"Dad's been found guilty of child abuse and neglect. Mr. Soviet has custody over Australia and Nee Zealand now, 'Mer."
Russia watched as Canada gave an update to America. She did this every week now, this time not an exception.
"We won, America, we won. Oh, Poland gave birth to her daughter yesterday. She named her 'Meri', after you. Now she's got her son and daughter with Germany. Brazil got a contract at a high prestige football club on the other side of the world, and he wears the number "14" in honor of you."
Canada had tears welling in her eyes as she clenched her pants, fighting tears. She had been doing those for a few years, now a sophomore in college. She got into the college America dreamed of going to and was studying aviation with a job at a regional airline. She's already wanted to be a pilot and fly her siblings around, not ever dropping hope she could fly each of them. Sadly, she's began coming to the realization, accepting the fact she'd never fly America.
"Russia? Every time I'm here, your here. You can't move on, hm?"
"I loved your brother." Russia sat down next to Canada, taking a shaky breath before continuing. "America was older than me by a few months, he's too young for this. He's too young for us to be talking to him at his grave, but here we are."
"We need to move on, he won't be getting less dead. Ukraine has got a date lined up for you later, why don't we go get ready for it?"
"Yeah, might as well."
The two stood up, walking away together from a desolate tombstone. The surrounding tombstones, which sat very far from America's, had moss and overgrowth, yet America's didn't. Ukraine would never let it get overgrown.
America shot up in his hospital bed, not knowing when or where he was exactly. His eyes darted across the room furiously as he tried to figure out exactly where he was, but that's when he felt his wrist constrained. He looked down and noticed it was handcuffed. He was handcuffed to a hospital bed. America quickly knew what this meant, he was under custody and so was Russia and Ukraine. His sisters weren't safe, he needed to find them again!
America struggled against the constraint, screaming in agony as he did so. All of a sudden, about 7 different hands shoved him back into the bed, holding him down as they fully strapped him down. They were all nurses and doctors, but America had his eyes set on one figure in the corner.
Britain.
"You!" he screamed, letting it known that he saw that pathetic father of his. "This is your fault! You fucking lying piece of shit!"
"Get anesthesia ready!" a doctor quickly called out.
"If you deserved any daughters, you shouldn't have abused your own damn son! You shouldn't have touched me as a child! You shouldn't have beat me so much I ran and took my sisters with!"
The room became still. The anesthesiologist who had just walked in was now frozen, the door wide open. The doctors and nurses stopped struggling against America, America himself no longer struggling as he instead cried. The hall outside was silent and still, staff and patients staring at the room.
"You have lost your bloody mind," Britain spoke finally, a fake calm voice alluding with it. "I have done nothing but give you exactly what you wanted, and this is how I'm treated? Doctor, I'm sure he's mentally ill."
"Abuse explains the history of x-rays and blunt for trauma. Some injuries could easily be sports, but the rest couldn't be. Abuse makes sense."
"What are you blabbering on about? It's obvious he's a liar! He was trafficking my daughters!"
A police officer handcuffed Britain, protests erupted as it happened.
"They wouldn't be living under the same house and circumstances as he was, Mr. Taylor. Officer, I recommend you bring in federal assistance."
"Understood."
"He's a lying bastard! He's ruined my life by taking my favorite things from me! My daughters! He tried to kill my wife, his mother! You have to listen!"
"Britain Taylor, you are under arrest..."
"Russia?"
"Yes?"
"How come you've never moved on? You dream as if everything was fine from that night onwards?"
"Because.. I love you. I always will. You showed me true love and gave me a meaning not to commit suicide."
"Why did you want to commit suicide?"
"I was only liked because I had a 'hot' sister, a cool ass dad, and I could play football rather well. I was being used. I hated it."
"What about Belarus?"
"She is too young to understand still, she wouldn't have understood then either."
"She loves you."
"I'm her brother, she is obligated to."
"But, are you obligated to love her because she's your sister?"
"..."
"Russia?"
"..."
"Russia? I think it's time you wake up now."
"No... I want to hear your voice longer."
"Then wake up, silly."
"America?"
"Good morning sleepyhead!"
Russia rolled over in the bed and begrudgingly opened his eyes. Quickly, a quick kiss was rather harshly placed on his cheek, followed by a familiar laugh. He turned his head to look over at America, his one and only lover.
"Good morning," he muttered, smiling faintly.
"You're going to be late for work, dummy," America hummed, jumping out of bed and skipping away.
Russia smiled widely and shook his head, a faint laugh emitting from him.
"It's Saturday! I don't work Saturdays!"
"Oh, right! Well I still made breakfast!"
Russia chuckled to himself as he slid out of the bed and walked to the kitchen, being greeted by his husband, his son, and his daughter.
"Aunty Nada is coming over later, Papa!"
"Is she? Is she bringing your cousins?"
"Supposed to be! I don't want to listen to grownup talk! It's boring!" the son pouted, crossing his arms as he did so. "I don't want to be a grownup!"
"I didn't want to be either, Mikhail, but you don't have a choice because I didn't either."
"Hmph!"
America bounced out the kitchen, holding a plate. He noticed his kids were distracted by Russia, so he hummed "Who wants pancakes~!" and set the plate down, watching the two kids grab their share quickly before saying "thanks" and shoving their mouths full. America walked over to where Russia sat and sat next to him, earning a kiss once he was situated.
"Ew! In front of my pancakes," Mikhail grumbled, looking at his own parents in disgust.
"That's how babies are made! Kissing! That's what Elizabeth said at school!"
"Oh- certain types of kissing, dear," Russia quickly responded. "Not that kissing."
"Oh. Okay!"
Under the table, America's hand laid firmly grasped in Russia's. The two faced many impossible issues together, and each time they succeeded. From shitty parents to scrambling for scholarship money to a long distance relationship, the two persisted and now they were here, sitting at the table with their two children, happily married.
•~<The End>~•