RusAme-Timeline life

Russia smiled at him. "Well," He winced slightly. He didn't even want to sa anything, he cared for his poeple more than anything, expect mabey America. He wished that he had faked sick out of this. He kept himslef from saing anything. "I will give you one day go get the spy out of my nation before I will kill them. "He said falty, turing and starting out the door. He winced slightly again, god Americas words could cut like a knife whe he wanted it to. He stared, leaving the money with America. He sat down, by the back of the bar, sliding his back donw teh bricks and sitting down. He called his boss. He asked how it went with America, and he told him. He didnt say anything for a long painful time. In enlshe he said. "Leave your phone where ever you are and get back to Russia, Now..." His boss hung up and he did too. He set the phone under his and got back up. He picked his foot up, and crushed his heel in to the phone, shattering it. He turned and pasued for one last second. This was going to be the last time he talked to America, rather he liked it or not, and it had to end like this. Russia walked through the city, getting back to the airport again.

America couldn't help but feel guilty at the words they threw at each other. He had a day to get his spies out of there, the Russian airports would be flooded by his people tonight. He saw the Russian leave, he was about to get up and apologize, but his stupid pride got in the way. He let him leave, he let him leave, again. Russia was there to comfort him after he killed his counter part, and he was there to comfort Russia after he killed his family. He downed the remainder of drink feeling the burning liquid burn down his throat. He left and saw the Russia leave to what he assumed was back to a hotel or to the airport. He went home, tipsy, and fucking depressed. He pulled more alcohol out of his liquor cabinet and pulled out a glass. Damn the Russian's words hurt, more than he let on, he loved Russia but he also just wanted to save everyone.

Russia waited at the airport. He wanted to cry at the board turning red, all the Russian American flights being canlced. He caught the vary last flight to USSR. He sat stairing out the window. He didnt react to anything, watching teh city pour under him. He landed back in his home and got to the house. His boss grabbed his shoulders and sat him down on the couch. "Rossia, you need to tell me everything now..." He sighed and he did, telling his everything he had said and Americas had said. It took all of his will not to cry. He got up to his room. His boss back on the phone ordering that all the Military be at the ready to atack America. Russia went up to his room. He felt sick to his core. He gasped, a deep, pousines pain hitting his thigh. He gased, and give in sobbing in to his bed. His boss seemed pankiced "EVERTHING THAT CAN GO WRONG GOES WRONG!" He elled at the top of his lungs. He glared at Russia. "Why are you crying, flit?" He grlowed at him. He heard the other nations lock there bed room doors. He stoped crying though. His boss sigh, notic how he moved his leg. "Rossia," He sat next to him. "America and You will never be able to talk, for a long time" He said. he folowed up "Your leg hurts,Da?" He said, softly though. his boss was strict, not mean. He nodded yes in to his unitform. He smiled. "Choabroly, the power plant? At about 3:00, is exploded, that pain will be there for quit a bit,DA?" He said, he recoiled away from his bosses though on his head. He stood up and walked out, leaving russia alone. He felt the sytoms of a cold coming on to. He could list what was going on. Radiation was filled him and killing his slowly. His love hated him, and he was going to to a resesion. He wished he could fall over and die. The sad part is that he could, if America atacked him, he could die.

America poured himself some more, he didn't want their meeting to end up like this. He brought the bottle and his glass to the T.V in hopes that it would help get hi mind off of things. He took a large drink from his glass, and the alcohol help release his true emotion. He hid his head in his knees and the only thing to be heard in the house were the faint sounds of the T.V and his quiet sobs. He held the neck of the bottle close to his chest. Damn, why did Russia hate him so much, he was overbearing, childish and immature, but he had dealt with him since he was a little kid. He neglected the glass he was using and instead straight from the bottle, tears he had held back from the bar. He didn't like crying in front of other people, because heroes don't cry. He heard on the news how people were beginning to be arrested for being friends, associate, or had family in Russia anything really related to communism. He hated this, his people held an influence over his choices and thoughts and right now they feared Russia was growing too strong and that they might get a hold of nuclear weapons. He hated this, he just wanted to be comforted by Russia but who the hell know where he was. He took another drink and had a feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach, he didn't know what was to come but he knew it wasn't good.

Russia sat in his room. His boss shifted when he came in, gaving him updates on what was happening. His boss didnt know how to make poeple feel better. AT ALL. He giggled oddly. "They are arresting Russians in America they have yet to come back, there namin g it the commie whitch hunts." Russia glared up at his boss. "What would you like to do?" His boss had never, ever let Russia have a choice. He looked up him. "Have they hurt them yet?" He asked. "Only the ones they think were spys..." He said softl in reply. "Then I want to you take all Americasn that look like they are spys and kill them, drag them in to a ally and kill them." He said fatly. He didnt know what a dioin it was, but it had seemed like a good idea the time. He sweat he felt worse every second. The pain him his leg started out was a sharp dot, but spread out all over Russia. Moving in waves and turing in to a painful soarness. He count move, he couldnt get up with out help from his boss. His boss was smaller than him, but was strong a burly. He was use to pain right? America hating him should not have hurt? Right? He cried slitly out of his bosses view. He smiled though. He put downa peice of paper, scribling things. He made a plan, twiting it slight as drawing a thing. He smiled at it, he had no clue what he was doing, and didnt even notice his boss watching him draw. He nodded at the idea.

He got a call from his boss asking him to come down the the FBI building in DC. He sniffled and his boss asked if he was okay. America tried to hide his slurred voice and his boss asked if he was drunk and America said maybe. His boss groaned and told him that he better sober up by the time he gets here. America complied and hung up, he wiped the stray tears on his face with his sleeve. He put the bottle on the table and put on the bomber jacket he had taken off. He ate a hamburger to soak up some of the alcohol in his system and sober him up. He wondered why his boss wanted to go to the FBI for. He shrugged and took a flight to DC trying to get Russia off of his mind.The plane landed and there was a black car waiting for him at the front. He got in and a secret service member what was going on. They were going to interrogate people they thought were working for the USSR. America's eyes widen when they told him they would have to get it out of them with any method. They arrived to the building and he entered the basement where they has jail cells filled with ordinary people saying they had the wrong person. He was told to go into a cell and a man was sitting in a chair, he was told to get information out of him. America's heart broke, but his boss ordered it, no matter how horrified he was he had to do this because of his boss and people. The man was screaming that he wasn't a communist and America kept a straight face with a fake grin and he hit the man with the back of his gun, "You're lying, so just confess and I won't kill you."

The man scram in Russian. He felt a line of blood go down his chin. He looked up at the blue eyed kid. He was able to speak englesh, he didnt know that this was the America represtention. He looked up him tears in his eyes. "We have done nothing! Becuse you think you own us now, You Don't! your taking that away from us!" He watched enire room grow slient. No one had refused the Americasn anything, he was the first to say somthing. "You beat me, and will probly kill me! Becuse you think Im a spy?" He winced, waiting for another hit. "THe USSR had no reason to spy on you! They were aliies!" He scram, more blood rolling down his face. He looked up at him, hoping that iving himslef to the kid would somehow help the others.

Russia winced and cotinued sobbing slintly over the paper. He was making a spaceship. He grinned at the thing, tears rolling down his chin and on to his neck. His boss picked up his phone, scram in to it and than pulled russia roughtly up by his arm. He followed, he ctoniued crying, glad America could not see him. He was pulled out in to the open being trwen in to a car. His boss started driving. "Sir, Dont hurt the Americans. His boss just looked at him, slow to get that Russia loved America. He didnt get it. He drove in a fat gray building, a prison. His boss talked to him before he walked in. "Rossia, the are beating Soviets that are inccoent..." Russia's eye opened wide, and then shoved his boss aside. He stormed in and the Americans flinched when the door was slammed shut. He went to the first cell. He glared at the woman, shaking, sobbing, and afraid. He moved on, the newt was a man, not crying, staying still. Looking around the cell. He walked away for a second. GRabbed a gun off the table and shot the man. He heard screams come up, and he moved on, shoting the spys. He cried doing that though. He got 1/2 way through the prison. And Russia collaped. He fell to his knees, a horrifed felling washed over him, he had probobly killed Americnas that were not even spys. He got back up, ran and hid in a emtpy cell. He sobbed. "A..Ameri...Rica..." He cried. Why did this hurt to much, he wished he could still have America, but he was the one killing him.

America didn't want to hurt the man, but his boss had ordered it, they were slaves, immortal soldiers who were supposed to be ready to fight when their boss gave the word. His boss wanted this man dead , and they were watching America's every move. He held back tears, and the urge to sob, these were Russia's people, how the hell could he hurt him?! The man came here for a better life and here he was falsely accusing him and stripping the man of his freedom and right to live. He hesitantly grabbed the hammer and smashed it down on the man's hands breaking his fingers, "Are you a spy? Yes or no?" he yelled, trying to sounded to sound like he wanted to know, but in all honest he didn't care if the man was or wasn't. A man in a suit looked from the inside and motioned his head to a gun and America's heart stopped. He couldn't kill him, but the man in the suit urged him to do it. America picked up the gun and brought to the mans head and whispered, "I'm sorry."and shot, the wall smeared and spattered in the mans blood. America held back tears and sobs, he bit his lower lip and his heart beat was fast, he killed an innocent man, heroes don't kill the innocent. He walked out of the room and said, "He's gone now, so I'm just gonna go home." The man in the suit laughed and said, "You still have other people to interrogate son." not knowing who he was talking to, "Order straight from President himself." America's smile faltered a bit, "O-Oh yeah sorry, I'm probably still a bit drunk or something, I'll be back quick, I gotta go take a leak!" and ran to the bathroom and locked himself slumping on the wall and letting out a cry of despair; punching the floor repeatedly and shaking his head 'no'. The tears fell and his sobs were muffled by his coat. He just wanted Russia, why the hell was this so hard?

Russia controled his breathing. He sighed and looked up, the wing of the prison he was in was closed, no one. He looked around containg his htoughs. He tried saying what was true You love America, America dosn't love you, America is killing you You could deslove at an second, America his hurting your poeple, America hates you, you killed inncoent Americans.... He let out a long painful breath. The thing that stuck out the most? America dosn't love you. He shook like a puppy dog. The pain spicked in his chest. He arched his back anest the wall. He couldn't supress a scream. He slumped down on the stone floor of the empty cell. He felt the stapbing chest in his chest again. Then on the back of his thighs. Its like the pain knew the most painful parts to hit him. Correction, America Knows where the pain hurt the most. America was te one inflicting the pain, he wouldnt give up though. He stood up more pain shooting his chest. He cried and picked up his gun. He walked by the prison cells. Shoting, not bothing to look at the poeple in them, just constatly shooting, looking away from them. He came down the row, his boos looked a bit suprized at Russias suddent mood change. He smiled. "Good Rossia" He said, Russia looked at the prsion, once ful, now dead siltant, blood running out of the cells.

America couldn't cry anymore, his tears had dried up and so was letting out choked sobs. He had to stop crying, it wasn't going to solve anything. Damn it, he hated this, hurting Ivan's people and maybe even his own. He wiped his tears and went to the sink, pulled off his glasses and splashed water on his face to try and get rid of the redness around his eyes. He put them back on and stepped out of the bathroom fixing his coat and walked back to where the cells were. He was sent to another room with a woman strapped to a chair and a table that were full of things used to interrogate her. America did the deed and was sent room after room, his heart weighing heavy and just would rather shoot himself than hurt another person. He needed Ivan, damn it he loved Ivan. He took 'bathroom breaks' after every 2 people he killed. He wanted to die, he killed innocent people and then.

Russia gasped in hororr when his boss held out a list, about30 pages long, all with prison names. He looked at him. America could not love im, he still loved America. He took the thick packet and jsut looked at if for a long second. He glaced up at his boss. He trew the papers in the blood that was flowing in to a drain. He cried and stormed out, just as he stormed in. He slammed the door, leaving his boss behind. He had never told his boss no, ever. He ran back at his home, the icy again burning his lungs and making his gut hurt. Heoushed open the door. The sick felling in his gut was horrable was got dissy, and fell down on the stairs, cofing up blood, his eyes spinning around and his head relling in pain. He closed his eyes. The only time he had ever been this sick was when he killed his old boss. He cried and cried. He felt like there was somthing being pulled out of his chest. He looked down, barly about to see his own hands. He lifted up his shirt and looked, he was bleeding from a few cuts he was gotton on his chest. He tasted,saw, and everything elsed blood.. It fell out of his body in smalll rivers, turing the air a acid matalic. He collasped from blood loss. He knew that this was what he should get. America hated him now. The blood continued falling out of him,

America came from his last 'bathroom break' and a secret service member came and told America that his boss wanted to see him. America froze, what now? Hadn't he done all the dirty work his boss didn't want to get his hands dirty for? He nodded and reluctantly thanked the secret service member. There was a car waiting in front and he was taken to the White House. He entered the Oval office and his boss was sitting on a chair hand s folded. America stepped in some blood on his beloved bomber jacket and said, "You wanted to see me sir?" His boss nodded and said,"Yes America, I need you to do something." America wanted to go over and wipe the smug look off his face, but as a nation he had to sit nice and listen. He said, "Russia is very vulnerable right now, and we need you to go.... retrieve him for us. America's hands balled into fists and said, "W-What?" His boss smiled, "You don't like communism I don't like communism nobody likes it except the people it's actually benefiting." America unaware nodded, he didn't like it, but he didn't want Russia hurt. "you need to go get Russia, so that we can have our military go in and destroy communism, you want to be a hero right?" using his dreams against him, it hurt and said, "I'll be on the next flight, sir." His boss smiled, "Excellent! You will be the one interrogation Russia to whether they have nuclear weapons or not." America's eyes widen, no, he didn't want to, not to Russia, he could hurt the person he loved. He swallowed and said a low, "Y-Yes sir." and walked out of the room and once out he ran to the nearest bathroom and emptied the contents of his stomach tasting the alcohol and hamburger in his mouth. He panted, he was hyperventilating, he couldn't, not Russia, not Russia. Once done he rinsed his mouth and went to the airport taking a government plane to Russia a feeling of dread increased in his stomach. Once landed he knew where Russia lived, he had the gun in his hostler and was driver by one of the very few American spies left. He made it to the house and he knocked quietly, his heart pounding against his chest and his hand shaking slightly.

Russia shook and didn't breath, for a imposably long time. The though he went with out air for about 6 muints. He knew that if he want breathing, and was still...there. Then he was drifing on and out of awake. He ground at out breathless lungs. His bod refused to move or work. He had created a strem of boo dgoing down the stairs. He because more and more awake. But didnt go get the door. Insted he quitly crawled up the stiars, he was at the top stair when the blood on his hand made him slip. He tulmber back down the stiars. Each place the skin him hurt more than it should have. He slid through his own blood, almost all of his gone and his heart pumping onyl drips of it though is body. He shook vilantly, his everthing turing to jelly. He hoped that who ever was at the door would come inether way. He sat at the bottom on the stairs, every inch of vosable skin being diyed red. He still didnt breath. His mind didnt work, thinking nothing, black. He cried still though, he could always cry. He put a arm up and behind his back, grabbing teh pipe and being ready to defend himslef as much as see could being a immoble blood breathless passing mess. He waoted for them to open the door. Re relsized what a dumb fuck he was to not lock the door. He shook, was afride,a dn crying.

America stopped knocking and put his hand on the door handle to discover that the door was open. He slowly opened it and stepped in, he looked around the dark room and didn't spot anyone. He didn't want to do this, he didn't want to do this. He saw a dark figure sitting on the stairs and said, "I-Ivan?" his voice holding back a sob and he was holding back tear. He had the gun in his pocket and would pull it out and use it if Russia resisted, which he probably would.

Russia jumped. "A..al.f.red....." He said through chocked sobs. He pulled teh pipe defencivly over his chest. He praied America wound come no closer, then he would see all of Russia's blood everywhere. He braced for America to jump on him hit him, somthing. HE continued crying the , his face red coming out of his eyes and mouth. He didnt know what to say at this point. It all hurt so bad, everything went numb becuase there was no more blood to feed the nervs. He faltured back on the stairs trying to crawl back up. He had no control over himslef though. He fell flat an his backon only the 3rd satre. He felt his breath, and bit his bottom lip. He stood up and run up stairs. HE ran up to his room and crashed on the carpet of his room. Sokaing teh bloor. He passed out for a few seconds again, the pain from moving ctehing up with him in a wave.

He heard Ivan sob and it broke his heart, did he know what he did. America took a few steps closer to the Russian. He saw the Russian's desperate attempts to escape and said, "Ivan! No stop!" he got closer and saw all the blood. He followed to the room where he saw the Russian passed out and a wave of panic washed over him. He crouched over and sat him up on his lap and shook him slight, "Ivan! Wake up!" there was so much blood. He looked over at the other's face and let a few tears slip, he couldn't do it, but he had to.

He heard Ivan sob and it broke his heart, did he know what he did. America took a few steps closer to the Russian. He saw the Russian's desperate attempts to escape and said, "Ivan! No stop!" he got closer and saw all the blood. He followed to the room where he saw the Russian passed out and a wave of panic washed over him. He crouched over and sat him up on his lap and shook him slight, "Ivan! Wake up!" there was so much blood. He looked over at the other's face and let a few tears slip, he couldn't do it, but he had to.

Russia drifted in and out of awake. His eyes were 1/2 closed. He looked at America and he couldn't help but feel a bit of fear go over him. He moved out of Americas lap and slammed himslef agnst the wall. "G...Get..the hell awa.ay...." He said through choked breath. Everything hurt so bad, but it was making him ether die or pass out, he couldn't tell witch. He lifted his arm, enough to hurt America if he wanted to. "D...don't get closer or I will hurt you, America" He said, the fear braking in to his voice. His arm started shaking, he couldn't even hold up a wepon anymore. He shook because if his rough breath, sounding like he swalloed sandpaper. He felt a line of blood roll down his cheek from his mouth. He razed the pipe a bit higher, ready to fight for himslef.

America got up when Russia did, his chest tightened when he heard Russia tell him to get away. He said, "Russia, I don't wanna hurt ya, I really don't." he had to take the Russian back, his boss's orders were to bring him back, and he couldn't refuse. He saw Russia raise the pipe and how weak he looked with him shaking. He took the gun out of its holster and raised it and said with tears threatening to fall, "Russia, please, I don't wanna fight you, just put the pipe down." he had every reason to fight America. He didn't want it to be like this, but this was war, and in war you have no choice but turn against each other and fight.

Russia smield at the irony. "If y..you dont what to fight me, than get away from me and never talk to me a..again" He said, he couldnt fell anything anymore. His face had turned red from the blood and no matter if he wiped it off. The blood came out of his eyes and mouth, turing everything a wonderful red and taste of iron. He flinched when he saw the gun, but he kept his stop on the floor. His hands were shaking worse and worse, every second. "S..Shoot me, America. I dare you to shoot me" He said, crying still. He went from numb to felling only a horrable tareing in his chest. He felt like his heart was being compressed. Russia couldnt help but wonder if thats what it felt like having your love point a gun at your head. He went from holding the pipe up to holding it defeicly acroos him, trying to hid the fact that he would have droped it out of pain and exaguhtinon.

America kept his eye on Russia, he couldn't shoot, but he also couldn't go against his boss's orders and said, "Please, Russia." quietly trying to keep his voice from breaking. Russia had done him no wrong, he had only been there to comfort him, and even now America pointed his gun to the person he admired and loved the most He put the finger on the the trigger and it made a clicking noise; it was used as bluff. He said, "Russia, put the pipe down, please." the Russian looked like he could collapse any second, he also looked like he beat the shit out of him; he always seemed to surprise him. He took a few steps closer and said, "Please, don't make me shoot."

Russia flinched when he heard the gun. His hand shook, he could just drop it, he could hold it and be shot. He cried with out giving away and nose or sigh that he was, even though it was clear to see. He hugged the pipe closer to his chest. "I...I...hate...y..you" He said, not sobbing softly. He pulled his knees up to his chest. "I..I..will...never...never..never....forgive you, America.." He the words burned in to his chest, and his rang his head. He kept the pipe in between his chest and legs. He knew that America was killing him and his famly. He didn't look at America, just in to the black of his unitform.

America's hand shook and he pointed the gun at Russia, the feeling of dread and guilt grew heavier. He followed Russia with his gun and swallowed and said, "Russia." he said, "Put the pipe down." adding more pressure to the trigger and then Russia said those words. 'I hate you.' and his couldn't breath, he couldn't feel anything but guilt and depression and he swallowed and his mouth went dry saying, "Put the pipe down and come with me." he said, trying to make it seem like those words hadn't affected him. Those words hurt, he had heard them before but when Russia said them it's like he was shot repeatedly in the chest; at this point he wish he was. He took a few steps closer and Russia gripping the base of the gun tighter and tighter. The next thing Russia said, didn't hurt as much because he knew he deserved it he said, "I know, you don't have any reason to." he didn't deserve to be forgiven, he didn't, it was his fault, his boss may have ordered him, but right now it was America pointing the gun at Russia, not his boss.

Russia, stood up, leaving his back on the wall in doing so. He cried still, but smiled a creepy smile misles wide. He wanted to not go, he wanted to stay, he wanted to stay strong, he want to fight for it. He let the led pipe fall of his lap when he stood up. The blood, there was none left. He grabed Americas hands, holding them both out to the side and forcing America only a few inches from Russia. He moved his arm over, and pushed his leg through the Americans. He pushed him over, fliping him on to his back. ""Get, away, now..." He said, the blood loss not affecting him as much, He was constaslty at the drink of death. He felt his unitfrom hat fall behind him. He loved his black cloths, with a small hammer and sickly on the chest. He was still leangin on the wall. All the love, no, not love anymore, hate. The love melted in to somthing even darker than hate. The want to crush Americas skull in, brake him, make him cry, and hurt, and die. He was still warry of the gun, pinning the arm with the gun down with the end of his foot. The metal spikes for mining digging in to Americas flesh, "Dont ever bother talking to me, or getting near me."

America saw the Russian's smile and decided that he was going to get the shit beaten out of him. He put more pressure on the trigger and said, "Russia don't make me shoot." and the next thing he knew it, his hands were forced to his sides and he gripped the gun tighter so it wouldn't fall out of his hands. He stared into those angry violet eyes and felt a wave of fear wash over him. He had never been in a real fight with Russia, he hadn't even seen him fight before, but the the blood stains he's seen on the pipe proves he held no mercy. He was pushed onto his back and glared at the Russia said, "I don't want to fight you!" damn it he didn't, but right now it wasn't looking so good for him. He felt the spikes dig into his skin and felt the he hissed in pain, he should be strong than Russia, he had to get rid of communism and free the people. He squirmed and felt the spikes dig deeper and he felt his warm blood pour out of his skin.