Book 4 - Spring

XXXIII - Grey

"We do still need to tell them," Philippines says.

"I know Phil, I know," America says, rubbing his face with his hand.

Russia flinches at the irritation in his tone.

'Everything will be okay,' he reminds himself.

"I'm going to make a few phone calls," New York announces to no one in particular.

"Why?" Brazil asks.

"So the people going home will get there in one piece."

"Do you have all their phone numbers?"

"Somewhere," he replies, reaching for his pocket before pausing. He hums before looking up with a sheepish look. "I might actually need some help with that."

"Anything to get home," Egypt says.

New York starts going upstairs, and most of the countries follow.

'They seem eager to leave.'

America falls into the couch with a loud groan.

"America?" Russia asks.

"Yes?" America replies, his tone irritated.

Russia's shoulders fall for a moment.

"I think we should try to heal our injuries," he suggests, unsure.

America sighs.

"Okay. Hook me up."

Russia takes a deep breath, opening the valve. His eyes open to the magic slowly leaking into the room. Small spindles of greyed magic light up the space.

'That is not good.'

He raises his hands, and the chaos around him fades. Even still, he is sure he sees Manitoba pouting. He begins collecting the strings, ignoring glowing auras around him.

'Those are people,' he reminds himself.

He feels his chest grow tight as he circles it through the filter. It takes a few tries to get it clear, and he begins feeding it to a small, blue aura in front of him.

He faintly hears America call out, and he watches with fascination as the blue expands, surrounding what looks like Finland's arm.

'What is left of it,' he mentally adds.

Then, his hands are empty.

His head whips around to the closest wall and focuses. The wall fades out of view and a wall of grey meets him. His heart sinks.

He grabs the untangled threads, giving them a tug to release them. They reluctantly meet his hands, and he cycles them between his hands and chest until they turn white.

He feeds them to America, whose foot glows. Then, the blue is turned on him. The distant feeling of the burns on his legs lessens, and he passively watches light pink mix with the blue.

Soon, the pink dissipated, and Russia reaches for more magic, only to find an untangleable mass of grey magic that gets darker for every moment that passes.

He reaches out, grabbing hold of what he can reach. He tugs, and his heart drops.

'It's not moving.'

He pulls again.

Bile rises in the back of his throat.

America has moved, standing over Dixie.

Russia yanks at the strings, panic filling his chest as America's magic core starts to waver. The blanket around Dixie fades.

'No. No!'

He desperately heaves again, biting his tongue.

He sees America staring at him, but he can't see him clearly enough to read his face.

'I can't get any more.'

He yanks again.

'Why is this happening?'

He watches the cloud advance toward the house, and smaller, concentrated balls of magic follow its approach.

'I need to tell them.'

He begins closing the valve, and both the ringing and America's voice fade in.

"Russia!"

"Something is coming," Russia says bluntly, sitting up.

His stomach churns, and he tries to ignore the feeling.

Dixie groans.

"Where is the rest of the magic?" America snaps.

Russia flinches.

"It's just a wall," he admits, looking away, "I pulled as much as I could."

America sighs, rubbing his face.

"What was coming?" Massachusetts demands.

"I don't know, but I think it's connected to the cloud of grey magic."

"Wait, grey magic is the corrupted kind, right?" Arizona asks.

"Yes," Russia says, staring out a nearby window.

All that meets him is foliage swaying gently with the wind outside. America sighs.

"Fuck," America says, his hands on his hips, "looks like we'll just have to fight like this."