Hello everyone~ This is my first Hetalia fic, so I hope you enjoy it :) By the way, I imagine the Soviet house to look sorta like how I described it, and I don't read that much of the manga so I have no idea if it looks like this or not. Oh well.

and yes, I know Latvia is a heavy drinker. I just imagined him having milk before he goes to sleep, or...something. I don't know. Anyway, here's the first chapter of Unstable!

Something splashed onto my leg; I gave a yelp of surprise and jumped, as if that would shake off the scalding sensation that burned my skin. I stared down at the dark stain on my trousers, shaking uncontrollably, so much that the mug of warm milk I was carrying slipped from my fingers and crashed onto the stairs. I let out a cry of terror and stumbled back, falling into the step behind me and then trying to regain control over myself, trembling and crawling forwards, trying to collect the broken pieces of china that were scattered like feathers all over the stairs. I hoped Russia was already asleep; who knows what would happen if he found out what I had just done?

I picked up what I could and made my way downstairs, staring at the pieces of china in my hands as I walked. My feet seemed to move of their own accord, taking me to the bin and dumping the contents of my palms into the can, closing it again afterward. Next they led me to the sink for the sponge; I had just soaked it and was about to go upstairs to clean up the spill when a chilly, unhappy voice floated down from the stairs. "Latvia!"

I jumped and dropped the sponge, which landed with a splat on the floor, sending droplets of water splashing onto the floorboards. I stood there, trembling, my mouth half open, unable to make any sound, until the voice called again, sounding angrier. "Latvia!"

I forced my jaw to move. "Y-yes, Russia-san?" It came out as a pathetic croak.

"I'm sorry, I couldn't hear you. Would you like to come up here so I can hear you better?"

My head and heart screamed at me to stay still, maybe hide, just stay away from him, don't go to him, don't respond, but my instinct got the better of me. Again my feet took control, despite my mind's protests, and took me up the stairs until I was standing at the bottom. I began to shiver more violently, partly from the cold as his shadow engulfed me and darkened the hall. I tried to speak again. "R-Russia-san?"

"Your voice is too quiet. Come a little closer." His voice was soft, but held a terrifying ring of warning to it which almost made me turn around and run for my life, as it had almost done so many times before. However, I defied my baser instincts and placed one foot on the stair above, then another and another until I was right in front of him, and quaking uncontrollably. "I-I'm h-here..."

A heavy hand rested on my shoulder, making me flinch slightly, trying and failing not to betray how terrified I was. The hand pressed down slightly, and it took all of my strength not to collapse considering how much my legs were shaking already.

He spoke. "See the stain on the floor?"

I squeezed my eyes tight shut and then opened them again. I nodded quickly.

"Da?"

"Y-yes!" I squeaked, almost taking a step back. "I-I'm s-s-sorry, Russia-san, I-I was coming up the stairs a-and..."

"And?" he prompted.

I glanced up and almost fainted from the way he was staring at me. His violet eyes burned intently into mine, holding a question, a warning, and also an answer all in one, collecting all three together and throwing them into my mind, paralyzing me and making me unable to say anything, just stand there fixated and trembling, helpless before the giant. When I was silent for too long, he pressed down slightly harder on my shoulder, almost making my knees buckle.

I looked away. "I spilt something," I whispered. "I b-broke a mug."

The hand suddenly changed its actions and pushed forward into the right side of my chest. I stumbled backwards, lost my balance and fell down the stairs. The hall and walls whirled around me as I tumbled to the bottom and my head smashed onto the corner of a small table. Pain lanced through me as my scalp struck the wood; my head throbbed as I landed on the floor with a dull thump. I raised my hand to my head and felt the injury, whimpering as a sticky liquid trickled out and onto my skin, coating my hand in dark red substance as I pulled it away. Before I could do anything, however, Russia was standing over me once again, his huge shadow no less intimidating.

Before I could react, he grabbed my collar and forced my head upwards so I had no choice but to look into those deadly violet orbs of his. They burned with a terrifying fire, but when he spoke, his voice was still quiet and soft, as if talking to a baby.

"You listening, da?" he whispered, his vodka-coated breath wreathing around me and making me feel sick. "I have told you countless times; if you do something naughty, you get punished. Am I right, da?"

I forced myself to nod, my heart thumping against my ribs.

"That's good. So you must understand how we punish people in this house?"

I nodded truthfully. There was no escaping it now. I was going to be tortured, kicked and pushed around until he got bored and left me a shivering, bruised mess on the floor until I could find the strength to make it up to my room. I closed my eyes, waiting for the first blow of many to fall.

He kicked me in the ribs with one of his boots, making me slump to the ground, too weak to do anything. I opened my eyes a crack, just enough to see another boot, aiming straight for my face; I lifted my arm in a weak defence against the hard sole, but it struck me on the left side of my forehead and much too close to my eye, leaving a red mark which would almost definitely turn into a nasty bruise. Another blow fell, this time on my shoulder, causing a small cry to escape my lips as I lay on the floor, trying to shield the rest of my face from his attacks.

He would never hurt me enough to kill me, but he would still beat me as I lay on the floor like a ragdoll waiting to be kicked around. I closed my eyes as he grabbed the back of my shirt and threw me against the nearest wall, an impact which was sure to leave a few bruises on my spine.

Tired of this...

Every time I did something wrong such as spill something, knock something off the table or damage anything of his, there would just be a replay of this same cruelty. It was like a stuck video tape; just the same things over and over again with no change. I never even lifted a finger to stop him as he kicked me again and again on those occasions. It was unjust. It was cruel. Everything about this was just wrong.

This was wrong.

He was wrong.

I felt something begin to bubble up inside me. It rose to the top, spilled over in my mind, and then something snapped.

As his arm came down for yet another blow, my arm moved almost on its own. I lifted my hand and grabbed his wrist, stopping the endless rain of hits.

He could've easily wrenched his hand out of my grasp and carried on beating me, but something stopped him. I was surprised at myself too; I had never retaliated in any sort of way during these sessions. My arm moved again, and he made no move to stop me as I lowered his arm down by his side. I looked up at him, and his eyes were tinged with wariness, the rage in them diluted. I could hear uncertainty in his voice as he said my name. "Latvia?"

I felt no fear. The loneliness, the hurt, the inner and outer pain; they had all merged together to form this rage. All I felt was anger, a silent fury seething inside me, like a trapped bird, struggling to make itself known, waiting to be released.

I stood up. The pain had cleared considerably, being replaced by this new feeling I was experiencing. I could almost smell his surprise and uncertainty as I took a step forward.

"Latvia, stop this," he said, almost all traces of rage gone. He sounded almost worried. Why? He could beat me to the point of death if he wanted, so why was he stalling?

Why was I behaving like this?

But why should I not?

"This is long overdue," I whispered. My voice was still shaky from the beating and years of living under Russia's shadow, but I wasn't stammering, and for once in my life, my body stayed still. I was like a different person.

My hand reached forward to the table behind him. I took a vase which was packed with sunflowers, yanked them out and tore them up, throwing the scattered remains at his feet. Normally, this act would cause a beating that would push you to the brink of your will to stay alive, but he stayed silent, his mouth half open, too stunned for words.

I then grasped the vase firmly in my hand, raised it above my head, and brought it down. Russia seemed to snap out of his daze and retaliate, trying to put his hand in the way of the pot and pull it out of my hand, but he was too late. I smashed the vase into his skull, listening to the crash as it shattered over his head in tiny pieces of china, some of which embedded themselves into his skin. He let out a noise that sounded like a quiet, strangled, whispering cry, lifting his hand to his head and clutching the spot where he had been hit. I stood there for a couple of seconds before reaching forward and clenching my hand around his scarf, tugging at it and trying to find the end. His eyes widened as he realised what I was trying to do. "N-no..." he choked out.

"You've worn this for far too long, don't you think?" I said, grasping the end of his scarf and bringing it up, beginning to unravel it. "I'm sure it's starting to get dirty."

His hands reached out and grasped the remaining fabric around his neck. "I won't let you." I couldn't tell if he was growling or whispering.

I raised one eyebrow. "I have an even better idea." He stared at me, his purple eyes filling with deep alarm. I gave a sharp jerk and his hands came away like greenflies. As if my hands had a mind of their own, I unravelled it from his neck, pulling it away and leaving the skin exposed. It was paler than the rest of his face, which wasn't surprising considering how he always wore it and never took it off, concealing his neck from the sun. I lifted the scarf up, my fists clenching around it as if it was the fabric's fault that all of this was happening, that I had snapped, that Russia had been abusing me all this time. The reason for all the bruises on my skin.

I clenched it into a ball and threw it across the hallway. It went surprisingly far for a scarf before opening up and catching the air, falling to the ground in a heap on the stairs. I turned back to the man before me and was almost surprised to see how vulnerable he looked. It was strange to see the person who had been beating me just minutes ago looking so small and shaky, almost like a little boy. Like me.

I made a different move and grasped his collar, bringing my arm towards me and channelling my anger into my arms to give myself strength. Russia weighed a ton, and my fist shook a bit as I lifted him off the ground. I then shoved him forward with all my strength, his head crashing into the table with a large crash and the sound of things on the top wobbling. My gaze strayed away from my victim as I looked to see what disturbance I had caused. The table had jerked back and hit the wall, and there was a vase spinning on the edge from the impact. I watched as it fell off the table and shattered on the floor next to Russia, who jerked his hand out of the way to avoid it getting cut by the shards. Reaching down, I grasped the biggest one tightly in my fist and made ready to strike, not caring that the corners of the piece were digging into my palm. I raised it up for extra impact, ready to bring it down. My gaze fixed on his face as I aimed, and my arm stopped as I prepared to bring it towards him.

I never did. At that moment, a light came on upstairs and distracted me. My head jerked up in surprise and I saw a shadow at the top. Squinting, I managed to make out the form of Lithuania, and as my eyes grew accustomed to the light I began to make sense of his face. He looked sleepy. "Latvia, what..."

He then took in the scene before him and his eyes grew wide. His hand flew to his mouth, and he turned and darted away. "Estonia!"

I turned back to Russia, trying to finish the job before the third Baltic came, but it was too late. In seconds, there was a second shape at the top. The Estonian's face grew as horrified as the Lithuanian's upon seeing what I was about to do. My hand was still poised to strike, with Russia half-conscious before me. One word escaped his mouth. "Latviaaaaa!"

I blinked sharply and stumbled back, my eyelids still opening and closing. I stared around me, all rage gone. My mind was clear as I looked around, taking in everything; the blood on the walls, Russia's terrified form, the two at the top of the stairs, the blood on my hands. My fingers opened and the piece of china fell to the ground. The sound of it hitting the floor sounded incredibly loud in the silence of the house.

I began to shake. I was confused. My hands trembled as I brought them to the sides of my face, pressing my bloodstained fingers to my temples. Uncertain, scared tears emerged from my eyelids. Was this really me? Had I finally lost it? Was I going crazy? What had happened to me?

A sob escaped my chest as I collapsed on my knees, trembling like crazy. My mouth was open, choking noises coming from my throat as I tried to speak through me fear. Finally, I managed to utter some quiet words, probably inaudible from the top of the stairs.

"Oh God, what have I done?"