Our jaws were dropping, but Russia was looking satisfied.

"I wonder who is knocking at the door?" he smiled. "Maybe I should answer it?"

Without hesitation, Britain and France sprang to bar his path. I saw the side of Russia's amused expression, for he knew how easily he could walk through them. But, since he still believed me to be America, he would believe that I was strong enough to stop him.

I took hold of Russia's wrist, squeezing it hard, but not enough to hurt him. "Don't."

Russia snapped his head back and glared at me. "Why do you not trust me with your secret? Do you not think that I feel like you do when they hide things from you?"

My grip loosened. When he felt it, Russia yanked himself free and walked forward. I stumbled and caught my balance, then grasped him again.

"It's horrifying," I breathed. "You can't look…"

Russia stared at me again. "You just told them that they were deciding what you could handle. You did not like it. Will you be a hypocrite, America? And you forget that I have seen many bad things in my life. I can look at very violent things."

"You don't understand," I warned him. "You have never seen this before. It is not natural. It cannot be explained…"

"You make me more curious."

He moved forward, pushing into the flesh wall made of France and Britain. They grabbed at him, but he moved quickly and shoved hard enough to make them stumble. Russia slipped through their clutches, yet they were persistent, snatching at him and getting dragged along. I panicked and grabbed Russia too, but it was hard to make myself pull him back.

Maybe he won't say anything to anyone else. There's still no way for him to know that it is America!

Russia came into proximity of the door. He reached through the people as I held onto his arm, turning the lock on the door. As though a venomous snake had appeared, Britain and France leapt back out of instinct. Russia would have been left alone then, but I dropped my grip and stood beside him, quivering, but there regardless.

When he tried to open the door inwards, it hit something solid. Russia paused, then pushed a little harder. Something scraped down a few steps, then the door opened wide and revealed the dark. I jerked as the dim light from the hall partly washed over the body lying on the stairs, revealing the skull that lifted its eyeless face up to us.

The jaw hung uselessly, the bones exploded and sharp around a moldy tongue. The dry hair and visible bones gave the appearance of age to the creature, as though it was a mummified and cobweb-laced corpse that had arisen from its grave. Most of the body hung as immobile, dragging extensions, but one arm stretched out with effort, placing a withered hand with yellow nails onto the next step.

Absolutely silent, the wide-mouthed skeleton moved up very slowly, and at a noticeable angle. It was sliding toward Russia, yet still he made no move. I turned my head to Russia, seeing how he blinked and stared at the corpse. It was taking him time to confirm if what he was seeing was true.

Britain and France were petrified. Russia was frozen as well, too absorbed in his mind to realize how close it was coming to him. I seemed to be the only one to really clue in on it.

I was just about to grab the door to close it, when Russia gasped. Until that point, he hadn't been breathing at all. Now though, he moved, coming to life again. He hopped down the few stairs and booted America. Hard. As easy as kicking a pillow, the skeleton flew away and struck the wall somewhere in the cover of the dark.

Russia hopped back up the stairs, reaching for the light switch and flicking it on. I was already stepping down then, grabbing Russia's arm and looking over his shoulder. What the light shone upon became visible to us both.

The body lay motionless on the floor. I checked on Russia's face as I pulled him upwards to me. Those expanded eyes flickered over the form left in the basement, seeing in the whole, a severely rotten zombie that began to roll over to weakly stare up and directly at him.

I pulled more, and suddenly Russia's feet became light. He flew up the stairs with me and tripped back into the hall, struggling to catch his balance there. I turned off the light, closed the door and locked it, then faced him. Russia immediately looked away and took in a normal breath, then continued to respire in his silence with deliberate measure .

It had passed so fast and none of us seemed to know what words to say. Britain and France looked so utterly shocked that they might have been struggling to believe that it had all really happened. When I espied Russia's expression however, I noticed that it was unlike anything that I had ever encountered before. I wasn't sure what it signified, but his distant staring made me uncomfortable.

Finally, Russia whispered, "What have you done, America?"

Britain seized his chance. "We've created a zombie."

"You have created…" Russia still fixed the door with an unfaltering gaze. "How…"

"That I won't explain to you," Britain replied. "That is a secret of the British government."

"Why did you do it...?"

"To see if science could reverse death. A simple goal."

France joined, "Don't worry, Russia. It is not contagious."

"It is strong," Russia mumbled. "Very strong, if it hurt Britain… and if you had to hurt it too…" Russia turned to me. "This is why you are afraid. You live with this in your house, wondering if it will escape… I understand now. But, I don't understand why you made it such a big secret. This is easy to tell me."

"We don't want to be stopped," France said. "So we didn't want to tell anyone."

"Who else knows?" Russia asked.

"Us, and Canada." I counted on my fingers. "Five nations."

He pointed toward the door and inquired quietly, "Who is that person?"

"A donation to science," Britain said. "Written consent from a random American. Of course, he had no idea as to what use science would make of him."

Russia nodded, but his nodding was off. When I watched it, it had not seemed like a normal nodding of understanding. He began to move away, but Britain grabbed onto him.

"Hold on," he muttered. "What are you going to do, now that you know?"

Russia pushed him away and glared at where Britain had held him.

"Nothing," he uttered. "Do not touch me."

I was growing worried now by the unusual voice. Something was wrong with Russia. As he walked back to his luggage, I scrambled after his heels.

"You aren't going, are you?" I gasped from behind him.

"No," he replied. "I said that I would stay and keep you company. This will not change."

Britain, who had been with me in this situation for a longer amount of time, was more stressed and affected by this turn of events. He groaned, "This has gone too far. I cannot believe that you've allowed him to come here, America. What are we going to do now? We are so close to the cure. If Russia tells anyone…"

Russia interjected, "I will be quiet. America said you only needed one more month, and I am interested to see the result." To me now, Russia said, "What do you see from this? Are you planning to profit from selling this cure?"

"God no. This cure is far too hard to create because the ingredients are rare. There's just no way that I can make profit off this."

France affirmed, "This is just to see if we have the scientific ability. That is all."

Russia nodded strangely again.

I asked, "Russia, are you okay, dude?"

"Ah yes. I am okay."

The others believed him, but just I couldn't. It was difficult to explain, yet I sensed a difference from the Russia that I had calmly spent a vacation with.

I turned to France and Britain. "Could you… Give us some time? Alone, I mean."

"Alone?" Britain exclaimed. "You better not tell him anything."

"I won't."

"Then why don't you want us around?" he objected.

I murmured, "Just trust me. Stay here and just leave us alone…"

Britain sighed, heavy with the weight of the situation. I grabbed Russia's things then led him to my side, closing the door and imagining France and Britain gathering by it to listen in. I made sure to be extra quiet as I beckoned for Russia to follow me to the couch where we would talk.

He moved slowly and sat down with a careful, delicate movement. I came down carefully beside him, as though he was an easily startled animal. I made sure to smooth out my voice to the point that I almost sounded like my normal self, so as to not threaten him in any way.

"Are you really alright?" I murmured. "You've never seen anything like that after all…"

"You were right about what you said before," he replied in a faint voice. "This thing… it is unnatural. Dead things are supposed to stay dead. Why did you change that? How did you do it? It can move although it is rotten… and it knew where we were, without any eyes. It looked at me... What did you do?"

Now I was catching on. Russia was scared. It had only been difficult to see because he had been trying to hide it from us. My heart fell, heavy like a stone in my chest.

"Oh, Russia… Hey, it's okay. Nothing's going to happen to you."

He sent a frail side gaze over to me. "I don't understand."

"Neither do I. Only Britain knows what to do. The rest of us…"

Russia looked away from me. "What does France know then? Why is he here, and angry at me too…?"

"The thing is… this isn't the first time this has happened."

Why am I saying this?

"They've cured someone before, and it worked. France was with Britain when they were testing out the cure on the first one. He doesn't know how to make it but… he knows everything about what these dead people do. When I told you that they lied and kept secrets… it was about the past. The original zombie."

Russia was tensing up. I tried to make eye contact with him and to get a look at his face, but Russia kept looking away.

"There was another…" he breathed. "And you brought someone back from the dead."

"Er, yeah…"

Stranger he was acting. I wasn't helping him at all; he was more afraid. I snapped up and grabbed a folded blanket that had been resting on the arm of the couch. It was as maple-themed as the room was, since it was a print of my red and white flag. I unfolded it and lay the heavy blanket over his shoulders, the leaf stretching out into its proper shape on his back. He gave a red corner a slow glance as I spread and adjusted the blanket around him.

I sat back down and exhaled quietly.

"Russia. I'm so sorry that you got dragged into this."

Russia said nothing. His arms crossed over his chest, fingers stretching and pulling the blanket tighter to him. My throat clenched up from the sight of him. He was hardly showing any emotions, but I could see a haunted pool in his eyes that made me yearn to do more to help him.

I tapped the remote controller into my hand then turned on the TV. Russia flinched, ever so slightly, at the sudden appearance of new sounds and colours. I shifted close to him and pressed the remote against his fingers. They loosened and allowed the remote to enter into his hold.

"Pick something to watch," I murmured.

He closed his eyes for a moment. Russia never replied, but then he began to surf through the satellite channels.

"I'm gonna get you something," I told him, still using a gentle voice. "Something to drink. I'll be back."

I slipped away and entered the kitchen. As fast as I possibly could, I made a small pot of water boil on the stove for some cocoa. In the cupboards was a container of powder with tiny marshmallows. Assuming that he would enjoy this, I chose this mix. These marshmallows expanded and came to life once I had poured hot water over them in the mug.

I stopped pouring to add some milk to cool it a little, and to also add some smoothness. I escorted the mug out from the kitchen and onto the low table in front of Russia.

"Here…" I set it down with tender care. "This is for you."

He flashed his eyes down onto it and regarded the picture of Parliament upon it. I tossed back my head and noticed that Russia had not yet decided upon anything to watch on TV. A news channel was playing in French, filling the room with the sound of people speaking with the heavy Quebec accent. Russia watched the weak steam rising from the mug, as though unaware of the noises at all.

"Russia," I said. He peered at me, then looked away. "Hold on. I'll be a minute."

I went and fetched America's laptop and charger, coming back and setting it on the table. At that moment, I heard a regular knocking on the usual door. To act more American in front of Russia, I unlocked the other door, then threw them both open suddenly like America always did.

France was startled, shocked when he was left fully exposed in front of Russia. He grabbed me and pulled me onto America's side, closing both doors and cutting himself out from sight. Britain hurried over to me and hissed, "What did you say to him?"

I ensure to keep my voice low as I answered "I elaborated a bit on the story."

"How?" France whispered.

"Just that you cured someone before, and that only Britain really knows how to do it. But, that is not the point. I want to stay with Russia for a while." I frowned. "He's scared."

"Scared?" Britain scoffed under his breath. "Russia is not easily scared."

"He looked angry back there," France said, sparing a glance back towards the basement. "The only ones who were scared were us! I was not sure what he was going to do..."

"Look," I told them. "I don't want to leave him alone for long."

Britain cut in, "As you shouldn't, for obvious reasons."

I started walking back to the doors, pulling only on the commonly used one this time. I paused and sighed, "Be nicer to him… He is in shock. He's never seen anything dead come back to life."

I closed the door and isolated myself again with Russia. At the first glance, it seemed that he had not moved at all since I had made him cocoa. When closer however, I noticed that some of the drink had disappeared.

I pried open the computer now and logged in. A single tab was opened up to YouTube, before I put the laptop onto his lap and murmured, "Like before. Let's find something to watch."

Russia slipped his arms out from the blankets and took hold of it. His pale hands went over the keyboard, but he hesitated and stared at the search bar. I didn't want to rush him, so I left him to think and only wondered how else I could help him. It just tore at me to see Russia so quiet and aberrant; I remembered none of his threats now as I hastened to find a way to heal him.

"Okay, wait. I'll be back again," I sighed. I went back into the kitchen and looked for some kind of snack. All I could really find were Oreos and Ritz crackers, so I sliced some Maple Dale cheddar to accompany the crackers, and brought Russia the entire collection.

There was a little less cocoa in the mug again. I lay down everything in front of Russia, who demonstrated a little surprise at what I had given him. I pointed at the food, explaining, "Canada's fine if he raid the fridge a little. Got some Oreos and Ritz, and cheese if you want it."

He had accomplished nothing while I had been gone. Despite everything that I had said, Russia still kept his head down and was staring at something on the ground. I followed his gaze to a few smudges of black on the floor that led up to the couch.

"Sorry..." Russia murmured.

He remembered at last, along with me, that he had left his shoes on. Russia removed them and I rushed to him to promptly take them off his hands. One of the shoes was smeared with the rotted tissue and juice of America, when Russia had kicked him. Russia's eyebrows twitched while he regarded the substance, but I eased him.

"Don't worry," I said. "I'll take care of it all. Just look for something for us to watch."

I cleaned off Russia's shoe and put them both by the door. Then, I fetched cleaning materials to deal with the floor. When I saw Russia again, he had lifted up his socked feet, pulling his legs to his chest and concealing them behind the blanket. Now it was more obvious that he was disturbed when he was so wrapped up in this cozy blanket.

I fell onto all fours on the floor and scrubbed everything away. Once this side was clean, I went to America's but found no smudges there. Astonished, I walked in further but only found Britain lying down on the couch. Some of his legs hung over one arm of the couch, while his head rested on a pillow jammed against France's leg. The TV was on, but only France was watching it, since Britain's eyes were closed.

They seemed to have nothing to say now. Britain blinked at me wearily as I came close, showing that he had not been sleeping. At least, not yet.

"You didn't sleep well last night?" I inquired, although it was strange that so soon after I had seen him, he was lying here and quiet.

"He just needs to relax," France answered. "Anyway, what exactly are you doing? Is everything going alright?"

"I think we're good. Russia won't be a problem."

"Do you need us for anything?"

"No… I just wondered about the… mess Russia left on the floor. But it's already been taken care of."

"Of course," France said.

I nodded with awkward grace, stepping backwards. "Okay… see you later."

Once back on my side, I gave my hands a good wash. After, I packed an idea into my pocket, then I came to Russia and revealed a bundle of paper scraps.

"Do you remember the things you drew for me?" I sat and slid across the couch to him so that he could easily see the cards. "I kept them."

Russia dipped his head and lay his attention onto the carefree drawings. The corners of his mouth turned up into a soft smile. "I was not sure if you would keep them… but I thought that you might. I hoped you would, because I kept yours."

We flipped through the cards carefully, a calm starting to come over Russia. The disturbed shade of his eyes faded away and his gaze was mild again. I started to remember, from that face, why I had wanted to be friends with him. This expression was the reason that I had forgotten his threat, because with this face, I felt safe.

"You uh, you said that you were drawing these characters from a show." I paused on the card with the crocodile standing upright and wearing clothes. "Maybe we can watch it? You said we would watch it some day, and you can't seem to find anything to watch…"

Russia nodded and snuggled into the blanket. "Yes, we can… Okay."

His arms snuck out brought the computer back onto the couch. He turned away from me and searched for the show on YouTube. Once he had found the first episode with English subtitles, he passed the laptop back to me to connect to the TV.

"It doesn't take long," he admitted. "We can maybe watch a little of other things."

I read the title of the clip. "So this is Cheburashka?"

"Yes. Everyone knows this one."

Joy and pride lit up in his eyes. Russia wiggled into the cushion and took the cocoa, drinking it all then settling down with the blanket and some cheese. The tension in my chest was released in seeing Russia change like a flipped coin. Just as the episode started, I made my way to the couch and sat there with my legs crossed. I was not sure what was coming, but the opening credits came with Cyrillic-spelled names and aged music that played a melancholic tune.

The mood of the song turned into a lighter one. Soon, I was delighted by a story of innocent characters who came together and became friends. Loneliness vanished in that world, thus by the end of the episode, all that were left within me were warm feelings. I remembered then why I enjoyed family movies, which always guaranteed moral lessons and happy endings.

I looked at Russia. He seemed much better now, so I wondered what he would do from here on out. Perhaps, this is how we could continue. If the values of what we had watched were so dear to him, then it could be that the time he spent with me was more important than anything else.

Why did I cry yesterday? I thought. It felt like he would never hurt me, even if I told him that I had been lying a bit to him.

Lying… I reminded myself, regarding Russia and feeling guilt. I hate how lying has become ingrained in many aspects of my life.

"Did you like it?" Russia asked.

"I loved it," I grinned. "So cute. Let's watch the next one!"

I got up and automatically found the link for the next episode. I came back down and tucked myself in against the couch arm, lying over a throw pillow. The episode began with another somber song, to which Russia sighed with a smile.

"This is the birthday song," he said. "We sing it because of Cheburashka."

I listened to the entirety, reading the lyrics sung by the crocodile character. After it, I lay my hand onto his back.

"Birthday songs are supposed to be happy!" I protested. "What was that?"

He smiled again. "I like this song a lot."

I laughed and kept my hand on his back for a few more seconds still. Russia looked to his side to me, but I said nothing as I looked back into his eyes. Then, my hand dropped and we continued watching.

At the end of the second episode, Russia sighed. He turned completely to the side to properly address me.

"America," he breathed, "why are you being so nice to me right now? You've done so much, but you didn't have to do any of it."

"Because I wanted you to feel better. It made me sad to see you so down."

"But why does it make you sad?"

Silence came as the YouTube clip ended. The atmosphere thickened and weighed down heavily upon me as I considered everything that I had fetched and done to comfort him.

"Because… Why wouldn't I?" I thought back to what France had said to me. "That's what happens when people care about each other. They feel each other's sadness or whatever."

"It sounds good, but I am not sure," he said. "When you are sad, I am not sad. I am more afraid than other things."

"Don't be scared," I answered softly. "You don't have to be."

"Does it make you scared when I am?"

"No… I feel sad and guilty."

Russia asked, "Then why sad, when I have a feeling that is not sad?"

"Sad is the reaction to anything negative I guess. It makes me want to help you and comfort you."

Russia pulled off the blanket from himself and dropped it to the side. His arms snuck out and contained me, scooping me into a light hug.

"Oh?" I smirked.

I let him drag me in and I returned the embrace. Then, he slowly pushed me on the shoulders and held me away with straight arms. Russia kept his eyes on me as he shook his head. "No one is so kind to me. I cannot believe this."

I laughed, "What? Come on."

"Yes, no one else."

"Why are you surprised by me? You've been really kind to me, so of course I'm gonna be nice to you!"

Russia tapped me away and smiled. He shook his head again, but when his eyes had closed, I snatched him into a crushing hug. Now, his bright eyes snapped out and shone over me with surprise and elation. He had hardly any time to react before I fell back, grinning and bouncing on the cushion like a hyper puppy.

I airboxed his arm, snickering, "Accept it, you are now the proud owner of a top-notch, triple A bud-"

Russia shoved away my hands and threw the blanket at me. I choked and batted it away as he giggled, "You are always humble, America."

Once I had crumbled up the Canadian blanket, I tried to fold it. I was given no opportunity to since Russia had immediately pushed me off the couch. Not with hard force, but I dropped the blanket and fell down onto the floor.

"So you're feeling better?" I chuckled and tilted my head up at him.

He replied, "Are you feeling better?"

"Yeah," I admitted.

Russia threw all the pillows at me while I was down. I did not fight against them, but I let them pile up on me. Russia removed the large cushions and added them on as well, until I was nearly covered up entirely. I heard him drop onto the floor before pillows shuffled around me. For some brief seconds, I was exposed, but in the end, darkness enveloped me and there were only pricks of light here and there.

Russia had completely hidden me in a structure of pillows and cushions. I laughed from within, a true laugh that relaxed me. This was so silly and utterly pointless, yet I loved it all. As myself, there was no one who would do something like this for me. Ignored and often not seen, I had missed out on these experiences as a kid.

I stayed within the structure. Soon, I heard the telltale sound of a phone's camera. I cried, "Hey! Did you just-"

My head popped out from the side. Russia quickly tucked the phone back into his pocket then tried to recover my head with the pillow that had tumbled away. I ducked back inside just as Russia fixed it and added the blanket over me, eliminating more of the light.

Another picture was heard being taken. I cried, "Hey! Who are you sending those to?"

Russia only tittered. I then heard the plates being disturbed and some crunches of Ritz crackers, but I remained within the warm structure and let him take what he wanted.

The door opened and someone entered the room. I waited for a comment that judged what we were doing, but the footsteps hurried down the hallway instead.

"Who was that?" I asked Russia.

"France," he informed me.

"France!" I shouted. "Everything okay?"

"Yes!" he called back from afar. "Just looking for more cleaners! We missed a spot but we're out!"

I heard the footsteps return and then the slam of the door. The rush had been a tad bizarre, so I popped out my head and asked Russia, "What was he carrying?"

"Hmm… a bottle."

It seemed to go with his excuse, but I was still thrown off by how suddenly he had entered and departed. I crawled out from the pillows and blankets, taking no time to organize them as I followed France. The door was opened and I peeked into the room, but neither France nor Britain were on the couch like they just had been.

Did they go to the basement?

I walked in and Russia trailed me. We scanned the area, but they were nowhere nearby. The kitchen and living room were empty. With Russia, I wandered up to the basement door. First, I listened with my ear against the door, but there were no sounds that those two would have made. All I heard was a scraping sound close to the wood as a body struggled up the stairs.

I pulled back and shivered. "They're not in there."

We strained our ears and walked down the hall. Soon, I noticed the closed door of America's bedroom, a light bleeding out from under the crack. Now, we could hear their voices, low and argumentative.

"You've just spilled a drop," Britain hissed. "Watch it."

"I'm trying," France complained, "but I'm kind of in a hurry for Mr. let's-hurt-myself-so-no one-else-gets-hurt!"

"What kind of insult is tha- aie! Honestly, what are you doing?"

I turned the knob and opened the door. France and Britain jolted and stared at us in shock, caught sitting side-by-side on the edge of the bed. In France's hands were a bottle of rubbing alcohol and a white towel, although Britain held nothing at all. Instead, he was holding his injured arm out, completely unwrapped and with his wound exposed.

A crescent cut showed marks that looked like teeth, but the rest was a rough mess of abrasions, punctures, and wide cuts. Nevertheless, the severity of them paled in comparison to the sharp purple and black that consumed the injury.

"Br-Britain," I choked. "What- what is that?"

He sighed heavily and swore. "An infection."

Britain tried hiding it behind his back. I shook and hurried up to him, crying, "I thought you told me everything about him! What is this?"

"The reason I told you not to touch him too much," he muttered. "Don't you remember what happened to the insects? He is toxic."

Russia uttered, "I thought this was not contagious. Will Britain become a zombie now?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Britain snapped. "I just said that it's an infection. There's nothing more to it."

I grabbed my hair and pulled at it. My eyes squeezed tight as I moaned, "Why you can't just ever tell me the truth? Why do you have to hide everything?"

France had soaked the towel and was beckoning for Britain to stretch out his arm. Britain froze and twitched, then hesitantly complied. I gasped, "So you've already done this before! You bought that bottle- when… when I had fainted, right?"

"You don't want to know everything," Britain replied with a tight voice, watching France timidly as he neared the cloth to his arm. "Is your life really better now, to know and see me in pain?"

France paused and looked at me. "Don't watch this, America. Go back to Canada's side with Russia."

I remained frozen in place, but not out of my own stubborn will. I shivered and stayed standing before them, causing Britain and France glanced at each other before they proceeded. Britain pulled out a cloth that had been hiding behind him, then he stuffed it into his mouth and bit down into it. My heart accelerated in horror as I compared it to what Britain had done to America before, when he had crammed a dish towel into his mouth to keep him quiet.

The worse had not come yet. France held onto Britain's extended arm by the wrist as his other hand placed down the cloth onto his cut. From behind the cloth, Britain released a muffled screech and tried to pull away his arm. France yanked it out and fought against him, forcing the cloth to lay on him for a longer time. For many eternal seconds, I watched how Britain vainly writhed and shrieked in agony from the powerful sting of the rubbing alcohol.

I stepped back trembling, my eyes starting to water. France took off the cloth, then Britain removed the one in his mouth with a quaking hand. Sweat and tears streaked Britain's face while France's was marked by intense guilt and worry. Despite this, France said, "I don't think this is enough to make a difference… It has to be more."

Britain's eyes widened in fear, but he tried to joke to ease himself. "Y-you bugger, you just enjoy putting me in pain!"

France said nothing as he took back the unlidded bottle. This time, he put the towel under Britain's arm, and held the bottle over the cut. Britain went pale and shook, but he managed to put the cloth back into his mouth.

France told me, "America… Please don't watch."

But he did nothing to stop me. I lost control of my legs anyway, and could not get them to carry me from this place. I wobbled as Russia stood behind me in silence, with whatever expression he was wearing hidden behind me.

France poured the rubbing alcohol over the cut, flooding the holes and trenches with the burning liquid. It spilled over and dampened the cloth as Britain screamed and fell back, jerking away so powerfully that France lost his grip. The cloth fell away and Britain curled up in a rapidly breathing ball, the excess liquid pouring directly onto the bed from off his arm.

It took an eternity before his pain ebbed and he relaxed, when he could remove the cloth from his mouth with the last of his tears falling from his face. I wanted to approach him, but my stomach felt like it had been flipped upside down. I moaned and swayed, holding my guts and crying. I fell into Russia, who was rigid and did not move as I turned and lay back against him.

The image of Britain's revolting, purple wound lingered boldly in my mind's eye, accompanied by his muffled screams and tears. A second after I had touched Russia however, I heard Britain mutter to me, "Don't touch him. Just look at him. He doesn't care at all."

I stepped back just enough so that I could look up at Russia's face. Sure enough, there was not a trace of disturbance there. It was as though he had just observed a completely normal occurrence. However, when he looked at my fright, his expression broke into some sympathy.

"Let's go back, America," he murmured. My wrist was grabbed a moment later by him, and I was dragged away from the room. I stumbled into a normal walk and went with him without constraint, although I glanced over my shoulder and thought about Britain, wondering if he would be alright.

Before we had made it back to my side however, Russia began to ask, "Why aren't you angry, America?"

"Angry?"

"Because they lied to you again. They did not tell you everything."

I said, "I don't think they will ever give me everything."

We were back inside, now cleaning up the mess we had left behind. Russia folded the blanket and continued, "I think you can force them to tell you."

"Look, I'm not going to do anything bad to them just because I want to know something. I feel too bad just making them talk about it in general."

Russia sighed and plopped the blanket onto the back of the couch. "I do not understand why you are not angry. They do not trust you."

I defended them, "Hey, they just don't want me to suffer. You saw how disturbed I just got."

Reflecting on this point, Russia questioned me, "Why are you so weak now, America? Why does that make you scared?"

"It's Britain… He raised me, you know. I can't watch him get hurt because he's very close and special to me."

Russia adjusted the big cushions in their proper spot. "Okay, but I am wondering why Britain was angry with me when I was not bothered. Why should I feel for him, when he does not do good things to me? If I was hurt, he would feel nothing for me."

"I don't think that's true." I checked over the couch and made sure that everything was neat. "It isn't fun seeing people get hurt."

Russia disagreed, but I hadn't expected him to agree with me so easily. He was far more used to seeing people suffering than I was. As long as he felt for me and for those that were close to him, then hope was not lost.

"I would feel awful if I saw you get hurt, by the way," I assured him, patting the couch to get him back beside me. "Just so you know."

Russia's back was to me, and he was silent as he searched for something on YouTube. He knelt by the computer and all that he did was displayed on the screen. What came up was a show called A Kitten Named Woof. I laughed at the sight of it, but I tried to make it sound more kind than the irritating laugh that America usually did. I was successful, since he came back to me smiling.

"We will watch one episode," he explained. "I think this is cute cat."

"You like cats?"

"Yes, now watch this little kitten. Very cute he is."

I focused on the TV and tried to forget about the agony I had just seen Britain suffer through. Russia's questions haunted my mind however, and I wondered how far I should consider them. He thought, after all, that I should be less forgiving to Britain.

Should I be? I wondered. Is it really so bad?

When the short clip was over, I asked Russia nonchalantly, "Is lying really so bad to you?"

"The people around me lie so much. I am very tired of it. I wish everyone was honest to me. Maybe I do lies too, but I do not like it. If you will be honest with me, then I will be too, and we will have a good friendship."

"I've probably lied to you in the past. Is that okay?"

"Yes, because I did the same."

Trying not to sound too nervous, I continued, "And if I had been hiding something from you, but then told you now, would you be angry?"

"You just did this," Russia smiled, believing that he understood what I was getting at. "With the project, da? But I told you already, I am not angry with you. Your kindness to me is more important, so it will not be forgotten."

"Cool stuff, cool stuff."

I dropped the topic, aware of how close my body was to sweating and shaking. Russia would have easily noticed it when I sat right next to him, and he would have posed questions about it. I encouraged him instead to pick another cartoon to watch while I made him more cocoa.

I ended up bringing us both some to drink in the Canadian themed mugs I had. There were other designs, some from fandoms, but I was too embarrassed to bring those out. As we started to watch YouTube again, I draped the Canadian blanket over myself, finding that as the evening aged, it was growing a tad colder. I snuggled inside it as Russia had before, and both of us drank deeply from our cups.

Once he had put his mug down, however, he began to stare at me.

"What is it?" I murmured.

"Why did you tell Canada about the zombie?"

"Oh, well… he's my neighbour and all. He heard some noises and I couldn't keep it secret. I told him a while ago."

I winced internally as I deepened the lie.

"Where did he go?" Russia asked. "You said Canada went on a trip."

"Yeah. Up north."

Russia whispered, "If he leaves a lot, I think that your project is stressing him too much."

"A lot?" I raised my brows. "I never said that he left a lot…"

"But Canada did not come to our last meeting. Did he go on a trip instead?"

I stammered, "Y-you noticed that he wasn't there?"

Russia nodded.

I looked away and locked my fingers together under the blanket. Eye contact was impossible to make as I asked quietly, "What do you think about Canada? I mean, he's not really noticed by many people… I totally did not expect that you would notice it if he did not show up."

Russia answered, "Canada is very quiet, but he is nice and innocent."

"Would you, uh… would you ever consider being friends with my brother?"

"Yes." Russia let out a small smile. "But he never talks to me. I don't know if he likes me or cares about me, so I think that he does not want to be my friend."

With my fingers squeezing each other, I pressed my hands together. My muscles were tensing as I felt how close the truth was to being spilt out. Words rested on my tongue, ready to be said. I quivered, hoping that the blanket would cover it, as I felt the weight of many possible consequences on my shoulders.

"America," Russia said suddenly. "Do you think Canada is afraid of me? I was thinking this because… we used to fight a lot, and he was close to you. He would listen to you about everything you said about me, about the Soviet Union, all that happened in the last century… He might think that without you around, I would threaten or hurt him."

"Oh…"

I hesitated, unsure of what to say because if I thought back, that was how I had felt. It had been easy to become friends with him because Russia had believed me to have America's strength, so he had not tried to scare or bend me to his will. As myself though, it would have been easier for him to intimidate me.

"But if he was your friend, like I am," I went on. "Would you be happy?"

"Of course. I want to have many good friends."

"And if you had to choose between being friends with me or him, who would you choose?"

Russia smiled. "What a strange question you ask me! Why do you want me to chose? Would you be jealous if I tried to be his friend? Because I would be happier if you helped me instead."

When I looked over the ignorance on his face, I squirmed. I could not stand these misinterpretations. My heart cried to take all the credit for how well I had treated him. I was his friend, and although I had accepted before that Russia would continue on as America's friend after he was cured… my entire being now refused that future.

Yesterday did not matter anymore. After all he had just said, I realized what Russia had meant with his threats. It was if I had been faking the friendship only, to spy on him for selfish reasons. But, perhaps he would not be angry with a reveal, as long as I was sincere about our friendship.

"R-Russia… I care about you and everything we've done… so I don't want to lie to you."

He paused, blinking and catching on to the serious mood that I had just lay between us.

"What is it?" His smile dropped and his expression became loose, ready to be molded into any possible emotion.

"I am your friend. But, there is something…"

"What? Did I do something?"

"No… I mean, we all lied to you today. About the zombie… and I can't take it anymore, lying to you I mean."

Russia's eyebrows wrinkled, but he stayed quiet, watching me with beseeching eyes.

"That body is no ordinary person. It's a nation… a severely injured nation who we are trying to heal."

He asked, "Is it Canada?"

I quivered and went so utterly weak right then, when I realized that I had to correct him. Those eyes that watched me still believed that I was someone who I was not.

"N-no… it's… it's America."

I flinched, but he hadn't reacted yet. He turned his head, looking me up from my eyes, to hip, then eyes again.

"What is this joke?" he whispered. He was confused, but the tone of his voice suggested that he was taking me seriously, and did not think that I was joking.

"I am not America…" I gulped. "I… I am Canada."

Russia went silent. For so long he did not speak that I began to grow fearful.

Oh no, this was a horrible idea, wasn't it? Why didn't I think this through more?

"It-it's a disguise…" I whispered, my words brittle and shaky. "The eyes and…"

"Show me," he uttered, his words the opposite of mine, hard and resolute. There was no room for argument.

I jolted from the drop in his tone. I stood up, trembling, and I skittered off to the bathroom. I saw my own frightened and wide eyes in the mirror as I removed each contact. To see my own eye colour returned on my face brought back a feeling of helplessness. To wash out, dry, and fluff out my hair however, made me grow even more apprehensive.

My regular glasses were put on before I stepped back out and padded back to Russia on the couch. I crossed my arms and held onto them, feeling so skinny and weak now. The moment I came into sight of him, I saw him glaring over at me. I held onto myself tighter, but came closer.

I sat down next to him and looked away. His eyes bored into me, and in my peripheral vision, I noticed him scrutinizing my hair.

"You cut your hair," Russia stated. "And you bought something for your eyes."

I swallowed, and nodded slowly. I was still shaking from head to toe, and I knew that it was visible.

"You can talk just like him," Russia continued. His eyes still flicked over the changes I had made to my appearance. "But you never acted really like him. I liked that, but if America is dead… then none of it was real. He still does not care about me."

With a hoarse voice, I whispered, "I'm sorry."

"How long?" he muttered. I knew what he meant.

"S-since August…"

"Then all of it was you." Still, Russia glared. "So then, when he comes back, he will hate me like before."

"I wanted to change his mind…" I whimpered, still quaking from his continued monotone and low voice. "After..."

"So, Canada." Russia whipped himself to the side and slid close to me. "You are afraid of me. Why?"

"Y-you're mad… I lied to you for so long…"

"I thought you said you were my friend. Why are you scared?"

"You are s-so angry… and you said th-that if I-"

Russia repeated, "Why are you scared?"

I went silent.

"You think that I will hurt you now."

I glimpsed one of his hands reaching behind me. I slammed my eyes shut, expecting him to take me by the neck. Something touched me there, but it was soft. A blanket. I peeked towards Russia as he adjusted my blanket around me like I had for him.

"R-Russia?" I inhaled.

"Poor Canada, so innocent…" Russia slid even closer to me. "You misunderstand. I am not angry at you, but at America. He never did anything for me, but when you were in his place and had his power, you did so much for me. America could have done it at anytime, but he never did."

He rubbed my back and tilted his head, looking into my dampened, purple eyes with his own.

"I was friends with America since August, but when I was, I was bothered by the things he did to me in the past," Russia admitted. "Now that I know that it is you… I like you more, Canada. I am disappointed that America still hates me, but you… You are a better friend to have because you have not hurt me like America has."

Wrapped up in the blanket, Russia carefully pulled me into him. The hug seemed different than before. Some of the stiffness had faded away, and it was much more gentle. From it, I knew how hard he was trying not to hurt me.

"Canada… poor Canada. You are so scared and stressed, and it is America's fault. He made you have those nightmares, and it is his fault that you watched Britain's pain. America has made my friend suffer so much, and for this I will not forgive him."

He brought me even closer than he allowed me, as America, to come before. I curled up and put my head against his chest while his arms closed themselves up tighter, leaving no space. As warmth blossomed within, all my shaking faded away. I had been right about him. Never had I needed to doubt him, because I knew how he felt with the comfort he gave me now.

Russia stroked my ungelled hair then set his cheek against it. Now the hug had become the longest that I had ever had with him.

"And I will be unhappy with Britain and France, if they become angry that you told me," Russia uttered. "You are very good, for telling me the truth. They are bad for always lying to you and for letting you be unsafe."

The words were not as important as the peace I felt in this honest hug. I remembered how I had enjoyed his comfort back at his place, but it was incomparable to the feeling I possessed now. I nuzzled against him, wiping away a tear on his shirt that had squeezed out. Pleased, Russia sighed.

"You kept my things," he murmured.

"Those cards?"

"Yes. You are very nice."

Russia started to let go, but it was not as sudden as before. He took the time to place me back where I had been before, then he fixed his own scarf.

"There should be no more lies," Russia said. "I cannot stand that they are lying to you, Canada. You do not deserve to be lied to."

"I can't make them tell me," I exhaled. "And I would never threaten them into making them do it. I don't want them to be hurt."

"I forget. What is the secret they are keeping about again?"

"They won't talk about the original nation that died, who Britain healed. Someone that burned, a friend of his…"

"And France was there?" Russia clarified.

"Yes."

"How long ago?"

I replied, "I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"They don't want to reveal the identity of the person. So, they won't say anything like the place, time, name…"

Russia dipped his head and furrowed his eyebrows. "Why?"

"Because the person does not remember. They are afraid of someone telling them, and they don't even trust me to know… France and Britain promised each other to never speak of the first victim."

Russia looked up. His eyes were shimmering moons of vivid colour, artistic shades of violet and lighter purple ringing the obsidian black pupil. They were magnificently beautiful, but I did not understand the sorrow reflected in them.

"Russia?"

His hand reached out and held the back of my head. His fingers ran down my hair, combing so carefully down to my nape. I enjoyed the touch, but I was confused by why he had decided to start this.

Russia spoke before I could ask.

"Oh, Canada. Are you too stressed, or too afraid to even think it?"

"What?" I whispered.

The mournful and dazzling eyes fell closed.

"Canada," he breathed, still soft and patient. "Haven't you ever considered that Britain and France won't tell you anything because you might just be the first victim?"