Title: Russian Peace
Prompt: Nations interacting with the personifications of... other... things...
Series: Axis Powers Hetalia
Character/Pairing: Russia
Rating: PG-13

AN: A little something I did for the APH kink meme. It is also the first Dark-fic I've ever done, be kind. Constructive Criticism is an awesome tool that only my reviewers can use. I must also point out that Russia, at the time, did not talk to or know Greece and Egypt and if he did they obviously weren't close enough to chat about their moms.

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Peace was the most wonderful thing that Russia could ever hope to find in this world.

It was the absence of pain, the end of all suffering and a feeling he had never been able to enjoy without tragic consequence.

But, that is not to say he didn't know it.

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Ivan couldn't really lay claim to having an excellent memory as a child. He was always forgetting something, especially while doing chores around the house, much to a younger Ukraine's exasperated amusement.

But, he did remember something.

It was important.

It was something he instinctively knew every Nation had gone through but couldn't remember, because they had been too little when it happened.

Their mother, the personification of Life.

She was a young woman that looked short of her 20 summers. He couldn't remember if she was beautiful or what color was her hair. Ivan could only remember the impression that she looked like a mother and he and his sisters were her babies.

Ukraine, Russia and Belarus had been born at a time where pain, suffering and violence were commonplace and expected. But it was the only time he couldn't recall having to fight for the right to live.

The little time he could recall being in her presence, was the most peaceful he had ever been.

His only clear memory of his mother was a terrifying sight.

She was furious with blood splattered on her warrior's garb, eyes gleaming in anger; the very picture of an angry lioness as she ordered Yekaterina to take her siblings and run.

'Death had found her and he wasn't going to find them, too.' Was the warning that young Rus had received before fleeing from both peace and mother.

It was Life's will that Death not find them until they had had a chance to live.

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Ivan's next great moment of peace unexpectedly came from Death himself.

The Mongols had recently beaten down one of the last free Russian territories of Kieven Rus, the city of Moscow was in ruin. The little Nation had been knocked out helping his boss defend the city. And, it was a miracle that a man in dark robes had noticed and saved him from being trampled by both friend and foe, when he had.

When he awoke, he was in a tavern. With a glass of vodka in front of him.

"Drink up." The dark stranger gently prodded him. "It'll warm you up."

The young Rus hesitated to touch the cup in front of him, suspicious of the man's kindness and foreign features. Staring at the man who had helped him with distrust, Ivan made no motion to touch the vodka despite feeling a deep chill in his bones and general misery and discomfort due to his wounds.

The man offered the boy the warmest smile he had ever received, and silently brought the cup to his lips and took a sip; placing the cup next to Rus' hand. It didn't take much more to prompt the four year old to gulp the rest down greedily, leaving him slightly inebriated but much, much warmer than he had been before.

Ivan wanted to thank him for the vodka. He wanted to ask who he was and how could he see him, but Mongol soldiers interrupted him even before he started.

They barged into the tavern and strutting around as if they owned the place. Bullying the innkeeper, molesting the barmaid, and demanding alcohol.

What happened next was probably due to stress, fear and vodka: They stabbed a man, because they felt like it. After that, a fight broke out between the tavern's inhabitants and the soldiers.

Ivan would have rushed to join the fight had it not been for the calming warmth of the vodka flowing through him and the stranger's hand resting on his shoulder. He watched alongside the dark stranger violence and gore, rape and disembowelment, while feeling nothing but calmly detached acceptance of what was happening before him.

The terror that should have flooded his being when he saw the foreigner grin like a shark when a particularly gruesome act occurred in front of them was absent.

The relief he should have been feeling for not being noticed thanks to his condition as a Nation and the suspicion that the person next to him was getting the same treatment, was dismissed.

In contrast, the foreigner's hand on his shoulder had dispelled all notion of cold. He was pleasantly warm. It was a very comfortable, peaceful feeling. It was all he truly cared for at the moment.

He was not aware of it at first, but after a while he realized that the man's attention had gone from the fight to him.

"…other's fault. She's always needlessly running away from me."

Ivan's little heart stopped. His mother? This man knew his mother?

"You know мама, da?" The little Russian peered up at his nameless companion. "Is she coming back?"

The dark man's grin looked almost fatherly. "She's not. I won't let her."

"почему?" Ivan was crushed with just those few words. He wanted to cry.

The stranger pulled little Rus onto his lap and hugged him in an effort to comfort him. "Why? Well…because she's refusing her fate: the calm peace that comes to all rich or poor, young or old. I'm the unifying fate that she'll succumb to one day, and because of that if she wants you to live she'll never turn back."

Dread filled his little body vodka-induced calm dispelled as the child understood the man's words. The Nation that would later become Russia looked up at the dark man's sparkling green eyes in horror.

Ivan would remember those green eyes for years to come and would KNOW without ever seeing England's famous boy wizard's movie, just what color the Avada Kedavra was.

He was suddenly tugged out of the man's arms with tremendous force only to find himself being dragged into his older sister's arms. "Let go of him!" She was lightly shaking as she gave the man a timid glare, shrilly hissing her displeasure at his closeness.

The man stood up as calmly as he pleased and walked passed them as he headed out the door. "Well, I must be off. I already have what I came for. Good night to you both." He nodded his head, saying goodbye.

Ukriane, found herself sputtering out, the maternal instincts of an elder sister flaring "Death what have you done to my brother?!" before fear shut her mouth.

The man smiled, back still turned to both children. "Explaining the whereabouts of his dear mother, while taking the time to remind him of the cardinal rule of the universe: in the end, everyone, even Nations, will 'become one with me'."

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On Bloody Sunday 1905, many centuries afterwards, Russia's thoughts went back to his past experiences and all he could think of was his wish for peace: To end the turmoil of the non-stop violence he's had to weather through since his childhood.

He rested his head against the window in sorrow.

"How could the people want to destroy me? How could they hate me so much? I had done all I could, everything that had been asked of me to make things better. Why weren't they happy? I did everything the sons of God wanted me to do, da? And, yet they thought me mad and wanted my destruction? Where is the peace I worked so hard for?" were the sorrowful thoughts lurking within his overly stressed mind.

His mind mulled over the moments he had experienced true peace throughout his life, and it came down to his mother and father (because his bloody history could only have been fathered by Death himself)'s peace.

His mother had united him with his sisters and had protected them all. Making sure they were all fed and clothed, whilst protecting fiercely. It was a wonderful feeling of not having to fight for your life, only having to care for her and be cared for in return.

On the other hand, his father's peace had shown him that we are all equal. That there is a way to bring everyone together without categories nor barriers. A peace that unifies.

They both held to Marx's ideals. Socialism, wasn't it? They both came together flawlessly and he knew from experience that they felt wonderful! But, they had to be fought for. He wasn't a crazy idealist, he knew sacrifice was necessary sometimes.

And, there it was, an epiphany: A way to bring their peace to his reality.

HE would be the Death of the living world. Russia would unite all peoples under him without prejudice or hierarchies. Everyone would have to become one with Russia, just like they would become one with Death! But, he would also have to care for everyone just like a mother. Ivan was the only Nation he knew of that knew what a mother's love REALLY felt like (his poor forgetful sisters), so he was obviously the most suited for the job of taking care of everyone. Yes, he would truly become Mother Russia if he did this, wouldn't he?

The protestors were growing louder.

He hated them, too. He thought fiercely to himself.

Russia blinked, a mother didn't think like that…

He blinked again, the thought was gone. In its place, he decided that perhaps they were to far gone with their cyclical violence to wish for mother's peace, at all? Maybe, all they really wanted was for father's peace, an eternal peace, and they were misbehaving intentionally to receive it?

"Hey, Lithuania." He muttered to his worried 'ally', as he opened the window letting the winter chill inside.

"We don't want children who can't play nice, right?" Ivan dried his tears as the 'right' sort of thoughts settled into his head. He readied his rifle. He'd be the mother who'd make sure all his children received what made them the happiest.

'Mothers know best.' Were his thoughts as he cocked his rifle, aiming at one of the rioters.