Okay, so this is a AmCan take on what happened to me this morning. Just before 2am I get a phonecall from my friend freaking out because she was driving by the Psych Center and a guy was standing there and waved at her. I got out of bed and drove back to the spot with her and the guy was still there. He was just chillin' and walking towards us, so my friend put her car in reverse back down the road and turned around. Then she made me have a sleep over at her house just so that I could check for any creepy people inside. We had a camp out in her parents room- the bed was uber uncomfy- and I got no sleep because she is a complete bed hog DX
T for suggestive-ness because I love me some AmCan, but nothing hard-core. If you want that then you're going to have to request it, and maybe a position you want 'cause what I was going to do I already wrote -partially- in Snow House.

America is someone who loves his sleep. Well, he likes being awake more so it would be fairer to say that he likes his uninterrupted sleep, and that means phone calls just before 2am were not appreciated.

Groaning, he rolled over onto his stomach and searched his bedside table until his fingers curled around his phone, the light from it almost enough to blind his groggy eyes,

"You better have a good reason or else I'm going to whoop your ass," he tried to snarl, but it came out as a sleepy mumble with an undertone of poison.

"Alfred, where are you?"

America pushed himself up, brows drawn in worry at the outright fear in Canada's voice, "I'm at the hotel, room 423. What's up?"

"Holy fuck, I was out with Denmark, and he's at another hotel so I just decided to cab back and the guy was fucking creepy. Like, honestly, he kept asking my name and all these personal questions like if I was staying with anyone, or if I was having family problems. And now he knows what my hotel is and is going to break into my room, rape me, kill me, and then Ontario will have to become Canada, and Quebec is really going to separate 'cause they don't get along, and I don't want to die!"

"Matt... are you drunk?" he asked incredulously, glancing over at the clock, then at the calendar that proudly proclaimed it as Monday.

There was silence, then a very quiet, "and a little high," before a louder, "That's neither here nor there. Where the fuck are you, Jones! Open your door and wait for me in the hall just in case he's following me."

America was torn between laughing and groaning as he forced himself out of bed, fighting one-handedly with the sheets that tried to draw him back within their depths, finally freeing himself as his brother continued to rant about the weird looks the cabby had given him. Getting to the door and turning on the light was just of hard of a struggle, his clothes he had tossed willy nilly a few hours before tangling around his feet and tripping him.

The body that tackled him the moment he opened the door was lean and muscular, the kind of build that came from violent sports, and the grip nearly squeezed the breath of him. All in all, Canada had no reason to be so terrified of a mortal cab driver, but he was, and Alfred was not one to reject a hug from the normally 'hands off or die' Canadian.

"You okay, bro?" he asked after standing still for two whole minutes with no sign of the grip loosening.

"No!"

"You, umm, you want to sleep here?"

A nod against his shoulder and the withdraw of arms around his chest was his unspoken answer, and he stepped back into his room, drawing Canada in with him so that he could shut the door. The locks were all clicked shut even before his hand left the doorknob, and the violet eyes dared him to comment on it even as his lips twitched upwards.

"Forgive me if I don't want to add serial killer to my list of ways I died," his brother grumbled, slowly returning to normal now that he was in a safe environment. He still looked paranoid though, his bloodshot eyes darting between the door and the window every couple of seconds.

"Hey, chill dude, nothing is going to happen to you here; I'm the hero, remember?" His smile was met with a blank stare, then a slowly raising eyebrow and a drawn out once-over.

"If I forgot then your boxers would be the perfect reminder. I'm going to go take a shower and you be on lookout; if that guy attacks me in the shower I'll come back as a ghost to haunt you."

America felt the blood drain from his face as Canada grabbed a pair of –not so- neatly folded pajama pants and disappeared into the bathroom. Serial killers he could handle, monsters he could handle, but ghosts were a bit too much. You couldn't defend against those fucking things!

At least the bed loved him, and he crawled into it happily, pulling the sheets up around his shoulders as he tried to gain the level of comfort he had forsaken to answer his phone. Of course, Canada managed to time it perfectly so that the moment he dozed off the bathroom door was flung open and woke him up.

"Some watchdog you are," he was told grumpily, but with a lot less heat than there could have been. He gave a dismissive grunt as the right side to his bed dipped and the covers were lifted up to fit another body between the sheets. Axe bodywash and peppermint toothpaste settled down around him, followed by the stale scent of fading beer, weed, and cigarettes.

"Feeling better?" he asked, breaking the silence between them.

"Yeah," Canada muttered with a sigh, "It was just so creepy, and even immortality doesn't stop dying from being an unpleasant thing. And the smile that he gave me when he dropped me off, and the little wave..."

America could feel the shudder of revulsion even from a foot away and reached out on instinct, drawing the tense Canadian into his arms, and winced when the cold feet brushed against his calves. His brother was hesitant at first, then was slowly drawn in to his warmth, or that's what America suspected as the reason since the skin touching him was ice cold, even after the shower.

"I'll protect you so go to sleep," he mumbled against the crown of Canada's head, gently blowing away an errant strand of hair and feeling the second shudder that ran down the other's spine. Unsure of the reason, he pulled him closer and trapped the freezing feet between his own, transferring his body heat as best he could.

(Time Skip)

"You're still not relaxed," America grumbled an hour later, waking up instantly to the sound of a door closing down the hall, and a suddenly ridged Canadian in his arms.

"Kinda hard to sleep when all you can think about is the 50 bajillion ways someone can kill you,"

"Dude, you can take on a pissed Russia and wrestle with me, what on earth are you scared of?"

A hard finger dug into his ribs and his breath hissed out between his teeth in pain,

"I know it's stupid, but he was frinkin' creepy and I keep expecting him to burst through that door at any minute. It doesn't help that Belgium started reading stories from Creepy Pasta to us right before I had to head back. You think it doesn't affect you but it does, it sits in your mind and waits to pounce like some kind of mental mountain lion."

"You were up in Northern Alberta, weren't you."

"Maybe."

"What did I tell you about hunting big game like that?"

"Nothing; you never believe that we have guns up here unless it's in Newfoundland and it's time to hunt moose."

"Oh, well, if I did tell you something it would be to stay away from carnivore hunting grounds. Stick with beaver trapping or whatever it is that you do." Canada was started to relax again, his fingertips gently smoothing over the place he had poked. America felt a thrill pass through him, running all the way down to his toes before backtracking and escaping as a soft puff of breath between his lips.

"Thanks, Alfred." He felt breathed against his cheek as their noses bumped together in an Eskimo kiss, bodies so tangled America had no idea where his ended and his neighbour's began.

"Good night,"

I tried to make it work, honestly OTL . It's just really hard to turn my paranoid friend into Canada when they are nothing alike... except that they both smoked weed before meeting a creepy person... but you didnt hear that from me.
ps- creepypasta is creepy