If Halls Could Talk (Countryhumans)

Bang

America was sprinting through the streets, screaming for help. He knew that it was late enough for most people to be asleep, but he was banking on at least one person hearing him. The stranger following him didn't seem to be carrying a weapon, although he was not about to bank on that being a fact.

"F*CK!" The stranger following him yelled as he was suddenly tackled to the ground. Soviet was punching this hooded stranger, pinning him down on the floor.

"Soviet!" America exclaimed, frozen with fear. The stranger was able to resist Soviets attempts to keep him pinned on the ground, and pulled out a knife. He stabbed the far left side of Soviets stomach, making Soviet gasp in pain.

Suddenly, they heard gunshots....

"America, are you ok?!" Britain cried, shakily holding a gun.

"B-Britain...? What are you doing here?" America breathed, clutching onto Soviet, who was staring wide-eyed at the strangers bullet-riddled body.

"That doesn't matter. You two, go home right now," Britain demanded. "Sov, I'm assuming your father won't give two sh*ts if you stay at our house tonight?" Britain asked.

"B-but what about your father?"

"...don't worry about him. Go home," Britain said.

"Bri, why do you have a gun? What are you-."

"Shut the f*ck up and go home," Britain shouted. America was caught off guard by this, but knew that Britain was being serious. America and Soviet rushed home, and America dragged Soviet to the bathroom.

"Take your shirt off," America said, getting out a first aid kit.

"What?" Soviet asked.

"Sov, you're bleeding," America said, unzipping Soviets jacket for him. Soviet let his jacket fall from his shoulders, and lifted up his shirt. America got a clean cloth and pressed it against the wound to stop the bleeding. After a while, America cleaned the wound, and applied an antibiotic, before wrapping a bandage around Soviets torso to cover the wound.

"There... I'll go get you a new shirt," America said softly. Soviet nodded, and followed America to his bedroom where he rummaged through his closet for a shirt big enough for Soviet.

"Here... this should work," America said, handing Soviet an oversized sleep shirt. Soviet put it on, and it fit well enough.

"Thank you...," Soviet said softly. America nodded, staring at the floor. "...Are you ok?"

"Y-yeah... just shaken...," America said. Soviet nodded, hesitantly pulling America closer into his arms. America wrapped his arms around Soviet, nuzzling his face against Soviets chest. "Thank you for saving me...," America said.

"Well, I'd thank your brother for that," Soviet said. America smiled softly.

"You still took a stab wound for me... I'm glad the wound wasn't deep...," America said. Soviet nodded, kissing Americas forehead.

"I love you," Soviet said softly. America teared up, smiling.

"I love you too...," America said. The two gradually fell into a passionate kiss, holding each other close...

"Damn, is now really the time?" They heard Britain say. The two immediately reeled away from one another.

"Bri! You still have to explain to me what the f*ck happened!" America exclaimed. Britain sighed.

"Ame, not tonight. Go to bed, ok?" Britain said.

"Britain, please... why isn't dad home? Why did you have a gun?" America asked. Britain stared at America silently, before walking away.

"Don't worry about it. Get some sleep," Britain said. America sighed, knowing he wasn't going to get any answers. He laid down in bed, noticing Soviet standing near him awkwardly.

"Well?" America said. Soviet blushed.

"Well... what?" Soviet said. America sighed, scooting over and patting the space next to him in bed. Soviet hesitantly laid next to him, and the two fell asleep in each others arms.

Meanwhile, Canada was holding Mexico close as he sobbed.

"It just doesn't make sense... why would they kill Puerto Rico...?" Mexico cried. Canada shook his head silently, tears falling down his face.

"I don't know...," Canada whispered.