Who are you really? (CountryHumans x Reader)

ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ɪs ɴᴏ ᴀᴅᴏʟᴇsᴄᴇɴᴄᴇ ғᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ sᴛʀᴏɴɢ

The woman stood there momentarily, running through the situation in her head, to what she would do and how she would do it. It was far from simple, but there was a desperate need for change in this family and if none would do it then our protagonist would at least try. As she stepped towards the second oldest child, the two other children in the room, particularly Belarus were quick to run after her, following close at her heels. It would've been endearing if not for the nervousness that simmered within her. Nevertheless, as she reached the boy who, mind you appeared rather baffled and not so keen on the staring down he was getting from his 'father', (Y/N) leaned forward giving a bit of a bow,

"May I have this dance?"

And of course, Kazakh was absolutely stunned, sitting there like a deer in headlights. Belarus and Ukraine stood behind the woman, both also appearing to be a little surprised but the youngest promptly switched moods and grasped onto the woman's pants, a big grin on their tiny face. "Yeah! Let's dance, Ka!" The babysitter stood up properly, giving him an encouraging smile yet the boy's eyes fell downwards, his hand firmly gripping his forearm. What felt like a judging gaze from Soviet did not help how the teen felt. I don't deserve that. His mind reminded him harshly. "Maybe its best I-- uh," Kazakh furrowed his eyebrows, It's better like this. "I don't-- I mean, uhm," His fumbling words worried the three, especially (Y/N) who felt her lips fall into a frown. And that response, it was so strained. And in spite of this, his head flung upwards, arms now by his side though, his fingers fidgeted as if his body was desperate to do something. A smile appeared on his face, "I can't." he clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms, the sting allowing Kazakh to overlook how he felt. He knew his place.

At first, she'd thought to leave it, not wishing to push the seemingly uncomfortable teen out of his comfort zone. But the Russian woman couldn't shove it down and hold herself back as most could, it wasn't in her nature. Of course, this wouldn't fix everything but, at least here the boy deserves freedom that he couldn't quite get. She didn't understand him fully but that wouldn't stop her from trying. "Kazakh," And once more, his head fell as if expecting to be scolded, eyes shut tightly. She wasn't sure if the others could feel it but there was something about people and their emotions for her, she could feel the terror radiating off him. Did Soviet really make him feel like this? "Don't listen to that voice in your head," She murmured, pointing at his head as he glanced up from the floor a bit. "Do what you want, no one under my watch will hurt you, in any way." The voice pulled at what he could only describe as his inner child which bathed in the kindness like it was sunlight after a million years of darkness. He felt both on the brink of sobbing yet also nothingness. "C'mon, Bel is rather impatient," Her voice now was louder, so that all of them could hear her as she scooped up the child. He didn't have much of a choice as the youngest called to him while the other two were walking towards the centre of the room.

I guess I'm doing this. He thought as he shuffled forward, walking behind the more confident three. A side glance at his adopted father, Kazakh noticed that his eyes were on (Y/N), eyebrows raised. The silence in his ears abruptly stopped as he heard himself being called on by the babysitter who stood with his siblings, tilting her head towards a spot by her side. He hurried to join, jolting a bit as the woman grasped his hand. Bewildered he tried not to focus on it, instead, his gaze moved to the front of him though this was an act he would then regret. Wings clinging to himself as he saw Soviet was in their circle. Why did he care so? The father wasn't even paying attention to him, even as they all began to spin around. He appeared to be just enjoying himself. Why can't I be normal? His breathing became laboured, though the country desperately tried not to show that he was struggling to breathe. Kazakh felt so cold and yet hot, this feeble body that was his own reacting strongly to the stress. I can't do this I---