Warning: AMERUS

   America dreamed of a white swan.

   It's his swan. He stumbled upon it at a broken nest by the lake. His swan is hardly feathery, with just a few grey ones standing pathetically on the pink bare skin. Just an ordinary swan, cowering in his palm, whimpering about its uncertainty towards its future.

   But this is his swan, the only bird in the world.

   He pierced earring studs into Russia's earlobe, something he never used and never cared if the other was in so much pain that his knuckles were trembling, as America lowered his head and kissed the silver trinket intimately, the drops of blood licked into his mouth by the tip of his tongue, whispering in a joyful tone.

   America dreamed of a white swan.

   His swan, wobbling and trying to flap its wings, struggling to fly, stumbled and thrashed on the ground, failing. With only vague instincts in its bones, it should have followed its father's lead and learned to be a real swan, but it didn't, and could only stand awkwardly and hesitantly in front of the door.

   "Good child, we're going to fix this mistake you've made, and you know what to do." America softened his voice and Russia was held in his arms, his chin resting against the softness of the youngster's hair as he muttered, "Don't let me down."

    America dreamed of a white swan.

     His swan, the unique swan in the world, even without his father's teaching, slowly figured its way out. America looked at his eager look, a smile at the corner of his mouth. He clutched its long and beautiful neck in his hands and did not hesitate to cut off its feathers.

    Shards of white scattered all over the ground. The sight suddenly reminded him of the day he picked up his swan, under his feet The sight suddenly reminded him of the day he picked up his swan, under his feet were also feathers mixed with blood and broken twigs.

   The soles of his boots crushed on Russia's hand, the sound of broken bones echoed throughout the place, his swan wailed, those ice blue eyes filled with fury.   

     America leaned down, arms resting on his knees, a hand caressing Russia's disheveled hair, the other hand grabbed his jaws, bones cracking with excessive force.   

"Don't give me that sort of look"

"I love you, don't look at me like at."

    The Slav closed their eyes and hid his anger deep beneath the ice.  

    America dreamed of a white swan.

     It was his swan, walking into the water, step by step towards the center of the lake, the water reached his knees, then his chest, ripples of water breaking away as it spread. The white swan bent its neck, his blue eyes blinked, gazing at him meekly. America reached out to touch this soft and pure creature, the latter nimbly dodging his fingers, for the first and last time in front of America it spread its wings. 

     The wind passed through his fingers, the dying creature regained its strength, and the depleted fountain burst into unparalleled life. His swan, the soul breaks free from every crack in his body, struggling to dash into the clouds.

      He was going to fly away, America thought.

      This is the last time he dreamt of his swan.

       From then on, it was no longer his swan.