Ivan stopped walking and waited for Alfred to catch up. It took quite a while, considering he was waddling the whole way. "And why should I do that? It is not my hand that was stabbed. You are my bitch, but that in no way requires me to help you heal. I have work to do." He once again walked away, but slowly, knowing he would be stopped once again.

Leaning against the wall, Alfred called out to Russia. "Yeah but... It will get infected! What happens if it falls off?! Then I won't be able to..." he stopped, not quite sure what would be the most detrimental thing about not being able to use his right hand ever again. Sure, he wouldn't be able to write or play sports but there were also other needs that only his right hand would work for.

Smiling, Russia said, "What, you don't really need your right hand for anything important, do you? I'm sure your left hand would do." His knowing smile was punctuated by him taking a step nearer the other nation. "Well, if you insist, I will bandage it and make sure it does not get infected. On one condition."

America swallowed quietly. "Condition? What is it? Have sex with you?" America stopped himself before he could say 'Oh wait, I forgot, you just fucking raped me!'. It definitely wasn't a good time to be picking fights, as much as he wanted to.

"But why would I make that deal, when I can have sex with you whenever I wish? No, I want you to say something. Because I can not force words from physical means, they have to be achieved in more deliberate and scheming ways. Especially from you, my dear Alfred. You, who delights in resisting me." Reaching out a hand, Ivan took America's chin in his hand and brought it close so he could whisper in his ear. "I want you, to say that you love me."

Automatically, Alfred's spine stiffened, his body in shock. He couldn't think for a moment as Russia's breath played dangerously over his ear and neck, leaving his body covering in goosebumps. This was way below the belt. How could America say that to someone he so obviously disliked? What would Ivan gain from him saying it after all? He had already violated his body, forced him to torture one of the few people he truly loved, messed with his mind countless times and he wanted him to tell him he loved him!?!

"What's the point if it's not true?" he asked quietly, unnerved at just how close their faces were. The malevolent gleam in his hard amethyst eyes told America just how much he was enjoying the situation.

Still smiling his evil smile, Ivan responded. "If it is not true, then it will mean nothing, and you should have no problem saying it." The look in America's eyes said he was thinking it over, but would need some more persuading. He carefully picked up his right hand. "Such a nice hand. It will be a pity cut it off so the infection does not spread to your entire body and kill you slowly. You won't need aesthetic for that, would you? After all, you made it through the stitches remarkably well."

He quickly looked down to their feet. 'Russia's right... for once.' America thought. 'Since it's not true, then it won't be hard to say it.... Then why does it feel so weird?' He took his hand from Russia's grasp, pulling it to his naked body again.

Glowering up at Ivan, his blue eyes hard as ice, America mumbled. "Fine then.... I...love you... Now can you bandage my hand up?"

Cupping his ear, Russia said in an obnoxious voice, "What? I didn't hear you. You will have to speak up. Also, properly address the person you are talking to. You would think England would teach you manners."

Narrowing his eyes, his continued to glare through his somewhat grimy glasses. "I love you Russia.... Now can you?"

"A normal admittance of love would use ones true name. Calling me Russia when saying you love me... I would never call you America if I told you I loved you. It's a thing of respect, really. And stop mumbling, you are such a teenager."

America growled deep in his throat. "Dammit!" he yelled in the other's face. "I love you Ivan" Alfred focused all his rage into the man's name, disgusted with himself. Really, had he fallen so far that he had to resort to not just begging, but professing love to his sworn enemy? "Now make sure I don't loose my hand, bastard!"

In America's rage, Russia was sure he hadn't heard the small noise of the button on his recorder click as it was turned off. "Well, I suppose that will do. Now let us go to the medical room. I will have to disinfect it, of course, but I will not use alcohol this time. It will still sting, but there is no getting around that. I estimate it will take quite a long time to heal, given the severity of the wound. Oh, and I suppose you would like to put on some clothes. But you may do that after I treat your hand."

He quickly looked at his still naked body then back to Russia. Clothes would be nice, but he had already been fully unclothed in front of Ivan before, and he never felt too uncomfortable about it in general. Also, if he was to complain, Russia might make him do something else to get his hand treated as well as something to get his clothes back. Instead, he just kept his mouth shut as he followed the Russian upstairs to the medical room.

As they went up the stairs, Alfred gazed at his hand that had started throbbing annoyingly. It had mostly stopped bleeding and it had started to heal. It was going to be a long time before he was going to even imagine using it again. If he was lucky, it would heal fine and he'd be able to use it without any problems.

Being careful to not hurt America much more than was necessary, Ivan disinfected his hand and bandaged it up. The blood soaked through, and it would need changing soon, but that would have to do. "And I'm sure it will be a nice, pretty scar that you can show off. Because I'm sure you wouldn't want to drop your pants in front of people to show them your butt. And you can tell them that your lover gave it to you!" He smiled, and Alfred gave an exasperated look and left, going to his room, still without a door.

Alfred sighed again as he reached his room upon remembering that he didn't have a door anymore. 'Not that I had any privacy in the first place...' he grumbled, grabbing the few clothes he had in his closet. Being extremely careful for his hand, he slipped a shirt on, making sure it didn't catch on his stitches. His butt was still extremely sore so underwear and pants were out of the question. He then lay down on his bed slowly, resting on his stomach and closing his eyes. This day was definitely long enough.

.oOo.

Ivan thrust his fingers in Alfred's entrance. He hadn't done anything bad that day, so he got preparation and lube. The other country moaned in discomfort, his butt still sore from the day before. When he felt his partner was sufficiently stretched, Russia took out his fingers and replaced them with his cock, blood seeping out from a reopened tear. "Ya, you like having something up there, don't you? Dirty whore." Then he took the pair of scissors beside him, and cut the knots on the threads in America's arm. "But we have to get these stitches out, since you have healed." Then he violently ripped out the first thread, much more quickly than any doctor would.

America had woken up groggily as soon as he felt something in his ass moving around, stretching him wide. Groaning, he looked over his shoulder only to see Russia hovering over him, his fingers ripping open his wounds from yesterday. Even though he was being raped again, he felt slightly glad that at least this time Ivan prepared him and used lube. When his cock entered him for the second time in less then twenty-four hours, Alfred's eyes shot open. Then, Ivan had ripped out one of his stitches from his arm, ripping the sensitive skin.

Right then, Alfred decided he didn't really feel like being raped again. As another stitch was pulled and Russia started to move, he quickly pushed up with his left hand and his legs, confusing Ivan for a moment and made a break for freedom.

"Either way, your stitches need to be taken out!" Russia yelled after him, and then added to himself, "I just though I would distract him from it." He got up and went in the direction Alfred had gone. The hallway was deserted. "Come out, come out, wherever you are." He said under his breath. Hide and Seek, such a childish game, but so fun. Once, someone tried hiding in the iron maiden he had downstairs. Ivan won that game, since the man had screamed when he fell on the spikes.

The best way to play Hide and Seek is when you know all the hiding places. Russia had been living here much longer than America, so it was safe to say that he knew all the hiding places. Of course, knowing Alfred, he would pick the worst one possible. Hard to get out of, and easy to find.

As soon as he ran away, America was surprised that Ivan hadn't even attempted to stop him, only opting to yell out at him. Blood dripping out of him a bit, he ran downstairs to the kitchen. He had been here long enough. It was definitely time to get out of here but there was one thing stopping him: Russia. No Russia, and he was free to go. He just prayed that it would work.

He quickly looked through the drawers for what he was looking for; Ah, there it was. Grabbing the object, he ran back upstairs, extremely glad that he didn't run into Ivan. Sneaking into another guest bedroom (that he knew was never used from the type of guests Russia usually had over), he hid in the closet; right hand against his racing heart, left holding onto the object.

Seconds turned into minutes as America stood in the closet, heart beating wildly. Hiding had never been his forte. Sneaking around and attacking people had always been more of his idea of fun as a child. It also didn't help that when he used to play with Canada, he would always find him because he could never stay still long enough. But when it came for America to look for him, it was almost like he had disappeared completely.

After checking under all the beds, Russia heard some harsh breathing coming from a closet. A definite 'F' for Hide and Seek. But what fun was playing if he didn't play with his captive? So, instead of opening the door, he decided to take a chair, and hit the door with it, making a loud crash. He heard a stifled yell from inside.

'Shit...' Alfred thought. Russia had obviously found him. If he was going to attack, he should at least have the slightly-upper hand. Slowly opening the closet door, he was automatically greeted by Ivan's wide grin.

Poking his head out of the closet, he looked at Russia, staying silent. He made sure that he couldn't see the weapon in his hand.

"That was fun. But you should really let me take out the stitches. The bandage on your hand also needs changing." Ivan opened the closet door wider, revealing all of the person hiding behind.

Hiding the carving knife behind his back, he flipped it so he was now holding it perpendicular to his arm. "I don't need your help. Especially since you're not going to be here much longer." Pausing for a second, Alfred continued. "Say hello to Satan for me when you get to hell!" With that, he brought up his left arm, aiming to stab the double-tipped knife straight into Russia's emotionless heart.

Fast as lightening, Russia grabbed the hand that was trying to kill him and held it there. "If only you could have used your right hand, that laughable attempt at assassination may have worked." He squeezed the wrist, forcing Alfred's hand to open and drop the knife. Then he pulled his would-be-murderer close and whispered in his ear, "But have you forgotten that you will never get away from here? That you still don't know how to fly the helicopter out there without gassing yourself?" He ripped the last few stitches out, tearing the skin. America let out a whimper, but Ivan forced him to follow. "This morning, I gave you a new door." He said, as he threw his prisoner in his own room. "Have fun staying in there for the next week.' With that, the new steel door slammed shut, and the large Russian locked it with three different locks.

America stayed on the floor, staring at the metal door for a moment. In here... For a week? He was going to starve! How did Russia expect him to survive! True, he did have a bathroom so he was able to drink from the sink, but no food for a week? As if on cue, his stomach growled, reminding him that he hadn't eaten since he tried stealing the helicopter.

Now he really was screwed; literally and figuratively. Without food, he could starve to death, killing himself as well as his country. Even if he was able to eat somehow, he was still stuck in his room for a week, and with what he had done so far he was amazed it wasn't longer.

The only thing that had continued to bother him was what Russia had been saying about being his bitch. Sure, he was stuck here, but whenever Ivan had tried making him do something, he had always fought against it. Yes, he was punished for it, but it still made him feel as if he had even a sliver of a chance to one day escape. The helicopter was the first big blow that had almost extinguished any hope he had to leave without Russia allowing him to. Now though, after trying to kill him, he fully realized just how pathetic and weak he really was becoming. Was there really going to be a day where he did what ever Ivan asked without any hint of sticking up for himself? No, he was America, home of the free and the brave. Although freedom seemed to be a far off goal at this point, it would take way more to break his idealistic mind. At least, that's what he made himself believe.

He got up and banged his fist against the door in a hopeless attempt to get Ivan's attention. Giving up after a few seconds, Alfred went into the bathroom and started up a bath. After all, if he was stuck in here for the next week, he might as well relax and clean up all the blood that was on him.