Prove Me Wrong (Rusame)

Halloween Part 3

Narrator’s POV

So far, Russia’s plan was working. The kids had started to lower their defensive shields and had taken off his blindfold after awhile. He had no idea how long it has actually been, if it was still even the night of Halloween, but he knew that it was almost an hour since these kids had come in. He hadn't seen nor heard anything of America since he left.

There was a total of six kids, two older ones almost equal in height and intimidation, one smaller than all the others and he guessed was the youngest, and the other three were in the middle of the height and age range. Their attire almost matched to a tee, same dark clothes to hide what they actually wore underneath and their skin. The skin exposed was painted a dark color, almost like a dark brown. The only way to tell who was who besides height and voices was the weird feathered caps they wore. They all had a different amount of feathers sticking up above the rest. One, the youngest, didn’t have any feathers standing up.

“Kan you tell me yourrr names now?” Russia asked for the first time since he had initially brought it up. He thought with their newfound trust in him, he could get more answers from them. Before his patience ran out that is.

The siblings all shared nervous looks. They had begun to like Russia, or as they called him in each of their native tongues “The Wolf” because of his appearance and the fake appendages he wore when he was brought in. But to go against what they were instructed to do? They didn’t know if that was possible, even if they really did like this outsider. And how he talked funny.

“We where told not to.” One of the elder ones, the one with three feathers, gave Russia the most useful information he had been able to get out of them as of late. It was far better than the silence he had been previously given.

“By who?” Russia pressed for more, testing his bounds and luck.

After a moment, “our . . . Mom.”

Russia hadn't heard any female voices, only male. The kids in front of him were all male as well. That statement confirmed and rid of any doubt that there was defiantly more countries here, older ones at that. Great, that means he will be greatly outnumbered and at a disadvantage. He needed to convince these kids to help him escape, find America and get the hell out of dodge.

“Wherrre is she? Yourrr mom.”

“With the others. They are talking to America.” A second older one, this one with only one feather up and one down, answered. “I thought they would be done by now.”

That sent an ice spike right into Russia’s stomach. Supposed to be done by now? That’s incredibly ominous, a thing that Russia knew they couldn’t afford. If things went sour, which is entirely plausible with how America runs his mouth and will no doubt do that despite the situation. He needed to get out of here now, find America and find the surface.

“Why am I here?” Russia began to divert attention and distract the kids so he could work on untying his hands. If he could remember the hostage training he did with his dad, he could identify the knot and get himself free. Its times like these where he was happy that his dad was paranoid and prepared him for situations like this.

“I don’t know.” One Feather shrugged. “You were brought in with Hanödaga:nyas, that’s all we know. I think some other people we know that live up in the cold knew you, though. Or your ancestors.”

“What?” Russia was caught off guard. Knew him? How could they know him, but he not know anything of the sort. Much less his ‘ancestors’. Wait, his father or grandfather must have mentioned something. A faint memory poked in the back of his mind, trying to wait for a keyword, sight or sound to release it. Instead, it stayed in the back as Russia tried to desperately grasp it. His failure made him determined to get out of here, and he quickly got back to untieing his hands.

“Yeah, we don’t talk to them much,” Three Feathers tapped his chin. “America’s brother might know of them.”

“Kanada? What does he know?” Narrowing his eyes, Russia thought about the said country. Did he have anything to do with this? Did he come up with some scheme to get Russia away from Ukraine? Uh, no, stop that. Canada is a nice country, he wouldn’t do that to anyone. That’s just your overly protective brother instincts showing.

A hand was set on his shoulders and he looked up to see the youngest one, No Feathers, standing beside him. “We can see what you’re doing behind your back.”

Fuck.

In his momentary distraction, the kid must have noticed his movements. He was in no doubt screwed over now. In a moment of desperation, he pleaded, “Untie me, please. I haven’t done anything wrrrong.”

No Feathers moved towards Russia, his hands reaching out to do as he had asked. His elder brother grabbed his shoulder and jerked him backward. “We can’t, rememberer?”

“But he hasn’t done anything wrong. And you know what they’re doing is wrong, too!” He protested, pulling himself free from the three feathered one. Russia noted how the youngest was quick to object to the authority, and how he was the one doing most of the talking. The three feathered one must be the oldest.

He looked down at the angered face of his brother and his eyebrows furrowed together. It wasn’t because he had spoken lies, it was the opposite. He knew what he was saying was true, neither of them had agreed with the “punishment” their mother and the other tribes were giving America. It went against what they were taught; the Great Law of Peace. Their grandfathers had died to preserve that law, they shouldn’t cast it aside now. But even with that, they shouldn’t disobey their elders. They were only kids after all.

“I know.”

Russia watched with intrigued eyes as the leader picked up Russia’s knife and examined it. It was a good blade, with a nice sharp point and side. It’ll work. “We must do what we have to.”

Then he marched over to Russia.

As he always did, America was running form his problems. This time, in a more literal sense.

His pounding footsteps echoed in the cavern walls, faint voices echoing behind him. Was it smart to run through a cave? Probably not. Was it smart to run through it when you’ve never been in it and there are people chasing you? Well no, but desperate times call for desperate and unplanned measures, right?

America spotted a small slim corridor that was almost filled completely black with shadows. He would have run past it if he hasn’t noticed it. He slowed to a stop and quickly struggled to fit in the small gap. He was desperately trying to hide his white costume, hoping that the shadows would dim it and give him a chance to hide.

He had only ran because of what that group had started talking about. Trying to catch his breath to silence himself, he thought back to when he was by the fire. After the woman said they were the ones who gave him his eyes, he instantaneously wanted to run and hide. Instead, he forced himself to stay seated, knowing that running would only make things worse for him.

Knowledge that obviously didn’t stop him.

America covered his mouth with his hands when he heard the voices coming closer, their footsteps mimicking a stampede. He prayed to whatever god was out there that they ran past him, that they wouldn’t hear him. That he could get the hell out of these caves and get home.

The figures cloaked in black ran past, yelling in multiple languages a warning. This was the first time he could hear them clearly, so he immediately recognized the language and knew what they were saying. Hearing those words sent chills down his spine as with every word he remembered back to each of his episodes where he spoke that specific language. He cried out for help in that tongue. They were crying out a warning.

They yelled to be careful, that he was loose. The dangerous man was on the run.

Why was he the dangerous one? They were chasing him!

America as silently as possible breathed out a sigh of relief. He decided to wait there for a while and clear his head. Get his thoughts in order and try not to die from panic. Can he do that? Die from too much anxiety? He could just picture it now, his head suddenly exploding.

He actually got worried about that. Best to just not think about it.

He couldn’t. Not with what had just happened.

As he sat there, feeling as if he was on trial for some horrible crime, the ones that encircled him told his story. Their story, and how they were the same thing. The woman spoke the most, clearly leading the group and keeping them all in line.

“You were young, an infant when you were brought to us.” The woman had said, using a stick to prod at the fire that separated the two. “Your father, he did little to care for you.”

America frowned and turned his head, trying not to remember. He moved past it, he has a good standing with his dad. He didn’t want any bad memories stirring up old problems.

“We taught you everything you needed to know.” A different woman said, playing with her hands. Her voice sounded weak, sickly, on the verge of tears. But what he saw of her face shown no emotion, no sign in her body language either, other than her hands.

It was like that with everyone else in the room. Stone cold, relaxed postures. Impossible to tell how this was going to lead to. Range from freedom, to death.

“You were a difficult child, but it takes a village to raise a kid. Especially one who rebelled a lot,” America could swear he heard a tease in her voice. Almost as if she was telling a joke. Even if she had, the seriousness quickly returned. “That’s exactly what we did.”

“Wait, wait, wait, wait,” he interrupted them. It may have been a dangerous thing to do, but if he was going to die, he wanted to die with answers. “You raised me? Uh, no. I was on my own. My dad popped up but left me alone for years. I don’t remember being in any cult.”

“I told you this wouldn’t work, he’s the same as he’s always been.” A man landed close to the head-woman and whispered to her. America heard him clearly, unsure if that was the man’s intentions. “He’ll never listen.”

Nothing about these people felt familiar! He refused to believe it did, even if they were yet the only ones who spoke in the languages he did when he had his episodes. It had to be some crazy coincidence or something, nothing more. These freaks were just some weird creepy people who kidnapped him.

“That never stopped us, did it?”

The man went quiet and went back to his spot.

“What is your earliest memory?”

America looked down in the fire, with little trouble of finding the answer to the question. He had replayed that moment in his head to an unhealthy amount. The night his dad had left him, he was alone in the dark for the longest time. It was cold, a strange place he had never been before, woods as far as the eye could see. There was no sign of any living person anywhere, so he stayed put. He hoped he’d see his dad come back, light in hand and take him home. He was too young to be on his own, he surely couldn’t have thought that he’d survive out here. Could he?

He’s never felt that scared before, and as a child, he cried late into the night. He cried for his rescue, for his father, for anyone to save him.

That’s when the memory got fuzzy. He couldn’t exactly remember what made him get up and survive on his own, but he did it nonetheless. It was one of the hardest things to do, a cruel thing at that to be done to a child, but it was that or die. And he wouldn’t die that easily.

“I was left alone to fend for myself, no big deal.” America sniffled and kept his eyes down. “What’s in it to you, anyways? You still haven't told me why I’m here. Or what this is all about!”

Despite his yelling, no one reacted to it. Simply, the woman continued even if her voice dared him to yell at her again, “You were very young, we almost didn’t believe it when we found you. Sitting alone, whimpering and shivering in the same spot for days. You must have been too scared to move, you were crying but your tears were long dried.”

America, for once, went silent.

“We took you in, teaching you how to survive on this land. How to take only what you need, and give thanks for it in return,” she paused and feed the fire. Another person grabbed something he couldn’t see and tossed it into the fire as well. “You were a sweet kid, full of wonder. But your heart broke every time your father came and left you. We all knew you wanted him to take you back, but he couldn’t see it.”

“I don’t want to talk about that.” America clenched his fists, his hands shaking from the effort. He was doing all that he could to stay calm and keep from having a breakdown. He had taken care of all this stuff, buried it under the rug and moved on. He didn’t need it brought back out.

“You must.” The woman insisted. “You hide and forget. Why do you think so much of your history is uncertain? You remember what you wanted to, everything else that reminded you of the bad was shoved down as well.”

“Which is why you forgot us.” A figure who hadn't spoken mumbled under their breath. No one told him to be quiet.

A heavy weight pushed harder on America and he slumped over. He scanned his memories, trying his best to remember anything that could give him a clue to what they were talking about. He couldn’t, which made him realize something. There were many holes in his memory that he covered over, and no one questioned him about it. Maybe these people were. .  . right?

He hadn’t realized the woman had continued talking until he heard her say, “. . . you had your civil disputes before, but this when we saw things worsen. You broke.”

“Wait, what?” America snapped his head back up, wishing he hadn't gotten lost in thought. His anxiety had risen again, to a level where he started rapidly tapping his finger on his thigh. As he struggled to pay attention, his mind was racing with so many thoughts. He knew he defiantly had holes in a lot of his memories, certain things he felt had been different. How had he, a small child, managed to survive all of his own? His father had been neglectful, to put it simply, but he had enough sense to know that he wouldn’t survive. . . Was there someone who helped him?

“Right, you called it something else. A civil war?”

He froze. In a small weak voice, barely a whisper, he asked, “what did you say?”

“A civil war. It tore you apart, that trauma must have blurred your memory.”

Then he ran.

He didn’t remember getting up, it went by all too fast. He ran as fast as his legs could carry him, desperately trying to remember the path he took to get here. He was confident in the first few turns he made, but after that, it was a coin flip in his head. At first, he didn’t hear anyone chasing after him, he had stunned them by getting up as quickly as he did until he allowed himself to stop and breathe.

They were close.

He ran until he found that hiding spot, safely trying to catch his breath now. His head started to hurt as small moments came back into memory. Of course, he remembered the civil war, how could he not? No matter how hard he tried to forget, he just couldn’t. And that only proved their point even more.

Knowing he’d break down if he stayed with his thoughts, he began to pull himself free of the small gap. He needed to get the hell out of here and forget this whole thing even happened. But first, he needed to hurry and find Russia. As soon as he could figure out where the hell he was.


The kids stood around Russia, Three Feathers letting the knife in his hand fall to the floor. He couldn’t believe what he had just done. He had never done anything like it before, and it terrified him. What was going to happen now? What would his mother do when they found out what they did to this country?

Russia rubbed his wrists, the rope burns stinging from his touch. The kid had cut him loose.

“Zank you.” He stood up, easily towering over all the kids.

For a moment, he looked scary in his full height. Taller than anyone they knew, bigger in build, he could hurt them. Regret slowly crept up Three Feather’s back and he quickly picked up the knife, holding it in front of them. Sensing the panic, the other eldest, One Feather, pulled out a smaller and duller, but still sharp, knife. He and Three Feathers stood in front of the others, putting some distance between them.

Russia immediately backed away, to prevent scaring the kids even more. He’d rather not get stabbed, he knew he sharpened that knife just earlier that day. He assumed it was still the night of Halloween, at least. Even if it felt like an entire month or two had gone by.

“Im not trrrying to skarrre you.” He reassured them, sitting back down. “See, I just needed to strrretch out my back.”

Now almost equal height, the two lowered their weapons. They still held them just in case.

“Kan I valk arrround little bit?”

A moment later, the two nodded.

He slowly rose to his feet, careful not to make any sudden movements to scare them until he was standing up straight. He cracked his back and gave out a sigh of relief. Weary eyed, the kids watched him as he started walking around the cave. He glanced at the exit and fought against his internal instincts to make a break for it. He had to buy his time, he still didn’t know how to find his way out. It’ll be foolish to just run and hope for the best. He needed to somehow get these kids to help him.

He remembered when the kids had the closest thing to a fight he has yet to see. The youngest, he said what they were doing was wrong. The “they” must have been the adults they had mentioned before. Including their mother. Whatever it was they were doing they didn’t like, he didn’t know. Neither did it matter. Maybe he can use that to his advantage.

“What did you mean by ‘what zey verrre doing vas wrrrong’?” He asked, testing the waters.

The kids all shared a look, mentally communicating to see if they should go further. They had already disobeyed so much, letting him go, answering his questions, and just being there with him! Their punishments would be much worse if they do anything else.

“Our mom, she’s-“

“Shhh!”

One of the middle-aged kids, one with two feathers up and one down, looked at the one who had just shut him up with a glare. Clearly agitated he was silenced, he still kept his mouth shut and didn’t say what he wanted to.

Clearly, these kids were scared. The two eldest looked as nervous as the others, and as an older brother, he knew it was bad if the oldest were scared. Russia looked around to make sure there was no one else in the room before squatting down. Cupping a hand over his mouth, he whispered, “You kan tell me if you vant. I von't let anyone know you said it.”

One Feather looked at Three Feathers and seen the look of uncertainty on his face. He wasn’t going to say anything, his brother was too fearful of disobeying. But he wasn’t.

“Our mother.” One Feather whispered back to Russia, stepping closer. He ignored the wide-eyed look of horror from his sibling and continued. “She gave Hanödaga:nyas his ideas on his government. She felt as if she was responsible and she needed to fix it.”

Russia nodded patiently.

“We don’t like what they are doing to him. It goes against what we were taught. Even if someone was hurting us, we must be nice to them and help them see their bad ways. That was our instructions.”

“Instrrructions?” Russia didn’t mean to interrupt, but the usage of the word confused him.

One Feather nodded. “The Creator. He sent a messenger to remind us of The Great Law of Peace.”

Now knowing that their discontent rested in cultural and religious roots, he knew it would be easier to convince them to help him. He didn’t need to understand everything, just the basic stuff. The "Law of Piece" was pretty straightforward. And if peace is what they wanted, he would have to choose his words correctly.

“I’m sorry you all have been ignorrred,” he was slightly sincere, “but if you vant to do what you believe is best, don’t let fearrr get in the vay. You have to face it, and konquer it.”

The kids all looked at him with wide eyes, a look they regularly wore around him. What he was saying stirred up an ancient fire inside, one that has fueled their entire lineage for centuries. This man was right, and of course charismatic as leaders tend to be.

“I want to do something.” The one with One feather down mumbled. Then he spoke in a louder voice, “we-we have to, we can’t keep doing this.”

Russia smiled at the boy, nodding his head. That worked faster then he thought it would have. It made him wonder how long they had wanted to stand up.

“What can we do? We’re kids, they won't listen to us.” Three Feathers argued back.

“Then we’ll make them listen.” One Feather put his knife away, knocking the one from the others hand. Then he went and grabbed Russia’s hand. “They don’t belong here, we’re letting them go.”

“But-“

“No, this isn’t what we were taught. We cant fix the past, but we can fix our future. We have to at least try and do what is right.”

Russia was shocked. They appeared so young, and for them to be speaking in such a mature way was almost surreal. He knew older countries that didn’t speak or think in such a way, and yet they were looked up to by a bunch of other countries.

“Vill you help me and Amerrrica get out of herrre?” He asked, knowing the one with a single feather was already on his side. The youngest quickly nodded, and two middle children, One Feather Down and One Feather Up One Down said something that sounded like a yes. He hoped it was a yes, at least.

“We’re going to get in trouble.” Three Feathers cautioned the only one who hadn't agreed behind him with worried eyes.

“So?” One Feather pulled Russia towards the entrance. His hurriedness to disobey was entertaining and quite relieving. He was begging to warm up to these kids more than he thought he would. Especially since they have a rebellious spirit deep inside them.

“We have a secret path that we take to get through the caves. You will have to crawl through.”

He nodded, allowing himself to be led through the darkness. If America didn’t fuck up, they should get out of here with little as trouble as they could.

But of course, America fucked up, why would Russia expect otherwise?

After a while of running around aimlessly, America was lucky to find his way back to a tunnel that looked familiar. By then he had a few close calls with the ones hunting him down and a few other non-cloaked people. He didn’t see their faces, only noticed their backs as they walked away from him caught up in conversation. He noticed their clothing choices and was fearful of how familiar it looked.

Once he found his way back to the cave he had originally been tied up in, he seen that Russia was gone. A part of him had hoped he’d be here like a damsel in distress and he could prove he wasn’t some dumb foreigner. Prove to his Ruski that he was a very capable country.

Of course, anything that could work against him was trying very hard to.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…” America’s mouth tasted foul with each word as if the panic behind them manifested into a taste. When people do they can taste fear, boy they must hate it because it is gross!

There was no trace of him except the cut rope that was strewn loosely around the pole. The fire had dimmed significantly, small little flames dancing. Even in that, there was a slight silver glint in the dimmed cave.

America walked over to it, quickly noticing it was the knife Russia had with him. He wouldn’t leave this, not with how defensive he had gotten with it before. Unless someone forced it out of his hand. Shit. Did those people get to him? Were they hurting him right now? Did they do something to him because he ran?

Hastily, America grabbed the knife, along with the blindfold next to it. It could be useful for something, he thought to himself. Then he turned on his heels and ran right back into the tunnels. He had to find Russia before they did anything else to him. He couldn’t let him get hurt because he was kidnapped. Despite what he told himself, he had a deep-rooted feeling that this was all his fault. True or not, he couldn’t focus on that right now. He had to find some sign of Russia.

He almost ran past it, the cloth blended into the cave walls. In a quick head swivel, he had scanned over the torn fabric right next to a small tunnel lowered to the ground. Processing what he had seen, he skidded to a stop and quickly turned back around. There, suspended on a jagged corner of the manmade tunnel was a brown thick cloth hanging up like a marker.

That was a piece of Russias sweater, he knew it.

America grabbed it, making sure not to leave it as a way for the others to find it. It was times like these where he was actually smart. Wither it mattered then was a different story. America had failed to know that these tribes were known for tracking, as the others were as well. If he was on the trail, it was guaranteed that the others were, too. If they weren’t already ahead, that is.

The tunnel itself was more fitted for a kid. The image of Russia being in here was comical, he must have had army crawled across because America could only lift himself up slightly. The rocks on the bottom where smoothened out which made that at least a little more comfortable, as long as he didn’t hit his head on the top.

He froze when he heard approaching footsteps, holding his breath in his throat. Cautiously, he held the knife in front of him, parallel to his arm for defense if it was needed. The people walked right past him, not even hesitating to look inside America’s hiding spot. He still laid there, muscles tensed as he waited for them to turn around, grab him and beat him until he was knocked unconscious again. When he heard the tapping footsteps leave, he let out a sigh of relief. 

Now slightly paranoid, he held out the knife in front of him to see how reflective it was. Almost shiny as a mirror. What does Russia do all day, sit down and polish and sharpen his knives? Actually, he just might do that. Thank god he did, he could easily use the reflection to look around the entrance of the small tunnel to make sure those people were gone and there was no one else coming.

He swiveled it around and saw that the cavern was empty. Dim lights from the fire bounced along the walls, probably from those torches that were hung on the stone. He never really noticed they were there until then, and then he realized why he hadn't. How else had he been running around these caves and not fall and die?

About to crawl out of the tunnel, he turned the knife’s side to himself and caught a glimpse of his reflection. He gasped slightly when his dreaded black eyes faced him again. He blinked a few times, adjusting the dim orange light reflection over his face to see if it was just the dark, or if those were his eyes. Sadly, he realized, they were. Whatever he had seen in that mirror was gone. His normal eyes were ripped from him, and now he was stuck with the ones he hated.

Maybe the mirror was just a trick they used to get him to follow them. Whatever it was, he was happy he grabbed that blindfold. Now he could at least hide his eyes. Or blindfold Russia, whatever to hide them again.

Similar to America, Russia almost got caught. The kids had done a good job of navigating the caves and avoid the adults, except when having to push Russia’s large body through an escape tunnel made for kids. His sweater ripped and he had got cut on his shoulder, but to him it was nothing. Just a flesh wound.

But once again he had to be shoved into a tight space, quickly out of the view of approaching tribes. He bit his tongue to keep from calling out or making any sounds of pain from the rough abrasions he’d surly have on both of his arms now.

He heard someone speak in another language, one of the kids answering him. He couldn’t see their face, but their voice was deep and had a slight edge in it. He was talking about something bad, no doubt.

When he left and the kids pulled him out of his hurried hiding spot, he asked what they had just talked about.

“America got loose.” Two Up One Down said, looking around them. One Feather ran ahead and stopped at the end of the corridor, scanning the area. “They told us to be careful and to tell them if we see anything.”

“Ve have to find him.” Russia looked down at the kids. They were so small compared to him, he had to crank his neck all the way down to look at them. Small and unsuspecting, they were his best bet of finding America and getting out of here.

The kids also liked how he looked like a wolf, still wearing the tail and ears.

“These caves go on forever, stretching across miles of land,” Three Feathers sounded panicked. “We’d never find him.”

“Ve still have to trrry. He’s my frrriend, and I know some people who vould kill me if anything happens to him.”

“It's okay this way.” One Feather called back to them. He waved his hand in a motion that meant following him just as he turned to hurry down the path he chooses was safe. Everyone followed him, Russia careful not to accidentally step on one of the kids.

“We’ll help you find him, and get both of you out here,” One Feather looked up to Russia as they ran. “Not going to lie, I’ll be happy to be rid of him.”

“I vish I kould say the same,” Russia muttered under his breath.

A loud shout had startled America and he bolted down a random corridor. He didn’t know if it was someone on his tail or not, but he didn’t want to take that chance that it could be. He didn’t want to end up being turned into stew because he got caught. Why he thought he’d be turned into food, I don’t know, fear and panic does that to people.

He spotted a hiding place and quickly dove into it. His breath was rising and falling as fast as a blender blade spins when it's on, his heart matching the sound. All his muscles were tensed, and he held a white-knuckled death grip over the hilt of the knife. His only means of protection, and what he saw as a reminder that he needed to find Russia faster than what little progress he’s been making so far. He had managed to find somewhat of a path he could have taken, but he was no tracker. He couldn’t tell which way he had gone after he came to his third fork in the road.

Everything since then had been pure guesswork.

In an effort to calm down his heart before he passed out, he stumbled out of the hiding spot and tried to sit down. When he did, his muscles told him they were sore, hurting and had multiple cuts on them. He hadn't noticed any before, but after the number of times he had dove between rocks, crawled on them or accidentally ran into walls, there was no doubt they’d be everywhere at this point. They stung his arms, his legs, his face. The blood must have added a few more lines to his already patterned faced. Well, vertical lines instead of his horizontal ones.

He shouldn’t have sat down, a fact he quickly realized when he tried to stand up. His legs demanded a break, some rest and a lot of bandaids. Fuck, he wished he had endurance. America groaned in pain as he tried to lift himself up off the ground. He glanced down at the knife and tried harder, pushing his back against the wall for support and practically trying to jump up. Sweat dripped off his forehead, seeing into his clothes from overworking himself. Tired or not, he had to help Russia.

Help Russia, help Russia.

Help Russia, he needs your help.

“Help Russia, help Russia.” He mumbled under his breath to get him to walk forward. He had to stay motivated, keep moving, but also try and steady his heart. He didn’t need to die of a heart attack now, defiantly not in here with that satanic cult.

“Help Russia, help Russia.”

He turned a corner and stumbled down it. The fire glowed brighter, turning the areas close to it almost pure white.

“Help Russia, help Russia.”

He shut his eyes for a moment and counted to 7, breathing in. Holding it for 4, then breathing out for 8.

Breath in 7 seconds, hold for 4, let out of 8. Calm your heart, America.

“Help Russia, help Russia.”

7, 4, 8. 7, 4, 8.

“Okay. . . I got to help Russia.”

He steadied his breathing, feeling better and further away from collapse because of exhaustion. Not much further, but it was enough to get him to keep moving. His legs ached, but it was ignorable as long as he didn’t focus on them or stop or anything.

America stumbled around a corner and stopped. Standing in front of him were two women. They were talking to each other, carrying baskets of what looked like purple potatoes. He didn’t have enough time to turn around and hide behind the wall, for they had noticed him before his impulses said to move.

For a second all three of them were frozen. One woman eyed the knife in his hand and quickly grabbed the other woman to keep her away. Cautiously they started hurrying backward.

“No, wait, I'm not going to hurt you!”

In retrospect, he shouldn’t have yelled. He shouldn’t have waved the knife around, either. The two women jumped at his threatening movements and ran back down the way they came, yelling in one of the many languages he had spoken in. His head hurt too much to tell completely which one it was but he knew the definition well enough.

“He’s in here, hurry he’s in here!”

Shit.

America bolted off in the opposite direction, checking his hand to make sure the knife was still there. He didn’t want to use it on anybody, the thought of having another weapon in his hand coated in blood unsettled him. He didn’t want to hurt anyone again, he didn’t want to get into any more fights, or wars, or anything! He just wanted to escape, but he had to defend himself if he got caught.

Again the language was lost, but the meaning was there. A man’s voice yelled behind him, “Stop!”

“No!” America yelled back, regretting doing so. Wasting breath on a shout made his head buzz and he tried to focus his eyes on the path ahead of him. Maybe if he found his way out of here, he could get some help. If he had help, he could find Russia for sure. No, he could do it himself. If Russia was here because of him, he needed to fix his mistake himself.

Whoever was behind him was fast.

They were quickly gaining in on him, and he was only slowing down. Up ahead was what looked like the beginning of a market place. Why underground, who cared. There was no one in sight, probably evacuated in the case that he was a danger to everyone. In a desperate attempt to do something, America grabbed a basket full of something and knocked it down behind him. The place was small, only a few stands and a few containers of stuff. All he cared to note as he grabbed things within reach and threw them all behind him. Pots broke, the clay pieces shattering everywhere. Stacks of polished spears were knocked to the ground, rolling around. Quivers for arrows, gone and over his shoulder.

Wait.

Market place, what the hell, no! This had to be the weapon's place!

America ran faster now realizing this too late. He hoped that instead, it was a place to build your own weapons, kind of thing. Like a deadly version of Build-A-Bear.

He waited for a sheering pain to shoot in his leg, in his arm, or even his head. He waited for an arrow to go right past his head, or for a spear. He had led the man right into a target zone, only he was the target.

Sparing a glance behind, America looked to see if that is what was happening. The man had tripped over one of the baskets he had thrown down, his foot suspended in the air. Even though he was on the ground, he was getting up fast. Nonetheless, America smiled proud of himself and continued to run down a corner.

He smacked his head onto something hard and fell back down onto his back. His head pounded, what was once a mere hammer got an upgrade into a ferocious power saw. The room spun and half of him expected he had run into another wall. Or worse, one of the hooded freaks who had kidnapped him.

“Amerrrica!”

His vision was dizzy and his eyes were squinted from the pain. Through a hazy darkened vision, he was able to distinguish a looming figure over him. Oh no.

Quickly he swung the knife, hoping to get away. The figure recoiled, gasping in pain and holding its arm. Something knocked the knife from his hand, and he barely heard the clatter on the ground. Tiny things with multiple appendages grabbed his wrists and held him down. A weight was placed on his chest, doing nothing good for his stomach and how it felt.

“No, no, no! Let me go, let me go!”

“Amerrrica! Kalm down you little shit!”

America stopped thrashing.

“Russia?”

He didn’t open his eyes to see if it was him, he already knew. In a flurry of movement, Russia hadn't gotten a good look at America. He had run into him in a flash and had fallen to the ground, not enough time to fully get a good look at his eyes. America didn’t know this but hoped that was the case. So he kept his eyes shut, and head tilted away.

“Here.” One Up One Down handed him his knife, his own blood dripping from the edge. Russia grabbed it and put it back in his holster. He knew he’d somehow get it back, he always did. He just didn’t expect to get stabbed as well.

“Hide them!” Three Feathers hissed in an urgent whisper, his brothers letting go of America. They pushed him up off the ground and into Russia. The kids heard one of the elder’s feet running, too, and quickly pushed the two into a different hallway. Trying to get ahold of his surroundings, America tried to see how many kids there were, thankfully counting only three. Why Russia was with a few kids, he didn’t have enough time or energy to think about it.

Once they were out of view, Three Feathers shouted for help. America recognized the language, he knew it. . . At least he thought he did. This whole time it has been knowing something, feeling deep down like he knew it, right there on the tip of his tongue, but then it's being pushed down as well. Like something didn’t want him to know. Despite all that, he knew the boy was calling out for help. That America was there.

“Russia, we have to run, he’s getting-“

A hand was clamped over his mouth. His back was against Russia’s chest and his huge hands on his shoulder and over his mouth kept him in place and quiet.

“Shh, he’s distrrracting zem.”

“Hmfp ymhf kowf fhaf?”

“Shh!”

Having no choice, and since one of the kids had hit his leg, he kept quiet. He listened to the other kid he only caught a fleeting glimpse of, hearing him say that America had gone down the hall. Panic rose in his chest as he waited for the man and the kid to turn the corner their way and jump them. Instead, he heard their running footsteps head in the other direction, away from them.

“Come on, the entrance to the cave is close.” The second kid waved them down. America, getting a closer look at him recognized the headdress they wore. He remembered wearing something similar sometime in the past, but those he recognized only as something he should know. The names once again escaped him, as infuriating as it was, but he knew he knew it. He had written it down.

His book.

Interrupting his thoughts Russia picked him up and threw him over his shoulder. Making haste, Russia followed the two remaining kids, ignoring the pain in his arm. It was just deep enough to bleed, but not deep enough to be too much of a worry. What made it painful was the fact that the cut was over a sore spot from hitting the walls. Perfect fucking aim, America.

They slowed to a stop just before a bend, and one of the kids peaked down the hall. Sure enough, there were two men searching for America. Used now to the extra rush of adrenaline every time there was someone there that could possibly catch them, the kids jumped right to action. It had previously worked with the rest of the brothers, and with everyone so worried they’d hoped that diverted everyone’s attention further into the caves. The opposite direction that Russia and America needed to go.

Russia held America still in the shadows, and he quickly knew to be quiet. Normally he would protest being draped around someone’s shoulders like a child, but he was thankful for the break from running and the weight taken off of his feet. Plus, it feels nice being held by him. Even if it was in a less charming way. It still counts!

One Up and One Down ran around the corner and began his distraction to get the others away. The last one there to guide them out, One Feather quickly ran across the hallway and checked around the other corner. It was clear, and he waved for Russia to follow. They were almost out of there and he knew that the area upfront would be left alone. Everyone mostly stayed away from the entrance in case some nosy country wanted to explore it. He just hoped that they hadn't gotten far enough to guard the entrance, yet.

But hey, Murphy’s Law right?

Just as they reached the last turn down to the cave entrance, they were suddenly stopped when two darkened figures could be seen by the entrance. Unfortunately, what appeared to be guards had heard their running footsteps and called out, “stop!”

Russia suddenly stopped running and practically dove behind a large rock structure. He had to lay down slightly to hide better. This was the first time he had heard someone besides these kids speak in English. But it was a voice he didn’t recognize and he knew he needed to hide immediately.

One Feather kept running.

“They need your help!” He cried in an other language. “They found him, but they need everyone’s help! Please, you have to hurry!”

Russia and America could only hear but knew the boy didn’t stop running because the two others had already heard footsteps. If they were able to distinguish how many there actually where it was unknown. But the entrance was right there! Even if they somehow knew where they were, Russia was confident he could run faster then them. He was taller then them, from the few glimpses he spared around the rock. Maybe by a few inches or more, but defiantly still taller. The only problem was, there were two of them. One on one, no problem. America was not going to be of any help, so two on one?

America dug around in his pants pocket, trying to be as discrete as possible. He had that blindfold, and he needed to get it on now before Russia gets a chance to face him.

One Feather came up with an on the spot quick urgent story, hopefully, to shake the guards up enough to leave their spots. He told the story of how America had managed to get cornered, but they need all the help they can get. Hearing a kid sound so panic and practically running to them for help was worrisome by itself. But knowing that a cornered lion would do anything to get free, it was frightening. America was like a lion to them.

One Feather quickly lead the way back into the caves. Russia quietly shifted more into the shadows, hiding the dull dirty white of America by pinning him up again the wall and covering him with his body. With such sudden movements, America could only recognize the feeling of being shoved against the wall. He had barely had enough time to tie the fabric around his face, so it was slightly loose but it covered his eyes just fine.

Oh hey! The fabric was see-through. Well, sort of.

America could kind of make out the shape of Russia’s arms on either side of his head and the body of Russia in front fo him.

Wait….

“Okay, zey arrre gone, ve kan get out- why arrre you wearrring blindfold?”

“Uhh,” America’s voice was hoarse and his throat stung like sandpaper. He coughed as a response and Russia knew he shouldn’t answer right now. He didn’t know what he had gone through, and could only assume some form of beating with the number of cuts and bruises he had all over him.

“Kome on, ve’rrre almost zerrre.” Russia held out his arm for America to hold onto to help support him up. They didn’t need to run, there was no one else present to stop them. And if something bad were to be outside, Russia wanted to save his strength to fend it off.

“Are you okay?” America strained his throat to ask the question that he had wanted to since he found him again.

The dim light of what could only be guessed as a raising sun acted as a guiding light for them. Their own staircase to heaven, even. The landscape looked dark, so it was still very early in the morning. Trees and plants, brown and withered began to take shape as the moved closer.

“Im fine. You look like shit zough.” Russia managed a chuckled for both of them. America nodded, knowing that this was not his best moments. Certainly not his worst, but close to it. He felt that his makeup was smeared beyond all recognition, cleared off on some parts of his face, dried blood splatters and drips from a few open cuts must have made him look worse then he actually was. His cheek felt swollen, and the inside of his lip had bled to leave an iron taste on his tongue.

When he opened his mouth to leave one of his signature comments, Russia shushed him.

“Nyet. Don’t speak, you’ll hurrrt yourrr thrrroat.”

He nodded instead and focused on walking. The cuts and bruises were nothing compared to the soreness he felt in his legs. He didn’t know how much he had been running, or how long. But it was long enough for his legs to feel like jelly and his lungs to be stabbed with spikes every time he inhaled sharply.

Russia wasn’t as accident-prone as America had been, in fact, it was like the cave had been helping him out more than it did America. He was thankful to finally breathe in the fresh air, one not tainted with must or humidity. It was cold, a refreshing cold that made America shiver but greeted Russia like a warm hug. On instinct, America moved closer to Russia for warmth, tucking himself under his arm and wrapping it around him.

They continued to walk, dragging their feet. The soles of them burned, begging, demanding for release. Russia had more willpower over pain then most countries did, so he ignored it and continued to walk. They needed to get far away from that cave, find someplace to rest and figure out what to do from there. Until then, they had no choice but to keep on walking.

Since Russia was focused on keeping his willpower in check, he wasn’t fully aware of his surroundings. Curiosity had crept into One Feather, seeing how he was the only one to make it that far with them and be able to get away from the older tribes. They had deemed it unsafe and had told him to hide while they had gone to get America, who they thought was still in the caves.

Naturally, for any young kid, he went against what he was told and followed America and Russia. He was an excellent tracker, so catching up was no problem. Making sure to stay out of earshot and downwind was a different thing, slightly harder. He stepped lightly, staying low to the ground. He wanted to know what these two were going to do now. More importantly, to him at least, where The Wolf was going to go. He didn’t want this to be the last he saw of him.

A half an hour or so later, with no sign of a group of warriors hot on their tail, Russia stopped walking. He looked around, trying to find an ideal place to sit. There, between two trees was a divot of some kind, big enough for them to sit down at and have the low hanging pine needles act as some sort of cover in case it rained. The number of clouds in the sky suggested it would.

“You stay herrre,” Russia instructed as he set America down on the spot. He let him go and moved to sit comfortably in it. “I’ll see if I kan find something to clean yourrr kuts with.”

America smiled and nodded, knowing he wouldn’t take a response.

He involuntarily shivered.

Russia frowned, looked down at his thick sweater and decided it would suit him better. After all, America had thin clothes under his costume that was no good for early morning temperatures. He’s dealt with worse.

“Herrre.” Russia took off his sweater and handed it to America. “Zis should keep you varrrm forrr rrright now.”

He nodded once more and quickly put it on.

Russia left America there, looking for some source of water. Maybe the leaves had gathered the morning dew? He had thought he heard a stream running somewhere to his right. Maybe he can get some water from there.

There was a thin stream, almost unnoticeable. Russia unhooked his fake tail and dipped it into the water, the fur quickly absorbing it. It would have to work for a sponge since this was the best he could do for now.

As he sat there at the stream's edge, he took a few deep breaths. It was calm still, almost unsettling after the rapid-fire of events that had happened. His heart had yet to register he was safe, beating faster than a normal resting one. Not only that, he was hungry.

His stomach grumbled.

Russia looked around for something edible. Unfortunately, this was summer. Not a lot of things grow during these months. They die. Despite that, he noticed red berries on a tall thin bush-like tree. Very noticeable, it looked to be pretty well held up despite the time of year. He could really use those berries right about now.

Hunger overpowering rational thought, Russia stood and walked over to those berries. He plucked one from its place and looked it over. It didn't look very poisonous, and there are plenty of red berries that were good. What could one berry do?

"Don't eat that!"

Russia froze, his hand just about to toss the berry in his mouth.

Popping up from behind a bush, there was the familiar figure of One Feather. He ran over to him, jumping off a rock and slapping the berry from his hand.

Stunned, Russia stumbled back. “What arrre you doing herrre, arrre you following us?”

“Technically? Yes.” One Feather kicked the berry with the tip of his shoe, watching it roll into the stream and get carried away. “You seem lost. And I know the way to where you all live.”

“Wherrre?”

One Feather pointed and Russia nodded his head. They have to start heading west from where they where.

“After an hour or more, you should find the trail you came in on.” He explained, turning to dig in his pocket. Russia watched curiously as he pulled out half a sandwich. It had big, lumpy looking bread with some maroon type of filling between the bread. He did recognize the beans mixed in with the rest of the substance.

“It's not much,” the boy admitted. “But you need this more than I.”

Russia happily took it, waiting to eat it. America was probably hungry, too. He’s always hungry, anyways.

“Zank you.” Russia smiled, looking up from the sandwich down to the little boy. “What is yourrr name?”

“Russia!” America called from where he was left. Waiting there, it seemed like forever and he had started worrying something had happened to him.

The boy backed away upon hearing America’s voice. Of course, he was happy he was out of the caves, a place America didn’t belong in. But hearing him still sent shivers down his spine. It reminded him too much about what had happened to his grandfather.

“I have to get back home.” He jumped back over the stream but stopped when Russia called for him to wait.

“Thank you for helping us. I know Amerrrica must have done something, but-“

“It's past.” He interrupted him. “Not everyone will forgive and forget, and I can't say I’m any different,” he sighed, clearly what had happened was a heavy topic. After a moment, he continued in a more determined voice. “Instead, we should remember and recover. This could help us do that.”

Russia was silent. He didn’t know how to respond to such a young child speaking like this. It was such a mature way of thinking, as well. Although, age was different for countries. Those that have been around for centuries could be seen as younger, while ones who have been around for a few decades quickly grow up to be mature countries. He knew he was one of those countries, growing up fast after the death of his father. This little boy, who knew how long he had been around.

“I’ll see you in time, Wolf.” Then he ran off, quickly disappearing into the trees. Russia watched him, to make sure he didn’t stop to follow them again. How long he had done that for was unknown to him. Right now, all he needed to do was help America get cleaned up, share some weird food, and get the hell out of there.

America stood up and had started to look around. Russia must have walked off somewhere out of earshot. That was the only reason he let himself think of, or else he would start panicking again.

"Amerrrica, i told you to stay seated."

He quickly pulled the blindfold back down over his eyes and spun around. With the light from the early morning, he could see through the fabric well enough to see the figure of Russia walking to him. He smiled weakly, hoping Russia couldn’t see through the fabric.

“Sorry man, I got bored.”

Russia shook his head, not even bothering to ask why he was wearing the blindfold. “Sit down I got to clean yourrr vounds.”

“Dude I’m fine, it's just a few scrapes.”

“Not one on yourrr head. Sit down.”

Too tired to put up too much of a fight, America just sat down where he stood. Russia sat down in front of him and began to wipe away the blood, along with the paint. It made him look silly, more than it did before they got kidnapped. His wig was gone as well, lost to the world.

The gash wasn’t too serious, but he wanted to make sure.

“I know vay back to paths,” Russia told him to fill the silence. “Ve’ll be home soon.”

“How do you know?”

“I just do.”

America nodded, going along again. The thought of his bed was so soothing to him, he felt like he could pass out from just thinking about it. But he knew he couldn’t. He can't just leave Russia alone to handle everything.

His fake tail now covered in water, blood and paint was tossed to the side. He ripped the sandwich in half and told America, ”Eat zis.”

“I swear to God, if it's your-“

“Shut up and eat it.” Russia cut him off, placing the food in his hand.

America, realizing he was starving, quickly shoved it in his mouth and downed the whole thing. The bread was slightly dry, a little hard and he recognized the taste of beans. Whatever it was it was weird and familiar at the same time.

“How arrre you feeling?”

America whipped his mouth free of crumbs. “Better. Kind of thirsty, but when we get home I can get a drink. Thanks.”

Russia nodded and moved to sit beside him. He had savored his food, instead of wolfing it down as America had. He looked at the one beside him and felt relieved to know he was okay. He had no idea what had happened to him, why he looked so beat up, or how he even got away. All of that didn’t matter at the moment, he was safe.

All they needed to do was get home.

And they better hurry. Countries must be worried.

“Kan you stand?”

America nodded, standing back up to prove it. He still wore his brown sweater, looking baggy and big on him. His hands barely even poked out of the sleeves and the bottom went well below his waist. The cloth had a tear in it, but it was warm enough for him.

And something about seeing America in his sweater made Russia smile.

“Kan you see in zat vell enough to valk on yourrr own?” He asked, standing up.

America looked around, being able to see fine and wanting to make sure it was decent. “Uhh, not really,” he lied. “Can I hold onto your arm to balance myself?”

Russia nodded, holding out his arm. Smiling, America quickly wrapped his arms around Russia’s, grabbing his hand with one of his. “For warmth, my hands are freezing,” he claimed.

Russia didn’t care too much.  It felt reassuring, actually.

“Kome on, let's go home zen.”

(Who's the idiot who took forever to write this? Me!!! But hey its like 10,374 words so it's fine. Probably. I dunno, but thanks for waiting. The next one will defiantly be shorter and I'm aiming for it to be uploaded on the 26th. But you’ve seen how I am with schedules (ps I suck) so I have no idea how that’s going to work out.

So whoooooooooooooooooooooooooo!)

Ësgöge'ae' comrades!
~Galaxy