Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or the events of the Cold War as they unfold. That is the property of Hidekazu Himaruya and the people of 1947-1991.

In 1945, the world changed. On April 20th, Soviet Troops invaded Berlin. Three weeks later, the European Axis powers submitted defeat through the bloodiest battle in history. On August 8th, an American pilot dropped the first nuclear weapon on Hiroshima. Three days later, a second bomb dropped on Nagasaki. Within the next week, Japan had surrendered, unconditionally, to the demands of the Allied powers. A crimson tainted paintbrush had fluttered across the earth's surface. And while the fighting had stopped, the wounds had only begun to heal.

The Second World War had left an open gash upon the heart of Europe. It was this wound that had let a poison slowly seep into Hungary's heart; a red poison that one could not delineate from the crimson blood that had been shed. The Red Army had taken the capital through the Siege of Budapest. Since the end of the war, the Soviet sphere of influence spread to a weak and beaten Hungary.

Now it was 1952 and a young Hungarian woman stood in the drab color of the soviet regime, staring at her new boss upon the podium. This light she saw… Was it for a bright future, or is it only the flames of their demise?

The young woman turned around in disgust, walking towards the back of the crowd. These people, did they know what they were cheering for? Did they agree that the government could hide behind a wall of censorship? Did they seriously think that people, who openly opposed the government ideal, were just on vacation? Did they honestly believe that they should work for hours a day to get barely enough bread to feed their families; for someone to decide how much was enough to feed them? It disgusted her. With this, there was no hope for a better life. There was only what the 'people' said.

"Elizabeta Héderváry?"

Stopping as her name was called, bringing herself from her disgruntled thoughts. Elizabeta turned to find another young woman about her age with short blonde hair tucked beneath a hat. She recognized the Ukrainian maid despite the fact that she wasn't looking down a gun barrel. While Elizabeta greeted her with a cold glare, the young soviet officer just smiled in return. As much as she wanted to, Elizabeta couldn't keep it up. Fighting it was useless. The Soviet woman had not personally brought her to this state. For now, all she could do was accept the hand that was given to her.

Elizabeta sighed, nodding. "Yes, that's me," she answered. She couldn't deny her name or the situation she had found herself in.

The woman smiled as she approached Elizabeta with an open hand. "Yekaterina Braginskaya, but you can call me Katyusha." Elizabeta took her hand in a simple, polite handshake. Despite her mood, she could not ignore common courtesies. "Ivan sent me here to bring you to the house."

"Ivan?"

Katyusha laughed. "Oh, I'm sorry. I mean Comrade Braginski." The Ukrainian stuffed her hands in her long drab trench coat as she walked, shielding herself from the winter's cold. Elizabeta followed closely behind, following a similar suit. "I tend to forget that most people don't know Ivan on a personal level. You see, I'm his older sister."

That got her attention. "Really?" She didn't know that the Russian had family. Katyusha nodded.

"Yeah. I've been taking care of him and Natalia for as long as I can remember," the blonde said, her eyes glistening with images of the past flying through her head. "Ivan was so cute when he was little. Troubled, yes; but a good boy none the less. I sound like an old crone, reminiscing about a grown man's childhood."

Elizabeta shook her head. "No, no, I think it's wonderful. I never had any siblings, so I can only wonder what its like." As a matter of fact, all she had was her grandfather, whom had long since passed away. She'd never known any other family. "It must be wonderful."

"Well then. It's a good thing you've aligned yourself with us…you're a part of the family now, comrade."

As the woman said this, Elizabeta stopped dead in her tracks. The Ukrainian woman turned passing her a questioning gaze. She'd never been in a family, in a houseful of people willing to support you. Sure she had her grandfather, and she had allies in the war. They'd give their life for you; defend you until the ends of the earth. But she'd never had brothers or sisters, people who laughed with you, cried with you.

But this wasn't a household she had wanted to join. The Soviet Union had taken them by force and manipulated her into their control. What group of sisters didn't argue over who borrowed what, and when to get out of the shower, saying that it belonged to the people of the house? What brother asked his sister to limit her horizons, believe only what the boss said? What sister called her older brother a "comrade" before "brother"?

Just before, even Katyusha called her brother by his name before she called him a comrade. That's what a real family was supposed to be, not what she was getting drafted into. A house was filled with family; an army was filled with comrades.

"Comrade?"

The Hungarian was thrust from her thoughts by the face of a sincerely concerned Katyusha. Elizabeta shooed the woman away. "I'm fine," she stated bluntly.

Disbelief was written all over her face, concern being its primary medium. "If you're sure…" The woman paused momentarily, furrowing her eyebrows as she examined Elizabeta one last time. "Well, we're only a block or so from the house. You'll really like it there. Tori and Felix…"

She didn't hear the rest of Katyusha's rambling. Truth be told, Elizabeta had tuned out the soviet woman before she even began talking. She didn't want to listen to a family filled with comrades.

-HETALIA-

The very size of the large, red-bricked building was enough to make one lose their breath. And it wasn't just that. Just looking at the building, you could almost taste the stable efficiency that the building produced from its people. There was no art, no creativity. Even the lawn, surrounded by an iron-clad fence, was bare of decoration. Okay, she had to admit. As Elizabeta walked through the front door, she couldn't help but become overcome with a sense of awe.

Inside of the building was a beautiful architecture that Elizabeta had never seen before. The sheer intricacies of the artwork were astounding, causing the young Hungarian to stop and take a second glance. The Romanesque pillars, the stonework, the chandelier that hung from the ceiling: every detail was beautiful and precise. Though she clearly saw the soviet pride within the artwork, that did not distract the eye from its beauty.

The flaxen haired Ukraine walked past. "Beautiful, isn't it?" she asked, a smile on her face. "Sometimes I tend to forget that even Ivan could produce something so beautiful…"

"…Comrade Braginski made this?"

Katyusha shook her head. "Not this piece in particular. Ivan did, however, design the basis for the entire building. He hired out contractors to do the actual work." The woman took off her jacket, hanging it on the coat rack. She smiled, continuing down the hallway. "This is the parlor. If you'd take a seat, I have some other errands to run. Someone will come and show you around shortly."

Elizabeta nodded, taking a seat on the parlor's couch. Katyusha smiled before she turned around, leaving the Hungarian maid alone.

She leaned back on the couch, trying to relax. Despite the couch's beautiful appearance, there wasn't any comfort to be found. Even in the room, while its exquisite beauty was meant to inspire awe, she couldn't help but find an overbearing sense of foreboding. There wasn't another soul in the room but Elizabeta couldn't help but feel eyes watching her every move. She wasn't entirely sure if she could count it off as Paranoia either. Elizabeta had heard the stories of the KGB, of phone tapping and surveillance. It wasn't too for thought that the representative of the newest nation to the Pact would be under surveillance.

If her paranoia hadn't already set in, Elizabeta would have been driven insane by the sheer stillness within the room. If a pin were to drop on the carpet, she feared it would bring the entire house down.

But, her silence was short lived as two men found their way across the parlor. On one side, a chestnut haired Bulgarian while the raven haired man was on the other. In between them was a giant chest, locked tight. The two carried the massive piece between them, though it was definitely lacking on one side.

"It's slipping! It's slipping!"

"Geeze, you weren't joking when you said you didn't have any upper body strength, Andrei," the dark-haired man complained, readjusting the weight of the chest in his hands. Elizabeta knew that voice anywhere.

"You," Elizabeta said with a flat tone. The raven haired man turned, squinting his garnet eyes.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," he said, dropping the chest completely, causing the other to fall with it. The Bulgarian screamed as his fingers had now become pancakes underneath the pressure. As the man approached her, Elizabeta stood with her back straight. "I never thought I'd see your god-ugly face in another thousand years."

The man towered over her, his black locks covering his face as he stared down at her. Elizabeta just smirked in return. "So you've finally found yourself with the rest of the trash, huh, Emil."

"Look who's new to the garbage pile," The Romanian said taking a step back, his eyes quickly observing her new soviet garb. As much as she hated to say it: Emil one, Elizabeta zero.

Elizabeta glared. "Never thought I'd run into you in the middle of soviet headquarters."

"It's a small world, and growing even smaller…"

A small voice piped from below. "Um, can I get a little help here?"

Both the Romanian and Hungarian dropped their hateful glares to see who had called for help. In the midst of their anger, both had completely forgotten that the poor boy remained underneath the weight of the chest. Emil sighed, walking over and lifting an end of the package away so that the man could break free.

"Seriously, Andrei…"

"Yeah, yeah I know," the Bulgarian said with a smile, rubbing the back of his head. After his flush of embarrassment faded away from his face, he turned his attention to the young brunette standing behind his friend. "You know her, Emil?"

"Sadly," he answered with his eyebrows furrowed in annoyance.

The Hungarian walked up; elbowing Emil with all the force she could muster. The Romanian doubled over in pain as she continued towards the other. "We grew up together, not exactly on the best of terms," she explained. She held a hand out. "I'm Elizabeta Héderváry."

"Andrei Todorov," he responded, taking her hand politely.

Emil walked over to the two, his arms crossed. "Elizabeta, a delicate little woman such as yourself," (Emil earned himself a life-threatening glare) "shouldn't be here in the heart of Russia. Why don't you take yourself back to the weak, worthless country you came from?"

The fact that the raven-haired Romanian was basically twice her size meant nothing to Elizabeta. Nor was the fact that he towered over her. Elizabeta stood straight, poking an accusing finger into his chest. "I'll have you know, that I'm not some delicate little flower. I've held my own in wars with German Kings, held Croatia by their throat in 1091. When the Mongols came in 1286, I single handedly defended the castle. In 1485, I knocked on Austria's door and pushed my way through. I'm weak? Did you fight the Ottoman Empire and come out in one piece!"

Emil scoffed. "You don't understand, this isn't just another battlefield to be won."

"Then what is it?"

The Romanian opened his mouth to speak again, but suddenly he stopped, his face frozen. There was something in his eyes, an emotion that Elizabeta had never seen before. The Hungarian turned, following his gaze. In the doorway stood a Belarusian beauty, her pale complexion blending into the flaxen color of her hair. The woman was dressed in the traditional soviet garb, making her uniform with the rest of the nation. But what separated her were the icy blue eyes set her emotionless face. Beside Elizabeta, Andrei trembled. Behind her, she could barely hear Emil's breath.

"Comrade Ceausescu, I see you stopped to introduce yourself to our new comrade."

There was something her voice that made Elizabeta freeze. She had once deemed the woman beautiful, but now her beauty was overshadowed by the fear instilled by her voice. It was cold and while emotion was void, there was something sinister that caused Elizabeta to stop.

"Um, yes Comrade Arlovskaya," Emil said, his voice wavering. Elizabeta turned back to watch the man. His expression completely changed. "I was just informing Comrade Héderváry of how we work in Russia's house, and how wonderful it is."

As she stepped forward, the men took a few steps back, leaving Elizabeta to stand alone in front of the woman. Comrade Arlovskaya stopped, tapping the whip in her hand against her thigh, her frozen gaze standing on the Hungarian, freezing her in place. Her calculating eyes ran over her like a tiger tasting their prey. For a second, their eyes met – clear blue and emerald green. Though she was frozen on the outside, a defiant fire burned within those forest shaded irises.

"Well, Comrade Héderváry will find out for herself soon enough. I can tell." she answered shortly the daggers in her eyes aimed directly towards Elizabeta. "Come with me. And as for you two, hurry with that. Comrade von Bock needed that ASAP."

"Yes, Ma'am," the two answered, giving a quick salute before disappearing out the door with a chest without so much as a sound. With that, there was two left.

She didn't think it was possible, but for the first time in her life, Elizabeta actually missed the Romanian's rude attitude. His unnatural sincerity, formality; it wasn't him. She'd never seen him bend to someone else's wishes. He was defiant that way. To see someone who was one so prideful, even if he wasn't so strong, drop in fear...Something had changed him. She didn't know what, but she could guess.

-HETALIA-

Elizabeta followed in silence. It was not like Comrade Arlovskaya had invited much room for conversation. Knocking, Comrade Arlosvkaya opened the door. The inside of the Russian's office was rather plain. A desk, a few bookcases, a chair or two; the room was built for its main purpose, and that purpose only. Standing next to the desk stood a man, much taller than she'd ever seen, a smile painted on his face. Next to him stood a wiry man dressed in the uniform colors of the soviet regime. His hand upon his desk, his face was hidden behind a curtain of pale blonde hair. As he lifted his head, his crimson eyes were lost in the red-streams that trickled down his face.

"Gil…?" Elizabeta whispered. The Prussian lifted his head to search for the source of his name. As he saw the shock written on her face, his face immediately fell.

A chuckled erupted from the tall Russian. "Ah, this must be the new representative. Come in, come in," without pause, he turned to the bleeding man next to him. While his smile remained, his eyes grew dark. "We'll continue this conversation later, Comrade Beilschmidt."

With that, Gilbert pushed himself off the desk. As he stood up completely, Elizabeta was able to see much more of the damage that had been done. The top of his uniform had his collar torn, his signature iron cross being the only thing that covered his shown skin. On his face, there were multiple cuts. The front of his hair was dyed a crimson hue from the multiple cuts on his face. His pale skin was developing violet colored shades with no rhyme or pattern.

Elizabeta held back a gasp, but she could not wipe off the look of shock that had naturally developed. The Prussian solider dropped his head, adverting her gaze, quickly rushing out the room.

"Now, Comrade Héderváry. I'm sorry you had to see that," the Russian man said with a pleasant smile. The dark tint in his eyes had disappeared completely. "Please, sit down."

The young brunette sat down in a chair, her mind blank. What had happened to him? The blood was too fresh; there was no way that it had happened earlier. A quick glance at the floor and Elizabeta could even see the drops of blood on the carpet. Gilbert wouldn't do this kind of thing to himself, or let someone else to it to him. Either there was no struggle, or Gilbert just couldn't even stand up to this giant man.

"Natalia, you're excused," the Russian man said, bringing Elizabeta back from her conscious stream of thought. His voice was thick with his native accent. He stared impatiently at Comadre Arlovskaya.

The soviet officer stood firm, a pleading look softening the ice in her eyes. "But Big Brother –"

"Natalia." The Belarusian woman stopped, her emotionless mask returning. His tone had grown short with her. A quick salute and Comrade Arlosvkaya was out the door. As soon as the door shut the Russian man dropped his shoulders, letting out a big heaving sigh. Elizabeta raised her eyebrow in confusion, but it quickly returned back as he turned to face her. "Let me introduce myself," he said, taking a few steps towards her. "Ivan Braginski."

"Elizabeta Héderváry." As he closed the distance between the two of them, they shook hands. While Elizabeta had always had a handshake equal to that of any male counterpart, Ivan's handshake was powerful. It took a few moments for the pain in her hand to fade after the handshake had ended.

Ivan walked behind his desk, leaning slightly on the wooden structure. "Now, comrade, I know what you must think. The Soviet Union has claimed us, that we are merely prisoners of their greed and wants. But I assure you, that is not us. In the past, Governments have used their position for their personal gain, only using those they governed. But this is not what we want to achieve. We are merely here to help you, support you. Too long have people lived with their need rise above; it is time to learn of what can happen when you work not just for yourself, but for your community.

"Ah, but people are too different? Too selfish? I've heard this many times from Alfred, Arthur…" He drifted off. The Russian pushed himself off the desk, and began to walk towards the window. "What do you see on the outside? The remains of a war; a war started because of these differences, of countries selfish behavior. Here, we are equal; and the nation is as one. There is no longer a nation in which leaders are the figureheads, but the very people who live there. It is a beautiful thing. You should not fear it. It will be rough in the beginning, but it will be for the better."

Throughout the speech, his face was all smiles. Elizabeta who had been dead set against this conformity to socialist ways, could see the Utopia in which he spoke. Lives had been lost during this war, too many lives. Had it not been for her own superior's orders, Elizabeta doubted she would have moved much farther than her country's own borders. She had no personal vendetta against the Allied powers, they were just names on a pedestal; and she had been told to tear that pedestal down.

Ivan moved away from his window to slowly walk the distance of his desk. "Of course, a few changes will have to be made. That's why we're here. Economically, the yearly quotas will have to be altered slightly if we are to equalize the standard of life in Hungary. There are a few outspoken politicians that with the force of the 'people' I'm sure they will come to terms. A few public figures we'll just have to deal with…accordingly." It was there she saw it; the darkening tint in his purple hues. The Russian's pacing began to quicken.

"But there are places where even those people can make their community succeed. It'll be a little different work, slightly more physical labor than speaking or writing in which they are used, but they'll adjust. Of course, that work isn't for everyone – there are people who belong in the heart of their people. However, we should make sure to keep a vigilant eye on them. And those who threaten to tear us down," He paused with a chuckle, a flame in his eyes. "Well, it would be a shame if they happened upon an accident during their summer vacation in Transylvania…"

Elizabeta had felt uneasy when she had entered Russia's house. When she had seen Gilbert, she'd even begun to feel a little bit of fear. But it was not until he began to speak of the 'necessary action', Elizabeta truly began to realize what she had walked into, what she'd been forced into.

"And, I'm sure that the military will need a few specialists on –"

A knock on the door brought Russia from his deranged ranting. His eyes returned to their bright cheery state, and the smile which had slowly fallen off was quickly plastered back on. In three quick steps, he had had reached the massive door to his office. Opening it revealed a trembling man.

"Ah, Comrade Lorinaitis. I'm afraid I cannot speak to you for I'm having an important conversation with Comrade Héderváry."

"U-um, I-I was told t-to inform you that G-General Secretary S-Stalin—"

"Ah, da! I was supposed to meet with the General Secretary today. It completely slipped my mind." Turning to Elizabeta, "I believe I covered most of what you need to know. Do you have any questions, comrade?"

Elizabeta shook her head. "N-no, sir…"

Ivan quickly grabbed his hat off of the coat rack before walking out the door. A few steps out and the Russian stopped. "Comrade, would you show Comrade Héderváry to her new office?"

"Of c-course!" And with that, he was gone. The two of them just stared at the doorway, rather surprised at the speed in which Ivan had disappeared. The Lithuanian sighed, turning towards the Hungarian, a weak, tentative smile on his face. "S-shall we?" he asked, point towards the door. He may have been aligned with the Soviet ideals, but he was just like her.

In the seven years since the war, Hungary had been rebuilding. Somewhere in the reconstruction, the government had stumbled across a solution. In gaining Russia as a crutch, life in Hungary had been changed. Quotas were set, and society was molded into the soviet idea of Utopia. It was no longer the great Kingdom of Hungary, who had defended themselves since the beginning of history, who bowed to no man. Now she was just a puppet and Russia was the holding the strings.

It is 1952. How the world had certainly changed.

A/N: Yay! Cold War Hetalia. Excuse historical inaccuracies. I did try my best to keep everything accurate, but of course it's always possible to miss something. I originally tended this to be a whole fan fiction, but I didn't know if I could keep up with it. Luckily for me, the first chapter ended perfectly enough for a oneshot. I created two new characters: Romania (Emil Ceausescu) and Bulgaria (Andrei Todorov), who were going to be developed later on, but already I love them enough they're making appearances in other oneshots. And Prussia only had a slight appearance because he was going to, you know, be the male lead of the fiction. (You can't have Cold War Hetalia without a defiant, awesome Prussia)

Prussia: DAMN RIGHT!

TehDono: Who gets his ass handed to him.

Prussia: -is silent-

TehDono: Anyways, I may or may not continue it. Right now I'm just writing as they come to me.