England catches him before America can invite himself into Sweden and Finland’s conversation, and England simply insists that America eat lunch with him, and not a certain Swedish person that America knows England is trying to distract him from. America declines the first few times, because, really, he’s kind of trying to get a date with Sweden and interaction is a big part of the process. But no. England grabs his arm, drags him across the room, and America is forced to sit with England, France, Spain, and Prussia. Nobody has a clue as to where Southern Italy has run off.
France spends the entire mealtime goosing England and trying to touch him when he thinks nobody’s looking, England ignores France and chokes down his scones disguised as hockey pucks, and Spain talks to Prussia who’s too busy cracking jokes at America’s expense to pay attention to what Spain is saying to him.
“Ooh, Sweden,” Prussia mocks, making a kissy face and wrapping his arms around himself. It’s probably the most action he’s gotten in a long time, and America comforts himself with that thought. “Ohmygod, Sweden, you sexy, sexy bitch, right there.”
Fuck that. America’s not going to take his shit sitting down, even though he actually is... well, sitting down. Whatever.
“Austriaaa,” America replies in a false voice, attempting to sound like the Prussian. “Mein Gott, Austria!”
Unfortunately, America’s exhausted the extent of his German vocabulary, since the only time he ever bothered to pick up on the language was when he and Germany tried to improve their post-World War II relations via stuff that was declared unnecessary after the first time, but he doesn’t need to go on because France, Spain, and England promptly laugh.
Hard.
Prussia blanches and then he tries to laugh along, pretending to act unaffected, which makes Spain and France guffaw louder, and America realizes there might have been some truth in his mocking.
Lunch ends on a good note for America. He may not have eaten with Sweden, but at least he was majorly entertained and now has dirt on Prussia. And Austria, for that matter.
The rest of the meeting goes on. England reclaims his temporary spot next to America and continues to prevent America from staring at Sweden, so America daydreams and doodles. His main cartoon is of him being a hero and Sweden is essentially the damsel in distress. America’s just about to add a speech bubble of him going, ‘It’s all in a day’s work’, but then England catches sight of himself being doodled as the villain and, without an prior notice, grabs America’s notepad and scribbles all over it. Some days America wonders if England’s the personification of asshattery, because that was a good cartoon and then England had to go and be a dick about it.
Soon, the lollygagging is over as the world conference comes to close, Germany gives everybody a bullshit speech about how he’s ‘so happy everyone could come to see Berlin again’ even though he secretly wants every nation but Northern Italy to go home and never come back, and they all leave.
America says good-bye to England and France and Canada with the promise that they’ll get together and have ‘family time’ soon. America also tries to say bye to Japan with a hug, but Japan steps back and stutters and runs away because touching isn’t something that goes over well him at all. America does know that, but torturing Japan is fun. Then, Mexico shoves America in the shoulder as a way of saying his farewell, and America tells him not to cross the border they’ve set up, and Mexico shoves him again but in a less friendly way. That would conclude America’s parting with nations he ‘cares’ about, but Sweden’s nowhere to be found.
No matter what corner of the room America looks at, Sweden is not there. He’s gone. Poof. He’s disappeared like Canada. America notices that the other Nordics are gone, and they must have all left together. Still, America had really wanted to say something to Sweden before the conference ended and let the guy know that he should expect America to constantly ring his phone. It doesn’t matter, though, now that Sweden is no longer in the vicinity, and America sullenly packs his things, makes a couple calls to Tony, and heads to the airport to get to D.C.
But of course his plane has been delayed for hours due to some unknown reason and America already checked out of the hotel, so he gets stuck standing around in a German airport, waiting for a plane, extremely bored, without any pens to gnaw on or a notepad for drawing. The next best thing to do is get coffee.
It just so happens that the person behind the counter speaks as much English as America does German.
“Coffee?” America asks, slowly this time.
“Kaffee,” the man says, confused.
“No, no, no.” America sighs. “Coffee.”
“Kaffee?”
“Coffee. It’s brown. Hot. A liquid. Has lots of caffeine. Better than tea. You drink it.”
“... Kaffee?”
“Coffee!”
“Ja! Kaffee!”
“Listen, dude, it’s coffee, not whatever you’re calling it! Go learn some English!”
For once in his life, America sees a native German flounder and have no idea what’s going on. It would be hilarious and America would be rolling on the floor if he weren’t dying thanks to lack of caffeine and people who speak English. Seriously, doesn’t everybody speak English these days?
Apparently not. America continues to try and convey what he wants to the other and the man looks about ready to faint from American tourist overload.
“Kaffee, ‘s German f’r coffee. He’s askin’ ya if th’t’s what you mean.”
America turns around at the sound of the very familiar voice, and reins in his impulse to grab Sweden in a bone-crushing embrace and never, ever let go.
“Ya w’nt coffee?” Sweden asks when he gets no response other than a teary, grateful stare from America.
“Yes, yes, that’s what I’ve been trying to get for the last fifteen minutes!” America tells him, desperate.
Sweden nods and proceeds to have an entirely German conversation with the man behind the counter, who, while cowering in fear at the sight of Sweden, replies to everything even with hesitation.
“Tell him it’s cool. Oh, and that I just want plain coffee.”
“Mhmm.”
After Sweden translates, the man gives America a relieved smile and walks off to go get him some coffee. Finally. There’s no one in line behind America, so at least the whole miscommunication didn’t hold anybody up.
“I cannot even begin to thank you,” America says. “My plane got delayed for hours and I have nothing to do and no place to go since I checked out of the hotel and the chairs are uncomfortable so it’s not like I could take a nap or anything and then I wanted to get coffee so that way I wouldn’t die and then this happened. You are my savior. And I mean that in an official way.”
“Th’nks?”
“You speak German?”
“’M kinda s’rprised y’u don’t.”
“You say that like I’m ever going to need to know another language.”
“Comes ‘n handy.”
“He should have known English! It’s the universal language, you know what I mean?”
“’S... ‘S n’t a real language, ya know? ‘S just Engl’sh.”
“Says you. How do you know so many?”
“... L’ts of free t’me.”
“Jeez. I’ve gotta say, that’s cool.”
“F’rgotten some D’nish over the years, b’t ‘s not like th’t language matters."
“Right. Well, it’s better than nothing!”
“Mm.”
At last, what’s-his-name returns with a cup of coffee that he shyly offers to America with an apologetic look on his face, and moves to the cash register. America balances his drink in his hand while fumbling for his wallet, but by the time America can pull it out of his pocket, Sweden has already paid for America’s coffee.
“You didn’t—“ America begins.
“Th’nks for last n’ght,” Sweden interrupts, scratching his nose. “It w’s nice of ya.”
“It was nice of you to even hang out with me,” America says.
Sweden looks at him intently for a while before gesturing to a nearby table and asking America to sit down with him without words. He even pulls out the chair for America and pushes it back in like a chivalrous gentleman.
“My plane’s delayed. I don’t know what happened,” America tells him, rolling his eyes, after Sweden makes no move to initiate a conversation. “All I know is that I’ll be here forever.”
“M’plane is del’yed, too.”
“What a coinkydink.”
It’s fate. It has to be. Why else would their planes be delayed at the same time, and why else would Sweden have been walking past the coffee place while America was failing at handling foreign culture? Destiny, plain and simple.
“’S that?” Sweden asks.
“A coincidence,” America says.
Sweden nods.
“I wish I had MadLibs with me,” America whines. “This is so stupid. By the way, that’s a game.”
“I kn’w what it is.”
“Yeah. So, do anything worth mentioning this summer? I went to the beach a lot.”
“T’see y’ur whale?”
“No, don’t be ridiculous! I keep my whale in my swimming pool!”
Sweden doesn’t respond to that.
“You should’ve gotten something, too,” America says. “Now I feel bad drinking coffee that you paid for in front of you. Hungry? I can buy you a cookie or whatever.”
“’S okay...”
“Are you suuure? Cookies are great. And brownies! Do Germans eat brownies?”
“’M sure. ‘Nd maybe.”
“Pssh, fine, be like that. You know, I tried to make these awesome cookie-brownie things this one time. It was half cookie and half brownie. Like, the bottom half was brownie and the top half was cookie, but the edges were still like a brownie. Sweet, am I right?”
Sweden nods.
“Yeah, it was cool, but then it caught on fire—I don’t even know why, I think Tony tried to turn it into Baked Alaska—and it sucked. A lot.”
Sweden decides to speak up once America doesn’t elaborate. It takes all of his courage to try and tell a story to someone like America who has epic adventures almost every day, but the Swede manages to spit out, “Pet’r tried t’reheat a bagel once.”
“And?” America is pressing him to continue, so that’s a good thing.
“Put the bag’l, wrapped in foil, ‘n the m’crowave. Expl’ded into flames. Didn’t t’ll me until I heard the f’re alarm.”
America laughs, but it’s a little embarrassed, since he’s done that multiple times with the Wawa bacon, egg, and cheese bagels when they used to come wrapped in aluminum. And that means he’s now on the same level as Sealand, which is humiliating. Though, maybe he’s a little below Sealand, even, because the first microwave fire he started he tried to stop with water. As in, he poured water over his electric microwave and almost caused a gigantic house fire.
There’s a reason Tony likes to cook when it’s not burger night, and it’s so America doesn’t hurt anyone or anything. America plus kitchens and or cooking utensils usually equals damage, either to food or property or one’s body.
“Did you do anyth’ng else this s’mmer?” Sweden asks, luring America away from his thoughts and back into conversation.
America has a nice voice. It’s forceful and obnoxious and is always set at an ungodly loud volume, like an amplifier cranked up to eleven, but Sweden likes it. Listening to America makes him feel like less of an introverted loser who doesn’t have any friends and more like someone with an overzealous companion who values his presence. And mostly everything America has to say is interesting. Mostly.
Plus, Sweden is socially awkward and America’s constant stream of words assures that there will not be many silences.
“Well.” America pauses, and Sweden waits attentively. “I hung out with a bunch of countries a lot, only a couple states. I don’t really dig bothering my kids. Anyway, Canada and I talked, but we didn’t hang out much because he had ‘stuff’ to do. Wouldn’t tell me what, that Canadian idiot. Like that parody song. Since he was busy I had to resort to showing up at England’s house without telling him, ‘cause I know it pisses him off. And then Russia and I chilled out—that was a pun—and we made Jolly Rancher vodka. So, like, Jolly Ranchers dissolve in vodka after you let it sit for a week or something, yeah? We found that out on accident a couple years ago after doing things you definitely don’t want to know about, so now it’s kinda sorta not really tradition. And, lemme see, Japan and I played video games, I think I lent Greece ten dollars, I tried inviting the Italies to Jersey Shore because, you know, Italy, New Jersey, they’re synonymous, and Germany got very mad. Spain just laughed and was like, ‘You have fun, Romanooo!’ in that way that makes you question things. Know what I mean? God, I need to shut up, I’m ranting. So what’d you do over summer?”
Sweden shakes his head, marveling over how America can spew an entire narrative of his summer in five seconds using one breath.
America leans over the table, purposefully putting his face so close to Sweden’s that their breathing is fogging up the other’s glasses. “We’ve been over the fact that I find you rather fascinating, so don’t hesitate.”
It’s supposed to come out flirtatious, but for split second America realizes he sounded like Russia. Like creepy Russia. Like... creepy Russia when he ultimately blows at hitting on China.
Sweden only leans back in his chair and crosses his arms, thoroughly not humored. America wants to frown, but he doesn’t since the muscles in his mouth don’t go that way unless he’s giving England a puppy dog face. Instead, he gives Sweden a toothy grin and reiterates with, “You’re very riveting.”
Slowly, the Swedish nation unfolds his arms and gives America dubious glance.
“The internet says Swedish people don’t like empty compliments, and whatever the internet says is true—except for that one time I was on Wikipedia and it told me John Adams was married to Beyoncé. I knew Mister Adams—and Jefferson, if it impresses you, it impressed Poland—and that’s definitely not right. His wife’s name was Abigail, and she was a total bitch. With a capital B. Besides, I’m sure you’ve seen that one movie, ‘1776’? But I digress. The main point here is that I would never compliment you if I didn’t mean it, and I’ll pour this hot coffee down my shirt if I’m lying.”
America waves his cup around to show just how willing he is to pour his coffee in a bad place, but his hand slips.
And America’s coffee lands all over Sweden’s pants.
Sweden does nothing except for stare at the coffee soaking through his pants at an alarmingly fast rate. He could pick up the emptying cup and set it on the table, but he sits there and lets it ruin his clothes.
“Um.” America doesn’t want to reach down and grab his cup from Sweden’s lap because that would mean putting his hand close to places. “I didn’t... That was… Err. An accident.”
Sweden says nothing.
Does nothing.
He’s probably so pissed it’ll be like World War III, except not.
“Should I get some napkins...?” America asks. No response. “Shit, how mad are you?”
“’M not mad,” Sweden says hurriedly, blinking at America in astonishment. Why would he be angry? “’S just m’luck.”
“No, no, of course I didn’t! Look, seriously, I didn’t. It wasn’t. Um. That. I can buy you new pants.”
Sweden raises an eyebrow and shakes his head, picking up America’s coffee, what’s left of it, and places it on the table.
What a calm reaction.
America would have been freaking out or laughing by now, and Sweden is totally okay with the fact there is a hot drink soaking through his pants.
“’M goin’ to the b’throom,” he says, standing.
“I’ll come with!” America shouts, enthusiastic, because this is suddenly an amazing opportunity for him to be the hero and get the coffee out of Sweden’s pants. The fact he was the one who destroyed the other’s pants in the first place can be put aside. “I’m really sorry, dude.”
“’S fine.”
“Really, very sorry.”
“’S fine, m’kay?”
“See, you say that, but you could be mad. On the inside. Secretly.”
“’M not, trust me.”
“There is coffee on your pants. Coffee you paid for and gave to me.”
“... D’ya want me to be m’d?”
“Well, no, but.”
If America unintentionally poured a drink over England’s perfectly ironed slacks, England would throw a hissy fit. France would most likely lecture America in the fine art of sipping coffee with grace. Canada would get all Canadian be like, ‘Oh no America it’s fine that you spilled something on my pants it’s really okay I in fact love when you pour things on me’. The latter has happened before.
Turns out Canada doesn’t like America dumping a whole bottle of maple syrup on him as a prank. Oops. America had tried his best to clean the maple syrup off with colorful feathers, but they’d stuck. Double oops!
Still, America’s never met anyone so relaxed. So unruffled. So Swedish.
It just makes Sweden ten times more spectacular.
It takes America walking into the bathroom door instead of opening it to get him to stop staring at the person with him. Sweden honestly doesn’t understand why America gawks at him, but it’s flattering, if not a tad bit unusual. Maybe it’s the glasses. Sweden gently pushes open the bathroom door for America, as the American can’t do it himself, and they enter together, making all of the restroom-goers gape at them before exiting quietly.
“I can buy you sweatpants at the gift shop or something,” America mutters, handing Sweden a wet, soapy paper towel. “I don’t want you to go on a plane with dirty pants.”
Sweden just sighs and shakes his head, wishing America would drop it already.
“Really.”
“’S kind of ya t’offer, but ‘m all right.”
“Okay, then.” America gives him another wet towel. “Sorry, best I can come up with. Nobody knows how to fucking clean up spills anymore.”
Sweden snorts in amusement.
“Oh, fuck you, man,” America says, wetting his hands instead of another paper towel. Sweden looks at him, perplexed, and America flicks his wet hands in the other’s direction, spraying water droplets over Sweden’s face. Sweden’s shocked face is so uproarious that America cracks up on the spot. “There, is that funny?”
It is.
It’s funny.
Sweden resists the urge to chuckle. America’s technically not his good friend, and they barely know each other, so it’s puzzling how America can act so familiar with him and not be bothered, but Sweden can return the favor in kind.
There’s a long pause while America’s laughing dies down, and Sweden, pretending to give America an offended look, turns on a faucet and washes his hands.
And, shit. It wasn’t America’s intention to be a jerk—it never is, it’s just his personality, and people should deal with it and stop complaining and does America really need to remind everybody who saved the entire human race from extinction multiple times by being a hero—but it seems as if that was quite asshole-ish of him. He doesn’t have much tact. America goes back to wetting paper towels, and turns to hand one to Sweden, and—
Water cascades down his hair, on his face, in his eyes.
Sweden, satisfied, goes back to nonchalantly washing his hands after dropping a handful of water on America’s head.
America wipes off his glasses and exclaims, “What the hell was that?”
“I cannot believe you just did that,” America says. “I. Don’t. Uh. What?”
“Tr’ce?”
Sweden shakes his hands dry and sticks one out for a handshake.
No way. America takes his wet paper towel and throws it at the Swedish nation as an answer.
Which starts a fight in a bathroom located in a German airport.
By the end, they’re almost drenched with sink water. Sweden hasn’t laughed or smiled yet, just deeply rumbled with mirth or something equally sexy and boner-worthy, but once a silent stalemate has been called, Sweden grins for a minute before it’s quickly replaced with a distorted scowl.
“Oh, hey,” America says, tugging at the collar of his new wet T-shirt. “You can smile?”
America’s also baffled as how Sweden went from being stoic to playful, but he’s not complaining.
Sweden garbles some unintelligible words and dries his hands instead of replying.
“Heeey,” America exaggerates. “You should do that more.”
“Waste w’ter?” Sweden responds, sarcastic, something he normally is not.
“Be... like that,” America elaborates. “And smile. You should smile.”
“D’n’t like to.”
“Why not?” America doesn’t want to bring it up, but... “Maybe people would stop, err, getting scared.”
“Mm.” Sweden doesn’t seem affronted. “’S scary.”
“It’s not! You’re not that scary in the first place, but a smile makes you more, how should I put this, friendly? Friendlier?”
“’M scary.”
“You’re kinda not.”
“... ‘M not?”
“Course you’re not!”
America nudges his shoulder like an old pal—or, to America, a potential boyfriend, but Sweden doesn’t catch it—and Sweden has no idea what’s going on. He’d thought America was so brave that he’d been able to just look past it and see him as a person, though that’s not the case. America doesn’t see a petrifying expression. America sees him, and the thought is overwhelming because not even Finland can do that.
America can’t—shouldn’t be—isn’t any different.
He’s obviously being polite, obviously, but polite is one thing that America never is, so...
It doesn’t settle well with Sweden. At all. It’s not a bad thing, it’s just... weird. Incomprehensible. Unable to be processed. It was a bad idea for him to act like himself with America to begin with.
“Gonna be late for m’plane,” Sweden says in a blur, the English words clumping together, maybe even mixing in with some Swedish, he doesn’t know, and gets out of there before America can reply, look at him, or even do so much as wave.
God, America, so fucking awkward. OTL Lucky Sweden doesn't mind so much, eh?
And damn, I love your focus on the cultural difference between America's friendliness and Sweden's stoicism; it just makes Sweden's sneak attack even funnier. XD And for some kind of gay reason, America telling Sweden he's not scary warmed my black little heart. <3 Hell, it warmed my heart before Sweden's reaction, even. GJ, anon!
... I desperately want the whole back-story behind America's discovery of jolly rancher vodka. What the hell were they doing? XP
Ffffffuck, the oil spill will never be over. OTL Although the idea of Canada's passive-aggressive reaction to America spilling stuff on him makes it a little better!
Updates make me so happy. <3 This is awesome!!!! Aww poor America, he's probably gonna freak out if Sweden starts avoiding him because America's reaction to him is incomprehensible. Heh. These two need more love!
I just stumbled across this fic and couldn't stop reading it...well at least until I to the end. This wins on so many levels I don't even know where to start, so I'll go the simple route and just say your awesome and so is this fic!
Poor Sweden, so misunderstood, hopefully America can break though his insecurities and Sweden can let his guard down enough to just be himself.
This fic is fucking amazing, man. i lvoe your America voice, like here Sweden hasn’t laughed or smiled yet, just deeply rumbled with mirth or something equally sexy and boner-worthy pffff.
And that little battle between Prussia and America was full of lulz, especially the bad friends laughing at their friend's misery about Austria (and the many hints at other pairings you throw out there, like GerIta, RoChu and PruAus). And America's inability to communicate in anything other than English is amusing, but I love you much more for making Sweden speak many other languages. It never fails to bother me when Hetalia fans or authors say the nations can't speak any languages apart from their own, and presumably English. That's just so absurdly stupid I don't even- (especially the Europeans; IT DOESN'T MAKE SENSE, PEOPLE)
And dude, Sweden's thoughts, finally! I like your Sweden voice a lot, too. And America's summer was gloriousXD (is that a reference to the epically awesome 1776 I spot there?) And the water fight. Sweden smiling. And then getting nervous there at the end! Things are definitely advancing in the right direction even though America is making all unconscious effort to botcher his chances, throwing coffee at the otherXD
I can't believe you don't write interaction between the American brothers constantly; you write them SO PERFECT. Are you really a RoChu only writer till now? W-o-w
GAH I am so so sorry I fell behind! Been apartment-hunting, so I completely understand the plight of having no time. Unfortunately I don't have time to leave a very long comment right now but I just want you to know that I'm still following and loving every part. This fic is incredible and I love you so much for it!
I shall be back to leave a better comment here later <3
OH, OP! MY LOVE, I AM SO GLAD YOU CAME BACK :D I would have died if you didn't!
Haha, apartment-hunting? xD Sounds like a blast. Have fun! Get done what you need to do first, m'kay? I'll wait for you forever~ <333 That sounded creepy, didn't it?
True. I think we fucked up English so bad that we started an entirely new language ;]
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Tall, Dark, and Handsome [6a/?]
(Anonymous) 2010-09-15 01:17 am (UTC)(link)America doesn’t eat lunch with Sweden.
England catches him before America can invite himself into Sweden and Finland’s conversation, and England simply insists that America eat lunch with him, and not a certain Swedish person that America knows England is trying to distract him from. America declines the first few times, because, really, he’s kind of trying to get a date with Sweden and interaction is a big part of the process. But no. England grabs his arm, drags him across the room, and America is forced to sit with England, France, Spain, and Prussia. Nobody has a clue as to where Southern Italy has run off.
France spends the entire mealtime goosing England and trying to touch him when he thinks nobody’s looking, England ignores France and chokes down his scones disguised as hockey pucks, and Spain talks to Prussia who’s too busy cracking jokes at America’s expense to pay attention to what Spain is saying to him.
“Ooh, Sweden,” Prussia mocks, making a kissy face and wrapping his arms around himself. It’s probably the most action he’s gotten in a long time, and America comforts himself with that thought. “Ohmygod, Sweden, you sexy, sexy bitch, right there.”
Fuck that. America’s not going to take his shit sitting down, even though he actually is... well, sitting down. Whatever.
“Austriaaa,” America replies in a false voice, attempting to sound like the Prussian. “Mein Gott, Austria!”
Unfortunately, America’s exhausted the extent of his German vocabulary, since the only time he ever bothered to pick up on the language was when he and Germany tried to improve their post-World War II relations via stuff that was declared unnecessary after the first time, but he doesn’t need to go on because France, Spain, and England promptly laugh.
Hard.
Prussia blanches and then he tries to laugh along, pretending to act unaffected, which makes Spain and France guffaw louder, and America realizes there might have been some truth in his mocking.
Lunch ends on a good note for America. He may not have eaten with Sweden, but at least he was majorly entertained and now has dirt on Prussia. And Austria, for that matter.
The rest of the meeting goes on. England reclaims his temporary spot next to America and continues to prevent America from staring at Sweden, so America daydreams and doodles. His main cartoon is of him being a hero and Sweden is essentially the damsel in distress. America’s just about to add a speech bubble of him going, ‘It’s all in a day’s work’, but then England catches sight of himself being doodled as the villain and, without an prior notice, grabs America’s notepad and scribbles all over it. Some days America wonders if England’s the personification of asshattery, because that was a good cartoon and then England had to go and be a dick about it.
Soon, the lollygagging is over as the world conference comes to close, Germany gives everybody a bullshit speech about how he’s ‘so happy everyone could come to see Berlin again’ even though he secretly wants every nation but Northern Italy to go home and never come back, and they all leave.
America says good-bye to England and France and Canada with the promise that they’ll get together and have ‘family time’ soon. America also tries to say bye to Japan with a hug, but Japan steps back and stutters and runs away because touching isn’t something that goes over well him at all. America does know that, but torturing Japan is fun. Then, Mexico shoves America in the shoulder as a way of saying his farewell, and America tells him not to cross the border they’ve set up, and Mexico shoves him again but in a less friendly way. That would conclude America’s parting with nations he ‘cares’ about, but Sweden’s nowhere to be found.
Tall, Dark, and Handsome [6b/?]
(Anonymous) 2010-09-15 01:22 am (UTC)(link)But of course his plane has been delayed for hours due to some unknown reason and America already checked out of the hotel, so he gets stuck standing around in a German airport, waiting for a plane, extremely bored, without any pens to gnaw on or a notepad for drawing. The next best thing to do is get coffee.
It just so happens that the person behind the counter speaks as much English as America does German.
“Coffee?” America asks, slowly this time.
“Kaffee,” the man says, confused.
“No, no, no.” America sighs. “Coffee.”
“Kaffee?”
“Coffee. It’s brown. Hot. A liquid. Has lots of caffeine. Better than tea. You drink it.”
“... Kaffee?”
“Coffee!”
“Ja! Kaffee!”
“Listen, dude, it’s coffee, not whatever you’re calling it! Go learn some English!”
For once in his life, America sees a native German flounder and have no idea what’s going on. It would be hilarious and America would be rolling on the floor if he weren’t dying thanks to lack of caffeine and people who speak English. Seriously, doesn’t everybody speak English these days?
Apparently not. America continues to try and convey what he wants to the other and the man looks about ready to faint from American tourist overload.
“Kaffee, ‘s German f’r coffee. He’s askin’ ya if th’t’s what you mean.”
America turns around at the sound of the very familiar voice, and reins in his impulse to grab Sweden in a bone-crushing embrace and never, ever let go.
“Ya w’nt coffee?” Sweden asks when he gets no response other than a teary, grateful stare from America.
“Yes, yes, that’s what I’ve been trying to get for the last fifteen minutes!” America tells him, desperate.
Sweden nods and proceeds to have an entirely German conversation with the man behind the counter, who, while cowering in fear at the sight of Sweden, replies to everything even with hesitation.
“Says he’s tryin’ t’learn Engl’sh ‘nd th’t he’s sorry,” Sweden relates.
“Tell him it’s cool. Oh, and that I just want plain coffee.”
“Mhmm.”
After Sweden translates, the man gives America a relieved smile and walks off to go get him some coffee. Finally. There’s no one in line behind America, so at least the whole miscommunication didn’t hold anybody up.
“I cannot even begin to thank you,” America says. “My plane got delayed for hours and I have nothing to do and no place to go since I checked out of the hotel and the chairs are uncomfortable so it’s not like I could take a nap or anything and then I wanted to get coffee so that way I wouldn’t die and then this happened. You are my savior. And I mean that in an official way.”
“Th’nks?”
“You speak German?”
“’M kinda s’rprised y’u don’t.”
“You say that like I’m ever going to need to know another language.”
“Comes ‘n handy.”
“He should have known English! It’s the universal language, you know what I mean?”
“Hmm.”
“So you know Swedish, English, and German?”
“’Nd Danish. Hmm, N’rwegian, Finnish, ‘nd Icel’ndic. D’tch? Ja, Dutch. Some Fr’nch.”
Tall, Dark, and Handsome [6c/?]
(Anonymous) 2010-09-15 01:27 am (UTC)(link)“Y’u?”
“American.”
“’S... ‘S n’t a real language, ya know? ‘S just Engl’sh.”
“Says you. How do you know so many?”
“... L’ts of free t’me.”
“Jeez. I’ve gotta say, that’s cool.”
“F’rgotten some D’nish over the years, b’t ‘s not like th’t language matters."
“Right. Well, it’s better than nothing!”
“Mm.”
At last, what’s-his-name returns with a cup of coffee that he shyly offers to America with an apologetic look on his face, and moves to the cash register. America balances his drink in his hand while fumbling for his wallet, but by the time America can pull it out of his pocket, Sweden has already paid for America’s coffee.
“You didn’t—“ America begins.
“Th’nks for last n’ght,” Sweden interrupts, scratching his nose. “It w’s nice of ya.”
“It was nice of you to even hang out with me,” America says.
Sweden looks at him intently for a while before gesturing to a nearby table and asking America to sit down with him without words. He even pulls out the chair for America and pushes it back in like a chivalrous gentleman.
“My plane’s delayed. I don’t know what happened,” America tells him, rolling his eyes, after Sweden makes no move to initiate a conversation. “All I know is that I’ll be here forever.”
“M’plane is del’yed, too.”
“What a coinkydink.”
It’s fate. It has to be. Why else would their planes be delayed at the same time, and why else would Sweden have been walking past the coffee place while America was failing at handling foreign culture? Destiny, plain and simple.
“’S that?” Sweden asks.
“A coincidence,” America says.
Sweden nods.
“I wish I had MadLibs with me,” America whines. “This is so stupid. By the way, that’s a game.”
“I kn’w what it is.”
“Yeah. So, do anything worth mentioning this summer? I went to the beach a lot.”
“T’see y’ur whale?”
“No, don’t be ridiculous! I keep my whale in my swimming pool!”
Sweden doesn’t respond to that.
“You should’ve gotten something, too,” America says. “Now I feel bad drinking coffee that you paid for in front of you. Hungry? I can buy you a cookie or whatever.”
“’S okay...”
“Are you suuure? Cookies are great. And brownies! Do Germans eat brownies?”
“’M sure. ‘Nd maybe.”
“Pssh, fine, be like that. You know, I tried to make these awesome cookie-brownie things this one time. It was half cookie and half brownie. Like, the bottom half was brownie and the top half was cookie, but the edges were still like a brownie. Sweet, am I right?”
Sweden nods.
“Yeah, it was cool, but then it caught on fire—I don’t even know why, I think Tony tried to turn it into Baked Alaska—and it sucked. A lot.”
Sweden decides to speak up once America doesn’t elaborate. It takes all of his courage to try and tell a story to someone like America who has epic adventures almost every day, but the Swede manages to spit out, “Pet’r tried t’reheat a bagel once.”
“And?” America is pressing him to continue, so that’s a good thing.
“Put the bag’l, wrapped in foil, ‘n the m’crowave. Expl’ded into flames. Didn’t t’ll me until I heard the f’re alarm.”
America laughs, but it’s a little embarrassed, since he’s done that multiple times with the Wawa bacon, egg, and cheese bagels when they used to come wrapped in aluminum. And that means he’s now on the same level as Sealand, which is humiliating. Though, maybe he’s a little below Sealand, even, because the first microwave fire he started he tried to stop with water. As in, he poured water over his electric microwave and almost caused a gigantic house fire.
There’s a reason Tony likes to cook when it’s not burger night, and it’s so America doesn’t hurt anyone or anything. America plus kitchens and or cooking utensils usually equals damage, either to food or property or one’s body.
“Did you do anyth’ng else this s’mmer?” Sweden asks, luring America away from his thoughts and back into conversation.
Tall, Dark, and Handsome [6d/?]
(Anonymous) 2010-09-15 01:31 am (UTC)(link)Plus, Sweden is socially awkward and America’s constant stream of words assures that there will not be many silences.
“Well.” America pauses, and Sweden waits attentively. “I hung out with a bunch of countries a lot, only a couple states. I don’t really dig bothering my kids. Anyway, Canada and I talked, but we didn’t hang out much because he had ‘stuff’ to do. Wouldn’t tell me what, that Canadian idiot. Like that parody song. Since he was busy I had to resort to showing up at England’s house without telling him, ‘cause I know it pisses him off. And then Russia and I chilled out—that was a pun—and we made Jolly Rancher vodka. So, like, Jolly Ranchers dissolve in vodka after you let it sit for a week or something, yeah? We found that out on accident a couple years ago after doing things you definitely don’t want to know about, so now it’s kinda sorta not really tradition. And, lemme see, Japan and I played video games, I think I lent Greece ten dollars, I tried inviting the Italies to Jersey Shore because, you know, Italy, New Jersey, they’re synonymous, and Germany got very mad. Spain just laughed and was like, ‘You have fun, Romanooo!’ in that way that makes you question things. Know what I mean? God, I need to shut up, I’m ranting. So what’d you do over summer?”
Sweden shakes his head, marveling over how America can spew an entire narrative of his summer in five seconds using one breath.
America leans over the table, purposefully putting his face so close to Sweden’s that their breathing is fogging up the other’s glasses. “We’ve been over the fact that I find you rather fascinating, so don’t hesitate.”
It’s supposed to come out flirtatious, but for split second America realizes he sounded like Russia. Like creepy Russia. Like... creepy Russia when he ultimately blows at hitting on China.
Sweden only leans back in his chair and crosses his arms, thoroughly not humored. America wants to frown, but he doesn’t since the muscles in his mouth don’t go that way unless he’s giving England a puppy dog face. Instead, he gives Sweden a toothy grin and reiterates with, “You’re very riveting.”
Slowly, the Swedish nation unfolds his arms and gives America dubious glance.
“The internet says Swedish people don’t like empty compliments, and whatever the internet says is true—except for that one time I was on Wikipedia and it told me John Adams was married to Beyoncé. I knew Mister Adams—and Jefferson, if it impresses you, it impressed Poland—and that’s definitely not right. His wife’s name was Abigail, and she was a total bitch. With a capital B. Besides, I’m sure you’ve seen that one movie, ‘1776’? But I digress. The main point here is that I would never compliment you if I didn’t mean it, and I’ll pour this hot coffee down my shirt if I’m lying.”
America waves his cup around to show just how willing he is to pour his coffee in a bad place, but his hand slips.
And America’s coffee lands all over Sweden’s pants.
Sweden does nothing except for stare at the coffee soaking through his pants at an alarmingly fast rate. He could pick up the emptying cup and set it on the table, but he sits there and lets it ruin his clothes.
“Um.” America doesn’t want to reach down and grab his cup from Sweden’s lap because that would mean putting his hand close to places. “I didn’t... That was… Err. An accident.”
Sweden says nothing.
Does nothing.
He’s probably so pissed it’ll be like World War III, except not.
“Should I get some napkins...?” America asks. No response. “Shit, how mad are you?”
“’M not mad,” Sweden says hurriedly, blinking at America in astonishment. Why would he be angry? “’S just m’luck.”
“Positive you’re not mad?”
Tall, Dark, and Handsome [6e/?]
(Anonymous) 2010-09-15 01:36 am (UTC)(link)“No, no, of course I didn’t! Look, seriously, I didn’t. It wasn’t. Um. That. I can buy you new pants.”
Sweden raises an eyebrow and shakes his head, picking up America’s coffee, what’s left of it, and places it on the table.
What a calm reaction.
America would have been freaking out or laughing by now, and Sweden is totally okay with the fact there is a hot drink soaking through his pants.
“’M goin’ to the b’throom,” he says, standing.
“I’ll come with!” America shouts, enthusiastic, because this is suddenly an amazing opportunity for him to be the hero and get the coffee out of Sweden’s pants. The fact he was the one who destroyed the other’s pants in the first place can be put aside. “I’m really sorry, dude.”
“’S fine.”
“Really, very sorry.”
“’S fine, m’kay?”
“See, you say that, but you could be mad. On the inside. Secretly.”
“’M not, trust me.”
“There is coffee on your pants. Coffee you paid for and gave to me.”
“... D’ya want me to be m’d?”
“Well, no, but.”
If America unintentionally poured a drink over England’s perfectly ironed slacks, England would throw a hissy fit. France would most likely lecture America in the fine art of sipping coffee with grace. Canada would get all Canadian be like, ‘Oh no America it’s fine that you spilled something on my pants it’s really okay I in fact love when you pour things on me’. The latter has happened before.
Turns out Canada doesn’t like America dumping a whole bottle of maple syrup on him as a prank. Oops. America had tried his best to clean the maple syrup off with colorful feathers, but they’d stuck. Double oops!
Still, America’s never met anyone so relaxed. So unruffled. So Swedish.
It just makes Sweden ten times more spectacular.
It takes America walking into the bathroom door instead of opening it to get him to stop staring at the person with him. Sweden honestly doesn’t understand why America gawks at him, but it’s flattering, if not a tad bit unusual. Maybe it’s the glasses. Sweden gently pushes open the bathroom door for America, as the American can’t do it himself, and they enter together, making all of the restroom-goers gape at them before exiting quietly.
“I can buy you sweatpants at the gift shop or something,” America mutters, handing Sweden a wet, soapy paper towel. “I don’t want you to go on a plane with dirty pants.”
Sweden just sighs and shakes his head, wishing America would drop it already.
“Really.”
“’S kind of ya t’offer, but ‘m all right.”
“Okay, then.” America gives him another wet towel. “Sorry, best I can come up with. Nobody knows how to fucking clean up spills anymore.”
Sweden snorts in amusement.
“Oh, fuck you, man,” America says, wetting his hands instead of another paper towel. Sweden looks at him, perplexed, and America flicks his wet hands in the other’s direction, spraying water droplets over Sweden’s face. Sweden’s shocked face is so uproarious that America cracks up on the spot. “There, is that funny?”
It is.
It’s funny.
Sweden resists the urge to chuckle. America’s technically not his good friend, and they barely know each other, so it’s puzzling how America can act so familiar with him and not be bothered, but Sweden can return the favor in kind.
There’s a long pause while America’s laughing dies down, and Sweden, pretending to give America an offended look, turns on a faucet and washes his hands.
And, shit. It wasn’t America’s intention to be a jerk—it never is, it’s just his personality, and people should deal with it and stop complaining and does America really need to remind everybody who saved the entire human race from extinction multiple times by being a hero—but it seems as if that was quite asshole-ish of him. He doesn’t have much tact. America goes back to wetting paper towels, and turns to hand one to Sweden, and—
Water cascades down his hair, on his face, in his eyes.
Sweden, satisfied, goes back to nonchalantly washing his hands after dropping a handful of water on America’s head.
America wipes off his glasses and exclaims, “What the hell was that?”
Tall, Dark, and Handsome [6f/?]
(Anonymous) 2010-09-15 01:44 am (UTC)(link)“I cannot believe you just did that,” America says. “I. Don’t. Uh. What?”
“Tr’ce?”
Sweden shakes his hands dry and sticks one out for a handshake.
No way. America takes his wet paper towel and throws it at the Swedish nation as an answer.
Which starts a fight in a bathroom located in a German airport.
By the end, they’re almost drenched with sink water. Sweden hasn’t laughed or smiled yet, just deeply rumbled with mirth or something equally sexy and boner-worthy, but once a silent stalemate has been called, Sweden grins for a minute before it’s quickly replaced with a distorted scowl.
“Oh, hey,” America says, tugging at the collar of his new wet T-shirt. “You can smile?”
America’s also baffled as how Sweden went from being stoic to playful, but he’s not complaining.
Sweden garbles some unintelligible words and dries his hands instead of replying.
“Heeey,” America exaggerates. “You should do that more.”
“Waste w’ter?” Sweden responds, sarcastic, something he normally is not.
“Be... like that,” America elaborates. “And smile. You should smile.”
“D’n’t like to.”
“Why not?” America doesn’t want to bring it up, but... “Maybe people would stop, err, getting scared.”
“Mm.” Sweden doesn’t seem affronted. “’S scary.”
“It’s not! You’re not that scary in the first place, but a smile makes you more, how should I put this, friendly? Friendlier?”
“’M scary.”
“You’re kinda not.”
“... ‘M not?”
“Course you’re not!”
America nudges his shoulder like an old pal—or, to America, a potential boyfriend, but Sweden doesn’t catch it—and Sweden has no idea what’s going on. He’d thought America was so brave that he’d been able to just look past it and see him as a person, though that’s not the case. America doesn’t see a petrifying expression. America sees him, and the thought is overwhelming because not even Finland can do that.
America can’t—shouldn’t be—isn’t any different.
He’s obviously being polite, obviously, but polite is one thing that America never is, so...
It doesn’t settle well with Sweden. At all. It’s not a bad thing, it’s just... weird. Incomprehensible. Unable to be processed. It was a bad idea for him to act like himself with America to begin with.
“Gonna be late for m’plane,” Sweden says in a blur, the English words clumping together, maybe even mixing in with some Swedish, he doesn’t know, and gets out of there before America can reply, look at him, or even do so much as wave.
Re: Tall, Dark, and Handsome [6f/?]
(Anonymous) 2010-09-15 02:01 am (UTC)(link)And damn, I love your focus on the cultural difference between America's friendliness and Sweden's stoicism; it just makes Sweden's sneak attack even funnier. XD And for some kind of gay reason, America telling Sweden he's not scary warmed my black little heart. <3 Hell, it warmed my heart before Sweden's reaction, even. GJ, anon!
... I desperately want the whole back-story behind America's discovery of jolly rancher vodka. What the hell were they doing? XP
Ffffffuck, the oil spill will never be over. OTL Although the idea of Canada's passive-aggressive reaction to America spilling stuff on him makes it a little better!
Re: Tall, Dark, and Handsome [6f/?]
(Anonymous) 2010-09-15 04:11 am (UTC)(link)This is awesome!!!! Aww poor America, he's probably gonna freak out if Sweden starts avoiding him because America's reaction to him is incomprehensible. Heh. These two need more love!
Re: Tall, Dark, and Handsome [6f/?]
(Anonymous) 2010-09-15 12:18 pm (UTC)(link)Poor Sweden, so misunderstood, hopefully America can break though his insecurities and Sweden can let his guard down enough to just be himself.
Pssst Sweden...love is blind. XD
Re: Tall, Dark, and Handsome [6f/?]
(Anonymous) 2010-09-15 05:07 pm (UTC)(link)And that little battle between Prussia and America was full of lulz, especially the bad friends laughing at their friend's misery about Austria (and the many hints at other pairings you throw out there, like GerIta, RoChu and PruAus). And America's inability to communicate in anything other than English is amusing, but I love you much more for making Sweden speak many other languages. It never fails to bother me when Hetalia fans or authors say the nations can't speak any languages apart from their own, and presumably English. That's just so absurdly stupid I don't even-
(especially the Europeans; IT DOESN'T MAKE SENSE, PEOPLE)
And dude, Sweden's thoughts, finally! I like your Sweden voice a lot, too. And America's summer was gloriousXD (is that a reference to the epically awesome 1776 I spot there?)
And the water fight. Sweden smiling. And then getting nervous there at the end! Things are definitely advancing in the right direction
even though America is making all unconscious effort to botcher his chances, throwing coffee at the otherXDI can't believe you don't write interaction between the American brothers constantly; you write them SO PERFECT. Are you really a RoChu only writer till now? W-o-w
Re: Tall, Dark, and Handsome [6f/?]
(Anonymous) 2010-09-15 08:09 pm (UTC)(link)It's 4AM here
and I'm completely loving it :D because of your fill :D
I went from AWWWW /sobsob no update TO jfb;djfgdsfgaldlgfhjbds :D
ILU, authornon! <3
OP from like fifty million years ago orz
(Anonymous) 2010-09-20 09:25 am (UTC)(link)I shall be back to leave a better comment here later <3
(American is totally a language, btw. XD)
Author!anon
(Anonymous) 2010-09-20 07:59 pm (UTC)(link)Haha, apartment-hunting? xD Sounds like a blast. Have fun! Get done what you need to do first, m'kay? I'll wait for you forever~ <333 That sounded creepy, didn't it?
True. I think we fucked up English so bad that we started an entirely new language ;]
Re: Tall, Dark, and Handsome [6f/?]
(Anonymous) 2010-09-23 06:16 am (UTC)(link)