Toleration [SovAme]

America and Soviet Kill a Bitch

The next Morning, Soviet awoke to an empty bed. He strangely felt a little sad about that. Not like it mattered. He was hungry and he could get himself food so he was going to. He also wanted to know where America was, but that could wait until after his needs were met.

He stretched and did his best to see his wings, he couldn't really open them properly in the room they had, so were pretty big. Soviet marveled at them, the long shiny back feathers on the back, and the soft, warm feathers on the inside, he could probably keep warm inside them at night. Not needing blankets would be great once all of this was over.

Once all of this was over...

Such a thought would have brought joy to him at the beginning. Why now did it almost sadden him that his adventure with America would stop. He could have some time to himself, reflect on his life, reconnect with old enemies and friends, maybe live in the wood by himself instead of in the army. Let his arms tone down a little and enjoy more time in nature, like when he was younger. Let the snow fall around him in the silent winter. Enjoy the little things in life again without thinking about anyone else.

Such an idea appealed to him now, but he couldn't help but wonder what would happen to America once he was gone. The man was barely clinging onto life outside of his work. His house was a mess, he needed some changes to his life clearly. but why would he care anyways? That selfish difficult Capitalist had only cause him harm, he flew him halfway around the world, watched him suffer with new technologies, even forced Soviet to take care of him to not compromise the mission! That capitalist was such a thorn in his side! So why? Why could he care? Caring was a weakness he'd done his best to shed. he fucking hated that man.

He never truly loved anyone. He promised himself never to love. He promised he could never love anyone because all it would end in was pain and suffering, and himself falling apart once again. When he had children appeared, he didn't stick around, he killed his father, he stayed in the military and never got close to anyone, not even his surrounding officers. Everyone would die, everyone would either die, or backstab him in the end so why? Why did he feel sad leaving that idiot alone by himself?

Soviet grumbled to himself, trying desperately to stop that feeling of warmth overflowing the hole of nothing he'd carried for so long. His wings knocked into the walls and he held himself close, almost in a ball on the floor, hitting the ceiling with outstretched wings. why. Why? WHY?! He hated America, he hated Hated, HATED him. He couldn't take care of himself properly, he was rude, and stubborn, and stupidly flirty. He wouldn't listen to him and America was impossible to read! he was so infuriating to be around. Sure he could tolerate the idiot better but why? Why did he feel so distraught leaving that dumbass alone?

Soviet balled his fists in the floor in something he couldn't identify. Almost anger, but at what he didn't know. Himself? America? The world? he was just stuck. He didn't deal with emotions very often, and certainly not this powerful, so they held him down and forced him to deal with him. Years of emotions spilling out inside of him leaving him defenseless.

All the voices, everything was too much. There was too much noise in his head, he needed an escape, he needed some way out of it, he needed to run, the walls were closing in on him.

The door to outside opened and Soviet immediately looked up, all his emotions shown plainly on his face. Something was said but he didn't register it in his mind. he just collapsed into the warm body that held him softly. He was spilling out everywhere, tears falling and his breath hitched, but the person simply brushed his hair without a word, softly petting his head with one hand and with the other, holding his hand. A thumb soothingly running against the back of his hand. After a long while, Soviet looked up to see who had been so kind to him, the moment he identified them, the warmth in his chest exploded. America, kindly smiling at him, his gaze soft, the fingers still being soothing. Soviet felt so much of an emotion he'd never felt before. But rather than overwhelming him, it comforted him.