Toleration [SovAme]

That Filler Episode of Toleration

Soviet woke up to America taking a shower. The relaxing noise almost made Soviet think it was raining hard for a minute, but no, just the shower. So, Soviet got up, and went outside, stretching his wings wide towards the Sunrise.

He still didn't have much for wings, but he had enough to finally spread them out. He noticed he could bend them, although the muscles were sore, he could bend them when he wanted to. So, he stretched them wide, letting out a quiet sigh at the nice feeling, allowing them to soak up the sunlight. They were a pale spotty white on one side now, the other filling in with long shiny black flight feathers. And Soviet was proud of them. Sure, he'd died, but he had come back stronger than before. And these wings were proof of that.

He smiled into the sunlight, it's warmth sinking into his body and contrasting the cold air around him. It felt wonderful, a slight breeze hit his hair and brushed it slightly in the wind. While cold, he figured he could get used to this. Waiting for America to take a shower, standing outside while the wind brushed past his wings, and generally just chilling outside without a shirt on seeing the sun rise.

Soviet turned as America opened the door, he didn't say anything, just gazed into the sunrise next to Soviet, his wet hair moving slightly in the breeze. This America was peaceful, his mind still. Soviet found that brought a smile to his lips and he wasn't really sure why. But he was going to enjoy that he did, at least for now.

Maybe, America wasn't as bad as he'd first thought.

"You know, I really wish we'd tied up and stabbed that Politician at least once for being Homophobic and Transphobic." And, there was his evidence against it.

"That's needless Violence America. You scared him shitless with that eye." Soviet pushed America slightly who crossed his arms at Soviet.

"Well, He's an asshole, and I'm a spy. It's not my fault if maybe my hand slipped and he's found after a tip in an abandoned warehouse with a knife in his back. Still alive of course but maybe he can't speak and spread his message ever again because he has no vocal cords."

Soviet sighed. "That wouldn't teach him a lesson America. It would just radicalize his comrades. Idiot."

"True, but it would be satisfying."

"And punching you into the ground would be satisfying, have some self restraint." America make an angry noise at that but went silent, turning back to leaning on the railing and staring at the sunrise. Brilliant Orange clouds were lit up by the sun as it continued to slowly rise.

Soviet went inside and showered, braiding his long hair behind him to not stress and break it too much as it would when wet. "America, it's 8. You'll need breakfast before we plan our next move or your stomach will compromise our mission."

"I don't eat breakfast normally," America mumbled out.

"Then what was that thing you tried to make yourself one morning?"

"A grilled cheese sandwich of proof I don't need to be babied like you think I do."

"You were surviving off of half eaten instant noodles before laying on the floor for 2 days. much longer nd your combination of dehydration and food would have rendered you a hindrance to the mission. That's all." Soviet crossed his arms, he was in his coat like normal, one of the shirts America insisted be bought on him, his wings folded under it were barely a bump.

"That's a long string of words to say you care about me." America didn't see very excited by this.

"I do not care about you. I care about not dying. Now come on, breakfast ends by 10 and I don't want to be crowded by tons of people also trying to eat."


~~~~~~~


It was too late, the place was packed and noisy making it hard for Soviet to think, let alone chose something for his meal. The noise was making him stressed which made him slightly nauseous at the thought of eating something. But he knew he'd have to eat and if he was forcing the food down his throat so be it. That would just be what had to be done.

America had his glasses on Again, Soviet wished he'd brought his ear plugs. That would've made this significantly easier to handle. But it was too late and he was able to slowly chose his food and sit down at a table, America was sitting with him, quiet. he had a blueberry muffin and was picking at it slightly. he didn't seem very interested in it. Not like Soviet could tell, America's eyes being covered made things exceedingly difficult to decipher any meaning from, and normal people had a hard time telling what America was thinking. Soviet was sure things would be nearly impossible for him.

He sighed internally as he shoved strawberries, his favourite fruit into his mouth while America basically scraped off all the sugar on the outside of the muffin, eating that but not the actual muffin. he glanced around every few seconds like Soviet, scanning the surroundings with all the noise there was a lot to focus on. But really they were both just easily distracted and paranoid. Soviet was gently grazing the dagger's hilt with his thumb. Slowly rubbing it back and forth to ground him the best he could. Not like it was working very well to still his nerves.

Every fruit in his mouth felt forced, the swallows the worst as his body screamed that he was too vulnerable and that he would throw up if he ate. Not like it stopped him at all from forcing himself to eat something that morning. if he ended up not he would be hungry until Lunch and he needed his sustenance. No matter how hard it was sometimes to choke it down, he just forced himself. Like always in stressful situations.

Eventually they made it back to their room, packing up the few things they had and Soviet drove them back to the airport where the little plane of America's stayed, waiting. This time getting into the section was a little bit of a squeeze as his wings fit into the slot.

"Don't worry, when they're fully grown they somehow can pop into your back and be hidden completely from sight." America had told him, and as much as Soviet wanted to argue against that, but he was literally a personification of a long dead country, he had literally come back from the dead in a poof with some of the clothes he was wearing when he died. Wings disappearing into his back after all of that didn't seem too weird of a thing to add to the list. he honestly wondered how he had gotten so numb to all this strangeness. Not to mention the fact he actually was on civil speaking terms with the United States of Fucking America.

Overall, his life was currently very crazy, why not add a little more crazy to the list?

Eventually, they landed, and Soviet was hit with a wall of pure heat. It was almost night when they landed and it was at least 30 Degrees outside, (~80F) America fussed with Soviet over his wings making his highly uncomfortable, America just kept touching his feathers and he didn't like it. Not like he said anything but he kept shaking them out of the capitalist's hands hoping he would get the message. Whether he did or not Soviet could not tell, but America didn't stop.

Finally they got to walking to a hotel, Soviet marveled at the architecture of the buildings they walked through and barely took note of America grabbing his hand and pulling him along to their room. The hotel was nice and cold compared to the outside which was great.

As Soviet sat in their room, pulling out his clothes for the next day, he noticed America wasn't in the room. Naturally he got curious and looked outside first. The lights outside were beautiful. Sure, New York was the city that never sleeps, but this city didn't seem like it slept either. A lot of cities didn't sleep, but if anything, this city just seemed even more active at night now that it wasn't stupidly hot outside.

But upon closer inspection, one of the lights was from America, he was smoking outside their room with the door closed. At least the smoke wouldn't get in. Soviet was never really a fan of it, no matter what people said, it always made him cough a lot. It was like the smoke from a fire going right in your face, but worse because you didn't have a warm fire, or the nice smell of the wood burning, and it was addicting. Soviet turned away from the window to do his own thing. He couldn't care about America. They were just partners after all. Nothing more nothing less. Instead he was reading, he'd found some site that let people both publish their own works, and read others and dang was Soviet into it. He'd found that many people got creative with different characters, writing their own stories with them often in different genres and he thought that was really cool. It was hard for him to figure out what was happening all the time with both typos and his slow reading but he was pretty happy with it.

Then...He found something.

Something he was not expecting.

"The Key's to the Princesses Heart." He figured it was interesting and clicked it before almost dropping his phone in shock.

"Blyat, Blyat, Blyat, Blyat, Blyat. Who wrote this and why?" He stared at it in disgust, it was a fanfic about his son getting with a princess, Fucking Canada. Why would anyone write something as horrendous as that? But despite that, he felt morbid curiosity to click and read it all the way through to the end. And he did. And he was only slightly disturbed.