Handling a Crisis

Chapter Five: Out for Lunch

Edit: translation fix

Oh my— over one hundred reads??? Thank y'all so much!

Anyways, before we start, here are some trigger warning: mentions of knives, blood, and war.

Once again, please comment anything I can do better and translations are down below.

Let's go back a little, shall we?

Russia had just finished loading his car when he saw something move out of the corner of his eye. He stiffened, now on-guard. Reaching for the small knife he kept in his pocket, he opened the car door and looked around. The parking lot was devoid of people, all because of the pandemic, and countryhumans.

There was another sign of movement to Russia's right along with the sound of footsteps against asphalt. Russia turned, but saw no one there.

"Есди ето шутка, то вы делаете огромную ошибку," he muttered.

He saw something grey move quickly on his right. Russia swiftly pulled the knife out of his pocket, threw in the direction he heard the noise, and heard someone skid to a halt along with a dull thunk. Russia turned around and saw that his knife had pierced someone's shirt and had pinned the stranger to a tree.

This mysterious someone had mud and dirt all over their face, so it was hard to tell what their face looked like. As far as Russia could tell, their skin was red, meaning the person was a countryhuman. The stranger wore a grey military uniform that had gold tassels, buttons, and embellishments.

Russia strode over to the person and stood over them, arms crossed. "Vho arrre you?" he growled.

The countryhuman shrunk away from him. "Help," he rasped in a funny accent. "My brother. I need to see—" He coughed into his sleeve. Russia could see blood on it as the man moved his arm. "I need to see my brother."

Russia pulled his knife out of the country's uniform, allowing him to completely collapse to the floor, and then held the knife's point up to the country, ready to stab him if he made any moves against Russia. "Vhat is yourrr name?" he asked.

"Con..." The country didn't finish as he fainted.

"Дерьмо." Russia knelt down next to the country and shook him. "Vake up. Hey, vake up." The man didn't wake up.

Sighing, Russia picked up the country and set him down in the passenger seat of his car. Being an intimidating-looking country had its perks and downfalls. This was one of the downfalls.

"Отлично, теперь я должен позаботиться о тебе," Russia sighed as he drove out of the parking lot.

He drove in silence, looking at the street names as he tried to navigate his way to the hospital. Halfway there, the country shifted and looked around.

"Where the hell are we?" he asked.

"Verrrnon Strrreet," Russia answered, not taking his eyes off the road.

The country sighed. "Alright, lemme reword that. What is this thing we're sittin' in?"

Russia stopped at a red light and looked at the country, confused. "A Lada?"

"What's a Lada?"

"A type of carrr?"

The country tilted his head. "The hell's a 'car'?"

"Vhat time perrriod arrre  you living in? Ze nineteenth centurrry?" Russia scoffed sarcastically.

"Ain't it, though? Oh, and, uh, please don't take me to a hospital," the country requested as the light turned green.