Intoxicated // Countryhumans RusAme

Chapter 11 - Life Letters

It had to be about seventy years since he had first encountered America. His father would attend a meeting where he had no choice but to tag along with him. There, he met America for the first time.

Being intimidated by foreigners, Russia didn't think he'd ever be enlightened to see one, much less converse with one like he did with America that evening.

Since that day, however, their relationship only grew tenser and tenser with one another. It wasn't until his father's death when he began to lighten up to America. He wasn't sure if it was out of pity or meer humility that the American was giving him a chance, but whatever the case was, had him overcome with a certain sense of admiration for him, as strange as that sounded.

Russia caught himself humming an old Russian folk song he knew by heart—one he was sung to when he was younger but desperately tried to forget.

Perhaps pushing away the past wasn't the best thing to do for his mentality, and something in that drink had him soften up a bit towards it, almost letting him accept his own existence in the midst of it.

Thinking about for too long made him forget the purpose of him hiking through a bunch of shrubs to get to America's manor however.

Russia touched his face with a soft gesture. Closing his eyes, he thought that maybe he could track where America was, since it was evident that the substance gave America some sort of advantage in supernatural strength after drinking it.

Instead, however, everything seemed to drift in his vision. It was similar to as of he was drunk, but not quite, since he still had his consciousness, or at least seemingly he did, anyways.

Then his footsteps began to stumble and his body heated up. He heart was racing as he began to panic out of fear.

He tried to grab whatever branch was nearby but accidently fell amdist his attempt and lay face flat onto the road, paralyzed.

"Господи, что со мной проис..." (God, what is happening to m...) He didn't finish muttering his last word out, finally giving into the overcoming sensation of death on the warm, hard pavement.

...

A dark void.

That's all he knew.

That's all he wanted.

The boy looked down at his arms. Was he always so young and small? He wasn't sure. He saw another figure approach him and looked up at him.

"Америка—" he said happily, stumbling his way to run towards him. He knew nothing but him, or perhaps a longing for him. The teen was much older but so much more admirable.

He ran up and hugged him, leaving the teen surprised.

America's face expression changed to a sadder one once their eyes met. "Russia, I have to leave."

"Leave?" Russia stepped back with trembling steps. "W-Why?"

"Stay out of this. It's for your own good," America mumbled, turning to his side. He wore a much fancier set of clothes than he usually would and in his hands he held a briefcase.

The child refused, "No! Stop, you can't do this!" As loud as he screamed America didn't seemed to mind him as he was walking the other way. Russia's knees felt weak as he fell to the ground, sobbing into his hands.

"You're all I have left...."

America felt guilty and turned around. "Russia, you don't know what you're saying—"

Before he could finish the little boy ran up and hugged him tight. "I don't care what you say, I'm not letting you leave me!" He cried into his clothes. "I-I don't want to be alone." His voice was soft and sad to hear. America wanted to explain to him, but perhaps his own longing prevented him from doing so.

"Take my hand then." Russia looked up with teary eyes.

"However, if you touch my hand you'll never be able to leave my side. This is the only way..."

Russia shyly grabbed his hand and then everything vanished. The last thing he saw was America's sweet smile as he held his hand and merged into the void.

...

Russia woke up in cold sweat. He didn't understand his nightmare and looking around he couldn't recognize his surroundings either.

He picked himself up from the rusty couch. Looking around, he seemed to have woke up in a much older rundown living room. The lights were off, and the furniture looked aged and dusted.

His head ached immensely and he tried to stand up with a struggle. Russia decided to walk around to see where he was at.

His shoulders fell loosely and his expression was a lot gentler than usual. Trailing down a spiral staircase he saw a lit up room down the end of the hall and decided to walk towards it.

He stopped beside the door, only to be startled by America's voice. "Come in, Russia."

Hesitantly he walked in, carefully trying not to hit anything on the way in.

"How are you feeling? You fell on the side of the road like an idiot and I decided to save your pathetic ass so you might as well thank me."

"Thank you..."

America squinted. "Is something wrong with you? Why are you acting so weird?"

"I don't know what I'm doing," Russia admitted. He was redder than usual and looked very anxious.

"Have you been drinking?"

Russia shook his head.

America raised a brow. "Are you lying to me?"

"I promise I'm not. I don't know why I'm here or what happened." He rubbed his other arm nervously.

"I know." America smiled, picking up an empty tube in-between his fingers.

"You drank this didn't you?" he asked, grinning. Russia shrugged, not knowing how to answer. "Well, Russia. Congratulations, you fucked yourself up," America laughed, "Did you really think that by drinking this you'd be the same as I am?"

Russia didn't reply and America leaned in from his desk. He tilted his chin up. "You're not affecting me anymore either," he said, sounding almost amused. "Now I can kill you easily if I wanted to. How exciting would that be?" America insanely grinned.

Russia shyly looked down at the ground. "If that's what you want," he mumbled.

America backed away and gestured at him. "Look at you though. You're pathetic now."

"I'm pathetic..." Russia whispered to himself.

"God, I can't stand even looking at your dumbass. Go leave or do something about this." America waved his hand, initiating for him to leave.

Russia shook his head in defiance. "I...don't want to do that."

"Then, what do you want?" America asked in a clearly annoyed tone of voice.

"I want to be by your side."

America's face flushed a bright red hue without him meaning to by that answer. "Well, you're kinda useless now though, aren't you though..?" He chuckled, sarcastically.

"I'll do whatever you ask me to," Russia offered. America was wide-eyed and tapped his chin in thought.

"Fine," he agreed and smiled victoriously. "But what about the others? They won't like this," America warned.

"I don't care."