A/N: Well, here I am with my first serious fic. I've been working on this for a while now, and I think it'll be pretty good.
Disclaimer: I own nothing from Hetalia (Although I wish I did!)
Pain and sadness, the two feelings were almost too much to bear. The tall man looked out at the snowy landscape of his homeland Russia, it was beautiful yet sad at the same time; one heart beating as millions of others. Ivan Braginski, the personification of Motherland Russia turned amethyst eyes towards the horizon, lowering his head after a few moments. "I know nothing more than fighting, I am not fit for love; only war..." Turning, he moved up the stairs to his home; opening the door and stepping inside.
Once the door shut he shivered, sniffling quietly. A beating heart, yet he felt like there was nothing in his chest. I want to go back to that time, back to when I was truly happy and time when things were better, when I felt more than just violence...
He wiped his eyes with a gloved hand then slipped off his coat along with the gloves and sighed softly, blinking a few times. Ivan wanted to go back to that time, even if it were for a moment. Just a moment or two would be good enough for him. The man sighed quietly and let himself fall back onto the bed, eyes closing.
Even for a moment...I want that happiness...
Washing the blood from his most trusted pipe, the large Russian let out a sigh that seemed to ooze happiness. Setting the metal item down he shed the heavy coat that adorned broad shoulders. Ivan rubbed his arm for a moment before turning torwards one of his three ''wards'', smiling a little darkly. "Fetch me bottle of vodka and a few towels, Toris. I need to clean up more, and drink sounds good right now da." The trembling young man nodded and feld the room rather quickly.
Bloodstained gloves were quickly removed and set aside to be cleaned, the man examning his hands for a moment before moving to the fireplace; a large fire was already burning rather brightly. Ivan knelt against the mantle, staring into the flames. So powerful and deadly fire was, yet it brought warmth to those who needed it. Ivan glanced over as the young man returned, a tray bearing a large bottle of vodka and several towels.
" sir, I...I've brought what you needed. Is there anything else that you require?," Toris looked to the floor, avoiding eye contact with the Russian man. Truth be told, the male was scared of Ivan; he didn't want to be here but there wasn't really anywhere to go at the moment. When the violet eyed man shook his head, the smaller Nation nodded and set the tray down, bowing quickly and leaving before the other man could change his mind.
Ivan turned his attention to the towels and picked up one, it was wet. Well, at least the Lithuanian knew well enough to wet one towel... He picked up the other, noting it was dry before setting the cloth down and wiping his face down with the moist material; not seeming to take too much interest in the blood that was there.
The Russian set the now stained towel aside and picked up the clean one, drying off a bit. A soft sigh escaped the man's lips, none too excited. The latest fight...didn't really seem like a real one. It was more of a bluff...an attempt, that was rather a sad thing to think of...
"Well, just means they are weak, they will become one with Russia soon enough..." Becoming one with Russia, yes indeed; that is the man's goal. Being said, anyone foolish enough to stand in his way or be defiant would be crushed to little more than dust.
Da, become one with Ru-
"Papa!~"