Funny how things worked out.

Like how the fall of the Tsars for better life brought on more death and unhappiness.

Like how the fall of communism left him with nobody who cared.

And just like how the day he hit America who stumbled in a disarrayed state into the street, that the young nation would end up losing something more important and vital than anything Russia had ever possessed.

He should have expected it. But in all truth, he hadn't.

Funny how things didn't work out.

August 25th, 2010

The meeting with his leader had gone far longer than it was supposed to. So when Russia quickly grabbed his coat and hurried to the parking lot, his mind was revolving around one thing. His sister's birthday. That is, her independence from him. He already had the white frosted cake in the backseat that his dear sister Katyusha had requested for Natalya, and of course her birthday gift. But all would be lost if he missed it. He missed Natalya's birthday last year due to a internal crisis and he felt horrible. She understood that his job came first for him, but that didn't stop him from seeing the flash of sadness (disappointment) in her eyes.

He started up the engine and instantly turned the heat on in the car. Outside it was pouring down rain, and with the thunderstorm it brought along a cold front. He pulled out swiftly and exited the parking garage, headed for home where the party was to be. The Party. Could it be called that with only just three people? Russia was fine with that, but he worried over his sister, if she wanted someone else there. She smiled and shook her head no and assured him it should be a 'family' thing. But Russia saw the lie in her eyes. She didn't dare try to invite anyone, for she knew that once they knew he was there, they would make up some excuse as to why they couldn't come.

His headlights lit up the deserted streets as he drove over the speed limit, quick to get home. It was late, half past eleven, and he still had a few blocks to go before he reached his apartment complex. He really hoped to make it in time. Because this time, for the first time in two decades, someone would be waiting for him.

Just a block from his house it happened. The windshield wipers beat furiously against the heavy downpour but it was still hard to see. He wasn't too concerned since no one would be walking the streets this late at night in Moscow. Or, so he thought.

From the corner of his eye he caught movement but by the time he locked on, it was too late. Russia cursed out as his foot slammed on the brakes in reflex, and to his horror his car went into a hydroplane. Summer sky blue eyes met his for a split second before he made impact. The person he hit was tossed into the air and flung off to the side, hitting the sidewalk. Russia had his face slammed into the steering wheel before gravity pulled him back. The airbags never deployed. The car finally skidded to a stop.

Russia took a few calming breaths and did a mental check of his body. Aside from the nasty bruise his nose and forehead would feature for a few hours, he appeared to be okay. Russia looked up into the rearview mirror. The tangled limbs of what looked to be a broken marionette, however, looked far from okay. Russia stiffly got out of his car and started walking over to poor soul he hit. If he was human, he was most likely dead. Russia froze as the new memory of a pair of blue eyes flashed across his eyes. But if he was…..no, that wasn't possible. Russia ran the last few feet and stopped just above the crumpled body.

His eyes locked on to the back of the persons head and he froze.

Golden yellow hair. Like his precious Sunflowers that filled his house in vases and in his garden his sister, Katyusha helped him with.

With trembling hands, Russia knelt down and reached a hand out to carefully turn over the man he ran over. He let out a gasp and pulled back. Besides one cheek being scraped up from the asphalt, it was undeniably him.

"America." Russia whispered out.

Russia glanced around the silent street. No other living soul was about. Russia leaned over and quickly checked America. Four broken ribs, a broken leg and various cuts and scrapes, but other than that, he was fine, and since he was a nation he would heal within a matter of days. Russia went back to his car to fetch the crochet blanket he had in the back and bundled the younger nation carefully up in it.

It wasn't until he had America lying in the back seat and pulling alongside his house for the questions to float through his conscious.

Why was America in Russia? Why a block away from his house? Was he going to meet him?

Why did he smile as he was hit?

Russia made it to his door fine but realized with a sinking heart he would have to reveal his accident to his sisters sooner than he would have liked. He barely managed to ring the doorbell since both hands were pre-occupied with carrying America. He then took a step back as he heard voices approaching the door.

"Vanya! Where have you been-"Ukraine cried out but cut off when she noticed who Russia was holding. "Mr. America?"

Russia stepped into the warm house and Ukraine closed the door. She quickly came around and stared anxiously at her brother.

"Vanya, what happened?"

Russia gave a sigh and shifted America in his arms. "I will tell you in a moment, dear sister, but could you please first get Natalya's gifts? They are in the trunk of my car."

Ukraine gave a nod, "Your keys?"

Russia walked into his small sitting room and lay America down on the couch before reaching into his pocket and fetched his keys. He handed them over with a weary smile and watched his sister leave the room.

"Big Brother?"

Russia looked over to see the birthday girl step tentatively around the wall and stop just short of the plush carpet. Natalya's eyes knitted in confusion trailed behind him until they widened as they landed on the prone figure of America.

"America? What on earth?"

Just then Ukraine came back inside the house, cake held carefully in both hands while the present dangled from her wrist in a bag.

"Sisters, come in and have a seat please." Russia gestured toward the other couch, a warm velvet red with plush pillows adorning needlework sunflowers.

Ukraine and Belarus obediently sat down and locked eyes on their brother as he went to stand at the end of the occupied couch on the other side.

"How to start…" Russia ran a hand through his hair and then brought it down to clutch his scarf. A habit he developed as a child when he got nervous. Ukraine shifted a bit and opened her mouth to help.

"I noticed the dent in the front of your car. Did Mr. America accidentally hit your car with his?"

Russia glanced behind him to stare at the knocked out nation and cleared his throat. "Umm, no. I hit him...as he was walking across the street."

Ukraine let out a breath and brought one hand to her chest, over her heart.

"Oh my gosh! Is he going to be all right?"

Russia turned to look back at his sisters and noticed Belarus had not yet said a word.

"He has a few broken ribs-"Ukraine gasped and brought the hand up over her mouth, "and a broken leg." Russia cursed himself mentally for not attending that right away.

"Katyusha, do you mind helping me fix his leg up?"

Ukraine gave a vigorous nod of her head and immediately stood up and left the room to go and get binding. Russia nervously looked back at Belarus and was surprised to see her glaring at him.

"Why did you bring him here?" She hissed out in anger.

"Natalya! I couldn't just leave him on the sidewalk." Russia bit back. Belarus snapped her mouth shut and looked off to the side just as Ukraine hurried back into the room with the necessary supplies.

"I-I brought antibiotics for his cuts as well as the binding." Ukraine handed over the binding and set down the antibiotics on the coffee table off to the side.

Russia nodded in thanks and then set to work on unbundling the American and straightening him out. Thankfully the couch was longer than he was. Russia worked on un-buttoning America's plaid red and white shirt. He swallowed back a wave of nausea. Underneath the shirt, America's (beautiful) sun-kissed tan skin was now a tie-dyed effect of blues and purples with a speck or two of green. Ukraine moved forward and trailed her hands down his chest making sure the ribs were in their right place so they wouldn't have to shift them.

"He's good brother. His leg next?" Ukraine softly laid her hand over Russia's shaking one and gave him a warm smile.

Russia managed a small smile back before turning to start work on cutting America's pants. After he made the cut down the length, he was greeted with a swelled leg covered in bruises. He grimaced and trailed his fingers gently over America's calf. He had broken his tibia bone and unfortunately it had become displaced. He would have to carefully move the bone back into place.

Russia's eyes raised up to stare at America's face. He was still out but he wasn't sure if he would stay that way when he moved the bone back in place.

"Katyusha? Please hold his hands and chest down in case he wakes."

Ukraine bit her lip but did as she was told, glancing nervously between Russia and America. Russia took a deep breath, braced his hands, and quickly snapped the leg back into place.

Not even a twitch.

Russia exhaled and moved out of the way for Ukraine to begin binding the leg. That was both a relief and unnerving. It showed signs of something more serious being wrong. Russia walked over to his other younger sister and kissed the top of her head.

"Forgive me, Natalya, for ruining your special day."

Belarus pouted and looked away. But a small blush lingered in her cheeks, and Russia knew he had been.

August 26th, 2010

Sleeping

August 27th, 2010

Sleeping

August 28th, 2010

Sleeping. Ukraine starts to become very worried and tells Russia to call her once America wakes. She and Belarus have to leave for home, leaving Russia all alone again.

August 29th, 2010

Why? Nations have never slept for so long before. Is America in a coma? A stab of pain shoots through Russia and guilt maws away at his insides.

August 30th, 2010

Russia is awoken at one am to piercing cries. He rushes out of his room in only his boxers and races downstairs to where America lay tossing and turning on the couch. He crouches down and grips America's tear-streaked cheeks and whispers nothings in Russian to him. America does not wake, and by the time America stops moving at all, Russia's guilt has completely eaten away at him until he is now the one crying in the dark.

August 31st, 2010

Russia sits up in his bed and stares blankly down at his sheets. He has not slept once. Too afraid something would happen. Or that something would not. He blindly gets up and shoves a rumpled red t-shirt on from a pile of clean clothes he has not bothered to put away yet. He makes his way downstairs and heads straight for the kitchen to make some tea. He freezes when he hears the sound of crying. Another nightmare? Russia pours himself a cup of tea and pads across the cherry-wood floor and out into the living room.

His fingers tighten for a second before letting go. The mug shatters on the floor and America looks up startled.

America is awake.

Big blue eyes (the color he wishes his cloudy-Moscow sky would be) spill an endless trail of tears. He is huddled up, still on the couch, with his knees brought up to his chin and arms wrapped around. He looks terrified, and that is unsettling. America never shows his fear of anything, to anyone for that matter. Russia opens his mouth, tempted to say something, anything, but America beats him to it.

"Who are you?"

Shock rips through Russia and he takes a step back. America whimpers and looks about the room.

"Where am I? Who are you?"

Russia would think this is just another game, one amid the hundreds they played during the Cold War, but looking into America's eyes, he knew for a fact it was not. And if so, then what did America remember?