Prove Me Wrong (Rusame)

Fucking Finally

Russia's POV

Belarus and Kaz walked beside me as we made our way to the entrance of the school. Bel was talking about her class, Kaz adding in his jokes and suggestions to her questions. They both were laughing and smiling at whatever it was they were talking about. I was trying my best to pay attention, trying to talk and laugh with them, but I couldn’t help but keep my focus forward.

Ahead of us was America, New Zealand, and Australia. They were talking amongst themselves as well, America's laughter stealing my attention the most.  I couldn't help but smile at seeing him look carefree and relaxed.

But when I noticed it, I would stop myself and try to pay attention to the conversation.

"Такім чынам, Зе старэйшы за Аўстралію, якую я доўга не ведаў. (So Ze is actually older than Australia, which I didn't know for the longest time.)"

"сен қалай үлкен құрлықты сағынасың оның орнына аралды тауып алыңыз? (How do you miss a big continent and find an island on the other side of it instead?)"

"Лодкі такія смешныя, напэўна? (Boats are funny like that I guess?)"

I nodded along once more, not finding anything to say. I didn't really care who was older than who, but I know Belarus was close friends with New Zealand and she probably cared.

America's loud voice and laughter caught my attention again and I looked to see what he was doing. He was holding his bag and a pen out, acting as a sword and shield to fence against Australia. He looked ridiculous acting like a child, and I chuckled softly watching him.

My vision went dark for a moment as I felt the fur of my ushanka cover my eyes, someone's arms wrapped around me tightly and them jumping onto my shoulders.

"Russia, look! It's the American you like so much!" Kazakstan shouted, trying to get his attention.

"Kaz, be quiet!" I tried to get him to get off of me and to let go of my head, my face buzzing warmly from the embarrassment. I got him to move enough for me to lift my ushanka from my eyes and saw that America had turned around. He saw me and waved to me, smiling brightly. I waved back slightly, seething in embarrassment.

"Ай, ты ўсміхаешся! (Aww, you're smiling.)" Bel poked my cheek and I swatted her hand away.

"Нет. Каз просто дергает меня за моё лицо, (No, I wasn't. Kaz is just pulling on my face,)" I pushed Kaz off of my shoulders, his wings hitting me as I did. He needs to stop making a habit of jumping onto my shoulders, I almost body-slammed him a few times cause he gave me no warning.

"Өтінемін бауырым, oл саған ұнайды. Oл саған ұнайды көп. (Please, brother, you like him. You like him a lot.)" Kaz pulled on my ushanka flaps to cover my face again, at this point to irritate me. "Сіз шындықты жаба алмайсыз (You can't hide the truth.)"

I glared at him and adjusted my appearance once more. "В последний раз повторяю, Америка просто мой товарищ, мой друг! (For the last time, I'm not gay! America is just a comrade, a friend!)"

The two stood in front of me, their arms crossed and eyebrows raised. Their entire stance and expression said their words for them. They didn't believe a word I said in that sentence.

Bel rolled her eyes but looked past me, saying, "Эй, хто цалуе Амерыка? (Hey, who's that kissing America?)"

"Кто кому делает чего!? (Who's who doing what!?)" I spun around, curling my hands into fists ready to punch whoever it was touching my America. I stopped mid-step when I noticed that America was at his locker still talking with his brothers. There was no other country close enough to them to have even been kissing him, either.

Belarus's laughter from behind me, along with Kaz's snickering made me realized I was just tricked. My face fell and I let out a deep sigh, restraining myself from attacking them.

"Калі вам гэта не падабаецца, то чаму вы дбаеце? (If you don’t like him then why do you care if he kissed someone else?)" Belarus asked me in a taunting voice, no doubt wearing her smug smile. I crossed my arms and slowly pivoted to face them again.

"Я же не, я просто- (I didn't, I just-)"

"істедің, бұған сен де ашуландың!(You did, you got all angry about it too!)" Kaz cut me off. "oл саған ұнайды оны өзіңізде мойындаңыз. (You like him, just admit it to yourself already.)"

"Здесь нечего признаватать для вас обоих! (There is nothing to admit to you two!)" I argued back, starting to get desperate. Bel rolled her eyes at me and shook her head once more.

"Вы калі-небудзь любілі дзяўчыну, Расія? (Russia, have you ever had a crush? On a girl?)"

For a moment, there was a sudden wave of remembrance that washed over me. I had heard those words before, but it felt like a long-forgotten dream and I felt suddenly like I was in a spotlight.

"Я заўважыў, (Cause as far as I noticed," Bel continued in her mothering voice stealing me from that quick strange moment, " вам не падабаецца ніхто, акрамя Амерыка. (you haven't ever batted an eye at someone until America came around.)"

I rubbed my neck and shoved my hand into my jean pocket. My gaze was lowered to the floor and I couldn’t bring myself to raise it. Belarus was smart, too smart in fact. She could easily sniff out the truth just as easily as I could. It was exhausting trying to hide things from her, especially when she could figure things out before you. She did learn it from me, after all.

"Ребят, я не знаю. Всё это настолько сбивает с толку. Я не знаю, что и думать об этом. (Guys, I don't know. Everything is so confusing. I don't know what to think.)"

They must have heard my change in tone cause they adjusted themselves from spitefully doubtful to comforting.

"онда ойланба. (Then don't think.)" Kaz wrapped his wing around me as a form of comfort and Bel patted my shoulder.

"Вы робіце гэта занадта шмат. Проста адчуваю. (You do too much of that, for once just feel."

"Hey, Bel!"

We looked up to see New Zealand standing by the doors, his two brothers no longer with him. For a moment I was disappointed I couldn't see America before he left.

My sister smiled widely however and waved to him. "Я да гэтага часу пабачымся. Арменія гатуе вячэру, добра? (I'll see you two later, alright? It's Armenia's turn to make supper, remind him for me, okay?)"

After her rather rushed reminder, she quickly ran off to join with New Zealand. At this point, it seemed like the only sibling of that family that hadn't been over a lot was Australia. Although America was over more often than any of them.

He was busy today, helping Scotland with some personal problems. He said he owed the country and couldn’t hang out today. It disappointed me, I admit, but it did free up my afternoon to drink. Kaz was going to hang with his friends and brother today, and Armenia wouldn't bother me if I asked him not to. Ukraine was on another date with Canada, and it's not like she would bother me anyway.

Normally, I'd walk with one of my siblings, even if it was only for a few minutes, but Kaz flew off and everyone was conveniently busy today. Being alone would be good for me anyway, I needed to think and clear my thoughts.

"Բարի օր, (Good afternoon,) " Armenia greeted me when I walked in. He was sitting on the couch, watching TV and I grunted as a response. He nodded and went back to his show, knowing to leave me alone. I would remind him to make supper, but first I have to drink.

I grab a bottle of vodka to take to my room so I can work on some papers while I slowly succumb to the alcohol.

Տխուր ես թվում, լավ ես? (You seem down, are you ok?) Armenia turned to me when he noticed me about to walk up the stairs. He looked down at my hand and noticed the drink. "Զգույշ կլինես չէ՞? (Are you going to be safe?)"

I nodded and walked up the stairs.

"Твоя очередь заниматься ужином.(It's your turn to make dinner.)"

~~~~~~~~~

Narrator's POV

Russia was slumped over on the kitchen floor, his back against the cupboards. He held an empty bottle of vodka and would raise it to his mouth, only to realize he needed to get another one. Still, he never stood to get more. So he sat there in a loop of staring into space, raising his glass and becoming disappointed.

He was only broke free from his repetitive state once the bottle dropped from his hand. Still, it took him a moment to realize it. His mind was foggy and he was desperately trying to see through that fog. What was it? What was he trying to remember? Once he managed to push through his drunken blurred thoughts, he felt utterly defeated. There through that fog where his most recent persistent thoughts. It was like an image of America was standing further back, just right there beckoning him like a siren. He's been standing in that fog for months now, not wanting to go forward but feeling drawn to. It was as if there were whispering chains, grabbing his wrists and ankles, holding him in place, giving him reasons not to go.

"Он же парень, не правильно это.(He's a guy, it's not right.)"

"Америке нельзя доверять. (America can't be trusted.)"

"Ты будешь слишком заметен, тебе придется прятаться. (You'll be too exposed, you have to stay hidden.)"

"Найди уже себе женщину, вон там стоит оличный вариант специально для тебя. (Find a woman, the right one is out there for you.)"

"Сынок, я хочу, чтобы ты держался подальше от Америки. (Son, I want you to stay away from America.)"

And just like that, he would fall into hopelessness. A finale whisper, a finale chain that keeps him in place.

He remembered when his father told him that. He was still a young country, happy to see his father come home after his day at work. He was angry or looked angry, but he looked that way to everyone. Russia would see his father's face and know only the caring one under it.

Still, he knew enough to keep his distance when he was like this.

Soviet had looked exhausted, taking off his coat and boots. He spotted Russia and still no doubt angry from another encounter with America, told him to stay away from the country. He'll use him, turn him against his own father. He'll try to change him with his capitalist propaganda.

The idea of that scared young Russia.

At this time, Soviet didn't know how much Russia would take his words and orders to heart. Listening to them long after he had passed. Even his warnings against homosexuality were still there, and he still felt compelled to listen to them. Deep in his subconscious, even if he doesn’t realize it.

"Мужчины, которым нравятся другие мужчины, опасны. Они те еще манипуляторы, причиняют боль другим, лишь бы заполучить желаемое. Нападут и используют тебя. Будь осторожен, мой мальчик. (Men who like men are dangerous. They are manipulators, hurting people to get what they want. They'll attack you, and use you. Be cautious, boy.)"

Russia turned his head down to see the empty bottle on its side. He needed another one but couldn’t find the strength to get up. His limbs felt heavy, and he was barely keeping his head up. Maybe he could just lay there and think for a little while longer. He's been avoiding it all this time he might as well deal with it now.

He likes America.

More than a friend.

He's known this for a while, he's not stupid just in denial. But now was when he decided to sit down and deal with it. How could he deal with this anyway? He's never really had a crush before and knew very little about having one on a guy. All he's ever seen was straight relationships, so it's not like he could find a tutorial. Maybe he could ask someone.

Wait, he can't let this get out.

Russia? Liking a guy? No, it'll surely ruin his relations with other countries, especially the homophobic ones. He can't do this. But he doesn't want to hide from his feelings anymore. He shouldn’t have to, no matter what those other countries could say or do.

Being with America is confusing. He makes you feel like you are someone who deserves love, support, and friends, but as you step back and remember who you are. You realize your world is different. It isn't like how you want it to be. And right then Russia just wants answers.

He looked around the kitchen looking for someone to ask but frowned when he saw he was alone. His eyes swept the room a few more times before settling on the chair no one dared to touch.

"Пап, вот бы ты был здесь. (Dad, I wish you were here.)" He spoke aloud to the air, his words slurring. The silence that answered him made him curl into himself a little. "Ты смог бы мне все объяснить. Всё это черезчур трудно. (You could explain everything to me. It's too hard.)"

He tried to imagine his father sitting down next to him, dressed in more homey clothes with a drink in hand. He would smell of vodka, coal, and cigarettes, a smell Russia associated with home and his father. He could see him clearly in his mind, looking slightly amused but trying to hide it. He always had to explain probable common circumstance to him, and found joy in Russia's confused childlike innocence.

"Вот вырастишь, тогда все поймешь. (You'll understand when you're older,)" he'd say. Or maybe, "На бумажке то все просто, но на деле же все куда сложнее. А впрочем, это всегда так и со всем выходит. (It's simple on paper, but hard in action. Everything will be like that, though.)"

Him and his confusing fortune cookie words. He had to have gotten that vaugness from China. How did he ever understand his words? Was he smarter as a kid? Or just not drunk?

Russia tried to stand again and managed to lift himself up before he took one step and fell right back down. Tired, and ready to give up, he sprawled himself on the floor and tried to find that bottle he dropped. Once he had it, he curled himself around it and tried to pretend it was America. He always made falling asleep seem safe.

Oh, sleep. Sleep felt good.

"Не дрыхни тут, а ну вставай. (Don't sleep here, get up.)"

Too late. Body on autopilot.

With that last thought, Russia slipped into a drunken sleep.

When he woke, he had a headache and a dry throat. Used to both of those, he gave himself a moment to wake up and remember everything that had happened. School, home, room, vodka, food, more vodka, siblings sleep, more vodka, kitchen floor, even more vodka there. Did he fall asleep? Well, yeah he must have he just woke up.

As he moved to stand up off the kitchen floor he heard a creak of his mattress. He opened his eyes and saw that he wasn’t on the kitchen floor, rather he was on his bed in his room.

Confused, he looked around and noted that the covers around him were neat, evenly spread, almost like he had been tucked in. On his nightstand was his hat folded to sit complacently next to a glass of what looked like water. Oh, water would feel nice on his throat, so he without thought took the drink and slowly sipped on it. He must've blacked out some time and brought himself to his room. Normally though he isn't as careful or neat. Maybe one of his siblings helped him up and left him the water.

Blacking out wasn’t in question, though. He knew that once you start blacking out it gets progressively easier to. Maybe he should tone down the drinks for a while. The last thing he wants is to get blackout drunk around other people.

Namely America.

At that thought, Russia remembered. He needed to talk to Poland. He's the only country he could trust with this.

((Look who's coming to terms with everything. Step one, admit it. Step two, beg for help from your openly gay friend. Ahh, memories. I would list the other steps, but as River Song says, spoilers. And I will be semi-busy this week so the next chapter will either seem short or take longer to write I can't say for sure yet.

Credits to LorelySeal, jesuschristhelpmeplz, and starry-lady37 for helping me with the translations! I deeply appreciate them so give them love.))

Ësgöge'ae' comrades!

~Galaxy