Russia did not return until the next morning.
He was greeted with a punch to the face.
Canada had regained enough strength to stand, and though the punch wasn't very powerful, it did send Russia stumbling back a few steps and helped him regain a little of his pride.
"That was not very nice, маленький детеныш," Russia said, cracking his jaw. He swore the glare he received was exactly the same as those he received from America, it made him smirk a little to the other's irritation. The smirk grew as his eyes flicked down over the naked body before him, admiring his handiwork. "You should dress before I am tempted to take you again," he cooed, enjoying how quickly that glare deflated into a look of fear before holding out the clothes Canada had been wearing when he arrived, freshly laundered and neatly folded.
He seemed surprised as he took them. The shirt was done for, buttons torn away, but his bright red hoodie was there and he was happy to climb into its warmth. It went down far enough to cover what needed to be covered, and Russia was tempted to take back the pants and leave him with just that. Honestly, Canada was not too thrilled about putting them on, either, for different reasons. Gingerly he eventually managed to get both his boxers and jeans on, ignoring the ache from his legs and hips.
When he was clothed he looked up to see Russia still looking him over. It was unnerving, to say the least, especially when he had used up all his courage in that punch. He was a little surprised he had not hit him right back, but the giant seemed too happy about something to bother.
And he was happy. Russia was very pleased with himself because he had finally remembered the boy before him was Canada, America's twin brother. He had even done some research on the boy to refresh his memory, and had made a decision about what to do, a decision only solidified by that punch. It was weak now, since he was injured and drugged up, but if Russia did not start now he might actually have a fight on his hands if and when the blond regained his strength.
"I bet you are wondering what I am going to do with you now," he stated with a bit too much cheer in his voice as he moved in, Canada too frozen to do anything more than whimper as his tender wrist was grabbed and brought to Russia's lips. "I was wondering the same thing all day yesterday, since you were not who I was expecting."
This got the smaller nation trembling. "But I've thought about it …You've got America's face, you were raised partly by France so I'd love to see what you've picked up from him. You have that wonderful knack of being forgotten, so I doubt anyone will notice you're absence," Russia gave his trademark smile as he kissed away a tear that landed on the slender hand in his grip.
"I've decided to keep you, Canada."
Canada felt ill. Correction, he was ill. His legs finally gave up supporting him and he slumped down to the floor, a coughing, retching mess as he was sick right at Russia's feet.
Canada was lucky Russia had a cleaning staff these days, or he would have been cleaning up himself. He was also lucky none had gotten on his shoes, or they'd have gone right in his face-he had already used up his free pass with that punch.
Really, he couldn't help feel a little offended. He had seen everything from people bursting into tears to spitting in his face when he had told them something similar, but none had gotten physically ill like that. Not right in front of him, at least. He'd have to go out and buy extra toothbrushes, because there was no way his new pet was going to have vomit-breath all the time.
His new pet. The thought made his usual smile seem a bit more foreboding. He had not had a pet in the house since the Soviet Union fell. This would be a little different, though. There was no politics to it; his armies had not actually invaded Canada by mistake, nor had they intended to invade America. Ivan Braginksi had just kidnapped Matthew Williams and that was that. It was certainly more subtle, less chance of causing problems.
His pet was seated silently on a small cushioned stool, a steaming mug of herbal tea in his hands. Canada had allowed Russia put him there, seeming to have gone back to that unresponsive state from the day before. At first he had thought this was the sedative or simply tiredness, but now he began to suspect this was some sort of defense mechanism for the younger man. Well, it certainly made him easy to deal with. If properly trained, perhaps he could be as good as Lithuania had been; they both had the reputation of being so kind and accommodating, after all.
Currently they were both in a room that, once occupied, was now used for storage. Russia was rummaging through boxes labeled in Russian. Canada watched him silently, and had figured out the contents of all the boxes seemed to be clothes and the labels were names of those who had once lived here and left them behind. This made sense since those with Latvia, Ukraine, and Belarus's names on them had immediately been pushed to the side, and, after one look, so had Poland's.
Every so often Russia would pull out an article of clothing and glance between it and Canada. More often than not he ended up shaking his head and putting it back. He was trying to find him extra clothes, but it didn't seem to be working. He was taller than any of the Baltics had been; actually, Russia was surprised how tall he actually was when not slouching, even slightly more so than his own twin. Even so, that did not mean his own clothes would fit him without being comically large.
It seemed as though Russia was about to give up when something caught Canada's eye. He knew enough Cyrillic to be able to figure out the names on the boxes, and he recognized the one on the box Russia had just unearthed. Without thinking he put his mug down and was on his feet, then on his knees. He dug through the box before pulling out the largest outfit he could find, a plain bluish-grey pajama set. They would be a little short for his arms and legs, but they would fit.
"You want those?" Russia asked, a little surprised at the sudden interest the boy had taken in his mission. Canada gave a little nod, folding them in his lap. "They won't be too small?" He chuckled when the boy's violet eyes narrowed at him, ruffling his hair like he would a child.
"Fine, fine, keep them. It will mean this searching wasn't a waste after all, da?" Canada produced another small nod, holding the clothing to his chest. He didn't even care about Russia's touch at the moment, his new pajamas had once belonged to Prussia. They were a tie to one of his best and only friends, one who had suffered under Russia for almost fifty years. Just holding them made him feel a little bit less broken, a little more like he could endure.
This was probably the closest he could have come to being happy again.
маленький детеныш – little cub. Idk I thought it was cute.
I had the first half of this done last night, but it was so short, I decided to add onto it before posting.
In my head Canada's taller than Prussia, I dunno why, I just think it's funny if Prussia's a little short, especially if I pair them up. I looked all around for height listings, but couldn't find any for either, so meh. I did find France and England listed as the same height, though! :C France should definitely be taller!
Hehe, anyways, thanks for the reviews~
I might slow down after this chapter, but we'll see. Eventually I'm gonna have to start writing sex and that may get a bit awkward.
