༻𓊈 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐒𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐔𝐧𝐢𝐨𝐧. 𓊉༺

༻𓊈𝐀𝐜𝐭 𝐈𝐈𝐈: 𝐌𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐈𝐈.𓊉༺

The dictators' grip on Astenes' unifrom, tightened. As his head fell to tilt to the right, he leaned in. Being right beside the others' ear, he pulled them closer. The collar of their shirt, starting to subtly tear. "Astene.. If you lay a finger on him, in any way other then I pay you to - You're gone. No one will even think to question where you went. I've given you many warnings. Watch yourself, love." His voice stayed monotone, low enough that Prussia - Nor Z could hear what was said. Though, you could see, whatever it was - Sent shivers' down Astenes' spine.

Quickly, he nodded. "Yeah- Yeah.. Sorry, Mr. Soviet. I won't repeat the same mistakes." And, as these words left their mouth, the dictators' once dead expression - Changed within seconds. His typical, sinister smile spread to his face. A smile, Prussia knew far too well. "Good! Very good. Now, continue. You have maybe around thirty minutes, to finish up. I want my doll repaired before the end of the ride." Then, he finally let go of the Russian soldiers' collar. Allowing them to quickly fix their tie, and straighten out his shirt.

Soviet, shot Prussia a soft glare, before, turning around. Finally, he returned to his seat. His large, veiny hands shifted to two different pockets on his uniform. His left hand resorted to his pants' right pocket - To pull a pack of Fag cigarettes from his pocket. Before, his left trailed to his coats poc-...

His coat. He'd put on the German, so he wouldn't be cold. Although he never typically cared, it was nice to see a subtle, yet noticeable change in his attitude. From the back, you could hear an agitated sigh. Soviet, looking back, once more asked,  "Ey, Prussia? Would you be a doll, and hand over my Zippo from your right coat pocket?" This clearly was not a request. If he refused, it would make everything worse. Worse, then it was as is.

Prussia gave a soft nod, yet before Soviet could complain about this - The German spoke. "Yeah, please give me a minute-." He subtly mumbled, before moving his left hand, down, and over to the right coat pocket. A wince of pain could be heard, before a small 'Aha!,' his hand shooting back out with a small - silver zippo. A small, golden hammer and sickle engraved on the side.

Reaching his right arm out, he passed the lighter to Astene. Which was swiftly snatched from his hand, Soviet shooting him a nasty glare. "Don't touch my things." He sneered before rolling his one, and only eye.

Astene took in a big breath, only exhaling once Soviet turned back around. He really had grown sick and tired of Soviets' condescension. It got on his nerves. To the point at times he considered trying to quit, start a new life. Get a new name, maybe marry - Have a family of three, maybe four kids. It stops at four, though.

"Okay. Z? Sleeve. I'll get to work." Sighing after he spoke, the Russian soldier grabbed the brown, glass bottle of peroxide once more. Pulling the cork out of the neck of the bottle, he set it next to the Germans' left kneecap. Meanwhile, Prussia watched as Z simply moved her arm towards his mouth. Shaking his head, his eye narrowed. "Not yet. The peroxide doesn't bother me." He stated, rolling an eye.

Z, refused to move her arm, though. She didn't care what Prussia claimed, because some days' he'd say this and it'd be completely opposite.

Astene, slowly began to pour the peroxide directly into the deep gashes. Old, dried blood rinsing off rather easily. Meanwhile Prussias' legs subtly spazzed. This, and, quiet groans of pain could be heard as he shook his head. He could be heard taking, sharp, airy breaths. He was right, this was gonna hurt a lot more. Like, a lot fucking more. "Fuck.. Fuck." He growled, yet tried to keep it to himself.

As the peroxide was dropped directly into the gashes, they began to bubble - White fizz filling up the wounds. Before, the white turned murky. Puss starting to leak out, just like the gash upon his side. Hissing, he stared down at his legs. A disgusting site, it was to him at least.