Everlasting War - Rusame

<Chapter 18 - Comfort>

   America wobbled through the room, holding himself close to the walls. Russia guided him as he slowly trudged forward. He was slowly, regaining his ability to walk far and without stopping, but he was still in pain all the time.

   "Nice and steady," Russia said quietly, leaning America against him.

America groaned as he stepped forward again, the pain on his abdomen only increasing. Russia repositioned his hand, allowing America to set some of his weight on Russia instead of carrying himself for so long.

   America felt embarrassed, having to rely on the Tsar for support. He should've been back walking around normally now, but he also was cut in his leg, leading to this. The doctor said he had to rebuild the muscle slowly, but fuck did it hurt to do so.

   "Sit down," Russia said, wrapping his arm around America's waist, positioning the Briton heir in front of a chair.

   "This fucking sucks," America mumbled, practically collapsing into the chair of Russia didn't catch him and guide him down. "So pathetic."

   "You are fine," Russia replied, sitting down next to America. "It takes time."

   "Too long of time for too much pain."

   Russia gently grasped America's hands, holding them firmly as he brought them to his face. He kissed them both, using it as a way to reassure America.

   "So Tsar-like of you," America joked, leaning his head onto Russia's shoulder.

   There was something about Russia that was just pure comfort to America. America's bed was full of emptiness, loneliness, and dread. Russia, however, would make a better bed in America's expert opinion. He could talk to him, lean on him, rely on him, and not act like some stuck-up royal around Russia. It was perfect, he was perfect. Only, since so much trauma had happened to Russia, wether it was his mother's death or him murdering his father and brother, it seemed to weigh America down too. Only way America could explain it was how you try to take the weight off your husband's shoulders and hold some of that weight so they can have a little comfort.

   "How is the pain?" Russia asked, slowly rubbing America's back. "I can get a hot rag to place on your stomach and another one for your thigh."

   "That would be delightful," America sighed, pulling himself off Russia.

   He watched Russia get up and leave, leaving America alone in the room. He turned his head to spot the bed in the window nook, the bed he slept in. It was in Russia's sister's room, but she gave it up to America and chose to sleep in Russia's old room, leaving Russia in what was his parent's room.

   America slowly pushed himself to his feet, immediately stumbling to the wall. He caught himself as he hit the wall, but he was too late. He slammed into the wall and fell onto the ground. America laid there, pain consuming him immediately, causing him to tear up. It hurt so much, now it was everywhere. He could only wait for Russia and pray he didn't reopen his wounds while he let himself cry as quietly as possible.

   Thankfully, the door pushed open and was immediately followed by a man cursing in a foreign language and lifting America up. He picked America up and carried him to the bed, setting him down as gently as possible before going to close the door and grab the basket he brought in.

   "What were you doing?" Russia asked, worry consuming his voice.

   "Walk over here and lay down," America replied, groaning as Russia removed his shirt.

   Russia only shook his head, placing a damp, warm rag on America's wound. He placed his hands on America's waist and asked for permission to remove his pants so he can place a rag on his leg wound, which America gave him. Russia slowly removed his pants, making sure not to hurt or discomfort him, obviously nervous while doing so. Once he had them off, he folded them and set them off to the side with his shirt. Then, he placed a rag on his wound, pulling a blanket over America's lower body quickly when he finished.