25 Ways Of Dying (CountryHumans RusAme)

Roller Coaster

Russia sunk down where he sat. He was hundreds of metres above the ground, in the front cart of a roller coaster which didn't move an inch. He was terrified - he remembered when this happened to him before. He never had a fear of heights, no, but a fear of roller coasters altogether. He hated them with every bone of his body.

Russia uneasily looked around, hoping America was somewhere here. He could barely turn to look at the carts behind him without him shivering like a maniac. And there America was, several carts behind him, looking out to the view below him. Russia huffed and looked forward again. His throat felt as though it was all blocked up. His breaths were short and there were many of them, and it felt like there was a huge hole in his stomach.

Fear.

"Russia.." America croaked, "I'm sorry."

Russia didn't hear America's words. It was all slurred to him, he couldn't process any English at that point - he was screaming in Russian internally. He took a deep breath in and tried to talk back.

"Roller coaster are not good place," Russia trembled in very broken English, a heavier Russian accent than normal, barely able to process what he was even saying, "Hate roller coaster! Very not happy place, God!"

"Woah, calm down, Russia!" America said sharply, concerned, "Do you want me to come over there?"

"Yes," Russia nodded frantically, "Yes, yes do please."

"Okay, let's see here.." America mumbled, standing up on his cart. He observed the gap between each of the carts, and nodded - he could do this. America carefully stepped onto the cart in front of him, and he did so again, and again. Right up until he was behind Russia. America was seriously worried for him; America could tell Russia had an obvious fear of roller coasters.

America placed a hand on Russia's shoulder as he stepped into his cart, sitting down, shoulder to shoulder with him. He could feel how much Russia shook - in response to that, America tried to hold his hand. Russia didn't protest, instead he clutched onto America's hand tightly. Russia didn't think straight, and right now, he didn't act like it either.

"You were here before?" America asked, getting no reply for a few moments.

"Yes, was," Russia stuttered, his accent made it almost impossible to clearly hear what he was saying, "When eight years was here. Do not like. God, very do not like, I-"

"Russia, take a deep breath in," America spoke up, "Calm down. I can barely understand what you're saying. Okay?"

Russia nodded and took several shaky, but deep, breaths. He calmed down slightly, and tried again.

"Yes, I was here before," He said, much clearer than when he was panicking, "I was here eight years ago. I do not like it here. I hated it. I still hate it now."

"Good job, Russia," America grinned, "And yeah, I see why you hate it. I don't mind roller coasters personally, but I see why you don't like them."

"M-my sibling, Ukraine, kept talking to me about pushing me off the cart," Russia explained, "Pretended to push me a few times. Kept rocking cart. Almost pushed Belarus off cart."

"Jesus.." America furrowed his brows, "Doesn't sound like you have the best home life, right? Because you said all these places are from your memories?"

"Yes," Russia nodded, "But imagined as everything that could have gone wrong."

America nodded, he didn't speak much after that. Russia still trembled with fear, and winced when the cart began to move. Russia sunk down in his seat.

"It'll be okay," America reassured Russia, as the carts picked up their pace. Russia forced his eyes shut, as America got an idea. "Russia, I need you to go on the cart behind us."

"What?" Russia cried out, distressed, "Why?"

"I have a plan that you're not gonna like," America looked up to him, his glasses resting over his eyes and concealing any true emotion, "But you need to trust me. Please?"

Russia hesitated, "F-fine. Please, just help me..?"

"Of course," America responded, helping Russia into the cart behind them. Russia's breathing had picked up again and his eyes were wide, horror imbedded in his expression. Once Russia sat down, the cart was still moving slowly, and Russia watched as America leaned over the back of the cart. There was a clink, as America's cat began to move away, without Russia's.

"Told you you wouldn't like it," America chuckled as he disappeared into the distance. Russia had his eyes tightly closed, though. He didn't want to be here again. Ever. He didn't know where America had gone, but he knew that he wasn't going to die. America died for him.

"Holy.." Russia breathed. His shoulders sagged, he sighed relief. When he opened his eyes again, he sat - no, floated - in a familiar silvery white place. Now, his would be interesting.