A/N: This is absolutely shit but I wrote it at like 3AM when I was depressed and wanted to write some fluff to cheer me up. I wasn't going to post it because of its horrible spelling and grammar (and lack or originality) but then I just decided to anyway because it was clogging up my computer. It's disgustingly fluffy but I couldn't resist putting a little blood in there, too. Hope you enjoy...and I obviously don't own YOU or 'Hetalia' ^J^
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You felt a sinking feeling of dread as you trudged up the winding, snow-caked pathway that led to the looming, narrow house. It was quite a beautiful building, with clumps of glossy Ivy snaking its way up the crumbling brickwork and a gentle touch of frost decorating the windowpanes with its icy kiss. Also, you were being accompanied by that great goof Alfred, and so it wasn't like any harm was going to come to you. However, you could not help but feel as if a swarm of angry butterflies was flying around your insides, making your stomach lurch with protest as you struggled to contain your nervousness. You felt as if you were going to puke. If you remembered rightly, you had only nibbled on the edge of a dry piece of toast at breakfast this morning, and yet you still felt as if your stomach were a distressed ship that was being tossed cruelly by hectic, salty waves. What a fucking great life I have, you thought to yourself, the sensible part of your mind telling you to stop being so negative and ungrateful whilst the more selfish half of your mind tried to drag you down into a miserable but familiar haze of self-loathing and self-pity. You knew that it was silly to be scared...deep down you were aware that nothing could hurt you. You were only going to Ivan's house. The huge, grinning Russian that occupied a place a few seats away from you every meeting. The giant with violet eyes and an unhealthy obsession for vodka and sunflowers. He had never actually spoken to you before but his manner had always seemed friendly enough...still, you were not stupid, deaf and oblivious. You had heard the rumours before. Hushed whispers about scarred backs and broken spirits... things that were apparently caused by the intimidating Russian and his trusty pipe. You had heard talk of people being forced to 'become one with mother Russia' and you had watched Ivan quietly mutter "kol kol kol", under his breath every time somebody angered or irritated him. You knew that, despite his sunny grin and childlike behaviour, Ivan was someone to be wary of.
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You switched on the ornate lamp and let its amber sheen illuminate the room and tinge everything with its orange glow. Reluctantly dragging yourself towards the four-poster bed, you hesitantly slipped beneath the silk bed sheets and rested your head on one of the fluffed pillows so that you were slouched on the mattress in a half-sitting, half-laying position. It was an uncomfortable predicament but you knew that it had to be that way because otherwise you risked falling asleep. You knew from experience that sleep meant nightmares and nightmares meant waking people up. You would have rather stuck pins into your eyeballs than evoke the anger of the huge Russian that slept just a few doors down from you. Letting out another loud, unladylike yawn, you vaguely wished that you had a pot of fresh, steaming coffee beside you to help you stay awake. Minutes passed and you could feel the exhaustion begin to gradually creep up on you. Fighting it for as long as you could, you eventually decided that you would just rest your eyes ~ but definitely NOT fall asleep. As your eyes became heavy with sleep and your eyelids began to droop, you hoped and wished that the nightmares would piss off for just one night.
Blood dripped from the smooth, whitewashed walls of your parent's outdoor terrace and you backed away in horror as your eyes met the sight of their mutilated, rotting corpses. The bloody dagger clasped within your right fist told you that you had done this, yet the bloody walls and broken bones suggested that your parents had fell.
"We didn't fall", your father's motionless body snarled, hate and malice coating each and every word, "we jumped. Because of you".
"We hate you", the corpse of your mother piped up, "and you being born completely ruined our lives. We hate you, _!"
You heard yourself scream and then you ran, and you ran and you ran. You ran until you could run no more and then you came across a mirror. However, the reflection that stared back at you did not belong to you, it belonged to a beast. A terrifying, dangerous monster. You let out another scream and then, just as you were about to raise your blood-caked dagger to your throat and end it all, you heard somebody shout your name.
"_! It's ok...wake up, it was just a bad dream". A familiar voice dragged you out of your nightmare and your warped, twisted dreams faded into reality as your eyelashes fluttered open. Startled, you let out a pathetic squeak when you realized that there was a huge, childlike Russian looming over you. Ivan just beamed in return and gently wiped the pad of his thumb across your cheek, which made you, with much embarrassment; realize that you had been crying. You still felt like crying but you held back your tears at the risk of being butchered by a Russian's sharp pick-axe. You felt certain that Ivan was already extremely pissed off with you anyway for interrupting his beauty sleep, and probably had a painful and torturous scheme of revenge in store. You let out a little whimper as gruesome thoughts whirled around your mind and taunted you.
"I'm really, really sorry, Mr Ivan", you stammered, your entire body shaking with fear, "please don't be too angry at me for waking you up". An expression of surprise clouded the Russian man's features and then he smiled at you reassuringly before sinking down onto the bed beside you. Before you had time to even think, he had scooped you up in his arms and placed you on his lap as if you were the lightest thing in the world.
"Hush, little one, I will not hurt you, nobody will hurt you. You are just a baby, you cannot help having nightmares", he whispered, wrapping his arms around you gently, "you have a good cry, _, my little sunflower. Mother Russia is here to take care of you now, da?" he cooed, kissing the top of your head. You really wanted to protest. You were, after all, _ years old, and of course it was a low blow for any _ year old's pride to have a gigantic Russian coo at them and refer to them as an infant. However, because you were exhausted and scared shitless of Ivan, you allowed yourself to be rocked back and forth as if you were a distressed toddler and even felt a few tears fall from your eyes and dampen your face as you wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders and buried your face in the soft, warm crook of his neck.
Ivan kept one arm snaked across your back whilst he used the other arm to support your bottom and then you realized that he was standing up and carrying you. Just how strong was this guy? Still, you could not deny that a haze of warmth and pleasantness was engulfing you as he paced up and down the room and jogged you up and down in his arms, and you wondered whether this was what it felt like to receive motherly love. Yes, you knew that Ivan was a dude (obviously), but he was treating you like a mom would soothe her wary child and it did not help that he referred to himself as 'mother Russia' a lot, either. You had never really received affection from either of your parents (which was why you suspected that you had such horrific nightmares about them), and when they did interact with you it was either to beat you or scold you. You could not deny that it was a rather pleasant experience to feel as if you were loved, if only for a few hours.
"There, there, little _, you are much calmer now. I told you I would take care of you, da?", Ivan whispered, sounding rather shocked that he had actually been able to calm another person down, "do you want me to tuck you in and read you a story...or would you like to come and sleep in mother Russia's bed?"
"I want to sleep with you in your bed...but I want a story too, please, mother Russia", you replied without a hint of hesitation, surprising the both of you. Ivan let out a chuckle and grabbed a book and, as the Russian carried you out onto the landing and into his lavish bedroom, you realized that the vodka-obsessed giant was not that frightening after all.
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