He picks up the flaps of skin and cuts them off, he dumps them in the bucket and wipes down the knife, setting it down beside him.
He douses a cloth in salt water and wipes down the wound. Australia winces, he notices and smiles apologetically, 'I'm sorry, Австралия. I have to do this, or your leg will only get worse.'
She nods, and grips the arms of the chair. After what seems like forever, all the pus is gone and the wound is relatively clean.
But Russia looks puzzled, 'It should be bleeding.'
Australia removes her hands from the arms of their chair – there's imprints of her hands on the arms – and removes the belt, 'Try cutting through the second layer of skin, there might be more pus under there.'
England nods, 'Where did you get so good at first aid?' he asks Russia.
'You pick things up over the years.' Replies Russia.
England shakes his head, 'That's not casual knowledge, that's full on medic knowledge.'
It's Ukraine who answers, 'My brother learnt how to do it during the Mongolian Occupation. Bela and I kept getting injured so he taught himself how to take care of us.'
Russia blushes and turns back to the memory.
He nods, 'That might work.' He picks up the knife and starts heating it. Once it is red-hot, he waits for the glow to die down before slicing through the second layer of skin.
There's no pus under the skin, but there is lots of dried blood. He wipes it away with more of the saline solution and once it's gone, fresh blood starts flowing.
Australia removes the gag, 'Told you.'
Russia chuckles, 'It seems you were right, Австралия.' He pulls out a pot of yellow paste.
'What's that?' asks Australia.
'Antiseptic.' Replies Russia, 'It will remove the last of the infection.'
She nods as he spreads it over the wound. Once every centimetre of the wound is covered by a thick layer of antiseptic, he pulls out bandages and wraps it up.
The screen goes black.
Instantly everyone is surrounding Russia and Australia, interrogating them about what just happened.