Nevada shot up, clenching his chest. He drew his knees into his chest and began to weep, his hands tangling into his hair. He felt Blackjack burrow his beak into his shoulder, turning around to face the griffin.
The animal breathed steadily, and he tried to match pace, trying to slow his racing heart. He didn't understand why he was getting nightmares now, like when he was a toddler. That was something he thought would never happen. They were as bad as they were in October.
He'd despised that experience. Locked up like that while his people were killed. He got to see the entire thing, got to feel the bullet wounds cutting through him, even if they didn't actually. It seemed that after three months it still wasn't better.
Has it been three months? It seemed impossible, now. But yes, in three days it would be January 1st.
He looked out over the lake- the sun was beginning to set, creating a glistening pattern of orange and blue over the dark water.
Nevada looked at Blackjack curiously, before looking back at the lake. He sighed, before sitting down. He was hungry, but didn't want to walk into town. To tell you the truth, he just didn't feel well. All those six months he'd just wanted to go home and now he was denying his base urge.
It was getting him nowhere.
"Blackjack," he looked at the griffin, "let's go home."
He took out a deep breath when he was in the sky, keeping his eyes tightly shut as he extended his arms. Unlike some of his siblings, he'd never been one for planes. If it didn't make your eyes sting and your chest hurt, he didn't usually care for it.
The air was cold. He tried to squeeze a little closer to his animal companion, ignoring the numbness in his spine. He would be fine. The mountains were cold, and they were him.
The clouds were wet. Everyone always seemed to forget that. He brushed the water off of himself, rubbing all he could off of Blackjack's feathers.
It got progressively colder as he flew further north, and he almost wished he had a jacket. He wasn't hyped up on adrenaline, and it was getting later and later.
He held his hands out in front of him. They were turning a shade of blue, slowly going to red, and he didn't want to touch them anymore. They tingled in the way a needle tickles, something sharp and stabbing unless you were used to it.
He was not used to it.
Gradually, he imagined fire coating his hands, and he felt them heat up. He was about to do magic, but his voice caught. He couldn't. Not now, it wouldn't be right to do it. He didn't know why- he never did.
It was late when he swooped down, before immediately pulling back up. Tears stung at his eyes and froze on his cheeks. He was right. They had stuck around.
He flew over the valley. From above you would never know, it just looked like a place that had been put through hell- it was the spell that made the area made to look like drought and forest fire had struck it. There was no evidence of houses, or a landing strip, and if he went any lower he'd subconsciously pull back up.
The only way in was through the entrance, and that was blocked up. He heard a bang and jumped, almost falling off his griffin's back because of his cold hands, but he managed to steady himself at the last possible moment.
He flew towards the entrance, his curiosity getting the better of him. He watched as they started to rig up explosives where the door would open, before backing up and letting it blow. His mother's spell was holding it up without a care, his own land being particularly fond of his magic.
He landed in the forest, the griffin trotting to the edge. He made sure the two of them were hidden from view, before pulling the creature all the way back as they turned around.
They drove off, and he waited. After a few minutes, he heard another bang. This was his one chance. Blackjack ran forward and Nevada slipped off with a skill only achieved after ten years of rodeo. He put the codes in, the door starting to open. He mounted quickly, Blackjack running through the tunnel. Nevada's hand slapped the wall, a black handprint, and the first portion of the opening immediately closed.
"C'mon, c'mon buddy," he said, before kissing, "let's go."
Blackjack jumped, going into a low glide as the door started to close faster. It was in the mode that made it so it closed faster.
The griffin skidded to a stop just outside the end of the tunnel, just as it closed. Nevada panted, just like his animal.
He looked to the town, before clicking his tongue. Blackjack started walking where he was looking, getting into the air after only a few moments. Blackjack's claws clicked as he landed on the landing strip, walking into the dragon stables. Nevada slipped off, looking around, curiously.
He couldn't see anyone, or anything. In fact, the whole place looked abandoned. He would have guessed it was because it was night, but now he realized it was because everyone was taken. It was only the fact that there was too much dust that threw him off. He knew his family. They were annoyingly clean.
Blackjack was placed in his stall, kissing him on the beak goodnight before walking down to the mansion. There was blood in the hallway, and Nevada paused when he saw it.
His room was dirty, like he'd left it, but when he laid down in his bed he almost started to sob. Even if everything smelled like dust, he didn't care. He was finally comfortable. This was so much better than sleeping in the dirt- so much better than being in that goddamn room.
He was asleep, even though he wasn't tired.
"They were blowing shit up all night, trying to get in," Jolon yawned, Germany looking at him and nodding. He'd woken up at every strike- he was much too used to bombs meaning that you had to get up and fight, so just having to sleep through it was horrible.
The nations were eating breakfast. Because they were essentially stuck in place, it consisted of oatmeal and dried fruits. Everything else was either bad or already consumed. They obviously hadn't had the time to get their winter rations set before they were taken.
In the morning, Romania left- getting England to teleport him to do so. Japan was having a very heated (heated for him) argument with someone- that someone probably being his boss- on the phone. Belarus came into the room and gave Russia a hug.
"Happy Birthday," Illinois said, running in. He wrapped his arms around his dad's neck, "sorry I didn't get you a gift, what you wanted I couldn't find."
"That's okay," Russia replied, turning around in his seat. He spoke with a tenderness that made some of the nations flinch- they didn't know his tone could betray that, ever, and yet here he was.
York and Utah came in after, each of them giving their father a hug.
"Oh, it's your birthday today, isn't it?" France said, and Russia nodded. The Frenchman smiled, "Well then, Bon anniversaire."
"Spasibo," Russia responded. He noticed that France seemed especially happy today, and that England was pissed off more than usual, which casually meant he took it up the ass last night.
The door creaked open, and the group turned to face it. A new boy slipped in, staring at them with wide eyes.
"Nevada!" Utah cried, running up and embracing his brother, wrapping his arms around him. Nevada looked like he was about to cry, before he dried his tears with his sleeve and hugged his brother back.
Germany stood up then, wondering who this new boy- Nevada- was. He looked young, but not as young as Utah. His hair was brown, long, and wild. If he had seen him on the street he would have guessed he was a random homeless boy, not the son of the nation.
He walked forward, ignoring Russia's eyes in his back. It was a warning- don't hurt my child, or I'll hurt you. He wasn't planning on throwing a teenager through a wall, so it should be fine.
Germany held a hand out to him, Nevada looking up at him curiously. He grabbed his hand with his own, shaking it like he wasn't sure what was going on. Germany gave a firm squeeze, and Nevada pulled his hand away, sticking them both in his hoodie pocket.
"Hello, I am-"
"I know who you are," Nevada cut him off, "and I'm guessing you're here to... help?"
"Yes," Germany said. He didn't like this state- he seemed to stand-offish, unlike the other Americans, which would probably mean he is smarter. Even though Nevada couldn't count anything besides money and poker chips past twenty it seemed like he was getting a strawman in Germany's mind.
Illinois placed himself at his brother's shoulder, looking between the two.
"Nev, come on," he said, ushering his brother towards the food, "nobody saw you come in, right?"
"No, I slipped past them when they were going back and forth for the bombs. Had to use the black handprint though," Nevada replied, and Illinois scowled. That meant that someone had to redo the spell, and mom wasn't home, which meant Uncle Adany had too, "they were rigging up that thing all night, weren't they- Papa!"
Russia stood as Nevada ran to him, wrapping his arms around his sides and burying his face into his chest. The nations stood silent as this nation looked up at Russia.
"Ya skychal po tebe," Nevada mumbled.
"Eto normalno."
"Aww, how sweet," Poland said, and Nevada pulled away to face him. The two looked at each other for a moment before Nevada walked over.
"You're filing your nails unevenly."
That got a few snickers out of the nations, Poland looking down at where he was doing his nails, before tapping the file on the table.
"Then, since you're so smart, why don't you do it?" Poland asked, knowing it made most back off.
"Okay."
That shocked him. Russia rolled his eyes, going back to eating as Nevada calmly did his nails, Poland staring at him with an agape mouth the entire time.
"You're not in mania right now, are ya?" York asked, and Nevada glanced over, shaking his head. He was at a low. He was in mania before, but that was short-lived, "Good, don't need you sucking off a forty-seven year old for alcohol again."
Nevada cringed, and Utah started snickering.
"You can't be saying much, York," Illinois said, and he raised an eyebrow at him, " I thought in your mind that being a stripper in a mafia-bar was considered wrong."
"Okay, shut the fuck up," York snapped,
"Knock it off," Russia said, and they all looked to him, "now."
The nations observed the interaction, passing glances to each other. The states were obviously not best-friends-forever, yet Russia of all the nations seemed to have a lick of control over them. Some of them wondered how much he had to beat them for the Americans to listen to him.
The door opened, and the nations looked over, wondering who it was now.
Connecticut stood at the entryway, looking around quickly, between his siblings. He still looked bad, but he was dressed, and his hair was wet, which meant he had just come from the shower.
He studied the room carefully, noting which nations were there and drawing assumptions based on anything and everything he knew about them. Something he understood though, was they were the reason he was safe now. Or at least, alive. He wasn't sure this valley could count as safe.
Another bomb went off, and a few of the nations groaned. Iceland yelled in his native tongue for them to shut up, and Norway slapped him in the arm.
Connecticut walked over to his siblings, looking them over. He wasn't usually the 'mom-sibling' that title usually went to Delaware, but he wasn't here. He probably hadn't been found yet.
"York, what the hells up with you?" Connecticut asked, and York shrugged.
"Dunno, glad you're alive."
"I'm being serious, fucko," Connecticut said, "why is there an electric current coming from your arm. And if Rico's here, the hell is Guam?"
"Electric current?" Illinois asked, "What does that mean?"
"See for yourself," Connecticut said, and Illinois narrowed his eyes, before looking at York with the same confused face that Connecticut had given him.
"The fuck is up with you too," York complained, "y'all need to tell me the fuck is wrong for me to figure it out."
"You've been tagged," Russia said, standing, "York, coat."
York glared at him before pulling his big coat off. He looked smaller with it off.
Russia was good with tags. Stalin had made him get good with realizing if a room was bugged or not.
He studied the inside of the coat, not finding anything, before looking at York.
"What?" York really didn't seem to know. He wasn't sure if he was just playing dumb, or he actually had no clue what was going on, "There's no way anything would be inside of me without me noticing."
"Is it still on him, Connecticut?"
Connecticut nodded. Germany walked over then, grabbing York's arm. York pulled away from him, taking a few steps back and getting into an aggressive stance.
"York," Russia said, with that same caring tone that made the nations shiver in discontent. It wasn't right. Like a nice pitbull.
"Fine," he showed his arm, and Connecticut walked over, examining it.
"Someone have a pocket knife?"
York pressed one into his hand, and Connecticut nodded. York didn't even cover his eyes- he only watched as his brother sliced a neat line in his arm, reaching between the skin with his fingers and pulling out a small chip.
"Here it is," Connecticut said, dropping his brother's arm. He handed the knife back, studying the chip carefully before showing his father. Germany butted in, looking at it like a mathematician looks at the concept of pi.
"I don't recognize it," Germany said, taking a few steps back.
"I do," Connecticut said, "tracking chip. That's how they know he's here. There's no way they would still be going for the door if they didn't know."
The nations looked started.
"What are you going to do with it?" Finland said, "It doesn't need to be here."
"I have an idea," Nevada said, after a moment, "I have Blackjack. He's a good flyer. Can get that thing to Texas or something."
"You have Blackjack?" there was a sort of glee in Utah's voice, and Nevada glared at him.
"Good idea," Russia said, "now, go. Get it done. You know how to make that bird invisible."
Nevada nodded, grabbing the chip before running off. Illinois followed behind him after there was a bit of a glaring competition between the older siblings about who would be damage control.
"Will the bombing stop if he'd left?" Iceland asked, covering his ears.
"Probably," Connecticut said, "they wouldn't want to continue wasting artillery if they think there's been fleeing involved."
The boy smirked, he was quite obviously the smart sibling, Nevada be damned. Germany studied him carefully. He had the air of a public speaker and a temperament that seemed to fare well with change.
This one. This one he liked. This one he would like to have on his side.