The other nations told him once that he was insane. He never doubted it. In fact, he was grateful when they made him move to the city; made his sisters move in with him. They took him away from the blinding white snow, the blinding snow that stole his soul from him. They took him away from Siberia, his insanity haven. All he could see there was the blood; the red blood on the pure snow.
Of course, in his pride, he could never show this. He fought against them for everything they did to try to help him. But they will never know they gave him the gift he could never give himself.
Ivan Bradinski knows what it means to be broken.
Now, many years later, trying to escape his sister Natalya, he leaves the house to go on a walk. Professions of love and chasing him around the house have become her favorite pastimes. Maybe she needs an intervention as well. Ivan couldn't help but chuckle at the thought, the cold air providing a visual aid to his puffing breaths. The absence of snow on the ground in the city gives him peace that usually leaves around this time of year. Even if the snow never shows, there is always the fear; always the worry.
He walks in the slums of St. Petersburg, Russia. Fear never reaches his face, it never worms its way through his body though; there's no reason to have it. As a nation, nothing a human could do would cause any effect. Going by probably one of the worst alley way in the city, his thoughts are interrupted as suddenly a door is opened and yellow light washed the whole alleyway in an eerie light. Out tumbles a girl; beaten, bloody, and bruised.
"You worthless daughter, you can't even speak! Go out to the real world; see how long you'll survive then!" The drunken slurs cause the Russian to stop in this tracks and wait until the alleyway becomes dark again. When the door closes, he goes to her side. She slides over to the corner; using her hands to ward off blows that she thinks are due to come, her legs tightly pressed together.
"Hey, hey, my name is Ivan. Are you ok?" She lowers her hands slightly and looks into his violet eyes. Entranced, she nods. He raises his eyebrows in response. "You don't look ok." She looks down, revealing her flaming red cheeks from blows. Her blond hair quickly covers them though, dirty and matted. But before that happens, Ivan catches her different colored eyes: sea-gray and sea-green. This girl needs help. Instead of hospitals or the police, all he can think of are the tender hands of Katyusha when he thought he could never come back to reality again. Home is the best place for her. "Here, come with me, unless you want to go back to your house." She shakes her head emphatically. He offers his hand, and helps her up. Then they go to his house.
It's a modest establishment; not big or small. But it's been his sanctum whenever the weight of insanity becomes too much. Her eyes are wide as she takes in the place; never having been in such luxury. The front door was just opened, and she's already in awe.
"Ivan, where have you been, we've been so worried-oh. Who's this?" Ivan looks into the eyes of the girl who raised him, the one who's been the closest thing to a mother she has had.
"Seystra, I need your help." Shaking her head the Ukrainian woman sighs.
"No duh." She offers her hand to the girl. "What's your name?" The girl didn't reply.
"I think she's mute." Addressing the girl he turns to her just to make sure, "are you deaf?" Understanding dawns in Katy's eyes, and she quickly grabs a pen and paper from the hallway table drawer. The girl takes them and in shaky handwriting, writes a couple words.
Marta I can hear you dummy.
"Marta" The two siblings breathe at the same time; Katy beaming while Ivan wore his quiet smile. While once other nations once called it creepy, years have changed it into a smile of peace. Of course, the others still aren't used to it, but everything takes time. Then there smiles turn into laughter.
"That was a stupid question Ivan."
"Tell me you would have done better."
"Brother, I know you're back. You can't avoid me forever." Natalya bounces down the stairs, but upon seeing Marta, she stops cold. "What is she doing here?" Fear flickered into Marta's face, and Ivan reassuringly touched his hand to her elbow.
"It will be alright." He looks to Ukraine again. "Take care of her, make sure she's alright and give her some clean clothes." Katy nods and ushers the girl up the stairs. Without breaking his gaze from Marta, he says to Natalya, "I need to talk to you." Flustered and cross, she smoothes her skirt and follows him as he walks into the cozy living room. Ivan takes his time and pours them both hot cocoa. Natalya accepts hers cautiously.
"Seystra, Marta is our guest. I expect she will be treated as such. No knives will be on your person while she is here, you understand?" The pretty blond shifts in her seat, her cheeks flaming red. Ivan notes them with calm. He's tired of running, and showing his spine has brought about good results.
Belarus made an effort for the rest of the night to be cordial, but that was a struggle. Luckily it was close to bed time, so she didn't have to fake happiness for a while. By bedtime, a problem became apparent. Marta told Katy of her abusive father, and the siblings did not want to send her back to him or our on the streets, so they offered her to stay at their place. The issue was there were no extra bedrooms for Marta to sleep in.
"It's ok seystras. I can sleep on the floor. Marta can sleep in my bed." Natalya struggles to keep her rage inside of her, but if looks could kill, Marta would be dead.
"Alright then Ivan." Katy yawns. "Oh hm. Goodnight all." Natalya avoids the other's gazes and says in a monotone voice goodnight.
Marta follows Ivan up the stairs to his room. A sense of intimacy causes her to hesitate as Ivan holds open the door. He smiles one of his peaceful smiles that set her at ease.
"I won't bite, I promise." She blushes and looks down, her damp hair once again covering her face. She didn't write much, but being in the presence of the comforting Ukrainian woman set her at ease in the house. After Katy made sure she was fine, Marta took the opportunity of a shower and washing her hair; something she hasn't done in a while. An old nightshirt of Katy hung on her frame for obvious reasons. She would even be willing to live here, if there was a way for her to permanently avoid Natalya.
She clambers into the bed while Ivan grabs a spare blanket and pillow. When he returns, he lies at the foot of the bed, and within minutes they drift off into sleep.
Cold so cold. Ice, snow, the enemy, falling on his head, his pale hair. Coating it in the substance. He can't see, can't breathe. There is nothing left in the world. Color, he needs color. But there is none left. Only white. Only white.
Ivan wakes up with a start, scared out of his mind. Craning his neck, he looks up to Marta. She's shivering. Natalya. She must have turned off the heat knowing they wouldn't be bothered by the cold, but she would be. Gently he stands and sits next to her. Warmth, she needs warmth. And if he's being completely honest he need to know she's there, that he really isn't insane. Her brain, still befuddled by sleep, is startled by the large form of Ivan over her. She sits up, startled to find her hair frozen to her skull.
"Shh. It's ok." She feels the cold and starts to shake even more violently than before. He takes off his coat, the one he always has kept on, and wraps her in it. Shyly, the great mighty power who waged war with self mutilation and bore the scars of his past proudly holds out his arms. Instantly she leans into them. Despite all he wears is a simple white t and black pants underneath; the warmth pouring off of him instantly comforts her. And they fall asleep like that, sitting up against the wall in each other's arms.
The one that they once called insane, and the one called useless because she couldn't speak found comfort and solace on a cold winters night in each other. And eventually, that cold winter's day grew to warm spring ones, with sunflowers, color, and purpose. Let their love continuously cycle like the seasons.
A/N: again, sorry this one was rushed too.
If you want to, compare this one to my Cool Vanilla Kiss story, which is my other one about Russia. Tell me which one is better and why.