Warnings: This is a dark fic that has to do with insanity, character death, blood, and all that good stuff. If that offends or disturbs you, please look for something else to read. Thank you.

Nothing At All

The Cold War had come to a close. The nightmare balancing act between the Soviet Union and the United States of America was finally over. The world seemed to heave a great sigh of relief. True, there was still some left over tension, some distrust between the two sides, but on a whole, the two Super Powers were done with the fighting, done with their rivalry. Both saw that it was time to move on, time to truly let the world heal and not keep the wounds of the past festering.

Sitting in a World Meeting, the nations gathered, all slightly nervous, yet excited none the less. Germany and Prussia were sitting next to each other, tears of joy in both sets of eyes as they finally were able to see each other for the first time since the construction of the Wall. Austria and Hungary now found each other again and were silently holding hands, each smiling quietly. Poland and the other members in the Soviet Union were now sitting amongst the other western nations, catching up and talking, laughing, like none of them really had been able to for many years now. It was a time of rejoicing.

America and Russia sat there as well, each at the opposite ends of the table from each other, marking them as the most powerful, the leaders of the two sides. The meeting had been going well, if a meeting it could be called. It was more of a reunion if anything, as the two great carvers of the world allowed their charges to see the "enemy" for the first time in many years.

"Before we conclude today," America stood up, smiling broadly at everyone present, blue eyes twinkling with joy in such a way that it made the Russian cringe. "I just want to say a little something."

The other nations all sat still, staring at the young Super Power that had seemed to come out of nowhere to dominate the world with his ideals and culture. Out of the corner of many eyes, however, the other nations looked to Russia to see what the other great nation would do while his former rival spoke. Would Russia be pleased with what America said? Would America actually think before he spoke? They all hoped so.

"I just wanted to say a little something to Russia before we all go," the young man continued. Everyone else held their breaths. "I know we've been at each other's throats for what seems like forever," America said, smiling a little sadly at the nation across from him, who sat there, face blank. "But I just wanted to let you know that I'm really glad we were able to come to a peaceful resolution to all this Cold War mess.

"I know I've done some terrible stuff to you, said some pretty nasty things, and didn't always use my power rightly where you were concerned," America admitted, much to everyone else's surprise, "but I just wanted to tell you now that I'm sorry for all that. I really am sorry."

Blue eyes shown with regret and sorrow, but also with hope, a hope that Russia couldn't bear. "I would just like to put the last several decades behind us and be friends again. I mean, we use to be really close, remember? Remember how we went buffalo hunting that one time with the prince? Yeah, that was awesome! Or the time that I came to Moscow to see the Tsarina Katherine soon after my revolution? Your house was totally amazing! I remember being like, 'Whao! This is, like, the coolest place ever! How can a place be this huge? I can't even imagine if I had a place like this to live! Where would I even put a place like this if I had one? I mean—'"

"Ahem," England coughed loudly, shooting his brother a warning glare that clearly said, Get on with it, fat arse!

The energetic nation blushed slightly, realizing that he had gone off on his own tangent. Clearing his throat, America went on. "Right, well…I just wanted to say that I'm sorry Russia, and that I hope that we can be friends again."

Across the room, Russia's face remained completely blank, his amethyst eyes sparkled with a light, an emotion, no one could identify. Was he touched by America's declarations? Was he embarrassed by the heartfelt speech? Was he angry with it? There was no telling with the large Slavic nation.

When Russia said nothing in return, America went on. "I know that being friends right now sounds a little unrealistic, and I understand that we probably won't be, or can be, for another few years or so, but I'd really like to try."

Russia stubbornly remained silent, though his mask was crumpling, and everyone could clearly see that there were tears that were threatening to spring forth in the cool purple eyes.

Taking this as a good sign, America smiled over at the other nation happily, his whole manner alight with joy. "So, what do you say, big guy? You ready to put all that negative past behind us? Are you ready to look to the future?"

At last, Russia moved. He stood up, eyes still curiously lit, though his body was stiff and rigid. "Yes, Amerika," he said softly. "I am."

The younger nations positively beamed, and he let out a big laugh. "Awesome! Then I officially announce this Cold War business over!"

Bang!

No sooner had the words left America's mouth than a gun shot rang throughout the room. Everyone had ducked down instinctively, but looked up in time to see America's body fall over and slam into the table before it crumpled onto the ground. Someone screamed, though no one knew who it was, and all eyes turned to see Russia, still holding up the offending weapon, his face contorted with pain as tears spilled down his cheeks, all the while wearing a hollow smile.

"'Know thy enemy'," the Russian purred. He lowered his weapon and walked around the table towards the body of the fallen nation.

England and Canada both stood up and raced to the fallen American's side. "Get back you bloody monster!" Britain cried, tears of fury and sorrow running down his face as he stood between America's body and Canada, as the other young nation was pointlessly trying to revive the life of his brother.

Russia hummed before he grabbed England by the shoulder and threw him across the room. Canada shrieked, but was torn between helping his injured guardian or staying by the side of his fallen brother. "Get away from us!" the northern nation growled. "Leave us alone!"

Tears rained down from the boy's eyes as well, but the large Slavic merely laughed at the pathetic child. "You cannot do anything to me," the nation laughed, though his own tears kept flowing.

It was with the absolute dread that everyone realized this. Russia had destroyed America; he had killed the United States of America, the one place on earth that no one would have ever expected, the only nation that had been powerful enough to withstand the encroachments of the Soviet Union. It was in this moment that they all understood that winter was upon them and summer would never come to them again.

For all his effort to stop Russia, Canada fared little better than England. Russia grabbed the boy's arm and twisted it painfully with one hand, causing the Canadian to let out a yelp of surprised pain. Before anyone could help, however, the Super Power pushed the boy aside. With Canada out of the way, there was really no one that could stop Russia from getting to America.

With insanity burning brightly in the other nation's eyes, Russia grabbed one of America's arms and drug him away, like a child would his rag doll, leaving a trail of blood to smear along the floor.

"We have to do something!" Germany sprang up and was prepared to charge after the crazed nation, but Prussia pulled him back down.

"Don't!" the albino cried, pulling at his brother's arm, horror shadowing in his crimson eyes. "Please, West, don't," he pleaded. "He'll kill you."

The blonde looked torn as to what to do. On the one hand, he couldn't just let Russia get away with murder, but then again, what could he do? America was dead, was there any point in risking his life, risking leaving his brother alone again, to recover a body? Frustrated, the blonde nodded before he gently pulled out of his brother's grasp, looking around at the other nations helplessly.

Ukraine stood up, crying, trying to reach her brother. "Ivan!" she sobbed. "P-please…!"

The Russian did not slow down and continued to drag the body of the fallen nation across the room and towards the balcony. "I have completed my assignment," Russia said, smiling eerily around the room, his body shaking.

"Now the Soviet Union will prevail." Belarus smiled at her brother, pleased that he had taken a great step in gaining power. She just knew that when he had offered to negotiate peace that Ivan wasn't just giving up, that it all had to be part of some sort of master plan. And she was right.

Everyone remained silent, even as Russia turned his back on them all and went towards the balcony, humming a haunting melody. Gently, the large personification lifted up the body of his fallen rival and cradled it to his chest, like a mother would her sleeping child. "It's time to sleep now, Lapushka," he whispered into the deaf ear of the corpse, stroking America's golden locks tenderly.

"Bastard!" England shrieked, struggling to stand. "What are you doing?"

The large personification looked at the confused and frightened faces around him, and smiled. It was a bright smile, clear of the clouds of insanity. "Amerika was right," he said brightly. "It's time for peace to prevail and for the world to heal."

Before anyone could ask what he meant, Russia leaned over the rail, America's body still in his arms, as he fell backwards. Many nations called out in surprise and panic, but it was too late for them to do anything. And as the two former Super Powers began their descent from the fifteen story building, the larger of the two began laughing a carefree and happy laugh.

Closing his eyes, Russia let the sound of the rushing air blowing past his ears calm him. It was a pleasant feeling, this feeling of weightlessness, and he knew that soon he would not feel the pain and suffering of his people anymore, or the cruelty of his leaders. He would not have to endure the guilt and sorrow he felt for having to kill the younger nation. Peeking open his eyes, he stared into the bloody face of America, hoping that the other would forgive him for what he had done.

Just before they hit the ground, Russia smiled one last time and hugged the other to his chest. "Sladkih snov, moy droog," he whispered, knowing that he had done the right thing, that he had at least made America's own dreams for peace come true before he felt nothing.

Nothing at all.

Author's Note: What's wrong with me, and why would I write such a thing? I have no idea. I heard a really creepy song today and it made me think of America and Russia for some reason. I just love writing creepy insane Russia for some reason too…Take this as you will, and please, leave a review on your way out. Thanks!

Russian: Sladkih snov, moy droog- sweet dreams, my friend.