It was four in the morning when Russia came back to his senses, although nobody seemed to care about that.
May 23rd 1965, Moscow
Everyone-or anyone allowed out of their room- had gathered around the door. They didn't make a move to come in; both because they wanted to return to their sleep soon and because Soviet instructed them not to.
"Does anywhere hurt?" Soviet asked for the second time, sounding more demanding than worried. It was the thing that made the kids hush and pulled all the attention. Maybe it was because they grew up with it, but his tone was somewhat reassuring like that. As if he was taking this seriously-although he took everything too seriously sometimes. "How are you feeling?"
Russia had always felt secure around his father. He had grown up with him, without a mother, so he considered himself attached to Soviet and his beliefs. His father never caused him any harm. His father always protected him first and everything second, he was his firstborn, the only joy in a world so cruel. Everyone could have stabbed him in the back, and he would be sure they would, but not his papa.
Until that damned day, when he took him to the meetings for the first time to see that damned man's eyes. Everything, every feeling- they all went downhill from there. The nightmares started becoming more vague. The memories he didn't even know if he locked away started pouring back, all without a warning.
Russia i think Mister Soviet has something to do with this..
Russia turned his looks to his father, who hadn't pulled his eye away from him even for a second. His face was half lit up from the dim candle babushka had set up. It made his wrinkles visible and him look so much older than forty, but Russia doubted he cared about the angle. In the yellow light of the candle, his gray eye looked almost brown. As he raised his chin he looked even scarier.
"Soviet." Babushka sighed. "He has been in shock. Don't force him to talk."
Soviet crossed his arms. "I am not forcing, babushka."
"You know what this room needs?" Babushka ignored him. "It needs some..."
Russia didn't listen further.
He couldn't listen further. He couldn't when it required him to act as if nothing happened.
His eyes always turned to his father. It made his breathing quicken, it made his heart clench with anxiety. He felt like not enough oxygen was making its way to his lungs.
He fell through the ice.
Had he forgotten something? Was his mind really making up stuff from the trauma? Was he doubting his father for no real reason?
He searched inside his fragmented mind. He searched for a memory of how cold the water was, he searched for a memory of how the ice cracked under his shoes. He could barely make out something, but he felt something-definitely something, something for sure-
His father wouldn't lie. Why would he lie?
But then why was he this conflicted about it? He clearly could make out an ice breaking memory. His father was right. His mind, his child mind had made up stuff from the fear he had experienced. Maybe he was away more than he could remember. Maybe he had gotten out of the water, all by himself, or with a helping hand from someone-
But why did he have to ask this to himself? Why did he have the need to prove? Why now of all times? This was unusual, why did this start? When did this start?
He was fine two months ago. He was fine a month ago. He was fine a week-
Then it hit him, the realization-it hit every cell in his body that-
YOU ARE READING
Aftermath Plans || Amerus / Rusame
Non-Fiction"So what now, our alliance is over?" Russia licked his lips, his eyes were staring at just one point of the wooden desk. He could feel the other man's looks directed to his back, even though he didnt have any irises. Russia knew from experience at...
