Let's Just Be Human (Finished)

Prologue: An End to An Era

December 13, 1991

Soviet couldn't breathe. Not well enough, anyways. Despite being on a ventilator, it still felt like his lungs were caving in on themselves. Every breath was another stab of pain, every cough bringing blood to his lips. The doctors were kind enough to put him on a morphine drip, but the hazy state the painkiller brought was almost worse than the pain. He often found himself staring into space, thinking of nothing, for hours on end.

He'd always hated hospitals. They were cold and reeked of antiseptic and suffering. He'd had his fair share of hospital visits- his eye, having to bring Ukraine for his illnesses- but he couldn't shake the air of finality this one had. Perhaps it was because of the approaching New Years, marking the end of a tough year. Or perhaps it was the knowledge that he was dying, his lungs giving out after decades of smoking. Either way, he wanted to leave. He'd much rather be in agonizing pain at home than constantly bored in a hospital.

He'd reached the point where the doctors were forced to up his morphine dosages. He floated in and out of consciousness, his waking hours full of doctors and government officials. (At one point, he thought he saw America sitting next to him, but it might've been a dream. He wasn't sure anymore, the line between waking and sleep far too blurred.) It was rare that his children visited, which made today special.

He was staring at the window, watching the snow drift down to the streets of Moscow. Pale white beauty, destined to become disgusting grey slush under people's shoes and car tires. His mind was once again in a fog, induced by a pain and drug cocktail. The snow reminded him of something, of someone, but he couldn't quite put his finger on who.

When he heard the door open, he sighed, anticipating another doctor. Then he saw his four children, all standing in the doorway like lost puppies. 

Belarus looked like she was on the verge of tears, hanging on Russia's arm. Kazakhstan pointedly looked anywhere but his father and the machines he was hooked up to. Russia's expression was one of grief, his eyebrows furrowed and steel eyes shiny. Ukraine was the only one who didn't look miserable, instead utterly indifferent. Like his father's impending demise was nothing but a simple inconvenience.

It was silent, both parties taking each other in. After what felt like hours, but was really just minutes, Russia cleared his throat and spoke. "Hey, Papa. Can you talk?"

"Of course I can talk," Soviet replied, but his voice betrayed him. Gravelly, broken, the sound of weakness. He cursed it. How dare he sound weak in front of his children?

Belarus buried her face in Russia's coat. Russia merely glanced at her, while Ukraine muttered something Soviet couldn't quite hear. Probably scolding his sister for crying.

"Kaz, close the door please." Russia said to his youngest brother, who nodded. Once the door was shut, Russia turned to Soviet once more, gripping the rails of his bed. "We've discovered something. Something that could help you."

Soviet doubted it. He was dying, the Union was collapsing. What could they possibly do to help? "Well," he paused to cough, more stab-slice pain, "What is it?"

Russia glanced at the window nervously. A few doctors milled about in the hallway. "Bela did some research. There's a loophole. Even if the Union collapses, you won't die."

It wasn't a matter of if, but when. Soviet wasn't going to argue the wording, though.  "How does that work?"

"We can make you a micronation." Russia must have seen the disbelief on his father's face, because he backtracked rather quickly. "If we make you a micronation, you aren't going to die. The Union will still collapse, and we'll all be independent nations, but you'll live. We've already picked some land in Siberia for you. Deduchka's old dacha."