Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or the song listed in the story. However, I do own the two charcters, the man with the coach and the Man in Black.

Belarus's P.O.V.

"Sister, don't leave me!" a voice cried out.

Today is August 25, 1991, also known as the worst day of my life. The Soviet Union has collapsed, and my boss is forcing me to leave my big brother. Big Sister already left yesterday; I am one of the last ones in this mansion. I'm now packing my things away in cardboard boxes. Cardboard boxes are useful and cheap, and they make me happy for some reason. I only own one suitcase, and that will serve as my carry-on on the flight to his house.

"Please don't leave like the others!" Big Brother was screaming from the other side of my door. I was trying my best to ignore him.

I have to pack all of my things in 15 boxes. Ten of them have priceless items in them, and they are going to my house. My boss's friends would be around later to take them back. The other five boxes have clothes and close valuables in them and are going to his house.

Pound! Pound! "Belarus, please stay with me!" Big Brother pleaded.

I threw a book in my suitcase in frustration. "Go away!" I yelled. The pounding on the door ceased. I heard footsteps slowly slip away. I sighed and buckled my suitcase close. I clutched the handle and walked to the door. My head turned back at the lonely, empty room. I clenched the handle tighter and descended down the steps.

I dragged my feet to the kitchen where a man in black was waiting for me. He had dark hair and dark sunglasses on, even though there was overcast outside. He held out his hand towards me. "Do you want to hand me that, ma'am?" he asked.

"Nyet, I'm fine," I spat.

His face tightened up. Then he clenched his fist and pulled it away. "Alright then," he said.

"Just go get the first five boxes closest by the door for me. They are in my room, up the stairs to the right," I said to him.

"Okay, I'll be right back," he replied. Then he went up the stairs.

I glanced around the house. The walls were cracked and losing paint. You could visibly see green mold growing on the corners of the walls. The wood of the walls had see-through holes from termites. This place has been falling apart for a long time.

The Man in Black came back down with the two boxes in his arms. As he passed by me, "I will be back for the other three boxes. Can you open the door for me?" I nodded and followed him to the front door. I opened the door as he walked by me. I watched him from the doorway as he placed the boxes in the trunk of his black car. He came back to the door and said, "I will go retrieve the other boxes. You can wait in the car if you want, ma'am."

I shook my head. "I need to say something to my brother first," I said.

He gave me a sympathetic look. "Good luck and be careful. Mr. America won't be happy with me if something happened to you."

I rolled my eyes. "I can handle myself, thank you very much."

"Suit yourself," he said, and then he went up the stairs again.

I entered the living room where I knew Big Brother would be. He was sitting on an old, red chair by the fireplace. That chair has been with him since the days of the Czar. Big Brother would sit in that chair to think or when he was upset. It is the probably the latter today. His arms rested on the arms of the chair; his dark, violet eyes were locked on me. I stared back at him. "Let me ask you something," I spoke out.

It took him a moment before answering. "What?" he finally asked.

"Did you ever truly love me?"

He sharply turned his head away from me. "Nyet," he replied.

I gasped a little. I looked away from him for a minute and bit my bottom lip. My head turned forward as I said, "That's what I thought. I just never believed it until now. Goodbye, Russia." His head rotated back to me, surprised by the choice of name.

I stomped away from the living room to the doorway. The Man in Black was waiting for me there. He must have already put the other boxes in the trunk. "That was very brave of you ma'am," he said smiling.

I frowned and didn't reply. When we got to the car, he opened the backseat door for me, and I stepped in without question. He went to the front seat and drove away from the mansion. I stared forward as we drove off.

It was funny; America hated my family a few years ago, and now he was offering me a place to stay until I got back on my feet. I wouldn't have said yes if it wasn't for my boss. I simply don't trust him. What was his angle? Does he truly want to help me, or just find out some dirt on Russia? Whatever it is, I don't care anymore.

We were driving through the countryside to the Moscow airport. "Why didn't America come here himself?" I asked.

"His boss wouldn't allow him. Mr. America said he would have picked you up himself if it wasn't for him," the Man in Black replied.

I nodded because I know how bosses can be; making you do things that you don't want to do. I mean I have to go to a place full of ideas and lifestyles that I'm not used to; not to mention, I have to deal with Mr. America himself, Alfred F. Jones. Just thinking of his smug smile, loud laugh, and bold attitude makes my stomach churn. He has hated us Soviets since the end of World War II. Except for the past couple years; I have only seen America with the look of hate towards Russia. Every time I saw him, I wanted to slash his throat. Oddly though, his eyes would soften a bit when he saw me. I would just pull a knife out and show it as a warning sign. He would look away, but I do wonder though…I wonder.

*One car ride and plane ride later*

The Newark International Airport was bustling with people. It's like being at a world conference with all the languages being spoken. A man with an airline coach for luggage was following me with the few boxes I had, and I was carrying my sole suitcase. The Man in Black was close behind talking into his earpiece. He's contacting America, and I hope he finds him fast because all of the voices are giving me a headache, especially with the flight taking a long night to complete.

Then a loud, booming voice came through the noise of the crowd. "Natalia! Natalia Arloskaya! Someone shouted. I glanced behind me to see who was yelling my name to the whole world. Not to my surprise, it was America. He was wearing a brown suit that I have seen him in during world conferences; it always made him look surprisingly nice. Wait…I did not just say that. America was also holding a sign with my name written on it.

I rolled my eyes and walked towards him. "Hello, Alfred," I greeted.

His eyes were shining with excitement. Why was he so damn happy? "I'm so glad you are finally here! We are going to do tons of awesomely-awesome things together!" he shouted. He grabbed my suitcase out of my hand. "Let's go!" He began marching away with the coach guy and the man in black following him like ducks in a pond. I was still standing with shock from what just happened. America ceased his steps and turned back to me. "Natalia, you coming?" he asked. I reluctantly nodded and ran to catch up to them.

"You're gonna to love my place, Belarus!" America exclaimed. "We can go see movies, go to the beach, get ice cream…"

"You are supposed to teach me how to be a country again!" I interrupted.

He paused for a moment before quietly adding, "Oh yeah, that too."

The car was silent from that point on; his car was the latest edition of the Toyota Corolla XL. I only know that because America was bragging about his car when we first left the airport. I only got him to shut up about it by threatening him that I would put scratches on his car with my knife. He gave me a horrified look and became as quiet as a mouse…for ten minutes. Honestly, I didn't know he could stay silent for this long.

We were driving to his house outside of his capital. The Man in Black went back to America's boss's house, so I was alone with America. I had to have the windows down because it was so hot outside; I'm not use to this muggy hell-on-earth dry heat. America then continued to ramble on what we would do together. I knew it wouldn't be long before he would start talking again. It's so annoying being with such as cheery, upbeat person.

"Hey, it's going to be okay," he said suddenly. I looked at him with a surprised expression. "You must be thinking on how weird I'm being." Is this guy a mind reader or something? "I'm just trying to keep the mood light. You've been through too much, Belarus." He looked straight forward. "I promise to help you and keep you safe." I could feel my cheeks warming up, so I quickly turned away. I couldn't see him, but I know he was smiling to himself. Then he filled the car with his obnoxious laugh. "Hahaha! Enough depressed talk! Want some music on?" he asked.

"I don't care," I mumbled.

He flipped on the radio, and "I Want to Hold Your Hand" by the Beatles came on. "Oh dude, I love this song!" he exclaimed. "Can I keep it on?"

"Sure," I replied.

America started to sing along:

Oh please, say to me

You'll let me be your man

And please, say to me

You'll let me hold your hand

I'll let me hold your h-h-hand

I wanna hold your hand

I watched him in amusement as he sang along. His voice had a rich tone to it; I say he would be a great baritone or maybe even a tenor. America's singing voice didn't sound squeaky or annoying like it did when he talked. All-in-all, he could sing, but I would never tell him that. I would also never tell him that I liked the song too.

ABABABABABABABABABABABABABABABABABABABABABABABABAB ABABABABABABABABABABABABABABABABABABABABABABABABAB ABABABABABABABABABABABABA

America pulled up his dusty driveway. His house was a huge plantation mansion. The red bricks were faded from time and the shudders were as pale as ghosts. He parked the car in front of his green door. After opening his car door, he stepped out and ran over to my side to open my door. He must be trying to impress me, but it didn't work because I walked right passed him without a single glance. The sun was high and the skies were clear. I made my way to the back seat to retrieve my suitcase. When I got my bag, I shut the door and looked up to see America holding three boxes; two were supported by his arm and shoulder and the other was in his free arm. He was making his way to the front door when I said, "America, you better be careful with those!"

He peered around his shoulder and replied, "Don't you worry, babe! I've been getting stronger lately."

Babe? That's it, his throat is getting slit. America advanced into his house, and I followed right behind him with my knife pointing at his direction. I was about to stab him in the back, but then I got distracted by his house. The walls were a light beige color, and the hallway floors were wooded but covered with a plain, light blue rug. Through the hallway was an opening to a room. America went right to the first opening; in it, was another hallway by some stairs. I didn't follow him because I was too busy looking around. Faintly, I heard a voice calling me from the room he was in. "Belarus, come on! I'll give you the grand tour later," America said. I fast paced to the stairs where I saw him on the second floor, leaning on the railing. I jogged up the stairs to meet him.

The upstairs hall was much like the first floor only with a few different paintings and decorative pieces. As we were walking, America started talking. "Most of these rooms are guest rooms or places for storage," he explained. "I used to tons of guests in here; that's why I have at least seven guest rooms." He chuckled. "No one really comes here anymore. It's nice to have someone here again." His voice seemed sad when he said that.

Why is he telling me this!? Can't he tell how much I don't want to be here? He is talking about being lonely…god, he has no idea what I've been through! I frown at the thought. America peered back at me; he smiled apologetically. "Sorry, didn't mean to upset you."

Before I could reply, he stopped in front of a white door. He opened it and flipped the lights on. It was a simple, light blue bedroom. There was a white closest and dresser; towards the back wall, there was a bed with lavender sheets facing us. A white nightstand was close to the bed as well. He placed the boxes near the end of the bed. "Well, I hope you like it. I went out to get new sheets yesterday," he said. He looked at me for approval.

"Da, it is…nice," I said.

He grinned and clapped his hands together. "I'll go get the other boxes. Be right back." He left with that.

I placed my suitcase on the edge of the bed. I sat on the bed and crossed my arms; my hands rubbed my upper arms. My eyes surveyed the room. This is only temporary, I told myself. I will only be here two months tops, and then I will be back in my cold, lonely home. That's the way it should be, I guess.

America came back up with remaining two boxes within five minutes. "Where do you want these?" he asked.

"Just leave them by the others," I mumbled.

"Alright," he replied. He sat them down by the end of my bed and went by the door. "Well, I'll let you get settled in. There is a guest bathroom is across the hall, and you can put anything you want in there. Do you need anything?" I shook my head no. He can't let me go back home. "O-okay, I'll be downstairs. Come down or shout if you change your mind." He left the room and went to the first floor, leaving me to my lonesome again. That is how it should be.

America's P.O.V.

Man, she is a piece of work. I can't really blame her though. She just declared independence from Russia, what, a day ago? I remember those days, long ago. I was so full of different emotions I didn't know how to deal with. I would've been destroyed if it wasn't for France and Prussia. I would've just acted with my hatred and betrayal and not use my head to make smart decisions if it weren't for them. That is why if she needs me, I'll be there for her. No one should go through this alone.

Then I heard the phone ring. I ran to the hallway phone to pick it up. "Hello?" I said.

"Hello, America," replied a disapproving, British man.

Oh boy, what does he want? "Hey Iggy!" I exclaimed. "What's up?"

"I just wanted to see if you were still alive," he sarcastically said. I could hear him snickering in the phone.

I rolled my eyes. "Ha, ha, ha, very funny. I…we…are doing just fine, thank you very much. She has only tried to kill me once." I laughed, but England didn't find it very funny. He was silent on the other line. "Look England," I said in a serious tone, "she was very quiet and distant today. She even didn't want to stop at a fast food joint to eat, and that is preposterous!"

England sighed. "I'm just saying that maybe you should let her go home. I'm sure it's obvious that she doesn't want to be there."

"England, she needs help! I know what she's going through, so I can help!"

"America, you don't always have to be the hero!" He was really getting angry with me.

"I have to be for her! If I don't help her, who else will?" I realized I was shouting, so I softened my voice. "She wants to go home…but there's nobody home. She has to realize that."

England was silent for a moment. Then he imputed, "Russia is still there."

I clenched my fist. "No way in hell I'm letting her go back to him. It's never going to work."

England sighed once again. "Alright. I can tell you are serious about this. Just be careful, okay?"

I relaxed and replied, "Okay, see ya Iggy."

"Oh would you quit calling me that, you git!" He sighed again. "Goodbye." Then he hung up immediately.

I hung up the phone on the receiver. As soon as I heard the click, I heard rustling upstairs. Great, how much did she hear? "Belarus! I hear you, come down please," I said.

A few minutes passed before she met me by the phone. "What do you want?" she asked coldly.

"Come with me," I said. She followed me to the kitchen. I went to the liquor cabinet. "What do you drink?"

"The hardest stuff you have," she replied. At first I went to the vodka, but I decided against it because it would remind her of Russia. I went to the whiskey instead. I poured two glasses, and I handed her one. She snatched it from my hand and chugged it. She held her glass out for more. Her eyes were still as cold as ice, but I could see a hidden sadness starting to break through her cold outlook.

"I'll give it to you, but this drinking-your-pain-away thing is only going to last a few days. Then we are going to move on, okay?"

She nodded as I gave her a refill. She drank more slowly this time as I told her, "I know you really don't want to be here. You did hear me on the phone just now, didn't you?" She jolted in shock and peered up for a moment; then she went back to her drink. "That's what I thought. I'm gonna to help you, not matter what it takes, so if that means drinking for a few days, then so be it. Then we are going to drop our sorrows, right?"

Belarus took her last sips. Tears were beginning to form in her eyes. "Yeah sure," she replied. Then she snatched the bottle from my hand and ran to her room.

I sighed and thought, this is going to be a long process.

Belarus's P.O.V.

I ran to my room with the whiskey bottle in hand. My body was leaning against the closed door. I slid down to the floor. I could feel the tears coming down from my eyes. That stupid American! Can't he let me drown in alcohol and tears? Why does he care? What does he have in store for me?

A/N: Sorry for the pathetic use of a break line in the middle of the story! Anyway, what do you think so far? I would love to hear from you! There will be more references to music later in the chapters, particularly to rock music. I got this idea for a story while reading in the Hetalia Archives that Belarus likes to sing and likes rock music. Who else likes rock music? America! I also really love this couple, so I thought it was time for my Amebel story. I would like to thank my good friend, Shannon, for editing my story! Please review and please no flames!