The cuts and bruises on Russia were increasing by the day, and with them, America's agitation.
"He's injured again!" America snarled under his breath, making a less-than-pleasant face towards Russia.
Canada reacted with a sense of nervous urgency.
"O-oh! I think France is calling us! It seems important, we should go. Now."
America grumbled as his brother hauled him across the room like he was a rabid dog that might go crazy at the sight of blood and start a fight. Not just Canada, they all treated him like that. It wasn't fair. America didn't even do anything, and the cold war had been ages ago! Canada darted ahead to whisper something to France, and France descended on him like a mother hen, trying to casually usher him across the room.
"Ah, America, I heard Germany brought some beer for the meeting, you should try it!"
America gritted his teeth. Everyone had less-than-discretely been trying to keep him away from Russia, like he might start another fight for the hell of it. And France, of all people? He should know best that fighting a couple times doesn't mean you're enemies for life! He'd fought with England for a hundred years once and they were still buddy-buddy in their own wierd way.
America wiggled out from under France's arm.
"Cut it out!" He snapped, "Stop treating me like a kid!"
His snapping did nothing to abate France's anxiety, and the older nation regarded him with wide eyes.
"America, I would never-"
"Shut up!"
Frustrated, America stalked to the door. He couldn't deal with this anymore. They couldn't just keep him away from Russia, he was his own country! But Russia had disappeared in the chaos, and several other countries where giving him the same anxious looks, like he was a bomb about to go off, and America just couldn't handle it anymore.
"Wait!" Canada noticed America stalking past. "Where are you going?"
"I need some air! Leave me alone!"
And America slammed the door with all the frustration of someone who couldn't deck everyone who annoyed him in the face, which he very much wanted to do. Instead, America stalked out of the building until he found a more remote area, and began to pace.
Russia was covered in bruises and cuts. Russia had been like that for some time now, and no one seemed to care. No one mentioned it, no one tried to help. Russia was America's rival.
His agitation grew as he paced.
Someone had hurt America's rival and thought they could get away with it.
It wasn't that America was upset at seeing Russia hurt, god knows America had given Russia enough injuries himself, back in the day. But that was different. Sure, America has left bruises and black eyes but he'd gotten them back just the same. But Russia was injured, and no one else was. Russia was injured and no one said anything, not even Russia.
Russia was injured, and who could hurt a superpowered country and get away with no injuries?
Not even America could do that. Not a single country could.
Not a single country, by maybe many could.
America snarled under his breath as he came to a dark conclusion. Russia, who said nothing because he couldn't. Because there was no one who who care. Everyone else, who said nothing because they knew why the bruises where there, and were complicit.
And America, who was boiling with anger at the thought.
Russia was his rival, and America didn't make just anyone his rival. Not England, who he litterally rebelled against for the right to be his own country. Not Canada, his neighbour with more land, more friends, who grated on America's nerves by being well-liked across the globe. Not even Mexico, whom America held a healthy amount of distaste and a good track record against, has met his standards.
America had chosen Russia, and Russia had chosen America. A country that always smiled, and didn't back down. A country who could give back every blow he recieved, a country who understood America in a way that no one else did, even if they weren't friends. A country that respected America, and America respected him, though he'd never admit it.
And now someone - everyone - was treating Russia like a chew toy to toss around and spit out and America wasn't having it. If they thought they could bully one superpower, maybe they'd realize their mistake when facing two.
America spun on his heel, ready to go back in and flip the whole place upside down, but threw himself back and nearly fell when he almost bumped into Russia.
Russia, who had somehow approached quietly enough that America didn't notice, regarded America with round eyes, scarf pulled up over his chin like he thought he could hide the other injuries, like he thought America wouldn't be able to tell.
"America!" Russia rumbled in his bright and innocent voice, like he didn't expect America to be there, but was caught before he could silently retreat.
"Russia!" America greeted like someone who finally caught the person he'd been trying to corner alone.
And Russia's eyes drifted downwards, like he was ashamed to look his rival in the face, then snapped back up, that ever-present willpower forcing Russia to power through his weakness. America liked that about Russia.
America had never been the master of tact, and had no intention to start now. So he snapped the words he'd been wanting to ask for weeks.
"Why are you covered in bruises?"
And Russia tugged his scarf a little higher like that would cover the raw cut healing over his eye, or the yellowing bruise on his hand, and regarded America with wide eyes. America scowled, making it clear to Russia that he was just as stubborn, so Russia had better not lie.
For a second, he thought Russia would anyways, but then Russia blinked, an unfamiliar look flitting in his eyes, and answered in the same bright tone he always used.
"My boss has me working hard."
And in a second, America understood everything. The reason no one would say anything about the bruises, not even Russia. The reason no one was surprised by them, no one tried to help Russia, not even his obsessed little sister, Belarus. Because no one could help. A country was a slave to their boss, whether they liked it or not. And no one could interfere.
Or maybe no one had ever tried.
"Seems like hard work." America speculated, beginning to calm down. "Probably makes for a good workout."
Russia looked at America like he was a puzzle Russia couldn't solve, purple eyes clouded with confusion.
"What?"
America ignored that.
"I've been needing to up my workout routine for a while," he mused, and Russia's smile began to slip as he started to understand. America's smile began to come back. "Alright! I've decided! I'm going to work with you!"
Russia was frozen, purple eyes wide in a way different than his innocent act.
America nodded to himself, pleased with his solution.
"I'll do it better than you too, I won't even get injured." He puffed out his chest. "That's why I'm the Hero!"
A hero wasn't someone who would just let their rival suffer, but a hero wasn't someone who would look down on their rival either. But America wasn't really looking down on Russia, both of them knew that. But if he didn't say it this way, if he didn't make a show...
Then that Russia, ever-proud and unbending Russia would take insult. And Hero's don't insult their rivals, except in banter.
Russia was so shocked he forgot to keep up his act, eyes narrowing as he pulled his scarf back down to talk to America - revealing the split lip America wasn't surprised to see he had - shame forgotten in the current situation.
"America," Russia said carefully, a thin line of threat in his tone, "What are you saying."
America grinned.
"I'm saying that it's rude of you to be working out in secret like that, so I'm going to come and do it too, so you don't get stronger without me."
A reason that was as much a lie as it was ridiculous, but one Russia couldn't refute. Russia, who forced himself to play a part, to smile no matter how he felt, to never glare or get angry. To that Russia, there was no way for him to argue against America without breaking his act, and America knew it. Both of them knew it.
After all, America too was acting, not a country who saw a friend being abused and wanted to help, but a rival indignant at the other pulling ahead. America, who knew his act well and played it within the box, had successfully caged in Russia, who couldn't refuse help without America admitting it had been offered.
Besides, it wasn't an offer. Russia couldn't say no even if he wanted too, because America wasn't listening.
Russia suddenly whirled on his heel, and America found himself facing that sturdy wall of a back he hated seeing so much.
"It is not a workout, but work." Russia said, tone strangely thick. "And does America have permission from his Boss, I wonder?"
Of course a country couldn't just offer another country aid without a whole diplomatic hoedown and contracts and deals and stuff, but...
"Yeah, don't lie to me. I'm onto you, Russia!" America scoffed away Russia's refusal. "And why would I need permission from my boss to work out? I'm allowed to hang out with whoever I want in my personal life."
And for a second, America though he saw something droop in Russia's strong shoulders, like the back in front of him wasn't so strong and unbreakable after all. But in just a second, it was gone, and Russia stood straighter and taller than ever.
"Fine. Then I will make you work-out until you bleed."
And America grinned.
"Go ahead and try, commie."
When America and Russia re-entered the meeting room together, people stilled, but America was no longer tense and angry, but relaxed and grinning, and Russia was no longer silently keeping to himself with his scarf pulled over his chin, but was beaming pleasantly and bickering with America, like the version of the two from earlier had never existed.
Canada didn't understand what happened, but relaxed anyways, relieved his brother wasn't starting another cold war. France exchanged a look with England. They should have known better. They knew best what it meant to be rivals, and not just enemies. Enemies, who took any chance to rip apart and destroy the other. Rival, who fought with honour and respect for eachother. And France flushed with shame as he realized how he'd discredited the young superpower, and England quirked a kind of smug grin as he watched his ex-colony with pride.
Somewhere at the other end of the table, a sister who has been snappish all day suddenly choked on a lump in her throat when she saw the two, and then quickly pretended her heart didn't ache that someone else had found a solution she couldn't find, that someone else had made her brother smile genuinely again.
And, as it turned out, two of the strongest countries in the world working together led to a lot less accidents and injuries, and the next time a meeting was held, Russia didn't have any more cuts or bruises, and the ones he used have had already healed.
America laughed like a hero, leaning back in his seat with his feet on the table, and pretended every muscle in his body didn't ache.
It turned out helping Russia work was a good workout after all.
