Rival Schools - RusAme

{Now They Know}

   America threw himself into his room, bracing himself against the door. Tears were streaming down his cheeks as he heard the angry footsteps approach, immediately taking a dive to under his bed. He covered himself with the items already stored under there, trying his best to hide his sobs and wipe his tears away.

   "YOU UNGRATEFUL FUCKING DISGRACE OF A SON," a voice yelled, slamming his door open. America's breath hitched and he found himself not breathing, tears now falling more quickly. "WHERE THE FUCK DID YOU GO?"

   He heard his closet door be yanked open followed by clothes being thrown onto the floor, his dressers being forced open as well. America knew his room would be such a mess and he'd be expected to clean it, even if it was his father's doing. Suddenly, some of the items that he was using to cover himself was yanked away, yet he himself was not. His father had failed to see him, but America could see him. And the mess.

   Once he screamed even more and slammed America's door shut after leaving, he shakily pulled his phone out his pocket and turned it on, searching for a specific contact.

   "Please pick up! Please! Please pick up!" he prayed quietly, not daring to move himself from under the bed. That would be a deathwish, as his father was not done.

   "Да? Hello?"

   "Rus... I'm so scared..."

   "America, what is going on? Are you okay?"

   "He's going to kill me, Rus.. he's going to kill-"

   America's door was slammed open again, America slowly placing his phone on the floor, face down. He was barely able to hear Russia from the other side of the call, only focusing on his father. He knew where he was, he knew that. He bent down and grabbed America's leg, yanking him from underneath the bed and grabbing him by the throat, holding him up.

"I'm sorry!" America tried to plead, tears once again appearing.

His father had no sympathy for him, throwing him back to the ground and kicking him, placing his foot right in his stomach each time. America cried out, begging for him to stop and for forgiveness, but none of his pleads were heard, only him being slammed into the wall.

"Dad, I'm sorry! Please!"

"YOU ARE A FUCKING DISGRACE TO THIS FAMILY! YOU WOULD BE NOTHING WITHOUT ME!"

He then kicked America in the head, leaving as he was now satisfied. He slammed the door once more, leaving America to only sob. It hurt, oh, how it hurt so bad! He held his head with one hand and his stomach with the other, throwing up anything he had in his system from days prior along with some blood, crying as he did so. He didn't even know what he did do get beat this time, all he could focus on was the pain.

"I'm sorry..." he repeatedly muttered, only not picking himself up from the puddle of tears, vomit, and blood that he created. He laid there, on the cold wooden floor, hoping nobody would see him in such an embarrassing state. He was hoping Canada, Aussie, and Kiwi wouldn't even dare enter his room to see the state of him, their only brother, the only person who tried to protect them. He was more than embarrassed and scared, he was guilty, guilty for something he didn't even know he did. Did they get a call him from school? Did they hear him talking about Russia one time?

   Slowly, he pushed himself up, taking a few steps towards his bed before collapsing again, sobbing loudly. He could barely even walk, he was hurting so much. He tried to crawl to his bed, but he could barely even move his legs, collapsing onto the floor once more. He now was looking under his bed as naturally, that's where his eyes were looking, but then he noticed something. His phone. He never hung up, did he?

   "Russia?" He muttered, slowly yet surely pushing himself closer to the phone. "I'm sorry." He managed to grab the phone and pull it to him, immediately pulling himself onto the bed with a loud groan. He looked at his phone to notice he was indeed still on call with Russia, so he put the phone to his ear. "Can you come get me? It hurts."

   "Papa and I are on the way right now. Would you like me to sneak in through your window?"

   "Yeah... it hurts so much."

   "Are you still in danger that you're whispering still? I can barely understand you."

   "I don't know where they are.."

   Russia talked calmly and tried his best to soothe America over the phone, America not even paying attention anymore. The pain was taking him over, spreading from his head and his stomach to everywhere else. It hurt to move his arms or his legs, it hurt to answer Russia, it hurt to breathe. He decided to just stop answering Russia, taking short and shallow breaths which could definitely be heard by the Russian. He was in so much pain, he wanted to do nothing but cry.

   Suddenly, his window was slowly pushed open, a large man entering the room. It was Soviet, and he immediately went to America. He slowly wrapped his arms around America as he needed them to be, pulling him to his chest and grabbing America's phone, putting it on his pocket.

   "Is there anything else you need?" he calmly asked, America merely nodding.

   "Bear," he breathed out, wanting Soviet to grab the stuffed bear on his bed. Thankfully, Soviet did and placing it on America, moving an arm to hold the bear there. It was a rather large Rilakkuma plush, one of few large and pricy things his teammates got him after he placed first in state for individuals in cross country. It was the only item that wasn't food or something perishable that he received, his parents not even getting him anything.

Soviet slowly climbed out of the window again, shutting it quietly before walking off with America held tightly in his arms. America leaned his head onto the man, groaning with each step he took as his body hurt, America actively fighting tears. Once they got to Soviet's car, he opened the back doors and laid him in the seat, his head meeting Russia's lap.

"Russia..." was all he mustered out, closing his eyes once the car door was closed.

"He looks like absolute shit, holy fuck," a girl said from upfront, America quickly recognizing her as Ukraine. "Dad, we need to go to the hospital."

"Don't worry, we're going there," he replied, closing his own car door and turning the car back on. "Just make sure Bela doesn't wake up," he said, turning the car back onto the street and driving away.

America groaned as he tried to reposition himself, a soft cry leaving him as he dropped the bear plush, but it was quickly given back to him by Russia. Russia was rubbing America's shoulders and whispering in his native tongue, calming America to the best of his abilities.

   "I'm a disgrace," America mumbled, recalling each and every word his father screamed at him. He was spacing out from reality, trying to find a new reality in his head where he could hide, failing to hear his boyfriend consol him. "I'm a ungrateful shit, I'm nothing without him, I need him," he mumbled, no longer in his awfully quiet whisper. "I need to be perfect, I need to honor the family.."

   America glanced outside the window at the tall building they had driven to. The car door was opened again and America was gently pulled out, back into Soviet's arms. Russia had left the car himself, using only one crutch as his cast was to be removed that week. Ukraine and Belarus had also left the car, Belarus holding America's bear now. They all quickly yet quietly entered the hospital, immediately getting America checked in and into a hospital bed, nurses and doctors examining his body. They had stripped him off all his clothes minus his underwear, leaving him freezing cold on a bed with only people he didn't know around him, not even Russia was in the room with him.

   "He's got internal bleeding, we need to do a quick surgery to stop it and immediately do an MRI on his head, there is sustained trauma to the area there as well," a doctor instructed, America now getting pulled away and sent to sleep.

   He just wanted Russia, he wanted to be held by him again. He wanted his bear, oh how he loved that bear. He saw how Belarus was crying, he wanted to be able to comfort her. He wanted to be able to thank Soviet for taking him to the hospital and carrying him, America was not the lightest.

   "Russia..."