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It was a cold rainy night, in the background, a phonograph was softly playing the tune to Katyusha. Soviet hummed softly and gently swayed around the kitchen. Pulling his wife towards him, he held her tightly in his arms, fearing that she would disappear if he were to let go. Stepping back, he directed his gaze into her eyes. They were beautiful deep pools filled with emotion. Oh, how irresistible this woman was, she tore her way through his heart and he didn't stop her, oh no. He savored those moments like a man infected with greed, he gets a sight to die for. How her lips would curl up, a smile flickering across her face like beams of sunlight.
A sweet laugh that eased his mind and would blend into a chorus of cheerfulness. His hands had a tight grip on her waist and her hands gently ran through his rough hair. How delicate this woman was and yet how vulnerable he felt around her. The music whirled around them as they both danced the night away. It drove him crazy to have her body pressed up against his. The same body that would mold against his perfectly in nights of passion, the body that would hold him tightly whenever he felt like he wasn't a part of the world anymore and the same body that carried his children. These memories were like delicate melodies he only wished to share with her and no one else.
"I went out, started the song
Выходила, песню заводила
About the steppe, gray eagle
Про степного, сизого орла
About the one she loved
Про того, которого любила
About the one whose letters she cherished
Про того, чьи письма берегла"
Amid his fantasy, everything started to fade away. An irritating and mind-numbing ticking could be heard. It grew louder and louder until he found himself stuck in a dark void.
Screaming, Soviet jolted up awake. His mind was running wild and his pulse was racing. His eyes darted across his darkroom and he tried his best to calm his breathing. Burying his face in his hands, he tried to composed himself. As his heart beat slowly calmed, he sighed and observed his surroundings, he was in his bedroom and the clock beside him read "3:24 am". Shutting his eyes painfully, Soviet collapsed back onto his bed. There was no phonograph playing a beat or melody, the weather outside was clear, not a single drop of rain in sight. And most importantly, she wasn't here.
Soviets dull and tired eyes glanced to the other side of the bed. Empty. It had been this way for a few months now. His wife had been declared dead after a firefight had started in the station she was situated in. How foolish was he to even allow her to enlist? He should have never taught her how to use a rifle, this could have all been prevented if he didn't get her involved. His stomach felt heavy, it was as if someone was twisting his heart and stabbing it over and over again.
He wanted to cry, he wanted to just melt into his despair but he felt far too drained to do so. He cried for a week straight when it hit him that she was gone. Ukraine and Kazakhstan had to convince him to get out of bed, Russia hid all of their firearms and sharp objects in fear that his father would try to hurt himself and Belarus had taken Y/N's role. She's been making breakfast, lunch, dinner, and snacks for everyone. She's kept her brothers in check, making sure that they weren't arguing and she's also taken care of him during his episode. He was proud of her, she's taken after her mother so much, so refined and elegant yet gutsy and feisty.
He knew the kids took the news hard too. Ukraine broke down crying and refused to eat for three days. Russia was enraged and had tried to shoot the commander to her station himself but was eventually tackled and held down. Belarus kept her calm and tried to take the motherly role however Soviet swore he could hear her cries at night. Kazakhstan ran away for a few days to clear his mind.
Yes, he does blame himself for her death but he'd be dammed if he said he didn't do everything in his power to try and find her. Like Russia, he too was furious at her commander. He had him and everyone under the same station sent to the labor camps after learning that they abandoned her. He let out massive search teams in hopes that she would still be alive. He sent his men, trucks, tanks, planes, boats- everything that he could access. He would have kept on searching if it weren't for the war. He couldn't spend his time like this, especially after Reich has been acting increasingly hostile. He had duties to fulfill and a union to run. So with a heavy heart, he acknowledged her death. He didn't accept it but he acknowledged it. There was always still a glimmer of hope in him, a glimmer of hope that she's still out there. However as the days go on and the months pass by, he feels increasingly more hopeless. He's been a mess without her, it's no secret that Soviet harbored a lot of pent-up emotions and mental problems. She was his therapist. This man built the deadliest weapons known to mankind but he couldn't bring himself to express his emotions even if his life depended on it.
Forcefully pulling himself off the bed, he trudged his way towards the bathroom. Stripping himself of his clothes, he entered the shower and quickly washed. His hands traced against the multiple scars around his body, each one told a story. Whether it was a mighty battle scar or a scrape from when he was a kid, they all had a story. Then his hands landed on a fairly new scar on his hand. He had gotten it the day Y/N had disappeared, he was so engulfed in anxiety and rage that while cooking dinner he didn't realize he was holding the kitchen knife the wrong way. It was only until he heard a shrill scream from Belarus had he come to his senses.
He stepped out of the shower and dressed. Today was his day off, he didn't plan much but perhaps he could take his kids out today. Walking towards his bedroom door, he passed a picture frame of Y/N and quickly pressed a small kiss on it. He headed down the stairs and overheard the loud chattering of his kids in the kitchen. He passed by Russia, who threw a concerned glance at him before quickly walking away.
"Latvia! stop taking my porridge!"
"You ate my bread!"
He scowled, those damned kids always get in fights over the pettiest things. Walking into the kitchen, he locked eyes with Belarus and she sent him a small smile, which he ignored. Grabbing the cup of coffee she had prepared for him, he took his serving of porridge and settled down next to Kazakhstan on the table. Glancing at Kazakhstan, he noticed his second eldest son looked dazed. Was he..asleep? Soviet sighed and shook his head, Kazakhstan had an odd talent of being able to sleep almost everywhere. Glancing around the room, he caught Russia and Ukraine already knees deep in an argument. He rolled his eyes and started eating, he doesn't try to stop them anymore since it's practically a routine for both of them to argue at least once every day.
Despite the fighting, this morning was slow as always, there wasn't much to do after all. However Soviet considered this a blessing, a little quiet away from the tragedies of war. He was quick to finish his meal and headed outside. Sitting down on a wooden chair outside his house, Soviet surveyed the area around him. To most men, the cold snap of the snow is enough to keep them from even thinking of going outside but he was used to it. Dare I say, he enjoyed it. He found the sight therapeutic, endless white blankets of snow while the bite of cold air occasionally nipped at his skin.
He closed his eyes and just let his mind wander for a bit. Tired, he was so fucking tired. His body felt like it weighed a ton, he hasn't gotten much sleep these few days and when he did he usually woke up screaming. War changed him; distressing thoughts, flashbacks, and nightmares made him feel like he was reliving the same horrendous events again and again. Over time, he grew resilient and apathetic to the sight of piled-up corpses. Did that make it any more bearable? Not by any chance. His eyes flickered over the many various parts of the land before him. He caught sight of a man pulling along a horse. He remembered when he used to love horse riding, the feeling of the wind on his face as he rode off to god knows where. He loved the freedom of it, away from his uptight father and any royal duties he had to fulfill. He found himself smiling at the memories of when he had just started courting Y/N, he would ride to her house and would drop off gifts. However, eventually, her father had found out about his visits and had threatened Soviet with his shotgun. He had to cower behind a tree for cover while Y/N had begged the older man not to shoot. He had to sit down with her father and practically groveled at the man's feet to ask for her hand in marriage. He was rejected multiple times but he persisted until the elderly man eventually caved in.
Suddenly a car pulled up to the front of his house, snapping him out of his thoughts, and he came face to face with one of his generals. The man saluted him but before he could speak, Soviet cut him off. He was in no mood to handle any work today.
"Listen, today is my day off. Whatever issue there is you can tell me tomorrow."
“Sir, she’s alive.”
Any words after that dulled to white noise as he ran over the words again and again in his head. She’s alive. She’s alive. “Where is she?”
The general stumbled to answer. “Uh, in the hospital-“
“Where!?” He gripped at his general’s shoulders, nails sinking deep into his skin.
His general flinched. “Room- room 432-“
With that, he turned away, rushing straight for his children. He grabbed most of them by the arm and screamed for the others to follow him. The car started and drove towards the hospital she was said to be in.
Russia stared at his father with a bewildered stare. He had never seen him this energetic, especially around this time of war. He looked to his siblings for some kind of explanation however they all shared the same look of confusion on their faces. Ukraine, who sat beside Soviet, tapped the man's shoulder.
"Papa? Where are we off to?" He didn't answer them, hell he didn't acknowledge anything that was happening around him. His head was far too clouded, millions of thoughts and emotions were swirling through it.
Soviet felt like the ride lasted for hours and once the car halted to a stop, he wasted no time sprinting out of the car. The general had told them the room she was in beforehand. His mind was racing, everything around him felt insignificant and blurry. His lungs burned as he ran up the flights of stairs but he couldn't care less. Soviet felt like he could breathe again. Shallow and short they were, but he could take a breath. He finally saw some hope in life, something he could latch on to and believe in. A source of happiness he could focus on. Grab and hold firm like someone's soul trying to escape death's grasp. "She's alive." replayed in his head like a mantra. A never-ending chant that eased his soul and mind. And so he ran, he ran and ran until he reached his destination.
"Room 432."
Halting to a stop, Soviet stood in front of the room. So much emotion was swimming around in his head right now. With a shaky hand he lifted the handle of the door and pushed it open, quick to close it, he immediately darted his eyes across the room. It landed on a figure resting in bed by the window, she was staring at the sights outside. Feeling lightheaded, Soviet took a few steps forward and called out her name. The woman perked up and turned around to catch his eyes. She covered her mouth with her bandaged arms before dropping them and showing him that familiar smile.
"Советский.." And at that moment, Red Russia broke. His shoulders slumped and sobs racked his body, he collapsed onto the floor and felt darkness overtake him. Oh, he was so tired, how many nights has he spent awake hoping to hear that again? To see that familiar smile again? He blacked out for a good 10 minutes before he felt soft hands gently petting his hair.
A familiar warmth and scent surrounded him, a distant worried voice called out his name, and his hands shakily wrapped around someone's smaller figure. His once obscured vision and his consciousness slowly returned to him. His eyes burned terribly like a thousand poison needles were piercing through them. Soft warm tears traveled down his face and his lungs were heaving for oxygen. He hadn't realized it at first but there was a phonogram beside her bed, and what tune was it playing? He smiled bitterly, Katyusha.
Was this a dream?
A sick twisted fictional scenario created by his mind?
Perhaps he had finally gone insane.
However as his head was pressed against her chest, listening to her steady heartbeat, it was reminding him that she was here and well. Everything felt too real to be a dream, still, he feared that it was. And so he held her tightly in his arms, fearing that she would disappear if he were to let go. Leaning up, he captured her lips in a fiery kiss, the first in so many months. His chapped lips were hotly pressed against hers. It was both raw and desperate, he felt like he never wanted to pull away. But alas, they both needed oxygen to breathe, and reluctantly, he let her go.
"That's it Советский...you're alright. This isn't fake, I'm here." Letting his eyes shut again, he buried his face into the base of her neck. He eventually pulled away from her embrace and took a step back to see her.
She was still his Y/N, albeit her hair had grown longer, she looked thinner and she was noticeably beaten up. He examined her bandaged arms and noticed an eye patch on her left eye. His eyes widened and he reached up to gently caress the left side of her face. She chuckled and leaned into his touch.
"“Can I explain another time?” He was quick to nod… before she could question him, he suddenly spoke. “You take your time…”
"You take your time, for now, rest, all that matters is that you're alive." She supposed he was right, so much happened in such a short period. This woman practically went through hell and back to survive. She deserved a bit of rest after what she's been through. The couple sat in silence for a short while. Soviets endearing eyes lingered on her bruised face, whatever happened to her shook her up. Was she captured? Lost in the forest and forced to fend for herself? The more he thought about it, the more grim and messed up the scenarios morphed into. His thoughts were cut off when the door to her room suddenly slammed open. Scrambling to his feet, Soviet instinctively reached for his gun only to freeze once he caught sight of who was at the door.
"Mama!" Ukraine barged into the room, sobbing, and ran into her open arms, the women pressed kisses on the crying child's face. His other kids were quick to enter the room, rushing to her side. Laughing, she peppered all their faces with kisses and they let her, even Russia, who usually got embarrassed when she showed affection towards him.
Soviet watched the scene with tired eyes, he leaned back on a chair. The past few months were so dreadful. His family had suffered so much but perhaps after this, they could finally start healing again and all would be well. Still, deep down inside he doubted that. There were still more obstacles in front of them, the uncertainty of war was still looming near. For now, they could rest easy but he knew damn well something was bound to happen soon.
And he would be right.
The past he couldn't change or recapture. There's no way to recover all those lost days, everything was over and done. There was no use in fretting over the lost moments they've had. He took a deep breath and leaned back, he felt himself get entangled in his fogged up lane of memories. He's studied history and he's had his many encounters with fate. Glancing to the side, he caught sight of a wilting sunflower. Its bright yellow petals have turned a dull yellow. How drear and lonesome this single flower was, he almost compared it to himself. Pausing, he glanced at his family near the window again. His eyes lingered on his sons and his little girl sitting on the hospital bed. It's no surprise that Soviet wasn't the best father. He failed to give them the proper affection they needed, he was always too stone-cold and strict. But he did care for them. He glanced at the sunflower again, the stem drooping down basking in the soft beams of sunlight, maybe not.