A one-shot/two-shot/three-shot/four-shot story thing that I will DEFINITELY finish(?) n_n

This is basically a sequel to my Winter War one-shot.

Once again, its Alfred x Ivan. I just love those two so much~ *hearts galore*

Be warned: It's a lot of just ranting and thinking. Story's been stuck in my mind for awhile n_n

Beautifully Horrible

Alfred was sure he was going to die. Die all alone in a cursed winter, in the largest blizzard of snow he had ever seen in his entire life. He trudged through the mountains of frost and tried to breathe through his scarf or else his nose would probably end up an icicle. Alfred felt a sudden vehemence for his idiocy, for choosing to be deported to this madness Siberian place, where the cold of winter was something no one except the natives could ever put up with. What was he going to do…? He felt for certain that there was no way he could find a base in this barren wasteland of white, that there was no way he could even see an enemy if they decided to attack him. He was on their terrain, after all, a place he had no heads or tails of.

Numbly, with as little movement as he could, Alfred drew his gun from his back and menacingly held it in front of him. He would try to be prepared, no matter what. Even if he just felt like closing his eyes and curling up in his 9 layers of coats, falling asleep in snow that looked invitingly soft. But of course, even if he was an idiot, the American at least knew that falling asleep in a blizzard- the coldest in the world, to him -wasn't the best idea to do. If he wanted to survive.

If he wished to live, to continue and bring back glory to his country and his parents.

…But did he want it?

Wasn't it such a hassle? To keep trying to live, to keep trying to breathe and force his weary legs onward, into the unknown? Wouldn't it be better to just give up and let some random Russian find him in the snow and… hack his body to pieces and do some crazy, creepy Russian ritual around the campfire…?

…

N. O.

Alfred shook his head, eyes wide and gripped his gun tighter. There was no way in hell he would ever allow those bastards to do that to him.

He could only do one thing then- persevere. If there was one thing they taught him in the few months he'd been training in the army for this day, it was to keep going on. There was even a poem, or saying for it…

Alfred cocked his head to the gray, snowy sky, trying to put it to mind. Something about life being painful, but if you endure through it, beauty always comes after pain. Some Finland guy had said that, Alfred remembered…

Back at the army camp, they'd dragged back an almost dead Finnish sniper, and he'd laughed when the medics tried to patch him up. He'd whispered, "It's kinda too late for that," and was grinning, not even fazed by the fact that he was about to die. Alfred could even remember his shock at the Finnish's display of foolhardy bravo. And then, just before he breathed his last breath, the sniper had mumbled something about "a losing war" and "saving someone" and then he'd whispered that quote. Now Alfred could fully see all those words, flashing across his mind.

"Life is so painful, but you must endure it for the beauty that comes after pain."

Yeah, that was exactly what the Finnish man had said.

And then he had died.

Alfred froze, staring down at the steadily-getting-dirty snow, and clenched his fists. Thinking about the sniper had sobered his mood, and all he felt now was a coldness.

What was he doing here? Why was he even here? Why did it feel like enduring and enduring still wouldn't be enough to win, wouldn't been enough to see the 'beauty that comes after pain'?

He thought back to all the years he'd fought with his parents. About how they claimed he was just spoiled brat and never did anything and that he was better off just going away and not coming back. Now here he was- away. He saw the looks on their faces- slightly surprised and slightly relieved and even slightly sad -when he had gotten his drafting letter. Drafted into the army at age nineteen. He knew, even as he was forcing himself to walk on through the cursed snow, that they wouldn't give a shit if he died in the war, or if he made it back home alive with over a hundred trophies. They just wanted him out- never to come back and bother them again.

"Life is painful…" Alfred murmured.

Yeah, it was painful. Of that, the Finnish sniper had been right.

But what beauty would there be at the end of it? What beauty would there be if he made it through alive and returned home? Would his parents suddenly decide to love him, would they apologize to him and hug him, kiss him and tell him that they missed him…?

Would the world still spin on its axis, would the wars suddenly stop and everyone come to care and cherish one another? Would there be less hate, and bloodshed?

Would there be peace?

Alfred sighed and buried his chin back in his scarf.

What a bunch of morbid thoughts.

Maybe that was why he didn't like the cold, didn't like the snow. It made him think of depressing things he would never else in his right mind dwell on. Besides, even if that was the case, even if he wished for the end of it from the depths of his heart, there was no way that a 1000 year war would cease as suddenly as it had started.

Yes, a 1000 year war… He had been fighting for his life from the moment he was born. Thrust into a painful, hateful, and sorrow-filled world.

"And I have to keep walking on," Alfred said softly, dully. "Just because my will won't allow me to stop. Just because I'm curious…"

Curiosity. What would he really find at the end of his journey, at the end of a 1000 and one years of fighting?

Nothing?

…Or maybe beauty?

Maybe endless, loving beauty.

//

Reviews/comments?:D