Book 2 - The Angel Against Revolution

XLV - Overloaded

After a time leaning on each other, America begins fidgeting and bounces his leg. The bouncing gets more and more erratic, filling Russia with worry. Then, America pulls away violently. Russia jerks a little, startled.

Russia reaches over and brushes America's shoulder with his fingers, and America jerks away. Russia retracts his hands and sits back, filled with confusion and anxiety.

"Are you okay?" Russia asks quietly under the noise of upstairs.

America whines and curls upon himself. Russia holds back from touching him.

"What's wrong?" Russia asks, feeling desperate.

America doesn't answer. Instead, he buries his head into his knees and covers his ears with his hands. Russia bites his lip and could practically hear the pleas of 'be quiet' in the air. Russia freezes a little.

'What's wrong?'

'What do I do?'

A few creaking footsteps echo above them.

Russia began to get up.

"No. Wait. Don't. Please."

Russia falls back, perturbed and frightened. Then, America whimpers and pulls at his hair. Russia hovers over him and feels stuck and powerless.

"Stars?" Russia asks, fear leaking into his tone.

America takes a heavy gasp and tears trace his cheeks.

"Please, just don't leave. Please. I don't wanna be alone," America begs quietly.

Russia sinks back into the bed and fidgets with his hat, feeling nervous and wanting desperately to help, but not knowing how. He waits and starts looking around the room, doing his best to deter himself from touching America, as much as he wanted to hug and comfort him.

The footsteps above them quiet and America curls up a little more. Russia's heart pounds in his chest.

'What do I do?!'

America forcefully tears his socks and his shirt off and he hurls the cloth to the floor as if it burned.

"It's too much. It's all too much," America mutters.

America's fingers light up faintly but the magic sparks furiously before sputtering out with a pained gasp. Russia watches with wide eyes and bated breath.

"Russ?"

His voice is so quiet and vulnerable and Russia feels his heart lodge itself in his throat. Russia's head whips up to look into America's eyes. America doesn't look at him.

"Can you get the grey blanket? ...please?" America asks quietly, his voice shaking.

Russia nods and hurries to his feet, nearly tripping in his haste to search for anything to make this better. There aren't any blankets matching the color on the bedroom floor and Russia wretches open the closet doors.

He spots a crumpled grey pile of fabric in the back corner. Russia grabs it and heaves it up, the blanket much heavier than he had been expecting.

Russia gathers the cloth in his arms and brings it to the bed. He drops it beside America, who shakily takes it and wraps it around his shoulders, no issue with the weight. America shakes under it for a few minutes before he takes a few deep breaths.

The shaking recedes and America's breathing quiets.

"Are you..." Russia starts weakly, "Are you okay?"

America jerks his head from side to side, hunched over under the blanket.

"What's wrong?" Russia asks carefully.