Book 4 - Spring

XXV - Fine

Russia's arm is pulled, and he stumbles to his feet. The hallways blur around him, and he falls from one foot to the other. His head fills with cotton and his breath comes in gasps. A smaller hand takes his own, pulling him through the haze.

He sits down on a table with his legs dangling over the edge. The door is closed behind them.

"So, what is the main problem?" the doctor remarks, her eyes striking under the lights as she looks him up and down, her face set in a neutral expression.

"The burns on the back of my legs," he replies listlessly, gasping for breath.

She hums before lifting his legs. Russia leans back, hearing the dull thud of his head against the wall.

'I hope Meri is going to be okay.'

The ceiling blurs, and the hanging equipment twists. Streaks decorate the lights above. He feels his legs move like those of a marionette, lifted and placed on the table.

Then, the wall comes into view, just as blurred as the ceiling. Wall decorations smear against the walls, and everything spins. His legs are lifted and curled beside him, his head propped up on his arm

"Russ?"

Russia slowly turns his head to the noise. Everything doubles.

'Delaware?'

"Yes?" He rasps.

Delaware's silhouette sinks into his chair, his hands meeting his face on the way down. Russia squints.

"Delaware?"

"I thought you passed out, it's okay..."

The words dance around the room, mixing and turning through the pain and strange numbness.

'It's okay...?'

Russia swallows, and his heart pounds in his chest. He can feel his pulse in his stomach and behind his eyes.

'He sounds so unsure.'

He presses his shaking hands into the table.

"Hey, don't get up. Doc said she wouldn't be gone long," Delaware comments.

Russia collapses back into the bed. The room blinks black.

"You just gotta stay down."

The words are heavy, covering the room like a wet blanket.

'He sounds... wrong.'

"Are you okay?" Russia asks, squinting to see through the blur.

"Me?" Delaware asks with a chuckle. Then, he says something Russia doesn't hear, waving a hand with dismissal.

Russia's face crinkles.

"You don't sound okay," Russia comments softly, his voice not reaching his ears.

"I'm fine," Delaware promises, "besides, I've got other people to worry about right now."

"That does not mean you're okay."

"Yeah it does," Delaware says, audibly injecting optimism into his tone, "after all, somebody has to keep it together."

Russia closes his eyes, forcing air to fill his rib cage. He places his hands on the paper under him, feeling it crinkle. His legs brush against each other as he straightens them.

He throws his legs lackadaisically over the edge of the table, a numb warmth in his bloodstream.

"Russia," Delaware says, his tone more tired than scolding, "please?"