I had equipped Latvia with a glass of water after the last of his preparations for bed had been made. The objective was to keep him confined in his room with no excuse to leave it while I proceeded with my business. I waited regardless, for half an hour before I crept over to my home.

All the things that I would need had been left there: my contacts, the phones, computers, and shovel. I carefully pushed open the door and leapt back and forth between the homes, putting the electronics onto the table first. I pocketed a box of contacts then, peeking to make sure Latvia hadn't wandered out of his room, I crept inside with the shovel gripped by white-knuckled hands.

The shovel was left in America's room, where I intended to spend the night. Just in case. I couldn't be the ignorant horror movie character; not when I wanted to be ready to protect my guest. Furthermore, I was more comfortable attacking America with a shovel than with a gun. Although, the latter item was accessible in the drawer of America's nightstand, in the form of a pistol.

I went back one more time to make sure Kumajiro had everything he would need for the night. When I found him, he was already snoozing on the couch in front of the TV. I raised the remote and rid the room of the aimless chatter of the characters, then fetched a clean blanket and draped it over him.

Upon contact, he stirred and blinked over at me.

"America?" he yawned.

"No," I whispered in my own voice. "It's me, Canada."

"Who?"

I tucked in the blanket and he went limp. I stroked his cheek and knew his fatigue in the way his head fell heavily into my hand. After a quick trip to my kitchen, I lay a warm bowl of water on the table in front of him. Kumajiro peaked at it, then closed his eyes again.

"I'll see you tomorrow," I murmured. "Goodnight, Kumohangu."

He was already fast asleep.

I snuck back to America's side, treated with an absence of movement upon this level. Relieved, I closed the door silently and crept away to bring myself to bed. First however, I did a quick check on Latvia, pressing my eye to the crack and finding him as a roll of blankets with but a tuft of brown hair.

I slid into America's room and removed my contacts. His glasses were left on the table before I rubbed at my eyes, which were sore from the combination of the two. As I curled up into the cold bed left untouched for so long, I mildly wondered how acceptable it would be to go without his glasses instead.

I burrowed deeper, and although the bed was comfortable, I could not help but feel unease in taking over America's bed. Perhaps I would need to practice sleeping here to get used to it, but it was as though a spectre now hung over me and was moaning for me to leave. Chills scampered over my skin and I pulled the blankets tight to my body to warm up a pocket of air. I wanted to break and skitter to the couch, but Latvia would wonder why America preferred it to his own bed.

Then of course, leaving the room like this would risk having Latvia see the colour of my eyes. There was nothing to do but get cozy and direct my thoughts towards lighter topics.

I wonder how the cake will taste…

Imaginary flavors filled my mind as I focused on the image Russia had sent to America after what seemed like a long time ago. I wondered if it was a moist cake oozing with a rich honey taste, and I wondered just how much honey was needed for an entire cake. Honey, like maple syrup, was expensive to buy and even short bottles cost much.

Further my thoughts drifted, until I was able to enter a fitful sleep. I would wake in cold sweat every few hours, chased to reality by dreams of blood and rot. The unfocused eyes of America and his cries rang in my ears, echoing when I looked around and took in my rasping breaths.

It always took a few seconds of silence before I felt that all was safe. But in case it wasn't, I checked on Latvia again and again, dragging my exhausted body back to the soaked bed each time.

My shirt had already been removed, but I lay down a sheet for a dry spot to lay. I covered myself up for warmth again and fell off the plane of consciousness, straight into another nightmare.

This one was unlike the others however, forcing me to believe that I had just awoken from sleep into reality, one filled with Latvia's screeches. The colours had been all wrong however, with the walls and floor dark wherever I went. I should have known, but in this dream, I was much too frightened to question it.

A somber mist covered Latvia when I dove into the guest room. His black blood smeared every surface, reaching the carpet by my feet and the ceiling itself. There was such an excess that it hung even in the air around us. Like the cold dampness of fog, it stuck to my skin in droplets. It was sticky and slippery though, uncomfortable as I took a jittering step toward the bony creature hunched over his torn body.

No, no, no…

A ragged cloth stuck to the back of the creature as it pulled back then dove down repeatedly, each time with the sound of ripping meat and the snap of bones. The smack of messy chewing filled the room and the confines of my mind. Far too late, I fell back, incapable of action as my breaths shortened and raised in pitch.

And somehow here, the deaf creature heard my panic and instantly spun around, gray and snarling with blood dribbling through orange teeth. The corpse took an unbalanced step towards me, hundreds of sesame seed insects colliding with centipedes over its skin. My breaths hitched and I strained to move away, managing one slow step back as America took a few forward.

"M-Mr. America…" The whisper of Latvia rose from the immobile form on the bed. "U-um… Mr. A-America…"

I raised my heavy arms out in defense, wailing when they fell on their own. The peeled face filled my vision and I was utterly defenseless.

"Mr. Ame-"

I hollered and shot forward, chest heaving and sweat sailing off my forehead. In the dark, I saw a small silhouette leap in surprise and fall back to the door to the hall.

Latvia. It's Latvia.

"Argh," I groaned. "What... are you doing here?"

"I'm sorry…" Latvia whispered. "I was hearing strange sounds so I-"

"Sounds?" I grabbed the blanket, peering to the corner where the shovel hid in the shade. "What kind?"

"Y-you were… Your breathing and it j-just sounded like you were hurt… so I was thinking that you needed help..."

Latvia held onto the door, clearly uncomfortable and feeling unwelcome here.

"Oh…" I relaxed. "No, just a really crazy dream."

There was a pause from Latvia before his voice rose inquisitively, "D-do… you get nightmares, America?"

"Sometimes, why not? Everyone does…"

He made a quiet sound of understanding. Then after another lull, he asked, "What did you dream about?"

"Trying to find out my weaknesses?"

"N-no! Er…"

"I'm just messing with you. It was about clowns. When real life isn't scary enough, sometimes my mind makes up shit to spook me."

"Oh…" Latvia murmured. "Not of the real things then. Nothing like Russia coming to t-take you away…"

"Of course not."

Latvia nodded slowly.

"So, as you can see, I'm all good," I told him. "Nothing to worry about. Thanks for the concern though."

He kept nodding.

"So you can go back to bed," I concluded.

"Ah, yes! Okay… goodnight then…"

After he had disappeared and I heard his door close, I sighed and threw the blankets over myself. It had been admittedly nice to have him appear, as a being of life that spoke to me and made me forget about the feeling of death watching me. It made it much easier to realize how strange the dream had been and how distant it was from reality.

He was also worried about me, I thought more about my guest's actions. Latvia was afraid that I was hurt and he was willing to help if he could. I should really make sure to make him know that I appreciate his kindness. I can do more. Tomorrow morning, I should buy him some good food. Something better than a box of cereal...

I went to a farmer's market for fresh fruit, then did the rest of my shopping at the grocery store. I crept back into the house and deposited my bags on the counter, the breeze ruffling the plastic through the open window. Oatmeal was in the works as I washed some ruby apples and rubbed them dry. By the time that I heard the movement of Latvia down the hall, I had already sliced them and had started putting everything onto the table.

Latvia arrived with a fresh change of clothes, small and unscathed, as he stood by the basement door and stared at the food in amazement. He could not fathom the effort being put in for him, amusing and disappointing me simultaneously. I beckoned him to take a seat, which he silently did, clutching at the chair as I dropped a carton of milk in front of him.

"You look surprised!" I laughed.

"I am, Mr. America… I didn't know you ate things like this."

I raped a fingernail against the back of his chair as I passed by.

"Well," I said. "I didn't want to force my sugary crap down your throat if you didn't want it. I told you I wanted to be your friend, didn't I? Another thing, you don't have to call me 'Mr.'. Relax already! Let's not be so formal."

"O-okay, but… I'm really not used to it."

Latvia moved to accept what I had laid out for him. A sprinkle of cinnamon and brown sugar for the oatmeal, then he nibbled at some of the apple slices. He relaxed more and more as we stayed and ate calmly, no strange sounds arising and disturbing the atmosphere. Eventually, I asked him about his travel plans.

Yellowstone, he had decided.

"And you will get there how?"

"Oh, by driving… I can see many things like this."

I burst out, "You can drive?"

"A-ah… yes…"

"But you're so short!"

Latvia blushed and blabbered, "D-didn't you see the car outside? I-I got here yesterday by…"

No, I hadn't seen it. When I had left the house, I had taken my own car and returned on that side, dropping off my own groceries with Kumajiro. I felt hot with pressure, but Latvia was not looking at me with suspicion.

"Oh, I forgot." I shrugged. His face told me that this response was normal. "I'm just surprised is all. You know, it's crazy because the pedals are far away and you have to be able to see over the wheel…"

I stopped early to save him discomfort.

"But yeah, Yellowstone. Nice place. I guess you've probably been before but, not in a while."

He nodded.

I continued, "You should send me messages. You know, pictures, or just to let me know that you're doing alright. It's better if I can reach you on my phone instead of, like, my home phone. I'm not always around, especially when I'm at Russia's."

Latvia agreed. We cleaned up the table and then I put on some music as Latvia hunted down his things. I did some work until he had packed up his suitcase, and a short while later, had dragged it back to the door. I took it out to the rental car for him, cramming it in the small vehicle that could barely swallow it.

"So yeah." I followed him to the driver's seat. "Have a nice trip. Stay as long as you'd like here."

"Thank you, Mr- er, America…"

He was given a wave as he pulled away in the miniature car. Latvia, with a noticeable degree of uncertainty, waved back. Once he had disappeared from sight though, he was out of mind. I trotted back into the house and immediately went to complete my routine check on America. While the silence had affirmed that the towel technique was successful, I had no idea if he was straining his chains.

It was a relief to leave his glasses on the table and clear up my vision. After doing this, I went over to the door, unlocked it, then flicked on the light. Not sound nor movement greeted me there on those cold stairs. I stepped down with taut muscles, ready to move back in case a hand shot out for me from around the corner. With a peek around the wall however, I confirmed America's confinement and immobility.

His chains rested tight around his narrow body, and only his head turned my way. I could see even from this distance, the shine of black creeping over him. I couldn't even see the white of his eyes past them. The cluck he directed at me was like a command, urging me upstairs to snatch the remnants of the Raid. I sprinted back to America, tears welling up in my eyes from the stench and in seeing how far he had gone.

The skin was now a tad darker than gray, the old blood even stranger colours, and the sewn cuts seeming to mold. Still, I could not see his eyes. America's teeth over the checkered cloth appeared when his lips drew back, and chills clutched me as this seemingly eyeless corpse leaned toward me. Unable to watch, I turned my head away and sprayed directly at his face.

America did not scream from the force of the chemicals blasting him. I raised my finger and took a glimpse of the white I had coated him with, black and brown curls now spotting it and writhing in death. As they dripped down and splattered Dalmatian spots on the floor, his eyes became visible again. They were streaked with crimson and I retreated, holding myself when I noticed the missing parts.

Those eyes were no longer orbs, but seemed deflated and gnawed. As though the insides of them had already been consumed. I bit my lip and sprayed the last of the can over his body, taking special attention to his previously broken leg. Where the skin had been torn off from the bandages, there was some healing, yet the area had become a mining site for the bugs. I left a pool of white then turned, departing right then and there.

Despite a temporary success, a grand veil of hopelessness hung over me. There was really nothing I could do to stop this from happening. I briefly wondered what would happen if I froze him, but the thought of stuffing him into a white freezer horrified me so much that I was forced to forget it. Once I had slammed and locked the door behind me, I rubbed my stomach and tried to quench my dizziness.

My hands were washed in the kitchen before I gathered the electronics and took them back to my side. With Latvia packed and gone so quickly, I would no longer need to stay here to work. I came back home with my arms full, helpless against Kumajiro's prods and questions.

"Where's the other guy?" he asked.

I headed to the coffee table and deposited my things. "I am that other guy. It's me… Canada…"

I ruffled up my hair but it was no use in these clothes and with the blue eyes. It took until I had removed them before he believed my words.

"You couldn't smell me?" I mildly threw out while arranging the things resting on the table.

"No." He answered bluntly. "You stink."

I could not bring myself to care about this at the time. Dismissively, I replied with just a sigh, "Of course I do. What do you expect me to do?"

But instantly my mind whispered back to answer my own rhetorical question.

Freeze him.

It was amazing, in hindsight, that I was able to survive the meetings with different bosses and political figures, with this disturbing thought in my mind. I never even imagined that I would have to try to rest at night, telling myself over and over again that one just couldn't consider stuffing their brother into a freezer. I sweated and dreamt my eerie dreams constantly, trying to find within them my safe place in that house among the corn. There, I could see nothing of the outside world. There, existed only old and beautiful things.

I couldn't take it anymore. The thought had become a legitimate idea after seeing the insects back by the time I had checked on him again, and more the time after that no matter how much Raid I used. In an attempt to be wise, I called Britain first before acting upon anything.

"Canada," he murmured once he picked up. "Are you alright?"

He sounded awfully tired. In an instant, I realized that I had forgotten to think about him. I had no idea where he was or where he had been.

"I'm sorry, Britain," I whispered back. "It's just… I'm leaving tomorrow and I was worried about America…"

He went mute and listened.

"I-it's just that th-the bugs… they've gotten so much w-worse…"

He listened still. Britain might have been trying to be respectful, but it felt as though he was silent in horror as he realized what I was getting at.

"I-I just can't bear to see him like this. I… just… don't know what I will do if he gets any worse. H-his eyes, Britain… I…"

"But it's alright if he gets worse," he mumbled back to me finally. "Remember? We can fix anything."

"I know, I know, but…"

"But what? What is it, Canada?"

"I… wondered if we should… freeze him. P-put him in a freezer."

"A freezer!" he cried. "Mercy me, do you really want to do that?"

His shock frightened me and I curled up into a ball on the couch, moaning, "I don't know… I don't know… I-it wouldn't h-hurt him and I-I thought that maybe…"

My spilling tears started to infect my voice. Britain shushed me and sighed, "I'm sorry, Canada. It isn't such a terrible idea. I don't know if it would be easy for him to heal being so cold, but he wouldn't really get any worse. I understand. Excuse my surprise…"

"I've j-just been thinking about it for a while," I sniffed. "And I know it might be good for him, w-with me being gone and unable to s-spray him…"

"Yes, yes…"

"And we could wrap the chains around it…"

Britain exhaled, "And him…"

"It c-could be more secure…"

"Can he move well yet?" he asked.

"No, not yet…"

"You would still have to lift him and put him in. But… Ah, no- never mind it. I never wanted you to remove those chains."

I murmured, "I know I promised but… he's weak right now. I can do it today and then never again."

There was silence on the other side. Then, Britain said softly, "Please don't do it, Canada. He'll be alright."

"Please," I whimpered. "I d-don't know what he- he'll look like after a week…"

"There's no need to worry," he soothed me in his fatigued voice. "All you have to do is believe in me. There is nothing for you to concern yourself over. I know it's hard, but we… we will stay strong."

For a brief moment I felt anger, but I couldn't hold that emotion. Britain did understand that it was hard. He did not mean to sound insensitive and cruel. I had seen him cry already.

What passed next were empty words, those of Britain trying to calm me and assuring me again of the plan. The cure for America's condition and the talk of magic subdued me and before I had realized it, we had hung up. I did not call him back however, but instead I lay down to stare off at nothing.

I don't want to leave America like this, I thought, although felt that it was always best to listen to Britain. I don't know what I'll come back to. If there'll even be anything left of him…

That night I took Kumajiro to the Prime Minister, who expected me to go on a camping trip, and was fine with allowing Kumajiro to stay at his home. On America's side, my brother was expected to be going to Russia. The president had seemed satisfied with the idea of a peaceful interaction with that country, but had advised me to open nothing important over the internet there. In the end, I had a week off from all work.

Despite the vacation, the sleep that followed was especially rocky. I woke every hour until the first note of music came from my alarm. Then, I shot up and got ready for the drive. Although, how I had gotten myself to the airport was hardly remembered. Only the echoes of the monotone instructions from the GPS floated in my mind.

I was in my American costume for the entirety of the long flight, surprising myself constantly whenever I glimpsed myself in the restroom mirror. I was so certain that Russia would see no difference, but I wondered how I would pull off the voice when America plagued my mind. Every second from him, and the bugs munched my brother away, piece-by-piece.

There were times of bitterness where I wished I had ignored Britain, and had frozen him. But it was impossible to spite Britain when memories of his stress always guilted me into sympathizing with him. I only had to accept that America would survive this, as Britain had promised.

Oh, America. I don't even think that you would think you look cool now.

My heart picked up when the plane began its descent. A Russian announcement reminded me of the person waiting for me in that airport below. I pressed my hands against the cold window and stared out at the city below, finding onion-domed churches that were unlike the sharp points of the typical North American church. There was no going back now. I was here.

Oh man, what do I do if Russia figures it out?

I tore open my bag and confirmed for the umpteenth time that I had my extra eye contacts, America's glasses, his wallet, and his passport. And of course, that I had taken nothing noticeably Canadian with me. The only thing to hide was the extra phone, my phone, which might be strange to Russia if he noticed it.

I breathed deeply as I walked out of the airplane and followed the line of people. The air that snuck through the cracks between the plane and the tunnel was chilly and bit at my skin. I hurried into the warmth and rush of the airport, as people directed themselves towards the belts spitting out their luggage. I waited for mine, collected it, then wheeled it toward the exit to where Russia would be.

I stopped when my heart rate spiked. I needed a moment to breathe and whisper American slang to myself. Then, I followed the people once more until I found the crowd amassed to meet with their arriving loved ones. I had to peer through the crowd of Russians until I found my specific one, the one that stood tall against a pillar with a familiar scarf draped around his neck.

He seemed relieved for a moment, glad that I had actually come. I swallowed and approached Russia, releasing what seemed like a too quiet, "Hey". He gave me a small smile, leaving the pillar and moving closer to me. He did not dare touch me, however. This difference surprised me because I had expected some sort of polite greeting like he sometimes did for me. As America though, he kept a certain distance.

"It is nice that you made it," Russia said. "Was the flight okay?"

"It was alright, thanks. Saw some movies, slept…" I shrugged.

"Okay, that is good." Russia nodded and looked away. "You can follow me, America. We will drive back to my home."

"Sure thing."

And I tugged my suitcase along, walking beside him. I felt a tingle of awkwardness that we had not made any friendly sort of touch, yet I wondered if America even detected it. The remaining tension was hardly tolerable for me and I wished that America hadn't let it get this bad. I gazed at Russia's arm, imagining how he might react if I were to suddenly poke him. It felt so far away, for one, and the act would be a threat to my cover if I were to act so unorthodoxly.

"So, what're we going to do first?" I asked. "Bake?"

"It does not have to be first thing." Russia looked over to me, a bit of a curious expression breaking through his face. "We can have lunch."

"At your place?"

"Yes, we will not be stopping for McDonald's."

Russia smiled a bit, although not for long. I could tell that he was restraining himself, trying not to trust my behaviour. Although he undoubtedly liked it, and I felt it was best to continue like this: Canadian with the voice of America.

"It's fine," I smirked as I followed him still. "I'm not really in the mood. I'll try whatever you've got."

He looked back at me. "You are serious?"

"Yeah." I shrugged and nodded.

Russia glanced away and I stayed silent while a more comfortable mood hung between us. It lingered even when in the car, and I tried to ease Russia more by looking out the windows as though I was truly interested in the colours and shapes of the city.

"Did you decide where you wanted to go yet?" he asked eventually.

I pulled away from the glass and turned to Russia."Anywhere's good. You can decide."

"Anywhere is good?" He seemed taken back. "Okay. I will try to think of places you have not been."

I was no longer surprised by the size of his house, since I had been here enough times as just myself. When we had arrived, I followed him in, taking off my shoes then looking left to right.

"There is a room for you." Russia told me when I was ready. "Follow me."

I took hold of my suitcase and transported it far to the room he beckoned me into. This area was new for me, and I was impressed by the spacy room which possessed a grand bed with a decorative, wooden frame and thick mattress. There was wallpaper pasted on each wall, something I did not see often anymore, but it was not so old that it was peeling. It tasted of past times with its faded design of roses. A few pictures on the walls with heavy frames did as well, but there were naturally some modern touches here provided for me: a TV and an alarm clock in sight of the bed.

"You can unpack while I make something," Russia told me. I agreed and began removing my things and putting them into the drawers, storing my electronics into one beside the bed. When I made my way back to the entrance, I searched the depths of my memory to try to find the way to the kitchen. Just in time, Russia swept around a corner and found me looking lost.

Again, I trailed him silently. Russia sat me at a table in the adjacent room, one with a few items already on it. I waited though, not laying a finger upon the perogies or bread. Instead, I gazed over the clean and silky tablecloth to an elaborate vase. It was made of black-stained glass and tied with a ribbon, although the inside was filled with dirt. A dignified pot it was, for the single living flower facing me.

Yes, it had been turned towards me. I sat in full view of the healthy flower and its fat, black middle spotted with yellow, and striking, fire-coloured petals. I felt sure that Russia had set it here for my benefit, just as he had left this room utterly clean and charming.

He tried for me.

Russia hopped in to place utensils, napkins, and plates for us. I looked over to where he had left his plate, beside me around the corner of the table. Close, but not too close.

I looked back to the flower, snagged by its colours. Russia added bowls to the table then asked me, "What will you drink, America?"

I widened my eyes and tried to organize my thoughts to understand the question. "Er, water's fine."

I should have asked for pop. I mentally slapped myself.

Russia fetched it immediately, although in the hesitant way he set it down for me, I was sure that he was surprised. He had served himself similarly, before bringing over sour cream and soup.

"I made these things this morning." Russia sat down. "So they are fresh."

"Ah, nice."

Once he started serving himself, I did too. I didn't care how America did it; I was determined to be polite. Russia though, asked me about this earlier than I had expected.

"You are very quiet today, America." He put a glob of sour cream into his soup.

"Just… trying to be more polite. I kinda want people to like me more."

"Why this now?"

"Little tired of being the dick of the world."

Russia hummed, then said, "That's nice."

Everything he had given me tasted wonderful, and as guaranteed, fresh. I realized my hunger after the long flight and small meals, filling the empty plate. Russia seemed pleased at my eagerness, and I knew that my appetite was suiting. Additionally, I ate exactly as he did, with a touch of sour cream with everything.

After we had finished, he asked, "Will we bake the cake now?"

My enthusiasm was partially honest. "Oh, yeah sure!"

I carried my things into the kitchen for him, helping him clean up. It was definitely a first for him, but Russia seemed to grow ever the more content. He started pulling out ingredients and I sat on a stool, waiting for commands.

"It is a lot for two people," Russia mentioned. "But it lasts long in fridge."

"You just saw me eat. You know I can pack that away."

Russia waved me to a plastic mixing bowl. I fell quiet and listened, moving carefully and measuring whatever he told me to. He melted some sugar into honey beside me on the stove, looking over at me as he spoke. My calm made his voice grow ever the more gentle. When Russia eventually asked if we could play music, I allowed it. He poured the sweetened honey into the bowl then retrieved his computer.

Tranquil Russian songs played, noticeably modern and avoiding the Red Army Choir. Although I liked the beauty of their voices and instruments, I knew that Russia did not want to put on anything communist near me. I wondered if America really cared about that, and in that instant, I was reminded of how I had left him.

Why did I leave him like that…

I had been so close to forgetting. I incorporated the tension into my expression since I knew I wouldn't be rid of it; my face likely seemed to Russia to be merely concentrated. Regardless, the thoughts that should not come up when baking found me, so I tried to focus on the smell of honey.

"That is good, America," Russia told me. I stepped back as Russia tossed flour on a counter, grabbed a chunk of the mix, and began rolling a ball. It was then flattened into a thin layer, gingerly transported onto a baking sheet, and slid into the ready oven.

"We will wait a few minutes," he explained. "Can you make another one for me?"

I glimpsed the fridge and freezer across the room as I walked back to the counter. When a cold spider raced down my spine, I felt a heavy weight of dread. Never before I had been spooked by the sight of an appliance.

This is getting out of hand. My mental health is not doing well. Focus. Focus on the cake.

Russia complimented me on every layer I made, seeming to be unaware of my mental disturbance. He showed me when to pull out the layers before they overcooked, then he had me prepare the icing. I was in charge of painting the cake, smearing the top of each layer and all around the cake. I moved slowly and gently, trying to breathe to the slow tune of the music. Russia occupied himself with breaking the trimmed pieces crumbs.

"We did good job." He looked to me. "Are you happy too?"

"Yeah, this looks awesome!"

"Hmm, you don't look so happy."

"Sorry," I replied, covering the very top. "Other things on my mind. This though, looks amazing."

"What kind of things?" Russia asked.

"Ah, confidential stuff."

Of course he noticed something, I thought. He must be used to scanning for weakness in America.

There was nothing else after that. Russia covered the outside icing with crumbs, put a lid over the cake, then stuck it in the fridge. I hung back a bit so that the cold air would not touch me.

"We will go out for a bit," Russia said. "I have plans for us now. When we get back tonight, we can try this cake."

I found some smiles to give him, and I feigned more enthusiasm. This time, he was convinced by it. Shortly after that, and we were off into the city. It did not take long before I forgot about the cake we had made: that original excuse to come here. Once it was far away and its smells were gone, it was although it had never happened.

If only other things could be forgotten just like that. The cold air did nothing but make me feel horrible about the suggestion I had given to Britain. Every minute, despite the momentary distractions, I thought about America. Only hours in another country, and already I wanted to go home.

Minutes are longer than I remembered them to be.

After I had been surprised by the cake and its flavor, the rest of the night led to getting ready to sleep. My jetlag fatigued me and Russia helped me back to my room, giving me the Wi-Fi password and explaining what was in this hall. He would be a few rooms down apparently, further than Latvia had been. Hopefully, he would hear nothing if I was ravaged by my nightmares again.

America's glasses were taken off and I lay back on the bed. For once, there was no required work to do. I took out my contacts before I rolled and stretched under the warm blankets. This bed was by far comfier than mine or America's, and so sleep came instantly after all the stress and pleasantries of the day.

Once my eyes had closed, I was brought to a peaceful scene in the kitchen. Russia was working with his back to me, but when I stepped into the room, he turned and gave me a smile. That kind one again that was unlike the usual eerie and intimidating one.

Happiness overwhelmed me. There were no more problems in the world, and only this existed. I approached Russia, seeing that there was something in the bowl, although I hadn't the slightest idea what it was. Russia starting murmuring to me how to make it, with instructions that I could not remember. It did not matter though. He ended up doing everything for me and I only had to listen to his voice.

It was so relaxing although there were no true words for me to hear. I looked from the baking to his face, then whispered, "Can I stay with you?"

I did not want to go anywhere else. I felt that I could stay here forever.

He spoke Russian, but it was more soothing somehow.

"Da, koneshno, Kanada."

Those words were easy for me to understand. Without thinking, I slid in and hugged him gratefully. Real reactions did not matter when I need the embrace to be returned. The dream-Russia understood my suffering and immediately hugged me, with the strength and tenderness of a true friend. My friend, since he had called me Canada.

Warmth. Such warmth.

Yes, I am Canada. I'm not America...

"Ty khoroshiy druk…" Russia whispered and stroked my back.

It was so calm. I hugged more tightly, but when I pressed my head into him, there came a strange squishiness against my cheek. The texture was familiar, and I yanked back with my stomach already clenching. A scream was forming in my throat even before I watched the coil of intestine drop through a rip in his shirt. Russia's face became a blur as my dreamself flailed and raced away screeching.

I flew back into the dark and saw from there, his silhouette collapsing in the distance. But I could not stand and do nothing. I scrambled back to help him, and I slid down onto my knees next to him. I grabbed him by the shoulder and rolled his body over, only to find that this was no longer Russia. A mangled and stitched corpse faced me with a swarm of maggots wiggling and breaking through black flesh. The face was utterly unrecognizable, yet the body could only be America.

The bony jaw dropped and I was frozen in spot as a hoarse moan crept past charcoal teeth.

"Kyehhnaaadaaah."

I shrieked, and a wave of darkness consumed the scene. Hands grabbed me from somewhere, tight and strong as they snatched my wrists and lifted my arms above my head. There were breaths over me and I tried to bring up my knees, to protect my exposed stomach. The legs too, were forced down and then I was left defenseless from a bite into my stomach.

"No, no- don't do it! It won't help you! It won't- please!"

My heart thundered and my lungs started seizing. When my breaths became shorter and shorter still, I panicked further. My body was torn forward and I shrieked again, gasping for breath as I was thrown back and forth.

"America?"

The blackness gained a dim light.

"America?"

Finally, my eyes snapped open. Faintly in the darkness, Russia was seen over me with his hands still clasped onto my arms. He let go and drew away as I fought to catch my breath.

"America?" he repeated. "What is happening?"

I still could not breathe. I dipped forward, mouth working and chest shaking, but my ribs would not expand. My hands reached out grabbed the sleeves of Russia's pyjamas, tightening in desperation. Russia pulled back and I dropped, right onto his fist that snapped at my stomach.

I choked from the strike then inhaled horribly. I fell back as my body reorganized itself and steadied its breathing rate. Russia sat back and pressed his fingers together, waiting for my recovery. My chest rose and fell, rapidly at first, then calming. I closed my eyes as Russia moved back closer and loomed over me.

When he spoke, he sounded afraid.

"Why couldn't you breathe?" he whispered urgently. "What is wrong with you? I did not do this. What happened?"

"A dream…" I whispered. "Just… Thank you, for waking me…"

The blankets under me were drenched with sweat. I rolled over as Russia seemed to relax before he asked, "What kind of dream scares you like this?"

"I…"

Clowns did not seem like anything that Russia would believe.

"I dreamt that... you had died horribly."

It was out before I could fear the result of being honest. All I could think about was that Russia might be surprised that I cared about him, and perhaps happy about it too.

"You were that upset about this?" His tone curved upwards in interest. "Why?"

"Look," I replied. "Contrary to popular belief, I don't want you to die… I don't want anyone to die, really.."

"You say nice thing to me." I heard his smile although there was too much shadow cast over his face to see it. "I hope you are honest."

"I am… I mean, in my dream you fell apart and it was so damn gory… I hated it. I couldn't look at it. I don't want you to die, really. Maybe I considered killing you before, but thoughts and reality are what defines psychopaths, you know? We never mean it."

He was becoming convinced.

"I am glad that this is how you feel," Russia murmured. "Now, I want to be feeling that I would be sad if you died."

I brushed away my old tears and breathed. I thought now would have been a good time to seek comfort, but I was unsure if he would let me so much as touch his arm. It might be too strange for him, but it seemed, unless it was my imagination, that he wanted to offer something as well.

The hesitation lasted for too long and I missed my chance. Russia withdrew and murmured, "Sleep well now, America. You do not need to think bad things."

His shadow slid away so suddenly that the bed and room went completely cold. I moved, on the verge on following him, but froze when I considered how strange I was acting. America would not be this weak; it was only me and my stress which Russia had noticed. The spot where Russia had sat though, was slightly warm. I slid my legs close to it.

You do not need to think bad things.

But I did not know what to do, when thinking of cake and peaceful moments had done nothing for me. The dreams would destroy those things, so I wondered what else there was. Then I realized, that I needed my safe place. My head rolled over and I peeked at the dark shapes of the room: the curves and corners of the wood. This place was old and cozy like that house among the corn. The dark blobs on the wallpaper were roses too.

The roses in the vase…

In a short amount of time, I found myself instantly there. And for once, I had not needed to be chased here in order to arrive. It was quiet and everything was where it was supposed to be.

Certainty. This was what lacked in my current life.

I was thankful for it.

The loud bling of a message came early that morning, and I leaped up with an unnatural squeak. I looked around, remembered where I was, and what that sound had been. Then, I slid my hand into the drawer and took out America's phone.

There was one text message, went by someone whose contact name given by America was apparently SECURITY GUY. Startled, I read it.

Ursa is frying eggs.

I blinked and thought, What on earth does that mean?

Obviously, it was code for something. Completely unsure of what it meant, I grew terrified. Had I done something wrong with my job up to this point? I tried to clear my mind, clutching my phone and staring at each word.

Ursa means bear. Bear means Russia.

But that was as far as I got. The rest was so strange that I was struggling to reason it out. Yet this person had warned me about Russia, about something the country had done very recently.

My mind flew back to last night, when Russia had saved me from the nightmare. He had seemed so concerned, but my eyes widened as I realized just how weak I had made America look. Despite Russia's words, it dawned upon me that he had probably not believed a single thing. And a message from this SECURITY GUY probably only meant one thing.

He might be after the truth. Oh my god, Russia is suspicious. He's spying on me!

I pulled at my hair, imagining that a Russian had probably already read that message and was relaying it to a higher command. I jammed myself into new clothes and put on my contacts, taking only a moment to fix the curl before I hurried down the hall. However, I slowed down as I came near Russia's room.

But how can I confront him about this? He will know for sure that I am hiding something.

I shook my head. I knocked at the door, but no response came. Considering the time, I whirled around and headed to the kitchen.

Russia was here, not murmuring darkly into a phone in Russian, but making thin pancakes. He turned and started to smile at me, but dropped it when he noticed my upset expression.

"What is wrong, America?" he asked.

A flame of anger sparked in my chest. I could not believe how caring he was pretending to be, when he knew exactly what he had done. The act infuriated me and suddenly I understood how America had felt. Flowing with the feelings, I hardly needed to act. Aggressive needles sprouted from my words as I neared him and spat, "How could you be spying on me, after what we had done together?"

"Spying?" He blinked rapidly. "That is not true."

"I know that you sent people to do it. Why? Just because I had some nightmare? Everyone gets those!"

"America," he replied. "I am not spying on you."

"You didn't believe me." My voice fell into a stiff growl. "You betrayed me and did this!"

Russia's eyebrows lowered and he uttered, "I thought you would play nice, and try to be a better person. Now I am wondering why you are here."

He quickly attended to the pancakes. I hated seeing him turn his back to me, but it also allowed me time to feel guilt. Everything pointed towards him, yet I did not want to be America.

"Of course we all are having nightmares," Russia said. "I have never seen you have one though. I have never seen you cry. For me this is scary and makes me believe that you are sick."

He glanced to me.

"Are you sick?"

"No," I muttered.

"I see you thinking about something all the time. But, I have not seen anything in the news. What is bothering you so much, if it is nothing that will kill you?"

"So you have been keeping track of me." I stared hard at him. He was not revealing a lot to me.

"We keep the track of each other," he answered. "It is normal."

"You were hoping that I was weak."

"For what, America? I will never invade you. Even if I wanted Alaska back, you know that the world would never let me take it. So what is wrong if you are sick and I know it? I cannot do anything to you."

"You know what you are doing," I countered. "It isn't about land- it's about power! You want to be the one to influence the world, and that's why you hack and meddle with elections!"

Russia muttered, "I wanted this aggression to end between us. I don't want your leader to blame everything on me, to say that I am always the evil one. I don't want our missiles pointing at each other and there to be sanctions upon me. You do not understand why I want you to be weak. I like it when you are quiet and afraid, and whenever you will listen to other people. But, America, you are selfish. You call yourself an exception, and think that all the power should be yours."

I felt the warmth in my body dropping. I looked down, too ashamed to look even at his back. I wondered how I had let myself be just like America, and now he thought that I was no better than him. Russia ignored me as he got breakfast ready, passing me as he went in and out of the kitchen.

"Er… Russia…"

He paused his rushed walk.

"Russia," I repeated. "Forget… what I said. I overreacted. I'm working on becoming better, really. I'm sorry. I want to have a good time with you. I'm… really sorry…"

Finally he looked at me, tilting his head in curiosity. After a pensive pause, he replied, "America, I do know you are trying. You have said sorry to me many times since yesterday. I think Canada has been helping you, and I like that you can be nice like him. Continue this."

My heart leaped, but Russia was looking at me forgivingly.

"Um… yeah, actually."

"You don't have to be so quiet like him," Russia said. "But I liked you yesterday."

The atmosphere was calming further. My hairs were lowering and I was sure his were too. I decided to say, "Look, I know that what happened last night was suspicious, but I've been having a lot of nightmares recently. Because I have been nice to people, I'm starting to imagine horrible things happening to them."

Russia nodded to my lie. "I understand this, America. I am happy that you worried about me."

We sat at the table and I tasted the pancakes with jam. After some time had passed, Russia murmured, "So it wasn't clowns that you dreamt about."

I froze for a second, trying to suppress a look of surprise from crossing my face.

"So Latvia told you that. Why though?"

"He is funny," Russia smiled. "He cannot be quiet when I thinks that I will hurt him. When I was asking him about his trip, he told me it. They tell me many things."

The smile was disturbing, but I looked at the flower and remembered yesterday. Russia had been kind and gentle back then. I felt sure that he would be again, far more readily than he would be cruel.

"I had dreamt that he had been ripped apart," I said. "By a zombie."

"That is strange." The corners of his lips lifted again. "I have never thought about that happening to him."

To say the truth took a massive weight off me. He could not even know why I dreamt that dream. Perhaps, it would not be bad to say more. Russia would think that American movies had merely influenced me.

"And they just don't stop," I continued. "For weeks, I imagine death. That I'll be alone and helpless."

Russia's interest peaked. He moved a little closer to me. "So you have these dreams too?"

I looked at Russia in amazement. His bright eyes looked into mine, shining a kind of hope despite the somber things I was saying.

"Yes… I see myself hurt too, and I think that others will be sad about it. I think about how I should be careful, because there are people that love me."

"Of course there are, America," Russia murmured. "It is important to think about them. You have to be good for them too, which you are doing."

My words rolled off my tongue.

"Russia, I saw myself fall. I dreamt a long time ago, that I had died and that Canada had to clean me up and take me home. I dreamt that he had called Britain, and that they had both cried when they saw me. It was so awful because I was never thinking about them. I had hurt them so much."

Finally, there was someone to tell all this to in the only way that I could. And as my voice and body began to shake, Russia breathed, "Eat, America. You will feel better."

I did, taking small bites of the sweet meal. Russia drank, then whispered, "I will not hurt you because you are sad, America. You are not really weak, but you are just being a person. I know that you are very strong. You are just wanting friends instead of allies, people who you can love and who will love you back. And you are afraid of losing them."

"I am afraid of losing them. And I don't want it to be my fault."

Because I should have stopped America. I should have saved him, and now I should save others from him.

Russia poked at crumbs with his fork. "You made me worry for you last night, America. I see that you are not sick in the way that I expected… but something is wrong with you. It is true that I tried to find out what it is, but… I did not want you to think that I was spying. Spying is a bad word, because I wanted nothing from you."

No longer could I be angry at him. I felt even worse at my behaviour, fueled by the report from the text.

"I'm really sorry," I exhaled. "I want to be your friend. I really do."

And I knew, without a doubt, that this was for me and not for America's benefit. I wanted Russia to be my friend. After telling him my feelings and hearing his support, I needed him.

"I am very happy that you do…" Russia smiled and tentatively touched my arm. "I want to help you through this, because I have similiar problem."

You really don't though.

But I gladly accepted. Slowly, we got up after taking notice of both our empty plates. I helped him again in the kitchen, choking on an overwhelmed lump in my throat. I wanted this so much that I could hardly control myself. I wanted the argument of this morning gone, and I wanted him to forget everything America had ever done.

Russia finished up in the sink. I approached him as he dried his hands, stopping and swallowing my tears.

"I mean it, Russia," I whispered. "I will be your friend."

"I know you are being honest. I can feel it." Showing no teeth, Russia smiled warmly and walked closer. "So please, trust me. I will not hurt you. If you are frightened and dream bad things again, it is okay to let me see your tears. Everyone cries. Tell me all your feelings. Tell me; trust me, America."

I nodded slowly. I glanced up into his eyes again, which were so clearly radiating warmth. I was glad that I had not put on the glasses, so that I could see this. As though pulled by a magnet, I fell into Russia. My arms lagged in the task however, taking a moment to walk up his back and find a spot for my hands to rest.

And Russia hesitated, unsure of what was happening at first. Then though, the hug that came was exactly like the one in my dream. Except, that his organs did not drop out of him. He remained warm and whole until shortly after, when we stepped away from each other.

"Thank you," I murmured, not knowing what to comment after that.

"You are being so polite," Russia purred. "I like this."

He adjusted his scarf and started to move out of the room.

"I think that we will have good day today," he concluded. "With a friend, everything I have planned will be much better."

He disappeared out of sight, and I could not let him stay like that. I followed him, already addicted to his hugs and wondering when I could be given another one.