Book 2 - The Angel Against Revolution

XXI - The Howling

America sleeps for most of the day, leaving Russia virtually trapped on the bed. Russia honestly didn't mind too much.

'It's warm here.'

With America sleeping peacefully in his lap, he can almost forget the fact that they're being hunted, or that they got hurt. America's magic soaks the whole room in a peaceful, light blue glow.

The magic feels happy, light, and airy. It makes Russia feel right. Sure, he knew he would feel even better at home, but for right now, he felt content, happy.

The states bask in the magic filling the room, and even Philippines looks around happily.

"You know, he hasn't done this in a while," Wyoming comments, looking up at Russia.

"What do you mean?"

"His magic only gets like this when he's really happy," Texas explains, a small smile growing on his face.

'Really happy? Here? With me?'

Russia bashfully smiles and looks down at America, who radiates warmth and a sort of contented happiness that Russia hadn't felt since this whole adventure started.

"The last time he got like this was when Hawaii first started visiting for holidays," New Hampshire comments.

"The only thing left to do now is to get Dixie off your case," California says.

"How are we gonna do that?" Wyoming asks.

"I don't know," California says, "but we need him to accept Russ so Dad can be happy."

"I have an idea," Kentucky says. He holds up the phone and takes a picture of Russia and America on the bed.

Russia just smiles and gets lost in thought, smiling down at America.

'Stars, you are more adorable than you will probably ever know.'

He's snapped out of it when Alabama starts handing out paper plates with sandwiches. Russia gently shakes America awake.

"Hi," America mumbles, trying to ignore him. Russia giggles.

"Wake up," Russia says, "you have to eat."

"I don't want to," America whines.

Russia pushes him up gently and sits him up on the bed. America groans playfully and throws his arms around in protest. Russia laughs quietly.

"Eat," Russia persuades playfully, shoving a sandwich into America's hands.

"Fine," America mumbles, crossing his arms.

America shovels food into his face and eventually gets up and starts making another sandwich. But he keeps miscalculating the distances, grabbing at the air and then whacking his hand on the table. Russia watches on with a bittersweet feeling. America sticks his tongue out in concentration.

'It's cute.'

'I did this to him.'

Russia gets up, ignoring the ache in his stomach, and walks over to America to help.

"No. I don't want you to do this for me!" America protests, swiping at Russia's hands. Russia sighs.

'I can't keep watching him struggle.'

Russia takes America's hands and guilds them down to the table. America sighs.

"Thanks, Rue, but I have to learn how to do stuff by myself," America says softly, shaking off Russia's hands. Russia pulls away with a small smile, admiring him.