Some days, Russia was nice. He would sit, perhaps offering a brief greeting, smiling that bizarre smile of his, and drift through the day without incident. He wouldn't threaten or hurt those around him. Sometimes, if one was lucky, he might even pay a compliment or give friendly advice. Those days were usually enjoyable by all countries.
Some days, Russia was brooding. He would take his usual chair and stare into space, seeming to be lost in his own world, not saying a word to anyone. The white-haired nation would cast thoughtful glances to different countries every now and then but that would be all. These days weren't enjoyed, but were accepted.
Quite often, especially if America was particularly more annoying than usual, the communist country would be in a tense mood. He would claim his seat, back straight as a pole, shoulders held rigidly in place, an aura of warning about him; a warning that clearly told off any attempt at socialization whatsoever. These days were balancing days; days that other nations dreaded. If they didn't tip-toe carefully, they'd find themselves becoming fairly intimate with the snowy nation's faucet pipe.
However, today wasn't any of those days. Today was far worse.
Today was an insanity day.
Crazy snickers could be heard emanating from the main conference room, which was being avoided at all costs, followed by a long string of sing-song Russian. Italy whimpered, trying to further disappear into the shadows of the hallway behind Germany, who stood protectively before him, as yet another light was shattered with a shrill crash. France and England flinched visibly. These were days that left every country, even Belarus, who constantly terrified her elder brother with her demands of union, afraid and on edge. Absolutely no one dared approach Russia on days like this.
The amethyst-eyed country's sanity had long been called into question, what with his inhumane choice of weaponry and his frightening demeanor. These were times that showed just how unstable his mentality was. And there was nothing any of the other countries could do to quell Russia's frenzy of lunacy.
Save America.
No other nation knew how the blond was capable of doing it, though the common theory was that he physically overwhelmed his fellow country and kept him restrained until the moment of madness passed. All that was known was that he managed to bring back a partially sane Braginski. The method was of little importance.
Alfred F. Jones's expression was unusually serious on these days. He wouldn't brag about how he was 'the Hero', about how great he was for being able to stop a raging beast like Russia. He would simply walk past the other nations, his blue eyes shining with a sort of grim determination, enter the threshold of whichever room the alabaster-haired country had decided to claim for a time, and seal the doors behind him. Today wasn't any different.
Russia muttered to himself, occasionally giggling, under his breath, while strolling the expanse of the conference room. A swing of a powerful limb and a chair was splintered into dozens of pieces as it came into contact with his lead pipe. America winced but held his position near the only exit. This wasn't the first time he'd had to do this and it certainly wouldn't be the last.
It wasn't until now that the snowy country even noticed someone else was in the room. Once he recognized the features of his long-time enemy in the now-limited light of the conference room, a dark grin spread across his features. "Ah, Amerika... Have you come to play?" he asked with false innocence.
"Russia," America quietly, but firmly, acknowledged. "Stop it. Now."
A wider grin, though now masked by the expanse of his creamy scarf. "But I've only started having fun! Surely you wouldn't deny me my sport?" One broken light flickered, high-lighting Ivan's eyes in an odd way that made one purple iris seem brighter than the other, completing his crazed appearance.
"Ivan," Alfred even harder, mouth twisting into a firm scowl. "I said stop it. I meant it. Get a hold of yourself." His entire body tensed, nerves steeled, waiting for the moment that would inevitably come; that always came when he was forced to subdue Russia.
The grin melted swiftly into an enraged snarl that twisted normally attractive features. "You have no say over what I do, talstyak!" The silver of the faucet pipe and the pale tan of Russia's Soviet Union uniform sleeve were a blur has he attempted to strike down the offending nation before him.
Had America been a mere human, there was no possible way he would have been able to dodge, let alone counter Russia's strike. Luckily, he was a nation and had the speed and strength of one. America side stepped the heavy swipe, grasping the wrist in an iron grip and twisting it behind his opponent's back.
Ivan lashed out, snarling, trying his best to tear free from the tight new hold on his movements. Alfred tore the faucet pipe from his grasp, chucking it across the room before snatching one end of Russia's scarf. He wound it around the appendage tightly, forming a snug knot. This enraged Ivan further into elbowing the blond in the face. Alfred grunted but took the blow in stride, grabbing the offending limb and binding it beside its sibling to form a tight loop. Ivan found himself well and truly entangled. With each tug and thrash, the cloth tightened around his neck. But the communist nation wasn't going to just surrender. He struck out with kicks and even attempted to head-butt the younger country that kept him bound so well.
Heaving heavy breaths, America gave a firm shove, sending Ivan stumbling face first to the ground. Without a moment's hesitation, he tackled the stunned nation, wrapping his arms around his upper torso and legs around his waist from behind. This formed a tight lock, pinning Ivan's arms behind him in the knots and keeping him from being able to do any damage by kicking.
The Russian was nearly foaming from the mouth, screaming obscenities in his mother tongue in rapid fire, still bucking and thrashing against the nation that held him prisoner.
Despite the hostility and violence, Alfred didn't return the cruel banter. He simply held on, waiting for a lull in Ivan's rave. When the larger nation paused to catch his breath, Alfred leaned his head in so his mouth was right next to Ivan's ear. He started quietly, the tune soft and gentle. "You are my sunshine, my only sunshine..."
Ivan stilled like a statue, his violent breathing stuttering to a stop as the notes flowed into his ear. His eyes darted about in confusion. "W-wha-?"
"You make me happy when skies are grey," the blond told him soothingly, resting his cheek against Ivan's shoulder. His sapphire eyes closed behind his glasses, pouring himself into the song. "You'll never know, dear, how much I love you..."
The struggling resumed with a new ardor, the pale country whipping his head from side to side, as if to deny the placid notes drifting to him. "N-nyet! Stop it, America!"
"Please don't take my sunshine away."
Russia clamped his eyes shut, his entire body tensed to the point it seemed to be made of stone. This didn't deter America from his mission. He was slowly getting through. "The other night, dear, when I lay sleeping, I dreamt I held you in my arms."
Ragged breaths slowly calmed, filling the silence between the tranquil, loving words. A small victorious smile formed on Alfred's mouth. "When I awoke, dear, I was mistaken."
The white head fell back, resting back against the frame that held him tightly; that kept him anchored to sanity. It was slowly drifting back; the comfort, the love of his Alfred. "So I hung my head and cried."
The golden haired male felt the tension slowly melting from the body against his. It was working. Thank goodness. "You are my sunshine, my only sunshine," he continued, rubbing a hand soothingly along the still-taunt muscles of Russia's chest. "You make me happy when skies are grey. You'll never know, dear, how much I love you. Please don't take my sunshine away."
Ivan felt his sanity take claim over his will once more, the unreasonable portion of his mind reluctantly retreating under the barrage of the loving music. He found his voice, joining in almost sub-vocally with his Al. "You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy when skies are grey."
Alfred fought back tears of relief. His Ivan was back. He nuzzled the softness of the Russian's neck, finding comfort in the heady scent of vodka and wilderness. "You'll never know, dear, how much I love you. Please don't take my sunshine away."
Ivan managed to twist his head around to place a tender kiss on Alfred's brow, resting his forehead against the other's. "Please don't take my sunshine away," he repeated lowly.
Alfred released his grip on Ivan, unbinding the soft material from around those large wrists. The white haired country rolled over, pulling his golden ray of light against him in a grateful embrace and resting his chin on the top of his Al's head. "Spasyba, padsolnyechn'ik."
Alfred buried his face back into Ivan's neck, arms reclaiming their grip around Ivan's waist. "You're welcome, Vanya."
"I love you, my sunshine."
"I love you, too, big guy."
A/N: D'awwww. Sappy ending is sappy. ^-^ I was tearing up the entire time I wrote this. While it's not as good as I pictured in my head, I'm rather pleased with the outcome. I have a soft spot for sweet RusAme. A challenge fanfic established between myself and a fellow writer/fangirl of Hetalia. The challenge was to write a fic where America sings You Are My Sunshine to Insane!Russia. Yeah. I decided to use the pronunciations instead of the actual symbols so those who are Russian-illiterate (including myself) know how to pronounce the words according to an official dictionary. Thoughts? Comments? Rocks? Please review!
Translations:
Talstyak – "little fat man" (according to my [ahem... my friend's "^-^] Russian-English/English-Russian Dictionary.)
Nyet – No
Spasyba, padsolnyechn'ik – Thank you, sunflower.