“Your mattress was soaked in blood. As were your sheets and clothing and the floor.” America winced at the harsh tone Russia adopted and looked up at the older man, tensing at the anger alight in his eyes.
“Volume,” America muttered as his head began to thrum with the first signs of a headache.
Russia scowled, turning his head to the doorway before looking back at his boyfriend. “What happened?”
America turned his head away, looking at the dresser across from the bed. They fell into silence and America worked his jaw in thought, startling when Russia’s hands curled around his own. His cool hands pried America’s clenched hands open from their death grip around the cotton sheets.
“No more bleeding, please,” he said.
America’s stomach swooped like a falling leaf in guilt. “The dreams.” He paused, flexing his fingers. “I was back there and, well, I got attacked.” He didn’t want to add that he had been, in a way, attacked by Russia. “By a dream,” he tacked on and tapped his fingers against his leg.
“You were stabbed in the chest,” Russia said. When America looked back up at him, his eyes were grim and tight at the corners. His lips quirked downwards and he looked out the window. “I remember dreaming that.” His cheeks were flushed with anger and America drew back. “What the fuck were you doing?”
America blinked. “Stopping your nightmares.”
“But why?”
Why? “Because they were hurting you. And I couldn’t do anything else to help. And you wouldn’t talk to me about it, so I was trying to just stop them.” America’s head throbbed and he furrowed his hand through his hair. He needed to lie down after he was done talking to Russia.
“So you somehow invade my mind–“
“I didn’t mean it!”
Russia looked down at him coolly, his face blank despite how his fingers gripped at his pant leg fiercely. Russia shut his eyes, taking in a slow breath through his nose. “No, I don’t think you did. But I am still angry.”
“Yeah, okay.” America looked up to the ceiling. He hated seeing Russia angry when it was his own fault. The crickets chirped loudly from outside as another breeze pressed at the house.
“How?”
“Huh?”
“How did you do it? How could dreams have killed you?” His voice had bounced over ‘killed’ as though it hurt to say it. America took his hand and swept the pad of his thumb over the veins on top of his right hand.
“England helped a little. He said he could cast a curse and I said yeah, as long as it would help. Looks like I mucked that up though, huh?” He gave a small smile, but it died at seeing how pale Russia’s face had gone.
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Here and Now 75
(Anonymous) 2012-04-16 09:26 pm (UTC)(link)“Your mattress was soaked in blood. As were your sheets and clothing and the floor.” America winced at the harsh tone Russia adopted and looked up at the older man, tensing at the anger alight in his eyes.
“Volume,” America muttered as his head began to thrum with the first signs of a headache.
Russia scowled, turning his head to the doorway before looking back at his boyfriend. “What happened?”
America turned his head away, looking at the dresser across from the bed. They fell into silence and America worked his jaw in thought, startling when Russia’s hands curled around his own. His cool hands pried America’s clenched hands open from their death grip around the cotton sheets.
“No more bleeding, please,” he said.
America’s stomach swooped like a falling leaf in guilt. “The dreams.” He paused, flexing his fingers. “I was back there and, well, I got attacked.” He didn’t want to add that he had been, in a way, attacked by Russia. “By a dream,” he tacked on and tapped his fingers against his leg.
“You were stabbed in the chest,” Russia said. When America looked back up at him, his eyes were grim and tight at the corners. His lips quirked downwards and he looked out the window. “I remember dreaming that.” His cheeks were flushed with anger and America drew back. “What the fuck were you doing?”
America blinked. “Stopping your nightmares.”
“But why?”
Why? “Because they were hurting you. And I couldn’t do anything else to help. And you wouldn’t talk to me about it, so I was trying to just stop them.” America’s head throbbed and he furrowed his hand through his hair. He needed to lie down after he was done talking to Russia.
“So you somehow invade my mind–“
“I didn’t mean it!”
Russia looked down at him coolly, his face blank despite how his fingers gripped at his pant leg fiercely. Russia shut his eyes, taking in a slow breath through his nose. “No, I don’t think you did. But I am still angry.”
“Yeah, okay.” America looked up to the ceiling. He hated seeing Russia angry when it was his own fault. The crickets chirped loudly from outside as another breeze pressed at the house.
“How?”
“Huh?”
“How did you do it? How could dreams have killed you?” His voice had bounced over ‘killed’ as though it hurt to say it. America took his hand and swept the pad of his thumb over the veins on top of his right hand.
“England helped a little. He said he could cast a curse and I said yeah, as long as it would help. Looks like I mucked that up though, huh?” He gave a small smile, but it died at seeing how pale Russia’s face had gone.
“A curse?” he hissed.
“What?”