Blue With White Stars | RusAme ✔️

Before the White Star

. . . During the Cold War's Ending Tention.

   Troops laid motionless on the ground with their flesh rotting at the unattended wounds. It was a bloody and paralyzing sight, one that Russia was not capable of seeing straight on.

This can't be true, it's all just a lie! The nation attempted to give reassurance and consolation to himself. It didn't work.

Friends of his were dead alongside him, all shot with American bullets to their bodies in numbers of places. The visual of war was brutal and Russia had no way of turning his back.

He was frozen in fear and his legs trembled among that fear. It was as if he was being forced to see this, being forced to watch what happens when the United States finds out every little secret.

Russia never understood the costs of him making a choice and official stand to commanding economic styles, and as long as he gazes over this sight, America had sent his message, loud and descriptive.

No, their not all dead, it's just my mind playing dirty tricks! He whimpers and chokes on his cries, ignoring every surrounding that sat in the Russian base camp.

His eyes trailed through the bodies that smeared the ground in crimson splatters and rivers. It's not real, just look away.

"You could've saved them, but you didn't." An American voice said from behind the Russian nation, a voice with a tint of disappointment and anger.

Russia turns his head and body, fully facing his belligerent that stood not to far away from him. "A-America." He stuttered at the nation.

"Well, how does it feel to be the one who made the wrong decision, hm?" America emphasized on his questioning, folding his arms over his chest.

"Y-you . . . Did this to me?" The Russian managed to get out from his mouth, completely dumbfounded to even speak.

"I'm glad you noticed dude, it wasn't so hard to do since you were gone."

"No, this isn't true, none of it is!"

"Oh it is, look around you and tell me if this is isn't a dream or not."

A tear ran from Russia's left eye, dropping onto the snow and disappearing. He didn't hold in the rest, for the tear trails already started to bolt down his cheeks.

America watched as the nation fell to the snow on his knees, slapping his hand over the sobbing sight of his eyes. "Crying won't help this anymore, you know that."

Russia gazed up with a deep glare, sending a shiver down the Americans spine. "What kind of person are you!" He paused for an answer, but didn't receive one. ". . . What kind of monster did you become."

The Americans heart dropped and his eyes widened at the words. A monster?

"I . . . monster?" He was speechless. Sure, it was satisfying to see his victory, but Russia made this worse than it already was.

A force took over America's full control, making him see the fallen nation as a disrespectful being. He pulled out the pistol that sat in his holster and pointed it towards the forehead of Russia.

The Russian didn't flinch at the cold metal against his head, he instead grabbed the gun and pushed it roughly onto his forehead. "Do it, you'll just be the horrible person you are anyways."

The American belligerent took hold of his actions and stared down his "enemy" with tinted blue eyes. He sighs and the Russian looks up at him in surprise of his lack of ruthlessness.