"Russia, Ivan, look at me!" America fell to his knees and gathered the once powerful nation into his arms.
Russia smiled up at him, his eyes blood shot and tired.
"Privet, Alfred." the sound of his dry cracking voice brought tears to America's eyes.
"Come on, dude." He whimpered. "You can't leave me." Alfred entwined his fingers in Ivan's thinning, filthy hair and buried his face in Ivan's scarf.
"Alfred, look at me." Ivan whispered.
Alfred didn't want to, though. Russia's appearance terrified him. His cheeks were a sickly shade of yellow and hollow. Red gashes ran across Ivan's previously flawless face. The perfect parallelism helped Alfred realize what had made them.
"Let me die, America." Alfred heard the whisper as if it was from afar.
America looked down at him, tears flowing freely and an expression of disbelief on his face.
"Could you help me?"
"With what?"
"I want to feel you skin again." Alfred quickly pulled Ivan's gloves off and winced. Blisters riddled the man's hands, dried blood and skin rotted beneath his finger nails.
Suddenly weeping, Alfred held Ivan's hands to his face. He gasped for air as he sobbed harder. Those weren't Ivan's hands. Ivan's were soft and cool, these were rough and burning. This wasn't Ivan! Ivan was perfect, he was strong, not this weak dying, corpse!
"Krasivye Amerike. Kak ya vozlyubil vas." (Beautiful America. How I have loved you." Ivan formed in his own eyes. "Will you remember me, pet?"
"Of course I'll remember you! Don't talk that way!" America held him closer, imaging for a moment, Ivan was the beautiful, strong country he once was.
"Promise?" Ivan smiled a little, then coughed harshly. "Let me go. Pozvolʹte mne zdesʹ umeretʹ." (Let me die here)
America gently rubbed his thumb against Ivan's cheek and took a deep breath.
"How 'bout I smile for ya, big guy?" he tried using his cheerful voice. "Ya like it when I smile."
His hero grin sadly spread across his face.
One last breath passed through Ivan but an expression of pure joy stayed on his face.
Alfred's face fell.
"Russia? Ivan?" He shook Russia's body violently.
"Russia! God damn it, you commie fucker!" he screamed. "Come back you bastard! Russia!" he gasped for breath. "Ivanushka?" he whispered the pet name with all the fear of a scared child.
Russia's violet eyes stared at a Soviet red sky. America's sobs of anger and grief would never reach his ears and the gentle touch would go unfelt.
I hope you cried. Not to sound like a sadist, I just hope that you were strongly affected by it. If not, please, please, please tell me why it didn't make you at least want to cry.