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America was in East Germany. Specifically, he was looking for a stolen item, however, he was covering it up as a diplomatic visit.
He snuck out of his hotel at night to search for the item undetected and unmonitored. The streets were empty, only the occasional East German soldier walking by, ignoring him due to his status as a countryhuman.
He thought he saw a kid in the street. He did a double-take. The kid had slinked into the darkness between two buildings. America felt worried. Why was there a kid out here, in the middle of the night, surrounded by East German soldiers no better?
America couldn't stop himself from inspecting. He broke off his path, stolen item forgotten, and beelined across the wet street towards the dark allyway.
"Kid?" he asked as he stood in front of it, his eyes adjusting to scan the darkness. There was no response.
"Kind?" he asked, remembering he was in Germany. And there was still no response.
"Er— Ребёнок?"
There was the sound of someone shifting.
"Привет?" America asked.
"Американец."
"Да."
"Papa says to not trust yous."
America shifted. He was disappointed that his citizens had a bad reputation— anywhere, "It's alright, I won't hurt you, I promise."
A figure slowly appeared from the darkness. They were a countryhuman; light blue on the right side, all red, and then of course, a hamsic. They were miraculously wearing a little military uniform. It must have been one of Soviet's children. What were they doing out here?
"What is your name?" America asked.
"Russia."
Ah, so it was Soviet's first. "Russia," America repeated, "Well let's get you to one of the East Germans."
"Nyet!" The kid skittered back into the alleyway.
Great. Leave it to America to choose the Russian child to run into. And, God forbid, if some German or Russian ran into him, messing with the RSFSR, in a dark alleyway in the middle of the night— Well that just wouldn't look good, would it?
"Why not?" America asked into the darkness.
"Papa is angry! 'Don't want to see him!"
"He's here?" America asked outloud. Soviet's appearance could relate to the stolen item.
"Da!"
The poor kid. Soviet was angry at him— or something. Soviet had been angrier lately, loosing his usual cool and temperance that he had maintained in the past. America meant to talk to him some.
"Alright, I won't take you to him, I promise, okay?" America said, extending a hand and leaning down.
It took a few moments before the little country grabbed his offered hand, blue laying over white. America softly pulled him out of the darkness, the kid going along just fine.
"You're not as scary as papa says," said Russia, that childish wonder still in his voice.
"You've gotta explore the world for yourself, kid," America said, with a big fat grin, walking along.
"Look, if I bring you to East Germany, will he give you to Soviet?"
"Da," Russia growled with annoyance.
America sighed. He wanted to ask Russia to send him in the direction of Soviet. That would probably be where the stolen item was. The fact that he just ran into a runaway Soviet kid was perfect. But he couldn't just leave Russia out here all alone, Russian or not.
"Alright, let's go to my place."
—ᐰ—
America led Russia into his hotel room. There were steady orange and yellow lights going. America set down his stuff and turned to Russia.
"Hungry?" His question was accompanied by an enthusiastic grin.
Russia immediately shook his head from side to side.
"Ya sure?" The kid was skinny. Skinny in that damn uniform. And probably cold. There was no heating system in this damn hotel.
Again, America recieved a negative from the Russian.
"Alright, well," America sauntered over and tapped Russia's pale green military dress hat, then snatched it off his head and tossed it, "Why don't you get out of those clothes? They must be uncomfy."
Russia expression was overtaken by fear, "Nyet, American!"
America sighed, leaned down, bringing his hands up to Russia's shoulders, "Look, kid, it's alright," he beamed a grin and brought up a gold trinket from Russia's uniform, "Do you wear this all the time?"
"Da." Russia's expression was feigning flatness, but America could see the fear still remaining.
"Want to try something new?"
Russia blinked and considered for nearly a minute, his head ducking in silence. Then, he brought his eyes up to America's, the gray seeming a little brighter.
"Yes." The answer in English was a tip.
America stood up, bouncing enthusiastically. He went for his suitcase.
"Let's see what I've got in here, kid." America shot a glance at the little country. Russia still stood in the same spot, motionless. America waved a hand. Russia hesitated before setting into motion, excitement in his step as he walked over to stand next to America.
"They forbid Western clothes," Russia commented as he looked at the folded stacks.
"Oh yeah? Well, then I guess you oughta try 'em now then, eh?"
Russia stared for a few, then reached out his red and blue hands, going for a nice leather fluff-lined jacket. It was one of America's favorites. He held it up to get a good look at it, then turned to America, his eyes questioning.
America gave him a happy nod.
Russia set the jacket down and went for his own uniform. He fidgeted with the first button, his last pull forced, then went to the second button, and fumbled with it, letting out a grunt and a growl.
America kneeled down, "Here, allow me." He reached for the Russian's uniform.
Russia backed off and glared, "No! I'm fine."
America didn't relent. He scooted forward and reached for it again, his hands bumping into Russia's. They were as cold as ice. He grabbed onto them and covered them with his own warm ones.
"God, your hands are freezing!" America exclaimed.
Russia grumbled, glaring, then eventually relaxed. America pulled his hands away, rubbing them together for friction, then bringing them up to his mouth and blowing on them, "Here, you can do this."
"I know," Russia growled.
America nodded and stepped away, turning back to his suitcase and occupying himself with his clothes.
After a few, Russia stood next to him again and picked up the jacket.
By the time Russia was done trying on all the clothes he wanted, it was late. Very, very late.
America slapped his suitcase closed. He shot a frank look over at Russia, who looked all light, tired, and loopy. He yanked the suitcase off of the bed and pushed it under.
"Why don't you get in bed, Rus?"
Russia's head perked up and his eyes caught his. It was the first time America used the nickname. He couldn't help it.
"Bed?"
"Yeah. Bed. Like sleep, lay, rest—"
"Da, I know. You want me to take your bed?"
America smiled, "Sure."
Russia looked nervous.
"Come on, kid. You don't want to go back to your dad's, so just stay here. He'll never know!"
Russia reluctantly walked over to the bed. He had changed into a pair of America's pants that were light and soft, perfect for sleeping. He had a metal band shirt on that America had acquired from Britain back in the '70s. America smiled.
Russia pulled back the two-layer covers and got in. He shivered.
America approached his side, taking off his fuzzy jacket— second favorite— and pulled it onto Russia, patting the little country on his shoulders.
"There ya go."
Russia gave him a little smile, and it was priceless.
America stepped away and turned off the last yellow lamp, "Bedtime. Lights off," he said.
He turned around and made his way over to a chair, sinking down into it and falling asleep.
—ᐰ—
When America woke up, he had to admit, he had a kink in his back, neck, arm, and everywhere, but it was worth it to make little Russia comfortable.
He got up and quietly pulled the suitcase from under the bed, opening it and snatching his Dress Blues. He went into the bathroom and changed into those, standing with a straight, stark posture and a serious face in front of the mirror. He gave himself a fake salute, couldn't help but grin, then dropped the seriousness, and he was out of the bathroom.
America layed his eyes in a still-sleeping Russia. He quickly leaned down and closed the suitcase, then popped back up, hovering near Russia's bed.
"Hey, Rus," he said softly.
Russia slowly moved and leaned over towards him, ending up flat on his back. His eyes opened to gray slits.
"Американец?"
America grinned, "Yep, that's me."
Russia sat up, "Papa will be mad."
America reached out a white hand and and put it on Russia's cheek, "Hey, don't worry about that, kid," he tapped Russia's chest, "You've gotta you and you've got me. You'll be alright."
America moved away, making an exaggerated swooping move to look at his watch, "I've got a meeting soon and I oughta be outta here." He looked up, then to the side, "Coffee?"
"Nyet."
"Alright. I suggest you change back into your uniform, kid, or daddy's gonna really know who you were with."
"Smart, American," Russia said, sliding out of bed. He sleepily went over to the table and grabbed his uniform, then headed for the bathroom.
Once he was out, America ushered him on, "Alright, it's about time I went. Let's get going."
"Where are you going?" Russia asked with a heavy accent.
America gave him a tight smile, "Diplomatic meeting."
"You look good," Russia said.
America beamed with a toothy grin, "Thanks."
Russia moved for the door, "You're welcome."
America had everything packed up. Russia's clothes he had borrowed. All of his necessities. Inconspicuous things that were Totally Not Weapons or Explosives.
He was about out the door and he caught sight of his favorite jacket! It was on the table, had been below Russia's clothes. He scrambled to the door before it closed and ran in, snatching up the jacket and running back out.
Russia was waiting for him in the hall, a small playful smile on his face.
America proudly walked past him and led him downstairs.
The human at the checkout, German, looked between America and the RSFSR with confusion, but quickly forgot about it. Citizens weren't exactly allowed to get into countryhuman's affairs. At all.
Once they were out the door, back onto the cold now-busy street, America's gaze landed on Russia.
The little country shivered.
America worked his hands to put the jacket on him.
"Russia, would you mind pointing me in the direction of Soviet?"
Russia looked up at him with fear.
"It's alright, kid, I'm not takin' ya to him."
"He's that way. In a big building," Russia said, his voice small and scared. America knew exactly which big building Russia was talking about. He nodded.
"Alright, I'm going to head there. You sure you don't wanna come back?"
Russia's eyes narrowed, his expression transforming into that childish determination.
"Da."
America put his fingers on the rim of his Air Force hat, "Alright, well, godspeed."
"God… speed," Russia said, with his accent.
They both went their seperate ways.
Not before America could turn around and yell: "You can keep the jacket!"
Russia partly turned and gave him a nod.
And then, they were truly off.
Probably not the end