This is only classified as a sad ending edge just cus nothing suuuuuuuuuuuuuper romantic happens in the end??
One or two of the scenes in this oneshot are inspired by the Australian novel The Running Man by M.G. Bauer. I do not claim to own these ideas, only the way they have been written.
TRIGGER WARNING:
Vietnam war, bombing, fighting, guns, shellshock, bleeding out, injuries
Stay safe, know your limits. If this oneshot makes you uncomfortable, I won't be offended if you decide to stop reading :)
~~~~~~~~
Russia couldn't hear much.
His eardrums were still tender from the bomb.
The world sounded as though everything was underwater: the birds, the wind rustling the trees, the screams of distant villagers in distress and the droning of planes dumping chemicals over the forests all seemed blurry and dream-like.
Russia continued to trudge through the thick jungle, shivering despite the humidity that clung to his multi-coloured skin and triggered the splitting headache that had been on and off for the past few days.
Days. Had it been days? Russia couldn't be sure; day and night seemed to blur together even before everything went downhill. War tended to do that.
"Bл, Блядь," Russia seethed, gripping his leg when a dull ache travelled throughout the connected muscles. (Russian: Ow, fuck)
It was still bleeding.
Still fucking bleeding.
His formerly clean and prim sergeant's uniform was torn in several places: sleeves, base, collar. He had been ripping off slices of fabric every time he woke up to rewrap his wounds, but the worst wound still hadn't closed.
Not only had it not healed, it was still painful as hell.
But that's normal for a piece of shrapnel lodged in your fucking thigh.
"Hello?"
Russia tensed, flattening himself against the trunk of the tree he had made his base the day before. It sounded like someone had heard him cursing or moving around or something equally stupid.
"Is someone out there?"
Yes.
"Aussie, is that you?"
Aussie? Who's that? Is that a person?
"It's not funny being out here alone, Zea! Dad's gonna get pissed if he finds out you were trying to play hide and seek or some shit."
Was this guy stupid? He didn't really sound like he could hold his own in a fight, although from this horrible experience Russia had learnt not to judge too quickly. Even the softest face can hide the most dangerous criminal. But skilled or no, this stranger could trigger an ambush by the enemy if he wasn't careful –
"Australia?"
Wait.
Australia.
That name sounded familiar.
"Aussie, c'mon I'm tired and hungry and I wanna go home! Please come out..."
Russia grit his teeth, eyes widening as he pressed against the tree even more.
Of course! Australia was Britain's daughter, she came with her twin sister New Zealand to help their father and older brother, America in the war.
Russia stiffened. America. That name.
He had sworn to never speak of America again once his family joined this stupid war. He had tried to talk his father out of it – the war was really none of their business. They didn't need to get wrapped up in Vietnam's affairs.
But of course, his father didn't listen, and both America and Russia had paid the price.
"I swear to god, Australia, if you get me in trouble!"
How long had it been since he had seen the striped country? Months? Years? Decades? It had felt like forever; his memories were even getting a little fuzzy.
He could remember a field shining in the mid-afternoon sun, sitting next to a smiling America whose face had blurred a little over time. In Russia's hands he could almost feel the soft petals of the flowers he was manipulating into a crown. A gentle weight was removed from his head as America stole his ushanka and proudly put it on, causing Russia to chuckle. America smiled Russia's favourite smile and carefully settled his finished flower crown on top of Russia's head as a replacement.
"You look cute in that," America had said with a snicker.
"So do you," Russia had laughed and winked back.
America blushed ever so slightly and poked his tongue out at Russia, which only made him laugh more. They sat in comfortable silence for a while; Russia continuing his flower crown and America simply watching him while pulling at bits of grass. Soon America sighed contently, shuffling closer to Russia to wrap his arms around his torso and lay his head on his shoulder. It was an action he had done many times before, being the clingy country he was, but that time it made Russia's heart stutter and his stomach fizz with nervous excitement.
"Russia?"
Russia had hummed in reply, not wanting to fully distract himself from his task.
"Can you promise me something?"
Russia had stopped, looking up from his flower crown and over to America, who was still clinging to his side and playing with his shirt. Russia then sighed, discarding his project in favour of slinking his red hands under America's thighs and lifting him up towards him, resulting in the smaller being comfortably nestled in between his outstretched legs.
"Of course, Meri," Russia said gently with a small smile, tucking some of the hair in America's face under his ushanka. "Anything."
America smiled and curled up his legs so he was more comfortable, laying his head and one hand on Russia's chest.
"Promise me that no matter what happens, we'll stay the same. Forever."
Russia bit his lip, looking away. That was impossible, especially given their families. No matter how good things were right now, it would all come to an end soon.
"I promise."
It was a bad decision, but what choice did he have? America was clearly troubled, the least he could do was make him feel a little hopeful.
"Yay!" America giggled, snuggling into Russia's chest and playing with the necklace he had gotten him for his birthday. It was a simple gold locket with a small picture of the two of them posing in that very same field. America was smiling at the camera with closed eyes like the picture had been taken in the middle of laughter and Russia was standing with his arm around America, smiling down at him.
"Thank you, Ruski."
Russia hugged him tighter, burying his face in his own ushanka. It looked better on America if he was being honest.
"Of course, what are friends for?"
"Hey! What are you doing here!?!"
Russia looked up, ripped from his memories and scrambling for some semblance of stability. Someone was standing over him. His eyes widened as his gaze landed on the very country he was just daydreaming about – in all his stripy glory.
He had his hands hooked on his hips and his legs spread slightly apart to seem more intimidating. He was wearing baggy olive-green pants that were tucked into big black combat boots at the bottom, creating a sort of puffy look to the ends. He had on an army vest with large pockets and attachments in the same sort of olive-green as his trousers that was open, showing off a tight shirt that hugged his muscles and didn't leave much to the imagination. A hemispherical helmet was unclipped and snugly stationed on his head, and under it the red, white and blue country had on shades as well – which seemed a little bit stupid to Russia. Shouldn't it be imperative you see everything when in an active warzone? Especially when you're all alone.
He had changed so much, he had hardly even recognized him, but Russia supposed he had changed a lot too.
"Who are – " America faltered when he saw the Soviet Union flag embroidered on Russia's shoulder, leading him to immediately hold up his AK 47 and point it straight at Russia's head, the barrel dangerously close to touching his white forehead.
"What are you doing so close to our base, commie," America spat, his eyebrows furrowing as he probably narrowed his eyes behind his sunglasses. Russia held up his hands in defence and gulped, sweat rolling down his dehydrated face and the hairs on the back of his neck pricking up.
"I-I'm sorry, I got lost – "
"Bullshit," America growled, cocking his gun and placing his finger on the trigger.
"AMERICA, WAIT!" Russia shouted, suddenly terrified for his life. What the hell? His childhood friend was holding a fucking gun to his head!
America stopped, lowering the barrel ever so slightly and cocking an eyebrow, "How do you know my name?"
"I..." Russia swallowed, very slowly reaching a hand into his shirt as to not alarm America and make him think he was taking out a weapon. America gripped the gun tighter and grimaced, but his curiosity prevented him from squeezing the trigger.
Russia pulled the locket out of his shirt and brushed a bit of dirt off it, hoping the picture hadn't completely worn away. America's scowl slowly melted into a frown of confusion.
Is this guy about to beg for his life because of his family or whatever? Tough luck buddy, it's a dog eat dog world out here.
Russia fiddled with the clasp before opening the gold pendant to reveal the photo they had taken together all those years ago. He held it out to America, treating it delicately; as if it were to fall apart with no warning at any second. America's shoulders dropped immediately and his gun fell to his sides as his lips parted.
"R...Russia?"
Russia smiled softly, "I'm here, America."
Tears cascaded down America's striped face as he fell to his knees in front of the wounded country, jolting forward to bury himself into Russia's chest, the taller instinctively wrapping him in a warm embrace and pulling him in even closer.
"I thought I lost you!" America sobbed, squeezing him tighter.
"I know, I'm so sorry," Russia murmured, stroking America's hair under the helmet. It was just as soft as he remembered. "I never should have left."
"Don't you dare blame yourself for this mess, it was our stupid asshole fathers," America growled between sniffs, wiping his face as his torso drew back from Russia's.
Russia chuckled, brushing away a stray tear from the striped country's face, "You're right, thanks, Meri."
America choked out a laugh, some more tears falling, "Oh god, you have no idea how much I missed that."
"Missed what?"
"You calling me Meri," America giggled.
Russia blushed, looking away, "Oh shush."
"Awwww, Ruski ~" America cooed, leaning into him by puffing out his chest with a smug smile. "Is my big strong Russian embarrassed~?"
Russia rolled his eyes with a smile, flicking America on the forehead, making him giggle.
"I missed you," Russia breathed once America's laughter had died down.
Instead of receiving a bashful smiled and those adorable tinted cheeks that he expected, America only frowned and bowed his head, starting to fiddle with his hands.
"Meri...? What's wrong?"
"I broke our promise," America whispered, his hands shaking now.
"Oh, кролик, no, it's ok," Russia hushed, pulling him in again and nuzzling his shoulder. "You did nothing wrong." (Russian: Bunny)
"Nothing wrong? I pointed a fucking gun at your head!" America cried frustratedly, grasping Russia's torn shirt. "I changed so much..."
"So did I," Russia vetoed, rubbing the smaller's back. "This stupid war has changed everyone."
America nodded, curling up into Russia and savouring his warmth. He frowned, seeing the tears in the Slavic nation's clothes.
"What happened? How did you change?" He asked, tracing the dirtied skin shown under the rips and sending shivers up Russia's spine, causing him to pull away from America.
"It's...a long story."
America smiled in understanding, reaching a hand to lightly caress Russia's cheek, "I have time."
▪▪¤▪▪
"Будем надеяться, что нам не придется делать это снова!" (Russian: Let's hope we don't have to do that again!)
"Я точно знаю? Какой смысл войны, если вы не делаете ничего захватывающего, как борьба!" (Russian: I know right? What's the point of war if you're not doing anything exciting like fighting!)
"По крайней мере, когда мы пойдем домой, нас будут считать героями, и мы получим всех девушек, о которых могли мечтать~" (Russian: At least when we go home we'll be seen as heroes, and we'll get all the girls we could dream of~)
Russia chuckled, shaking his head lightly as his platoon members chatted away behind him on their way back to base. The mission they had just gone on was just checking up on one of their towns; boring stuff to most of the platoon. Kazakhstan, the second in command, walked beside his older brother and captain, his smile and skip heavily juxtaposed by the big gun in his arms.
"Осы миссиядан кейін өзіңізді қалай сезінесіз? (Kazakh: How are you feeling after that mission?)" Kazakhstan asked, noticing Russia's slumped frame.
"Устала, (Russian: Tired)" Russia groaned dramatically, causing Kazakhstan to giggle and pat his back patronisingly. Russia shrugged off his hand with a grin and opened his mouth to say something when the shrubbery in front of them rustled.
Russia immediately held up his gun, narrowing his eyes at the bush as Kazakhstan fiddled with his. Their friends behind them all individually noticed Russia's stature and shut up anyone who was left talking, raising their weapons as well.
The bushes rustled some more, and tension hung thick in the air around the platoon. Suddenly the huge leaves parted, and a figure walked out, holding a bundle of something in their arms. Kazakhstan immediately dropped his gun and ran to the figure, kneeling beside them and looking over them for any major injuries.
It was a child.
The rest of the platoon members lowered their guns, but Russia kept his raised, eyes still narrowed. Something about this whole thing felt off to him.
Something about this child wasn't right.
"Ресей, бұл жарылғыш затты қой! Сіз оны қорқытасыз, (Kazakh: Russia, put that blasted thing down! You're scaring him)" Kazakhstan scolded, glaring at his older brother.
Russia reluctantly lowered his weapon, watching the child carefully as it spouted various Vietnamese words, trying to explain something to them. He was dressed in rags that were scuffed and thoroughly dirtied, his knees were grazed and there were tears pouring from his eyes. The bundle in his arms was dirty as well, and Russia could only assume it was a baby.
"Помогите! (Russian: Help!)" The child cried to the platoon with a heavy accent. "М-мама...боль...приехать! Приехать!" (Russian: Mama...hurt...come! Come!)
The child then took off into the bushes once again and Kazakhstan ran after him.
"КАЗАХСТАН! (Russian: KAZAKHSTAN!)" Russia yelled, running after them both with his platoon in tow, hot on Kazakhstan's heels.
They all soon reached an open field with a couple of huts on fire or smouldering, a thin layer of smoke polluting the air. Russia could only catch a glimpse of Kazakhstan running into a hut after the boy, stopping a little way away to avoid getting too close to the smoke. His soldiers all ran ahead of him, clearly worried about the ray of sunshine that was the second in command. Russia's eyes narrowed and he held a red hand up to his forehead to block out the sun as he saw a silhouette of someone leave the hut, dropping a bundle of something as he ran.
It was the boy.
Russia's eyes widened as he realised the trap, opening his mouth to warn everyone –
Before the hut exploded in a huge burst of flame, sending soldiers flying and shrapnel speeding towards trees and huts and limbs. Russia screamed, but he couldn't hear himself over the sound of the explosion, and his ears were bleeding so that probably didn't help.
There was a searing pain in Russia's leg, causing him to scream more and squeeze his eyes shut tightly to try to brace himself for the constant burning and stinging.
Blood.
So much blood.
Blood seeping from his leg, from his ears, from his comrades.
Oh god.
They were all dead, weren't they?
They were so much closer to the hut than he was.
Russia began hyperventilating, tears trailing down his face as he realised the full weight of the situation.
All his comrades.
The men he was in charge of, the men he was supposed to protect with his life.
Dead.
His baby brother.
The only good thing left in this gruesome war.
Dead.
And it was all his fault.
▪▪¤▪▪
It had been days.
Russia had no water left.
It was so hot and humid – the moisture clung to Russia's skin and bogged him down, making him exhausted and weak.
He had somehow evaded every enemy patrol – although he wasn't sure if they actually were enemies, and he wasn't exactly ready to take that risk in his condition.
He had found himself in a clearing, taking a breather and resting his eyes when he heard it.
Rustling in the bushes.
He pressed himself against the tree he was by, holding his gun close to him. From the bushes a figure emerged, walking carelessly into the clearing.
He didn't even realise it was the boy at first.
What he saw first was the coin around his neck on a brown string.
A Kazakhstani tenge.
His brother used to wear one as good luck – he said it was a mark of his people, of the people counting on him to return home safe. The people counting on him to remain happy and encouraging for their sake.
And this monster was wearing his necklace.
Russia didn't hear the boy's cries or his pleas for mercy.
Without thinking, without bothering to understand his own actions, Russia held up his gun and his fingers found the trigger.
And suddenly there was music; intense drums swallowing the world around him.
The boy was dancing a strange sort of tango, and roses bloomed from his chest and neck and face, blood-red roses that glittered in the afternoon sun shining through the jungle canopy.
The boy hit the ground.
Russia clicked his trigger again.
No ammo left.
▪▪¤▪▪
"Russia? Russia?!"
America shook Russia, beginning to whimper. He moved off Russia, searching his body for the wound he described in his story before he passed out. It wasn't easy to miss, in fact, it was bleeding heavier than ever now.
America needed to get him help. Fast.
"Don't worry, Russia," America whispered, hooking an arm under Russia's neck and another under his knees to support him as he lifted him up. "I'm here. I'm here now, and I'm never leaving you again."
▪▪¤▪▪
"He should be fine, but I must insist you do not move him too much, Sergeant America," Switzerland warned, glancing down at his clipboard. "It would seem he has been bleeding out for a few days – if you disturb him too much the wound may reopen and possibly kill him from blood loss."
America nodded towards the doctor, "I understand, thank you for your help."
Switzerland nodded back, moving forward to the door before turning back to America.
"Sir, if I may ask, why did you save this Russian? Why not just kill him?"
"He- uh – he was a captain. He's USSR's son so he um – might know some stuff?"
Switzerland raised an eyebrow at America's hesitation and confused tone.
"Alright, well, stay safe, Sergeant. I don't trust him."
"Thanks, man."
America sighed, holding Russia's red hand in his own, pressing it to his forehead and staring at the floor.
"Hey... don't get all sappy on me," Russia chuckled breathily in a croaky voice, causing America to jump up.
"You're awake! Are you okay? You're not hurting anywhere, are you? Do you need anything? Water, food, blankets – oh god, you're not cold, are you? The last thing you need right now is a fever!"
"Meri, calm down, I'm fine," Russia hushed, gently tugging America down to try to coax him back into his chair beside Russia's bed.
"You're not fine," America chided. "You have a million scratches and scrapes, a cracked rib, and we had to dig fucking shrapnel out of your leg! Also, you're severely dehydrated."
"Don't worry, I've had worse."
"Worse?!?" America screeched, his eyes the size of dinner plates. "What the hell did I miss all these years!?"
"Lots," Russia smiled sadly, brushing hair out of America's eyes, frowning at the sunglasses. "Why do wear those?"
"Just a run-in with a flash grenade, it's not important," America waved off, sitting back down and grabbing hold of Russia's hand again, stroking it with his thumb to calm himself down.
"Wha – "
"I forgive you, yknow," America cut him off quickly, taking in a shuddering breath. "I've known you for a very long time, Ruski – long enough to know you worry about silly things like what others think of you, and that you blame yourself for everything."
Russia stayed silent, swallowing.
"I don't think less of you for losing your platoon or killing that Vietnamese boy. You've been through a lot, we all have," America caressed Russia's cheek, causing the injured country to lean into his touch. "I'll still stay by your side."
"Promise?" Russia asked with a soft chuckle.
America smiled, placing a soft kiss on Russia's forehead.
"Promise."