Countryhumans Oneshots :D

Russia x America (Pt. 2)

[A/N: Suprise!]

~America's POV~

I yank the door open, and my tone is a bit sharp as I try to distract whoever's there from my haggard appearance, "Can I help you?"

I'm greeted by an equally irritated Russia, finger inches from the doorbell. His eyes widen at the sight of me, "America! I uhm ... I just wanted to ... may I come in?" He says, finally, a weird tone coming into his voice.

I sigh, exhausted. Just let him in, a part of me urges, the sooner he gets what he wants, the sooner he'll leave you alone. "Fine," I say quietly, stepping back into the foyer in defeat.

Russia follows suit, and I close the door a bit harder than necessary behind him, irritation showing. There's a sort of awkward silence as he tugs off his boots slowly, pulling at the laces in a practised and meticulous manner. I take the opportunity to try and discern whatever it is he's here for. I mean, he's dressed as usual, ushanka and all, so this can't be about work.

Russia finally stands fluidly and peers around my entryway curiously but politely. I scrub my cheeks tiredly while he's focused on the living room: today has been too long and too much. Let's get this over with. "Russia, why are you here?" I ask, sighing heavily while crossing my arms tiredly.

Instead of answering, he frowns at me, "Are you okay America?"

I raise an eyebrow sceptically, defensive sarcasm getting the better of me, "You came all this way to ask if I was okay?"

"Well ..." He shifts his weight back and forth unconsciously, "No, but your eyes are really puffy ... I figured my business could wait."

"I'm fine."

"No, you aren't. Who did this?" He insists, an almost concerned tone in his voice.

"No one. Nothing happened. If that's all, you may leave now," cold, curt, efficient ... I just want to finish this conversation as quickly as possible.

"I don't believe you. Was it France? Canada?"

That shocks me out of my stubborn evasions, "Canada? No! He'd never make me cry."

"So you were crying?"

"No! I - ... ugh. Maybe. It doesn't matter. Are we done yet?" All this prodding makes me hug myself defensively, gravitate towards the comforting living room. The absolute last thing I need is Russia knowing I was crying. In fact, I have to blink back fresh tears at the thought of more humiliation on top of today.

Suddenly, his voice comes out frosty from behind me, and I almost jump in surprise, "It was Britain, wasn't it?"

I shiver and shy away. Russia sounds almost predatory, possessive, and I can't deal with interpreting signals right now. All I want is to be alone with some ice cream and tea - no, not tea. Hot chocolate then. "Listen," I finally say, "I'm fine now, you can go home. This is nothing I can't deal with."

My voice cracks on the declaration, and I curse the tear that sneaks past my eyelids and wends down my face, a hot mark of shame. I don't want to cry here, I'm not going to cry here, goshfuckingdarnit Russia is not going to see me cr- Suddenly, his arms encircle my slightly trembling form, chin coming down to rest on my shoulder. I tense automatically, waiting for him to throw me to the ground, or laugh mockingly. Instead, he stands calmly, more still than me, arms hovering an inch from my body.

We stand silently as I hug myself and try to hold in small sniffles. Once they're under control, I turn my attention to my racing heart and focus on Russia's slow, deep breaths puffing out against my neck. They ground me, act like a metronome, help calm me down. Eventually, I close my eyes, relax my muscles, and focus on the warmth surrounding me. Russia smells like pine trees and snow and mountains and cardamom and I want to stand here forever, protected and far away from Britain.

This isn't so bad. The northern country is comfortable, and the silence is blissful. I inhale deeply, calmly. A sudden thought breaks the spell: why's he doing this? If there's anything I've learned from Britain, it's that no one ever does anything without an ulterior motive. The thought that he wants something makes me squirm uncomfortably. Could he be trying to butter me up before talking about his aforementioned business? I wiggle a little more and try to escape to the couch.Russia's arms tighten in response, and he quietly begins to hum a soothing tune.

I let out a sigh, suddenly losing all my resistance and melting backwards into his hug. Closing my eyes sleepily, I suddenly realise how exhausted I am - physically and mentally. Allowing myself this one indulgence can't be that bad, can it?

The ground falls away while I'm distracted, and I register gentle movement as Russia scoops me up. I'm too limp to do anything but weakly protest. Is he kidnapping me? There's a soft chuckle as Russia sinks into my couch, rearranging himself before placing me down gently. Instinctively, I curl up towards him, shying away from cold couch cushions.

"I'm not kidnapping you, солнышко моё," he says lightly, surrounding me with warmth, "You just looked ready to collapse. Sleep."

Following the soft command and abandoning all dignity, I snuggle closer and bury my head in his chest. As I drift off to sleep, I smile softly at one final thought: who needs that rude tea-lover anyways?

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Bonus ~Russia's POV!~

I lay contentedly on America's couch, idly running my fingers through his hair. He's so peaceful when he's asleep. Usually, the heroic country rushes around, doing nearly as much work as Germany and then adding on public events. It's worrying how stressed he is all the time, even though he'd never mention it.

I twist a strand of hair around my fingertip, and he shifts suddenly, clutching me tighter. I drop the hair in alarm, and wait for him to settle down again - he needs sleep, and I don't want to wake him up. As America's breathing slows down again and he relaxes, I return to my previous train of thought.Britain is most likely a cause of this undue stress. He's going to learn very quickly that bullying other nations is unacceptable. The thought gives me grim satisfaction.

Once again, I remember how glad I am to be here right now. Yes, having America sleep so peacefully on me is the best experience in the world, but I can't help worrying about what might have happened if America was left alone today. He looked almost ... depressed when he answered the door. I'll have to keep an eye on him and make sure he doesn't feel isolated.

Of course, this means that I'll have to wait a while before revealing my original purpose for coming here. Getting asked out immediately after this ordeal would do more harm than help. But that's fine. America's well-being takes far more priority than my wanting to kiss him.

Well, maybe. I smile and brush my lips against his forehead, "Sweet dreams, солнышко моё."

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~Fin!~

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Author's Note: Yeah! I finally put it out here lol, my first work in the countyhumans fandom, and on this account. I hope you guys enjoyed reading this! Sorry if it's a lil angsty, I wrote it rather late at night :') Any comments and tips are appreciated. Tell me how this was, I thrive off of (constructive) comments and crits :D Have a great day!

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солнышко моё: "sunshine", a Russian term of endearment

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Word Count (both chapters combined, excluding author's notes): 2080 on the dot!