There will be an epilogue. This chapter is not the end of the story.
Why is Russia like this?
Such was the thought playing itself on repeat in my mind. It was the same loop that drowned out the music during my drive home with France from the hospital that America had been left at. Thinking about the monster we left behind unguarded set a minute shiver into all of my movements. Russia's ferocity and his mystery gathered me into such a corner of fear that I wondered if we could surely survive the odd days until Britain returned.
The house was quiet, always quiet. I felt sure now that I had imagined the garbled, undead cry. I could feel the stress like a static being in my nerves. Before anything else, France hugged me, attempting to tame the jitters. It would do no good though, not until we checked on Russia. And so we went to him, finding him fastened to the post, limbless and lacerated while he fixed empty sockets upon us. I could see how most of his teeth were exposed, which forced half of his face to be turned into a grin while the rest remained something recognizable.
There were streaks from his eye that dripped over the familiar skin. If I could only regard those stains, then I would have only felt pure sorrow. There, it was as though he was crying about his predicament. Yet the clear plain of bone and the dark depths of his eyes startled me, and then the creaking of his neck when we lingered too long.
"It doesn't look like he can move much now," France pointed out, nodding to the chains unsoiled by recent gore.
Russia had no answer for us. He was still, blind but observant, and he was silent during our stay. We left to begin the process of preparing to sleep, although we were still unsure of our security despite how Russia had not lashed out at us.
What does he want, really?
It felt nice when France hugged me again. Calming down, I tried to sort of the reality of our new case. Some things had sense to it, as I understood that we had given Russia too much intelligence through that potion Britain sent. Nevertheless, I could not match that to Russia's aggression. He should have been kind like before if he were smart.
Heart aching, I longed to have that gentle and calm person that I had befriended back. How had all my actions led to this? It was supposed to end with America. We would have been happy then, with everyone healthy and Russia as my friend. America would even get to enjoy the extra closeness of other nations. They would have became my friends eventually, and truly, with time.
Why does Russia just want to hurt everyone?
It was so frustrating to not understand. He stared at us and moved when no one was watching. Though I wondered if it wasn't at all how it seemed. Perhaps Russia had attacked France out of self defense, seeing him as a dangerous figure before him wielding a screaming chainsaw. Lacking forgiveness, maybe Russia had even intended to attack France, not America. Usually it was only France who went downstairs after all, not us.
But Russia clung on, knowing… Did he decide to hurt America then? But why would he? Doesn't he remember how sad and guilty America felt?
I understood why America had become aggressive when undead. With my own desperate and ill memories lingering, I knew why he he was motivated to steal from us. Yet Russia, as horrible as the rest of his body was, should have wanted the same. If given the chance, would Russia act as normally as America and I had?
The gun from before was with us now at the bedside. It lay silent and cold, diagonal to the light of the alarm clock. I watched it glowing a faint red as France murmured to me across the sheet.
"Canada, what are you thinking about?"
"Just about what Russia wants."
France said, "I don't think he wants anything, or rather, knows what he wants."
"You said he seemed angry," I whispered. "But why is he angry? Why not remember how we had treated him?"
"I don't know," France exhaled. "Although he's smarter, the rest of his body is rotten. He might be affected, wanting to steal our organs…"
"But what you said…"
"Well, maybe he was trying to rip out my throat. It is hard to say."
"He is trying very hard to escape."
"America did too," France said.
"But if he doesn't want us… Why else would he escape?"
"I don't know what question or answer fits our situation. "
I was going nowhere, since he knew as little as me. If I was going to gain some ground, I would have to talk to America. I sighed off the conversation and said goodnight, then entered a delayed and fitful sleep. I kept hearing metallic cries like the one I felt that I heard before, but France never woke when I did, proving that these ones were products of my imagination. And this imagination was frightfully vivid in the dreams I had, where a limbless torso rolled into my room and under my bed. In one dream, I was on my side with my eyes open as something rose over the edge. The torn and eyeless skull had lifted up and stared at me, just centimetres away from my own face.
But there was nothing there when I jolted awake. Sensitive as well, France was startled awake from my reflex to the nightmare. I threw off my sweaty shirt and stared at where it landed on the floor. There were no stains on the carpet, so nothing had rolled under the bed. I went back to sleep and checked the carpet on each arousal, but we had been safe that night while waiting to get ready to fetch America.
France suggested that we check on Russia. My balance quaked and I realized just how much I did not want to ever see that creature again. The mystery of what it was and wanted and its weak form scared me endlessly. Full-limbed was more dangerous, but there was an eerie element in the weak yet mobile form of the corpse. However, I could not leave France alone. I went with him.
The chains were smothered in gore when we found him still bound to the post. For the hours of independence, he had shifted in his millimetres and rubbed himself down. His core was more crushed than ever before, the clothes shredded, but his determination to escape was more important to him than the damage he caused to himself.
Why is he willing to do that? Is it worth it to get our organs, or just because he wants to be free? I thought. Are his motives innocent, or do I just want them to be?
The whitish curve of his face hung in my mind like the image of a crescent moon mask. I imagined how he was pinned to the post and I felt the weight of his silence as we brought America home. His leg was in terrible shape in its cast, and America was bound to either the crutches or a cushiony place to sit. Once he had been settled in, he pawed at his laptop to open it. I sat next to him, however, needing to interrupt with my nagging questions.
"America, I couldn't see but… when Russia bit you, did he swallow your blood?"
"Ah jeez, I don't know. Couldn't feel nothing but my bones breaking."
"Nothing?"
"Well now you're just making me doubt myself. He might have swallowed it, but I don't remember feeling anything but teeth 'cause he's like, all teeth…"
America had looked down at the cast, seeming a tad relieved that he couldn't see the grotesque wound below. I didn't grab myself while around my brother or France, but I imagined myself raking my fingernails down my skull. I wanted a sign from Russia, just to discover his intentions. Was he angry? Was he desperate yet intelligent, just trying to take our parts?
Does he just want to be free?
I banished that awful thought. For a second, I had wondered what would happen if I had undone his chains. It was a dangerous idea. Never before had I thought of something so reckless and contrary to the commands of Britain and France.
"But bro," America said. "Russia doesn't have a heart anymore, right? Britain said… It was destroyed… back then. What would be the point then?"
"I don't know," I sighed. "I'm just thinking. Russia might not remember what's in him, you know. He might just want to heal himself so much."
France crossed one leg over the other and lifted his eyes to us.
I probed again, "So are you sure you didn't feel anything?"
"I'm telling ya…" America's eyes widened. "I don't think he did!"
It was becoming harder to understand Russia's motives based on what America had said.
It just sounds like Russia wants out but reacts on how we treat him.
I wanted to grab my head again.
Stop sympathizing with him… I might make a horrible mistake if I think like this. I just need to leave Russia alone. I can last a little longer, can't I?
America groaned when he saw his screen. He raised his hands off the keyboard and looked at forward without any idea of what to do next. Dragging out his voice in a vulnerable tone, he moaned, "Oh Canada… bro, I need your help…"
"What is it?"
"All these people…" His eyes scampered over his screen. "They're wondering where Russia is and they're demanding to see him. They won't take any more excuses…"
"Can't they w-"
"They won't wait, man, just-" He turned the screen to me and indicated the history of video calls he had missed. "Just look! People are suspicious and they want me to show them him, but I can't, obviously! He can't talk to them! Videos aren't working anymore- look, Belarus said that she thinks I've done something to him, that I've hidden him away! What if they start some kind of investigation?"
It panicked me when America's voice rushed out so helplessly like this. I whimpered, "I-I don't know! Ignore them, just- I'll tell them you can't answer because you got badly hurt-"
"But then they'll bother you, right? Because there's no reason for you either to not let Russia Skype with someone!"
France rubbed his hands down his face. "Just do whatever it takes to buy us time. Pass it on to Canada. They'll trust him for a little while before getting suspicious. By then though, Britain will have come here himself or sent us the ingredients."
"America, I'll do it," I whispered and stared at the bumps of my knuckles. "I'll send a video in the group chat and they should calm down just long enough..."
I did it now, although I was sure that there were only one or two other videos left that they had not seen. I had to carefully examine what we had already sent as well, to be certain that I didn't send the same thing twice.
"There," I sighed after uploading something.
America said, "I'm gonna ask Britain how much longer. France, would he really be able to just send them to us?"
"He probably will, but only once he gets back to his home," he replied. "I'm just thinking that he won't be allowed to travel again after this."
America started messaging Britain, though as he did this, responses appeared to my video.
If Russia's free, why won't he use the time to call me back? Estonia wrote.
Soon after, Denmark made an observation which was likely passive, but stirred suspicion in the high-strung others. Why is Russia always playing Xbox?
Belarus had typed, Pause the game.
America was startled by the dings and he checked the action. They had jumped onto the conversation immediately, and now France was leaning to the side to peek at the messages.
Belarus then wrote a string of messages.
I will come over.
I have something important to say to him.
He won't ignore me any more.
I will buy the tickets now.
"Oh shit," America breathed. "Shit!"
Latvia wrote, I'm starting to get in trouble… I think I need to come over too. Is it okay to come for one day?
"No, no, no…" America whispered, half answering them and half denying the situation. "They can't- what do we do?"
Through the doors separating our homes, came the muffled ringing of America's home phone. America jolted and cried, "No one answer that!"
It isn't like him to ignore his responsibilities. Norway had not mentioned much about Russia before, but he was now. I don't see why he can't do what they want. Now everyone is just wasting money.
Ukraine said, He doesn't usually ignore us.
I typed hastily, Russia's leaving soon. He'll be back home within a week so you can save your money
It's urgent… Latvia wrote.
America responded out loud while he typed, "Just wait. I don't want my house crowded with impatient guests… That should do it."
"I don't know…" I admitted. "Having this group chat was a mistake. When they get to share their concerns like this-"
"Hey, I know. But what can I do? I can't just leave it!"
"Ah…"
"Well, Latvia can't disobey me," America muttered. "That's for sure. Probably Belarus too, small nations like them. If I just give them a nice, firm no..."
"They're really upset though," France said. "I wouldn't be so sure."
I don't want to wait, Belarus stressed.
Come on, America persisted. We live so long and you can't handle a few days? Give this guy a break everyone. He never gets a work-free vacation
Russia can't take a vacation like this, Lithuania asserted. Not when the rest of us need him…
The chat was then set loose and it was harder to read along with all that was written.
My boss won't wait
Sounds lazy
Since when does Russia do this?
Is Russia really okay? Is there something he just doesn't want to say?
And then, the telephone rang again in the distance. The messages continued to rampage.
Is he sick?
:P
You should probably make him respond to them because this is getting out of hand.
Russia's sick?
America wrote, You got the wrong idea. He's not sick
Did something happen?
What… Is Russia hurt?
Why don't you just tell us?
America groaned, "It's not just them, but this damn group especially gets each other riled up, and now they've got these ideas…"
"Maybe we could tell them that he's not well," I suggested. "They might take advantage of that but… it is the best solution I can think of."
So finally, I wrote, Russia is actually not feeling good. He wants to be alone to rest
Why's he playing Xbox then?
He can't call or text just because of that?
He can't be so sick that I can't visit him
America sat without movement, keeping his eyes only on the screen as I wrote, The videos and pictures are old. Russia spends most of his time sleeping so that's why he hasn't checked anything
You're serious?
At least Canada's honest
Did you really need to lie America?
Why didn't you say that my brother was so sick!
Finally the truth
I need to visit him to help him feel better.
America said, He just didn't want me to say anything… Don't visit him because he really does want to be alone
What is making him this sick? I don't remember seeing anything in the news
He's not like dying, is he?
Nothing big has changed recently though
I said, Russia hurt himself here and is healing
He's injured?
What happened?
Russia will contact you all in a few days, I assured them. Please be patient. You don't need to worry
France sighed, "But like this, everyone's going to find out that Russia is injured or sick. Isn't this dangerous? This was one of the reasons why no one could know about America."
I murmured, "Yes, but… It's only for a few days…"
"Look." America's voice shuddered as he spoke. "I just need them off my back. What if someone accuses me of hurting Russia? They were just about to, I know it! How would the world see me if they thought that I'd purposefully hurt another powerful country for no good reason?"
"A little truth can help," I breathed. "I think America's problem will be solved, as long as Russia really does respond in a few days like I said."
"So all the pressure's on Britain," France mumbled.
We didn't respond to that. The messages after had become calmer, although it was unclear if someone was really going to show up here. I thought those statements had lost their meaning. However, Belarus affirmed, I will come over and tell everyone if they are telling the truth
The laptop slid off the side of America's leg. He groaned horribly and I myself almost lost my grip on my phone when I had seen what she had written.
"There's nothing I can do," he whispered. "Nothing… They just won't listen."
"There's no one who can be a Russia imposter," I breathed. "It couldn't be helped that they…"
"But there's no telling when she or anyone will come," France said. "He might be cured in time. That would look good for you then, don't you think?"
It wasn't enough to boost our mood. The possibility of this event hung over us like a phantom and there seemed to be nothing to do about it. We could think of some excuses, but nothing was sensible enough to use. Thoughts turned to debates, then just thoughts again. We considered the distance between India and Belarus to here. We wondered if Belarus was really going to be able to come over right away, or in a few days.
We ignored any phone that rang. America and I shied away from social media, although we knew not to stay from it for too long. Eventually, it was realized that some of the phone calls had been from Britain, but ignored. In lieu, he had sent a message.
Britain had everything now and was organizing the delivery to us. He would go home, and leave it up to us to pour it onto Russia. Still, we did not know when we would actually receive the ingredients. America was honest about our worries, revealing to Britain the group chat, the accusations they posed, and the suspicions that were growing.
America had asked me to move Russia's magnificent sunflower into the bedroom. He could be near it while he rested his leg during the day, and he could touch its petals under the gentle sunlight filtering through the window. I watered it for him, this being the most productive task completed in our anxiety. Then, when Britain replied to America, he assured us of our fear for he admitted that he was also worried. Yet the plants were on their way. They should arrive here before anyone else, unless, someone had managed to get a flight departing soon. Britain's delivery could even been beaten by mere hours.
It wasn't so much of a bad situation for me as for my brother, but I imagined how hard it would be to sleep tonight. America himself might not be able to sleep at all, expecting a knock at his door and a wrapped cure to be passed to him. We were practically mindless in our fear, but I hadn't realized it had been rather calm, until America slipped on the stairs. He had caught himself, but not before aggravating his ankle. Wheezing and turning, America had to lie in my bed again to rest through the waves of pain.
With rest came more rest, for now the time approached bedtime. The phone calls had stopped and allowed us peace as we got ready. France checked on Russia alone, reporting that he looked horrifying and had struggled hard throughout the day to escape his chains. France believed that he may have even broken some ribs wrestling with the chains today, despite the lack of room that he had.
I guess he's pretty strong now then.
America was worried about Russia's desperate behaviour and about his strength. Turning his head over the pillow to face where I stood by, he said, "I got more guns and I was thinking… could we keep one in here?"
"But France has one on the couch…"
"I know but, it'll make me feel better."
"Alright then, where do you keep them?"
I retrieved a loaded pistol and set it within America's reach. Assured, we were able to sleep yet only after a period of considering the day's stresses. Three-fourths into the night, we stirred at the whistles and swishes of outside. Unlike recent nights, a wind storm had picked up and made branches descend into battle against one another. Banging from the outside always startled me awake, but there was still nothing at my bedside like their had been in my nightmare.
I hated that a storm had come just like this, in the final day or so. Like this, I never knew what would come in under the cover of the noises. Exhausted however, I would always drop off asleep again and again. Eventually, the night's darkness vanished and light filtered into the room. The rainless storm continued blasting all with its sharp bites of cold air, but I slept for just a bit longer.
At eight thirty, I tiptoed to the living room while America still slumbered. France was limp on the cushions with his arm hanging over the ledge. I set it onto his slowly rising chest, before fixing the blankets. He did not even react, so fatigued he was. France must have been as troubled as I was by the wind storm, more so being here by the door. I left him to sleep while I crept off to start my day.
The messages had gotten no better, but I stayed quiet. I heard the phone ring on America's side for a moment, before the wind drowned out its soft and muffled cries. Soon after, the louder sound of America's cell phone ringing sprang up in front of me. Left on the table, it lit up and revealed the caller.
Latvia?
France groaned and turned. I hasted to reject the call to leave him in peace. France was asleep again, but another call from Latvia a few minutes later disturbed him. I declined again, but realized that Latvia would know it was happening based on how his calls were cut off.
I was utterly surprised when my cell phone went off. Latvia again. He was certainly being persistent, so I wondered if he had written something to America. I did not accept his call, but I opened America's computer and typed in the memorized passwords. It felt a little wrong now to access his account since he was back, but I read overwhat Latvia had written.
I am sorry for not letting you know, because you kept saying no to everyone… but I really have to see Russia.
My skin tightened as my eyebrows were drawn upwards.
So I will be here in the morning just for a little while. Please don't be mad at me… I'll leave right away afterward and I will try not to upset Russia although he is not feeling well.
There was a pause, a timelapse. The final message was the most haunting of them all.
Where are you? I'm at your door and I can't get in…
"Oh my god…" I fell forward and shook France. "Wake up! Wake up! Latvia's here- what should we do?"
France was groggy at first, but then caught on fast. He jumped up and inhaled, "We have to get rid of him somehow!"
"How?" I yelped.
"Say America and Russia went out somewhere for the day- maybe that Russia needed some air…"
"I don't think he's going to believe that!"
The chime of my doorbell zapped our hearts. We snapped our heads in the direction of my front door, both pertified and unsure if it should be answered.
France said, "I'll tell America to stay where he is."
France disappeared. I gulped and padded to the door, ready to pretend that I was the only one here. The quivers and the sweat indicated just how unprepared I had been, how optimistic I had been that Russia would truly be cured before anyone visited him.
Latvia… Why did he have to come? My mind cried. No one knew that he was already on his way! We expected Belarus, but-
I peeled open the door. The way Latvia stood there so delicately next to his suitcase threw me back to a time long past. He regarded me differently, now that I was Canada to him. Yet it was not a bad feeling. The respect and fear was not there, and instead he was gentle and polite to me.
"I'm sorry to bother you…" he murmured. When the wind cut out his words, he had to speak up. "It's just… I'm trying to see America, but I don't think he's home… Do you know where he is?"
"He's not home right now, sorry…" I gave him an apologetic smile. "Russia started feeling better last night, so they left early to get some fresh air. Oh… he didn't know you were coming, did he? The way you were talking yesterday…"
"I know but, he was going to say no…"
"Yes, I see, because if you surprised him he would have to let you in."
Latvia blushed a little in embarrassment. His hood snapped up from the whistling wind, but he left it alone bordering his head.
"I know what you can do." My tone brightened up. "You can hang around in a hotel or something, and I'll tell you when they're back."
He dipped his head and shuffled his foot. "I guess you are not okay with me staying here then."
I did not enjoy having my image tarnished with such a harsh rejection. I needed an excuse, so I blabbered out, "Well, you see… I already have France here…"
"Mr. France is here?"
"Yes, he is… I'm sorry. If you want, I could help pay for some of your hotel."
"O-oh, no, I couldn't-"
"No, I feel bad about this… let me get some cash…"
I walked back to my bedroom and consulted France and America, who were clustered there.
"It's going well," I told them as I fetched my wallet and cracked it open. "I think I can get rid of him."
America sighed heavily, "Oh thank god."
I came back to where Latvia was patiently waiting, rocking to the wind blasts around him. I handed him a wad of money, which he nervously took. He tried to give it back, but I hid my hands. Trying to shoo him away, I said, "Take care then."
He did not go though. Latvia averted his eyes and stammered, "H-how did you end up b-being friends with Mr. Russia… by the way…?"
"The same way as America did, I guess."
"E-even when in the world conflicts right now, the hacking-"
"I know that Russia's not perfect," I admitted. "But I know that much of the bad things he does is not his fault. It hurts him too… He needs help. He is lonely, but kind when you are close to him. You just have to show that you care about him first."
Latvia looked conflicted, as though he wanted to say many different things. The creases on his voice showed no positive reaction to my words. I tried to understand that I hadn't lived his life, but still I desperately wanted to convince him. I remembered the Russia that had comforted me for hours, warm unlike the cold, rotted monster he was now. Those fleeting, wonderful memories of peace.
Ignoring my answer, he whispered, "What happened to him? I-is it really so bad?"
Please, just go.
Latvia stepped forward when a powerful gust hit him from behind. At that time, however, he tucked the cash into my pocket. Surprised, my eyes widened as he said, "Mr. Canada… Why are you lying?"
My breath got caught.
"America is home," Latvia murmured. "Isn't he…? I-I don't know why you are lying… but I heard him by the door."
"A-ah, what? You heard what?"
"F-footsteps…" Latvia cowered from my raised voice.
"Stay here!"
I slammed the door, then dashed into the living room. France was gone, likely with America, so I called, "France! France! I need you!"
He dashed in with the gun from my bedroom, gasping, "What is it?"
"I-I think Russia's loose, over there!"
"What?" he yelped. "Really?"
We snapped our attention to the quiet double doors. I swooped down and snatched the other gun on the coffee table. Jogging to the door, our breaths puffed out ever the more rapidly with each one. We pressed our ears to the doors, but in the pauses between the wind, we heard nothing. At once, we threw open the doors and dove in. The guns swept around in a semicircle, but we saw nothing in the living room.
There was then a banging against a nearby wall upstairs. Then another, and another came after it. Trembling, we approached the source of the sound. I could not imagine what Russia was doing, only to find it was not Russia at all. The opened front door was crashing freely against the wall everytime the wind harassed it. Parts of the wood was damaged and also around the lock; we saw this just as easily as we saw the flexible grass wavering under the blue sky empty from clouds chased free.
A rogue recycling bin clattered and rolled down the street. We sprinted on the direct path to my front door, soon accompanied by a shrill scream. I snatched the door and threw it open to me. There on the steps, Latvia stared forward with massive eyes as he twitched back and tripped into his suitcase. I hopped down and grabbed him, where he latched to me for protection and let loose another wailing screech.
Then I saw the same monster that he had seen, but surely, Latvia had never seen anything more nightmarish in his life. It shambled closer, placing its hands on the walls and slowly making its way along. The vacant, black sockets were stiffly trained on us, however, and the bone revealed on that slashed face glowed under the sun. Barely any cloth hung from its frame, letting us see the ultrathin nodes of where the limbs had barely connected to themselves.
Yet as the scrawny and tall skeletal zombie padded towards us, I knew that Latvia recognized who it was. It was the main reason for him to be afraid. A severely damaged, black scarf swayed around the bumps and tears of the ravaged throat, and his dry hair still retained its colour. It was Russia, dead and yet still coming for him with his horrible, skeleton grin still stained with blood.
Then it was as though Latvia had clicked. He went rigid and straight, then fainted out of sheer terror. Russia still came closer, but France and I trained our guns on his slowly moving form. I had aimed for his head, where the eerie intelligent resided, but I was shaking and the wind was knocking our aiming. My shot raked his skull, although France's managed to go into his ribs.
Russia seemed delicate with those thin connections and a lack of internal organs. He had damaged himself to the point that his abdomen was a toothpick containing barely more than his spine. It didn't make sense. No, as my heart picked up and we fired again, I couldn't think more about how utterly impossible this was.
Russia could move without all his muscles. Something else was driving him forward, and the namelessness of it terrorized me. He had set himself together in those hours, waiting intelligently, until he could move on two feet. Now, at the moment of the bullet's impact into him, that force changed him. The careful padding altered into a blurred sprint, then we hollered, fell back, and tried to pound more bullets into him.
One, two, three- but he did not stop. Russia opened that bony jaw and screeched that metallic and piercing cry that I had heard before. He moved so incredibly fast that France had no time to react to the blur of his arm. Russia struck him into the solid wall, where his head crashed against it and he slumped down unconscious before knowing what had happened. I managed another shot while Latvia's limp body slipped from my hold. However, Russia then turned onto me, screaming in rage and lunging to attack.
I hopped inside to try to lead him away from the others, those unconscious and easily harvestible. Yet I had hardly fallen into the living room before the swift skeleton snagged me, slapping me to the ground. I crashed into the table where we used to drink cocoa, whereupon it immediately broke under me. Pressed into the shards of wood, I was pinned in an instant with my arms snatched and raised. Russia slipped my right forearm between his stained teeth and crunched down, exploding fresh, red drops over them. The gun fell and I screeched as he clung, biting down harder and harder.
The shards broke through my skin before he grabbed my other wrist and performed the same task. I turned and wailed, trying to kick him off. My bones gave and my vision blackened. My hands were left half-curled, now useless, as they dropped to the ground. Then, Russia's weight lifted off me while I desperately tried to hold consciousness. Through the dark mist, I saw his hands searching. They touched the floor around me until they found the gun. Feeling it, he dragged it into his grasp.
"No!" Gasping, I swung my leg and kicked it from his hand. Just like that, I finally understood what his purpose was. Without logic or care of past emotions, Russia meant to kill America. When the gun flew away and disappeared from him, Russia snarled and struck me. His slender hand smashed my head, and filled it with lights.
Then Russia sprinted away while I failed to move my body. My mind screamed as I tried to lift myself up, but nothing would move. I could hardly even breathe as the pain and shock washed over me.
America! No, America!
I heard him screaming now. It sounded as though he had hobbled into the hall, frantically trying to see what was going on. Likely feeling driven to help despite his injured condition. Russia shrieked and mingled into America's horrified cry. I heard him run, the crutches smashing the wall, smashing Russia likely, and tapping frantically across the floor. A door slammed, but then I heard wood crunching and splintering.
"Fuck! No!" America's voice was shrill as his door was breaking. "Please, oh god, help!"
It was at that moment that I was thrown back to my original terror, back when I had seen America fall. Now, I could see it again and all so clearly. I saw his body breaking on the rocks and the stick entering his side. I remembered his body, fresh and bloody, torn, limp. The innards of my brother exposed and draped like a curtain from a tree branch. Spikes of the honey locust, sharp branches- merciless fingers, violent fingers- they had torn into his helpless body-
My feet thudded across the ground like thunder, and everything else blurred as I gained a tunnel vision. Russia collapsed when I tackled him, just a metre from America, who had been about to smash the window with a crutch. If I had wasted any time on the gun, I would have been too late. Russia wrestled me, rolling and clacking his teeth at my throat. He hissed and shrieked those dead cries for hindering him, those heartless cries that resembled nothing of Russia.
"Canada!"
America dove at Russia, grabbing him and trying to drag him off me.
"No, don't-"
Sure enough, Russia neglected me, hopping off to tackle America. Yet the passion arouse inside me, and I could not under any circumstance, let Russia harm America. Not after all that had happened. No, America couldn't die. We were so close to the end. He couldn't. Russia had to be stopped at all cost.
I fell onto Russia's back and hooked my arms around him. The arm that went over his face protected America from his snapping teeth, those that cracked into the same spot that they had already injured. I caterwauled in agony but fell back and took Russia with me, holding onto him tightly. He released my arm and whirled around, scrambling to mutilate. The sockets zoomed at me and the jaw opened again, flickering droplets of scarlet onto my cheeks.
I grabbed him and pulled him to me tight. He could hardly move when I wrapped my legs and arms around him, although it was only a temporary solution. Russia was incredibly strong and his jolts were making me lose more of my grip on each one. My hands could not grab either, to help hold him down. One of Russia's legs kicked back and smashed into America's face as he rushed in, stunning him for the moment. I was left trying to control the struggling creature, who had begun snapping his teeth at my face in raw ire.
"Stop, Russia!" I wailed. "Why are you doing this?"
Russia paused for half a second before jamming his face under my jaw and pressing back my head.
"It's me, Canada!" I cried. "We're friends, Russia! Please!"
The teeth pressed around my throat, but held themselves there. I could do nothing. He could kill me easily like this if he crushed my bones and windpipe. Yet Russia pushed me away suddenly, turning onto America as he rushed to us with a raised crutch. He hit America while trying to grab him, but it was not hard enough, so America still managed to roll over my bed to lead Rusia away from me. Still trying to fight, to be a hero, America hollered and struck Russia with all the strength he could muster.
Russia grabbed the crutch and yanked it away from him. America then went to hurling any object he could at him. Each item broke on Russia, and for some seconds, America managed to stun him with those powerful hits. Russia crawled onto the bed and reached for him, but America hopped off and ripped out the drawer of my dresser. He savagely struck Russia with it, eyes full of tears and anger that Russia had dared harm me.
Yet Russia was coming closer, cornering him again. America's drawer had now broken, and now Russia screeched and reached for America. No matter how America and the rest of us had attacked him, nothing had stopped Russi. I could see now exactly what we had created, as he ignored all injury just to get to America.
This was a creature of the most purest of wrath, one that Russia had lost control off. Almost lost control of. He was there, somewhere, I knew, for in the moment he had paused his attack on me, he had heard me and had responded to my fear. I grabbed the flower pot between my forearms and screamed Russia's name. He recognized my voice, halting just long enough for me to zip around the bed and squeeze between him and America. My brother tried to stop me, but I pushed him back and shielded him. I then raised the pot until the flower fell into Russia's face, the petals tickling both bone and flesh alike.
"Russia," I was pleading with him. Begging. "No one wanted to hurt you. Please stop. America never meant to do this to you… We love you, please… You're still here, you're smart… There is still life in you."
Russia went still. Standing and tilting his head just slightly, he raised his hand to touch the flower stalk with a finger. We breathed carefully and caught our breaths as Russia put his skull eyes onto the flower head he could not see, and to the fiery colours of the petals which he caressed. It was his cherished flower, the one that he had trusted us to protect.
The skeletal corpse twitched, its chest moving and facial muscles shifting. The memories must have been returning, of how America had tried comforting him with this flower, and of how we had tried to care for him. Perhaps still, Russia was thinking of all the time he had spent with me, just before hurting me like he had. I don't know which memories affected him, but Russia quaked and cried in the only way that he could.
The wind shrieked, but Russia would not join it anymore with savage cries. Breaking away, Russia mewled softly in a way that sounded like himself. The lust for vengeance was gone as he wavered in sorrow, his ribs shaking more as he pet the flower over and over again. My arms shivered from weakness, but I fought to kept the pot raised for him.
"We're going to fix you, Russia," I assured him in a gentle voice. "Just a day I think, and then you'll be okay."
His teeth dripped blood, but I stayed where I was when he reached out to me. America held his breath along with me as Russia touched my shoulder and stroked down it. When he seemed to have lost interest in the flower, I set it onto the nightstand. Then, Russia slipped forward and pulled me into him. I was not thrown into the floor, but instead against the ravaged remains of his sweater. The scarf and shirt were dirty and he smelled of that powerful must of rot, but I ignored it all when the tears came. Russia's rotten and thin arms pressed in around me, but I couldn't concern myself over the details when Russia's melancholy overwhelmed me.
"You weren't really mad," I murmured. "You were sad, weren't you? You didn't want to die… It didn't feel fair. We killed you and it was horrible. You were alone…"
Russia's jaw fell over my head. He kept hugging me, whining until my attention was captured by police sirens approaching from afar. Neighbours must have heard the screaming, something more surprising than gunshots coming from America's house. Taking his cue, America swore and rose with the help of the wall. He was ruffled, but unharmed.
"I can make them go away. If…" Then America glimpsed my arms. "You- holy shit, what happened to your wrists!"
"It's not important right now." I tried to keep my voice steady. In reality, I was starting to feel tired from the blood loss, hits, and stress. But I jolted when a face swung around the corner. It was France's, which opened up into complete surprise when he saw me embracing the corpse.
"Is- so you have him under control?" he stammered.
"For now," America answered, hobbling forward. "Where's Latvia?"
France danced around and passed America's crutches to him. "I heard the sirens coming, so I put him inside. He started to wake up."
"Help me to the door-"
France gasped, "Canada, y-your-"
"I'm fine," I rushed. "Just- the police! America has to-"
America insisted to him. "I can get rid of them. They'll listen, just- clean up some evidence!"
France hurried ahead to close the doors and collect the guns. America clacked his way after him, but both had cast worried glances back at me. There was no time, since another problem needed to be averted. But that look of France's told me that he would sprint back in a few moments. Undoubtedly, he wanted to separate me from Russia and take me to the hospital. Knowing that it would come, that we would have to leave, I walked into Russia until he complied and sat on the bed.
He sat in the already besmirched sheets. He glanced at me with his hollow eyes as I bent his legs so that he was sitting cross-legged. I then took the flower pot between my forearms, quivering in fatigue as I carefully squeezed it. It was set down in the hole of his crossed legs, firmly set in place and within his hold. Perhaps Russia would forget again and turn to his vengeful thoughts, but I felt sure that as long as he had this reminder, he would stay placid.
"I have to go to the hospital," I whispered, trying not to let my voice waver once I had gazed upon the severity of my wounds. It was hard to feel the shattered bones now, but once I paid attention to the gory details, fright was awakened inside me. It was worse than I had known, and precisely why France raced back to me seconds later.
"Where is your health card?" he demanded. He observed Russia on the bed, but since he was frozen like an ice sculpture bent over that flower, he left him. I told him it was in my wallet, the one he had seen before. He grabbed it, then yanked me away from Russia. No doubt that he still didn't trust him. He wanted to protect me since he wasn't able to before.
Just before France dragged me away, I touched Russia's shoulder blade. The chest below twitched, and that was his only reaction. All the aggression had been sapped from him, and now, he would only sit until the very end. He knew he would wait, but I called for him as we parted.
"I will be back soon!" I told him. "And the next time you see me, you will be whole again!"
Russia shifted his mouth, but he was unable to speak. He looked up at me, but he couldn't see the tears in my eyes. Maybe he had heard all of my words, but maybe it had only been some. There was a chance that he had heard none of my words really, and had only reacted to the tone of my voice. But I knew that he was there and caring about me more than he had ever before. Wrought by regret and emotion, Russia clung to the flower pot and leaned forward as I left.
And I knew that he would stay there, faithfully, and daring not to move and frighten anyone. If he did make any movements, it would be to only stroke that flower of his which he loved so dearly. This itself, brought me back to another memory so delicate and warm. Once, long ago, Russia had lulled me to sleep with a story of how he had met this flower. I supposed it was because these words had been spoken to me in that time before slumber, for they had easily imprinted themselves onto my mind. I felt sure that I remembered the words which had rolled so smoothly off his tongue as Russia murmured to me.
And here, I found the flower. It was so beautiful and tall, the prettiest kind of sunflower I had ever seen. I was very small and weak, so I did not hurt the flower when I hugged it...
I imagined how he might have been, with eyes bright and purple, and I imagined his accent even if some of the words were wrong. He was leaning to the computer while we Skyped, I in bed, and he at his desk with the daylight shining upon him. My mind immortalized his gentleness, the same one that I longed to see again before me, brought back to life. And more than just seeing it, I would feel it, and I would hear it as well. Not only from his tender voice, but I would know his kindness once I was close enough to hear the steady beats of his heart once more.
Then perhaps, Russia would let America listen and know it too.
I will post one more short thing to describe the aftermath and tie everything up. I need to remind you all that it is not over until I specifically write "The End". I always have the problem of people panicking or critiquing something which is not the true end of the story.
Thank you for reading, however.