Russia's arm is pulled, and he stumbles to his feet. The hallways blur around him, and he falls from one foot to the other. His head fills with cotton and his breath comes in gasps. A smaller hand takes his own, pulling him through the haze.
He sits down on a table with his legs dangling over the edge. The door is closed behind them.
"So, what is the main problem?" the doctor remarks, her eyes striking under the lights as she looks him up and down, her face set in a neutral expression.
"The burns on the back of my legs," he replies listlessly, gasping for breath.
She hums before lifting his legs. Russia leans back, hearing the dull thud of his head against the wall.
'I hope Meri is going to be okay.'
The ceiling blurs, and the hanging equipment twists. Streaks decorate the lights above. He feels his legs move like those of a marionette, lifted and placed on the table.
Then, the wall comes into view, just as blurred as the ceiling. Wall decorations smear against the walls, and everything spins. His legs are lifted and curled beside him, his head propped up on his arm
"Russ?"
Russia slowly turns his head to the noise. Everything doubles.
'Delaware?'
"Yes?" He rasps.
Delaware's silhouette sinks into his chair, his hands meeting his face on the way down. Russia squints.
"Delaware?"
"I thought you passed out, it's okay..."
The words dance around the room, mixing and turning through the pain and strange numbness.
'It's okay...?'
Russia swallows, and his heart pounds in his chest. He can feel his pulse in his stomach and behind his eyes.
'He sounds so unsure.'
He presses his shaking hands into the table.
"Hey, don't get up. Doc said she wouldn't be gone long," Delaware comments.
Russia collapses back into the bed. The room blinks black.
"You just gotta stay down."
The words are heavy, covering the room like a wet blanket.
'He sounds... wrong.'
"Are you okay?" Russia asks, squinting to see through the blur.
"Me?" Delaware asks with a chuckle. Then, he says something Russia doesn't hear, waving a hand with dismissal.
Russia's face crinkles.
"You don't sound okay," Russia comments softly, his voice not reaching his ears.
"I'm fine," Delaware promises, "besides, I've got other people to worry about right now."
"That does not mean you're okay."
"Yeah it does," Delaware says, audibly injecting optimism into his tone, "after all, somebody has to keep it together."
Russia closes his eyes, forcing air to fill his rib cage. He places his hands on the paper under him, feeling it crinkle. His legs brush against each other as he straightens them.
He throws his legs lackadaisically over the edge of the table, a numb warmth in his bloodstream.
"Russia," Delaware says, his tone more tired than scolding, "please?"
Russia opens his eyes again, and the images from his eyes finally connect. Delaware sits in a chair beside the flat table, staring at his hands. His face shines under the light.
'Is he crying?'
"Child?"
His voice rings in his head.
'I sound like my father.'
Delaware's head whips up before he chuckles. His shoulders curl in, and his head tilts down.
"Child? I'm an adult, Russ."
"I don't think you're okay."
"Heh. You caught me," he replies, holding his hands in the air with a shrug, "but what are you gonna do about it?"
He sighs and drops his hands into his lap.
"Sides, I haven't been okay since this shit started."
Russia examines Delaware, seeing the shaking in his shoulders.
The doctor opens the door, and Delaware slowly sits up. She looks at Russia with a small frown.
"How are you feeling?"
Russia hums.
"I will be okay," he decides.
She nods before handing him a bottle of cream with a dog on the label.
"It's the best I can give you, but it works. Just apply it and then loosely wrap the burns. I'll be back in a moment to bandage you."
The door falls shut behind her, and the dense air of the room resettles.
Russia turns back and Delaware seems to bite his cheek before smiling. Pain shines through the gold sheen.
"You look hurt."
Bitter laughter accompanies the pledge of "I'm fine."
"You are not."
"So what? I'm not the one here for the doctor. I mean...fuck man, I wasn't even on any of those adventures. I should be fine," Delaware says, his hands weaving through his hair.
Russia bites his tongue as the doctor walks back in. She swiftly lifts his legs and drapes bandages over the burns.
"I will be back, but stay here until someone can wheel you out to your car," she instructs in a maternal tone.
Russia nods, and the door closes once again.
"What's bothering you?" Russia asks.
"... what wouldn't be?"
Russia tilts his head.
"The house is fucked right now, and everyone is leaving tasks half done everywhere. We're running out of generator fuel, and the other countries need clothes. The weapons are being made at a snail's pace, and we are running out of things to salvage. Neither Dad nor Dix have been around enough to help organize anything, and I've been stretching myself so far, I'm ready to snap."
Delaware laughs as tears gather in his eyes.
"And Dixie just disappears and then comes back hurt over and over again. Says 'don't worry 'bout it, kiddo,' like that fixes anything. He could barely walk when he left, and now I'm finding out that he left himself for dead."
He rubs his face with a stoical grin, staring at Russia with bloodshot eyes, his tears threatening their escape. He sniffles, rubbing his upper lip before shaking his hand with mild disgust.
"Can't sleep anymore anyway. But I have to keep it together. I have to," he says, clenching his hands into fists and widening his smile, "after all, I'm the oldest. If I collapse, the others are gonna follow."
"You aren't the only one responsible for that."
"And who else is?" He snaps, "the adults who aren't there?"
He laughs before slouching back into his chair.
"Sorry. I shouldn't be snapping at you."
"It's okay."
Delaware looks toward the floor. Russia waits for a response, but he doesn't receive one. Russia sighs before opening his arms.
Delaware looks up, furrowing his brow.
"What?"
"Would you like a hug?"
Russia waits, his arms open. Delaware slowly stands and shuffles forward. He feels arms slowly wrap around him, holding a loose grip. He wraps his arms around the shoulders against his chest, cradling Delaware's head.
Then, he finds himself holding a shaking, crying mess. Delaware shakes against him, and the air is knocked out of him with a tight squeeze around his stomach.
No apologies accompany the tears, and the moisture quickly soaks through Russia's shirt. Nonetheless, he keeps his grip tight.
He's almost sure he heard a mutter of "just like Dixie."
He swallows the lump in his throat.
'I hope Dixie is alright.'
Hands grip the fabric against his back.
'What do I say?'
Russia closes his eyes.
'Do I say anything?'
Russia starts humming soft lullabies, hoping it's in tune. The music vibrates in his head, but it doesn't hold a flame to the ringing in his ears.