The Finch Curse

chapter 4

Chapter 4 - Headline of the Century (No Really)

Thursday: Afternoon - Evening

America

I stood alone in the ravaged room, unsure of what to do. Quietly I helped clean the things that USSR had left behind and headed back home. I slid in through the back door of the kitchen, tossing out the note and making my way to my room.

I can't believe he's alive... how is he alive? Where is his eyepatch, isn't he super secretive about his gold eye? Does his family know? What fuck is going on? My thoughts rattled around in my head, one after another rushing through my brain. Am I imaging things? I felt him though...and why was his behavior so off? I thought he hated me, now he's nice? I have no fucking clue, my god.

I worried most that he would cause trouble. He had seemed fairly inconspicuous earlier, but who knew what he was up to. My hands went to fiddle with my glasses, when I didn't feel them on my face. Oh, right, I must've taken them off when I got home. I took them back with me to my desk, examining them for no reason, purely out of boredom. I went through the afternoon completely out of it, all that was on my mind was USSR. I wanted to tell someone, anyone! But who? Then, it clicked. I could tell Russia! I pulled out my phone and went over to Russia's DMs.

I let out a small grumble, then shut my phone off and ran downstairs.

Russia

Trees still surrounded me when America went back to spamming me with messages. While we messaged back and forth I contemplated what to do. I doubted he would tell anyone other than me, but hadn't planned for him saying anything.

I took off my father's coat and folded it up. Whenever I went out to the cabin I wore it, making me closer to him in a sense. The coat was a trench coat combined with details of the red army's uniform. The rest of the outfit- which I hadn't bothered with- was purely army-style- except the ushanka and turtleneck sweater-consisting of those silly puffy army pants and knee-high soldier boots. He never wore the iconic pilotka, instead opting for a more casual ushanka, handmade by himself. This part I always wore, it was a key part of any Russian outfit no matter the weather, equally comfortable, fashionable...and sentimental.

I thanked myself for choosing to wear jeans, as wearing sweatpants would have clashed with the outfit. I shoved the coat in my bag and headed back inside, rushing to my room. I didn't want my siblings to see I had changed again, it terrified them when I did. Partially because my father was terrifying, and because they knew something had happened if I did change.

Why had I changed today anyway...? Oh, right. A gang had approached me, one unaware of who I was, and had tried to rob me. My curse had subconsciously become active, and because of that, some ran off...but not all. I still ended up having to hurt one of them, and barely could hold myself back from throwing another. I didn't think, I just acted by fighting back.

In moments like these I hated the curse. It was fun to scare thugs away, but I hated hurting people with my powers, and I felt guilty that they wouldn't pin the blame on me, but my father. At this point it had become a myth, tales of an undead regime brutally attacking those who pestered him. I didn't want to pitch the blame onto him, but I couldn't control it. I just hoped he didn't mind.

I packed up my things and swapped out my bandages. Wait...did I really pat his head? What did I do that? I tried reassure myself. It has nothing to do with liking him, I was just doing it as a dad would. Yeah, just like a dad. I slid my ushanka within its special drawer and headed to sleep.

ʚ ɞ

BLYATTTT I RAN OUT OF IDEAS

I MEAN I AHVE IDEAS BUT TEHY ALL POOFED??? OR LEFTMY BRAIN HAHA :')
IDK UHH HOPE U ENJOYED!!

Dec. 6, 2020