Book 2 - The Angel Against Revolution

XLVII - Loss

Russia sits up again once the stinging of his burn lessens a little and he sees that most of the states are scrambling to help with DIxie or trying to fix the window. He distractedly wipes away at his cheek, but when he pulls away, he sees his fingers stained with red.

Russia's heart stops.

'Blood?!'

He looks around panicked, trying to talk, but he can't gauge his volume anymore, or even his accent. Even then, his tone seems to grab New York's attention. New York walks over, a little annoyed. Russia waves his bloody fingertips in a panic and waves to his ears.

New York's eyes widen almost comically before he lunges at Russia, pulling at Russia's ears. After looking at them, New York runs over to America to do the same thing to him. Russia's heart races in his chest.

'Is America okay?'

Russia tries to stand, but someone pushes him back down. He jumps at the contact. He spins around to see Michigan giving him a startled and apologetic look. Michigan says something, but Russia couldn't understand. Russia furrows his brow and Michigan gets an alarmed look on his face before running up to California, who is hovering over Dixie.

California and Michigan talk. Michigan looks frantic, waving to Russia. California soon saunters over and asks him something. Russia tries his best to say he doesn't understand, but he must have said it far too loudly with how California stumbles back a little.

Russia looks away, his face flush. He rubs the back of his neck, flustered and embarrassed. Then, a familiar pad of paper is shoved under his nose. He looks up to see New York staring at him expectantly, arm outstretched. Russia takes it and reads the scrawled writing across the top.

At least, he tries to.

The handwriting is sharp, but all the letters connect, making it nearly completely illegible.

Then someone snatches it out from under him. New Hamshire seems to be scolding New York, writing on the paper before handing it back.

In swirling, even lettering, the question of "Can you hear any of us?" is written for him.

Russia takes the pen.

"No," he writes before handing it back.

New Hampshire writes again.

"What can you hear?"

Russia scrunched his face, trying to remember the English words to describe the high pitched noise filling his head.

Ultimately, he settles on the word "Ringing."

New Hampshire nods, telling New York something, before turning back to Russia with a gentle smile. She scribbles something down and flips the paper back around.

"It will be okay," the paper reads, "York will find an ASL book for you. That should help."

Russia nods in acknowledgment and Something cold and wet touches his face. He spings around, feeling a yelp escape his throat. He sees Tennessee jerk a little at his reaction and falls off the back of the cot, some kind of wet cloth in her hand. Russia laughs. He reaches out, offering his hand, and Tennessee takes it.

Russia pulls her up, and she regains her footing quickly. She opens her mouth as if to say something, only to close it and sheepishly wave the cloth for Russia to see, a small and faded smear of red already staining the white.

Russia smiles and tries to calm his heart rate. He gives a nod, and Tennessee retreats back into his peripheral vision, quickly wiping off the blood from his face.