Oneshots (countryhumans)

Scrapbooked History (Pt.2)

Heads Up: Mention of guns, drinking, and internalized Homophobia :(

Happy ending though.

Bold = Not english
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Had you told him on Friday that he'd genuinely be sad to see the Soviet delegation depart from his states, America would have checked you into the loony bin. Yet, he spent that Saturday the following week feeling strangely melancholy...

After that conversation with the Russian on the balcony, they had each kept their word, no needless grudges, no fights. In fact, all it took for the two of them to warm up to each other was a day on the range. Both were avid shooters with marksmen's abilities, Russia was very skilled with an AK-47 while America was scarily accurate with just about any shotgun. As they chatted between the loud cracks of gunfire, America learned quite a few things about his counterpart that seemed to ground him even more as a regular person, rather than a mortal enemy.

Russia grew up in Saint Petersburg, before it became Petrograd and finally Leningrad. He had a younger sister, but she died of tuberculosis at the age of 3, when Russia was 8. He was very brief in his description of his childhood, a clear edge to his voice, speaking with his eyes trained on the rifle in his hands. America didn't pry.

Eventually, the political connections his father had landed Russia a job in the Communist Party, rising up the ranks and eventually becoming Soviet's right hand man and the representative of his entire nation. A slight amount of tension arose at the mention of his political affiliations, and America swiftly maneuvered the conversation towards more casual topics.

In doing so, he learned that Russia was an avid reader of the classics, mainly Russian literature. America suggested some American authors such as Twain, Steinbeck, and Poe, and in return accepted recommendations of Dostoevsky, Chekhov, and Tolstoy. Russia credited his love of literature and history over other subjects to his mother, and would likely have followed in her footsteps as a teacher had his father not been so insistent on a field in politics.

They continued like this for a while, exchanging hobbies, stories, and trivial opinions.

"Ten ... interesting," Russia frowned, unconvinced. Holding the stock of the AK under his arm, he tossed aside the empty mag and inserted another in its place, immediately reaching his left hand under the gun to pull the charging handle back. America nodded, suppressing a smile at the distinct way the other reloaded.

"I swear it. Fluent in most of 'em." America answered after a burst of shots—all of which were on target. Russia flicked on the safety and handed the gun to America.

"Which?" Russia inquired, stepping aside as he watched the American position the gun down range.

"French, German, Spanish, Dutch..." He paused for several consecutive bangs, emptying the rest of the mag. "Conversational in Korean, Tagalog, and Vietnamese. I know some Chinese, Cajun French, and well...Russian." Russia perked up at this.

"Really?" Russia glanced sideways at him. Seeing the other nodding proudly, he said "Then speak. Prove to me." It gave him great satisfaction when America looked away, clearing his throat and laughing awkwardly.

"Well, I ain't perfect. And I don' like to speak much, I would rather listen."

Russia found that ironic.

"No matter, I will not expect perfect speech."

America swallowed, fiddling with the rifle as he thought.

"What am I supposed to say?" He faltered, risking a glance at the other. America glowered at his smug expression.

"You are afraid," Russia concluded, "Or liar, either is possible."