Black Coffee :|: America x Russia :|: Countryhumans

Act II, Chapter Twenty-Seven

"America?! AMERICA?!!?"

"Yelling won't make him wake up."

"Is he breathing? I can't tell if he's breathing - where's the best place to find a pulse - "

"Russia!" Greenland shouted impatiently, drawing Russia from his freak out. "Worrying is not going to help him. He'll be just fine if we're around to support him - don't overwhelm him with your fucking panic attacks."

Antarctica frowned and rubbed circles into Greenland's back, noticing how worked up he was getting. Greenland smiled appreciatively and leant into his touch, hooking an arm around his partner's waist and cuddling him from the side to calm himself down.

"Well, if we don't panic, what do we do?"

"We wait," Mexico replied sullenly, fiddling with his fingers as he stared at America's expressionless face. "All we ever do is wait for him to be okay again."

Russia grimaced, taking off his ushanka and running a hand through his hair. He was sitting cross-legged by America's head, Mexico by America's waist. Greenland and Antarctica were snuggling on their bed, talking silently to each other with sign language.

Russia sighed, pulling his ushanka back in place and scooting closer to America. He gently lifted the striped country's head, supporting his neck with a second hand, and placed it in his lap as a sort of cushion for America. He combed his fingers through the shorter country's soft and fluffy hair and smiled slightly when he recalled the country doing the same for him so long ago, before immediately frowning once more.

What the hell happened?

One moment America was the happy, bubbly, chatty country he always was - and the next he was spouting nonsense in foreign languages and leaking black fluid.

Wait a minute.

Spouting nonsense...

"You'll need this if you wanna understand him."

Russia's eyes widened and his hand dove into his jacket pocket, causing Mexico to look up in surprise at his sudden outburst. The Slavic country fished a small black book out of his pocket, opening it triumphantly. He hadn't taken it out of his pocket since the day Australia had given it to him, and for once his laziness actually seemed to pay off.

Was this what she meant by understanding him? Was it the other languages?

The pages of the small journal were aged and worn (even yellowed) and the writing looked almost juvenile - as though as the pages progressed the handwriting became more refined, as though the author was growing up and improving.

Russia began reading the first page.

Hi.

Even if you're me and you're just rereading this, CONGRATULATIONS!! I trust you to look after my idiot of a big brother. And by "look after" I don't mean cook for him or help him study or whatever. I mean take care of him.

Look, when Mae and I were kids we were both a little strange - it's one of the reasons we get along so well. We were the only ones we could relate to.

Probably won't tell you what this is 'cus I'm mysterious like that, but let's just say it could be life-threatening if left unattended.

He needs support.

If it's happening right now (you'll know what it is if you've seen it), then please god follow my instructions in this book. I've spent decades making notes on him and myself (back when I had the same problem) and hopefully that will help.