Invisible: Russia x Reader IV

Sorry, this one is a little short, but I like where it ends...

You can see the profile in the window, cowlick and all. "Shit." you utter.
"What is it, подсолнечника?" (sunflower)
America's voice comes out of your home. The only thing you register is that it is loud. No words really get across. "That."
Ivan squeezes your good shoulder lightly to comfort you as the door swings open and you hear a gun being cocked. "Let go of my brother's girl, commie bastard."
Canada is yelling lightly in the background, "Where on Earth did you get a gun? Don't hurt _____!"
Ivan stops in his tracks, wondering if America is a good shot or not. You move forward, slipping from his grasp. But instead of going inside like everyone expected, you moved and stood in front of Ivan, shielding the large man with your small body. "America, give me the gun and get the fuck out of my house."
"But-" he says startled, "I'm saving you!"
Your eyes are slits as you walk up and grab the rifle from him and throw it down somewhere in the grass. "The only person I need saving from anymore is you! Did you really call him here, Matthew?" He emerged from behind his brother, quite small in comparison, and you went back to stand near Ivan.
"You left with Russia for hours! People saw you being taken somewhere, what was I supposed to think? You didn't even tell me you were going to be late!" he's madder than when you had told him Russia saw you, and this time the only thing he has to take his anger out on is you. "Do you know what he does to people? I was only trying to help!"
Alfred takes over, and you really start to feel bad. "And you did the right thing, bro. I'm the only one that can take this commie. Did he hurt you at all? Brainwash you? I bet that's what happened! I-"
Both of them stand there chastising you, and Ivan is seething. His aura practically bubbles and froths around him as he becomes angrier than he has been in a long time. He thinks to himself as he saw you looking down, sad, I'll just kill America and this other guy so she can be happy again.
He is preparing to reach inside his coat for his pipe, when he hears America again, "Dude, it was just really uncool, and all- Hey, _____, are you even listening to me? What're you doing- Don't touch him!"
A chill travels down Ivan's spine, and then he realized you were hurt, falling down really. His aura dissipating as concern for you replaces his anger. "Hey, come help _____!" Canada yells out to someone. Something crashes upstairs. Ivan won't have it, no one but him will touch you. "What the hell are you doing?" America fumes, "You're the one who did this in the first place! Don't you dare touch her, monster-"
Ivan ignores him. He kneels down and picks you up delicately. First he stands there for a moment, checking your pulse. You are limp, but breathing. Satisfied he walks to the door and ducks down to get inside. His tall stature makes him look like a giant in the doorway, but luckily his head didn't hit the beamed ceiling once inside. He looks to a staircase and supposes that will be where your bedroom was. America and Canada, still spluttering, aren't far behind, demanding unintelligibly for Ivan to put you down. He hears many other voices too, but can't place them as he was worried about you. He looks at your sleeping form, concern consuming his every thought. Kicking in doors as he goes down the hall, the third reveals your bedroom to him. The walls are coated with pencil sketches of everyone. All the countries, along with flowers, skeleton keys, beautiful still lifes, insects, and most anything else you could imagine. But the countries filing in to save you from Russia just stared at the realistic depictions of themselves. The room has a full bed, which Ivan carefully set you down on, with a black comforter and pillows, and a crisp contrasting white sheet folded neatly. There is a desk, filled with paper, pencils, and other drawing clutter. There are two large couches in the big room, black and chic. It is all black and white, clinical and clean. Except for one thing, there is an old fashion rocking chair by your bedside. The oversized wooden chair had a beautiful finish, and had two green pillows with a leafy embroidering. This is where Ivan sat.
It appears to him that no one had seen your room before, as Canada too gaped at his portrait. France, the least friendly to you, approached the bed, steering clear of Russia. "Well, she is breathing, at least." he said, with an odd emphasis on all the letters. Knowing that Russia couldn't hurt you with all of the other countries there, they went to sit on the couches. Most of them were slightly impressed you had gotten the guy to be concerned for you at all.