Summary: Young Ivan has never really lived life. Not the way he is supposed to. The main reason? He doesn't understand the concept of laughter. Lost, confused, and a little mad, it takes a little American boy to discover the true joys of life.

Warnings: Young!Ivan POV. Christmas setting (yes, again, I know it's not Christmas, but this is just a repost from my old account).

Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya.

.. | Laughter | ..

'It's so empty.

And quiet.

There were people around, but why do I feel lonely?'

Young Ivan walked through his beloved town of Moscow. His footsteps seemed to echo despite the padding of soft snow on the ground. Crunch, crunch. Outside it was silent. In his mind, however, there seemed to be so much to think about, but nothing to think of at all. 'In fact, because there's nothing good to think about, I have to think of everything! Left, right, left, right! Blink, breath, blink, breath!'

Everyday Ivan had this strange feeling. Inside he felt vacant, stripped of anything to really live for. Yet there was that sensation of being crushed by layers and layers of heavy blankets. His cold heart would drop from a thousand feet, then suddenly be jerked right back up with a wisp of thread. Needless to say, it wasn't a very pleasant feeling. How could one feel as empty as him, yet be filled with… well, something. Was it normal to feel this way? Ivan didn't know himself.

'Whether it's normal or not, it hurts. I want to get rid of this pain.'

oooooooooo

The American streets were bustling with people and their errands. People dashed this way and that, doing their last minute holiday shopping in the early morning. Kids played on the sidewalks and streets despite the chilly air, building men of ice and forming angels of snow. Some pressed their rosy noses against the toyshop windows, gazing in fascination at the golden-lighted dolls and trains, still hoping Santa would grant their wish that night. Ivan watched in envy at all the festivities from a distance. It would be his family's first Christmas outside of Russia, and it already felt homier here than his actual home.

Ivan's ears perked as he heard a chiming of human voices. '… Laughter?' he pondered. The sound was so foreign to him. He unraveled his fingers from his father's grasp and sprinted towards the sound as fast as he could. 'Was that really laughter?' He kept running. The town around him became a blur until it looked like the flurry of snow falling around him. Ivan could hear his father shouting out from behind. It wasn't a normal, "Hey, come back here, son!" It was the usual, "Hurry! Someone capture him!"

Ivan tripped face first, but it didn't hurt. He was used to the stinging cold. Now the tinkling of voices was clear. "It really was laughter," Ivan whispered to himself. He gathered himself up and looked around the corner of a brick building. Children were running around in a park, playing a game. A single person was chasing the other children, while the others ran away. It reminded Ivan of the times he would go in the forest behind his home back in Russia. Every time he did, all the winter creatures would skitter away in panic. But these children, the Runners, seemed to enjoy scurrying away. They were laughing. Laughing. And enjoying themselves. This sight was so new to the little Russian.

Ivan made a mad ambush into the group, half expecting them to scamper away in terror, but also half hoping they would let him join their fun. The children were taken back at his brashness, but a wide smile was spread across Ivan's face and at that point they knew he just wanted to play. They beckoned to him with hands, and soon Ivan was a Runner. He laughed joyfully. He was not used to this feeling of wind brushing past his face. He was never allowed to run away when he was in Russia. Or laugh. Not without being accused and punished. The sound was a deep, unfamiliar rumbling in his throat that bubbled up into his mouth and was let go as a breath of whimsical air.

What seemed to be hours of fun and games had only been a few minutes. Suddenly, a hand clamped onto Ivan's shoulder, hard and cold. A familiar death grip. Ivan looked up, although he already knew who it was. He let himself be dragged away by his father as the children stared after him in fear and wonder.

oooooooooo

Ivan was stuffed roughly into a closet and forced to look into a wall of nothingness. The door was shut and locked behind him, and he was left in the cramped space of darkness. Nearly everyday it drove Ivan mad. But today was not one of those days. Today, he was thinking about life. Or rather, how he had no life. But this morning he had a taste of it. A tiny sample of it that melted in his mouth and lingered there. It made him want more of whatever this ambrosia was.

He heard something just outside the closet door. … Laughter. It was the kind that Ivan grew up hating but has only lived with. The kind that pierced one's heart until it numbed and you could not feel as much as you did before. It was the cruel sneer of his father. Again, just like any other day, his father was plotting for more money and power. Power was that man's whole life. And he had ingrained it into Ivan's small heart and brain until the little Russian was also power-hungry. But being cruel like his father was the last thing Ivan wanted, so he clutched onto his childish innocence desperately everyday. It was the only hope he dared to have in order to have a chance at a real life.

After hours and hours, Ivan was finally let out of the closet and was demanded to sit in a chair until it was time to sleep. He was forced to watch his father eat in front of him, while Ivan himself had nothing. He's always had nothing. So he just stared blindly as his father gorged himself with steak and potatoes. Eyes empty, mouth unmoving. The pangs of hunger have long left him.

oooooooooo

"Knock, knock!" Ivan said. His older sister, Katyusha, stared at him while she mended Ivan's scarf, making it longer. He'd grown so much this year…

"Knock, knock? Is someone at the door, Ivan?" she asked, confused. Ivan shook his head.

"No, Big Sister. I say 'knock, knock' and you say 'who is there?' It is a joke I learned from an American man," Ivan clarified. "Let us try it again. Knock, knock!"

Katyusha hesitated to follow along. "Wh-who is there?" she compliantly responded.

"Interrupting cow!" Ivan answered back. Silence settled again as Katyusha awkwardly fiddled with Ivan's scarf. "… Now you must repeat what I have said followed by "who," Katyusha," Ivan explained. His older sister glanced at him nervously.

"Um… Interrupting cow wh—"

"Mooooo!" Ivan exclaimed suddenly, throwing his arms in the air. Katyusha jolted in terror and dropped her needle and thread. Ivan looked at her with a wide grin, but it quickly turned into a disheartened frown when he noticed his sister's frightened gaze. "… You did not laugh," Ivan mumbled, disappointed.

"Why would I laugh at something like that? Ivan, is something wrong? Are you feeling ill?" Katyusha probed Ivan's forehead for signs of fever, but all was normal. Ivan nudged her hand away.

"Everything is fine, Big Sister," Ivan replied, turning away. "Can you hurry up with my scarf, please? I want to go outsi—"

Before he could finish, that cold hand clamped down on his shoulder. A deep, frightening voice followed. "Ivan, you were supposed to be in your room..."

oooooooooo

Ivan sat on a bench in the park. It was Christmas Eve and he had managed to sneak out of the house while his father and older sister were at work. He brought his fingertips up to his eye, but quickly brought them back down again when he felt the burning sting surrounding the eye's flesh. He brought his scarf up higher on his face and pulled his hat down lower.

Little Ivan enjoyed people-watching. Back home he would do nothing of the sort. All the people around him in Russia seemed the same to him – dismal and gloomy. But here, while he was in the United States, he discovered humans weren't all like that. And he found that he was good at sensing what someone was feeling. A woman would brush past him, and he could tell she was extremely anxious. A teenager would rush by smiling, but Ivan knew the boy felt dejected.

Yet inside, Ivan felt all jumbled up. He could instinctively sense other people's emotions, but why not his own? Ivan cringed at the thought that he didn't know who he was or how he felt. At that moment, he fell into loneliness again, sucked into a void, aimlessly floating in nowhere. Empty space floated mockingly next to him on the bench. All around the park there were lovers kissing under mistletoe, and parents giving their sons and daughters treats, and large men in red comforting small children in their lap. They were all laughing joyously. Laughing…

Yes, everyone was laughing. 'Laughing. Laughing.' Ivan grew furious. 'Laughing, laughing, laughing!' Laughing… at him? 'Yes, they are laughing at me. I'm sure of it!' he thought.' Me, me, me! Why are they laughing at me?'

Ivan jumped off the bench and frantically looked around for something to hit, scream at, kill. He spotted a nearby tree and sprinted towards it, ramming into the trunk, kicking and screaming. Soon, people started to stare, but he didn't care. 'Laughing! They're laughing because I can barely laugh myself! I do not know how to! Why can I not laugh along with them?' He swung a well-aimed punch and slugged the tree bark. 'Just wait! Soon I will be the only one laughing! You'll all see!' Punch after punch, kick after kick. Soon Ivan could feel bruises underneath his mittens. But he kept going, already feeling numb from the cold and the pain and everything else. 'WHO. IS. LAUGHING. NOW—'

Suddenly, something pelted Ivan on the side of his head and he tumbled to the ground. Whatever hit him was hard and cold, yet it crumbled upon impact: snow. Ivan snapped his head towards the perpetrator and at once he was hit by a series of more snowballs, followed by childlike laughter. "Hey, stop that!" Ivan hissed at a blond boy several feet away from him.

"Aww, but it's fun," said the boy. He continued giggling.

"I said stop it!" Ivan yelled.

"Haha, chill! I won't hit you with anymore snowballs!"

"Not that! I mean stop laughing at me!" Ivan glared at the boy, and the boy was immediately silenced. "I demand you to tell me your name!"

"Me? Oh, I'm Alfred! Alfred Jones. Nice to meet ya!" the boy introduced. He gave Ivan a warm smile despite Ivan's glaring. Ivan picked himself up and brushed the snow off his coat. He bent over to pick up his fallen hat. "Whoa! That's a real shiner you got there!" Alfred exclaimed.

"Shiner?" Ivan asked, placing his hat on his head. Alfred made a circular motion around his own eye.

"Yeah, that black eye. You must be real tough to get a shiner like that!" Alfred said.

"Yes, well, my father—"

"Hey, so what's your name?"

"M-My name? It is Ivan Braginsky—"

"Whoa, man, you talk weird! Are you from Mars or somethin'?" Alfred giggled some more, but stopped himself. "Oh, uh, yeah. Sorry about laughing at you and stuff." Ivan looked at the American boy with puzzlement.

"No, it's alright."

"So, where ya from, Ivan?" Alfred asked. He found himself a bench and plopped down on it. Ivan followed suit.

"Russia," Ivan answered. He was surprised he was even talking to this strange boy.

"Russia, huh? Isn't that where all the bad guys in movies are from? Hey, are you a spy?"

"What kind of misconception is that?"

"Kidding, kidding! Hey, do all people in Russia punch trees?"

"N-no. I was just really angry." Ivan fiddled with his scarf and for a moment they didn't talk. "… Everyone seemed to be laughing at me..."

"Laughing at you? Yeah, I guess I know whatcha mean. Like when you feel guilty and it seems like everyone is accusing you of something," Alfred offered. "But lemme tell ya, it's never like that. I should know. I've gotten in a lotta trouble because of it." He laughed good-naturedly.

Ivan nodded. "I guess so. By the way, why did you hit me with snow anyway, Alfred? Were you playing with your friends?" Ivan felt a pang of jealously when he said "friends," but looking around, he saw no other boys.

Alfred shrugged. "Nah. You just looked like you needed to cool down... Heheh, get it? Cool down?" Alfred snickered softly at his own pun. "Anyway, you looked like a nice kid. Why aren't you with your family? It's Christmas, the best time of the year! You should be with your parents. Did you get a lotta presents? How 'bout a big tree? You look like you must come from a nice family, huh?"

Ivan was dazed by how fast Alfred talked. Finally, he found a little gap in Alfred's ramble to talk and said, "Life is hard. My family is not poor or anything, but my father—"

"Speakin' of fathers, did you know I don't have a dad? Or a mom," Alfred chimed in, looking at the sky nonchalantly with hands behind his head. Ivan glanced at him, but Alfred didn't seem to be sad at the rather depressing fact the boy had just blurted out.

"Oh… really?" Ivan said.

"Mmhm. I live in a foster home. We're not rich or anything. The parents are nice enough, but don't really pay attention to me. It's kinda depressing there, so I go out here a lot."

"I see. So why is it… that you can still laugh?" Ivan asked. Alfred looked at him with a strange look.

"That's a little weird to ask. Uh, I dunno," Alfred answered. "Aren't you supposed to be happy during Christmas? It's like a rule. No one wants to be a Scrooge." At this Ivan cocked his head to the side, a little confused.

"Well, I suppose so," Ivan said quietly. Alfred glimpsed at the Russian and gave him another warm grin.

"I mean, everyone's always smiling during Christmas. They get to be with their families, and they get a bunch of presents. And there are Santas practically everywhere, so you'll be sure to get what you want! And even though I don't have a family or many presents, I think I might as well be happy too! 'Cuz no one's sad during Christmas. It just kinda makes you a weirdo!" Alfred laughed and added, "And you shouldn't be angry either! That makes you a weirdo too!"

Ivan stared at Alfred for a long time. He trembled as little bubbles formed in his throat and gathered in his mouth. Soon Ivan let out a hearty laughter that he couldn't stop. "Hey! What's so funny?" asked Alfred. Ivan only shook his head, waving him off and still laughing uncontrollably. Now it was Alfred's turn to stare.

'This guy's a nut job!' Alfred thought. But soon Alfred was caught up in the laughter too.

oooooooooo

"Merry Christmas, Ivan!" Katyusha cheered. It was after dinner and Ivan couldn't wait to open presents. Katyusha had finally given in and joined him in the present-opening. She gave him a modestly wrapped box with "Ivan" neatly written on the tag. Ivan eagerly ripped off the wrapping paper and popped open the lid. He dipped his hands into its contents and pulled out long, beige scarf.

"Oh, Katyusha, I love it!" Ivan exclaimed, already wrapping the scarf around his neck and snuggling into it. He gave a small giggle as the scarf tickled his nose. Katyusha's eyes widened and she smiled.

"Ivan, I have not heard you laugh so easily in ages," she said, not unkindly. Ivan looked at her and he realized she was right. He couldn't remember the last time he had laughed in front of his family. But he was glad only Katyusha was here. His father was out even though was Christmas, doing whatever it was he did at work. If he had been here, Ivan would have surely been blamed for something, anything, for laughing. Ivan pushed the thought aside. He was supposed to be happy during Christmas.

Someone knocked at the door. Katyusha, surprised that anyone would come here on Christmas, got up and answered it. Opening the door, she discovered a blond, blue-eyed boy, about Ivan's age, standing in front of her. "Um, good evening, Ma'am! Is Ivan here?" the boy asked. Katyusha nodded and sensed Ivan coming up behind her.

"Oh, hello, Alfred. What brings you to my home?" Ivan asked. He wondered how Alfred found his house in the first place. "Could you not stay away from me?" he asked jokingly.

Alfred scoffed. "Psh, don't be crazy! I was just, y'know, in the neighborhood, and I was wondering if you wanted to, uh, play… or something." Alfred looked down at his boots and fiddled with a stray thread hanging from his coat. It dawned on Russia why Alfred had come and he smiled.

"Come in. Warm yourself by the fireplace," Ivan said, and Alfred looked up with a wide grin and bright eyes.

"Alright! Thanks a lot!" Alfred exclaimed, taking off his winter attire as he eagerly entered the warm house. Katyusha looked after him.

"Who is that boy?" she asked Ivan.

"Oh, a friend," Ivan answered simply, following Alfred into the house. Katyusha closed the door, dazed at what just happened.

"I… see… A friend… " she murmured to herself. "Um, well, I will go make you two something warm to drink, then…"

"As long as it is not tea. Alfred hates tea," Ivan said knowingly, and his sister nodded. Still confused, she went into the kitchen, leaving the two boys alone in the living room.

Ivan sat down next to Alfred by the fireplace. The little blue-eyed boy stuck his hands near the flames and for a long time the two didn't talk. Maybe enjoying the other's company was best. The silence was comforting. Then Alfred leaned close to Ivan's ear.

"… Y'know… your sister's kinda hot."

"Wh-What?" Ivan exclaimed. He blushed and practically tackled Alfred. The two tumbled around the floor, wresting and laughing. In the kitchen, Katyusha smiled, expecting to hear a lot more laughter from her little brother from now on.

A/N: There are two things I have learned. One: the website does not like the concept of exclamation points and question marks together. No matter how much I try, it won't let me put ! and ? together. Two: I like to write about Hetalia characters in their young forms... odd.