Confederacy was looking over his plans when he heard a muffled grunt. Slightly worried but mostly annoyed, he turned around to see PR on the floor, his legs shaking unnaturally.
"Are you okay?" Confederacy asked his slightly peeved brother.
"I hate you," PR responded, his eyes flicking over to meet Confederacy's. His legs were shaking and he couldn't walk, but he was a little too used to it at this point.
"May I ask why?" Confederacy clicked his tongue and turned back to their plans.
"It's because you hear me fall, and you do nothing. God, you really need a few lessons in comradery."
"Woah, using big words now, are you? Isn't that a bit hard for your tiny brain to handle?" Confederacy said with a shit-eating grin.
PR glared at Confederacy, "I will murder you," After receiving no response from Confederacy, PR sighed, "To answer your previous question, no, I am not okay."
Confederacy immediately turned around to face PR at that, his eyes glinting with slight anger. No word was spoken, but PR knew what question was probably floating in his brother's head.
"No, it won't affect our plans. It's just a few earthquakes, that's all. I'll be fine, I've been through worse," PR hissed. Getting the feeling that he had to prove what he said, PR stood up, his legs shaking a little bit less. He lost his balance but quickly recovered it before he could fall down again. He refused to be seen as weak right now.
Confederacy's eyes narrowed, "Are you sure?"
"Yes, I'll be fine. I'd just prefer it if our plans- or should I say your plans- went a little quicker."
"Your... condition better not mess everything up," Confederacy threatened, ignoring PR's little comment.
PR glanced at his brother in arms and frowned, "I'll. Be. Fine." And with that, PR walked away.
--x--
Beep! Beep!
America slammed the off button on his alarm. He had pulled another all-nighter. He felt like literal shit. He had let Russia down. Again. It more so letting himself down, but it felt like America was letting Russia down at the same time. America had tried, he really did, but the temptation to not eat and run away from his nightmares was greater than the need for hunger and sleep. America had learned how to function while starving. He was fine, but Russia wouldn't be.
He'll be worried and disappointed, and that's not what America wants. America doesn't want to be a burden, but it sure feels like he is. He felt like a wrong answer someone had tried to erase, but their rubber eraser had hardened and made a disgusting pink streak over the already wrong answer. Yeah, that.
America had promised he'd try, but god was that hard.
He can't do anything right.
America felt as though there was a long, thin tightrope in front of him. On the other side of that tightrope, America was good enough. On the other side of that tightrope, America wasn't a burden to those around him, but America didn't want to go on that thin, long tightrope. It looked too dangerous. It looked too hard. If America tried to cross, he'd fall. He just knew it. America didn't want to try crossing it and falling down, he just wanted to sleep.
But sleep meant nightmares.
He deserves those nightmares. He owes it to everyone who's died because of him. Everyone he's killed. America shivered.
Realizing he was gonna be late if he didn't stop thinking, America quickly got ready, slipping on a fresh suit, the gloves gifted to him from Britain, and his signature glasses. Just as America was about to leave (skipping breakfast as usual), he heard someone knock on his door. America cast a confused glance towards the door and opened it to see Russia.
Confusion instantly hit America. Why was Russia here? A variety of answers immediately slammed America. Most of them negative. Scrap that, all of them were negative. America felt any confidence he might have had shrivel up and die deep inside of him.
'You let him down, you let him down, you let him down.' A voice screamed in America's head.
"Доброе утро, Aмерика. (Good morning, America)"
America awkwardly looked to the side and responded, "Uhhh, hi?"
"Have you eaten breakfast yet?" Russia asked, getting straight to the point. America could've sworn Russia was making holes in America's head by how hard Russia was staring. America would be lying if he said that he wasn't nervous and utterly terrified.
'You let him down.' Ah, the voice was back already.
"Yeah, I've had breakfast already! Why are you asking such weird questions?" America lied.
'You let him down.'
But the lie was in vain. Unfortunately for America, Russia had figured America out at this point. He knew America was lying. Russia frowned, "You haven't had breakfast yet, have you?"
'YOU LET HIM DOWN!'
America instantly cursed internally. He's been caught, he's been caught. Time to retreat- America needed to find a corner stat-
But before America could react in any way whatsoever, Russia was already dragging the poor country down to the lobby of the hotel. America could only watch as Russia dragged him into a car and told the driver to drive to the UN Headquarters.
America awkwardly clicked his tongue, "Are you going to let go of my arm at some point or..."
"Nope. I will continue to drag you until you eat."
America pursed his lips and said quietly under his breath, "Ok, great talk."
America was screaming internally.
After a few more awkward moments, they arrived at the Headquarters. Russia then proceeded to drag America inside and America tried staying as limp as possible, effectively becoming dead weight.
Once America was dragged inside, however, he became a little more animated as something caught his eye. The buffet! America looked at the buffet, which was all set up, and felt a swell of pride flow through him. Right, the buffet he had set up! And, countries were actually using it! America saw Germany, Japan, and China among the countries around the buffet bar. America had done something useful!
"We are getting you some food," Russia stated as he ushered America over to the buffet bar.
"No, no, no, I'm good. I already ate, I said this already," America insisted, trying to squeeze himself out of this one.
"Please, can you eat?" Russia hesitated before adding, "For me?"
America noticed a concerned tone laced into Russia's voice and immediately felt guilt slam him in the gut.
'... you let him down.'
America couldn't say no. Russia was worried about him, and he didn't want to make Russia feel any worse because of him. He didn't want to be the reason why Russia was sad. America wanted to disappear. At least then he would be able to bother anyone anymore. America sighed and gave Russia a very small nod, looking away from the Russian.
America got his food and sat down at a table with Russia. America picked at his food, avoiding the actual eating part of getting food. But, one look at Russia's concerned face gave America enough motivation to eat one pancake.
Russia sighed, "I guess that's better than nothing."
"Why do you insist on caring about me?" America asked. America had let Russia down, he had chosen not to eat again this morning. Why wasn't Russia mad? Why did he care so gosh darn much!
Russia gave America a small smile, "Is this going to be a question you keep on asking? You're my friend. You're someone I care about a lot. The question you should be asking is why wouldn't I care."
America smiled to himself. ... Maybe he should ask that question instead. No promises this time, though. That hasn't worked out well so far. America looked up at Russia and let Russia see his smile. America didn't know why he continually had these seeds of doubt planted in his head, but every single time Russia somehow pulls each of them out like the weeds they are.
Maybe Russia's just a really good gardener.
America laughed a little bit, feeling his face warm up. Russia cares. Maybe he cares a little too much, but that's okay. He cares. And, America couldn't deny the joy that bubbled in his chest because of the Russian in front of him.
"Thank you," America said, unable to look Russia in the eyes for some reason. America's face felt warm.
America glanced up at his friend just in time to see Russia warmly smile and say, "No problem, Meri."
America couldn't help but smile back, happiness exploding in his chest like fireworks on the fourth of July.
--x--
"That concludes this meeting," UN stated, closing the files in front of him and walking off to sit a nearby chair.
The minute UN said this, America rushed up to Russia. Russia gave him a confused look. "Russia, as a way of thanking you, I'm going to show you someplace cool!"
"Oh," Russia started, a little bit surprised, "You don't have to, America."
"You can't stop me. If I don't do something, it's going to torture me till the end of my life!" America frowned. He might've been exaggerating, but at the same time, he might've been telling the truth. I guess it all depends...
I guess it all depends on America's cracks.
Speaking of the cracks, they had actually stopped growing. America hadn't noticed any new cracks yesterday and today. But then again, how much is there even left to crack? Well, his face was still devoid of cracks currently. America self-consciously adjusted his glasses.
"Ok, ok, let's go to this place you're talking about. You better not disappoint, though," Russia joked. America nodded and headed towards the front of the building. Once one of the assigned drivers pulled up to the curb, the two got inside the car and America instructed the driver to take them to the hotel. Russia looked at America questioningly, but America's only response was a smile.
The second the car reached its final destination, America ran inside the hotel. Russia hurried to keep up, following America hallway after hallway, turn after turn. Russia made sure he didn't lose track of the surprisingly fast country as they raced down the halls like little children playing a game of tag. The thought made Russia smile. America suddenly stopped in front of a large, white door. There was a sign above the door labeled "Cornelia Room." Russia came to a halt next to America.
America fished a key out of his pocket, unlocked the white door, and opened it, revealing a small ballroom with a grand piano in the right corner, next to the grand windows on the far side. The floor was made out of smooth, light-brown wood, and the surprising elegance of the room caught Russia by surprise. It felt like something out of a princess movie- the ballroom where the maiden is swept off her feet by a charming prince. It also felt really, really British. Russia thought America hated stuff like this. Apparently not.
"Why is this even in the hotel?" Russia asked, walking up to one of the grand pillars near the front of the room and touching it in amazement.
America chuckled at Russia's reaction, "This is more of a British-style hotel and it-" America paused for a moment, but cleared his throat and continued with what he was saying, "- It reminded me of my Dad and me when I was younger. Back in the day, Dad used to have a ballroom just like this. He would hold a ton of balls to see my step-mom, France, more often. Britain loved seeing her unreasonably mad back then." America chuckled, "They were more like an arguing, old married couple than rivals during that time. Though they would probably insist otherwise, it's very true." America smiled at the good memories, "I vaguely remember this one ball where France, her older brother- who was later called Napoleonic France- and her dad all came together. The entire time, France and Dad argued while France's dad kept on giving them suspicious looks that were absolutely hilarious. Just a month after that, the Seven Years War broke out. To this day, I like to believe that the war was at least partially caused by Monarchical France's protectiveness.
"Anyway," America continued, "I booked this place because it reminded me of my childhood. So, uh, yeah."
"This place is beautiful. You made a very good choice." Russia commented warmly, still facing away from America to look at the room and its little niches.
"Thanks," America felt warmth creeping onto his face, but it quickly faded away.
America sat down on the floor and Russia eventually joined them. They started talking about all sorts of things, barely noticing the sun starting to dip down into the horizon.
With the orange hues of the Monday sunset peeking into the room, America laid down on his back to look at the ceiling, all the conversation present a moment ago drying up. Russia stiffly got up and cracked a few of his bones.
"Discostan," America commented. Russia didn't grace him with a reply. Instead, Russia walked over to a small soundbox near the front of the room. America, intrigued by what Russia was doing, sat up to look at him. Even so, he didn't really get a good view of what Russia was doing.
Music started seeping into the ballroom. What Russia did suddenly registered in America's brain. Russia had used the soundbox to play classic English Waltz. America laughed, "Hey, Russ! If you're going to play English Waltz, play English Jazz Waltz!"
"I don't think they have that," Russia responded, swiftly looking through what they had.
"Aw, Jazz Waltz is obviously the superior waltz."
"You only say that because Jazz was invented by your people," Russia scoffed.
America laughed, "True, True. You caught me there."
Russia smiled to himself, turning around to face America, "Since we are in a ballroom that is playing some pretty nice waltz, I think we should do it some justice. What good is a ballroom if no one is dancing in it?" Russia cleared his throat and held his hand out, a slight red creeping onto his face, "Would you care to join me in a dance?"
America's gaze flickered between Russia's face and his hand in pure shock. America burst out laughing. Russia had to be joking! There was no way- Russia asking him to a dance? That would never happen in a billion years! But as America continued to look Russia in the eyes, America's bubbling laughter quickly went quiet. Wait a second... was Russia being serious? Oh, god. Russias was being serious.
In a split second, America felt warmth creep back onto his face, "A-are you sure?" America asked, trying to force his heart to stop racing. Why was he acting like this? This was just a dance. He had danced with a ton of women before. Why was this time in particular so nerve-wracking?
Russia nodded, his eyes both gentle and serious, "I've never been so sure of anything as I am of this."
America laughed at how seriously Russia was taking this, already feeling his nerves calm down. This was Russia he was talking about. His friend. Russia wouldn't judge, he just wants to do this for fun. America smiled and said in his best impression of Britain, "Why yes, it would be an honor to dance with you." And without a moment's hesitation, America put his hand in Russia's.
Relief immediately washed over Russia's features as Russia felt America's hand in his. Their hands were a perfect fit, fitting together like puzzle pieces, "You're probably going to regret this."
"Why would I?"
"I don't know how to dance," Russia chuckled, pulling America closer into what he thought was a waltz position.
America started laughing, "I regret many things, and this is not one of them."
With jerky, uncoordinated movements, they started dancing. Well, dancing would be an overstatement. It was more like two giggling monkeys who were incapable of controlling their limbs and were just flailing about. Every time they messed up or did something stupid, they would just laugh it off and attempt to dance again.
As the sun started to dip lower into the horizon, America started to take the lead in their uncoordinated dance, memories of his youth springing up and taking control. He (quite awkwardly) led the taller country in their waltz. With America- who was actually experienced in waltzing- leading, they messed up a lot less. The music flowed around them as they danced, like a river carrying a paper boat downstream. America closed his eyes and let the music and the calming feeling of dancing with someone surround him. No voices, no headaches, no nothing. Just him, the music, and Russia.
The world around him faded into background noise as he and Russia traversed across the floor. As Russia became more and more acquainted with the dance, he started leading them. America let Russia lead him across the ballroom, hearing the light tapping of their shoes against the wood.
America felt peaceful, content, and happy. He could stay dancing here forever and ever.
"Um... the ballroom is closed after 9 PM Monday through Friday."
America's eyes shot open and he quickly scrambled away from Russia, jerking his head towards the noise. It was a young man looking like he was fresh out of college. Considering his outfit and what he said, he probably worked here at the hotel. America felt his face pale. What did he see? Wait... why is he even concerned about what that kid saw? It wasn't anything special.
But even America could recognize that as a lie. What just happened was special, it was so much more than just dancing. That dance was a special moment between Russia and him, it was-
"Uhh... are you going to sit there or what?" The worker continued, a very obvious New Yorker accent poking into his voice.
Russia was the first one to respond, "Uhh, yeah. We can head out if you want."
"Yeah, uh, it would be preferred if you left pretty soon. And by that, I mean right now."
Russia nodded, turning to give America an apologetic look, "Let's go."
America followed Russia out of the room, just realizing how dark it was. How long had they danced? Russia's voice caught America's attention.
"We were awful. Well, awful until you took the lead. Where did you learn to waltz like that anyway?"
"My dad. He taught me when I was young. He taught all of his children how to dance. He insisted on all of us being 'proper.' ... I guess I never lived up to that expectation, huh?"
Russia immediately frowned at that and decided to move on to another subject, "Is there anything else Britain made you learn to do?"
America looked up at the ceiling, thinking about Russia's question, "Yeah, actually. My dad made me learn how to play the piano."
Russia glanced at America, surprised, "Really? I didn't take you as a piano player."
America chuckled, "I never really was. I just learned 'cause my Dad made me."
"Could you play a song for me sometime?"
America felt his face become warm again and looked to the side. He bit the inside of his cheek in nervousness, his mind racing. He suddenly stopped walking, causing Russia to look at him in confusion. America exhaled deeply before turning towards Russia and taking the taller's hand in his. America looked straight into Russia's eyes and declared with a determined look on his face, "I'll play for you sometime, I promise."
"I'm sure you'll be the best piano player there ever was," Russia smiled.
"No, I won't," America laughed under his breath, his cheeks red from the praise. America turned away and started walking again, dragging Russia along with. But, neither let go of the other's hand.
"To me, you will." America glanced over at Russia, only to see Russia still smiling warmly.
"You flatter me," America chuckled, looking forward again. Russia was too nice to him, "but, thank you. Again. For the millionth time."
"For what?"
"Everything, like usual," America's face broke into a heart-warming smile as he looked back at Russia, "You make me happy, that's all. Real happy, I mean."
A blush crept back on to Russia's face and America laughed. After a few more moments, they had reached America's apartment. America reluctantly let go of Russia's hand. For some reason, America didn't want to let go of Russia's hand. He wanted to continue talking and maybe dance again. America's face went red. America shook his head fervently, slapping his cheeks. Why was he thinking these things?! America sighed and glanced back at Russia, who was very concerned because of the fact America had literally just slapped himself. America gave him a sheepish smile and was about to wave Russia goodbye when he suddenly changed his mind and gave Russia a quick hug instead.
"Night, Russ!" America shouted, proceeding to quickly detach himself from Russia and duck into his hotel room, a red blush all over his face. America closed the door and breathed out a laugh, sliding down his door. America had never felt so nervous, clammy, happy, and alive.
With the determination to be enough for Russia urging him onwards, America went over to his bed and laid on it, trying to fall asleep. And, when America did fall into the land of slumber, a miracle happened.
For the first time in a month, America didn't have a single nightmare that night.
~~~~
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