Book 1 - Puppets

XLVII - The Waiting Game

The longer Russia stares out the bars of the cage, the tighter his chest gets. His face contorts into a snarl and he clenches his fists. Fury creeps up his throat and the back of his mouth burns.

He takes a heaving breath and begins to scream.

"Why us? WHY? What the F*** is even happening? WHY? This isn't fair. This ISN'T FAIR! We're exhausted and hurt. Isn't that enough?! I want to go home to my family! I WANT TO GO HOME!"

He screams wordlessly, glaring at the dreary world around him.

"I have had enough! They've had ENOUGH! We want to leave! WE ARE DONE WITH THIS GODD*MN BULLSH*T!"

His voice grows more hoarse with every word. He feels tears gathering behind his eyes. He chokes on his words.

The fury drains out of him. The energy it brought; The fiery spirit; All gone.

All that remains is a pit of longing and bitter resentment.

"We want to go home..." he trails off. The first tear streaks down his face.

"I just want to go home," he mutters.

Russia shuts his eyes tightly, trying to stem his tears. He chokes on the sobs that force their way out of his chest. It feels unfair. He should be strong. There are children here. They should be allowed to cry. Not him. White-hot shame runs through his body.

Russia shudders and curls up onto himself. He tries to stop his crying, biting his tongue and burying his face in his hands.

"Hey," America says gently, grabbing his hands to pull them away.

Russia jerks away. His stomach tightens into knots.

"Hey," America whispers, gently grasping his wrists.

This time, Russia relents.

His hands fall and they shake in his lap. His chest aches. He breaths in short gasps, trying to hold his breath to keep any more crying at bay.

"Hey, look at me."

Russia looks up, and through his tears, he sees America looking at him with a gentle smile and kind eyes.

"It's okay to cry, okay?"

Russia vigorously shakes his head.

'It is not,' his mind argues, but he can't bring himself to say it.

Even still, Russia's chest tightens more with every burst of emotion he swallows back. He looks away and drops his head. He feels his face being wrapped by America's hands. Calloused, but gentle. Russia can feel him using his thumbs to wipe away the tears.

The care behind the motion causes the emotions to come tumbling out.

Russia leans heavily against America's hands. Shivers shake his hands and weeping rocks his chest. He cries from fear, sadness, longing, grief, though grief for what, he isn't sure.

He feels America press their foreheads together, but can't bring himself to look up and meet America's eyes. He feels so dirty.

'I am an adult. I should be able to control myself.'

"There's nothing wrong with crying," America whispers.

Russia feels warm water hit his hands. He draws away and opens his eyes.

America crying too. Silent tears drip down his face, but a shaky smile stays. America pulls his hands back and he opens them for a hug. Russia grabs him tightly, crying into his shoulder. America just hums softly and rubs soft circles on his back. Russia still feels America's tears drop onto his shoulder.