Countrywhatever oneshots

Hide and seek - Vietnam and Ame.

What the mcFuck is this, it's gross

That's it, I'm rewriting it
Fuck you

warnings
Blood
Injury

That's about it

The Vietnamese boy hurdled through the forest with incredible speed, dodging branches and roots, ducking under fallen tree trunks and leaping over bamboo piles. The wind and bamboo leaves whipped at his arms and body, leaving stinging, burning trails on his exposed skin where his tank top didn't cover. He sprang over a single stream, his legs pulled up and close to his chest then extending towards the opposite bank, landing gracefully on the other side. Unevenly, he landed, wobbling on his legs as he scrambled against the slick, sticky mud and the smooth stones that lined the bank. His feet left deep footprints in the mud, and trailed mud over the dry ground as he ran.

His lungs heaved heavily for air as he scrambled for traction on the ground, to hurdle himself forward and to sprint to any possible sign of safety. The roar of large, strange nearby machinery and artillery signified his complete lack of control in this situation, of his powerlessness. There was no rest for him, no breaks until these people found him. They would rip up these forests to find him if need be. Vietnam ducked behind a rock.

He paused for a moment, just a second, to catch his breath. His lungs hurt, his throat hurt, his legs hurt. Everything hurt. He considered waiting them out, but that was before flinching as he heard the horribly close shouts.

He took off at breakneck speed the minute he heard the men, his legs pushing him forward more and more as Mother Nature pushed him to his limits. His ankles twisted and turned on the rocks as he weaved in and out through boulders and large stones, even jumping from one to another. Falling, stumbling, tripping was not an option. If he would do something as cumbersome as that, it would be game over for him. He'd be caught, and that would mean god knows what.

All it took was one misplaced step, one miscalculated jump, and he took a fall. His ankle twisted in a horrible angle and it was suddenly like his whole fucking leg was on fire. There was the pain, and then there was more. It was dark as his body began to tumble over hard and sold things, strangely smooth to the touch and blunt, but hard. They slammed into his back and things dug into his arms, lighting up his skin in a way that made it feel like it was on fire. He stumbled, he felt something rip into his side, and he finally came to a stop.

His body was aflame with pain. His ears rung a piercing tone and his head spun, disoriented and most likely concussed. Weakly, he'd managed to push himself onto his arms, coughing and wheezing from his lack of air and from his tumbling fall. He could barely hear himself or see the ground though his hazy state, resting on his arms as scarlet blood dripped — no, gushed — onto the rocks.

Something hot formed in his eyes, dripping down his face and onto the rock as well, and choked noises bubbled up from his throat, so dry and painful. And through it all, though his ears ringing, through his head throbbing and spinning, he could hear something. Distant voices, but a much closer, much more dangerous voice.

"Shit," The voice hissed, rugged, harsh, reeking of danger, and definitively masculine. "It's a kid. He's a kid."

Vietnam sobbed again, this time out of fear.

The man, presumably a soldier, began to approach the boy, with a certain haste in his step as he slid down the rocky bank and jogged to Vietnam's side, and Vietnam could see jungle green pants and buckskin tan combat boots. Those boots could crush his head with ease, he noted.

But person got closer. The soldier got closer, and he could hear the tearing of fabric. It was a sharp noise, and it elicited a whimper from the boy. The soldier made no noise nor move to comfort him, or to reassure him that his death would be slow and painful, but he could feel something tighten on his side and agony light up in the same area.

Vietnam cried out, tears seeping from his eyes, but the soldier shushed him. "Don't make a noise, kid," he hisses quietly, and another sharp ripping sound could be heard. This time, he moved closer to Vietnam's twisted and fucked up foot, wrapping the piece of cloth over the soft part just in front of his heel, and then around the base of his calf, and secured it. "They'll give you worse than this if they find you."

Through his clouded mind, Vietnam both understood and didn't. But he knew to grit his teeth thought he pain. The boots came crunching back towards the area of his head, and their dangerous soles about eye level with his head, especially since Vietnam was hunched over and kneeling. And then the soldier began to kneel down, his hands planting firmly onto his ribs, eliciting a flinch and an squeak. More tears dripped from his eyes as he sniffles and whimpered. The hands slid up to hook under Vietnam's arms, strong hands lifting him up from the ground and against something solid and roughly clothed. The fabric felt.. dangerous. Everything about it felt dangerous. Then, one arm slid down to behind his knees, successfully hoisting him up against the soldier's chest. Then, he began to move.

The soldier set a steady pace of a light jog, but even then, it felt fast. He could have caught him with astounding ease if he just chased him like this, but thing of it only sent a jolt of fear into Vietnam's belly. This soldier was strange, this soldier was scary.

    And yet, he smelled like comfort. Like sweet rain and fresh blooms, it nearly lulled Vietnam into the sleep he needed, but it seemed to have let the soldier know of his drifting off. He was pressed tighter to the soldier. "Get some rest, kiddo." His voice, rugged and cruel and gravelly as it was, spoke softly. "You need it."

And like that, from his blood loss and injuries and from the steady rhythm of the soldier's heartbeat, Vietnam was lulled into an uneasy sleep.

Thank god, this is much better. Enjoy, my lovelies.