I walk into the room, after I had been called. The minute I open the door something fly's out at me. Blood dribbles down my lip to my chin. Wiping it away only smears it along my cheek and onto my hand. I hear the door shut. So much for running.

"What-" before I can get out another word, he punches me again. I fall to the ground, splattering my blood onto the cold tile.

"Idiot," he mutters, kicking my ribs once, and then again and again. When he pauses, I catch my breath, but it's not as if I can get much air in with such a damaged chest.

"Get up."

I look upward, to his face. He's not glaring at me. Instead, he just watches the fireplace. I don't blame him for not wanting to look at me. Bloody, choking for air. I must look disgusting. When I try to prop myself up, I slip on the splatter of my own blood.

"Pathetic," he snorts.

"Ivan..."

"So, this is the country that tried to fight me. You cannot even get up! You are pathetic."

"I don't- I didn't try to start anything!" I plead. No, he's not going to listen.

Instead of a reply, he kicks my stomach and demands, "Get up."

Despite being winded, I make it to my knees.

"If you can't stand up, then how do you expect to fight?"

Through my blurred vision, I can see the pipe in his hand, just before he slams it into my jaw.

Crack. Oh god. Oh my god, the pain!

I can't see anymore. On the ground, all I feel is my body giving in and breaking under the pipe. I deserve it for making Ivan mad. Coughing up spit, blood, and air that refuses to stay inside. Thud. Thud. Crack. Sickly crunching noises. I try not to move. Moving hurts. After another blow, or maybe more, it's not as if I'm counting anymore. As I'm preparing myself not to move for the next blow, he suddenly stops.

"Toris?"

I can't respond right now. All I can do is gasp like a man on death's doorstop. Horrible rattling wheezing. I'm shaking badly; I can feel the vibrations myself.

"Toris!"

He fumbles with my limp body, managing to press on every blossoming bruise and every broken bone. He clings to me. I melt, bleeding, into his warm jacket.

"I... I'm... Toris... hear me?" his words are so elusive. Maybe my hearing isn't good anymore. Silently, I apologize that I cannot hear his words properly.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Please. Please don't die. Please, don't leave me like this."

He buried his head into the crook of my neck. And sobbed. He's never cried for me, never cried for anyone. Attempting to speak, the first sound that comes from my mouth is an awful rasp. Not even a word. I tried again:

"For...give you." Opening one eye -the other was already swollen shut-, I see his face. A mixture of surprise and sadness changes to a smile. He really smiles, a warm one, instead of the pleasant, no, fakes and covering one, he always wears.

"Thank you," I hear before my eyes close again.

I knew I wasn't dead, for I heard Russia begging me not to die. He held me there for a few minutes, and then I felt his presences leave me. I listened as he got up and shuffled around a bit. Trying to move my head to the side, I grimaced. Russia bent down by me, gently moving strands of hair away from my face. Something warm wrapped around my body, and I'm lifted up. I move my hand, just a little, to touch the fabric. Russia's coat is around me, and he's caring me. Thoughts fly through my head; why didn't he leave. He usually leaves. Why is he sorry? Russia can't be sad that he did that to me, right. Right? I hear the creaking of the stairs, as his large boots travel upwards. Where on Earth is he taking me?

I hear a door open and close, but the sound is faint to my ears. A stiffened for a seconded, as the larger nation lowered me onto something soft. A bed, I realized. Not just a bed, Russia's bed. I groaned as he left me, only moving to walk around the large bed and crawl onto the bed himself. He his strong arms around my limp body and shook. He was crying harder now.

"Please…" Russia whispered in my ear. "Please don't leave me…I'm so, so sorry…I…I just…"

He started sobbing again. Russia was truly sorry he did this to me. I tried to tell him I forgave him again and it was okay, but I started coughing again. Russia loosened his grip on me, and balancing me with one arm, he moved the pillows so they were up against the headboard. I heard him whisper in my ear as he lay me down onto the pillows that he was sorry and I shouldn't talk or move. I wanted so bad to tell him I for gave him buy a wheeze came out. He held me gently and my head was by his ear. I needed to tell him…

"Ivan…I-I won't die……just…for you…" I felt my body relax. A cool, calming sensation sweep over me. But I was not dead. As I had promised to Ivan.