"Romania!"
Romania's head snapped up.
The door to his room (well, it was not actually his room; it was the room he had been given during his days as part of the Eastern Bloc, but anyway.) opened.
Russia stood in the doorway. That was like Russia: he didn't bother with the privacy of people living under his roof.
"Romania, have you seen the outcome of this war?"
That had been Romania's task: find out everything he could about what might happen.
"I haven't been able to see anything, Mr. Russia."
"Really?" Russia still stood in the doorway menacingly. How far away was the window? (And was it still painted shut?)
Romania nodded. He had tried everything, from mirrors to Tarot cards to crystal balls. And nothing had worked.
"Will you look right now?"
"I won't see anything."
"Try. For me." Russia smiled.
Romania nodded. He knew he wouldn't see anything, but if trying meant that he wouldn't have to jump through the window to escape Russia's Magic Cane, it would be well worth it.
"Have a seat, please, and turn off the lights." Romania gestured to the seat across from him.
Russia shook his head. "I will stay here." He did, however, turn the lights off.
Romania turned from Russia. He didn't much like Russia watching him, but he was not given a choice.
Words were spoken over the crystal ball in front of him. Lights swirled within it, coloring the room with many shades of light.
The lights suddenly when out all at once, leaving the room dark.
"There is nothing to see, Mr. Russia."
"You are not trying hard enough. Try again."
"But there is nothing to see-"
"Perhaps you are not understanding me. But I am knowing something that will make you understand." He turned, reaching for something out in the hallway; Romania couldn't see what, exactly.
When he saw what (who) Russia held, all of the blood drained from his face.
Russia held his lead pipe against Bulgaria's collar bones. Bulgaria was gagged and his hands were bound behind his back. He struggled fruitlessly against Russia's iron grip.
"Russia, please, let Bulgaria go! I will do whatever you want. Just, let him go. He has nothing to do with this."
"Look gain." Russia used his normal calm voice. "And this time, I hope you will be finding something, da?"
That was a threat if Romania had ever heard one. He cast another glance at Bulgaria, who was shaking his head violently.
Romania put his hands back on the crystal ball. Again he chanted words over it.
Something had changed in the last few minutes. Perhaps he was imagining it, or perhaps his will was sufficient to see a future that did not want to be seen.
Either way, the lights swirled within the ball as they had before, but this time, they materialized into something: an image.
It was blurry, but Romania could make out what seemed to be a man, kneeling in front of a grave. It was a freshly dug grave, the dirt covering it bare. Romania could not read the headstone, but he could tell that it switched between two names. Likewise, the flowers in the man's hands changed between something yellow and something purple.
The way Romania saw it, there were two possible outcomes, and they both ended in someone dying. But who?
"There will be a death."
"Who will die?"
"I don't know. I can't…see that."
"Ah, that is too bad for your…friend, isn't it?" Russia pulled a gun out and pressed it against the side of Bulgaria's head. "Who will die, Romania?"
"I can't see that! I can only see what it lets me!"
"Are you sure? Well, let us think about this logically. Tell me about your vision."
Romania did, leaving nothing out. When he got to the part about the flowers, Russia frowned. "They switch between yellow and purple flowers, da?"
"Yes, Mr. Russia."
"If our dear, beloved Amerika were going to…pass from this world, I would leave beautiful golden sunflowers at his grave, da?"
"I-I suppose you would, Mr. Russia." Romania really wanted Russia to put the gun away, and maybe let Bulgaria go…
"But if Mr. Norway died, what do you suppose Mr. Denmark would put on his grave?"
"I don't know-"
"I am being disappointed by you, Romania. Are you not good friends with Mr. Norway? And yet you do not even know his national flower." Russia flicked the safety off the gun.
Romania suddenly remembered something Norway had once said. "Purple heather! They're purple heather!"
"Yes…so, one of these players will fall, and that will be the end of our little chess game, da?"
"I-I guess…" Really? Chess metaphors?
"Very well." Russia pushed Bulgaria into the room and stalked away.
Romania jumped up and ran to catch Bulgaria. It didn't really work, though; they both ended up toppling to the floor, Bulgaria landing on top of Romania. Romania pushed himself up and, with trembling fingers, untied first the gag and them the ropes binding Bulgaria's hands.
"Bul? Bulgaria, are you-?" His fingers traced the delicate structure of Bulgaria's face, pausing when they encountered the bump on his forehead where Russia had pressed the gun.
"I'm fine, Romania." It was said gently, as if to reassure.
Romania gently massaged Bulgaria's wrists. They were bruised. His fingers were cold; Romania wanted to restore circulation. "I am so, so sorry that this happened to you. This is my fault-"
"It's not."
Romania brushed a soft, lingering kiss against the other man's lips. "I don't know what I would do without you."
"You always were a romantic."
"Is that such a bad thing, Bul?"
"Well, no…"
Romania interrupted him. "He was rarely able to stay on the same subject for very long.) "Now, let me help you up. You can go sit on the bed and I'll make you some tea and maybe a healing potion…"
Bulgaria made a face, probably at the prospect of a healing potion. "I'm alright. I don't need a healing potion."
"You're alright when I say you're alright. Now, can you stand? Good, I'll have that potion for you in a minute."
Bulgaria sighed and rolled his eyes. "Yes, mother."
A/N: I'm back! The beast that is Writer's Block has been slain!
This chapter was a pain to write. Mainly, I don't know much about Bulgaria or Romania, so have my apologies for horrible OOC-ness.
I'll have a new chapter up as soon as I finish it. It will be...interesting, to say the least.