Book 2 - The Angel Against Revolution

XVIII - Apologies

The world is shifts around him, swirls of colors spin. He feels woozy and still half asleep, so he doesn't make an effort to move just yet. His stomach and chest burn and his face pulses. Muffled talking surrounds him, and he realizes he's being carried by one of the states up the stairs.

'Where am I? Where am I going?' he thinks, his thoughts muddled by pain.

Eventually, he's put down on something soft and he opens his eyes. He fights to sit up and he stares off into space.

He finds himself back in the hotel room, this time with several cots and blankets covering most of the floor. He's been put on one of the beds, laying on top of the blankets.

'What happened?'

Visions of America staring at him with hate in his eyes flash in front of him.

Slash.

Blood.

Russia goes pale and he stares down at his hands. Someone had already cleaned the blood off his arms and hands, but he could still imagine it there, covering his arms and the knife he held.

'I hurt him.'

'I took his eyesight.'

'Those types of injuries don't heal.'

'What have I done? What have I done?'

"Hey, why the long face?" America says, climbing onto the bed next to him.

Russia can't bring himself to look up, even as America crawls closer. Tears gather in his eyes. His hands start shaking, and his lip curls up. He tries not to whine.

'I shouldn't be getting your concern. I hurt you.'

"Russ?"

Tears fall onto his hands, and a lump sits heavy in the back of his throat. Russia feels his heart pulling itself apart.

"How badly did I hurt you?!" America asks, his tone getting frantic, "no no no! Don't cry! It's okay! Cali can give you some pain meds and-"

"It's not about that," Russia mutters, his voice cracking. America stops.

"Are you okay?" America asks quietly, grabbing Russia's hands.

Russia pulls away as if America had set them on fire, guilt pounding in his chest.

"Russia...I...I'm so fucking sorry," America says, his voice shaking.

'What?'

Russia looks up, startled. Tears stream down his face.

"I attacked you. I ATTACKED you. You tried to tell me that I was wrong and I almost killed you," America chokes, bringing a hand over his mouth.

"You thought I killed them," Russia mumbles.

"But you didn't! You wouldn't! You kept me from hurting Arizona!" America cries out before looking away, his lip quivering, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't be yelling at you. I should've listened. I should've just f***ing listened."

"I didn't want to hurt you," Russia whines, drawing his knees to his chest and leaning his head on them, "I never wanted to hurt you."

Russia ignores the horrible burning under the bandages, and tries to breath through his crying.

"Russia," America whispers. He looks heartbroken.

'What did I say wrong?'

'Is he upset with me? He should be.'

'Maybe this relationship thing was a mistake. I hurt him. I fucking hurt him'

'Maybe if I had looked, I wouldn't have hit his eye. Maybe if I had done something else, I wouldn't have handi-capped him.'