in a hospital?" Russia was going to be blunt. He wouldn't let the boy think that he loved him and fake it. That would be stupid. He didn't even know him.
"Y—you got hit by a truck after you left last night." Ivan frowned. Was he the kind of person who left in the middle of the night often?
"Why would I do that?" he wondered aloud.
"Y—your sister, she's insane." The boy kept his voice down. "She was chasing me with a knife and you were upset because she was stalking you. So you left."
"Huh. Who is my sister?" Canada frowned. Russia didn't really care. He felt a little sorry for the kid, but he wouldn't give him false hope.
"Belarus." Ivan nodded. Yes, that would be okay, he guessed. But god, it sounded like he had one fucked up family.
"Can I leave?" This would be Ivan's last question.
"Non. I need to get a doctor. He'll have to see you. Um, w—wait here, alright, Mon chéri." The boy paused before leaving. "Sorry. I didn't mean to say that." He hurried away. Russia didn't know what he'd said, but he assumed it was some sort of pet name.
Ivan looked at the sleeping girl in the chair. Was that his sister? Or was it a friend? A secret lover perhaps? That would be nice—that girl was very pretty.
Russia tried to think for a moment. Why was it he couldn't remember anything? Had he drank it away? He felt a strong craving for vodka now, so he might have been a drinking man. Hopefully he wasn't too horrible a person. Then again, the Canada kid seemed to like him, and he seemed sweet, so he couldn't have been too bad. But why couldn't he recall anything about these people? But Canada had said he was hit by a truck, so drinking might not have been to blame.
A doctor entered with Canada. "Hello, Ivan," said the man in the white coat.
"Skip formalities. What's wrong with me?"
"Oh, nothing is wrong with you, Mr. Braginski." The doctor was trying to sugarcoat things.
"Just tell me."
The man sighed. Then he looked to Canada, as if asking for permission. Canada nodded. "Mr. Braginski, you have a concussion, and you seem to have lost your memory. You should try to remember things by just letting them come. They should all make their way to you eventually. For now, go about things as normal as possible."
"Okay. Just let me go now."
"Of course. A nurse will be with you shortly." The doctor left and the girl in the chair stood. She must have woken from the noise the doctor made. She ran to him.
"Ivan! You didn't lose everything, did you? You remember me, right, big brother?" Her voice was a pleading tone. So that was Belarus. . . So much for that lover idea. And the fact that Canada called her a stalker didn't help his mood much.
"I'm sorry. No. Why don't you go home or something? I'll be fine on my own."
"But Ivan, I need to take care of you," insisted Belarus.
"Don't worry, Natalia," said Canada. "I'll make sure Ivan gets better." She frowned, but nodded.
"You'd better." She stormed out of the room.
"I'm sorry about that. She doesn't really like me."
"I'd assume, if she is the stalker you say she is and if you are so close to me, she's bound to be jealous." Canada smiled weakly.
"Yeah. I'll take you home and stay with you for a while, eh? I—If it's okay with you, that is."
"It's fine." Ivan didn't want to fight the boy on it, though he wasn't overly fond of the idea of being taken care of by some gay kid with a crush. Still, it might be a bad idea to go home alone. Or worse still, to have his stalker sister care for him.
Canada watched the man with a certain curiosity and sadness. Russia frowned at him. He didn't want the kid to be sad, but he just didn't know what to do to make him happy besides remembering. And memories weren't coming yet. When a tear came to the blonde's eye, Russia spoke up.
"I'm sorry, comrade. I'll try my best to get my memory back for you."
Canada let the tear fall and sat in the chair beside Russia. "D—don't apologize, Ivan. It isn't your fault. And don't worry about me. Just try to get better. I'm just glad that you were this lucky."
"What do you mean? I wasn't lucky. I've lost everything. I don't even know who my boss is."
"Vladimir Putin."
"Who the hell is that? See, not lucky."
"Ivan, if we weren't, you could be dead or dying. At least the doctor says your memory should come back." Russia smiled at the boy. It seemed that he really cared about him. Even if he was a creepy gay kid.
The nurse came in and gave Ivan a change of clothes that Canada had apparently brought with them. He changed and Matthew led him out of the hospital, into the snowing parking lot. Canada took him to a red pickup truck and they got in.
"How long was I out?" wondered Ivan aloud.
"Two days," answered the Canadian. "W—we were worried that you'd died. I'm glad you woke up." They were driving.
"I wouldn't die. Even if I did, it would be very temporary. We live as long as our nations, da?"
"How did you know that?" asked Canada.
"I just did. I guess I didn't lose quite everything."
"That's good." They pulled off of the main road onto a dirt lane that seemed to go on forever. Snow was all over the place. It was a pretty scene. It made him happy to know that the world could be beautiful like this.
"Hey, Ivan?" Russia looked to Matthew.
"What?"
"Do you think I should invite Lithuania or Latvia over? They used to live with you, back when the Soviet Union was around.
Soviet Union . . . Yes, that was something he knew about. He recalled a few other nations, without faces to match the names, who lived with him. A face came up, blurry at first, then clearer. Brown, wavy hair . . . pretty blue eyes. . .
"Who is the brunette?" he muttered to Canada, trying not to lose the image.
"Lithuania is a brunette. But so are Spain, Romano, and Italy. And a lot of others. Describe what you see."
"Wavy brown hair, blue eyes, green uniform, shaky, afraid . . . afraid of . . . of something."
"That's Lithuania, alright."
"Why is he so afraid? What's wrong with him?"
"H—He worked for you when the Soviet Union was around."
"Was he afraid of me?" Russia was worried about the answer Canada would give. He didn't want to feel like some monster.
"Y—Yes." That made Russia's heart sink a little. That boy in his memory seemed sweet, but he was so terrified. It saddened him to think the kid's fear was caused by him.
"Why?"
"I—I'm not sure that the rumors are true, but it's been said that you b—beat him."
It flowed to Russia like a dream:
"Lithuania, you are such an idiot, da? You messed up. It's time for a punishment." The boy before him shook violently.
"P—Please no. I didn't mean to. I—I'm so sorry!" cried Lithuania, who was on the floor. It seemed that Russia had pushed him.
"You didn't mean to run away? Oh, Toris, I hate it when you lie to me. You only make it worse on yourself by doing so."
"I—I'm sorry. I—it will never happen again, I s—swear." Tears were beginning to fall from the trembling man. The real Russia thought angrily that he should stop. He couldn't hurt that poor boy, could he?
"Nope! I need to make sure that you mean it! What should we play with first, Toris?" A smile danced on the Russian's lips. "I know! How about you tell me what to do. That way it will not be as bad, da?"
What the hell! Was that man insane? Russia didn't like what he was seeing. He didn't want to know that that monster of a man was him.
"What do you want to do first?"
"I—I don't know sir."
"Bad answer." Russia's hand smacked the brunette with enough force to send him to the ground. "I guess I will just have to find something by myself." The blonde thought a moment. "Ah, that should work. You tried to run, da? So it would make sense to make it visible to the world that you are mine, so that you will be returned to me should you leave again." Russia found a poker with his eyes and then glanced back to the Lithuanian. "Take off your shirt." The boy obeyed silently, with trembling fingers unbuttoning his shirt.
"Wait there," said Russia, heading to the fire. The poker had a hammer and sickle on the end, like a brander used on cattle. That was the point. Russia picked it up and placed it in the fire. He let it heat up, until it glowed.
Ivan returned to the boy, and looked him over. Where should he place the marking? Tears streamed down Lithuania's face. He couldn't place it somewhere to obvious, but it had to be visible to some, and to Lithuania. Grinning like a maniac, Russia chose a spot.
What the fuck am I doing to that kid? What is wrong with me?
Russia grabbed the hem of Lithuania's pants and pulled it down a little bit. His hip would be perfect. The metal met Lithuania's flesh, and the boy screamed. Good. He'd learn his lesson.
Russia snapped out of it and started to shake like Lithuania had. Dear god, that was horrible! He almost wanted to cry. He would have to apologize to that kid. Poor boy. How had Russia done that? What kind of person was he?
"What did you see, Russia?" asked Canada.
"God, I'm a monster," muttered Russia. "Lithuania . . . How could I be so evil? Dammit! I didn't want to be a monster!"
"What are you talking about? Ivan, you're a wonderful person."
"Not to Lithuania. I . . . I did something to him . . . I . . ."
"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to." Russia was thankful that Canada said that. He didn't want to ruin that kid's mind with thoughts of Soviet markings and torture. "Do you still want to get Lithuania and have him stay?"
Russia had to think about it. He wanted to apologize to that boy. He didn't know if he wanted to do it now, though. He decided he didn't. "Nyet."
"Okay." They made it to an old manor. It must have been Ivan's house. They hurried inside. Ivan wanted to remember something when he entered. He didn't, and was gravely disappointed. They walked around the building, which was cold and looked lonely, until they found Ivan's bedroom. It was a pretty room that didn't fit the rest of the stone mansion. The bed was a big four poster and had a green comforter. The curtains on it were gold. The whole room was green, gold, and dark brown. Russia smiled. It reminded him of sunflowers. He liked sunflowers.
Canada's arm brushed up against Russia and he almost tried to hold his hand. Then he backed away, blushing. "I—I'm sorry, Russia. I just keep trying to . . . you know . . ." He sighed and gave up trying to explain. "Sorry." Russia looked at him. That boy was so sweet and kind, the exact opposite of the old Ivan. God, the old Ivan was one lucky bastard—that kid had stayed with him, even when he left him with his psycho sister and ran off.
"What's wrong with you?" asked Ivan. He didn't mean for it to sound so cold and mean, but the words didn't come out softly like he wanted.
"W—What do you mean? I'm sorry. I keep trying to not love you, since you don't love me anymore, but I keep j—just doing things out of habit. I—I don't mean to do anything that m—makes you m—mad." The Canadian was crying now. Shit! I don't him to do that! Russia placed a hand on Matthew's shoulder. He hated to see this boy cry. Something he didn't understand tugged his heart.
"That's not what I mean. Please, don't cry. I don't want you to be hurt." Canada looked into Ivan's eyes, wiping a tear away.
"Why did you ask what's wrong with me, then?"
"Because, I don't see how you could love me. You're so sweet and perfect, but I'm just a monster who hurt people, like I just did. Why do you even want to love me?"
"I—Ivan, you're the only one who's ever noticed me and cared enough to love me back. You aren't a monster."
"That's not what these memories are showing me," Russia said grimly.
"You changed since then. You're a wonderful person, Russia."
"I don't have any memories of being kind at all."
Canada grabbed Russia's hand, and looked at him for a second. Then he smiled and hugged him. "Then let's make new memories."
Thank you. . .
Hehehe, RusCan. I loves me some RusCan. I'm not that good at writing this couple, but I love to read them so much that I had to.
I had some sort of memory loss idea for an original piece. Then I said 'screw it, this is perfect for Russia and Canada'. And then I wrote it. Woulda posted sooner, but, well, you know, 4H and school and stuff.
Thanks for reading, guys! I squeal at each review, so, please do review/fave/just stare at the screen and smile. I tried to make it good! Thanks everyone!
Disclaimer: This weird lady who wrote this does not own Hetalia or Russia or Canada or anything.