The Russian shook his head violently, desperately trying to shake the red from his vision. His ears bled and were ringing painfully from the bombshells and screaming around him. Something stung through his shoulder, causing him to cry out. His hand flew up to the wound, dropping his gun, and he felt something warm and sticky dripping through his fingers. In a blind, agonizing state, he stumbled forward a few steps before his legs gave out and he fell headlong into darkness.

XXX

Awaking slowly from the blankness of his mind, Russia was met with the most devastating, horrific sound:

Silence.

It struck him deep in his chest, burning in his ears, and he feared the worst as he hesitantly opened his violet eyes. He slightly blurred vision could only make out the tall grass in front of his face. The dirt his cheek rested on was stained with the dried blood that had seeped out of his mouth. Blinking several times until his eyes were cleared, he shakily began to push himself up onto his hands and knees. His body felt numb; he could barely feel his fingers as he moved. He kept his gaze on the ground as he rose to his feet, steeling himself for what was about to come. With one last deep breath to calm him, he raised his eyes to the sight before him.

Russia stood on the edge of a massacre.

Bodies were strewn all across the battlefield, dead from the rain of bullets that had been falling just moments before he'd passed out. The fallen wore three different uniforms for three different countries who had clashed together for three completely different reasons. The Americans had attacked the Russians out of fear that they were trying to take over and corrupt Canada into communism. Russia had merely defended himself, not bothering to try and talk it out. It had turned into a World War III, the two superpowers battling and bloodying one another over Canada—who, in turn, ended up joining the battle in hopes of ending it. Since the two powerful countries were fighting on the quiet country's soil, he only fought for himself, not with America, nor Russia.

It's that damn America's fault, the tall country growled inwardly. He walked slowly through the mass of bodies, destroyed tanks, vehicles and aircraft that had been shot down. He squinted through the thick smoke around him at his dead comrades, feeling his throat tighten up and his hands ball into fists. If he hadn't assumed that I was trying to capture Matvey then none of this would of happened!

Blood soaked his skin through his tattered clothes, his thick coat torn to shreds and his scarf hung limply in pieces around his bruised neck. He could feel the mud and blood that he was stepping on through the worn soles of his boots. He scanned the horizon to see if any of his soldiers had survived. Spending a good long while looking for any miniscule movement to signal life, he began to feel a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Nothing.

No movement. No groaning or whimpers of pain. No breathing. Russia felt a deep sadness wash over him as he spotted civilians scatted among the dead. They hadn't deserved to die. None of them had. They had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time, unable to escape. Feeling his heart beginning to ice up in determination, he set off towards the opposite end of the field in search of his enemy. He would surrender to America's terms, no matter what they were. As long as it means that I am no longer hurting my Matvey, I will do anything.

Checking the American bodies to see if one of them was the American himself, he came across a mass of deceased Canadian soldiers. He placed a hand over his mouth and nose, the smell finally starting to get to him as he gingerly stepped over his love's comrades. Most of them had brown or black hair that was dirtied from the excesses of war. Off to his right, though, he spotted a blonde head laying like ragdoll in the grass—instantly dragging him from his mission. Feeling his heart drop as he walked toward the body, he stooped down onto his knees beside the figure, gently rolling the man on his back.

"Matvey . . ?"

The Russian's voice cracked desperately as he lifted a peaceful looking face into his palms and checked for a pulse. Nothing. The Canadian's usually shining blue eyes were now closed, his once silky fair-hair now matted with dirt and muck. Russia clutched his body closely to him, stroking one of the soft pale cheeks with his fingertips. His whole body grew cold except for the tears smoldering in his eyes as he lifted the limp blonde into his lap, continuing to stroke his cheek lovingly.

Why did this have to happen? It felt like the karma from his past had come back to spite him. After all of the terrible things he'd done to others—robbed them of their homes, their freedom, and their lives—it seemed that fate was now making sure that he would never be allowed his happiness. Violet orbs looked up into the gray sky just as rain began to fall, matching the tears that were streaming down his cheeks and plopping in an almost mournful way onto his one, true love.

His lips parted slowly in a gasp, his words just barely escaping him before he burst into more tears, hugging Canada to him as tight as he possibly could.

"Why?"

XXX

Based off of the song: Iridescent by Linkin Park~

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