Shattered Glass (Countryhumans AU)

Prologue

December 26, 1991:

"Papa?" Russia stood by USSR, poking his upper arm with her small fingers. She was barely ten years old. USSR was unresponsive. "Papa, wake up! It's still daytime!" Russia used all her strength to shake her father.

The girl's breath quickened, her throat tightening. USSR remained slumped over the dinner table. "Papa!" She screamed, tears running down her face faster than they could form. Russia's siblings rushed to the scene, eyes wide.

"What happened?" Ukraine was the first to run over, eyes scanning USSR's still form. Kazakhstan timidly followed, his wiry arms pushing his father. He started,

"Jolaqtar, is Papa..."

"Dead?" Belarus, the youngest child finished. The four siblings surrounded their father. Kazakhstan ruffled his feathers, holding his breath. He felt for a pulse everywhere he could. The flat was thick with silence.

Kazakhstan's head began to swim, trying to take in the shock.

His siblings were just as shocked, their jaws dropped and eyes wide.

They were completely out of their element and helpless.

Kazakhstan didn't know what the next step was, all he knew was that their father was dead. Gone, just like that.

As the realization of their father's passing sank in, a heavy silence filled the room, broken only by the sound of their shallow breaths and the occasional sniffle from Russia's tear-streaked face. Each sibling grappled with their own overwhelming emotions, struggling to comprehend the magnitude of their loss and the uncertain future that lay ahead.

Ukraine, usually quick-witted and resilient, felt a wave of vulnerability wash over him as he stared at the lifeless figure of his father. His heart ached with a mixture of grief and fear, knowing that the guiding force that had held their family together was now gone.

Kazakhstan, ever the mediator, felt a sense of helplessness gnawing at him as he searched for words of comfort to offer his siblings. His usually steady hands trembled as he reached out to touch his father's cold, still form, unable to shake the feeling of disbelief that coursed through him.

Belarus, the youngest of the siblings, clung to her older brothers and sister, her usually bubbly demeanor subdued by the weight of the moment. She buried her face in Russia's shoulder, seeking a semblance of normalcy in the warmth of her sister's embrace as tears silently streamed down her cheeks.

And Russia, the eldest and strongest of them all, felt a sense of responsibility weighing heavily on her shoulders as she looked at the faces of her grieving siblings. Despite her own heartache, she knew that she had to be strong for them, to lead them through this dark and uncertain time.

Together, they stood in silent solidarity, united by their shared loss and the bond that bound them as family. And as they faced the daunting task of rebuilding their lives in the wake of their father's death, they knew that they would need each other more than ever before.

_______

"Comrade is dead?" Omsk shrieked into the phone. "Moskva, are you sure?" She grabbed the handle more tightly, as if to crush the plastic casing.

Moskva's voice crackled over the phone, her tone somber and heavy with grief. "Da, Omsk. Comrade USSR is dead. It happened suddenly, without warning."

Omsk's breath caught in her throat, disbelief washing over her like a tidal wave. "But how? What happened?" she demanded, her voice trembling with shock and sorrow.

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line before Moskva spoke again, her words measured and filled with sorrow. "It appears to have been a heart attack. He was found slumped over the dinner table this morning. There was nothing anyone could do..."