"You... ugh give up now, da?" The large Russian grunted, leaning against a wall while holding his leg and desperately clutching his pipe. It was the only thing he had left, all his various knives and other weapons gone throughout the fight.

Holding his right arm, America shook his head. "You have a bullet... in your fucking leg." He couldn't see very well anymore, because blood kept getting in his eye from a cut on his forehead. "I have the upper hand."

Ivan's bare foot was slipping, because of all the blood on it. It was getting harder to stay standing, even with the wall. "But your shooting arm is," He had to pause to catch his breath, exhausted after over 24 hours of this, "broken." He finished, looking at said arm which was turning purple from where he had hit it with his pipe.

"I can shoot you... with my left arm..." Grabbing the last gun he had used, Alfred held it out in front of him with a shaking arm and pulled the trigger, only to realize he was out of bullets. "Fuck." He whispered, throwing the gun away.

Laughing, Russia pushed himself from the wall, using his pipe as a crutch. "I told you -erg- to surrender." It seemed his opponent was trying to get away, but his legs would hardly move, so Ivan got closer.

"Fuck you."America gasped as he fell to the ground, onto his broken arm. "Fuck!" Feeling the skin tear, he knew the bone was now sticking out.

Still holding the pipe, Ivan got onto his good knee so he was closer. "Surrender." Soon, his large hand was wrapped around America's throat, tightening so his wind pipe was completely sealed off. "Surrender to me."

Eye site going dark, Alfred tried getting his hands to move, finally gripping the small piece of cold metal he had hidden away. Seconds from unconsciousness, he managed to point the small, last resort-gun into Russia's stomach, before his head fell back and his body went limp.


Waking up to pain was not an uncommon feeling to the powerful nation. Alfred didn't open his eyes, because he knew what he would see. Stark white walls, making the whole room seem as cold as the country it was in. But when he heard small grunts of pain, he had no choice but to look over at Russia, who was trying to dig the bullet out of his leg.

"Idiot. Have you never had to get a bullet out before?" He asked, trying to turn on his side without the use of his right arm, which was in a sling.

Looking up, Ivan shook his head. "You usually just shoot me right through. That is much easier." But he knew that he had to get it out, or else he was liable to get led poisoning or something similar. Luckily for his enemy, a broken arm would heal as long as it was set properly.

Sighing, America looked down to the blood-soaked pants. "First of all, you have to slow down the bleeding, or you won't have any blood left." He looked for something to tie it up with, before just grabbing the belt that was on his pants. "Here, you will have to do it. As tight as you can, right above the whole." If he had his right arm, it would be fine. Painfully getting out of the bed, Alfred hobbled over to the bathroom.

Doing as he was told, Russia pulled it as tight as it would go, which hurt, but not as much as the gun shot. He waited in the chair for the other nation to come back.

Finding a pair of tweezers, Alfred made the way back to the bed, only having to stop once and grab onto something so he wouldn't fall. Once he was sitting, he leaned forward and slipped his hand into Ivan's coat pocket, taking out a flask of vodka. "Don't argue with me, I'm sure you have much more to replace it with." He quickly poured some over the tweezers, getting them at least somewhat sterilized.

"I suppose it will have to be alright." The northern nation said with a sigh, and then gave a yell as he felt searing pain. "Warn someone!" He looked down to see the metal instrument deep in his wound.

Taking out the bullet quickly, Alfred threw it on the ground. "Alright, I'll warn you. This will sting." He poured some of the vodka on the wound, hearing Russia's barely stifled yell. Seeing the bandages that had been used on his own cuts, America took out some gauze and wrapped his leg. "You can untie it now."

Teeth grinding from the pain, Ivan quickly undid the belt. "You should stay here, until you are healed."

Grunting at his full body pain, America laid down on the bed again. Careful to not touch his right arm, he reached inside his jacket, pulling out a new gun. "I will." Closing his eyes, Alfred kept his finger on the trigger. Just in case.