A mindless, brainless drabble I came up after I finished watching Enemy at the Gates for the first time ever? n-n (yeah, i know i'm hopeless)
It was half complete when I searched up my docs for it and I was like, wtf, this needs to be FINISHED! So yeah, this is the result of a boring Friday morning and many different ideas and opinions on the term "communism". I hope no one is offended by this fanfic o_o.. because there may be many points which can be argued in here, so yeah. Also, most of the facts should be accurate, with just a little bit of this and that from me thrown in..

Enjoy?

Summary: What is a hero?

It was always ritual to congratulate a country when he or she won a world-changing victory.

There would be a huge party and talking, laughter and sometimes forced friendliness. This "forced friendliness" occurred in most cases when the victor was a person they didn't especially like, someone they only liked at the moment because said country had helped to end a terrible reign.

~.

The previous year had been bloody and exhausting. Major, world-shifting events had taken place and not all of them were good ones.

The main shift was Germany. He'd suddenly erected himself a terrible and merciless leadership, threatening all his surrounding countries, and using intense violence and dictatorship to do so. Even Italy, once a close friend of Germany, didn't know what could be done with this country, the leader's name only spoken throughout the European continent with hatred. It was a massive, global threat; Germany refused to yield across his expanse of the eastern countries, slaughtering and murdering the civilians of France, Poland, Ukraine, and the others that encircled him, and promised the invasion of future countries- until the world became his. Italy, upon learning about Germany's offensive attack on him and his people, had firmly put down his white flag- this time he wouldn't give in without a fight.

But Germany's boss, a man by the name of Adolph Hitler, was as powerful as he was cruel. He crushed the nations in one swept of his arm, claiming to all around the continent that his was the rightful rein, that he would put order and stability into the world, as friends and comrades under his Third Reich.

He nearly succeeded- but one major point in the battle ceased his and Germany's advances.

Stalingrad.

For such a large nation, Russia was the most incompetent in the ways of warfare. Almost all of his battles against the other countries were losing ones, and he usually had to retreat in shame and silence. Many mocked him for his quiet ways, for his ominous presence that did no good and only bad, and especially for his naïve belief in a "fair and equal" empire. It was just a dream, they all thought, of such a "soviet union"- a dream that he had crushed and shaped into a twisted reality.

No one expected anything from Russia, believing that him and his people were just as useless as the smallest city in the most unimportant, unnoticeable country in the world. Yet, when Germany forced his way through Ukraine, onto the soils of Soviet territory, and then finally upon the city of Stalingrad, the resistance there was a turning point in history.

Germany lost that battle.

His immense, blood-stained empire was brought to a dead end at Stalingrad, and although it was only one victory- perhaps even considered a small one- it was enough. Soon after, whether it was because of Russia and his resistance or not, a domino effect occurred. Slowly but steadily, Germany and his leader began to collapse under the weight of more resistances, until the Third Reich finally fell and the relief of the dictator dissipated into the past.

~.

Russia was a hero.

Or so that's what everyone said aloud, while actually disagreeing inside.

It was only one victory for one pathetic country, the others thought in slight contempt, we probably did more than him…

So when it came time for Russia's congratulation party, only a handful of countries showed up. They were the ones who either had nothing better to do, was just there for the sake of keeping name, or wanted to have beer and food in one sitting.

Needless to say, it was perhaps the most depressing and morbid celebration in the history of celebrations.

~.

Russia sighed and slumped in his chair, gripping the bottle of vodka so tight he was sure it would break.

The room was too chilly, as the other nations believed he liked the temperature very low, and the chatter was giving him a headache. Even outside, where the weather was 20 Celsius lower than the room, was more welcoming than this fake charade the Europeans were putting on.

What was with them and parties?

Russia would rather they give him a pat on the back or whatever then a stupid, we-don't-really-want-to-be-here "celebration." Besides, he was nervous to return to his country, to talk to his boss about the situation and recovery in Stalingrad. If he wasn't there to foresee the recovery, things might happen that could endanger Stalin's rule. And if Stalin was unhappy, he was unhappy.

"You know we're really grateful for what you did!"

France's voice came out of nowhere. Russia blinked and stared up at the Frenchman's nervous face. For the 7th time that night, he grasped Russia's hand and shook it heavily. "Really!" the Frenchman reassured the taller nation when he saw that his words were met with skepticism. "I mean it!"

Russia smiled wearily. "I believe you, comrade," he said, "and there is no need to be nervous."

I am only one country and you are many. Do not act as if you all could not subdue me if I suddenly went 'crazy.'

He was almost tempted to open his mouth and say so, but France had already apologized "if he had offended Russia" and scurried back to his little group with England and Japan.

Russia watched the countries scattered around the room. They were all talking, seeming at ease, but he noticed the wary edge everyone had on. Waiting, they were, waiting to see if he was going to do something. If they had to do something for him.

Idiots, Russia sighed and took a swig of his vodka. If these countries dislike me so much, if they are so afraid of me, than why invite me for a party? It is so very… rude.

"Hi Russia! Can we talk?"

Another voice, though this one was more annoying than France's. Russia groaned and raised his gaze up to meet bright blue eyes.

America?

…What could he want?

"Privet, America." Russia murmured and gestured to the chair beside him. The American took a seat and grinned at him eagerly. "What is it that you wish to discuss?"

"Oh c'mon, Ivan! Why are you so formal? We're at a party, man. A party."

Russia started at America's use of his human name.

The blue eyes twinkled with delight. "You know," he said, changing the subject, "that was really cool what you did, man. I mean, you and your people were so brave…"

Shrugging, Russia took another drink of the vodka. "It was what we had to do. We could not let that despicable Germany take us captive."

"Yeah, but…" America trailed off and avoided Russia's gaze. "I didn't expect you guys to do anything… Actually, none of us did."

For some reason, those words pained him. In his heart, somewhere a bit deep down and hidden behind centuries of hardship and ice, Russia felt a tickle of sadness. Of course he had known the other countries thought him a very poor nation, thought that he was doing a very bad job taking care of himself and his own people. He saw how they mocked him for believing in the "Союз Советских Социалистических Республик"- his Soviet Union; how they thought his chances of achieving such a thing, or of doing anything right, were slim.

"Uh, hey. Are you okay? Did I offend you or something?"

America's worried face brought him back to reality. It slightly surprised him. The younger nation didn't sound scared or nervous like everyone else, but inquisitive, and sincere with his concern.

"Nyet," Russia said softly, staring at his hands. "I am fine."

America coughed. "So yeah, we didn't believe you could," he continued and Russia wondered when he would drop it. "But ya know what, Ivan? I'm glad you did. Germany really needed to be stopped and all, before he expanded across towards the Asian nations and then me." A brief shadow fell across his face at the thought, but America was all smiles once more. "So I'm lending you the title of hero this time," he grinned.

His eyes softened at the last words. "And I also wanted to say that I'm grateful, Russia. You helped us end this world war, this huge catastrophe, and we won't forget it."

…

Well.

This had to be the most heartfelt and sincere thank-you Russia had gotten that night. America was even clamping him on the shoulders and nodding respectfully.

Strangely, he felt annoyed.

"As I have stated earlier," Russia said in a tight voice, "we did as we had to. I did not do this for you, nor anyone else. Only for my country."

America looked taken aback.

"Tell me, America." Russia leaned back in his seat and stared intently at the blonde's naïve and always optimistic face. Questions were on the tip of his tongue, something he'd been wondering all night. "Why are you here? Why do you all bother to come here, when I know that you do not really wish to be in the same room as me… When I know that you all despise me from the depths of your heart."

Everyone called him the mighty 'bear', a large nation who had the power and means to take over the world, to do as he wished without the interference of any smaller nations. But they realized, as the years went on, that Russia was a fool. A fool with the hopes of a madman- sure, he could say, "Become one with me!" and threaten everyone with his metal pipe, but then what did it amount to? He had lost so many battles, slaughtered so many lives- his people and the other foreigners. Yet what was the entire point, the entire purpose of it?

The truth was that… he was beginning to hate himself. To be ridiculed, to believe so firmly in something he thought was right, and hope for that something to work, had worn him down. Just thinking about it, thinking of the things Stalin was doing to his country and his people, all the words of "fairness" and "equal rights" was a childish, fake dream. There existed no such thing in this world; and only people as foolhardy as himself who wished and tried to make it possible and failing so miserably, deserved the deep hatred he felt from the other countries.

So now that he was stuck in this stupid room, staring into the eyes of a stupid American, Russia wondered, Why?

"You all hate me," he stated simply. "You hate me. Call me 'commie' and mock me behind my back. Yet, when you meet my face, there is only politeness and fake pretenses in your respect. Now that I have done this one thing, something which I did only for myself, you call me 'hero' and throw me a party… But there is no denying the fact that everyone here loathes me very, very much. I ask, why? Why must you do this, why must you mock me?"

He hadn't realized the tight grip he had on the half-empty bottle of vodka and loosened his hold. The talking and laughing around him suddenly sounded so distant, as though a part of his soul had left the body, and he was watching over the scene with indifference.

Just as Russia was about to close his eyes and order America to go away, the blue eyes flashed and the overly loud and annoying voice answered:

"I don't hate you."

Those brilliant, naïve orbs of light, dancing with mischief, dancing with a youthful innocence. "I'm not sure about the others," America continued and shrugged. "But I think you're pretty okay… I mean, aside from the fact that sometimes, you just sit there and stare into space and you smile way too creepily, there's nothing wrong with you."

Russia stared at him.

"No, seriously!" The American seem to bounce in his seat. When he continued, there was a teasing grin on his face. "Even though you carry a metal pipe around like a sledgehammer and you didn't even know that you could draw water from a well in the ground-" at this Russia blushed "- you're actually a good person inside, aren't you?" America's eyes softened. "You tried to be fair, with your Soviet Union thing."

"…You are the one who called me a commie for that," Russia said softly.

"Yeahhh, well, I changed my mind. I mean, you're still a commie and whatever, but you're also a hero."

Surprising Russia, America grabbed his hand and traced two figures on his palm. "Sickle," America murmured and drew the sign of the weapon, "and hammer," he finished the picture by putting the star at the top of the sickle. "It disgusts me," the younger nation smiled wryly, "I hate communism. But I don't hate you.

"Союз Советских Социалистических Республик, right? Or something like that."

Russia only continued to stare at him. In amazement, in surprise, in a sudden and strange twist of.. elation?

"You know," America said after a brief silence, still holding onto Russia's hand. "I used to be scared of you."

"..Ah?"

America grinned sheepishly. "When I was younger, you know? Like, the whole idea of your leadership, it kinda made me think. Fairness for all and everyone is equal? It sounded really, really great, something a lot of people would actually go for. One point in my life, I actually considered it too. And that's what scared me."

Russia narrowed his eyes. "That you would become like me?"

"No." America looked him right in the face. "That I would be drawn into the temptations of communism." The American sighed, releasing Russia's hand, his next words barely above a whisper.

"We all want what's best for ourselves right? But then again, we all want power. We want the whole world to know our names, we want to rule everyone and fix what they did wrong and make them see that we were the ones who were right in the first place."

Russia nodded slowly. "And that is what Germany tried…"

"He tried, like many others, and he failed." America's eyes settled on him again. Not childish anymore, but emotionless and knowing. "Sometimes I'm still afraid of you, Ivan. I'm afraid… that you might try what Germany tried. And then where would we be if that happened, if there wasn't a city called Stalingrad to stop the dictator, or a country named Russia to put his foot down and be our hero?" At his last sentence, a smile flitted across America's face, and eventually Russia relented to one too.

"America…"

"But it's not like I'm trying to dissuade you from anything," America interrupted him, with another shrug. "I mean, if you wanna try to take over the world or whatever, that's okay with me. Honestly though, you're fine the way you are, as long as you're not pulling your 'you shall become one with me, da?' shit. Stuff like that makes me paranoid that the world might just end in another huge battle, WWIII or something, you know?"

America teetered in his seat, a sudden thought made his face light up in guilt.

"And oh yeah, didn't you ask me a question? Something about us mocking you with this party?" The slow smile on his face was almost as teasing as his shining blue eyes. "Geez Ivan, we didn't throw this party to mock you… Have you ever considered the fact that maybe, just maybe, we're actually trying to thank you?"

Thank me?

"I know, it's shocking… I felt that way too when Arthur threw me my first celebration party after the American Revolution."

There was a small silence and Russia watched as America cast the room a glance, still smiling, and bouncing in his seat. When the youth turned back to him, mouth opened to say something, Russia interrupted with a dry, "Do you ever stop talking?"

America turned red. "Well, it's not like you're trying to keep up the conversation!"

Russia couldn't help but chuckle. "I'm sorry, but your lectures have left me stunned speechless."

"…Whatever."

Another smile. Staring at America's pouting face, with his expression naïve and yet so, unexpectedly, wise at the same, Russia couldn't control himself- he leaned over and enveloped the American in a warm hug. "Thank you," he whispered. "I needed to hear that… your idiotic words."

"…Gee, thanks for insulting my words, and I even took time to say them too!"

But Russia felt America's body relax against his, and accepting the hug.

There had always been tension between the two, deep and angst animosity because well, America was a capitalist and Russia happened to be bathed in communism. Now, in this chilly room with dozens of people who probably hated him, Russia had found someone who, despite their immense differences, could actually make him feel such a strange and growing feeling of happiness.

Maybe America was right. Maybe they all just wanted what was best for themselves, or maybe it was just the power that every country in the world sought, the power to make everything right in the lives of their people. Even if, to obtain that power, it meant endless bloodshed and torment for the ones involved.

"I don't hate you."

Who would have ever thought that those four simple words could have made him so happy?

"Thank you, America."

"I heard you the first time… and besides, this party is supposed to be thanking you! Now c'mon, get up! I'm not gonna sit here all night!"

Where would they be years from now? Would he even be in this same place, accepting the hand that America was offering to him now, as they walked across the room and into the crowd of people, laughing? Would there still be murder and slaughtering, leaders gone over the edge of sanity and dictators throwing the lives of their citizens away like it was nothing?

"Honestly though, you're fine the way you are…"

In a world where "communism" was twisted and warped, where the ideas of "fairness" was mocked and laughed at in the face, there will always be someone who'll put his foot down and stop the dictator. Someone who'll think not of himself, but of the people he was responsible for, for the lives he held within his very hands. And when the tides seem to be ebbing away from him, this person would refuse to give in, no matter what.

He would be, Russia thought with a smile.

A hero.

A/N: I'm too lazy to put the Russian translations, but just know that the huge long word is the official name of the "Soviet Union."

Finally done with this.. been in my head for awhile, and now it's out :D If there are any mistakes/mehs, notify?

Reviews would be awesome~