Breaking Point - RusAme (Countryhumans)

Fever Dreams

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DISCLAIMER: I am aware of the current political situations. This story does not represent any political views, nor is it attempting to make any political commentary or offend anyone! Though I will throw in various historical references, this story is not historically or scientifically accurate by any means.

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Russia cursed under his breath, the metallic taste of blood in his mouth mingling with the frigid air. The snow-laden trees blurred into a dizzying kaleidoscope of whites, blues, and browns. Rasping coughs tore through his chest, leaving a trail of crimson stains in the pristine snow behind him. Exhaustion and fever sapped at his strength, forcing him to his knees.

"Get up," a voice snarled in his head, laced with self-loathing. "It's your fault he's dead. You owe it to them to keep going. Get up. GET UP!"

Struggling against the snowdrifts, Russia hauled himself upright, legs threatening to buckle with each shaky step. A flicker of movement in the distance snagged his attention - dark shapes emerging from the treeline.

Soldiers.

Panic surged, a jolt of adrenaline momentarily pushing back the fever's haze. He couldn't let himself be captured.

Russia coated himself in a chilling armor of corrosive ice just as sedative bullets began to rain down on him. The bullets glanced off his protective shield harmlessly. Out of options, one man lunged desperately for Russia. A shriek of agony ripped through the clearing as the man's hand, encased in a thick leather glove, simply melted away. The soldier, clutching the smoking stump of his arm, crumpled to the snow, his uniform stained a horrifying crimson.

A wave of ice shards burst from Russia, effortlessly tearing through the bulletproof armor of the soldiers and embedding themselves into vital organs. Most of the men were dead before they even hit the ground, their internal organs shredded into ribbons.

An eerie silence descended, broken only by the soft thud of bodies collapsing into the snowbanks. Russia staggered back, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. The world swam around him, the edges blurring into darkness.

"Looks like they underestimated you," Russia spun around, the world tilting on its axis as he locked eyes with his father's murderer.

America.

Hovering above the ground, his wings shimmered in the dying sunlight. America glanced at Russia, a small smile on his lips. "Surprised to see me?" He asked.

Russia glared at him, seething in fury.

America landed gracefully, scarcely making an imprint in the snow. As soon as he touched the ground, his wings disappeared. "I'm sure you already know why I'm here, so we can either do this the easy way, or..."

He tilted his head at Russia. "Your choice."

"And if I refuse?" Russia rasped

"Let's just say that the easy way is looking much more attractive right now."

Instead of responding, Russia lunged, a wave of ice spikes erupting from the frozen ground. America sidestepped casually, the spikes missing him by a hair's breadth. His movements were fluid and casual, as if Russia didn't pose a threat at all.

"Are you always so stubborn?" America chuckled. "You're in no shape for a fight."

Russia hated to admit it, but America was right. That didn't mean, however, that he was going to concede. He snarled, unleashing a torrent of corrosive mist, aiming to blind his opponent. America waved his hand nonchalantly, and a shimmering shield snapped into existence around him. Russia's icy fog burned through the shield with a sizzling hiss, but America repaired it as quickly as it melted away.