Being Human (COUNTRYHUMANS)

Ivan

The drive to this mysterious man's house was rather uneventful. He remained silent the rest of the way to America's annoyance, and he only paid mind to him when he moved around too much. The aching in America's muscles was gradually diminishing over the course of the trip, though not completely. He was frustrated with himself for not being able to get himself out of this situation. He guessed that this was what happens when you get hit by a car. He kept his head leaning against the window, wincing whenever the car rattled a little too harshly on the road, not moving to look at his kidnapper. The man, now that he thought about it, was somewhat familiar, though he couldn't put his finger on exactly who he was reminded of. He watched the buildings and trees fly by. Canada was surprisingly beautiful at this time of year- The fall leaves gave the autumn sky a nice contrast with different oranges, leaves, and brown. A part of him regretted not seeing the outside in so long, as he had seldom left his house while he was sick.

When the car finally stopped, it was after pulling into the driveway of an older-looking small one-story house. The front porch left little room for walking as it was covered with potted plants and food bowls. Gardening was such a strange hobby for a tall, imposing man like America's kidnapper. He was so focused on studying the plants that he nearly fell out when the man opened the door. He was caught, barely, the seat belt unfastened and his torso being grabbed and dragged out. He squirmed and thrashed, but the grip on him was only tightened. It began to press on his ribs, making him freeze and wince. The man adjusted his grip, loosening it before fully lifting him off the ground, cradling him before beginning to make his way to the porch and up the steps.

When the man opened the door and stepped into the room, the smell of liquor filled America's nose to the point of it nearly being overwhelming. Despite the smell, however, the house was kept and tidy, not a single piece of garbage out in the open. It barely looked lived in. It was such a stark contrast from his own home, which was just filled to the brim with trash... America had run out of room in trash cans and he wasn't strong enough to take out the garbage himself. The stranger turned a corner to a flight of stairs, climbing them and being careful not to bump America's legs or head, turned another corner and wound up in a bedroom. There he was finally set down on the bed. America's body curled as soon as it touched the sheets, the coldness from their lack of use almost making his body shiver. He glanced up at the old man, seeing him just stare directly down at him.

America remained still with wide eyes, his mind beginning to race. Why was he just standing there...? The fact that he was here, kidnapped, on a bed with a larger and older man standing right over him. No, he couldn't bring him here just to- his thoughts were halted when the man finally turned away. America didn't breathe still, watching him closely as he opened his closet door slowly, glancing back at him once before rummaging within some unseen box, before pulling something out. It was just a blanket. America's muscles tensed again when he slowly walked back, not getting as close as he was before, simply tossing the blanket to him. With America's size it felt like a bowling ball. The stranger then stared at him for several more moments, eyes glancing over America's bony wrists and thin legs, which were embarrassingly visible thanks to him wearing shorts, before saying: "I will make food. You must rest, you have not yet fully recovered."

"...Who are you?" America asked the same question that he had asked him twice already, once in the hospital and another time in the car- hoping to god that he would actually get an answer this time. To his relief, he did... sort of.

"Do you not know me?" The stranger's eyeseye narrowed as he kept his gaze fixed on him.

"No." America's brows furrowed. "If you're gonna kidnap me you can at least tell me who you are."

"Mm..." The old man glanced away for a moment, seemingly in thought, before looking back at him. "You may call me... Ivan. That is the name I go by."