RusAme rp, The colder war

Like hell America was going to leave Russia here like this. Even in his condition he continued to tell America he was okay, when he wasn't. He said, "I'm not leaving you here." Holding his head up, and he could feel some cracks. He tried to keep his composure, but seeing Russia like this and him being completely and utterly useless maybe him want to be in Russia's place and feel all the pain he was feeling. He wasn't going to leave, he was going to take him out of there, but the Russian police would be looking for him. He couldn't take him to the hospital, police would inform his boss. He had to take him somewhere, maybe back to Russia's house, but they were currently at Russia's boss's house, he would have to leave him there and buy him time, to kill Russia's boss. It was an act of aggression and would probably start more problems, but anyone was better than Russia's current boss. He walked out of the boss's house and took a cab to Russia's house and entered, surprisingly the door was unlocked and he set Russia on the bed, trying to be gentle, him still having trouble controlling his strength. The whole way America whispered to Russia that it would be okay, and he wouldn't hurt anymore.

Russia looked at America, having only woken up a few seconds ago. The pain slurring througt Russia. He listaned to America coo words to him. He only then though about what they mean. His eyes turned wide, a fresh drop of blood hitting his open eye. He winced in pain and the unnatural red blinding him. He shook like a puppy as he got set on the bed. " You were not appose to come here. My boss will hurt you, please dont do anything..." He begged. He coverd his face and horribly bused body with his coat. Hoping America didnt wish to see his chest, or legs, or anywhere where he had been hit, which was everywhere. He kept repeating "I surrender, I surrender" Giving himself up, and letting America own him. But America was his lover, and would not be mean and demanding like most nations would be if he was taken over. He continued sobbing from pain. Glad that America was there to watch him suffer.

America hated seeing Russia in so much in pain, he kissed his forehead and used the bed sheets, the parts that weren't soaked in blood, to wiped his face from any of the blood he said, "I don't care, I'm a nation and I can stand my own against him." he always carried a gun with him(because his boss worried) and didn't intended to use it, he was pissed enough that he was going to kill his boss with his bare hands. He carefully stripped Russia of his clothes and his eyes widen at how bad Russia was actually injured. He left and went to go get bandages. He came back and wiped the blood that was pouring out and wrapped as many wounds as he could, being careful not wanting to cause Russia no pain. He was going to go back and get his revenge.

Russias face turned to a horrified look, he feared America would kill his boss. He cried, and sobbed. "Please...Dont..." He begged. But he dint move, wincing as America took his cloths, leaving him in his boxers. He didnt fight back though, he had given himself up, he didn't care that now, some other nation owned every once of him. He cried. Feling his buses turn to jelly, witch was almost evey part of flesh on his body. He was just there, unable to move and fight back. If things went wrong, and America had to fight him. He would die, there being no further point he could be beaten up. He felt the cloth being wraped around his chest and gut. the cloth turning red with in a few seconds. He wraped his arms around America. holding him to keep him close and not off killing his boss.

America finished wrapping the wounds, they bled through and was held close by Russia, he didn't want to touch Russia, not wanting to hurt his wounds. He kissed his forehead and gently pushed him back on the bed so that Russia was laying down, he saw the scars from previous wars and the new wounds that would turn into scars, he trace the old wounds and said, "I'll be back." he cracked a smile, he was going to show his boss not to mess with the U.S.A, his ego wa big, but it was the only thing from keeping him from crying.

Russia's eyes widened. "No! America! Please! Don't do anything, don't try to get back at him! Please!" He begged, trying not to fall in to speaking Russian. He sobbed watching him leave. Still not able to move much. "America!" He shouted as he walked out the door. "Please don't!" He pleaded. He turned his head and cried. If his boss was killed, than his people would push him to war. Its was imposable to avoid. "Америка!" He scram over and over. His voice slipping from a yell to a beg. "Америка.." He said to no one, hoping that he showed up soon. "Америка...пожалуйста ...." He said. Sobbing out again. "Прости Америки" He cried. He wished for America.

America heard the Russian's pleas, how could he forgive the sick bastard and what he did to Russia. He walked out of the house, prepared for anything, he received a text message from his boss saying not do anything that he'll regret and to think things through. He stopped outside of Russia's door and thought, if he killed Russia's boss, Russian-America relationships would be ruined. Their people would hate and not trust each other. He stopped, he slumped into the snow outside of the house, what was he going to do. Russia was hurt, and it was his fault. He ran a hand through his hair and his glasses fogged up due to the cold, "What the hell should I do?" he asked no one. He could beat Russia's boss, but that might make things worse, or he could kill him, but that was the worse thing he could do. He didn't want to let it be, he didn't, he was human and so the only thing he could do was wait for him to die, or to fall out of power, he looked at the sky, Russia was beautiful, not just his lover but the country itself.

Russia cried, "Америки!!" He scram, probably not hearing him, where he was by now. He rolled on to his side. Suppressing a scream. He continued sobbing. He needed America. He wanted him to not leave. He just wanted him here, and not out waging war on the Russian government. He didnt scream again. Not wanting anyone to here him and report him again. He would end up going to war with America ether way. His boss declared it, and he surrendered, and he felt sick. He sobbed, getting dissy and breath being nonexistent.

America's way was to step in when he thought there was trouble, he heard a faint cry of something that sounded like his name. His mind snapped back to reality, the one who needed him right now was Russia. He was an ass going to fight when Russia needed him to take care of him and heal his wounds. He got up from the snow, not bothering to brush himself off and went into Russia's room hearing the Russian version of his name. He came in and said, "I'm sorry.....you need me here......your boss can wait, but you need m right now." going over and pulling him into a kiss which tasted like blood and a hint of Russia's scent.

Russia broke away from the kiss after only a few seconds. Needing air and still painting heavly, He was glad that America didnt kill his boss, yet. He held America. "Im fine, please, America," He said, wanting him to stay with him. He would not be able to travel. "Im so sorry..."He said, felling like passing out again. He brough himself up holding on to America. "We have to leave." He said, knowing that Russian forces were probably already in Alaska. He was at war with America. But he was still there helping him, and russia was still there, not wanting him to leave. He just wanted to be with America. And now he was. The troops would pull back and there would be no war. But now Russia was a American taratory. He shook, wondering now what America boss would think, seeing him entire beaten and cut up. He sighed "You own me now, please, I dont want to stay here, this isnt my home anymore" He breathed out, wanting to get out of his bosses range on control. His boss could have been killed, then his people would throw him in to war. But he gave up, his boss and his peopel hated him, and only America seemed to care for him.

America held Russia up to support him, he hated how he said he was fine when he wasn't, "Stop." he said quietly, "Stop saying you're okay, when you're not!" he told him, "Please, just.....complain, don't say it doesn't hurt because the look on your face when I was cleaning your wounds says you were, complain, tell me how much it hurts." he deserves it, he didn't want Russia to lie, he wanted Russia to say how much it hurt and how it was his fault, America's fault for interfering, his troops were probably gathering and invading Russia, when they should have stayed and defended. America agreed with Russia and nodded, with his statement, "We're leaving, and we're gonna get you help." but from where? Who would treat Russia when they were t war. He would have to take him to his main house and look after him. He had taken care of passed soldiers during war, but besides that he was clueless about medicinal things. He said, "I don't own you, you're my equal." he kissed him again and said, "We have to go." he gently picked him up.

Russia didn't say anything. He started crying again, salty tears burning his cuts. "Just get me away from here" He asked, wanting to go back to America. Where he could get away from his boss. How if he ever saw again, he would, in fact, kill him. He though about that and let himself be picked up. America could say it all he wanted, but now he owned Russia, America was Russia's new boss. He stopped crying, that was a blessing, not a curse. He turned his head in to Americas coat, hiding his face from the light.

America tried to be careful with Russia, he considered Russia his equal, if anything, he owed Russia. He walked out of the house and hailed a cab, continuing to tell Russia how much he loved Russia, and how everything would be okay. He went to the airport and told Russia, "Can you walk, people will question you." he said in the cab holding Russia in his arms. If Russia couldn't walk, then he would carry him, but that would raise questions and suspicion.

Russia bit his lip, standing up and suppressing a scream. He walked though, through the airport. Who didnt question his cuts or bruises on his face. He got on the plain and sighed when he sat down, tears welling from the pain in every part of his body. He took the window seat, less poeple to see him there. He sat still and the pain mellowed down, but was still there and alive. He smield at America telling him its ok. "If everything is ok, then im fine." He said smiling

America thought of what Russia would do if America was in this situation. He help him walk, not wanting him to pass out or fall over. He let Russia have window seat, and say the tears on the corners of his eyes and kissed them away he said, "Yeah, you're strong big guy."he gulped, he was so useless in this situation, all he could do was take Russia away he smiled, "Get some sleep."

Russia didnt want to fall asleep, he didnt want to wake up. He shook and then looked at America, he took of his scarf and put it on his coat, cuts finaly closing after being totaly still on the serval hour flight. They landed in DC and Russia felt better, the sensation he use to feel when he got to go back to Russia. But Russia want his home anymore. He got up and walked out with out alot of issues, but till having a hard time. He walked out, getting in to a cab and trying to act normal. He looked at America "Were are we going, we should talk to your boss somehow." He said, reffering to Russia giving up and in to America. He partly wanted to make him feel bad for thinking it was his fault. Showing that he took the punishmnt that should have landed on America and not him.

America spent the whole trip thinking about the war, he was thinking about what to do. He glanced over at Russia a few times to check if he was asleep, but he wasn't. They made it to the cab and saw that Russia was starting to heal up. He hailed a cab and Russia asked where they were going, "My main house." the one with all the things he's collected from the previous wars and battles, it was the safest since it was decently far from the capital, but close enough to get to by taxi. He looked and smiled, "You holdin' up okay, and don't worry, tomorrow morning I'm going to talk to my boss."

Russia sighed, He had spent enough time trying to please his abusive boss. He didnt say anything. The pain getting more and more bearable. He wached the houses roll by and just wanted to hide in his room. He shook and felt light headed, a nauseated feeling creeping in to his stomach. He was in America though, and was safe(er) than at his house. He knew the missile system from the USSR days. With the button pressed, it would take 24 hours and then launch, so far. There was almost total chance that even though Russia surrendered to America, that didn't mean his boss did. And his boss was still his puppet master. He fell absolutely quite thinking about that. America would probably die or get close to diying. And would probably never forgive Russia, but he couldnt do anything. But sit and wait for America to ether die or live through the next day. He didnt say anything though, stayinng quite and scard of his own boss

America finally made it to his house. His first house since he had gained independence from England. He paid the cab driver and waited for Russia to go first, wanting to make sure he didn't fall. The nuclear weapons, he had some, more than Russia actually, but it wasn't with the push of a button, it was a lot more difficult and the only one who could access it was his boss. He worried if Russia's boss would actually bomb him, and if he did, he would prepare,he had been bombed before and the feeling was not good, they were almost as bad as civil wars, he shuddered at the thought.

Russia walked inside the house, finding Americas room and collapsing on the bed, turning himself under the covers and pulled them over his head. Everything still hurting and wondering if he would even survive. If Russia bombed America, America would bomb Russia. And Russia was a hell of lot weaker than America at the moment. He heard America walk in and shifted. Now feared for his nation. He didnt even know why his bosses where all so mean. But now America was his boss. His old one would probobly be killed by the America military in a few hours. He would know becuse no matter how much a nations hates his boss. It still hurts to have one killed. He didnt move, didnt talk, and didnt breath. Trying to get the last bits of pain to go away. Only diffrance now, he was under America.

America walked in to his room, where he had seen Russia go, if his country was bombed, would his boss bomb Russia's country? And if he did, would he still be alive? They would probably attack the most populated areas and his capital. He went to his room and sat on the edge of the bed. He didn't want Russia to fear him since now technically, Russia was ruled by him. He kissed his forehead and said, "We need to change you bandages, I don't want your wounds to get infected." how would things work out, for the time being Russia was safe.

Russia flinched invlantrly a little, pulling the covers off of his head and pulling off his coat and letting America change his bandages. He didnt know what to think of America owning him. He didnt say anything. Watching his replace the bandages and not looking at him. He didnt want to. He had been though hell and then back and all for America. Who ended up ruling over him. Everything seemed to always seemed to fight Russia, make sure he never got anything to help him, or to give him anything. He sat up, and started unwraping his chest. His arms looking like a zebra patters on red and white. He shived at having to use his arms, felling every piece of shin in between cuts move separate, felling like his arm was being twisted.

America couldn't help but feel guilty, putting Russia through all of this. If he just kept to himself,, if his hero complex didn't get in the way, Russia wouldn't be this badly injured. He had wished didn't hate although, he wouldn't blame him if he did. The thought of Russia hating him, made him feel sick, Russia had every right to. He had gotten him into this. He continued to un-wrap the old bandages and re-wrapped them with new ones. He didn't meet Russia's gaze, his own eyes always gave him away on his emotions and he didn't want Russia to worry about that right now. The question lingered in his mind, 'Does Russia hate me?'

Russia turned and smiled at America, trying to kill the uncomfortable mood. He leaned over and kissed America. Looking at him. "The missiles at my home take 24 hours to launch, and he probably send orders for them to start the countdown, that is if he isnt dead already." He said, turing the mood darker again, but being serious. "If they are using the lunch plans from the cold war. They will hit DC, new york, Denver and Seattle first." He didn't want to go on, if the plan went the way they wanted to (America giving up) the rest of the plan was to flatten every building on Americas land. But...alot..had changes since the cold war. But they would most likly use the same lunch plan. He felt a sence of pain and sadness. He was betraying his own nation, talking about his lovers death and then eveutaly his own.

America finished wrapping the wounds, he shouldn't be helping Russia, it was war, but war couldn't stop him from loving from Russia. He felt the uncomfortable tension and then heard the locations and quickly paled, if D.C was hit first, no way his boss would have time to launch the missiles. He said, "oh." not wanting to meet the Russian's gaze, damn his eyes. He would mostly die in this war, his people would die and he would die with them. But honestly his duty as a country was to put his people first, but his duty as a lover put Russia first. He kissed Russia and pulled away, "It's gonna be fine." averting his eyes, it would be an ugly war, it would be so much blood shed. If only minded his own business.