just a little oneshot based off of the song "The Night The Lights Went Out In Georgia" by Reba McEntyre. (STFU, I like Country!)

I think it's better in my head than it is on paper, but it's like, 12:30am and I should probably be going to sleep. I'm not thinking straight. Anyways, Many thanks to barefoot11 for giving me the inspiration to actually write this! I love your songfics!

This entire fic is told from BELARUS' POV!

-xo-xo-xo-xo-xo-xo-

It had been two weeks since he'd come back to our peaceful little town, face still as perpetually cheerful as ever. That was my big brother all right, my precious, precious big brother. He's all I had left...I would do anything for my beloved brother, had done anything for him, and yet...

And yet...

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Ivan smiled brightly as he made his way into the bar that night, the cool September air chasing and nipping at his ankles as he stepped into the warmth of the laughing drunkards and lively music. He'd been gone to the nearby town of Candletop for the last two weeks, a small vacation to visit our sickly grandmother. I didn't go, not because I didn't want to, but because my darling brother didn't want me to. I would listen to my brother without question.

Catching sight of an old friend, Ivan shouldered his way through the boisterous crowd, laughing along with the myriad of people who were just plain happy. That, and drunk off their asses.

"Hey there, Ivan!" Alfred called after my brother, who waved and sat himself down on the barstool beside the American. I hate him...not even for the fact that he sits so close to my beloved...I hate him. They don't even notice me in the back of the room, frowning to myself. My own brother ignores me.

"Hello, Alfred!" Ivan replied cheerfully, "Vodka, please. Rocks." He asked of the bartender, who poured a glass of the clear liquid into the ice-filled glass and slid it across the table. My brother caught it with deft hands. Downing half of it in one gulp, he turned to Alfred, a warm smile stretching his face.

My brother has always been like that. Happy, almost childishly so. He even got upset when people refused to get along. He would cry himself to sleep at night, after our father would beat us and leave us naked in the cold. As we would sleep, us and our older sister, on the lump of blankets that served as our shared bed, he would always be the one to cry. He cried so that he could forget and be happy the next day.

When our father finally died...he cried then, too. I'm not sure why. I would have been more than happy to have driven my knife into his chest years ago. That wretched man was the reason I kept a dagger in my dress at all times, he was the reason Ivan hid a lead pipe under his bed, and he was the reason our sister had left and hadn't been heard from in seven years.

"It's good to see you back, man!" Alfred clapped Ivan on the back, "We all missed you 'round here!" The blond man took a swig of his draft beer and sighed contentedly.

'Kill him...'

"Da, it's good to be back, Alfred, I can tell you that!" Brother replied cheerfully, throwing back the rest of his vodka and gesturing for another one. He loosened the scarf from around his neck, but still refused to take it off. After all, it was the only thing he had left from our sister, "Truth be told, I can't wait to get home to Toris..."

Alfred bit his bottom lip, looking like he had something to say.

'Kill him. He hurt my beloved big brother, he betrayed his trust! He deserves to die!' My hands tightened around the handle of the knife under the fold of my dress. No...now was not the time, neither was my precious dagger the right weapon.

"Look, Ivan..." Alfred started off awkwardly, shifting his eyes behind his glasses, "Alright, you're my friend and all, right? And you know how I kinda fancy myself a hero and all, and....well, there's something I really need to tell you. Just, don't overreact?" He asked, staring up into brother's violet eyes for some sort of confirmation.

"What, da?" Ivan asked, worry starting to cloud his features, "What happened to Toris? What's wrong with my husband?" He asked, the hurt in his eyes showing that he feared the worst for his beloved Lithuanian boy. The very thought of it makes me sick. Dear Ivan should not be made worry over such...such scum!

"Well, since you been gone, Toris...well, he's kinda..." Alfred looked like he was at a loss for words. Despair momentarily flooded the American's face, "Look, Ivan, I'm your best friend, you know that. But Toris...well, he's been seeing that Łucasiewicz boy, Feliks."

Ivan felt the whole world shatter in front of his very eyes. Toris...Toris was cheating on him? He'd only been gone for two weeks! Anger gripped every recess of his mind, and he stood up from his chair, sending it to the ground with a sharp clatter. The noise went utterly unnoticed amongst the bustling patrons of the bar, but to the two men at the counter, it seemed to echo for miles.

"T-Toris..." Brother choked out as his throat constricted, red was bleeding into his vision, and he was sure the vodka he'd had wasn't helping, "Why...why can't anyone ever love me?!" The last thread of his sanity snapped so loud you could practically hear it. Tears flooded his amethyst eyes, "W-why can't everyone one just GET ALONG!?!" He screamed, his loud, frighteningly gnarled voice was lost in the ambiance. He slammed his second vodka glass back to the counter so fast it shattered into a million glittering pieces.

"W-whoa there, Ivan..." Alfred stuttered, eyes wide with fear and shock. As they should be, that bastard. I know what you did! "Don't loose your head, man... 'cause to tell you the truth..." He looked down in absolute shame, "I've been with him, myself."

The noise around Ivan seemed to dull to nothing. He couldn't hear anything. He could see nothing but the man, no, the creature seated beside him. He couldn't think of anything except for the rage and betrayal in his heart.

The strangled noises of despair that had been tearing themselves from my brother's throat changed to a choking noise, almost as if he were coughing, yet not quite. It was terrifying, and yet, seemed strangely practiced rasping from Ivan's chest.

"Kolkolkolkol...Is that how it is, Alfred?" He asked, a single bloodshot eye trained on the blond, who stared in utter fear, "Were you all just using me then? I know, I KNOW that none of you like me, I KNOW IT!!! It not hard to miss, I must have been idiot!" More fury poured into my brother's words, his English becoming sloppy and slurred.

Alfred stood from his seat, backing away from the chuckling Russian towards the door, "Ivan, I'm sorry, I really am! I told you because I'm your friend! I couldn't keep this from you, you deserve to know!" He pleaded, but Brother payed him no heed. Disturbance and fear clear on his face, Alfred turned around and left the bar, no doubt heading home after what he'd just dumped on my beloved brother's conscience.

Slipping unnoticed through the crowd of merry drunkards, I made sure that Ivan couldn't see me as I left the bar. No one would ever know.

'Think about what he did to my brother..'

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Ivan could barely walk straight as he headed home that night, a mere five minutes after Alfred and I had fled. His breath coming out in ragged, uneven sobs, he made his way to him old home, slamming the screen door open and stomping inside, not even bothering to remove his heavy boots. He wasn't planning on staying there for very long, anyways.

Toris wasn't there. Of course, what had he expected? Toris didn't love him; no one did. The Lithuanian had probably left town the first chance he got before Ivan could come home. He'd probably been waiting this entire goddamned time for a chance to escape!

The tears had dried, leaving red trails down his childish cheeks. His eyes were red and puffy, and it almost hurt to keep them open. Stumbling into his bedroom, he hit his knees on the dirty wooden floor, immediately groping around beneath his bed for something. When his fingers made contact with cool metal, he knew he had found his target, and withdrew his lead pipe.

He had kept that faucet pipe beneath him while he slept ever since we moved away from Father, in case he ever came back. It had been eight years since he had torn that pipe out of Ludwig's back yard and stored it under his bed. Staring at the old, slightly rusted metal in his hands, he stood up.

"Still not good enough."

The pipe was dropped to the floor with a clang, and he shuffled slowly, as though in a trance, out of his bedroom.

Out in the hallway, in the wall beside the closet, was a small indent. The rectangle was cut out of the wall by brother himself the very day our Father had graced Hell with his presence. The only thing Ivan had been left with from the old man was his trusted gun. A twelve gauge break-action shotgun with rifled barrels.

Smiling wickedly, he pulled the polished firearm out of its hiding place, cradling it close to his heart. Reaching back further into the niche, he withdrew a box of rifled slugs. He loaded two into the barrels and stuck another one in his coat pocket for good measure.

Eyes alight like a child at Christmas time, Ivan kept the gun cradled carefully. He made his way out through the creaky back door of his house, across the crunching grass that was riddled with the first of the falling leaves, and into the back woods that ran along the back of all the houses in our town.

Skulking though the darkened forest as quiet as he could, Ivan kept his mind focused entirely on the task at hand. A light came on in one of the houses and he ducked behind a tree, crouching down low to avoid casting a shadow in the newfound light. His crazed eyes studied the ground avidly, taking anything he could in his addled state.

That's when he saw them.

The tiny footprints squished into the damp mud. Fresh, pressing the freshly fallen leaves down into the soil before him. He lifted one shaded eyebrow. The tracks were definitely too small for Alfred to make. Who had been through there?

Moving forward at a faster pace, not caring if whoever was in the alight house saw him, he made his way into Alfred's yard. The house was completely dark, and silent. Silent as the grave. Keeping his gun clutched tight, he crossed the grass, head looking around in every direction for nonexistent movement. The old porch steps protested under the heavy boots and even heavier Russian, and yet Alfred did not come to the door.

Peering through the screen door, Ivan saw why.

Alfred was lying on the floor, face down a few feet in front of the door. Blood pooled on the tile floor around him. His head was wrenched to the side, eyes that were once bright blue and brilliant were now dull and lifeless, staring unblinkingly ahead. Even more blood trailed from his mouth, and soiled his blond hair. His glasses lay inches away from him, shattered. Someone had stepped on them. The bullet hole was visible just below his left shoulder blade.

Ivan screamed. Not in rage, nor was it in disappointment. This time, he screamed in horror. What had happened?! Suddenly, all resentment he harbored for Alfred left him, standing cold and sickened on his ex-best friend's back porch, staring at his lifeless corpse.

The police should have been making their usual rounds that night, as per usual. That was what brother had in mind when he fired off a round into the air to get their attention. The shot rang loud and clear through the silent evening, the sound deafening to all around.

The cruiser pulled over not five minutes later, and a blond man with messy mid-length hair jumped out, a hand resting on his gun the other one held out in front of him, at Ivan. Vash Zwingli was the town sherrif, and an estranged man. He fixed Ivan with a wary, guarded glare as he grabbed the gun from his hands, and just as fast, clipped metal handcuffs around his wrists and dug his heel into his shoulder blades, pushing his face into the ground.

"Why'd you do it?!" He asked, harsh fury in his words.

"I didn't!" Ivan protested, too overwhelmed to even try to break out of the Swiss policeman's grasp. He yelped in pain as the heel of Vash's boot was ground into his back again.

"Save it for the Judge. You had the gun." He replied coldly, and he took my brother away.

"Guilty."

The one word rang through the false trial that seated only a handful of people. The resolved smack of the gavel against the Judge's desk ended the meeting, as well as the life of the one on trial. The make-believe jury filed out through the doors, while the one who was innocent, while my beloved older brother, remained handcuffed to the chair, tears unwilling to cease their flow as the shadow of the Judge and the sheriff loomed over his down turned face.

"Take him to the noose."

They hung my precious older brother; all I had left, that night. They hung my brother before I could say that those tracks he found while on his way over to Alfred's house that night weren't his.

They were mine.

And Toris? The cause of this problem? The one who caused my brother the most heartache before his untimely end? My brother's beloved? Well...his cheating husband had never even left town.

That's one body that'll never be found.

You see, little sister don't miss when she aims her gun.

-xo-xo-xo-xo-xo-xo-

And, any of you who're pissed at me for taking so ling to update Folie A Plusiers: It'll DEFINITELY be up this week. Technical stuff is taking a bit longer than anticipated. On a brighter note, I've got chapter 8 halfway done! Which will hopefully mean a faster update afterwards.

P.S.: I'm sorry for killing Russia...and Alfred...AND Toris. Please review?