Oneshots of Whatever (mainly Countryhumans) (Finished-ish)

10 - Always 🇷🇺 卍

Russia x Third

Third shot up in bed, the memories of the war flashing though his mind like a herd of buffalo pounding through his skull. His breathing was all wrong and he was sweating bullets. He tried to swallow his panic, but it only returned. His hands shook and he looked around the dark room, scared.

The Nazi Germany.

Scared.

What if you were the cause of a war and was captured and tortured for hours—no, days? What if darkness meant bad because America or Britain always came out of the shadows to stab him or mock him?

Scared was definitely what he was feeling.

It felt like someone was ghosting their hands over his back and shoulders when it was really just the cold wind. A snake of fear wrapping around his spine and squeezing. A boulder of emotions and the pit of his stomach, tied in place by ropes of fear and vines of anger.

"It's alright, Third."

That thick, russian accent brought back so many memories.

Third leaned into the russian's chest, holding his arms shakily. Tears still poured down his red, pale face.

"Hey, hey," Russia soothed, caressing Third's cheek gently. "It's alright. Just breathe with me."

Russia took deep breaths to guide Third, who tried and failed multiple times.

The door then opened loudly, a growling Soviet standing there.

That only made Third's forever-built-up anxiety increase. Russia hugged him tighter, glaring at his own father.

"Россия... (Russia...)" Soviet said lowly. "Какого черта ты делаешь? (What the fuck are you doing?)"

"Я люблю его, отец! (I love him, father!)" Russia said just as sternly as Soviet did. "В отличие от вас. (Unlike you.)"

Third didn't understand what they were saying, but it sure as hell was about him.

"Вы выгнали его! (You kicked him out!)" Russia said, tears starting to gather in his eyes. "I actually love him and I'm not using him."

Soviet growled and grabbed Third by his arm, pulling him out of Russia's bed and letting him dangle in the air. Third's breathing sped up and he shook violently.

"Вам шестнадцать, а ему двадцать один! (You are sixteen and he is twenty one!)" Soviet argued. "He is a pedophile!"

Third shook more, crying harder as Soviet's grip tightened.

"I am eighteen!" Russia yelled. "I turned eighteen three days ago and you didn't even care!"

Soviet dug his nails into Third, "even so, I will not let this сука (bitch) hurt you." He threw Third to the floor and glared at Russia, "I want him gone."

Russia jumped off his bed and picked Third up, sitting on the bed and brushing his tears away. Third hiccuped and sobbed, curling in on himself.

"E—Es tut mir Lied, (I'm sorry,)" Third sobbed. "I'm s—sorry, sorry, Ich—"

"You have nothing to apologize for, dear," Russia said, brushing Third's crimson hair out of his eyes softly. "I love you and nothing can change that."

Third smiled weakly, "I—Ich Liebe dich auch... (I love you too...)"

"He doesn't understand," Russia said, putting his forehead to Third's.

"Wh—Why did you lie?"

Russia chuckled, "to keep you safe. That's why I do a lot of things."