Dispute | Countryhumans AU | RusAme/AmeRus

12

Explanation for country deaths: Since they disintegrate when they die (they start disintegrating when they're dying and disintegrate fully when they stop breathing and their heart stops without any chance of resuscitation), their belongings are buried in place of bodies like normal human funerals and a headstone will be placed.

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America awoke to gentle knocks on his door. "Hmm? Yes, come in."

Russia opened the door. "Good morning."

"Oh- Russia, what time is it now?" America asked blearily, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "5 am," Russia replied nonchalantly. "Why do we need to get up so early?" America mumbled, extracting himself from his tangled blanket.

"The flight is at 7 am, I don't want to be caught in a traffic jam," Russia said, stifling a yawn. "Okay, I'll get ready. How long are we staying at your place?"

"For a week," the Russian responded, leaving the room and closing the door behind him to give America some privacy.

America changed into a turtleneck and jeans before stuffing his warmest, fluffiest and thickest clothes into a luggage, and draping a trench coat on his arm.

He left the room, meeting Russia outside in the living room. Russia had a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. "Did you bring everything you need? Phone, charger, wallet and passport?"

"Yep," America confirmed. "Alright, I've called a cab, we should head down now," Russia said, beckoning to the door.

They left the college campus, taking the cab to the airport. It was 6.30 am when they reached there, and they walked around to kill some time before they were finally allowed to board the aeroplane.

The flight was a few hours long and America had caught a little more sleep on the plane, waking up as the aircraft touched down, bumping on the runway.

He shivered as they stepped out into the frigid winter air, and put on his coat, scarf and gloves. "Are you warm enough?" Russia asked, concerned. "I'll be alright, I just have to adjust to this weather," America replied, his voice muffled by the scarf.

"Okay, but it's gonna be a lot colder where I live," Russia warned. "Tell me if you felt too cold."

"Don't worry, I will," America said, adjusting his scarf and laughing as mist formed in front of his face as he talked.

They got into another cab and watched as the scenery became more town-like as the tall buildings faded into trees and shrubbery. The car stopped outside a lane with seemingly nothing.

"We get off here, cars can't go any further from here on so we'll have to walk," Russia explained, paying the driver. "Oh, okay," America said, imagining a stone cottage with a big garden.

They walked down the lane as the cold started getting through to America. He trembled, the cold biting at his nose and ears as he arranged his scarf to cover the bottom half of his face and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his trench coat.

"You're feeling cold, aren't you?" Russia chuckled, taking his own coat off and draping it over the freezing American. "Here, take my coat."

"But... won't you feel... cold?" America stuttered through chattering teeth. "I used to play in the snow with my siblings in nothing but a shirt and shorts when it wasn't too cold, I'll be alright," Russia reassured.

"For real?" America asked, dumbfounded. "Yeah, it was fun," Russia smiled wistfully, thinking about it. "Ah, here's the house."

Russia pushed a metal gate open, walking down the small dirt path leading up to a tall Russian style house with intricate wood carvings on the walls. The path was lined with some well tended shrubbery on a snow covered lawn.

"You should see this garden when it isn't winter— my siblings are good at gardening, if I do say so myself," Russia mused, as he opened the door.

There were a couple of hellos and welcome backs as they stepped through. Russia introduced America to his family and taught America the name of his siblings.

They waited for a bit until everyone was back, and left to visit their father's memorial. When they got there, they cleaned the place up and then all of them placed a chamomile on the cold marble.

It was awkward for America, as he wasn't part of the family and because his family had been against the Soviet and his family back then. But they were allies during the world war, and they treated him with polite respect.

Then, when they were done, they walked back to the house to warm up and talk about what had happened when the four oldest siblings (Russia, Ukraine, Belarus and Kazakhstan) were away.

A week later they returned to the college campus and classes started again.

They were practicing their parts in the play, with the rest of the class, refining their actions and lines and polishing the flaws in their acting.

Then came their final rehearsal before they were due to perform for an audience. "And... cut!" UNESCO declared. "That was a good run, everyone. Keep it up, get enough sleep tonight and good luck for tomorrow!"

Everyone filed out of the auditorium, excited chatter buzzing in the air.

"Are you nervous?" America asked as they exited. "For tomorrow? Yes, but it seems that we've been doing everything right, everything should go to plan tomorrow," Russia said. "Don't worry too much."

As that was their last class for the day, they returned to their dorm to complete homework and look through the scripts one last time. They had a quick dinner before America retired to bed.

Russia couldn't sleep. He made himself some chamomile tea and sat at the dining table, reading a book.

"I didn't think you'd be a tea person," America remarked.

Russia laughed. "You learn something new everyday, then. Can't sleep too?"

"Yeah."

"Do you want some? There's still some in the tea kettle," Russia offered, closing his book and putting it aside.

"Sure, thanks." America poured some tea from the glass kettle into a mug and sat down beside Russia, peering at Cyrillic letters on the book's cover.

It was obviously an old book, though it had been handled with great care. The pages were yellowed but not tattered, and the leather cover was clean and free of blemishes.

"Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy... a classic," America read. "Yeah, it belonged to my grandfather... written by one of his citizens. I have no idea how he acquired it, he must've found a way to step into their dimension of the world." Russia smiled fondly at the book.

"My father and he never had a good relationship, but my father kept his belongings and treated them well. Pretty surprising," Russia sighed.

"Could I have a look at it?" America asked. "Sure, just be careful with it." Russia said, passing him the old book.

America turned the book over in his hands. "Wait, there's a piece of paper stuck in between the cover and the spine, here-"

He eased the parchment paper out gently, and unfolded it with the same care. "It's in cursive, I can't read Russian cursive very well... here, you read it."

Russia took the piece of paper out and skimmed through it. "Ahh... it makes sense now— why my father took care of the books so well, this explains it all."