Prove Me Wrong (Rusame)

Worried Trio

Didn't do accents for this one just to see how it feels for now. If it doesn't vibe right I'll probably go back to it.

Narrator's POV

America was laying in bed, clicking off and back onto his messages with Russia. He had been trying to get ahold of him for a while now but was met with silence on the other end, even being left on read would have brought him some comfort by now. But there was nothing. He wasn't active on anything, everything saying he was on a few days ago.

He wasn't just ignoring America, he had been completely ignored everything.

It was a little comforting, knowing that it wasn't just him. But still, that begged the question; where was he?

"Come on, Ruski," America mumbled to himself, his voice dry and husky. He winced as soon as he spoke, shutting his eyes from the pain. His throat was still sore, putting it lightly, having just had yet another episode the day before. He could barely speak still, not without sounding like a heavy smoker that lived in a place where the air was only smoke and smog.

His voice was like that when he awoke back in his bed a few days ago. It hurt to speak, to even move actually. His wrists stung from being restrained, a feeling that now became overly familiar and always intertwined with shame and guilt. He was never told what happened, but it wasn't necessary to. It was the same, screaming, fighting, every now and then breaking free from his restraints and attacking his family. There was nothing much to be said about it, not that America would have liked to anyways.

Something did feel different about the episode he had when he was with Russia last. America couldn't put words to it, but it didn't feel the same as the others. He couldn't remember what had happened, not past a certain point, which made it hard to explain. How could he feel different about an event he doesn't properly remember, it made him sound crazy.

At least that's what America believed.

His bedroom door opened, America instinctively shutting off his phone. Standing in his doorway was Canada, who held the doorknob and leaned in as if stepping a foot beyond the threshold would bring upon it something horrible. Of course, he was always walking on eggshells during the aftermath of a rather violent episode from America.

"America? How are you feeling?"

"Like shit," he forced out, holding back an expression of pain.

"Aussie found another one of those small little rabbits if you wanted to see it. He-he said he would bring it up here, cause ya know," Canada rubbed the back of his hands, nervously gesturing towards America and then fidgeting with his hands.

America tried to sit up, his arms trembling from the effort and his blanket he had wrapped around himself falling off his shoulders. He tried to talk again, but his voice failed as soon as he tried to form his response.

"Did you want me to bring you up water? Or something to eat? I can tell Aussie not right now, too, if you need-" Canada was interrupted when America held up his hand.

"I'm fine, just my throat," America signed with trembling hands instead of talking. "He can come up here."

Canada nodded, turning to leave but then he paused, looking back to America. He asked, "Is there anything I can do for you?"

America thought for a second, looking down at his phone. With his hands, he asked, "can you get ahold of Ukraine or Kaz to see where Russia is at?"

"Of course, I'll be right back then," Canada nodded before quickly leaving. He hadn't spoken with Ukraine in a little while, only doing so to make sure she was okay and if she needed a cover. Of course, they'd talk as friends too, but Canada had been drifting away a little with everything that had been going on. No one could blame him of course, but he still managed to put unnecessary shame onto himself.