You Destroyed Me {Cold War AU (Countryhumans)}

You've Lost (Prologue)

"No!" 

America held his hands in front of his face, watching as the horrible red color engulfed his hands, starting from his fingertips and toes, spreading across his body at a horrifyingly fast pace. This was the last thing he wanted. This wasn't supposed to happen! He was supposed to win!

The American was on his knees before the massive body of another country. The USSR. It felt as if he was bowing down and surrendering. America hated every second of it. And it didn't help that it was what he was really doing, surrendering to this communist scumbag. He tried to force himself back up on his feet several times, to take power, to show that he wasn't giving up, to at least prove something, but his attempts always ended in failure. Eventually, America had given up trying to stand. This transformation was making him weak. Too weak to even stand. It felt as if he was being weighed down by some powerful, but invisible, force. His entire body was shaking. He felt as if all his energy was being drained. This wasn't like the other times he'd changed form. Whenever America got new states or territories, he felt as if he'd just drank a triple-shot espresso and had hyperactive energy- that tended to annoy his friends and family- the rest of the day. When America's flag changed from his colonial one to the flag of his original 13 states, he felt stronger than he ever had in his life before that moment. He even felt stronger at that very moment compared to himself now. 

The last time America had felt as weak as he did currently was when he was caught under Britain's rule with no hope of ever escaping. But America did escape the British rule enforced so strictly over him. In the past, he'd found a dwindling spark of hope and willpower inside himself and he focused on it, mending it, feeding it, until it had become a blazing fire and he'd finally revolted. He'd freed himself then, so wouldn't that mean he could just free himself again?

America didn't like the awful feeling of doubt that washed over him at that thought. A splitting headache shot through his head almost immediately afterwards and America let out an involuntary, high-pitched cry of pain. His reddened hands moved from being held, shaking in the view of his eyes to clutching his head. He nearly doubled over from the pain resounding in his mind, echoing through his skull. By now, quite unfortunately for him, America's entire body had turned that disgusting trademark red color the USSR held so dear to him. The pain in his head was from the color breaching his neck, turning his stripes a darker red, moving quickly to his blue square of little white stars. A golden hammer and sickle were slowly fading into the center of the square as it turned red.

Before he knew it, America felt a large hand, gloved in worn leather, grip his chin, not with any particular carefulness. America's head was forcefully lifted and the pained country realized that his eyes were squeezed tightly shut. The hand on his chin tightened, resulting in America letting out a sharp gasp of surprised pain. "Look at me, Америка." 

America easily recognized that deep Russian accent. He'd spent too much time listening to the stupid voice in the recent decades of his life. Each argument with the USSR, each time they'd shouted at one another throughout the Cold War, America began to learn the distinctive sound of Soviet's voice without even realizing it. 

Wearily, America's tired eyes fluttered open. He squinted up at the USSR, his bottom lip quivering, shoulders shaking, head still reeling in pain. His eyes refused to focus, and you couldn't blame them. It would be hard for anyone to focus on anything with a headache that felt as though it were splitting your brain open.

Soviet hummed with mock sympathy, a gentle smile that held all the fake-ness possible in the world played on his expression. "Look at you. So weak and defeated." A harsh laugh grew from the Soviet Union's chest, ringing sharply in America's ears. The ringing on top of the splitting headache America already had was almost enough to make him sick. He choked a bit on what appeared to be nothing but air, forcing down the feeling of nausea resting in his stomach and his throat.