Russia:
Why? W.H.Y. It was all I could think about. My every waking moment was consumed with these three, insignificant letters, symbols really, which humans gave significance. Why did I save him? Why am I keeping him here? Why haven't I told him? I can't lie to myself any more. I can't pretend that the man I hate most in the world didn't bring me to tears. He broke me down and made me weak without his gun, or his fists, or his words. He just sat there and did nothing. How can I look myself in the mirror after holding my enemy and crying? He's doing something to me. Somehow, just by being here, he's changing me, and I hate it. I hate him. It's his fault. I contemplated this over a bottle and a second bottle of vodka, until I was decided.
Furious, I stormed down into the basement, unlatching and throwing the reinforced door open with a heavy metal thud. I intended to kill him, then and there. To torture him and bleed him out like I never had before. And why? I had brought him here to torture him, and since he would not react, he was no good for that, right? He was useless and weak now, and the useless and the weak are to be destroyed and consumed by the strong. That's nature.
I stormed down the hall and slammed the cell door open after unlocking it with deft hands. He didn't even try to look up at me as I grabbed him by his hair, dragging him by the blond strands. I wrenched his head up to mine and stared into the hazy abyss of his eyes. Pathetic! I cast him away from me in disgust and he crumpled down the floor like wet paper. He had no will for determining where he would go, what he would do… he didn't care.
I straddled him on the ground and placed my hands around his throat. They tightened around the cylinder of flesh like a boa constrictor, coiling tighter and tighter with every exhaled breath, making the next even harder. I had no intention of rushing this in the slightest. I would watch his every step toward death; people show their true selves before they die. As soon as they know there's no escape, there's no reason to fake it any more. The mask falls away, leaving the only honest face they'll ever show on a corpse. My eyes were trained on his face, watching hungrily like a cat. I licked my lips as he choked and gasped underneath me. Yes, I would see Alfred again, if only for a moment.
America:
All I could do as he throttled and strangled me was think. I was limp and tired; I didn't have any will inside of me to fight back. I let his hands, tighten and tighten, waiting for the final release. My vision went black and then hazy. …but then there were people, standing before me. At first it was France, looking down at me a crying, and then Japan. I was faced with England next, he looked like he did the night of my revolution, stiff-lipped with tears running freely. Canada floated in to my vision, brother… I was terrible. How could I make my brother cry? They wouldn't have wanted this. No… stop... I can't die yet!
Russia:
There! Alfred's face began contorting in to something besides discomfort. His eyes shut and tears began to roll down his face. He opened them suddenly and stared at me with clarity beyond what you would expect for someone about to die. He couldn't speak but he choked and mouthed a single word, "Stop."
I was shocked and my hands fell down to my sides. Alfred. He didn't want to die. I stiffened when I felt his hand on my shoulder and was terrified to look at his face. Why?
"Alfred…" I was afraid to face him. He hasn't changed. Nothing's changed. He's still empty and broken and you're weak. Kill him. I sobbed and reached my violently shaking hands for his throat. Alfred. Alfred… Give him back!
My hands fell weak around his throat and I fell forward, catching myself with my hands on either side of his head. Startled, I looked down and saw his face… his eyes… I was floating in the sunny skies.
America:
I was startled when he fell over me, expecting to feel a knife in my gut. I waited for the pain but none came. I looked up when I felt a water droplet on my cheek. My hand instinctively touched it. It was warm. Confused, I looked up at my tormentor. His fake smile was gone, his face was lax and his eyes were warm… too warm. His tears were running down his cheeks and dripping on to mine.
"R-Russia? Man… what are you doing?" He stifled a sob so it sounded like a choke. He was staring down at me with something I couldn't recognize… whatever it was, it made me nervous.
"Russia?" I tried to push him off me, but I was weak from months without food. I wiggled underneath him, trying to get out.
"Russia!" He startled and stared blankly for a moment, before he smiled. It wasn't the sick and twisted smile I had seen so many times before… It was something else. It was warmer and more genuine than anything I had ever seen on the man.
"Alfred…" He muttered under his breath. "You're back…"
"Yeah… something like that…"