Russia sighs shakily.
'At least I am not alone.'
Russia catches his brother's gaze and offers a small smile. Ukraine scoffs and turns away. Russia lets out a breath and slowly stands. He leans over the aisle, grabbing onto a nearby seat in a white knuckle grip. Burning consumes the backs of his calves.
America's face scrunches up, looking up through half-open eyes. Russia's heart sinks. Tennessee shifts with a grimace, pulling America further into the seat. America flinches and his body shakes.
"What's wrong?" Russia asks tentatively, holding out a hand.
"He got hit," Tennessee explains bluntly.
Russia's arm pulls back to his chest, and his shoulders fold in. He looks down with wide eyes. Tears threaten to take his calm facade.
'Shit.'
"I'm thinking he's got somethin' on his back, but it's bleedin', so I can't tell exactly what's going on," she says calmly, a soft melancholy in her tone that feels like a punch to the gut, "and his foot's still bleeding. I keep having to change bandages for it."
Russia averts his eyes, and he swallows the lump in his throat.
'I should've protected him.'
"He's also bound to be suffering some pretty big blood loss," Alabama comments from a few seats back.
Russia quiets for a moment, his mind spinning.
'When did he get hurt?'
'What happened?'
'Could I have stopped it?'
"Beam?" Russia asks nervously, reaching out carefully.
'Is this my fault?'
America's eyes spring open and his good eye twinkles, but his gaze is unfocused. He seems to say something, but Russia can only hear vague, uneven whining. Russia's breath catches in his throat.
"Yup," Tennessee says gently, a hand on America's forehead, "he's here. You see him?"
The bus bumps around under them, and Russia hisses, clutching onto the bus seats. His world spins, and his fingernails rip the fabric. The world flashes white for a moment as pain becomes the only thing he knows. He gasps and tries to straighten his back, his legs throbbing.
"You good Russ?" Texas calls.
"I'm fine," Russia says blandly, trying to hide how his breath left his chest.
The skin on the back of his legs burns and pulls against him. His legs shake and his mind spins. His knees feel like they're about to revolt and his balance sways.
'Ow.'
Russia clumsily falls back into an unoccupied seat across from America. He rubs his face, trying to hide the shaking in his fingers.
"Dixie?" South Dakota calls.
The panic in her tone causes Russia to freeze. Then, his mind flashes back to the fight. How willing Dixie seemed to die once the kids had run.
'Dixie... Is he okay?'
Russia forces himself to his feet. He glances back at America, who lays out on top of Tennesse, half-conscious. Tennessee catches his eye and she jerks her head to the back of the bus. Russia nods and begins struggling down the seats. He takes a few steps forward and his legs seize. He stumbles.
His sight flashes white and he sinks to his knees.
"Whoa!"
"Russia?"
Russia groans. Hands grab his shoulders, and he's dragged into another booth. The white fades.
The already static-y music is tinny and warped, and the radio's lights shimmer above, unsure. Occasional passing headlights reflect against the windows, waves of streaked, white dots. The bus shakes unhappily, its engine rattling the frame.
"Russia?"
Russia looks up, his mind full of fuzz. A blurry Brazil waves her hand in front of his face. Russia blinks, and the world shifts back into focus. He's in a bus seat, his head against the window and the cushioning.
'It smells strange.'
Brazil is squatting in the aisle in front of him, her face set in concern. The expression doesn't fit her features. At least not in the way Russia is used to seeing.
Russia looks around to find New Mexico hovering over the back of his seat.
Russia takes a deep breath and rubs his face. Brazil glances at him one last time before walking back to the middle aisle.
"Sorry," Russia mumbles, pulling himself up.
"You're apologizing?" Mississippi demands incredulously from in front of him.
Russia's head swivels to face him and sees Alabama poking his head up next to him.
"We saw the backs of your legs when you fell, Russ. The fact that you was standin' at all was a miracle."
"Is Dixie okay?" Russia asks, sitting up against the back of the seat, his legs sprawled in the aisle.
"Uhm..."
"We don't know," Alabama says, "he ain't talking no more and he don't seem awake."
Russia's heart sinks in his chest. Dixie's look of acceptance flashes in his mind's eye.
"He wasn't planning on following you," Russia mumbles, looking down.
"Say that again," Mississippi demands.
Russia looks up past his hair and sees a whole bunch more children surrounding him than before, all of them watching him with intense gazes.
"I said, say that again," Mississippi repeats, his voice cracking, ruining the serious tone he attempted.
"He wasn't planning to follow you," Russia replies, watching with a cramping stomach at the horrified faces around him.
"But he told us he would," Virginia says, looking to West Virginia for support.
"He forced himself back up to make sure you got away," Russia explains, lacing his fingers together, "but as soon as you were gone, he gave in."
"Did he get hurt?"
"I don't think so. Other than being thrown with Texas, I did not see him sustain any more injuries."
"Then why is he acting like this?" South Dakota asks, a few seats back and to the right, just out of Russia's view, "he's shaking, he's not awake, and the cut on his arm is still bleeding. He's pale except for a few spots on his face that seem too bright. And..."
"And what Rush?" Ohio pushes.
South Dakota doesn't answer.
"What is it?!" Ohio shouts.
Russia flinches.
"He's already covered in bandages," South Dakota shouts, the lump in her throat audible in her tone.
Russia's heart skips a beat. The rescue group recoils.
"What?!" Kentucky shrieks from the front.
"I thought he said he was healed," Tennessee shouts, worry and anger in her voice.
"We shouldn't have believed him!" Virginia shouts, "Del didn't!"
West Virginia rests a hand on her shoulder, the gauges in his cheeks reflecting the light of a passing car.
"And what were we going to do, Ginny?" West Virginia asks calmly, "we weren't going to be able to stop him."
"Is he gonna be okay?" Texas asks, his voice echoing off the sides of the cabin.
No one came up to volunteer an answer.
"Tex," Virginia asks, "has your cut stopped bleeding?"
"Yeah, it stops a little while ago with the butterfly bandages."
'Lower healing,' Russia notes, 'not weird for someone who lost their domain. It happened to my father. I'm sure that it must have decreased for Dixie as well. I wonder how much. Not many losers of civil war have ever survived, especially not this long.'
Russia's eyes drift to the front of the bus.
'Meri really is amazing.'
Russia sighs.
"Russ?"
Russia leans back, his back against the cold metal wall. The bus slows and swerves around, and Russia decides to ignore the way the whole vehicle sways.
'They found us. They can get back.'
"How long until we return?" Russia asks, turning away from the window.
"That depends on how many people are on the roads," West Virginia replies, "but for now, y'all should rest."
"'Y'all'?" New Mexico copies with a laugh.
"I've been hanging out with Ginny," West Virginia defends, arms crossed.
New Mexico scoffs and Ohio barks a laugh.
'Maybe I'll be able to sleep on a bed again...'
Russia smiles lightly.
'That would be nice.'