Book 4 - Spring

V - Fur

His dreams swirl with misery and Russia gasps as his head whips up. His eyes spring open to the frozen people in front of him. It's lighter now, but clouds still hang heavy in the air.

He looks down and finds that no one but him had moved. He feels grief hit him again, more clearly now with the reinforcement that they hadn't moved, even with the agents off their trail.

'What do I do now?'

His paws are so heavy, and his eyelids seem to be yanking themselves shut. His stomach feels like it's turning inside-out.

'Eat. Need to eat.'

He hops down, ignoring the pulsing of his injuries as he lands. He mindlessly scans around and spots something promising. A family of deer. He creeps forward and pounces. He kills it listlessly and begins eating, trying to slow himself.

'I can't throw up again. It's such a waste.'

He takes short breaks between bites, pacing around the area, scouting for anything out of place. He also marks the tree.

'It's the safest thing I have right now. We can't get cornered and no one knows I'm not the only thing here.'

He continues eating until he feels full enough on his third or fourth scouting mission.

He also resorts to tugging the remains of the deer into an adjacent tree. He isn't completely sure why he felt the need to, but he figures that following the instinct couldn't hurt. It takes a lot of force, and he almost drops it, but he manages to get it secure enough. He then leaps into the safety offered by the larger tree of the pair.

He sits down and begins smelling the air. He can't smell anything except the blood in his fur.

He starts trying to clean the gore from his hair. He is also reminded that hairballs aren't very pleasant. But the motion of brushing is comforting. He continues licking away at it, pulling his tongue through his hair. He cleans his paws and the cuts that line his legs.

He gives his stomach only a short amount of attention, not wanting to irritate the burn scars. It's odd to look at his stomach, he finds. He is a little unnerved at its appearance, with the strangely thin, almost patchy fur that covers it.

Then, he begins on his sides. He pulls through the thick hair and finds it almost soothing. Even after the blood that stained him is long gone, Russia continues licking at the spot toward the end of his ribs. It's the last area he had cleaned, and he just continues there.

The sensation starts becoming painful, but Russia finds that he doesn't care. The patch on his side begins to grow bare. And the skin begins to grow raw from the friction against it.

Even still, Russia can't bring himself to stop. He keeps licking, keeps brushing, keeping pulling, keeps going. Back and forth. Back and forth. The motion is good, abet gradually growing more uncomfortable as he continues.

It hurts, but it's grounding somehow. It's something he can control. It's something he can do. His legs ache and the scratches on his paws grow warm with irritation. His back burns with any movement or pressure he tries to ease onto it.

He keeps licking.

He hears strange sounds erupt suddenly from in front of him, but he ignores them. He continues licking away, trying to stop his thoughts from swirling through his head. The wind begins howling around him.

'What if they don't-'

Russia stops that train of thought as soon as he recognizes it.

'They have to wake up,' Russia decides.

"Ruby?"

Russia shakes his head. The voice sounds faint, just above the noise of the wind whipping around the trunks of trees.

'I'm just imagining things,' he thinks, his heart heavy.

Russia holds his breath as their tree begins to sway in the gusts of rain.

'What if they really don't wake up?'

"Rue! What are you doing to yourself?"

'Or maybe it's just another mimic-ing thing.'

Russia pulls away and closes his eyes. He shakes a little and his fur puffs up. It doesn't smell unfamiliar, so he opens his eyes to find America staring back at him with that same contorted expression, motionless on the ground in the pile, exactly where Russia had left him.

Russia's heart clenches.

Nothing had changed, save for a nearby dead tree being blown over.

Russia wants to give up, right then. He lets his head fall to the wood with a thump. He yowls miserably into the air.

'I am imagining things.'

He almost turns back to the spot on his side when he stops.

'Beam wouldn't want to see me hurting myself like this.'

Russia lets his head fall back. He covers his nose with his stinging paws.

'Even if they don't wake up, I have to try. I have to.'

Another gust of wind snakes into his fur, and he shivers. He gathers all the stone-cold 'statues' to his stomach. He purrs as loudly as he can, trying desperately to convince the weight in his chest to leave.

They all feel so stiff and cold. They stack on each other like morbid Tetris pieces.

'They couldn't have ever been anything other than statues with the way they are now.'

Russia shakes the thought away.

'I have to treat them as people.'

But deep down, he knows he doesn't have the energy for it.

Soon, Russia hears people shouting under him, but he pays them no mind.

They seem to be searching for them, shouting about finding "those damn personified things!" over the wind.

Russia lays his head in America's lap, hugging the states and Ukraine as closely to his stomach as physics would allow. He shakes in the wind, pinning his ears tight to his head and curling his tail between his legs. Brazil, Mexico, Finland, and Alberta get tucked under his arms.

His limbs feel heavier than boulders, and his head is tied to weights.

'I'm still so tired. Why? Why can't I just keep going?'

His eyelids slide shut before he forces them back open. He feels nausea swirl in his system.

'I didn't need to sleep this long as a person...'

'I hate this. So much.'

Russia scowls at himself. The static the statues, the people, give off makes Russia's nose itch.

'I have magic! I should be able to fix this!'

Russia stops himself before filtering any.

'But I don't know how to use it. And it's contaminated here, I can't... I can't take that risk.'

Russia lays his head back down, and his ears perk up to listen while he allows his body to rest.

'I can't do anything right now.'

He finds that he hates how true it is. But he doesn't want to risk killing them now with his magic if all he had to do is wait.