Bleeding Out

Restless

Soft moonlight flooded the porch, the sky brushed with stars, the full moon barely covered with fluffy, misty clouds. Crickets chirped as the wind ruffled the grass, gently rustling through the multiple large oak trees.
It was beautiful.
Dixie inhaled again, stretching his lungs and flexing his stomach. He adjusted his hands where they were placed on the railing, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. America was inside, stumbling through the explanation about his cracked chest. Dixie slipped away, grabbing some fresh clothes from America's dresser, wanting to see the night. He also couldn't stand to sit still. He felt like he could run a million miles.
He let out a soft sigh. Everything was so bright and alive. He had forgotten.
Dixie heard the door behind him creak open.
"How did they take it?" He asked.
America sighed, coming up next to him, buttoning up one of his shirts. "Not good. They're all concerned now."
"You can't keep them in the dark forever."
"I thought I could fit a bit longer. They're safer not knowing, happier."
Dixie snorted. "You're all wise now and it's weird."
America chuckled, putting his hands in his sweat pants pockets.
"Are you feeling ok?" Dixie said, wrapping his arms around himself, suddenly feeling a whoosh of cold.
"Physically, I'm pretty drained. But I'll recover."
"Mentally?"
"Like something's been torn out of my head. Kinda operating on the brain levels of 'fire bad, tree pretty'." America sighed and immediately winced. Dixie put a comforting hand on his brothers' shoulder. America looked down. "How does it feel for you?"
Dixie blinked. "It's sorta like I have all this energy. I'm kinda sore too. And check this out." He removed his hand off of Ame's shoulder and showed him his wrists.
Shackle burns.
"What the..." America trailed off, and gently grabbed Dixie's forearm to examine it closer.
His wrist skin was a chalky red, and it looked like it had been rubbed raw. America adjusted his hold and grabbed his wrist. Wrong choice.
Dixie flinch back, recoiling his hand back into his chest with a soft hiss.
"Sorry." America blurted. "Are they really that sensitive?"
"Yes." Dixie grunted through his teeth.
"Sorry." America said again. A moment passed, and then he asked, "Why do you think-"
"Because they were my people too, America."

Dixie slammed his fist into the punching bag, a ripple running through it. He had wrapped his wrists up for now, America kept insisting that he sleep. But he couldn't. He couldn't sit still.
And feeling the strength of his own body was something he had missed, he admitted it was a sin.
He punched the bag again, letting it swing back and forth, and decided he was a bit bored. He could go downstairs and get a snack, but that was met with the possibility that he could run into one of the states, and he wasn't in the mood for questions.
Dixie sighed and sat down cross legged, then stretched out his legs and reached for his toes. He was more flexible than he remembered. Probably because you didn't really do splits in the Confederate army.
He stretched upward, enjoying the feeling of his muscles. Dixie held the position for a couple seconds before he relaxed and sprawled out on the floor, staring up at the ceiling.
You're still awake, aren't you. America's voice said in his head.
Can't sleep. He thought back. And I can see you can't either.
You caught me.
Yep. Red handed.
There was silence for a couple seconds, then America asked, Have you thought about what comes after this?
Dixie sighed. For starters you're gonna take a break. I'm talkin' like sleep for two days break.
Sounds nice. If only I could.
I could knock you out of you want.
Doubt you could.
Really? Dixie snorted. I'd kick your highfaultin' behind.
He felt America chuckle.
What? No snappy come back? You must be really tired.
Silence. He could feel America's panic- he didn't want to be taken care of. You can't hide it from me, America.
I don't... I just don't know. I feel like everything's going so fast, that if I stop everything will surpass me. That I'll become obsolete.
You'll never be obsolete. You're America. People need you. And some of them are so gah-damm blind they wouldn't be able to see it if you shot'em right between the eyes. Plus you have me now.
I guess so. America paused. I do have one thing you could help me with.
Dixie adjusted his position on the floor. Shoot.
Could you... make breakfast tomorrow?
Sure. I haven't cooked for a while so I might be a bit rusty.
A moment passed. Thank you Dixie.
Dixie smiled at no one in particular. Anytime brother.