I wrote this for a few reasons. 1) This story was lacking Russia and 2) I needed to write something that was more like what I usually write. So this was born!

Disclaimer: I own neither Hetalia: Axis Powers now Hetalia: World Series. Why? Because I'm not Japanese and I'm not male. Who fits that description? Himaruya, the person who does own it (and respective copyright holders).

He ran. Quickly, quicker, even quicker. We dodged trees and jumped over rocks. Faster, faster. He had to get away. He could hear them, hear their muffled footsteps behind him, feel their voices travel through the forest. His heart was pounding, his breathing quick and shallow. His legs carried him farther into the woods, and hopefully away from them.

They wouldn't catch him, they wouldn't get him, he wouldn't allow them too. We gripped his one weapons tightly as he ran through the brush. He was not weak, he would not be taken without a few casualties.

At the same time as he ran for his life, he reveled in the ability to run again. A car crash a year prior had paralyzed his legs and the last thing he remembered before all of this was a loud screech, a car honking, and the horrified look on his sisters faces. But he was well, and soon he would be away from this place.

He ignored the pain caused by the thorns that tore his skin open as he ran; he ignored the weakness in his long unused legs; he ignored the burning in his lungs. He had to go. Run, run, run.

Dogs barked behind him. Faster, faster, faster. But he felt himself slowing down.

"Dammit!" he hissed, then he heard it. A river. How had he not noticed it before, he wondered. But now was no time to wonder. He jumped into the fast moving muddy water when it became visible through the undergrowth. It reached his waist but he forced himself under it, forced his head under it. He gasped in the current as it pulled him along, trying to push his head above the water to gasp for air before dunking it under again.

They wouldn't find him. The dogs will lose his scent. He was home free.

His legs were dragged limply across rocks, his arms battered against unseen hazards in the murky water. It filled his mouth and he couldn't stay afloat. But he would. This was his way to freedom. He would endure. He would survive. He struggled to find calm in the water, to get a grip and start swimming. He started thrashing in the water as it became deeper, dragging him down.

The jacket he had stolen after waking up tangled in his legs and arms, preventing movement, his scarf wrapped itself around his neck murderous. He needed to rise to the surface. He needed air. He struggled to untangle himself when he felt sand against his back. Forcing his eyes to squint in the water, he saw the surface. He had been forced against a bank on the river. He struggles increased, so close…

He untangled an arm and reached out for a stray root that broke through the earth into the river. His lungs were about to burst. He needed air. Air, air, air; it was the only thing on his mind besides escape, which rang through his head like a war cry. Freedom and air. He needed both, now.

He managed to drag himself up. He gulped at the air, never before had it been so sweet. He pulled himself pitifully onto the riverbank, away from the water. He untangled and straightened out his clothes as best as he could given their wet state. A hospital gown under a thick beige winter coat and a pale pink scarf, he held a pipe, now free of all traces of the blood that belonged to the person he had stolen the coat from. He smiled, so close, so very very close.

He could still hear the dogs from the opposing bank. He had to go soon before they could catch his scent. The wind favored him by blowing away from their direction, but that could easily change. He continued on, walking more calmly this time. His entire body was sore and battered from the beating the river had dealt him in exchange for its help, but he didn't pay it any mind. He was getting away.

His wet hair stuck to his forehead and his clothing attracted dirt and dust and god knows what else, his bare feet were prickled with burs and thorns and just random pieces of wood and rocks. He was bleeding from several parts on his body. Yet, the smile on his face never wavered.

He was starting to get cold though. He shivered in his wet clothing and once again cursed the people that were responsible for this to hell.

When all noises faded away besides the wind in the trees and the animals that naturally resided in the forest, he stopped to rest. He sat on a fallen log and looked around him. Being mostly dry, he had no trouble getting comfortable and fell into a light sleep. When he awoke, it was dark and he was cold and hungry.

Seeing as there was nothing he could do to fix his current situation, he decided to keep walking. If he walked forward, he'd have to hit a road somewhere, right? As he walked, he thought to keep his mind off of the temperature and his hunger.

He remembered waking up. The room was like a hospital, sterile and white; he had been in plenty of those. But instead of being hooked up to an IV and heart monitor, resting on an uncomfortable bed with starched sheets in a hospital gown, he was naked and resting on a cold metal table. Looking around, the room was larger than a hospital room and there were three doors. At that minute, one of the doors had opened. A man with thinning brown hair and a beard walked in.

"So, you're alive." the man said, taking his coat off and walking over to where he lay on the table. He didn't like the way the man's eyes travelled over his body but made no motion to move, he wouldn't give this man the pleasure of knowing that he had made him uncomfortable. He scowled at the man.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"You are supposed to be dead." the main replied, amusement shone in his smile.

"Nyet, I'm alive." he replied indignantly. The man laughed and opened a drawer before throwing something at him. A hospital gown. He scrambled into it.

"Are you now, I hadn't noticed." the man rolled his eyes. "But it seems like there is another failure. How sad. Time to ship you off to the facility, I suppose. Oh the tragedy, all of those tax dollars wasted. We had hoped to be able to get your hair." the man rambled. He didn't understand what was going on, but he didn't say anything. Instead, a smile found its way onto his face and he sat there, grinning. That was when things began to go wrong.

The man walked over to him and stood close. Too close. Much too close. He scrambled up and off of the table, panic not letting his mind marvel over the feeling in his long unused legs. He backed as far away from the man as possible. The man laughed as he inched further back. When the man stepped forward a step, he lost it an grabbed for the faucet of the sink he was standing against. He was surprised when he pulled an entire pipe out, but in his panic, everything that followed was blanked from his mind. All he could remember was a haze of red and opening his eyes to a bloody pipe and the mangled body of the man. He grabbed the man's coat and ran from the room, somehow he found the exit. Soon, he noticed people behind him and the hunt was on.

No, now he was safe. They weren't going to get him.

But he couldn't get the look of the man's broken body out of his head. The vibrant red that had splashed across the room, painting it in the color of life; he had liked it, liked the power he felt knowing that he could take another's life, but he was also afraid. Afraid that he was losing his mind. Had he lost it a year ago, when he lost his legs and had been forced to rely on his sisters so-called 'help'? He didn't know, he was too scared to know.

Walk, walk. Robotically, mechanically, disconnectedly, walk. Don't think, just walk. Focus on finding a road. Focus on sunny days and beaches and sunflowers. Focus on laughter and music and tea. Focus on peaches and metal pipes and blood-NO! Don't. Don't think about anything. Just walk. Freedom.

Free. Free. Free. His mind chanted as he blocked out all other thoughts. Free. Free. Free.

Then, he heard it. Dogs barking, people shouting, footsteps. How could they have gotten this close? How could they have found him? Run. Run. Run! Don't get caught!

He ran, faster and faster. He hadn't done this on over a year, but he used to be a runner, he knew the routine. Breath. Breath. Running on the balls of his feet in a sprinters position, he sped through the plants. Cuts that had clotted over were opened again and new ones were cut open as well. The twigs and nettles and everything else tore at his skin, at his coat. But he ran. they weren't going to get him. There was no way they could.

Too late he heard people in front of him. He saw them; dogs barking and snarling and straining at their restraints, begging of the kill. He saw how stupid he had been. He had allowed himself to be flanked, herded neatly into a trap. He cursed his rashness, his stupidity. He saw the uniformed workers, waiting for him. He tripped over something and fell. He felt something sting his arm. Then numbness, silence, and blissful darkness.

His eye's struggled open slowly into a brightly lit white room. But instead of a ceiling, the first thing he saw were bright blue eyes filled with concern behind glasses.

"Oh, you're up! That's good. I'm Alfred F. Jones, your roommate!" the owner of the eyes said in an annoying voice. He turned away from him and buried his head in his pillow.

A/N: Just to clear things up, Danny is not an OC, he is Cuba. And trust me here, he will be much more like the Cuba we all know later. Okay? I have reasons for everything.

Man, it's really hard using no names, just "he" and the like in an entire chapter. I hope it makes sense. Sorry if I haven't replied to your reviews, I will. I just got back from a three day trip to Ocean Shores and HAD to type this up. Please review, because that makes me write more! See? The chapters are getting longer and longer, even though its just twenty or so words.