"This is so post-apocalyptic," America huffed, stumbling over a patch of thistles in the waist-high grass, hopping on one leg to right himself. "And NOT in a fun way."
"You are just saying words." Russia looked over his shoulder, brows furrowed. "It is a hike."
"Oh, if ONLY it was just a hike!" America fumed, slapping two mosquitos against his arm in one and flicking their mutilated corpses into the grass with vim. "But NO! We just had to make it a camping trip. I for one think the whole outdoors thing is cringe."
"Mm," Rus mused. "God forbid we do something cringe."
"I'm saying!" America scraped a spiderweb off of his arm, gritting his teeth with disgust. "Are we almost there?"
"Yes."
Ame narrowed his eyes. "By... my standards? Or yours? Because the difference is—"
"Right here, stupid," Russia sighed, spreading a hand across America's shoulder blades, pushing him three steps forward, and Ame's eyes went wide.
The grass parted to make way for a sparse grove of tall and quiet trees. It was rather charming, actually, America had to admit. A stream tumbled, frothing white over the stones, across the south side, and a cluster of noble pine trees stood sentinel over the stony patch that was just the right size for a tent.
"Ooohh," America crowed, letting his camping bag fall off his shoulder with a CRUNCH and a crouching over the tangle of charcoal and kindling that had been somebody's campfire. "I can totally make a fire, Rus, I learned in Boy Scouts! Just— I need the matches and lighter fluid."
"You joke," Russia sniffed, standing over him and positively dripping condescension. "What kind of clown program is Boy Scout, using lighter fluid?"
"Okay, fine, you caught me. I one hundred percent forgot how they taught me to make a fire." America threw up his hands in surrender, rolling his eyes in a vast, all-encompassing sweep. "I just want lighter fluid. Just a little, c'mon!"
"I think the hell not. Do not— DON'T touch there," Russia hissed, swatting away America's pickpocketing hands from the pockets of his jeans. "I know you are little pyromaniac freak, you cannot fool me twice. So, telling you what." Rus took him by the hand and, wading through the brush with America in tow, selected a suitable stone. "You will sit there, and I will make fire. Deal?"
"Heck no!" America protested, writhing out of his grip. "I can help! You have to trust me."
Rus's upper lip twitched as he paused, taking in America's wide-eyed, upturned face, considering the implications of that phrase. "How about kindling," he said, slowly, flicking a pine needle from Ame's shoulder. "I trust you with kindling." America grinned, scrunching his nose over bleach-white teeth, and pressed two fingers to his forehead in a bad approximation of a militant salute.
"Yes! Okay, kindling, I can do that. Kindling!"
Russia stood, something cracking in his back, and watched America plunge back into the taller grass, blazing a trail toward the thicker tree line.
"Luchik," he called, after a moment. America turned.
"What?!"
"You are sure you know what kindling is?"
"Wh—" Ame threw his arms up with disgust. "Do you think I'm stupid or something? Come on! I'm a Boy Scout! Leave me alone and go make a fire for heaven's sake!"
Sticking his tongue into his cheek, Russia did.
- [] -
When America next stumbled out of the trees, wild-eyed, covered in burrs and dead grass, and sporting at least four new bug bites, Rus had coaxed a proper little campfire into existence and, squatting, was steadily crossing sticks over the oily flame.
"I think I saw a bear," he panted, shoving his hair out of his eyes. Rus raised an eyebrow, though he didn't look up.
"Is that so."
"Yeah, it was— I don't even know. Can we kill it? I want to kill it."
"Ach. He is just hanging around." Russia stood, jerking his neck sideways with a morose crack. "Besides, I do not think you would enjoy bear meat much. Bring kindling?"
"Uh. Totally." America opened his palm into Russia's waiting hands, and the latter stared, disbelieving, at a small bundle of green twigs, a few leaves, both dead and alive, and a furtive pebble. He closed his eyes. He opened them again.
"America," Rus began, pinching the bridge of his nose in two fingers. "What in Saint Petyr's holy name is this."
"I was pretty sure you would know," America mumbled, chewing his thumbnail, eyes glued to a passing cloud.
"Kindling." Long pause. "For a fire? Is this ringing your bells?" Narrowing his eyes, Russia poked through the meager offering with one finger. "Did you just— get many random things and hope that I would not notice?"
"The patronizing must stop," America protested, clasping his hands together in harried supplication. "I was a little distracted by the bear, okay?! And look. It can totally still work."
"Luchik, don't—!"
Too late. America scooped up the leaves, the green twigs, the rock, and all, and cast them energetically into the flames. The hissing and spitting that followed was immediate. Pulling his shirt over his nose against clouds of pale, furling, stinging smoke, Russia pivoted and strode away. America, however, stood fascinated, leaning over to watch the leaves curl up and wither to ash, bright crisp lines of fire licking along their edges and reducing them to dust, until the smoke column twisted his way and he staggered away from the fire, hacking, coughing, spitting, and scrubbing at his aching eyes with one forearm.
"That's my bad," he said weakly, unable to see the disapproving stare that Russia had affixed on him but feeling it nevertheless. "You learn something new everyday, am I right?"
"For once you are." Rus shaded his hand with his eyes to observe the blue billows of smoke ballooning like an SOS signal over the site. "Let us set up tent before it gets dark."
This, interestingly, was something Ame could do with competence. While he skipped about shaking tent poles out to their full length, tying off nylon ropes, and pounding in tent stakes with glee, Russia walked down to the river, absorbed in abstract calculations about salmon migration season and what-have-you. Fishing, he decided, was a bad idea. America would never stay still for that long. Better leave that to the dubious bear.
"Tent: check." Out of the corner of his eye, Rus observed America's obvious swagger. "That was pretty fast, right? I love setting up tents. I should do that more often."
Russia raised an eyebrow at the frothing river. "Fascinating. Thought it was cringe."
"Nooooo." Standing beside him, America drew a bluff, weathered arm across his nose. "I've had a culture shift, you see. You know. Lewis and Clark. The rugged American dream."
It was a challenge for Rus to hold in his laughter, but he did try. "Mm."
— —
a/n: credit for this story idea goes to the one the only Literally_Beyonce smiley face but its dark im writing this in the car while my siblings have a screaming fight so i cant find the parentheses. i am getting home from my vaguely horrendous road trip tomorrow and will then be locked in to study for a Truly horrendous test thing i have to take so.. send prayers send thoughts send chocolate SAD FACE