A/N: The reason why this took so long to update was because this chapter was originally going to be a lot longer than it is now, but I eventually decided to split it in two. Though this will probably weaken the irony that you'll be seeing in this chapter, I just thought that a chapter more than six thousand words long would be inconsistent and boring for this story. Also, if you have problems with the beginning of this chapter, please see the author's note at the bottom of this page.
Heavy rain splattered all over the battle field; turning dirt into slippery mud. Despite the fact that he didn't have his glasses upon his face, America's vision was perfect. It was as if he didn't need them in the current moment. His clothing were also different from what he was used to wearing, but for whatever reason, he was not concerned about that.
An army of soldiers and a general stood behind America. The air was thick with anticipation. The young nation tightened the grip on his gun. He was ready to fight the one person trying to prevent him from becoming a nation!
"Hey, Britain!" America yelled, "All I want is my freedom! I'm no longer a child! Nor your little brother! From now on, consider me... independent!"
"No!" England charged at America, thrusting his bayonet forward. The young nation tried to block the attack, and though he'd managed to protect himself from the strike, he'd been disarmed. A blade was now pointed at the former colony's face. There was nothing he could do, but stand there and stare as England yelled, "I won't allow it! You idiot! Why can't you follow anything through to the end!?"
The soldiers behind America prepared to fire their guns; in case they would have to shoot the enraged Brit. There was a long moment of silence. To the two nations facing each other, that moment might as well have been a year or two. Tensions were high, and if it wasn't for the rain drops falling from the sky at a constant rate, they would've believed time was standing still.
Despite the fact that England was the one still holding a gun, he'd lost his nerve. He dropped his gun and fell to his knees. Tears flowed from his eyes, as he complained, "Why? Dammit, why? It's not fair!"
America gazed at the crying nation before him, and replied, "You know why."
For a brief moment, America's mind wandered, and he was was in a sunny field. For whatever reason, the grass around him was taller than the height he was used to viewing the plant at. He turned his gaze, and found England standing next to him. When did the Brit become so tall? Perhaps a better question to ask was, when did he become so short? Yet America, despite how much he believed he would've during any other moment, didn't care at all for the sudden height difference. He was full of euphoria. Excited to hang around the one he'd had a conflict with no too long ago. He was more than happy to place his hand into the England's and walk with him.
His mind was snapped back from the memory and he, once more, found himself in the battlefield with England crying on the ground, instead of smiling at him, "What happened... I remember when you were great."
America awoke in a dark room. All understanding of the dream he was experiencing a moment ago vanished. Sure, the scenery from the dream was still vivid in his mind, but he couldn't recall the meaning of a single word spoken. It confused him. Why was he able to speak in his dream, as the other humans could, and understand everything he was saying in the moment, but not have any recalculation of what he'd said as soon as he'd awoken? Not only did it not make any sense, but it was beyond irritating. Though at the same time, what if everything in the dream he'd said was gibberish? After all, it was only a dream, and since when were they ever real? Since when was he smart enough to speak, as every other human he met could...
Since America didn't want to remain alone in a dark room with all his negative emotions, as doing so never made anything better for him, he figured it would be best for him to seek his caretaker out. No, he didn't plan of waking Russia from his much needed sleep, as last time he did that to someone, it didn't end well, but he still wanted to be in the same room as someone else. Maybe he could even crawl into his bed and snuggle with him. He was sure his caretaker wouldn't mind. As long as he didn't wake him in the process. Why would he care if he slept in the same bed as him when he allowed him to fall asleep on his lap once?
America exited his room and tiptoed through the house, in the dark, on his way to the room Russia was staying in. He wanted to be careful as to not disturb the other humans. They weren't a pleasant lot to be around when they were cranky. Even during times he wasn't the direct cause of their stress. He understood they didn't always mean to freak out at him, though, as they would give him some form of apology if they yelled at him for no reason. He was quick to forgive them, even if they scared him, as long as they were willing comfort him after these situation when he didn't deserve to be yelled at. Even if the other humans weren't the best at managing their emotions, especially the one with bushy eyebrows (for someone smaller than him, who he could easily beat up, he was still intimidated by him at times, as the Brit's overreactions made him worry about what his caretaker would do if his rage was considered valid).
America was cautious as he approached Russia's bed. He needed to be careful in plotting how he would crawl under the covers without disturbing his caretaker. He kept a careful eye on the other as he placed a hand onto the bed. The human remained sound asleep, despite the pressure being applied to the other side of the bed. Taking this as a sign it was okay to plop onto the bed, the young nation placed his other hand on the mattress and pulled the rest of his body onto it.
He crawled toward the area next to Russia, and slowly lifted the covers, so he could bundle up in them next to his caretaker. His heart skipped a beat when the sound of rustling sheets next to him filled the once silent air. With wide eyes, America whipped his head around to the person next to him, to find, much to his adversity, that the other was now facing him. It was too dark in the room to determine whether or not Russia's eyes were open, but the young nation could tell, based on the faint outline of the other's silhouette, produced from the small amount of light in the room, that his face appeared to be lining up with where America's was. A potential, futile attempt to make eye contact in the dark room. America believed it would only make sense for the other to be awake, as in his opinion, lifting up ones head for a prolonged period of time required energy and consciousness.
Russia spoke in a sleepy tone, causing his heart to beat at faster rate than it already was, "What are you doing here, Amerika? Why aren't you in bed?"
Though Russia's tone had shown no signs of aggression, America was still uncertain over whether or not he should respond. Why did he even bother seeking out his caretaker's company in the middle of the night when he wasn't sure if it was wise to do so in the first place?
Russia ignored the lack of response, as he asked, "Did you have a nightmare?"
Still, no response.
"You can sleep with me if you want. I'm sure the other's would understand if you were having a nightmare and didn't want to sleep alone. Why don't you lay down now?"
Russia patted the area of the bed next to him. America interpreted this as a signal that it was okay for him to crawl under the covers and cuddle with his caretaker, and did so. As soon as he was under the covers, he was wrapped in the human's arms and pulled close to him. The young nation responded to this by snuggling his face into the other's chest and relaxing in the warm embrace. A sweet scent of clean laundry welcomed America. Sweet scents never ceased to bring about memories of pleasant experiences. Unlike the sterile scent of a laboratory or doctor's office. How could anyone tolerate such a harsh, unnatural smell?
America closed his eyes while Russia spoke, "I hope you are able to sleep well for the rest of the night. I would hate to see you exhausted all day tomorrow. It's going to be your birthday, and I want you to enjoy it."
Though America was in a resting state, he still kept his ears perked for whatever was to be said next. Though he viewed himself as stupid and animalistic compared to the other humans, he believed, after three months under their care, he was catching on to some of the words they spoke. Their speech was a repetitive sequence of noises. He always believed it was unique compared to the noise other animals made, but at first, he doubted he was capable of figuring what they were saying out, and barely put any effort into doing so. His caretaker had always shown him nothing but kindness, though, and he was curious to find out the reason why. What made him so special to the human? Why would he sometimes spoil him with entertainment, food, and attention and hardly pay the other two humans any mind? Maybe his caretaker was trying to tell him why, and for all the hard work the other put into caring for him, America vowed to himself that one day, he would master their language. Even if he considered himself slow for a human, he believed if he tried hard enough, he would be able to understand their ways. Become more intelligent. He didn't care if his caretaker always viewed him as an inferior (though this was only a suspicion). He was growing used to being more submissive toward humans, as being so with one who wasn't the pure embodiment of evil had its benefits. As long as the ones who cared about him were happy to have him around, he could be happy too.
Russia rested his head on top of America's, as he continued speaking to him, "This past month flew by. I wish it could've lasted longer. You've been playing outside a lot, lately. I love watching you have fun out in the sun. I want to spend more time with you, but unfortunately, I can't stay away from my country forever. And neither can Canada or England. We're lucky our bosses even let us do this."
Though he wanted to try his best to figure out what the other was saying, America couldn't help but doze off, due to how comfortable he was. Russia didn't mind the lack of response, as he continued, "After the next world meeting, the three of us decided it would be best if we each took care of you alone for a month at a time. Sure, there will still be times we'll all be working together to take care of you, but this is just what we have to do for now. Unfortunately, England and Canada are going to be taking care of you before I do. And the only time I'm going to be able to see you, until it's my turn to take care of you, is when we are at a hotel for world meetings. I'm going to miss having you around. Even if you can't talk and you don't understand normal human behavior too well right now, you're still nice to have around."
Russia pulled the blankets tighter around the two of them. Even if he wasn't tired at all during that current moment, he still wanted to go back to sleep, as for one, he suspected he would be exhausted soon, two, he had nothing to do, and three, he couldn't afford be asleep all day during the young nation's birthday. That would be rude! He had difficulty falling asleep at night. He estimated it could take him anywhere from one to two hours to fall into a deep slumber. This was why he hated to be awoken. He couldn't help but be annoyed with America for waking him up, though, he tried everything in his power to not express his exasperation. The anger didn't remain when when it became apparent the uncivil nation didn't intend to disrupt his peaceful slumber, as it was difficult for him to be angry with his comrade when he was in a snugly mood. Besides, what if the one he was caring for needed something? He couldn't assume his presence was pointless. America was useless when it came to caring for himself, or figuring out what to do in an emergency, so it was his responsibility to do everything in his power to take care of any problems.
After making sure America was snug under the blankets, Russia wrapped his arms around him once more, "Good night, my little ponchiki."
If America was still awake, he would've tried his best to respond. Even if his sorry attempts at words would either be misunderstood, or ignored. It was always worth a shot, though. The humans didn't have a problem with him trying.
A/N: The reason why I wrote an exact scene from the anime in the beginning of this chapter is because I wanted to show instead of tell. And I didn't want to make up my own version of it because then that wouldn't be cannon. But I don't want to come off as scandalous either, so if people have a problem with what I did, I will remove the first part of this chapter. Even though the wiki pretty much spoils what happens, and isn't this particular episode also free to view (I'm not sure if it is anymore, but I know it used to be)?
Also, this chapter wasn't intended to make you guys feel bad for England.