Invasion (Russia/America) - (55.2/56) Part 4
anonymous
February 9 2011, 08:35:50 UTC
France nodded in agreement, a tight smile growing on his face. “It pains me to say this… but with their weapons rendered useless from the signal, they are now going after our military bases for a means to fight back. We must guard our former military areas that escaped the flash with everything we have…if we hope to get rid of them once and for all.”
“If the elements don’t kill them for us.” Russia muttered darkly. “If this winter season does not kill those remaining in the north, the next winter will do it. I will make sure of it.”
“The deserts too.” America remarked. “They don’t do well in dry, hot places. Most likely those aliens left will head for the mild, tropical climates.”
“Which means the nations closer to the equator will be fighting for a long time.” Canada sighed, a weariness settling over his shoulders. “I cannot wait for them to be gone.”
France nodded grimly and folded his arms across his chest, shouldering his rifle.
“You are not alone in that feeling, mon chou.”
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One Week Later
A full moon hung overhead, illuminating the starry night sky. America leaned against his pack and propped his feet up on Russia’s thigh. The elder nation was slowly unwrapping the soiled bandages and dropping them into the steaming pot of water set over the fire.
“I am so…so sick and tired of my feet being fucked up.” America complained, his tone bordering on a whine. “If it isn’t my feet, it’s my dreaming. If it isn’t my dreaming, its fevers caused by uncontrolled wildfires back home. If it isn’t that-”
“All of us are suffering, Al.” Canada interrupted him. “We know.”
“I know you know, but-…I’m just tired of it!” America exclaimed, wincing when Russia jerked the last bandage free, tearing some skin away in the process. “Ow!”
Russia ignored America and peered at his feet. “They are healing…but this one is infected.” Russia touched America’s left foot. “It will have to be dis-infected.”
“Oh fuck no.” America groaned, knowing what was coming. “Please not the alcohol again- can’t we use something else??? Like..like the soap or-”
France stood and walked over to stand beside Russia. He peered down At America’s feet, studying them for a moment.
“You didn’t take your bandages off when you bathed last time, did you?”
Canada glared at him. “You did what??”
“It hurts when I take them off!” America whined. “I hate it-”
“You can be such a baby sometimes.” Canada complained, standing and walking to the wagon, picking up a solid steel rebar and walking back to where America lay. “You’ll have to hold him down this time, Ivan…Since Alfred crushed the last one.”
“No- please can’t we do something different?” America pleaded, a cold sweat forming across his brow and neck. “It hurts so fucking much when you use the alcohol-”
“Shush now.” Russia handed America’s feet off to France, who knelt and placed them in his lap. Standing, he took the piece of steel rebar from Canada and knelt at America’s head. Grabbing America’s hands, he jerked them over his head and placed the rebar across either hand. “Hold still, and maybe we won’t use more alcohol then necessary, lapochka.”
“I’m not your fucking lapochka.” America glared at him, angry at the pain, at his infected feet, and at his inability to walk. “Sadistic jerk-”
An alcohol soaked cloth pressed to his right foot. America shouted and tried jerking his feet away. Canada held them as best as he could, considering his twin’s super strength. Russia pressed down on the steel rebar and peered down a America, a sickeningly sweet smile plastered across his face.
“Fuck!” America shouted, growling as they continued cleaning the cuts on his feet. “Do you have to scrub so hard!?”
“Maybe if you didn’t leave wet bandages on them all day, then we wouldn’t have to do this, would we?!” Canada shouted back, unbothered at his twin’s loud nature. “If Tony were here he would saw the same thing!”
“If the elements don’t kill them for us.” Russia muttered darkly. “If this winter season does not kill those remaining in the north, the next winter will do it. I will make sure of it.”
“The deserts too.” America remarked. “They don’t do well in dry, hot places. Most likely those aliens left will head for the mild, tropical climates.”
“Which means the nations closer to the equator will be fighting for a long time.” Canada sighed, a weariness settling over his shoulders. “I cannot wait for them to be gone.”
France nodded grimly and folded his arms across his chest, shouldering his rifle.
“You are not alone in that feeling, mon chou.”
++
+++
++
One Week Later
A full moon hung overhead, illuminating the starry night sky. America leaned against his pack and propped his feet up on Russia’s thigh. The elder nation was slowly unwrapping the soiled bandages and dropping them into the steaming pot of water set over the fire.
“I am so…so sick and tired of my feet being fucked up.” America complained, his tone bordering on a whine. “If it isn’t my feet, it’s my dreaming. If it isn’t my dreaming, its fevers caused by uncontrolled wildfires back home. If it isn’t that-”
“All of us are suffering, Al.” Canada interrupted him. “We know.”
“I know you know, but-…I’m just tired of it!” America exclaimed, wincing when Russia jerked the last bandage free, tearing some skin away in the process. “Ow!”
Russia ignored America and peered at his feet. “They are healing…but this one is infected.” Russia touched America’s left foot. “It will have to be dis-infected.”
“Oh fuck no.” America groaned, knowing what was coming. “Please not the alcohol again- can’t we use something else??? Like..like the soap or-”
France stood and walked over to stand beside Russia. He peered down At America’s feet, studying them for a moment.
“You didn’t take your bandages off when you bathed last time, did you?”
Canada glared at him. “You did what??”
“It hurts when I take them off!” America whined. “I hate it-”
“You can be such a baby sometimes.” Canada complained, standing and walking to the wagon, picking up a solid steel rebar and walking back to where America lay. “You’ll have to hold him down this time, Ivan…Since Alfred crushed the last one.”
“No- please can’t we do something different?” America pleaded, a cold sweat forming across his brow and neck. “It hurts so fucking much when you use the alcohol-”
“Shush now.” Russia handed America’s feet off to France, who knelt and placed them in his lap. Standing, he took the piece of steel rebar from Canada and knelt at America’s head. Grabbing America’s hands, he jerked them over his head and placed the rebar across either hand. “Hold still, and maybe we won’t use more alcohol then necessary, lapochka.”
“I’m not your fucking lapochka.” America glared at him, angry at the pain, at his infected feet, and at his inability to walk. “Sadistic jerk-”
An alcohol soaked cloth pressed to his right foot. America shouted and tried jerking his feet away. Canada held them as best as he could, considering his twin’s super strength. Russia pressed down on the steel rebar and peered down a America, a sickeningly sweet smile plastered across his face.
“Fuck!” America shouted, growling as they continued cleaning the cuts on his feet. “Do you have to scrub so hard!?”
“Maybe if you didn’t leave wet bandages on them all day, then we wouldn’t have to do this, would we?!” Canada shouted back, unbothered at his twin’s loud nature. “If Tony were here he would saw the same thing!”
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