Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia. Wish I did though!
*Cold*
Latvia's arms burned in protest as he heaved endless piles of snow away with a large, heavy shovel. His hands were blistered and torn, his fingertips blue with the start of frostbite. He shivered violently, but not out of terror. He was freezing, his breath caught harshly in his throat as the cold invaded his small, vulnerable self. His muscles begged, screamed at him in protest, crying at him to stop. But he could not. They had been outside for nearly three hours, shoveling snow in an enormous blizzard. As soon as three feet had been cleared, more snow piled in.
Russia's mansion was huge, and the many paths and gardens around it covered vast amounts of land. Normally, Russia was not worried about the walkways. He had hired help during most blizzards, with small plows to help easily clear the snow. Not this time. Russia was in a foul mood today, after several drinks. Though he still wore a calm smile, the dark aura around him was still there. Latvia had clumsily bumped into the cabinet in the kitchen that morning, knocking a half full bottle of vodka onto the floor. Just as Latvia had panicked and tried desperately to clean the mess before Russia noticed, the tall, menacing man had appeared in the doorway. His eyes were glazed over with drunkenness already. He had been drinking heavily out of pure boredom, holed up in his private study. The sound of shattering glass had disturbed his binge, and he discovered his little Latvia standing over a shattered bottle of vodka. Immediately he had taken each of the Baltics, forced them outside, and ordered them to shovel. He had not permitted them to wear any winter clothing, had not allowed any bathroom breaks, and had made no time limit.
Latvia felt terrible. He wondered if the others would ever forgive him. They stood in there pajamas, frozen and in pain, shoveling foot after foot of snow with bare hands and no warmth. Russia stood idly alongside them, completely clothed in his enormous tan coat, thick scarf, gloves, and fur lined boots. He held a bottle of vodka in his left hand, a metal pipe in the other. He whistled a soft and melancholy song to himself as he watched the suffering Baltics, stopping his tune only briefly to take swigs of his drink. Latvia wore red silk pajamas, which were now frozen and cold, clumps of snow hanging from them. He hit a patch of ice and tried to break it, to no avail. He eyed Russia, desperate to break the ice patch before Russia noticed his lack of progress. Of course, it was to late.
"Little one, why have you not shoveled that bit there?" Russia asked calmly, taking another gulp of alcohol.
"S-s-sir! I am s-sorry Mr. R-Russia, I've h-hit s-s-some ice!" Latvia trembled in fear, cowering under Russia's cold gaze.
Suddenly, the tall man laughed.
"Of course, you are so small and weak! Perhaps you are suggesting that you cannot work because of a simple piece of ice? You say I should be doing work while you sit back and drink vodka like coward and weakling?"
Oh no. Russia was very dangerous while drunk, and anything could set him off. Both other Baltics stared over in concern, but continued to shovel. Once again, the smallest had been singled out.
"No! No p-please I n-n-never said that!" Latvia cried out, tears forming in his eyes. They froze mid fall, cling to his already frostbitten cheeks.
"I believe I heard you say that Mr. Latvia. Funny, how you feel you must lie to poor Mr. Russia. Now I am sad."
Latvia tried to plead, dropping the shovel and falling to his knees. Then, the alcohol unmasked Russia's violent side. The huge man swept forward and grabbed Latvia by the collar, then shoved his sweet, fragile face into the blistering cold snow, holding him there for a few seconds. When his face was removed from the freezing snow, it was red and sore. Russia heaved Latvia across the garden, and he smashed into the ice and hard snow. He lunged at him again, and before Latvia could say a word, was struck across his already stinging face. At least he was growing numb from the cold. Latvia tried to speak, but Russia's unforgiving hand came down hard again, and small dots of light popped in front of Latvia's eyes as the impact jarred his head violently. As quickly as it had begun, the beating ceased, and Russia smiled. Latvia breathed hard, shaking uncontrollably. He suddenly became aware of cold liquid pouring across his face, down his silk pajama shirt, and into his mouth. Russia was smiling cheerfully, slowly pouring vodka onto Latvia's face. The trembling nation coughed forcefully as the overpowering liquid burned his throat. He retched the fluid out and felt a hand rubbing smooth circles on his back. Russia hummed softly to him as he spat the horrid liquid out.
"I think we've all had enough of the cold for today. Everyone inside for hot cocoa, da?"
On his way inside, Latvia could see the other Baltics fresh tears. They hated watching that man torture the smallest of them. Latvia assured them that he was alright, and drank his cocoa obediently. That night, he cried himself to sleep. Russia sat in his foyer, warm and content in front of a blazing fire. He loved his little Baltics, even if they did occasionally make mistakes. But mistakes could be fixed, and he had done a wonderful thing in raising these fine young ones. Russia slept warm and comfortable that night. The Baltics were not so content. They each shivered on the newspapers Russia had laid down for their bedding, cold air seeping into their dark rooms. Latvia knew when morning came, Russia would most likely not remember a single bit of what had occurred in his inebriated state. Latvia was used to it. While he was drunk, he was violent and cruel. While he was not, he was kind and gentle. Either way, his heart was still as cold as his country.
A/n: I'm pretty sure this will be a one shot, unless I can think up something to continue this :o sooo, for some reason I've been into dark fics lately, IDK why! I decided to try this, I love the Russia and Latvia fics :) R&R please!