Previously:
"I'll kill you!" he screamed, insanity in his green eyes. Canada shrieked in fear and kicked his legs futilely as Russia looked back and forth between the two. Slowly realization dawned on his face. His fists clenched, nearly crushing the Canadian's windpipe. "You don't hurt Matvey," the Russian growled angrily. His purple aura flared, and he dropped Canada...
...to reach for his pipe.
The Confederacy saw this and...
pulled out America's gun.
The two insane nations faced off, each with a weapon in his hand. Their eyes met and burned. The temperature dropped ten degrees. In London, England shivered in his sleep. Deep inside his body, America struggled to no avail. This wasn't how he wanted it to end. This wasn't how he ever wanted it to end.
Canada screamed again as blood splattered the walls, as the two nations fought their titanic battle.
Lithuania, who had just woken up, stared in horror, his own screams caught in his throat, his limbs frozen. What the heck did I miss?
Russia struggled to keep fighting. He needed to protect Matvey, but his limbs felt as heavy as his lead pipe, and his pipe felt as yielding as a living limb. Blood poured from a wound on his scalp where the American had actually split his skull, matting his hair and making him dizzy. Amerika never seemed to tire. Finally the huge nation stumbled against the wall, dropping his weapon with a clang. He faintly felt the much stronger man wrap his hands around his throat. The world spun as he weakly tried to pry the crushing force from his neck. As his sight faded to grey, he met those glowing green eyes. A tear found its way down his cheek.
The Confederacy stared into the Russian's dimming violet eyes. That single tear looked like a crystal. What was this flutter in his heart? What trick was the Union pulling now? He glanced at the two nations on the ground and saw that they feared him. He realized suddenly that he didn't like being feared. Was it better to be loved? He reached inside himself and searched his brother's consciousness. He cared about these people, all of them, even Russia. That was a good feeling, to care about someone.
Slowly the Confederacy unwrapped his hands from Russia's throat, confusion in his green eyes. How did the Union do this? How did one become loved?
Let me teach you, America thought. Let me help you. Let me love you. I love you. I love you, Confederacy. You're my little brother, and I love you. I'm sorry I hurt you. Let me make it better.
The Southerner stared down at himself, at the blood on his shirt. How?
Go to sleep, came his brother's gentle reply. Let me fix everything.
Sleep sounded wonderful. He closed his green eyes and fell backwards, into darkness. Into the warm arms of his big brother.