A/N: Mostly platonic, but if you ship it, don't let me stop you. I was feeling kind of bad, so I wrote something
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America wasn't one to cry. He wasn't really all that emotional when it came down to it. He was pretty happy, most of the time.
But like any real person, there are times, when all the things you've dealt with, all the bottled up feelings and frustrations and pressures just build up until one day, they become too much to handle, and suddenly, you e got this whole flood of emotions you didn't ever feel or acknowledge before suddenly pouring out of you.
And you just feel like your drowning.
That's how America felt.
Honestly, he'd felt great this morning. He'd eaten a good breakfast, gotten to work on time, gone out for a little with Mexico afterwards, and then he got back home.
...then he got back home...
It's amazing how suddenly one can just crumble and become a mess and pile of heartache and screaming and tears. He hadn't even know what had sparked it. He got home, and he felt lonely, and he felt cold, and...
It wasn't one of those soft cries that you maybe whimpered the slightest bit and covered your mouth.
No, it was full on, screaming, tears streaking your face, fingers and nails clawing at the ground and at your arms, threatening to tear up the floorboards and peel you skin. Teeth clenched, only opening to give a heart-wretched screech that chilled a Wendigo.
And it carried on for a couple of minutes, what felt like hours of releasing torment, until America had curled up into a ball on his couch and attempted to breathe.
But his breaths came in short gasps, hiccups not leaving much room to take any breaths. He felt like he was choking, and almost threw up. He desperately tried to relive himself of his hiccups by holding his breath, which only caused him to gag more.
Good Pangea, he was a mess, he knew it. And he couldn't just stop it.
Furiously rubbing at snot and tears and crying more and rubbing at them again. His shoulders shook and he whined loudly through his gritted teeth.
The door clicked open and, "Ame-kun? Are you okay? I could hear you screaming from my home," then clicked shut.
Ah, it was Japan. His best friend for quite some time, and now his neighbor. He gave her a key in case she ever needed something while he was out, or just wanted to come over.
America stopped crying, but he was still convulsing with the rapid, heavy gasps, not to mention the loud sounds of his sniffling all that running snot.
"Ame! Are you okay? What happened?"
America shook his head, unable to properly voice it. Not that he'd be able to, anyway. Like mentioned earlier, he had no idea what prompted this whole episode.
"You don't know? Is that what you're saying?"
America breathed heavily through his mouth and nodded, before whining his way into another heavy sob.
"Oh, oh, Ame, honey, it's okay, shhhh," Japan pulled him into her body for a hug.
He curled in on himself, but clung to the fabric on the back of her blouse. She wrapped his arms around him and and rested her chin on his head. She cooed and shushed, but otherwise said nothing.
Eventually, after a while, he was calm enough that his breathing had steadied, with only small gasps every once in a while. It wasn't until long after he'd been reduced to nothing more than a quiet, sniffling thing, that she'd tried talking again.
"How are you feeling now?"
"...like shit, I guess."
"I'm sorry, Ame-kun. Tell me about it."
He wrapped his legs around her, a little odd in this sitting position, but America needed to cuddle something.
"I don't know. I-I just, I feel just so fucking sad or, or something, and I'm, I'm mad? I guess, and I just I don't know how I really feel but it's a lot and I just started crying and I couldn't stop and it just kept coming and, andand--" he was cut off by a tearless sob as he curled in again.
Japan immediately started putting him again, moving her hand further upwards into his hair. She brushed her hand through its thick, curly locks, loving the surprising delicateness of his nappy head.
It was an affectionate action that really helped soothe America, in turn. The feeling of her claws lightly scratching his scalp was something zen-like, and he felt himself grow drowsy from the combination of a good cry and such gentle movements.
Japan saw his eyelids getting heavier, and laid back with him on top of her, his cheek resting on her breast, his breathing soft and slowing. His eyes fluttered close, stayed shut for a second, before they snapped open in a rebellious attempt to stay awake.
"Thank you, Japan," he murmured.
She smiled and continued to run her hands through his hair, humming softly. She started to feel tired from his body heat, and just the overall serenity of the moment.
"You're welcome. I'll always help, Ame."
And they drifted off to sleep on the couch.
