Alright, for this story, I should give a little info. I know that the G8 didn't exist in the 1950's, where this story is set, but oh well. This is the first chapter, as you can probably tell. I do not own Hetalia.
It was once again time for the g8 meetings. The meetings seldom corrected important issues, most of the time spent arguing with one another. However, there was one thing that made Russia look forward to arriving at the area; the work load he constantly had diminished during said meetings.
His boss was the notorious man, Stalin. Russia could not trust him, fearing for his people, spending hours upon hours of doing paperwork, attempting to pick the best scenarios for his citizens and family.
(His family, oSh his family. He tried to protect them, he tried, but he could only do so much to help, he couldn't always take the blame. They grew to fear him more than ever, afraid of the horrors he could unleash to their children. Why couldn't they realize that he was doing all he could?)
After a teetering stack of paperwork was finally completed, Russia was carted off to a sleek plane, reserved for only for the highest government officials, and relaxed into the rich leather seats. The meetings were to be held in England, a land much warmer than his own, especially during the current winter. The white haired man had leaned his head against the window, relishing the cool feeling on his forehead. Exhaustion had finally set in, and the Russian had finally fell into unconsciousness.
Russia had been awoken by a nervous looking attendant, saying that the plane had touched the ground, and to prepare to leave the plane. Nodding at the flight attendant, who scurried away, the man rubbed the sleep away from his eyes. A truck came bustling forwards, a staircase extending from the flatbed, reaching the door of the plane. Russia grabbed his paperwork filled briefcase and headed off briskly down the steps, the private airport close enough to the building where the meeting was being held to walk.
The air was warm, a slight breeze making the tree branches dance. England's winter had always been much milder than his own, much warmer than his own. The nation had finally reached the building, only twenty minutes after leaving the airport.
England had opened the meeting room door, looking uncomfortable in his presence. Russia was used to that reaction, and he simply walked past him with a greeting. Only Italy and the capitalist had not yet arrived, the atmosphere light and calm. And then he jinxed it, the enjoyability of the meeting disrupted by said capitalist, the burger-loving America. He and Russia were in the middle of the Cold War, threatening to send nuclear weapons over to each other at least once per week. Their fellow nations had tried to stay away from the tension as humanly (nationly?) as possible, but that was impossible; Once the Russian was out of ear range, America would complain to England or Japan; essentially anyone who he could make listen. America barged into the meeting room, slamming the door harshly behind him. The blond ignored the shouts of anger from Germany and England, plopping down on one of the chairs and pulling out a crinkled McDonald's bag. Chewing noisily on a fry, he noticed Russia in the back.
"What the fuck are you doing here, commie?" America declared with a simmering glare.
"I am part of the G8; your memory seems to be lacking."
"You don't belong at the meeting place!" America shouted. " I know what's going on in the "happy family" that is what you are, Soviet Union! I know what you've done and still do to Lithuania and the others! You- you abusive rapist!"
America's rant left the room in silence, as the other nations were unsure of how Russia would react. What happened, however was not what the others expected. Russia quietly looked up at the American, a dead expression on his face. He stood up and began walking towards the door, the others inching away from him, and quietly exited the doorway.
England cast a glare to the silent American. "America, what have you done?! What little tolerating relations you two had- and you had to go and ruin them! What were you thinking, with those assumptions?! I thought I raised you better than this, but clearly I was wrong!" England, done with his rant, began to pile his paperwork together into a cluttered pile, before straightening it and taking a deep breath to calm his nerves.
The meeting carried on, with America remaining silent for a good change, some progress was made on issues, and after two hours of arguing, the break finally arrived. Russia never came back.
Well, what do you all think? America called Russia the Soviet Union, which may confuse some of you. In my belief, Russia was never the Soviet Union, but rather a forced representative of it. Please Review!