A/N: Hello everyone! I was thinking about 9/11 today, though that was two days ago... Anyway. I came up with this. It is simply a somewhat sad 9/11 story with a sweet RusAme theme to add cuteness. I just wanna say if anyone knows anyone that died in 9/11 i am very sorry... I know some random author on this site saying that 13 years later doesn't help, but still. Cookie out-
Disclaimer: I don't own the magic Hetalia or the characters. Hima does.
He knew what day it was before his eyes could fully open. September 11th... Alfred curled more into his covers, body cold and skin ashen. The twin scars on his lower hip burned and his throat felt full of dust. He coughed violently and doubled over on his bed.
"Alfred..." His lover said softly, setting a tray next to the bed on the table there. "You are sick, The 11th day of September..." Ivan sat on the bed, knowing from past years that Alfred's hidden asthma problem worsened on this day every year. Ivan pulled the other into his arms and rocked him gently. "I am here for you dorogoy..."
Alfred laid his head in Ivan's lap, shivering. The memories of that day flooding his mind. Echoes of screams and the smell of burning debris fogged his senses and had him visualizing the entire scene in his mind. Those towers crumbling to the ground and the people in them dying,, crushed and suffocated. He cried, all resolve breaking into a hundred pieces; crumbling like the towers themselves.
Ivan saddened, but stayed quiet, he knew how hard it was. He knew that every single day that parrelled a horrible day in history for a nation did this to them. He had many of scars covering his own body so he knew, he knew how they would burn and sizzle and refry themselves into the holders body. His fingers brushed over the twin scars on his lovers hip bone. He felt Alfred shiver against Ivan's too cold fingers, felt him curl up and shake in his arms. He just petted the others hair.
They had tried everything, every year. Sometimes it was sex, forceful and desperate as Alfred fought to forget, and Ivan fought to have him forget. Once Alfred had locked himself in the closet all day and Ivan was tortured by his cries but was rooted to the spot outside the door. Another year Alfred and Ivan had sat in the living room, Alfred burritoed in a large quilt and Ivan's soft scarf; Ivan had put a movie in and they had sat, but all Alfred could do was stare at the wall. This year Alfred didn't know what they would no, but so far, Alfred had let his happy and free walls fall and looked broken and scared and beautiful.
After awhile Alfred looked up at Ivan, bright blue eyes watery. "Can we take a bath? Together?"
Ivan nodded and lifted his lover up, taking him to the bathroom and sitting him on the counter. The American began coughing violently, doubling over again over his knees. Ivan sighed and filled the tub up. Once the tub was nice and warm and full he put his love in the water and watched him relax. Ivan undressed and slid in. Alfred settled with his back against the others chest and sighed. Ivan washed his love's hair and body so that he didn't have to do it himself.
After the bath and Alfred was dry, the nation stole Ivan's large coat and slipped it over himself. They lovers headed out, hand in hand and ended up at the memorial. Many people were there, ones Alfred saw every year. Ivan held a large bouquet of white roses in his hand and handed the thing to Alfred. The shivering and pale nation walked up to many of the crying family's and laid a single rose before them and whispered a small and defeated little "I'm so sorry." before moving on to the next family. He did this every year, a tradition that he promised to never stop. Ivan had accompanied him on many of these little trips and held his lovers hand through it all. Some of the family's hugged and cried with Alfred, though they didn't know how hard it was for him, and he didn't know how had it was for them.
When it was all over Alfred and Ivan walked the darkened streets of New York, hand in hand in Alfred's favorite city. Ivan felt small here, even compared to the streets of Moscow. They made it back to their dingy little flat and upstairs. Alfred dropped Ivan's jacket onto the chair by the door, and made his way to the couch, where he laid down. A quick coughing fit ensued but he fought through it. Ivan sat at the end of the couch and let his love lay his head on his lap. The rest of the night passed like that, lonely and empty blue eyes staring into calmed violet ones.
When his love fell asleep, Ivan carried the nation upstairs and tucked him into the covers, before getting in beside him and pulling him close. Dreams would haunt his love's sleep but Ivan knew when the beautiful nation awoke, all would seem right in the world.