It's easy to forget that dreams don't last forever.
But they all end eventually.
And so, gradually, America felt the feeling of Puerto Rico in his arms slip away until there was nothing.
But it wasn't long until America felt himself waking up in the arms of someone else.
They were strong, and gripped onto America as if he could slip away any second. But America wasn't going anywhere, not any time soon. There was feeling in his arms and legs, his body collectively made by the states. But everything felt... off, and that's mainly how America could tell that this body wasn't the one he was used to.
Honestly, he was pretty confused. There was a hole in his memory where things should've been, an unexplainable blank filled with confusing, contradicting feelings. He was pretty sure the feelings in that blank of time were the state's feelings spilling over into his own consciousness. How that worked, he had no idea. All he truly knew was that he was being hugged, held by someone. Someone afraid. Someone relieved. Someone America knew all too well. Was it weird that America's heart skipped a beat a little when he recognized him?
No... No, probably not.
America smiled a little bit, warmly saying, "Hi, Russ."
The person holding America stiffened a little bit before relaxing and squeezing America tighter, "Hi, you dork." Russia said back in his stupidly amazing voice. Was it weird that America missed it? He didn't even remember the time he missed. At least... not really.
America smiled faintly, hugging Russia back. Yeah, maybe it was weird that he missed Russia's voice, but America didn't care. He felt like it had been forever since he had seen Russia, even though his final clear memory was of Russia holding him, just like this.
His final clear memory... it was of him confessing his feelings for Russia.
If America was being honest, he thought he was going to die in that moment. Pain had been stretching throughout his limbs, overwhelming his every nerve. In the mental confusion, he did the only thing he could do. The thing he didn't even know would work.
I guess it did work, cause America was back now.
He was alive, not dead.
To be honest, America still didn't know exactly what was going on and what kind of foe he was facing, just that Puerto Rico was somehow a part of it. America should ask him sometime... but how? America couldn't ignore the spike of pain that seemed to shoot through him when he and Puerto Rico made eye contact, making him freeze in his very spot. Something had... happened to Puerto Rico while America was down for the count, and America doubted it was good.
... It was odd, really.
America cared more about Puerto Rico's well-being than his own.
He didn't... he didn't blame Rico at all for trying to kill him. Maybe he should. But... those few moments, it... it gave him a sense of clarity he wouldn't be able to reach under normal circumstances.
In that moment... he so desperately didn't want to die. In that moment, all the guilt and horror that had been plaguing him disappeared, and all that was left was a crippling fear, a voice inside him yelling, screaming at him not to die.
But even through all of that- the desperation and the fear- America didn't blame Puerto Rico.
America didn't blame Puerto Rico for a single thing.
Puerto Rico was scared. He was trapped. So he acted out.
And America didn't even notice.
He didn't even notice how much pain his own kid was in.
America didn't blame Puerto Rico.
... He blamed himself.
Because although the pain taught him he didn't want to die, it didn't teach him how to not feel crushing guilt weighing him down at every mistake. At every error and every failure to act or notice.
Would Puerto Rico have turned to such drastic measures if America had dealt with the situation differently? Would he have turned to such drastic measures if America had given him someone to vent and talk to? Would he have turned to such drastic measures if America had just done something about it?
Maybe he still would've, but America had an itching feeling that he wouldn't have. That he wouldn't have betrayed his family if he thought there was any other way. Any other option. And it was America who failed to show him those options. It was America who failed to show him a better way.
He felt Russia separate from the hug, snapping him out of his thoughts. Russia gave him a relieved yet happy smile, a small laugh bubbling out of his lips, "I-I'm sorry, I just- I suppose I just can't believe you're actually back." Russia said and, dragged out of his not-so-pleasant thoughts, America found himself warmly smiling back at the Russian.
"Yeah, I'm back, Ruski." America said softly.
Now, America wasn't sure what he was expecting, but he certainly did expect what Russia said next. Russia had grabbed America by the shoulders and, in an expectedly emotional voice, said, "You're such a goddamn idiot!" America blinked a little bit, taken aback. Even so, he didn't get any chance to defend himself, as Russia continued, "God, sometimes I wish I could see into that stupid noggin of yours!" America faltered, seeing the way Russia's eyes glistened in the light. He looked like he was about to cry. But Russia didn't seem to notice, instead looking straight into America's eyes, his expression determined, "But I will never leave you alone."
America gave Russia a confused look, but Russia kept on going, "You said, in my arms, right before you split-" Russia took in a deep, painful breath at the words, like the very thought of losing America tore his heart apart, "that you couldn't involve me in this." Russia's gaze was determined as he said, "Well, I'm getting involved with this, whether you like it or not. I can't do nothing while you're in pain, I just wouldn't be able to live with myself. I wouldn't be able to live without you!"
America felt his throat constrict, getting a small feeling as to where this was going. But, surely...
Then Russia relaxed a little bit, pulling his hands away and laughing slightly. Though, the laugh sounded more stressed and sad than anything, making America frown. "I'm not gonna let you go through this alone anymore, Meri." Russia said softly, smiling faintly at America. After a brief moment of pause, Russia looked down, continuing "What you said... the last time we saw each other..." America stiffened a little bit and Russia looked into America's eyes, "I..."
Russia paused, his brows creasing with all sorts of thoughts. He then spoke slowly,"I won't tell you my response yet... Because... once I say it, there's no going back. And there's no way to know whether all we're doing is walking into a death trap." The image of Puerto Rico falling from the building flashed through Russia's mind, and he winced a little bit. He smiled faintly, saying, "So, I'll get back to you. And the minute we're both free from this slight inconvenience, I'll tell you. I promise you that. Although..." A small, faint laugh escaped Russia's lips, "I'm sure my answer's pretty obvious."
America blinked confusedly at Russia before smiling faintly, saying a soft "ok." Russia smiled back, standing up and offering a hand to America. Before America could take Russia's hand, however, he felt someone crash into him. And then another. And then another. And then another. And then another.
America blinked in surprise, wheezing a little bit at the sudden force. Then, blinking, he recognized the five people who had crashed into him. Within moments, he was grinning stupidly.
It was his family.
He looked awkwardly up at Russia, who was fighting back laughter. Seeing Russia fighting back laughter, America found himself laughing, hugging his family tight.
"Hey, guys."
His smile became softer in nature.
"I'm finally back."
--x--
"So how are we doing this?" Russia asked, crossing his arms as he moved to sit on the conference table, "You just evicted your family from helping- what was even your plan there?"
"I don't know-" America grumbled, "I don't want to bother them with my messed up problems." Noticing Russia's upturned eyebrow, America swiftly added, "Not any more than I have already."
Russia lightly sighed, obviously disapproving of America's actions and saying, "According to your states, we're facing some guy called 'Confederate-' who's he?"
America snapped around to face Russia before his face immediately contorted with disgust and anger, growling out, "Well, shit."
Russia gave America a curious look, "Care to explain?"
"He's..." America frowned, walking up to Russia and sitting in a nearby chair, "He was a revolution of mine." He trailed off before cussing under his breath, "Shit, I thought he was dead..."
"Well, he wasn't, and isn't." A new voice said out of nowhere.
Both America and Russia jumped, Russia jumping into a somewhat offensive position while America simply snapped his head around, recognizing the voice but not understanding how, well, they were here.
A few paces away, an extremely short boy with a red and white flag stood, brow raised at their reactions. Russia and America recognized him immediately- Russia only barely recognized him, though- and America felt confusion swamp over him, the voice and face registering in his mind but not understanding how DC was there.
"DC?" America said confusedly, getting up, "How are you here? Why are you here?"
DC seemed to ponder it for a second before saying, "It's hard to explain. Basically, our split has left everyone..." DC seemed to look for the right word, "loose. Anyone can wiggle out of the union if they want to now, which is..." DC laughed nervously, "concerning, but also really useful."
America gave DC a concerned look before glancing at Russia, then back at DC, "Uhm- why are you here then?"
DC nodded, "I have a message from Puerto Rico. He would've come himself, but... his body's incredibly damaged. It hasn't healed yet and..." DC looked to the side, almost ashamed, "I don't think he'd survive being out of the union right now."
America's brows furrowed, feeling his heart twist a little, "What... what hurt him?" America asked DC.
"Confederate," DC said simply, walking up to the conference table and sitting at the seat directly across from America.
A little awkward, Russia sat in the seat next to America, clarifying when he noticed America's distraught look. America deserved to know. "Confederate..." Russia looked for the right word, "Confederate basically pushed him off of a roof."
America gave Russia a shocked look, his mouth and throat going dry. That's... that's what happened? Rico had something about being discarded by whoever he was working with, but... America gulped.
Puerto Rico had been thrown off of a roof.
How painful had that been? How much pain did Puerto Rico have to go through? America felt guilt creep up his spine.
None of this would have happened if America had just done something.
But America pushed down the guilt. Not right now. Right now, he needed to be focused. He needed to defeat Confederate.
For good this time.
DC looked at America before hesitantly saying, "First, he wanted me to tell you that he still hates you and that that hug changed nothing."
America inhaled sharply, harshly ignoring the sting in his heart at that. He had no right to feel hurt. None. Nada.
DC cast America a sad look before continuing, "And that the only reason he's helping us is because he hates Confederate more." America nodded slightly, expectantly looking at DC for him to continue. DC looked back, staring blankly at America for a second before jumping and saying, "Oh! Right, yeah. Continuing with what I was saying, here's what Puerto Rico knows about Confederate.
"First," DC started, putting up one finger to exaggerate that thought before quickly and almost sheepishly tucking it away, "Confederate apparently isn't... Confederate."
America raised a brow and Russia seemed to have a similar, confused reaction, saying, "What does that mean?"
DC seemed to struggle with the wording for a second, "Mental unification." Both Russia and America seemed to flinch at that, and DC grimaced slightly. "It's why Confederate's flag is his battle flag instead of-"
"But who the heck could he have unified with?" America interrupted, confused. His voice was admittedly a bit shaky, too, but it was more of the shock than anything.
You never do mental unification.
America remembered the countless stories Britain would warn America with when he was still a colony.
Never unify minds.
Only three outcomes come out of it, and none of them are worth the power you get in exchange.
DC blinked before his brows seemed to scrunch. "Well..." He went, fiddling with his thumbs. He looked up at America, saying, "You."
Russia then interrupted, saying a sharp, "What?"
"Er-" DC tried to explain, "Not you you, but a part of you. I- oh, how do I explain this? Basically, when Confederate reformed in your mindscape, he ran into the depths of your mind immediately. He went to the parts of your mind the states never dared to venture. And, at some point, he reached your nightmares. And, somehow, he merged with one. He merged with your nightmares of him.
"But as we all know," DC rambled on, his eyes drifting to his hands, which were on the table, "you don't have a body in the mindscape, not like Confederate had one anyway at the moment. So, they merged in the only way they could: mentally. And, somehow, in the confusion, the nightmare Confederate gained some semblance of consciousness while the real Confederate started messing around with your mind. After all, he was now, more than he ever was before, a part of you. And although he could've gone through with his plan ages ago, he was never strong enough to initiate it... until Puerto Rico came along and helped."
America furrowed his brows slightly, half of this going over his head. But, nevertheless, DC continued, saying, "So Confederate isn't really... Confederate. At least... not anymore?"
America sighed before leaning back into his chair. That was a lot to take in, but... "How strong is this Confederate but not really confederate, anyway?"
"He has Rhode Island and Hawaii under his control."
Then America seemed to pause.
His brows furrowed and he shot up straight, "What?" He spoke, his tone coming off as harsh and grating.
DC winced, "Confederate absorbed them using your body. Your real body, that is."
America looked at DC with desperate eyes, "So they're just in his mindscape, then? They're fine, right?"
"Dad..." DC said softly and sadly, his gaze going to his hands.
America stared at DC for a few more moments, hoping for some sort of confirmation. Hoping for something- anything.
After a few moments of suffocating silence, DC spoke hopelessly, "Dad... They're... There's no way they could've..."
America blinked at him for a few moments before his expression contorted and he pushed himself to his feet, both his mind and the world around him whirling. He practically stumbled into the wall, his heart already knowing what DC was trying to say.
He couldn't protect them.
Tears formed in America's eyes.
They were gone.
He didn't protect them.
And now they were gone.
Russia got to his feet, trailing after America, "Ame? Ame, it's... it's okay, it's not your fault..."
"Not my fault...?" America felt irrational anger hit him, yelling out, "Of course it's my fault! If I just..." America's hands flew to his hair, pulling on it, "If I didn't listen to that bastard from the very beginning, none of this would've happened! If I just..." America's legs shook, "Hawaii and Rhi would be okay right now if I just-"
"America!" Russia yelled out, reaching forward and grabbing Ame by the shoulders, his expression both stern and soft at the same time. His volume lowering, he said, "It's not your fault. None of this is. Confederate was the one..." He swallowed, "Confederate was the one who killed them, not you. You were... you were practically dead-" Russia's voice cracked, "You were practically dead when all of this happened, it's not your fault."
"Yeah, Dad." DC agreed, standing up, his expression contorted with concern, "It's not your fault... there was nothing you could do."
America looked down at his feet, his mind swirling with guilt and questions and... hatred. A pounding, growing hatred that was spreading to every limb in his body.
Because they were right.
There was nothing he could've done, and... and yet...
America winced, pushing down the nauseating feeling of guilt. Instead he tried to focus his rage on something else- someone else. After a few moments of scrambling, his brain settled on Confederate. In instants, pure loathing overwhelmed America and he clenched his jaws.
All of this...
It was all that damn bastard's fault.
He... he needed to pay.
Pay for everything he's done to America- everything he's done to America's family.
But how?
Expression hardening with anger and rage, America's mind got to work. After a moment, he paused, saying, "Wait." He turned to DC, "He only has Rhode Island and Hawaii?"
"Yeah?" DC answered with a questioning tone to his voice.
"No one else?"
DC blinked a little bit in further confusion before he sputtered out a "yeah, basically?"
And suddenly, it all felt too perfect. Like stealing candy from a baby.
None of the states have their own military.
Confederate would have to go to his newfound lands and build up a military from the inside out.
And Confederate most definitely didn't expect America to come back, because...
All America had to do was confront Confederate before he left New York, and...
And Confederate's done for, no army to back him up or provide him with physical strength.
America turned to the conference table, putting his hands on it and leaning forward, a determined expression on his face, "I know exactly how we can beat him."
America's expression hardened.
"We'll make him regret ever daring to mess with us a second time."