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

68 - Sad 🇬🇧*soviet* *trigger warning*

Short chapter before ⚠️Heavy smut next chapter⚠️ in honour of 69
Depression (heavy) warning

Slice. Slice. Slice. Slice.

The silver blade covered with crimson blood.

Slice. Slice.

"Come on, you can do better than that!" Monsters of depression and anxiety hissed.

Little flower doodles appeared on my skin. Along with quickly written notes in russian. It was my Soulmate's doing. I traced the flower with my finger, watching the blood smear on it.

Could I write to them?

I took a black pen and, shakily, wrote a message.

Hello, I appear to be your Soulmate. It won't last long, though, because I am going to hang myself tonight.

I put the cap on the pen and smiled at my cursive. The only good trait I had—my penmanship. I put the pen down and rummaged under my bed, grabbing onto a rope. I felt the tickle of my Soulmate writing.

The fuck?

I stood up with the rope in hand, looking at my forearm. I decided to write back.

I don't really care if you care, but I just wanted to let you know if you try to ask me my name, I'll be dead.

Finished, I tied a noose and placed a chair under it. I checked the time, quarter after four.

Tell me where the fuck you are.

My Soulmate scrambled, their writing messy. I smiled at this.

No, because then you would hate me.

Who are you?

Britain

Nothing for a second. I shrugged and cleaned my room, wanting to have a nice place to die in.

I'm Soviet

I stopped as I was folding a shirt. I didn't respond and kept cleaning, despite his fruitless attempts at getting my attention.

Then he stopped, too.

I looked at the time once more. Five-thirty. Close enough to "tonight".

I stepped up on the chair, placing my head through the loop and tightening it. I forgot to write a suicide note. Eh, who cares, anyway. I smiled as I took the pen and wrote in large letters my final message.

Goodbye, old ally.

I almost made it.

I kicked the chair away and let myself fall, the rope catching me by my neck. I let myself become limp, closing my eyes.

Soviet's POV

I rushed out of my house, ignoring all my kids and telling then Russia was in charge. I got into my truck and turned it on. I backed out and drove as fast as was legal (though I did speed when no one was around) and got to Britain's house.

I didn't have time for manners.

I felt a pull on my neck, telling me Britain had hung himself. I let a few tears fall as I ran up the stairs, my vague memory of the house coming into great help. I opened the door and saw Britain hanging there, limp.

No time to waste.

I grabbed him by the hips and lifted him up, out of the dreaded noose, and into my arms safely. He body was shaking and he was gripping onto me, without even knowing it was me.

"There there," I soothed, making my way to the bathroom. I sat in on the tiles across from the cupboard under the sink. I took out the first-aid kit and got out disinfectant and gauze. "I'm sorry I wasn't there," I whispered, gently cleaning the deep cuts in his arms. "I'm so sorry." I wrapped both of his arms and kissed his hand.

He opened his dull eyes and smiled slightly, "Hello, Soviet."

"Hello, Great Britain."

He cupped my cheek and wiped away tears I didn't even know were there away. "I'm the one who should be sorry," he said in a weak voice.

I held his hand, "Never." I gently picked him up and kissed his forehead, "I love you."

"I love you, too."

Words: 644