Chapter Text
America was officially tired of Italian food. The last few conferences had been in Italy, and he was not liking the thought of more pasta, which was why he was glad when this one was moved to America. Finally, some burgers, and he would get to drive everyone home afterward. He spent practically the whole meeting planning to himself and thinking about what movies they would watch, and whether he had all of his paperwork, and did he have anything weird lying in his front hall? It would be a nightmare to have to explain his Leonardo DiCaprio body pillow to the others, and crap, did he forget his ADHD meds again? He almost jumped when Germany barked that the meeting was over.
"So, guys, I can drive you all home, right?" he called to the others' retreating backs (he still had some papers that had fallen on the floor to pick up).
"Uh, alright, America-san… that would be very sprendid," Japan said, turning to face him respectfully.
"No, man, we were going to go eat dinner together, remember?" Spain said. The others nodded, and America sighed. He hated restaurants, because everyone poked fun at him about his orders, and he didn't have time to deal with that now. He wasn't too down about it, though, because he still had some Alfred Hitchcock to watch with "Leo DiCaprio" when he got home. He left the meeting room without a backward glance, cradling the papers in his arms, when suddenly he stumbled, and they all slipped out of his arms again and scattered all over the hallway. He groaned and got to his knees to pick them up.
"Damn! I didn't know I had so many drawings of heroes in there," he mused to himself, sliding the last one into the pile and stuffing them into his backpack. Then he noticed the one lying farther than the others, by the conference room door. He went to grab it when a soft sound caused his head to snap up. It sounded like…crying? He pressed his ear to the door. It was crying. He didn't remember leaving anyone behind in there, but apparently someone had stayed back. He slowly reached for the doorknob, half wanting to just walk away and not deal with it. But he was the hero. Heroes never let someone down. With a barely audible sound, the door was cracked open and the crying flooded out into the hallway. He peered through, still clutching the one paper in his hand.
The sight nearly made him lose his papers yet again. It wasn't anyone he would have ever expected to be alone, sobbing, his head in his hands and pressing his white scarf to his eyes like he just wanted to disappear. It was… Russia.
He was hunched over, which did nothing to diminish his size. America wasn't sure why, but seeing Russia like this, as helpless as a lost child, tugged at something inside of him. He knew that Russia was a monster, as insane as they came, right? Him crying didn't match up with that. He was confused as he realized he had pity for the large man.
"R-Russia?" The word slipped from his mouth, tumbling from his lips in a way that sounded softer than freshly fallen snow. Softer than he had ever talked to Russia. The sobbing immediately stopped. Stopped as suddenly as if someone had flicked a switch. It nearly made America jump, but he steeled himself. Licked his lips. The way it had stopped had made his heart stop too, then race as fast as a hare.
"America." It wasn't a soft question-name like Russia's own spoken just before. It was soft like freshly fallen snow, but in a deadly way, as if the snow could kill. The younger nation took a step back.
"Russia–"
"What are you doing?" Russia spat, looking up from his scarf. His hands gripped it as if he would rip it, shaking. He was angry, a frightening purple aura gathering in his midst.
"I just, I, I heard you–"
"Heard me what?"
"I heard…" He suddenly could not form words. "I heard you crying, and I just, well…" he stopped when he saw that Russia's tight hands had gone slack. The large man's eyes were cast downward and his teeth were gritted.
"So what? So, you saw me… and now you should leave. It is of no importance to you."
America breathed softly for a few seconds in the silence. He was caught off guard by what Russia said. What the hell was he supposed to do? Forget about it? He was the hero, and… "Damn well it's of importance to me," he said softly. "Why were you?"
Russia abruptly stood up, pulling his scarf up over the bottom half of his face, and tried to rush out of the room. America stood in front of him, a hand on his shoulder. "Dude, stop!"
"Let me go!" Russia cried, muffled by the scarf. He made another desperate move to leave, only to be blocked by America again.
"No way, man. I'm not letting you go until you stop and sit back down and tell me why you were crying." America stayed standing firmly in front of him, staring him down, Russia's hands clenched. He slowly, shakily, dropped the hand holding his scarf and stepped back, sitting heavily in the nearest chair.
"Why are you such a stubborn ass, America?" he hissed, pinching the bridge of his nose .
"Good job. Now, come on and tell me, man." He waited, and to his surprise, Russia sniffed. He shrugged.
"Nobody would care why."
"Hey, come on, man, that isn't true," America said.
"Da, it's true. You know it. Everyone is afraid of Russia."
"Well, I…"
"The 1950s? Your people were especially paranoid then."
"Well, yes, but…" America realized Russia was manipulating him, probably not even thinking about it. "We're not talking about me. You were the one crying."
"Why would I tell you anything about myself? You could very well use it to your advantage."
"Now who's paranoid?" America smiled.
"Never mind. I do not want to talk to you, America. Please let me go."
"No, Russia. Something must be happening in your country, or to your people, or something. If it affects you, it affects us all. Now tell me, damn it, or I'll follow you until you do."
Russia growled menacingly, fists clenched. But then he relaxed them. "Fine. I will humor you. I was… unhappy... because people are afraid of me. I am constantly isolated by the others, and even if they could–" he had a blank look in his eyes. "Even if they could, they would not include me. Least of all you."
"Well, you betrayed your sister," America pointed out. "She's sending men to die at your hands. People are afraid of you for a reason, you know."
"You think I don't know that? You think my men are not also being killed?" Russia snarled, and America clenched the muscles in his arms. "Nobody cares about me, and it is true. It will always be true."
"Prove it," America said. He didn't like pity parties.
"It is my birthday," Russia whispered, looking down at his fingers, twisting and pulling at the scarf.
America was quiet. Russia knew it would do nothing to sway opinion of him, so he got up and made to leave before more of his dignity was lost. He had a cake at home for himself, and most importantly, three bottles left of vodka. He did not trust himself to drink less than that, but he couldn't find it within himself to care. His hand was on the doorknob when–
"Wait, Russia." He could feel America just behind him.
"What do you want?"
"Did nobody say happy birthday to you?"
"May I leave?" Russia said, turning to face America. He needed to leave before he started feeling again. And if he got angry, he was worried of what might happen. He was maybe more worried of what might happen if he got sad, but at least sad was easier to turn off.
"If you want, we could go, uh, to your place and celebrate," America said almost bashfully. That was not what Russia had been expecting, not at all. He nearly bolted straight down the hall, but that wouldn't have been dignified. Instead, he took a step back.
"If I've heard you correctly, America, you want to come to Russia? Just to celebrate my birthday?"
"Well, I don't have anything better to do, man, so…"
"Why?" Russia cried, running one hand through his hair. He couldn't stop America from coming to his place, but why on Earth did he want to? Nyet, Nyet, Nyet!
"Because I feel bad for you, dude. I've never remembered you having a party, and even though you're probably not a party person, it's just sad. I wanna keep you company. Besides, I've never seen your place before."
"Fine." Damn it.
"Awesome! I wanna see the Ural Mountains!" America crowed.
"Follow me. then. I will be driving to the airport now." Russia turned on his heel and stormed off down the hallway. This was just perfect. He could hear America trotting behind him.
"You won't regret this, big guy."