Book 4 - Spring

XX - Bandages

Russia sighs shakily.

'At least I am not alone.'

Russia catches his brother's gaze and offers a small smile. Ukraine scoffs and turns away. Russia lets out a breath and slowly stands. He leans over the aisle, grabbing onto a nearby seat in a white knuckle grip. Burning consumes the backs of his calves.

America's face scrunches up, looking up through half-open eyes. Russia's heart sinks. Tennessee shifts with a grimace, pulling America further into the seat. America flinches and his body shakes.

"What's wrong?" Russia asks tentatively, holding out a hand.

"He got hit," Tennessee explains bluntly.

Russia's arm pulls back to his chest, and his shoulders fold in. He looks down with wide eyes. Tears threaten to take his calm facade.

'Shit.'

"I'm thinking he's got somethin' on his back, but it's bleedin', so I can't tell exactly what's going on," she says calmly, a soft melancholy in her tone that feels like a punch to the gut, "and his foot's still bleeding. I keep having to change bandages for it."

Russia averts his eyes, and he swallows the lump in his throat.

'I should've protected him.'

"He's also bound to be suffering some pretty big blood loss," Alabama comments from a few seats back.

Russia quiets for a moment, his mind spinning.

'When did he get hurt?'

'What happened?'

'Could I have stopped it?'

"Beam?" Russia asks nervously, reaching out carefully.

'Is this my fault?'

America's eyes spring open and his good eye twinkles, but his gaze is unfocused. He seems to say something, but Russia can only hear vague, uneven whining. Russia's breath catches in his throat.

"Yup," Tennessee says gently, a hand on America's forehead, "he's here. You see him?"

The bus bumps around under them, and Russia hisses, clutching onto the bus seats. His world spins, and his fingernails rip the fabric. The world flashes white for a moment as pain becomes the only thing he knows. He gasps and tries to straighten his back, his legs throbbing.

"You good Russ?" Texas calls.

"I'm fine," Russia says blandly, trying to hide how his breath left his chest.

The skin on the back of his legs burns and pulls against him. His legs shake and his mind spins. His knees feel like they're about to revolt and his balance sways.

'Ow.'

Russia clumsily falls back into an unoccupied seat across from America. He rubs his face, trying to hide the shaking in his fingers.

"Dixie?" South Dakota calls.

The panic in her tone causes Russia to freeze. Then, his mind flashes back to the fight. How willing Dixie seemed to die once the kids had run.

'Dixie... Is he okay?'

Russia forces himself to his feet. He glances back at America, who lays out on top of Tennesse, half-conscious. Tennessee catches his eye and she jerks her head to the back of the bus. Russia nods and begins struggling down the seats. He takes a few steps forward and his legs seize. He stumbles.

His sight flashes white and he sinks to his knees.

"Whoa!"

"Russia?"