25 Ways Of Dying (CountryHumans RusAme)

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"Consciousness is returning-"

"-no, keep the recordings. Is vital information."

"Sir, he's gainin-"

"Wake him."

America jolted up, a bead of sweat rolled down his forehead. His eyes were wide, though he soon began to squint at the bright white lights all around him.

Then it hit him. The pain.

America began to grit his teeth, groaning. He hugged himself, everything hurt. He knew he had a headache - maybe a migraine - and to top it all off, his torso felt as through hundreds of needles poked through it, and the feeling of a large whole through his stomach was best unpleasant.

America cried out in pain as his arms and legs began to feel like they were snapping again and again, tears fell from his face.

"Requiring painkillers!" America heard a deep, foreign sounding accent demand. He noticed they sounded like Russia.

Suddenly, someone shook America's shoulder, "Please lift your head," They requested. Through the pain, America did as they asked.

He felt two pills forcefully stuffed into his mouth, and a hand gently on his throat.

"Swallow, please," They spoke up, America tried hard to. He finally did so after trying for a moment, and felt the tips of his fingers go numb. The numbness crept up his arms and legs, until it finally stopped at his head. He sighed with relief, the pain only barely there, still a distant stinging sensation.

"Please, leave room," The deeper voice came back, and now that America thought about it, it sounded exactly like Russia's, except much deeper. "So, you are America. I am right, yes? No?"

"Y-yeah," America croaked. He lifted his head, only to be met with possibly the tallest country he'd ever seen. The country's face was completely red, his eyes - no, eye - showed clearly he was tired. Exhausted. One of his eyes had a patch over the top of it, with a couple of golden tools crossed over eachother, with a star above them. He wore a long grey trench coat, one of the more noticeable things being his missing arm. He wore the same hat as Russia.

"You have been in experiment for eight hours, no less," He began to inform America, "Two things have gone wrong. We have tracked those things, and next time-"

"There's gonna be a next time?" America exclaimed, interrupting them.

"-we will change those things enough so that it goes correct," They carried on, ignoring America, "But, you have done very well. You have athletic build, you can hold much of the stress your body was out under-"

"Sir," A doctor broke into the room, panting, "He's waking up. He's really angry for a reason he won't explain. We're trying to hold him down."

"Always for complaining to me, every time," The tall country growled, following the doctor from the room, leaving America alone. America stopped and thought for a second; he was out of the simulation. He made it. He made it.

A wide grin grew across America's face, as he cheered himself on, and celebrated being free from the simulation. No more pain. No more dying again and again. He could live. Though, he might've needed to get used to the fact that he couldn't die again. There was no 'next simulation' after the life he was in now.

Then, America's heart sank, he had an empty feeling in his gut.

Russia.

America began to panic, what if Russia was still in the simulation? What if he made it out, and Russia didn't? Did Russia survive at all? Was.. Russia never there? With a million thoughts rushing through America's head, he barely noticed the footsteps running up and down the hallway, the slamming noises and yelling. Lots of yelling.