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Whisper of Stars	By : tamasama Category: +G to L > Hetalia: Axis Powers Views: 6255 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia: Axis Powers or any of the characters. I make no money from the writing or distrobution of this story. This is a work of fiction, any resemblance to the lives of any person, living or dead, is purely conincedental.

Chapter List
- 10
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CHAPTER ELEVEN
“I’m hungry.” America muttered, lying on his stomach across the couch lazily, his eyes failing to focus on anything in particular. As one of the conditions for his limited roam of the house, he was not allowed to wear his glasses so that Russia could be sure that he would have an even harder time trying to run off than he would have in the first place. The blonde’s stomach growled incessantly, begging for some form of sustenance louder than the US had energy to vocalize. How long had it been since he had been given anything to eat? Two, maybe three days? He was far too weak and precariously high to stand, much less care too terribly hard.
He let his hand flop out lamely in the air in a feeble attempt to catch his master’s attention. Russia ignored him, huffing slightly as he continued to shuffle through his paperwork. He was still mad. “Ivan, I’m sorry. Come on, can I just have the rest of that?” America mumbled, pointing toward the garbage can where the Russian had tossed an apple core some five minutes ago. What had he done to make Russia mad? What was it again? He squeezed his eyes shut and thought hard for a moment, trying to remember exactly what it was he should be apologizing for.
“Oh, yeah.” His hand flopped back down to his side, “I’m sorry I stole it. I’ll never do it again, dude, I swear.” The night after he had been forced to speak with his boss, America had been sitting in his bedroom next to the sleeping Russia. He had not been given his shot and had been hurting for it pretty badly, so he had made sure that the tall man was actually asleep before reaching into his jacket pocket and retrieving the needle. Needless to say, by the time Russia had awoken America was quite thoroughly under the influence. He was being punished for stealing.
He sighed heavily. “Please? I think I might… die… soon….” The last two words came out as a slur as his eyes blinked individually a few times before falling shut. It took a massive amount of effort to force them open again. “I’m hungry.”
He saw Russia’s blurred form rise from his chair to walk around the desk and towards him. The young American smiled, “Food?” Russia just knelt silently beside him before taking his arm and extending it. “No more… please. Can’t I just have lun-” His words melted away when the familiar sting of the needle sliding into the bruised crook of his arm sent a small wave of drug-induced confusion through his mind.
“You wanted this so badly before, Alfred. Are you to telling me you do not want it anymore?” Russia dropped the limp arm and poked the soft skin of America’s face with his finger, “Or is it only good if you are stealing from me?”
The USA moaned involuntarily, his warm breath cascading over lightly parted lips. “N…Good.” A failed attempt at the phrase ‘no good’.
“That is not what I wanted to hear, Alfred. Maybe another day will make you understand the error of your ways.” Violet eyes narrowed and he poked the American in the wet white of his eyeball, raising an eyebrow when the lids barely fluttered in response. Maybe he was going to die? No, it would take more than a few days without food to kill a country. Right? Russia sat on the floor and poked America on the face, harder than he had before. Nothing this time beyond the soft sound of his breathing. A light slap to the cheek.
“Mmmm, feels good.” He slurred almost inaudibly. Well, that was an unexpected reaction but at least he had not really died. Russia just sat there, letting his eyes wander over the half-asleep man lying prone and chained on the couch. His gaze was gentle as his lips turned up into a smile and he laughed lightly. America could be very cute and it made him happy to know that the man was now his to take care of and control. He had actually planned on removing the collar before he had stolen from him, but now he would need to wait to be sure of America’s trustworthiness. He would need to work harder on breaking the younger nation because there was a world meeting coming up and he could not find it in himself to let America walk around such a large group unsupervised.
Russia lifted himself from the floor and turned back to look at the pile of paperwork that he had yet to finish, and then down at America’s sleeping face. He sighed and walked from the room, readjusting his scarf as he tried to think of what he was going to cook for the sleeping man. Something small and light, of course. He did not want America eating something heavy too fast and getting sick all over his floor. Regardless of which Baltic he had clean the mess, it would still probably stain and he was in no mood to go carpet shopping. A salad, perhaps? Maybe a sandwich. He stepped into the kitchen and looked around. It would need to be something nutritious to make up for the time spent without anything to fuel him beyond heroine and water. He grabbed an apron from a hook on the wall and pulled it on, intent on making something delicious.
* * * * * *
“Wake up, Alfred. Wake up, da?” America’s eyes parted as he slowly slid out of the haze of sleep, his head pounding and eyes sore. He groaned and looked about himself in confusion. He could have sworn that he had fallen to sleep in the office on the couch. Now he was… somewhere. It was warm and kind of dark and he was slouched over a table that was covered in a smooth table cloth. Probably silk. He lifted his head and looked around, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the dim light. It was the dining room, lit only by the silver moonlight that poured in through the open window. He sniffed the air and a lop-sided smile spread over his face that was accompanied by a little bead of drool accumulating in the corner of his mouth. It was definitely food! He turned to the right to see Russia standing there with a gentle smile.
“Yo.”
“It is good that you are finally awake, Alfred. I was worried the food would be getting cold.” The taller man said with a chuckle, setting a bowl of soup onto the table before America before sitting beside him. He held up a hand when the blonde reached for his spoon, stopping him. “Do you promise never to steal from me again?”
America nodded enthusiastically, his eyes trained on the steaming bowl before himself.
“That is good.” Russia took the man’s utensil and dipped it into the bowl. “I do not wanting you for eating too quickly, here.” He held the mouthful out toward America, who gladly bent forward to swallow the soup.
“Wow, this is really good.” He muttered, glad to finally have something in his stomach. All he wanted to do was grab the bowl and down the whole thing a few gulps, but he knew that would only serve to get him into trouble so he just took what was offered without complaining. It was better to be forced to eat slowly than to anger Russia and not eat at all. Again.
Russia smiled pleasantly as he continued to slowly spoon America mouthfuls, looking him over. He had dark rings under his eyes and his hair had lost it’s luster quite some time ago, it looked frayed and dry. He was very thin and always had a bit of a shake in his extremities, and he seemed to be having trouble with his coordination. He considered feeding him a little more often but he thought the disheveled look was actually kind of cute. It made him look so… weak, and helpless, and very beautiful. America was lucky to have someone like him to nurse him back to health and keep him safe. “Are you still tired?”
America was leaning forward with the spoon between his lips so he just grunted a ‘yes’, his blue eyes reflecting the moonlight as he looked up at the man. His left eye did not seem to be able to open all of the way and the pupil was dilated much more than the right. Russia wondered what could have caused it, trying to figure if it was something serious that he should worry about or not. He knew that a hard knock to the back of the head could cause something like that, but he had no memory of doing something of that sort so he decided that it must not have been brain damage of any kind. He just shrugged a little, letting it go. He actually kind of liked the look, so no harm done.
After America finished his dinner Russia walked him to his own large room and laid him down amongst the sea of blankets and pillows that was his bed, tucking him in and kissing him softly before he returned to his office to work. Three hours later he decided that there was just no way that he was going to finish that night so he stacked his papers and put them into a folder to slide them into a file cabinet. He was tired and feeling over-worked and underappreciated, so he headed to his room to sleep.
* * * * * *
Three days were spent nursing America back to some semblance of health. Two medium-sized meals a day, small amounts of light exercise, and as much emotional reassurance as Russia had time for. One the first day America was given a good meal of some meaty stew before he was lead around the house on his chain. They took a break in the library and Russia read him some of his favorite children’s books. They then sat together before the fireplace and Russia listened to America tell hilarious anecdotes about his life.
The second day, the taller man surprised his blonde pet with a gift: A gaming system. America had examined it in confusion, looked up and asked ‘A Genesis?’ Russia just shrugged. He was not made of money. ‘It’s pretty retro’ was all the USA had to say as he hooked it up to the TV. He positively crushed Russia in every game that they played, jokingly scoffing and mocking his lack of gaming skills the entire way. Russia tried to teach him to play the balalaika. He had to take it away when the blonde tried to play it like an electric guitar and almost succeeded in breaking it. America showed him how to dubstep and laughed heartily at the Russian’s botched attempts, then they took a break to snack on fruit over some prank show that was on TV.
It was the third day and America was looking much better than he had not too long ago, with the exception of his left eye, so Russia thought it would be fun to go outside for once. As they trudged through the snow and America talked incessantly about everything he was seeing, Russia kept looking to the bad eye and trying to figure out what was wrong with it. It had changed from blue to cyan, still did not open all of the way, and the pupil seemed to be permanently dilated. “Alfred…”
“W’sup, Ivan?” America asked, stuffing his gloved hands deeper into his pockets and shuffling a little faster to catch up with Russia. He had been so busy talking that he had actually slowed his steps quite dramatically and had only begun to feel the tug of the collar.
“Your eye is bothering you?”
The US chuckled nervously, blushing a little as he looked away, “I think I might have gone blind in it, dude. It’s pretty shitty but whatever, I guess.”
Russia stopped walking and his eyes widened at the news, he had never thought that it was that serious. Why had America not mentioned something about it earlier? There may have been some way to save his sight. He opened his mouth to ask a thousand questions at once, then closed it again and frowned. If the sight was already completely gone there probably no way to get it back, and complaining about it would not solve anything. He just shrugged and started walking, readjusting the bag that was slung over his shoulder.
Soon they had arrived at a fairly large lake at the edge of Russia’s yard. The older country unclipped the chain from America’s collar and set it aside before opening the bag he was carrying to pull out two pairs of ice skates. They put them on and were soon skating around the patch of ice, Russia enjoying the activity with a quiet hum and America rocketing around as fast as he could. He called out to Russia to watch him attempt a triple Lutz. He built up an unnecessary amount of speed, jumped, spun, and came crashing down painfully on his ass. Russia laughed and glided over to him to help him up, stopping dangerously close to slicing one of America’s fingers off with the blade of his skate. They raced back and forth, played a rather painful game of ‘tackle tag’, and tried writing out various words on the ice before America suggested that they eat something.
They sat on a large log a little ways away from the lake, and as America unwrapped his sandwich Russia cleared his throat. “I need to use the toilet, wait here alright?” The US just nodded and stuffed his sandwich into his mouth with a contented little squeak. The taller man stood to walk away, peering at America out of the corner of his eye as he walked into a thick spattering of foliage to duck behind a large tree. He pressed his chest against the cold trunk and peeked out at the blonde, who had managed to wolf down his sandwich with mind-boggling speed. Would he try to escape? Russia truly hoped that he would not for three reasons:
If America tried to run off again, that meant that he would be in no shape to be trusted at the impending world meeting. Russia would have to attempt to concoct some excuse for why he had been all but gone from the face of the Earth for a little over two months, and he highly doubted certain countries would take whatever he came up with too well. They would cause a ruckus and demand to see him, that was for sure. They would call for his return and that may very well lead to war. America was his now and he was not going to just allow him to be taken away by some pompous nations who could never hope to treat him as fairly as Russia did.
The second reason would be the trouble of catching him. Russia was in no mood to go gallivanting through the snow after his irritatingly free-spirited ward, just to go through the trouble of dragging him all of the way back home and punishing him. Regardless of how much fun such reprimands could be for him, they always managed to wipe the Russian out, leaving him tired and even a little sore into the next day.
Lastly, he would flat out be sad to see his cherished lover attempt to run again. It had hurt enough the first time that he had tried, and Russia had no intention of experiencing that level of sadness again. The memory of returning home to find America dashing out of the door like his home was some kind of hell had eaten away at him inside, and not even the pathetic wails for forgiveness the US had cried out into the stormy night air had served as any form of comfort. He had only stood at his window and watched him thrash about in the snow with an expression of pained betrayal and rage playing across his features.
So he peeked out from behind the tree and watched America look around himself, kicking his feet idly in the cool air. He bounced back and forth a bit before he put his hands to his mouth and began to beat-box some random tune he had probably come up with on a whim. He threw more and more lyrics in until it became a full-on melodically spoken rhyme. ‘What does farming equipment have to do with female dogs?’ Russia wondered to himself as he watched in interest, feeling more and more confident that America had no intention of dashing away like a frightened gazelle. He smiled to himself and took in the USA’s strange musical culture for a moment longer before he emerged from the bushes with a pleased smile.
“What are we gonna do when we get home?” The American called out to him from his perch of the log, wiping his nose with the thick sleeve of his jacket. “It’s pretty fuckin’ cold out here so I wouldn’t mind-” He was forced silent mid-sentence as Russia swooped down and pulled him into a tender kiss. He slid his gloved hand through America’s soft hair as he dipped his tongue from his mouth to run it along the younger man’s lips that shook lightly from the cold before pulling away slowly and looking him in the eyes.
“Whatever you wish, Alfred.”
He smiled broadly, “Action movies and beer?”
“Of course.” Russia leaned further and wrapped him in a gentle hug, nuzzling the crook of his neck lovingly before pecking a few feather soft kisses over the warm flesh. An added nip made America jump slightly, a small hiss of pain escaping his lips at the feel of the sharp teeth so close to piercing the skin. “Alfred?”
“Yeah?” He reached up and draped his arms lazily over Russia’s shoulder as he spoke.
“You will being my boyfriend, da?”
An airy chuckle, “Da, dude.”
Russia pulled away and smiled shyly, his cheeks tinted pink as he turned his eyes to the snowy ground. After a moment he reached into his pocket and produced a small brass key that he slid into the lock of the collar about America’s neck and turned, freeing the surprised man of the heavy steel. Blue eyes shone as he ran his hand softly over the side of his neck, noting how strange it felt to finally have the fur-lined collar gone.
A/N:

I apologize on the horrible delay, I’ve just been so consumed with the planning and tweaking of my notes for Volk that this fell to the wayside again. I ended up cutting some smut for the sake of romance, but I was in the mood for something a little more ‘pure’ at the moment. It’s embarrassing how sappy I can be at times, damn it!
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Whisper of Stars