America envied Russia's tolerance to pain. The white-haired man could easily withstand 50 whip lashes with barely so much as a flinch, carrying on with his business, no matter how extensive the injuries.
America knows he has it rather good as a country, but he wanted to be the one to help the countries who weren't as lucky. Helping them out meant good relations, and good relations could mean future alliances and advances to himself. Helping them might mean war, however, and war never felt pleasant; with such a high tolerance as Russia's, he would have no consequences with his body was America's reasoning. Beating nations in wars meant winning, and that meant becoming greater and greater.
If America had that power, he would easily be able to become the greatest nation in the world. A nation with such a resistance to pain was a perfect example of a superhero, something America had always striven to be. He could be the savior of the globe! Yet Russia, the bastard that he was, was who received such a wonderful gift. No matter how hard the an enemy nation was fighting, or how little money and food he had, Russia would seemingly blast through and leave an impact. It frustrated America to no end; he wanted to be seen as the nation that could easily pass through difficult times.
"Russia's so lucky," America believed. "He's so lucky to be seen as such a strong nation with so little effort."
America carried on glaring at the icy nation, jealousy enveloping him. He would become the best country.. Just you wait...
England feared Russia's tolerance to pain. If the two ended up being on opposing forces, Russia could capture him within an instant. Even if England was on the winning side, it would take an immense amount of effort to beat Russia; the snowy country would fight back continuously, England imagined, attacking as a caged animal would. Russia would still resist, no matter the suppression put upon him.
If Russia were to take revenge.. the thought sent shivers down England's spine. Best play it safe and try not to agitate him.
Still, England couldn't help but feel contempt towards Russia's tolerance. He felt so.. weak, being scared of something so ridiculously simple. He was supposed to be great, yet here he was. A superpower, reduced to a shaking mess; how pitiful.
If England let go of his fear, he could become a better nation. He could train himself to overcome more pain, and become even stronger. He wouldn't have to worry about being attacked, his citizens protected and happy. But would that actually work? For all of Russia's life, he had been struggling to survive, even with his gift. Were they intertwined? No, that couldn't be true. For a nation constantly bombarded with grief, Russia was surprisingly happy.
It has to be a coincidence, England decided, relief spreading through his body. He would work on his tolerance, and become great. Until then, however.. he would continue to live with fear.
"If I work hard enough," England decided, "then I'll become greater. I'll do whatever it takes."
Prussia hated Russia's tolerance to pain. It had always prevented him from getting bigger, from taking over wide expanses of land.
No matter how many times over Prussia captured him, how many torture sessions he administered, he could never make Russia submit. No tactics had worked; it frustrated Prussia to no end. He was better than Russia, he was; so why couldn't he finish Russia off?
Back when Prussia was small, when he was still called Teutonic Knights, he believed Russia was extremely powerful. The country had survived being under the Mongolian Empire, which was an incredulous feat, if the rumors Prussia had heard were true.
As Prussia grew and took over more land, he realized that Russia wasn't as strong as he had imagined. Instead, Russia was resilient. His pain tolerance was incredibly high, and Russia took advantage of it. He blocked attacks Prussia commanded, his face contorted into a seemingly smug grin.
"He must love it," Prussia thought, "To use that skill so much." There was something odd about it, though. He couldn't quite place the feeling, other than something was off. If his hatred was diminished, even slightly, perhaps Prussia would have noticed. Unfortunately, that wasn't the case.
Russia found it funny that people believed he had such a high tolerance to pain. One couldn't avoid pain during torture sessions. He could put on masks to hide the agony, and suppress the screams, having centuries upon centuries of experience. But the pain would always be there, its presence demanding to be known.
Some might say that he enjoyed showing off his supposed "tolerance". But how can one find being beaten for days upon days enjoyable? Only the attackers would.
Russia's bosses would show off his "talent", using him as often as possible; both to their advantages, and to their own twisted amusement. And people wondered why his smile looked so terrifying; it's hard to make it look genuine when one's body felt as though it was on fire, organs pierced with knives.
When Russia was alone, broken sobs would escape from him. So many thought he had it easy, that he was strong, that he could overcome any struggle. Yet here he was, curled in fetal position, barely conscious.
Russia wished that he had the luck of America, blessed with good leaders. He wished to have the determination England had once he put his mind to something. He wished he could be like Prussia, and stop being a nation.
But that simply wasn't possible.
*Wheezes* Well, I hope you enjoyed this. Please tell me what you think!