In this story, some situations will mimic things that happened in the Cold War. Note that this fic is supposed to be in modern times. It reminds me of the current relations between Russia and America, the failure to cooperate to instead continue the battle to be the world's leader and the most powerful.

Some events and terms that are represented will be explained in my own words before and after chapters if they are not explained during. As the Cold War is a broad topic, not everything can make it in and I will be focusing more on the events of the Cold War in Europe. I did not want to include too many characters because attention would be diverted onto them. I apologize, but I picked the countries I found to be the most beneficial to the plot.

Without further ado, here is the first term:

Russophobia: the fear or dislike of Russia, its culture and people. Seen predominantly in the West, where the media creates the image of an enemy using methods of selective information and dramatic word choice, in order to gain public support. It often stems from a hatred of the former Soviet Union since it was the rival superpower of the Cold War and because of the atrocities committed in its sphere of influence.

Snow set the world into a sort of silence that had always unnerved him. Away from the city and in the uninterrupted landscape of rural Russia, everything was especially still. It was hard to remember what warmth was when every ounce of it had been sapped. Equally difficult, to remember that life existed when so much had tucked itself away to be forgotten for many months. He always had that nagging fear that it would stay this way forever every time winter came his way; that warmth and life would never return and all would remain cold.

That was why he always preferred the storms. Harsh though they were, they alleviated his sorrow and boredom. The shrieks of the wind sliced through the quietude and the onslaught of snow battered the world in such a fervent manner that he could almost believe, for a time, that there was life in the storm itself.

Yet he knew to suppress such excitement. The storm was not alive and everything was still lifeless and cold in the end. It was only General Winter attacking again, unseen as he displayed his might upon his country. Russia should not be so pleased by that, but living alone and seldom visited made one long for any noise that could be imagined away as company.

He creaked open the door again and viewed the halcyon fields of snow. Russia watched the road for a while, looking at the conjuncture where one road split off and led up to the parking lot before him. He waited for a car to turn and come toward him, but not a single vehicle passed by. He sighed and ducked back inside once his face and hands had thoroughly been numbed.

Russia leaned back into the wall and allowed his mind to blanken. His eyes slid shut and he dragged his fingertips down the wall, applying pressure until they stopped. The tune of his national anthem rumbled in his throat while the chill that had followed him in faded around him. He tested the silence occasionally, pausing his humming now and then to hear the noise get swallowed up until nothing remained.

His eyes flashed open and he sprang to the door. Russia threw it open again and filled the doorway, silent and glaring through the white brightness. A subzero breeze bit his face, then he backed himself inside again with a frown adorning his face.

"But the weather is fine," he murmured as he reclaimed his spot on the wall. "The roads are in good condition, even here… I was not lied to, was I?"

He did not expect so. At least, not from the person hovering in his mind's eye. Russia checked his phone anxiously and found that the first guest was only a few minutes late. Relief flooded him and his heart trembled in excitement. It had been too long since he had guests or had even interacted face-to-face with the others. Russia looked forward to the upcoming meeting despite how they were usually bland in topic.

Russia spent a time imagining those that might come, but he perked up when he heard the telltale sound of tires crushing snow. In an instant the door was thrown open and he was there to view a small, black car siding his own in the parking lot. Russia regarded the person that stepped out with a pleased smile, ever more mildly as she walked on her beeline to him. A breeze carried with it a few snowflakes and they dusted her blonde hair which was curled over the black coat snug on her shoulders.

Russia stepped back from the door to let Belarus pass through the threshold. Once inside with the door blown shut, he promptly drew her into a hug. The snow that had peppered her hair and eyelashes like icing sugar vanished, leaving only damp spots behind.

"I'm so glad you made it…" he sighed.

He slipped away. His gaze fell down upon her as she stared into his eyes with an acute one. Belarus asked, "Am I the first?"

Russia nodded. He then said, "I needed your help for some things, so I invited you earlier."

"Ah."

The black coat found itself on a hanger and put on a horizontal metal bar. Belarus exchanged her boots for the shoes that had been dangling on her fingers by the laces. She then stood, waiting and standing expectantly. Only then did Russia speak again.

"Belarus," he chirped. "Please, follow me…"

And she did, naturally and without hesitation. She hurried to clasp onto his arm by the elbow and be led away to whatever destination he pleased.

"Twenty minutes until they come," he explained as they walked down the hall. "And I was thinking about doing bread-salt, or is that too much?"

"It might be interesting."

"I want to be hospitable," Russia exhaled. "But so many things in my culture they don't understand… especially him. I want it to work is all. That we'll have good luck."

"Are you doing it for his sake?"

Russia moved his head in a half circle, mixing the shake of his head with a nod. He replied, "For everyone, but above all, him. I am worried but… you know what they say about giving bread and salt to an enemy."

He saw her nod of comprehension.

"So will it work?" he asked after the pause.

"I say do it and see what happens."

Russia smiled. "You know your job then?"

"Yes."

He beamed, glad for her cooperation. They made it to the end of the hall and came to a stairwell. Belarus hooked her arm around his as they trotted down the stairs, and at the bottom it escalated to a complete hugging of his arm. It was not however in a way that was too tight and therefore uncomfortable. Russia found her to be a pleasant warmth; one that had not been felt by him for a while. He curled his arm so that his hand could touch her shoulder as they continued on.

This hall was very long but at the middle point they had reached one of the few rooms with an open door. Russia stepped in first then Belarus followed him into a small sort of cafeteria.

"Oh, odd," she mumbled.

The scent of baked products floated in the air. Belarus followed him to the back where a kitchen was set up behind a counter. Her eyebrows lifted to see that there were already many things set out and cooling on racks: an assortment of pirozhkis, cookies, and a large and finely decorated circle of bread.

"Hmm…" Russia sighed upon observing everything with her. "I wonder if it will be enough?"

Belarus muttered, "How much do you intend to give to everyone?"

"A lot, I hope." Russia smiled. "Warm food is the way to the heart, right? I want everybody to be happy here. And if they like the food at my place, then maybe there will be others things they can like too..."

"And how many people are coming?"

Russia shrugged, looked the other way, then frowned.

"I don't know…" he breezed. "I don't know how many people want to come."

"They might make up excuses," Belarus uttered. "About the weather."

Russia nodded slowly, displaying his knowledge of this.

Belarus added, "I'm sorry."

"I didn't put the chairs in the room yet," he said. "I didn't want to put in too many because it would be embarrassing to have so many empty ones."

Russia headed to the sink. There was handsoap trapped in a colourful bottle to the side from which he squeezed a foamy glob out into his palm. He washed his hands, wiped them dry on a cloth towel, then he went to the bread. Belarus watched him dig a hole into the top of it and put the removed piece to the side.

A bag of salt was removed from a shelf full of supplies and poured into a metal salt holder. He set this into the hole in the bread then stood back to observe it with satisfaction. Russia then broke the lone piece of bread into two, passing one bit to her and keeping the other for himself. They both dipped their pieces into the salt before popping them into their mouths.

"It's okay?" Russia asked.

She nodded.

He continued, "We don't have to be strict on the tradition. Your dress is already pretty so it's fine without the costume."

Belarus perked. "You think it's pretty?"

She was wearing the dress she always did, the blue and white one that Russia had given her as a gift a long time ago. He appeared confused, and replied, "Of course."

Belarus grew even more excited. Russia could not fathom why she was so happy by a quick compliment like that, but he went on to unfold the rushnyk, the embroidered towel for the bread. Handling the originally Ukrainian ritual cloth cast a fresh frown onto Russia's face, which in turn caused Belarus's joy to vanish. The mood sank and Russia murmured, "Will she be coming?"

Belarus replied quietly, "I don't know. She never told me."

Russia pursed his lips. He spread the towel over a hand then put the bread onto it. He passed it all to Belarus, who accepted it carefully. They then both departed from the room, walking down the hall again, slowly up the stairs, then the length of the previous hall. They stopped by the front door to wait for the arrivals, if there would be any.

"Maybe Germany will come first," Russia hummed. "Or Britain?"

They were silent for many seconds. Russia dragged out his phone again, checked the time, then selected the camera icon. He pointed his phone at Belarus, who understood instantly and reacted.

"No, not without you!" she cried.

"Hmm?"

She snatched his arm and pulled. He stumbled back into her and his eyes rolled to the side to make sure that the bread had not fallen. Belarus was holding it near herself with one hand and was already smiling softly. Russia had the camera rotated before he raised his phone-bearing arm. He let a gentle smile form on his lips before he captured them both in a picture.

Belarus did not release him. Russia stood up straight with her still clinging to his forearm, as he checked the picture. He was pleased to see that it had turned out perfectly, showing both of them close and content with Belarus holding the bread and salt. She looked at it with him and appeared equally pleased by the result.

"You look very nice," Russia said. "Maybe I should send it to Ukr…"

He trailed off.

"I don't know how she'd feel, so maybe not," he sighed. "But I'll keep it."

Belarus was ecstatic again. Her grip disappeared but then she wrapped her free arm around him and put her head on his chest. Russia held his breath for a moment but then felt only tenderness when the calm atmosphere remained.

Finally, someone was giving him affection on their own free will. Drunk off the rush of warmth, Russia hugged her back and sang smoothly, "Kalinka, kalinka, kalinka moya!"

Belarus smiled.

"V sadu yagoda malinka, malinka moya!"

She chuckled. Russia heard it and stopped to squeeze her and laugh. It was nice when they were both calm and blissful like this, Russia could not help but pine though, wishing that it could be like this forever and with more than just one person.

His laugh faded when they heard approaching tires. Belarus let go of him and they both positioned themselves; Belarus holding the bread and salt with Russia looking over from behind her. The door was pulled open soon after and Britain stood there with the sugar specks of snow amassed on his hat and in the creases of his coat.

Britain shook his coat off himself, but not without the spitting of, "Bloody hell, why did you insist on a meeting here? It's minus eighteen degrees out there and it's starting to snow!"

"It'll be alright." Russia let a smile lift itself up for Britain. "There won't be any storm, so the roads will be fine."

Britain hung up his hat and stuffed his gloves into his coat's pocket. He stood now in formal attire, facing them and flashing his eyes over the two of them.

"Is that sugar in the bread?"

Russia shook his head, still smiling. Belarus growled, "Take some bread. Dip it into the salt."

Britain raised both thick eyebrows and regarded Russia's smile warily. "What for?"

"You eat it," Russia purred. "We do this sometimes in East Europe, to show hospitality."

"Salt… on bread…?"

"Do it," Belarus uttered.

"Pardon me?"

She hissed, "Don't be rude!"

Britain approached the bread with his eyebrows still launched high up his forehead. He pulled off a small chunk from the bread and observed it intently. He touched it into the salt without taking his eyes off it. Before he ate it however, he asked, "And it's just regular bread, right? You didn't do anything to it?"

"It's just white bread," Russia's replied calmly.

Britain slipped it into his mouth but was now watching Russia, searching his face for any micro-expressions. He swallowed and turned his head.

"And now, where is-"

Russia clapped once and grinned. He strode up to Britain and reached out a hand to place on his shoulder. He exclaimed, "I haven't seen you in so long! Welcome!"

The hand made it onto his shoulder and Russia's face neared his. Britain took a moment to register what was happening, then he leapt a metre back before Russia's lips could touch his cheek. Russia froze, blatantly startled by his reaction. Britain rushed to sweep away the awkwardness by giving Russia's hand a solid shake instead before moving past him.

"Now where is the meeting room?" Britain finished, acting as though he had not noticed what Russia had tried to do. Belarus glared at his back and Russia turned, grimacing after him.

"It's upstairs," Russia murmured. "On the top floor, I mean…"

"What room?"

"There's only one room up there with the door open."

"I'll see you there."

Russia looked after him as he strode down the hall to the stairwell. He sighed. Belarus growled. Just as Britain disappeared behind the door, they heard someone else arriving outside. They perked up attentively and Russia slipped behind Belarus again.

Germany came onto the scene. Russia called out, "Willkommen, Deutschland!"

He froze from surprise. He gazed over Russia, then Belarus, then Russia again. Many things were baffling and shocking him, but the first thing that tumbled out of his mouth was, "Um… Where's your suit?"

Russia was indeed commonly dressed. On him were warm, cozy clothes: grey track pants and a black hoodie with his tricolour flag on each arm by the shoulders. When confronted however, he tossed his head to one side and smiled.

"Why do we need to be so formal?" he mused. "I think today's meeting is going to be small, so why can't we relax a bit, hmm?"

Germany quirked a brow as he slid off his coat. He examined the bread in Belarus's hands, then uttered, "What is this?"

"You really haven't seen it before?" Russia implored.

"Wait, is this that strange bread and salt thing?" Germany asked he hung his coat up.

"Da! Salt for long-lasting friendships!"

Germany ripped off a bit and dipped it in the salt. Before he ate it, he too asked, "And you didn't do anything to this?"

Russia's smile twitched. "No, it's just regular bread."

He finally ate it. Russia moved forward now as he had with Britain, but Germany was quick to the call. He slapped a hand over Russia's mouth and uttered, "None of that, thank you."

Germany snatched his hand, shook it firmly, then walked on.

"Where is-"

"Top floor, with the open door."

The front door flew open. Russia stepped back and fixated his eyes on Canada as he strode in followed by America. Russia's hairs raised automatically, from more than just the chill befalling him. He had not expected they would arrive so soon and he had not felt prepared for this.

"Oh, you're both here early," Russia commented.

"Hello," Canada said softly.

"Yo, Russian dude," America chirped. "What's up with the frozen Hell out there? We should've come over to my place…"

America saw the bread. Canada had already asked about it, but he had been drowned out by America's entering words. Now it was America's turn to ask loudly, "Whoa, what's that?"

Russia watched him take off his winter clothes. He saw the snow melting away as he answered him, "It's bread and salt. It is presented here sometimes, for the important occasions."

"Did you poison it?"

"No." Russian frowned. "I didn't."

America shrugged. "Well, I'm not risking it. No thanks, man."

Belarus glared. "He ate it too. With me. It is not poisoned."

Russia watched America's hands crawl into his pockets as he replied, "Still, naw. Salt on bread? Gross."

Canada started, "America…"

"It's his culture," Belarus muttered. "And you've come to us. Be respectful and eat it!"

America seemed more driven from Belarus's words. In the end, he took off a chunk of bread and dabbed it into the salt, trying to get the minimal amount. Canada took his piece and put it in deeply as a deterrent to causing offence. They both ate it at the same time, but as Britain had, America did not stop watching Russia's face.

Russia started to move forward slowly. America said immediately after a swallow though, "Oh, and we were here early because we followed after Germany. I was just at his house, discussing sanctions."

Russia stopped in his tracks. Canada's eyes widened and he watched on worriedly. A cold gaze fell upon America, which he did not appear unnerved by in the slightest, but then it broke when Russia smiled.

"We will be meeting on the top floor," he said. "The door will be open."

America padded forward past him. Canada hesitated, then began to move. Russia felt calmer now that America was departing and he regarded Canada placidly. Russia stepped up to him, touched his shoulder and leaned in.

"Zdravstvuyte, Canada."

He lightly kissed his cheeks, right-left-right, then withdrew. It had been a while since he had seen him and he did feel happy for it. Especially so when Canada did not look bothered after his greeting.

"I'm sorry," Canada sighed. "I hope he doesn't say anything else today. He shouldn't be like this when he's a guest."

"It's okay, we'll get along," Russia murmured. "Maybe he'll like the treats I made?"

"Probably," Canada agreed. "Sometimes I bribe him with food too, to get him to listen."

Canada walked after America then, leaving the two Slavic nations behind. Now came the time where guests were arriving in bunches. Japan and Italy came in at around the same time, both cautiously taking the bread. Japan bowed respectfully but with Italy, Russia managed to greet him the way he wanted to. The problem was that this guest seemed to become faint under his hand and dragged himself away shivering, moaning, "Germany…" faintly on his breath after being kissed by him.

Hungary and Austria arrived. Russia was surprised and pleased, and after they had taken bread with salt, he called out his welcome and hurried to them.

"I am so happy you came!" he exclaimed. Russia quickly pecked Hungary's cheeks then went to Austria. The other arrival gasped and stepped back, putting out his hands.

"No!" he yelped, a little too loudly at first before collecting himself. "Not that please. Anything but that..."

So Russia yanked Austria into a hug. He inhaled sharply and fidgeted, but Russia kept a tight enough hold as he hummed contently. When released, Austria stumbled back, huffing in indignation and blushing. He quickly went after Italy and Japan with Hungary strolling after him, more composed.

Cuba showed up and Russia could hardly contain his joy. Here was someone who had dragged himself to this meeting from over the ocean, despite the weather. Russia hopped over once Cuba had taken his piece of bread, becoming even more pleased because Cuba had not appeared suspicious of it like the others.

"Ah, hello, my friend!" Russia sang.

Cuba smiled back at him, another one of the few guests to do so. Russia was allowed to come near and he felt such contentedness to find that his habits were known well enough that his kisses were reciprocated out of politeness. He did not get to see him often, but Russia was thrilled that their relations had been increasingly more positive throughout the years. The merriment made him need to hug him, and doing so got him a chuckle and a good squeeze back.

While here, the door was heard opening. Russia spotted over Cuba's shoulder Poland coming in with the entourage of Baltics behind him.

"Chlebem i solą?" Poland blinked. "Why?"

Russia replied as they took their outerwear off, "So we will have a good meeting together!"

"You're not dressed in formal clothes," Lithuania observed. "Why is that, Mr. Russia?"

"I knew that not many would show up. I didn't think we could be having a serious meeting with so few anyway."

"Then what's the point?" Estonia asked. "If you knew it would fail, why did you insist it was worth it?"

Belarus thrust the bread out to them. They took their pieces but watched Russia cautiously.

"I wanted to see you all." Russia smiled. "I missed you."

"Well." Poland puffed out his chest and spoke with his mouth full. "We only came because we thought Germany would have flipped out on us otherwise! I would've preferred a meeting anywhere else but here."

Russia's lower eyelid twitched but he managed to hold his smile.

"Go upstairs," he said. "You'll find everyone else."

Russia did not move to greet them. He assumed that an uproar would have ensued if someone had seen him near distressed Baltics. Such a negative image would have been created, worse than the ones already including him.

The four passed him. Once in the stairwell, Cuba offered his condolences, patting his back and joking, "They're rough on you. Must have been exposed to too much American media!"

Russia nodded slowly. Belarus remarked more seriously, "Nowadays, no one listens to him. They'll lie about what he believes in to make him look evil. Makes America look better and keeps his place at the top."

"I feel that." Cuba shrugged. "It's hard not being a part of their inner circle."

"NATO countries…" Russia's murmur went low.

The door opened and France popped inside. Cuba, Belarus, and Russia turned their heads as this arrival stared at the bread and salt.

"Bonjour, tout le monde! What do you have there?"

Russia ran through the explanation for him, playing his now memorized loop. France took his bread piece but only seemed half as hesitant as most of the others had. Russia felt safe enough to approach him, someone who practiced a greeting so similar to his. To his relief, France accepted his kisses while returning his own without a protest.

Unfortunately, he too seemed in a hurry to go upstairs and join the others. Russia breathed his sigh out through his nose. So far six out of fifteen guests had at least treated him with some sort of respect. Well, he knew he could not truly count Italy, who had been nervous of him, and perhaps not Hungary, who seemed to have only done it to appease him and not because she was comfortable.

Four then. Minus France, who left him quickly. Was that only three then, of fifteen who had been kind to him? Or just two?

So Russia asked the two remaining with him, "Do you think Canada likes me, or is he really the same as America?"

Cuba said, "Canada is a lot different than him, trust me. I started to get to know him."

"No," Belarus disagreed. "I think he is influenced too much by his brother."

Russia's lips drew out into a line. He did not know what to think now. He pondered for a few moments until the door pulled away. The sight of this guest shocked him to the point his eyebrows rose and he went rigid. The breeze slipping inside lifted the scarf on and off his still frame until he grabbed the ends self-consciously. The guest had as well froze, and was still holding the door open.

Russia said nothing against the cold however. He only pressed the scarf to his sides as though to vainly hide it, for it had been after all, a gift from her.

"You came," he whispered.

Ukraine stepped inside finally and the door slammed shut behind her, blown by the increasing wind.

"I did," she said. "I thought the others would have been displeased if I hadn't. Germany… Britain…"

Russia uttered dryly, "And America."

"Yes." Her forehead wrinkled slightly as she concentrated on her words. "Him too."

"Your friends," Russia muttered, "are upstairs."

Cuba looked to the side. Belarus stepped between them and offered Ukraine the bread and salt. Both sides relaxed slightly, thankful for the interruption. Ukraine took her piece and stuck it into her mouth as she removed her coat. Russia wavered, then stepped forward as she turned and found a hanger.

"Ukraine…" he murmured. "Sister. I… think we need to talk."

She turned and gave him a hurt glance. "It's been impossible to talk to you. Everyone thinks so too."

"You have to listen to me. You-"

Ukraine's eyes flashed, a mix of emotions. He spotted anger, then confusion, then fear. Now he could see through her and find those true emotions about him hidden behind her seemingly focused face, in the depths of her conflicted mind.

"Stop it... I'm not even supposed to be talking with you. My boss told me to avoid you today..."

Russia's heart felt as though it had been clenched. He did not want to have to deal with this but there would be no choice.

"You hate me," he whispered. "I thought you forgave me from that time… But I'm different now. It's over."

She walked past him quickly.

"Just let go of me… I'm not yours to keep."

Russia's tongue tripped on itself. So many things he wanted to say, but should not be said in the presence of others. He did not want to look bad by accident so it was better to save this conversation for later. When they were alone and they could talk.

Ukraine hurried to the stairwell, following the others up to the meeting room. Belarus muttered now, "I wish you'd stop fighting. But you two couldn't even hold a ceasefire."

"She broke it!" Russia protested.

"She says you broke it."

"The East wants to be with me," Russia huffed. "They voted. But still, no one will let me have it."

Belarus was about to rebut this, but Cuba said, "Try to forget it for today. If you get too upset and bring this conversation to the meeting with so few supporters for yourself, it could turn bad."

"Where's China?" Russia grumbled. "He agrees with me. I know he does."

The beginning of the argument with Ukraine made him long to be supported. He had Cuba and Belarus here, the few in the world that sort of shared his views. China would add another one, and China was stronger than these two were as well. He could feel a lot more comfortable around the mass of NATO countries here with China at his side.

"Storms might have stopped his flight," Cuba offered.

"Japan came though," Russia exhaled.

He gasped when he heard tires in the snow. Long after Britain had arrived, this guest arrived late. Russia's heart pattered and when the door opened and when he saw who was there, he sprang. China yelped in surprise when he was caught into a bear hug but he calmed down once realizing that this was not an attack.

"We were talking about you," Russia told him merrily before donning kisses to his cheeks. "I was hoping you'd make it!"

He slung an arm around him and led him to the bread and salt. He hardly cared that his sweater had gotten a tad wet from the melting snow on China's coat. Russia knew that in the passing years China had become his strongest, closest military ally and so he reveled in the proximity he was permitted nowadays. He did not notice however that the close physical contact was rendering him uncomfortable.

China took a wad of salted bread while Russia drew him into a second hug. He didn't let go until China laughed lightly in his discomfort, "I do feel missed, but uh- can I take my coat off now?"

"Mmm, of course!"

He pulled back and smiled. China turned away and went to hang up his coat with the other ones as Russia swayed side-to-side slightly. He was thrilled to be in the company of people, of these three. He leaned into Cuba for a few seconds, who did not react to it, and Belarus turned the bread to the side so she could also shift closer to him.

Why was it, Russia wondered, that only these three supported him when everyone else upstairs did not? Were those here with him better, more understanding? Was there something that the others were lacking? Perhaps so. And perhaps it was America's fault.

He won them over after the Second World War. Back in those… days. Now they'll eat up anything he says about me.

China approached them as anger flared up in Russia. He looked concerned after having had noticed something in his face. China rubbed his arm and asked, "Is something bothering you?"

"Everyone's so serious up there," Russia explained, "and they don't want to be here. Some have even said it to me. They came for other people's sakes, not mine. And it's not what I wanted... I just… hoped that it would go better than this."

"The meeting hasn't started yet, it might not be that bad," China offered.

"I tried looking and acting friendly. I'm wearing this, to show this flag because they still seem to think it's red. I don't get it… I wanted to make friends this way but they rejected the chance I gave them."

"It's true," Cuba said for China's benefit. "I heard some people being rude to him upon arrival."

"I have another plan though," Russia sighed. "I didn't want to have to try it, so that's why I tried so hard in this..."

The three around him gazed at him, forming some sympathetic expressions. Russia concluded, "Ah, but I knew that this would happen. I prepared for it, because I knew there was no reason for the others to like or trust me out of nowhere. But I tried anyway... I don't really know why though."

"Don't worry about it so much," China consoled him. "I don't think you can change stubborn and just plain dumb people like America. But I'll take over soon, everyone's been talking about it! My economy's getting so great that he'll have no chance!"

The words were made to be what Russia wanted to hear and they truly did affect him. Russia now felt happy enough to purr. He had always despised how after the Cold War, he had been thrown down and shunned by the world. Russia hated always being demonized by Western media especially. The plan to end it and switch the roles, even if China would become the strongest instead of him, made him pleased. Russia took the time to picture America, now alone with his debt and mocked and harangued by the world for his past mistakes that they would suddenly remember.

"Then it will hit him," Russia chuckled, "that although he calls himself a hero, he has never been any better than me..."

Russia looked to the door. He listened, but the only thing heard outside was the wind now. Belarus saw what he was doing and commented, "I don't think anyone else is coming."

"We can go up in a few minutes," Russia murmured.

They waited, but no one else arrived. It was just the eighteen of them in the building. Was Russia ever glad that he had not set up any chairs, because there were so many that would have been empty.

"Can you help me?" Russia asked them. "I want to bring up food, but I also have to get the chairs out too."

"I'll get the food," Belarus stated.

"I can help with that too," China added.

Cuba said, "Then I can get the chairs with you."

Russia's smile radiated joy. Together they walked down the hall, although Cuba asked, "When are you going to lock the door?"

"I won't," he answered. "Just in case someone gets locked out and we are all upstairs. Also, no one will come in here to commit a crime! We are so far away and they would think this building is full of employees. The criminal wouldn't know about the closed hours at all."

The hall was quite long. Russia had time to dwell on his blissful feelings again and briefly on other things, before he asked, "But you guys are happy to be here, right? You wanted to see me too?"

Belarus's answer was a firm positive. Everyone else agreed after a moment as well. Russia closed his eyes for a few seconds and sighed, "Ah, thank you. It's so nice to have friends!"

"I wish I could see you more often," Belarus uttered. "So you aren't lonely."

Russia said, "Maybe we can arrange something later."

They entered the stairwell. Before they split off for a bit, Russia asked slowly, "And we'll always be friends from now on, right? No matter what, you'll stay with me?"

A chorus of seemingly friendly yeses and of courses came to him.

"Look, I know I might do bad things sometimes." Russia pushed his shoulders inwards. "Under stress, like I have in the past. Please promise that you won't hate me. That you'll help me through it.''

"Sure," Belarus stated. "I promise. Nothing will make me leave your side, no matter what you do."

China said, "We are allies now. I will protect you as long as you protect me."

"And you tried to help me in the past." Cuba claimed his turn to speak. "Even when it was a risk to you or was inconvenient. I'm not going to forget that."

"Oh, that makes me so happy!" Russia exclaimed. "Otlichno! Now let's get everything ready!"

A part of him wondered how true their promises would be, if they would really support him during the meeting that was to come. Based on the attitudes he had seen and the words given to him, he knew how absolutely displeased the others were to be here. Russia imagined that they were going to nitpick everything, being harsh with him whenever they could on the search for a reaction. He just knew that often countries would say things that were reassuring and they would act nice, but were only acting for their own benefits. Russia knew this, because he was guilty for that very thing.

Four together it had to be though, against fourteen. Otherwise, it was going to be a very long day.

Conflict in Ukraine (very simplified)

West Ukraine (majority) wanted little to do with Russia, opting for more independence. They tried to join the EU and when it didn't happen, West Ukrainians protested. East Ukraine is full of Russian speakers so they tried to join Russia when russophobia rose. West Ukraine refuses to let them leave and Russia thus helps the protesters in East Ukraine (with controversial methods).

Minsk Protocol

Ceasefire in 2014 signed by Ukraine and Russia after talks in the capital of Belarus. It did not hold and both sides blamed each other.