After a day of pleasant sightseeing, we sat on the couch and watched a movie in English. Russia had found something on the Internet and had connected his laptop to the TV, which he saw past his knitting. While his hands worked, he eventually asked me a question I had already considered.

"America," he murmured. "Why do you like me now, when we are still not on the same sides?"

"Why?" To me it seemed obvious, although America probably had never considered it. "Because, you are more than just your military."

Russia smiled a bit. "Oh?" he said, eager and urging me to explain more.

"Yeah. You're that, but also all the people. And not everybody's got any choice in those things," I replied. "Like, take Ukraine for example. It's not like you hate her, because it wouldn't make sense. Many people in Russia have family from Ukraine so, how could that work? And you enjoy Ukrainian culture too. It just doesn't make sense for you to be terrible."

Russia put his knitting to the side and slid closer to me.

"You are right," he smiled. "Hmm, I never thought you would understand... I do not always have the choices, and my feelings are separated. Most of me does not want to fight. I do not want to be bad."

"No one can say that the Russian people are bad, so how can you be?" I added simply, with another shrug to act nonchalant.

The expression on his face was pure delight. His eyes shut and he sighed, "When did you get smart, America?"

I laughed. "Well, it's not like all Americans are dumb either. Give me some credit!"

In the exchange of compliments, Russia chuckled and admitted, "Yes, you are the one with the very good inventions. Good with the science."

I tapped his arm. "Yeah, keep buying my stuff!"

It was amazing to see Russia truly amused. He bobbed a little in laughter and I instantly wished that I had tried to be friends with him as myself. I should have been independent and ignored America's pressure, being confident enough to really speak to him.

Russia went back to his knitting, but from America's phone resting on the table, another bling came. It was not the second one today, for I had received many strange codes throughout the day. Yet, I had been with Russia and had never seen him doing anything. Whatever was going on, it did not seem to be his fault.

I reached out and took the phone, skimming over the new message and not understanding it at all. Annoyed instead, that I was being discouraged from being with Russia, I forced the phone into vibrate.

"Is something wrong?" Russia asked, with a curious sweep of his voice.

"I wish they'd stop." And this was the truth. "It's so annoying."

"It is about me?"

"Yeah."

"I did not do anything," he insisted.

I asked, as non-confrontational as I could, "Maybe something you said caused this…?"

"Oh America, I think it is because I said good things about you to them. I think that it is you that they do not trust."

"So ironic then," I murmured. "The problem is that everyone thinks there is a problem."

We continued watching the movie until Russia bid me to take more cake. I took my empty plate to the kitchen and served myself, returning to the couch. From a distance, it was more intriguing to see Russia knitting, as though now it had just struck me that he did that.

He seems so calm and innocent.

I knew his past, and perhaps better than America ever did. I knew more than just the Soviet period. Before I had ever appeared, Russia had lived and suffered through centuries of poverty, labor, and famine. He knew death and oppression, and yet here he was, knitting and seemingly happy.

I wondered if I could be happy too.

"So why haven't you been wearing your glasses?" Russia inquired. "Are they embarrassing you?"

"Oh no, um… I got some new ones but the prescription's a little off. It hurts my eyes to wear them too long."

It was easy to not lie to him, but to twist the truth for convenience.

"But you do not need them so much?"

"No, no. I'm fine."

I nestled into the side of the couch and set my head into my warm hand. Russia glanced at me for a moment, but he drifted off into silence. The movie continued on, but eventually it only became sounds as my eyes slid shut. Then, it was not even that anymore. A tentative darkness came, but then I felt something poke me in the arm.

Groggily, my head flopped over and I saw a needle withdrawing. The room was silent now; the TV was off.

"Wh-wha…"

"You should be going to bed," Russia murmured. "You are tired because you did not sleep well last night."

I rubbed at my eyes. "What time is it?"

"It is ten."

"Shit, that's early."

At some point, Russia had also gotten rid of our dishes. Now, he got up and I could immediately trail him toward the hall where we slept. I moved my heavy limbs to get ready for bed, but then Russia caught me in the hall. His face was creased in concern as he asked me, "Do you want me to stay with you tonight?"

"What? What for?"

"If you have nightmares every night," he explained. "You need help stopping them."

"Okay but…"

"Or maybe I can play music for you?"

I held my arm, squeezing it in true discomfort. The thought of Russia beside me was strange and I was overwhelmed at his concern. Just after a short amount of time with him, and he already wanted to do so much for me.

Or no… because I have been talking to him so much online. It must have meant more to him than I realized.

"Ah… No, maybe the music," I replied. "It might be all I need."

His face changed a bit, becoming more downcast. I knew that he did not believe in the music. Truly, Russia had wanted to stay with me.

"Okay," he conceded without complaint. "I will find something."

I waited in my room for him, and he found me later with a CD player. Old as it was, he set it up while I sat yawning. Eventually, calming Russian music dribbled into the room, which was smooth to my ears as I stood and pulled back the blankets.

"Thanks, Russia."

"Mmm." He looked over at me, still a little off. Before I could act, he wished me goodnight and padded away. I was left staring after him, feeling the thinness of the air around me, deprived of the hug I had desired. The light was extinguished after a quick flick of his finger, then my emotions and I were left in the dark.

I took out the eye contacts and, deflated, collapsed into the bed. I heard the vibration of America's phone back in the drawer, but felt only the more dependent on Russia. Despite whatever they said, I could only wish that I had allowed him to stay.

It is probably too weird to go after him now, I thought wistfully. Why had I rejected the idea so fast? I'm too conditioned to mistrust him… I let Britain stay with me, but here there is even more room in this bed...

And yet, the music was enough to set me into a tranquil mood. Optimistic for the night, I relaxed my body and waited for sleep to come. I thought only about today and forgot about what existed on the other side of the world, until everything disappeared into mist.

When sunlight drifted onto my eyelashes, I blinked open my eyes. I was lying on my side and across the way, the sun was filtering through a crack of the curtains. I stared for a moment, a smile widening across my face as I realized that I had done it.

"No nightmares…" I whispered. "Finally…"

"No, there were nightmares."

I yelped and tumbled out of the bed. My body smacked onto the floor and I automatically cried, "Shit! What- what the?"

I popped up and saw Russia laying back on the bed, emerged in a novel. Instantly my heart bounded as I realized that I was looking directly at him without my eye contacts. I turned away and opened the drawer, digging and taking out America's phone along with the contacts. I hid them under my shirt as I pretended to be occupied with the electronic device.

As I sat on the carpet with my back to the bed, I heard a page turn. Russia had seen nothing. I put the phone away and snuck a bead of hair gel onto my finger before I stood. Grateful for my luck, I beelined to the bathroom to conceal my purple eyes. A great relief washed over me when I had them on and had my hair in the right shape. Now, I could face anything.

Russia was still there when I came back. I collected the clothes that I wanted for the day, but he seemed not to notice me at all. Instead of making him move, I changed in the bathroom. Again, he was there when I returned.

"Can you sit beside me?" Russia asked suddenly, although his face stayed neutral and locked onto the book.

A feeling of dread came over me. If I had said or done something last night, I could not remember it. Nervous, I sat on the bed and crossed my legs.

"Er, what is it?"

"Are you upset that I am here?"

I replied, "N-no, I'm not."

"Because I heard you cry out and I came." The book was put down and he finally looked to me. "And I stayed although you said not to."

"It's alright," I insisted. "Just… did I say anything weird?"

He nodded. "You did not say much, because you were making a lot of frightened noises. But you said that Britain was taking too long and that you had to freeze him. It was very strange. Freeze Britain? Dreams are strange things."

Trying not to sweat, I asked, "Really? And i-is that all I said?"

"Hmmm, something about chains. The chains are breaking, you said. And you were very scared. Poor America."

If that was all, then it was not so bad. Yet I was so spooked about what I could have said. How could I have explained myself if I had spoken about America, when I was supposed to be him?

"So… What did you do?"

Russia smiled a bit now. "I would touch your arm like this." He reached out and pressed his hand against my upper arm, comfortably hard. "You stopped when I did that. And I did this three times."

"Damn. Just that?"

"You did not need much. It would wake you up a little, but not completely. I think you were happy that you knew you were not alone."

"I'm… sorry I said no last night. I should have trusted you."

His expression brightened a bit.

I continued, "You uh… you can stay. But you have to wake me up the moment I start having a nightmare. Before I do or say anything weird."

Russia nodded. "Mm-mm, I will."

"Promise?"

"I promise this."

I looked away, but Russia did not. I curled over a bent leg and hugged it, releasing a slow and silent exhale. Russia put a hand back on the pillow, turning more toward me, and unintentionally opening up his chest. Admittedly, I was very tempted to catch him right then and there. Yet I had to restrain myself to not lunge at the first opportunity of comfort, lest I seem like a too desperate America.

"Are you okay?" he murmured though. "I see fear in you more than sadness. In your dreams and in your face now. Have you told me everything that is bothering you?"

What should I say? I wanted to admit that I was afraid, but I was unsure. Can I admit that there is more, and that I am afraid of something? What if I interest him too much, and he does send people to find out my secret?

I went too long without saying a word. My face must have been left in a haunted and worried state, since Russia touched my arm and repeated, "Are you okay?"

"I…"

"Is there anything I can do? I do not like seeing you like this. So changed and different."

America is more different than you know, but I guess that I have changed too.

"There's… nothing you can do," I answered. "Unless…"

Unless? Why am I saying unless?

"What?" He ran his hand down my arm and dropped it onto the blanket.

"If you could… If you know about any… special plants."

"Do you mean healing plants?" Russia murmured.

My eyes widened. "Yes, yes! Please… if you could give me some…"

"They will help you?" He tilted his head and touched my arm again. "Okay. I will find something."

The spark of joy alighting within my anxiety and sorrow made me feel too light. The touch became too much to handle, so I fell in and scooped him into a hug. There was less hesitation this time, and he stayed still and held me for a few seconds.

Russia was quite a pleasant combination of strength and warmth, thus my woes were swept away instantly. When he let go however, they all started to creep back.

"This we will do today," Russia said as he finally began to leave the bed. "Now come with me. We will make something for breakfast."

I was left in shock when Russia took me to a regular herbalist. Promptly, I realized my error in wording and in assuming that he knew what I had been talking about.

How could he know? He does not need it to cure a zombie sibling. I don't think he knows anything that Britain does at all.

I ditched the idea, much to the confusion of Russia. I explained that I had not been thinking straight, that I didn't really think this would help. Accepting it quickly, we went on with the day. Unlike yesterday though, he touched me on the shoulder more throughout the day as though checking that I was still there. And I suppose, when he did that, I came back to the present.

Russia stayed with me at nights, lying far away but waking me at the beginning of each nightmare. I rarely remembered those moments. He reported that I was having less nightmares though, and that I had not said anything strange. Since he was not questioning me, I assumed that he was honest. Russia still called me America, and America I was for him.

Eventually too, the messages on my phone ceased to come. Russia had been telling more about my kindness to the higher-ups, and perhaps a consideration was beginning to be taken. I trusted his actions and in his presence, I felt safe. I could have Russia now, as the therapy Britain could not provide, stressed and grim as Britain was. Russia knew nothing but cared, and that was all I wanted.

We listened to the Russian music and he hugged me every night before bed. One morning, he told me that I had had no nightmares. Each night after that, it was the same. But this relief was short-lived, since on the occasion when I was being patted on the back, I wondered how I could possibly live without this. When I went back, Russia would be gone. The nightmares would continue and I would be lonely.

Lonely? Yes, I would have Kumajiro, but something great was lacking there. I felt a difference in the dedication, in the worry of Russia for me. For America, truly, but I was the new America, and that was the only America that he had been able to adore. Russia liked who I was.

Russia spent a surprising amount of money on me freely each day. We drank a little, but never so much because I did not want to get drunk. I could not control what I said and Russia would be more conscious, able to remember my words. In the days that passed, we became incredibly comfortable with each other. I could ask him more without worry of offending him.

On the night before my flight, I lay in the bed on my side. I could hear Russia's breaths and knew them well enough to realize that he was not yet asleep.

"Russia," I whispered, in the way that America would whisper. "Let's stay friends. This has been great."

I heard him roll over. "Of course, America. I will be friends with anyone who treats me kindly and accepts me."

"Can we do more to fix things?" I murmured. "Could we make our countries at peace?"

He breathed gently, "I will do my best."

I knew that I had a lot of work to do, but I replied, "Me too."

Since I recognized his hand so much, I did not jolt when he held my shoulder. Russia whispered, "Be happy. I do not know what is really bothering you, but can you try this for me?"

I did not know what to say. Russia rubbed my back until I sighed, "How on earth can you be happy, after all that has happened to you?"

"Because I forget, America. It does not feel bad when the people of my country do not remember. They do not know what it felt like, so I do not remember the feeling although I know what happened."

"You just forget?"

"Mm. It does not feel real anymore."

In this moment, it felt a little like that. That America did not exist, his home, and my own, because they were all so far away.

"Can I stay longer?" I asked suddenly but softly.

He set his hand down, as though remembering how long it had been there. "Oh but, what about your plane?"

"I could catch another…"

I'm really saying this. No, what would Britain think? Can I really just leave America alone for longer? The bugs… but he said not to worry about them. And… if I am not there, America shouldn't even try to escape. So isn't it alright, to stay longer?

"Why do you like being here so much?" Russia inquired.

I said, "Because with you, I forget."

"Maybe it is not best thing to hide from your problems."

"But… you don't understand. This isn't something like that."

"Why not?"

I answered, "Because that means I don't want to confront the problem. But, I totally would if I could. I just can't though. I feel so helpless to it."

Russia brushed his fingers down my spine. I could hear the frown in his question, "But what could be like that? Something that America cannot be fixing?"

"Just… please let me stay. I don't want to go back."

Russia sighed, "I do not know if it is good for you to live with me. You have to go home and do your work, which is not easy to do here… But, I do like it when you are here."

"Just a little longer…" My voice tightened as I tried not to whimper. "Not so much longer."

Russia was wavering, but he said, "I don't know… I think you should take the plane back."

"Please," I whispered hurriedly. "A few more days. Just a little longer. Russia… Hasn't it been nice here?"

I turned over and reached out in the dark. When I touched his tensed shoulder, he faltered and relaxed.

"Few more days," he conceded. "But tell your boss that you chose this. I do not want trouble."

"Of course..."

I blew out and felt the warm satisfaction of safety. Now, I could be calmed by the knowledge that my departure date was later. Russia removed my hand from him and mumbled his goodnight to me. Truly, I felt, it would be a good one. With everything settled, I would just alert those I needed to in the morning of my choice.

Britain additionally, before he believed that something horrible had happened to me, here by Russia's hands, or in the basement of America's home.

The days turned into a few more, since it was easy to convince Russia with a few amicable gestures. Unused to them, he was becoming engrossed with them. He did not want to be alone either, thus our needs fit each other neatly. Russia bought me expensive gifts, such as caviar, and the adventures we went on brought me joy. The kindness of his actions filled the holes of my heart eaten by sorrow.

But after a week had gone by, Russia would not break. He sat beside me on the couch and sighed, "Too long… You have to go back. You don't really belong here."

And he pushed me back a bit when I shifted a little closer, so that he could not be swayed. "You stayed twice as long as you meant to. For meeting that will happen soon too, you have to get ready. You will see me there, America. It will be okay."

"Meeting?"

"You did not check your messages? It is in Spain. We can do something at night there. It is not so far away."

I had no idea what was even happening in the world. America's government was probably doing fine on my vacation, and the messages about Russia had stopped coming. Mine must have also been well, but if anyone was looking for me or America online, then they would have gotten no response.

Come to think of it, Latvia had probably sent me his pictures and was already home again.

"Yes…" I murmured. "We can see each other then."

"I will pay for half the ticket. You have to go home."

But that isn't home...

"Okay…" I conceded. "But, you gotta skype me, bro… Seriously."

"We will do it."

And of course he hugged me many times after, but my grief increased regardless. Booking the ticket then passing the last day was heart-wrenching, but worse when I was at the airport. In front of him, I had to act, but once on the plane, the tears began dripping down my face.

I didn't want to be alone again. I didn't want to know either what America was like now. So much, I just wanted to run away from my responsibilities, but when I thought of it like that, I felt like I was running away from my brother.

Like I have accepted he is gone and I've moved on.

I couldn't let that happen. Britain would hardly let me do that either. The message that he had immediately sent back after I declared that I would stay longer with Russia, proved his discontent.

When I drove back to the conjoined house, it appeared against the night sky as though from the mists of a fairytale. Like a castle tall and foreboding, a feeling of supernatural dread shook me. The chill of the early morning air obscured my understanding of my goosebumps as I walked toward the door. The meaning of this being because, I knew that somewhere below and away, a head was probably lifting and pointing toward my location.

A rotten, maggot-infested face.

I entered the dark room, scrambling for the light. Whiteness washed over the furniture and revealed tranquility, yet a wall of silence met me as I gingerly wheeled in my suitcase. My own steps on the tiles were loud and ominous, shaking the room which I occupied. I looked from left to right, scanning and sniffing cautiously. There was absolutely no movement, and the smell of the house had actually gone down. The staleness that remained required merely a remedy of Febreze, and even more of the wind which came through the cracks of the windows.

With my heart nearly bouncing in my throat, I immediately crept toward the basement door. There, it stood whole and untouched. If anything remained behind it, then it was utterly silent. Waiting, yes. It was definitely waiting.

I retrieved the shovel from America's room. There could be no rest when I had to know now what had happened to America in the two weeks I was gone. Britain had said that America would stop rotting to a certain point, so I thought then that perhaps, he would be not as bad as the last time I had seen him.

Maybe… It had been okay not to freeze him.

I unlocked the door. Slowly, I dragged it toward me and revealed the top of the dark staircase. Inhaling the ancient-flavored air, I flicked on the switch and alighted my path. No one else but me was meant to take it, so I alone walked toward the stone floor.

My shovel stayed in front of me. Impatient however, I did not go to the bottom of the stairs. Where the wall cut off, I flashed my head around the corner with my weapon ready to strike anything there.

There was a sharp rattle of chains. A black creature jolted in my direction, a blur that I was unable to observe in details. I croaked and hit the wall, my eyes huge as they tried to steady themselves and observe America in the full.

Enveloped in the silver, a black-muscled skeleton with ragged and greasy clothes raged. The dish cloth still dangled from his mouth, but the remaining teeth were orange and misshapen. Worse without dispute however, were the gaping sockets completely devoid of eyes, those that pointed directly at me.

No eyes, no eyes…

I quaked as I locked onto him and scanned every centimetre of him.

Black. All black he was- nothing else since not a single hairy or sleek insect skittered over him.

Where are the bugs… where are they…

The skeleton yanked and twitched, straining to escape its bonds. Yet the sight of it alone was what disturbed me to the core. I could feel chilled sweat soaking me as I dropped my head back against the stone.

He has no eyes…

The jaw crunched side-to-side, chewing the cloth like a chunk of flesh. I noticed now, a few of the coloured teeth which had fallen on the floor.

The bugs are gone… how, how is it possible…?

My legs trembled awfully. Rapidly losing strength, I began the sink. I clung to the upright shovel to keep myself upright, but it was becoming harder to see. The monster faded away slowly, the sounds of the chains continuing to echo in the room. Silver pulling, pulling away from the wood.

Skeleton… no eyes…

Finally, I lost all my strength and I fell away from the shovel, collapsing into darkness on the stairs.

When I returned to a state of consciousness, I groaned and felt the tenderness of the bruise on my forehead, from where it had struck the stairs. I pawed the handle of the shovel into my fingers when I felt the wood tickling them. Groggy, I then cast my gaze over to America.

I blinked, then blinked again. The blurry movement of his hands waved at me, the image solidifying until I could see the white sticks of bone peeking through muscle.

Hands… Hands!

America bucked forward, the freed hands slapping the floor and as he dragged his body forward. The skull turned upward to my location as half of his body slipped over the chains. I yelped and jumped up, breathing rapidly in comprehension of the situation.

He had not broken the chains, but he was escaping from them. I saw now the pencil-thinness of his body that writhed to escape the metal that had locked him to the beam. Limbs flashed and scrambled like a frenzied ant, and the energy and strain to reach me encouraged a scream to exit my throat.

America's hips leapt over the chains just as I jumped down, shovel raised to strike. It took only a second for his legs to slip free. The corpse was rising in the time that I skidded and swung down upon it. The rusted metal of the shovel slapped his head, snapping it to the side and inciting a nauseating wet crack. I was ready for more, but in the next instant, America had collapsed to the floor and ceased moving.

Chest heaving, I let the tears fall as I kept my distance. Watching, waiting to see if he would move again.

The dark fingers curled slowly over the floor. I inhaled sharply and raised the shovel back again, but then it was as though a seizure had overtaken America. The body twitched and rolled, choking and clawing. I whimpered in my uncertainty of what was happening and if I was in danger. Terrified, I shrieked and struck it again.

Still he became.

Shivering, I kept my eyes fixed on America as I walked around to the chains. I opened the lock and freed them for adjustment. They would need to be made tighter, thus I began unraveling them. I lay the long length along the floor, making it ready to accept America into it.

I have to touch him.

The splinter-legs bent as he began to reanimate himself. I poked the shovel into him, then slid it under him, turning him onto his back. America did not react to this and not even his face was toward me anymore. The back of his head faced me instead, matted hair and empty eyes away. It was therefore easier to approach him, tentatively reaching out to soggy flesh.

My guts twitched at the feeling in my hand. I clung to his arm and dragged him, but I felt something giving around the bone. Frightened that I would damage him, I grabbed under his shoulder, groaning at the black juices which oozed over my skin. It snuck under my fingernails as I sat America up against the beam of wood again.

The head slowly turned my way. I snapped out to the chains, yet just as I obtained the metal in my hand, something slick pawed my forearm. My blood froze as I gazed at the fingers trailing down my arm then falling weakly away.

As they left me however, a crystal realization of guilt overtook me.

Does he know it's me?

I grabbed the chains and started wrapping them around him, moving his arms behind his back. America's arms immediately left the place that I had put them, moving out to me. Swallowing, I watched the bony fingers weakly touch my arms again. The wrist of his right hand turned and he grasped onto the wrist of mine.

I stared for a moment, trying to understand and trying to find the right feeling. Then, I began to feel afraid. I jolted and attacked the hand with my other, but too late it became. The grip tightened and it did not remove itself at my first strike against it. America's other hand took hold my other wrist, while the rest of him rose up and toward me.

The chains slid down to the ground. I hopped back and he came with me, but my kick to his chest separated us. Gasping, I raced to the shovel. As my feet slapped the floor, I became aware of another pair of feet, lighter and fast, approaching rapidly from behind. The sounds thundered close and with a yip, I dove at the shovel, grabbing it and rolling away.

A mighty crash came and now I saw the emaciated creature colliding into a shelf, crumbling and going still. Gripping the shovel, I cursed the sympathy I had just had for him. I moved in with plans formulating in my mind as to how I would get him locked back up.

He can move, but he is weak.

I grabbed America and quickly dragged him back. Just as I put him back against the wood, a hand snatched my wrist and painfully tight. Searching for my other arm blindly, he missed constantly as I swung my weapon. Before the impact, my wrist was found and I gasped when the shovel was stopped just above his head.

Tighter he grabbed, and stronger was the force that kept my arm up. I squeaked and pushed down, my strength overpowering his and breaking his grip. I pushed him away and America dropped onto his back, but as I bent to the chains, a change overcame him. I hardly saw the movement as he lunged at me, muffled cries behind the towel as the oozing body fell onto me.

In a flurry of limbs, I could not organize the shovel and ended up punching and kneeing in panic. America stuck to me however, shrieking himself and grabbing at whatever he could. Fingernails dug into my bicep and broke my skin. The moment I felt this, I remembered what had happened to Britain, and I fought with true power.

America was tossed away yet he was instantly back, faster, stronger, and louder. The nubs of teeth gnawed the cloth and I turned my back to it, running to escape the foul touch. I bent and grabbed the length of the chain, continuing to sprint as America scratched at my back.

I hopped around the beam, whereas America instantly crashed into it, blind as he was. He knew nothing about the location of objects, but only knew about me. While in his stunned state, I quickly looped the chains around him and the beam, yanking back and pinning his back against it. The chains crossed as a tight X, and no matter how America pulled, I kept him in place.

Finally, I sighed from my success. I carefully wrapped the chains around him with tension, and he kicked and bucked uselessly. I dragged the lock back toward me with my foot, then clipped the chains together. The lock dropped against his chest, like a metal version of a heart to replace the one that was missing.

I bent over and caught my breath, simultaneously feeling all the stinking liquids drying on me. The fear was gone now, when so much relief held me.

I did it… He's back in there. He's too weak to break the chains, so it's alright…

But I took one last look at him and around him. If I stared carefully at the stained ground decorated with a few teeth, I could see some tiny dead bodies, backs to the ground and legs to the ceiling. This relieved me further naturally, but it left me in confusion.

How had America killed the bugs? Has he somehow become toxic to them? Did this happen last time too?

Becoming clean again would be my first priority. I removed my disguise and washed myself and any surface which I had touched. Then, I made it back to my living room where I plugged in my computer to charge. I did not know where Britain would be or what time it was for him, but I attempted to call him online. When no response came, I simply left a message with my question instead.

He doesn't need to know about America escaping. The chains didn't break so… he doesn't need to worry any more than he already does. As for America maybe recognizing me… I think Britain already talked about that. He doesn't need to know that either...

I took a quick glance at what I would have to deal with tomorrow as Canada, then sent off some simple messages to announce my return. I got out America's computer and committed the same task. Only a minute later however, the call that interrupted the silence made me gasp. Focusing on the screen however, I noticed that it was not Britain calling me.

It was Russia.

I cleared my throat and readied my voice. I accepted the call, but did not turn on the video.

"Oh, hey man," I yawned. "A little late, isn't it?"

"Mmm," Russia replied quietly. "I know but, I saw that you were online."

I inhaled deeply, calming myself and adding an appearance of fatigue. "Okay…?"

"You got back alright?" Russia asked.

"Yeah, of course."

"Okay. This is all."

"You're weird, dude," I replied gently. "You called me for just that?"

He smiled in his words. "I wanted to hear you so I could know your mood."

"Right."

"So then, goodnight, America. Do not forget the music."

"I won't…"

Russia said, "See you later. Soon. The meeting, da?"

I squeezed inward. "W-wait…"

He must have caught onto the vulnerability in my voice. His voice slipped into a completely consoling whisper, with each word caressing my quivering body.

"What is it...?"

"Can I tell you… about the dream I had on the way back?"

"Were you dreaming then too?"

"Yes."

Russia whispered, "Tell me."

I slipped my fingers under the computer and carried it into my room. I turned off the light and curled up in the bed, although with the bright light of the computer beaming away from my face. There I sunk down, describing what had just happened to me, about the zombie that had wiggled out of the chains, which had chased me after first gently touching my arms. A zombie I had to fight, and one that I had to lock up.

"Why do you dream so much of zombies?" Russia asked.

"I don't know. What do you make of it? What would you do?"

I closed my eyes and listened, pretending that he was beside me.

"I don't know…" he mumbled. "I usually fear real things… people."

I swallowed, wishing that I had gotten more. Russia continued on with a different subject instead.

"But, I think that you are afraid of death," Russia murmured. "Or you dying. You were saying that it was you, but sometimes it was not you."

That's the truth of my life.

"Why?" He hummed. "You are healthy and strong. Everyone in your dreams are too. Why do you worry so much, America? You are not the only one who thinks about the death of other nations. It is okay for me though, because if I am dreaming about deaths that I may cause, I am not bothered."

"Because it should bother us I guess," I sighed. "We shouldn't want others to die."

"But I do not like the others."

I ran my hand over the comforter. "Is that how you feel when you dream about me?"

"No, America, not anymore. It would make me sad now to be dreaming about you dying."

"No one else's death would bother you? How 'bout my bro, Canada?"

Russia breathed, "No… I do not know Canada. Maybe I will not care, but I have never dreamt of him dying."

My heart clenched, but I calmed myself. It was still me that Russia cared about, whether he knew it or not.

"Alright…" I said.

"You are my friend now," Russia pressed. "And we will stay good friends forever."

I realized that I was not afraid of that statement, although Russia had voiced it in a darker tone as a warning.

"Yes," I agreed. "Let's."

There was a pause. Gentle once more, Russia asked, "Will you sleep now?"

"How about… you tell me something. You can hang up when I fall asleep."

He breathed out a chuckle and agreed.

I then murmured, "Tell me… one of your happiest memories."

"Happiest memory…?" And I heard Russia smiling from far away. "Ah, okay…"

The voice that he used to ease me into sleep was much more therapeutic than the music could have ever been. Wrapped up in the blankets, I felt entirely cozy and comforted in my bed. My heavy eyelids dropped and I fell asleep, but returned to catch some of the middle lines of his story.

"...and there, I found the flowers. They were so beautiful and tall, the prettiest kind of sunflower I had ever seen. I was very small and weak, so I did not hurt flower when I hugged it…"

"Mmm…" I exhaled as I fell in and out of consciousness. I relaxed and disappeared, waking perhaps a few minutes later to hear a little more.

"... but I watched him die, and I was afraid. I never did this again…"

I rolled and flopped, slurring, "What're you saying, Russia? Said happy, didn't I...?"

But I faded away and did not return. Whatever remained of his story, of his supposedly happy memory, it was lost to my unhearing ears. I did not worry for him though, for the reason that he had not sounded sad. Russia seemed as content as could be, and so I merely let the soothing accent carry me to sleep.