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Summary: Sometimes bad days happen, but it's nice to be able to help.
Pairing: RusAme


America knew it was natural to have bad days – the kind where all the tiniest inconveniences in life seem to pile up until it’s an overwhelming force of pitiable despair, “When it rains, it pours,” as England would say.

That morning hadn’t started off any differently than it normally would have on a rest day for the typical UN meetings. He woke up an hour later than usual, went out for coffee, and decided to explore the streets of Austria with a false air of curiosity. But it was when he bumped into someone else and spilled his coffee on his newly pressed, white shirt that everything just felt like it was falling apart.

His mood deteriorated as he tripped and stubbed his toe on his way back to his hotel room, when he had finally made it back to change, only to find that he’d locked his room keys inside and had to request assistance from a rather irate woman at the front desk. He had even dropped his cellphone in the toilet when is all he had been doing was trying to check the time after rummaging through his toiletry bag for a bottle of aspirin.

“I’m cursed,” he said as he stared dismally at the sunken phone in his toilet bowl. He wanted to curl up and die, or at least make the bloated feeling in his stomach go away so he could muster up an appetite for a hamburger or a steak, so he did the next best thing and crawled into bed to turn on the TV and hide himself away from the world.

He must have been lying in bed for a couple of hours as he mindlessly watched soap operas in German, picking up a few recognizable phrases and words before deciding it was too much work to recall the language and drifted into a state of semi-awareness that was broken by a loud rapping on his door. “It’s unlocked,” he called out, muffled by the pillow in his face as he tried to wrap himself into his blankets even tighter.

The door opened slowly, the wood scraping along the thick, paisley print carpet. “I called, but your phone wasn’t picking it up, so I was coming by to be checking if you’re alright.”

America sat up slightly, encumbered by his twisted sheets and blankets. “Russia? Shit man, was I supposed to go do something with you today? Fuck, sorry man, I forgot.” With a groan, America promptly fell back into his bed, curling up tighter as his head began to pound with pained frustration.

He heard Russia sigh and the door close. Just another person disappointed by him today – America was beginning to think that Bad Luck had an agenda for him, but then the bed behind him dipped and he would have flailed in surprise if he hadn’t been to thoroughly trapped inside of his blankets.

“There is nothing to be forgetting,” Russia said, dragging his fingers along the ends of his scarf. “Are you feeling well? You do not look so good, friend.”

“It’s just a headache.” America shifted so he could see Russia better; frowning at the taller nation’s unconvinced expression. “It’s just been a really bad day. Also my phone fell in the toilet so that’s why I didn’t answer.”

Russia made an understanding noise, one of his large hands moving to press against America’s forehead as if to check for a fever. “I understand a few things of stressing and bad days. On a bad day in Russia we –”

“You’re talking too much,” America groaned. “I wasn’t lying about the headache part, either.”

“Sorry.” The warm hand on America’s forehead moved, slowly reaching up into his mussed hair to card through it diligently. “Do you want me to get you something? Another pillow? Chocolate? England? He would be wanting to make sure you are well.”

America snorted. “I said I wanted it to be quiet. Bringing England in here just defeats the purpose.” After a few moments of the comforting ministrations his eyes slipped closed. Russia’s hands were warm and dry, and there’s something relaxing about the way his fingers slipped easily through his hair. “Just stay here,” he mumbled as he felt his body begin to go lax. “Stay, and if England comes, tell him I want chicken noodle soup.”

Russia only shook his head as America drifted off into sleep. He knew all about bad days, months and years. So he sat, running his fingers through America’s hair as he waited for England’s arrival. It was nice being able to alleviate the bad for a change.



Date: 2012-10-31 07:00 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] sir-pinkleton.livejournal.com
I don't read much fanfic, but I was lured in. Short and sweet. =3 Papa Bear Russia and Mama Bear England? XD

Date: 2012-11-05 01:56 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] zo-one.livejournal.com
Oh gosh yes! I dunno I really like those three together, no matter how ambiguous it might be!

Also Happy Birthday! (it's late sorry! =w=)

Date: 2012-11-05 06:10 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] sir-pinkleton.livejournal.com
Aw, thank you. =)

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