Prove Me Wrong (Rusame)

Hello Dad

((There is a slight trigger warning here, too, so please read with caution. Also, the accents were taken out to get it in on time, and cause I'm severely sleep deprived right now. When I wake up I'll add them it tho. ))
 
Russia's POV

It had been a long time since I had seen America.
 
Why that thought popped in my head then, I didn’t know or care for. I shook my head free of memories and stared at the stone in front of me. The sides were clean, well cared for. There was no sign of weathering to it, only the snow had gathered around it. When enough fell and piled onto the stone, I quickly brushed it off.
 
The cold wind bit at my open skin, a feeling I was always used to. I would normally be wearing my brown sweater, but America had it. It was okay, I was happy he had it.
 
I shook my head again, trying to free myself of America relate thoughts. But the harder I tried, the more they popped up.
 
How was he doing?
 
Is he okay?
 
Why did he lie?
 
Is his dad still mad at me?
 
After they had made it close to the path they had run into Canada. He was no longer in costume, a sign that it was past the night of Halloween by then. Everything was a blur, it had happened so fast. America’s family had learned that he had gone missing with me and they came out here searching for him. It hadn't been long, maybe around a day.
 
Canada had quickly taken America from my arms, holding him close and crying into his shoulders. In his sobs, I heard words such as; lost, prank, Phil was dead and then he wasn’t, wendigo, a camera, a trail, and a dead end. Incoherent, I would later learn the full story from Vietnam. America went quickly into an explanation, one that was in no way true. He spun a web of lies about how we had gotten the idea to scare the group, just hide in the bushes and wait to jump out at them all. But then, in the darkness of trying to find a good hiding spot, we got turned around and lost. Something chased us, a weird animal thing (Canada quickly filled in something he called a Wendigo) and we got even more lost and America had fallen down a cliffside. We stayed in a cave for the night and tried to find our way home after the sun rose.
 
With how detailed he made his story, I thought that’s what he was thinking about the entire time we were walking to the paths.
 
“How are you doing?” A hand was set on my arm.
 
I looked down to see Belarus next to me. She was bundled up, her breath clear in front of her. In her hand was a glass mug that had steam rising from it. She nudged it towards me, and I greatly took it. Even though I was feeling a little warm, an odd feeling since I wasn’t bundled up and it was snowing all around me, the gesture was still nice.
 
We stood there in silence, looking down at the barren scene in front of us. The backyard that was filled with flowers of all kinds in the warmer months was now white and bare, the only thing seen was the tombstone in front of us.
 
Belarus sat down on the bench behind us, a stone matching the grave marker it faced.
 
“все внутри, почему бы тебе не присоединиться к нам? (Everyone is inside, why don’t you join us?)”
 
I took a drink of the warm liquid, tasting the alcohol that was in it, too. It didn’t have enough, so I took out my flask and poured some vodka into it.
 
“Россия, я волнуюсь. Вы знаете, что мы не можем оставить вас одних сегодня. (Russia, I'm worried. You know we can't leave you alone today.)” She tugged on my sweater sleeve. I didn’t acknowledge her, I just looked down at my drink. “Уже поздно, вы должны войти внутрь. Ешь что-нибудь, у тебя ничего не было с завтрака. (It's getting late, you should come inside. Eat something, you haven't had anything since breakfast.)”
 
Late? Since breakfast? I came outside a little while after that, had I been out here that long?
 
“Я пойду внутрь немного. (I’ll go inside in a bit.)” I quietly mumbled, holding my drink up close to my mouth. The steam rose off of it, warming my face all while making me feel like I was in a humid place.
 
It reminded me of the caves.
 
“хорошо. (Good.)” She said but didn’t stand up to leave.
 
I stood in place, looking down at the tombstone. A few specs of snow had gathered but didn’t cover the top, nor the base enough for me to clean it off. I had taken a bottle of vodka and place it on the base, a drink for him since we both needed one. Normally, from what I’ve seen at least, people would dump the drink onto the grave itself for the body underneath. But we weren't left a body.
 
I shook my head free of the memories I didn’t want. To keep them at bay, I chugged down the warm drink. Hopefully, the alcohol will hit me before my memories do.
 
After a while, I heard shivering behind me. I turned to see Belarus straighten herself out and pretended she hadn't been cold. It had gotten darker, what little light that could still be left was covered by the dark storm clouds. I knew a heavy storm was coming, but usually, I’d feel the cold before I saw it, and right now I felt warmer than I would usually.
 
Ignoring that, I asked Belarus, “почему бы тебе не зайти внутрь сейчас? Твой холод. (why don’t you go inside for now? Your cold.)”
 
“нет я не. (No, I’m not.)” She argued back, crossing her arms over her chest. “Кроме того, если бы я должен был войти внутрь, ты тоже должен был бы прийти. (Besides, if I was to go inside, you would have to come along, too.)”
 
I looked back at the tombstone and hesitated on the carved words. “Я пойду внутрь, просто дай мне еще десять минут. (I’ll go inside, just give me ten more minutes.)”
 
She must have heard the sadness in my voice because she swiftly got up and wrapped her arms around my waist in a tight hug. “Вы обещаете, что? (Do you promise?)”
 
I looked down, seeing her gloved hands. I loosely patted her arms at my sides and nodded my head. “я обещаю.  (I promise.)”
 
“Хорошо, потому что нам нужен наш тупой старший брат. (Good, cause we need our dumb big brother.)” She sniffled and playfully punched my arm. I smiled and spun around to face her, shoving her lightly.
 
“Заткнись, ты знаешь, я единственный, у кого мозги в этой семье. (Shut up, you know I’m the only one with brains in this family.)”
 
She laughed, a sound that lifted my spirits. I managed to keep up my smile long enough for her to turn away and walk back to the house. When she reached the back door, she turned around and waved to me. I returned the favor and watched her go back inside, the warm light quickly swallowing her image.
 
My frown returned then.
 
Tired from standing, I sat down on the bench, brushing aside the rest of the snow that had gathered. I set the empty cup next to me, a mediocre companion compared to the company of anyone I had been with all day.
 
“Привет, пап. (Hey dad,)” I spoke quietly, scared that my voice would somehow cut through the peaceful scene and ruin it.
 
“Нам удалось не убивать друг друга, поэтому вы можете отметить еще один год для этого. (We managed not to kill each other, so you can mark another year down for that.)” I chuckled, trying to keep my own spirits up. Even with that, it didn’t work. It never seems to, huh? “мы скучаем по тебе. (We miss you.)”
 
A loud shrill of laughter came from the house and cut me off.
 
“ Я скучаю по тебе. (I miss you.)” I slumped forward and covered my face with my hands. The cold air bit at them sharply, the tips burning from the cold. Instinctively, I tried to bury them under the fur from the top of my hat. It did little to help them.
 
I had so much I wanted to say to him, so much to ask, so much to argue about, so much to do. Ever time I came out here, everything I’ve managed to shove down inside comes right back up and I can barely keep myself from crying. We were all so young when he left us, and I tried my best to stop it from happening. I tried to keep us together, I tried to keep him from breaking apart but it didn’t work.
 
He held my hand, and it almost felt like he wasn’t there. It was obvious long before this day that he was breaking. I would see him in pain, for small moments, before he quickly covered it up. Small cracks started appearing, and he would always hide them. At first, they didn’t seem too serious. He would always wave off my worry and seeing him dismiss it so quickly, I thought it was fine.
 
How foolish was i?
 
“Russia!!!!”
 
I turned around to see Belarus standing in the doorway again. Seeing her reminded me that I promised I would be inside in ten minutes. My time must have been up, and she was here to remind me.
 
I stood up ready to go back inside, but she added something and it made me pause.
 
“America is here!”
 
America?
 
I looked back to the headstone and sat back down. “Tell him to go away!”
 
I took what was left in my flask and downed it all. Why the hell would America come here? Especially today, he knew what today was. He hated my dad, and he hated him. Why the hell would he fucking bother? I've been shoving him away for a reason.
 
In my moment of anger, I didn’t hear the footsteps behind me.
 
“Hey, Ruski?”
 
I whipped my head around and shot daggers with my eyes. America jumped away, fumbling with the box in his hands. It was a present, one probably meant for me. I didn’t care, I just wanted to be left alone.
 
Without a word, I turned and had my back faced to him once more.
 
“Still mad?”
 
I grunted as a response.
 
My eyes were narrowed, trained on the grave in front of me. I listened intently, however, to the country behind me. He stayed in place for a few seconds, then slowly shuffled his way over to me. Even if he wanted to be quiet, the packed snow crunched under his boots and did little to help him.
 
“I’m sorry if I hurt you, I just wanted to give this to you.”
 
He set the box down next to me, pushing my mug to the side. I glanced at it and looked back to the headstone. Really? Classic America trying to fix a problem with materialistic things. Nothing ever changes with him.
 
“And, I just.” He sighed and I heard him kick the snow. “I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
 
I turned my head to look at him. He was standing there, closed into himself and rubbing his arm nervously. He was bundled up, his jacket making a sound as it was rubbed up against himself, and the only exposed skin was his mouth and eyes. As much as his eyes can be exposed, his signature sunglasses were covering them. I always found it amusing how much he covered himself up during the cold. Meanwhile, here I was in a sweater. No gloves, or scarf. Just my ushanka.
 
“I’m fine. Now leave.”
 
“No.”
 
I blinked. He certainly has kept his boldness, now hasn’t he?
 
“Why not?” I growled, turning away from him.
 
“Because.” He nudged the present towards me. “I want you to open this.”
 
“Will you leave?”
 
After a moment, he quickly said, “if you want me to, yes.”
 
Satisfied, I took the present and set it in my lap. In a rush to get rid of him, I quickly tore open the gift and practically ripped apart the box. Once I had it open though, I paused.
 
“Your father gave that to me.”
 
I almost didn’t hear him. I slowly reached into the box and pulled out America’s gift for me. It was a leather-bound journal, stamped onto the cover was my father’s symbol of the hammer and sickle. The edges of the book were faded, pulled tight with each hand stitch that held the leather in its place.
 
“What is this?”
 
America’s voice came out slowly, distorted as if he was underwater. “Your father’s journal.”
 
With shaking hands, I undid the leather strap. It had resistance to it, stiff when I pulled it. It had been held in place for a long time. The spine cracked as it opened, the paper whiter than the yellowed sides of it. As soon as I did open it, a rush of an old smell hit my nose, mixed in with the smell of the leather and vodka. Written in Russian, I recognized my dad’s handwriting. I traced my hand over the paper, feeling every fiber and the indents from the pressure of the pen. In some places, the ink was slightly smudged in the direction of my father’s hand moving across the page as he wrote.
 
Quickly I scanned the entire page, moving onto the next, the next, and the next until I reached the last written page. In what used to be clam formal writing was turned frantic, messy and rushed. I stopped on this page long enough to read it.
 
I know my time is coming to an end, as everything must. My only worry is not of my legacy, my power, or my history. It's of my children.
 
They have all left, drifted apart. Away from me and my home. After all these years, I have done little to earn the right to keep them with me. To call them mine.
 
The only one who hasn’t lost his faith in me is Russia. I see him every day, trying to keep everyone together and to keep us all smiling. The poor boy refuses to see the truth, ignoring what I now know was wrong. Perhaps I let myself fall under the same illusion he kept himself under. Now I have learned reality, unfortunately too late.
 
I don’t know for certain what will happen, but I can hope that my boy will be okay after I am gone. But hope does little for us now, doesn’t it? I have made a plan to give this journal to my former enemy, America, to hold onto until Russia needs it. I hope he learns from my mistakes, from how I lived and is able to be better.
 
And if everything did manage out as I plan, my son, you should be reading this. If you are, I want you to know something.
 
I love you.
 
-Your father, USSR
My vision blurred and my breath was caught in my throat as I felt tears going down my cheeks. I held my hand over my mouth as I reread those short paragraphs again, and once more.
 
“Russia, you okay?” I heard my father’s voice ask. I looked up with wide eyes to see America sitting next to me. He wore a worried frown and his body was turned towards me,  giving me full attention as he awaited my answer. Caught in my memories, I thought I heard my dad speak when it had been America who had done it.
 
I looked back down at the page in front of me, carefully shutting it to prevent my tears from damaging the page and ink. The cold stung my skin, fallowing the path of tears. The feeling of that was sharper than any blade I could have ever felt.
 
Gently I set the book down into the box and stared at it.
 
“N-nyet.” My voice turned into a croak as a sob was caught in my throat. For once, I spoke the truth. Acting as a floodgate, tears rushed from my eyes and I began to sob into my hands. I tried to stop myself from crying, trying to hold back the tears, my sobs but every time I tried, I cried out harder. The cold air stung my throat as I tried to catch my breath, like a knife stabbing me every time I inhaled. My hands gathered the tears, dripping down my palms and stinging my wrists.
 
America held me in a hug, and desperate for some form of comfort I buried my head into his neck and wrapped my arms around him tightly. I must have surprised him because he let out a yelp before rubbing my back in an effort to help me. It didn’t help, not as much as I would have liked. I just wanted this all to stop and to go away, I would have done anything at the moment to stop the pain. I hated it when I felt like this, my arms shaking and my legs suddenly lose their function. My head spinning with thoughts, each passing too fast for me to fully understand why it was there. Hidden in the crook of his neck, I found it hard to breathe and the heat of my rapid breathing suffocated me more. But I didn’t dare reveal my face to the cold, in fear of someone seeing me as I was.
 
“It was all my fault.” I cried between gasps. My breath hitched every time I tried to stop the crying, every time I tried to stop my senseless hurting.
 
“I should, I should have seen it sooner, i-i-i—“
 
“Russia, this wasn’t your fault.”
 
“Yes, it was!” The salty taste of my own tears made me turn my head slightly so they could run down away from my mouth. That opened up the small air pocket I hide my face in, allowing new cool air to replace the humid warm one.
 
“I should have tried harder, I could have- I-I, I could have saved him. If it weren't for me, he-he wouldn’t be dead”
 
“Russia, don’t say that USSR, he-“
 
“He wrote it himself. I allowed him to believe everything was fine, if I wasn’t such an idiot I could have-“
 
“Russia, stop!”
 
I bit my tongue and paused, allowing him time to speak. Time I didn’t want to give away, not when I knew I would be left alone with my thoughts. I needed to say what was in my head, instead of festering in my own cage of a mind with them. I couldn’t allow myself to listen to them, or else.
 
“His death was not your fault, you were a kid, remember?”
 
Remember? Of course, I remembered, how could I forget being a stupid kid who couldn’t do anything to save the person I loved?
 
“Your dad loved you all more than anything, and he gave me that book to remind you of that. He knew you would need it, he knew what would happen and he wanted to make sure you had help.”
 
Why would anyone help me? I don’t deserve it, not when I could have done something to keep my family together. Not when I could have helped them when they all asked for it or did something to ease their pain. No, I had to be angry with everyone over things that weren't their fault. They couldn’t have known that their leaving would kill him, but I did. I was the one who knew and I didn’t do anything about it.
 
My wrists ached for the release of pain again.
 
“I want to help you, Russia, I really do. I want you to stop talking about yourself like that, you-you can't think like that.” He held me tighter and I peeked open my eyes. From here, I could see my room. In my room I had a new razor set on my dresser, waiting there to add to the new cuts I had. As much as I had wanted to stop, I had never shaken that feeling that deep down I knew I deserved it all. I always thought that it was my dad’s love for us all that kept him from speaking up, but now I knew it wasn’t. I had been the reason. And for that, I had to pay.
 
“You will just end up hurting yourself by doing so.”
 
I deserved what he didn’t want me to. But I knew America would stop me, I knew he believed what he said and in thinking that it wasn’t my fault. I, however, knew differently. But if I said any of that, he would stop me. And I didn’t want to be stopped.
 
“Russia?”
 
I sniffed, calming down slightly and finally was able to get a hold on picking myself back up.    “Can we go inside?”
 
America nodded, holding me out in front of him at arm's length. Even though I knew I didn’t deserve it, I still allowed myself to feel comfort within his touch.
 
In silence, we stood and I picked up my father’s journal, stopping to face my dad’s tombstone as America picked up the wrapping paper and stuffed it into the box. When he got everything, America wrapped his arm around mine to guide me back to my house. The snow was packed down into a thin path back to the door with a few inches of white powered gathering on it. The snow hadn’t let up, coming down in a white sheet.
 
“You want to go up to your room and just talk?”
 
“I . . . I actually rather just be alone.” I tried to shake him off again.
 
“I don’t want to leave you alone, not for a little while at least.” He stopped me and held my hands, covering the journal. I looked down at him, seeing my reflection in his shades. “You are too set in your ways to believe that this wasn’t your fault so easily. So please,” he moved his hands up to my arms. “Please don’t go off on your own.”
 
I looked down at his face, not understanding why he bothered to put so much effort into worrying about me. It would all be a waste, cause I knew the moment I could get away from him I would go right upstairs. But I couldn’t do anything if he was following me the entire time.
 
“I won’t.”
 
“Good.”
 
Then we walked back into the house, being greeted by the warmth inside. Voices came from the living room and kitchen area, the smell of food still lingering in the air. I had cooked a smaller dinner than the one I had at our family get together since not every one of my siblings came. Ukraine, for instance, left to go and visit Georgia. Kaz and Belarus stayed, but planned to go with Kyrgyzstan back to his home and be back the next day. The few of my siblings that stayed for my dad or for me didn’t plan to stay long.
 
I took off my boats and America made me wait for him as he shed off the pounds of clothing he wore. My eyes widened when I saw he was wearing my brown sweater.
 
“You still have that?”
 
“Hmm?” America looked at me and followed my gaze down to the brown sweater that was big on him. “Yes, I do.”
 
“Why?”
 
He shrugged and answered, “I dunno. I like it, plus you gave it to me. So don’t even think about asking for it back.” Then he grabbed my arm, leading me to the living room filled with countries. Though I was emotionally exhausted, I found room to smile at his presence once more. How I missed it.
 
Maybe
 
. . . Maybe that razor could wait a little longer.

 
((The 26th was the anniversary of the collapse of the USSR in case anyone was wondering. Whoo! Two chapters in two days! It's almost unheard of XD.
 
Still, thank you all for reading and stay tuned, cause I feel a blizzard coming in.))

~ Ësgöge'ae' comrades!

Galaxy