Winter was cold in the North. It wasn't anything new; Matthew Williams had lived through hundreds of winters. Maybe it was all in his mind, but this winter seemed longer and colder than any other in his memory. Maybe it was the damned war. It had been many peaceful years since the last war, and now this. It was Russia, of course, who had started it. Russia, that cold nation with a shattered sanity had somehow pulled together under one mind and grown stronger than anyone had suspected.

Russia was finally fulfilling the promise that everyone would be one with Russia.

The Baltics knew better than to resist, though Poland and Lithuania tried their best. The proud Nordics had fallen hard. Germany and China allied themselves with Russia and Italy, as always, followed Germany. It was a new Axis. The old one was bad enough.

Matthew sighed and pulled his blanket more tightly around his thin frame. He was chilled to the very core, to his very heart, despite the blazing fire in the fireplace, despite the blanket, despite the hot tea, despite the undersized polar bear on his lap. He was chilled and smothered by heat at once.

If anyone knew how to fight a winter war it was Russia. Old Man Winter was a cruel master and a powerful ally. Russia had targeted his supply lines, his ports, his people's houses, leaving them freezing to death in the snow and starving in their shelters.

Canada had never felt such suffering. And that was why he was chilled and overheated and thinner than he had ever been before.

Canada was a peacekeeper, not a fighter. And now he and his brother, America, Alfred, were alone in their fight. England had fallen. France had fallen. They were the only superpowers left standing against the menace of Russia. Alfred always knew, he said, he knew that Ivan was not to be trusted. It was too late for trust now. Now that it was war. Now that it was cold.

The fire was warm, the hut was cozy. It was Matthew's little cabin getaway, his place for solitude. Now it felt like choking isolation. Surrounded and covered in a blanket of snow, the log cabin was the only light in the arctic night. His stomach turned over uneasily. It was empty. There was little food, and little would stay down. Matthew gave almost all of his food to his people. There was so little left, and only a little coming in from America, from his still-free half-brother Australia, even some from Europe. Only a little because Russia was cruel and would punish insolence from his conquered nations harshly. The nations under China, under Germany fared better… a little better. They were not cruel, they were protecting. China cared for his family, would never let Russia have them…

Family. That was what turned Matthew's stomach. Ivan kept sending him messages, calling him "brother" and urging him to join, to give in, saying he would be welcomed as a Northern brother. And at the same time he was doing God-knew-what with the ones Matthew loved as his true family. Arthur and Francis… his Nordic cousins… his friends…

Hell. War was a cold, frozen hell.

A soft paw brushed against his pale cheek, wiping away the tears he didn't know he was shedding. "Don't cry," a small voice said.

Matthew sniffed and threw his arms around the bear. "Kumajiro," he sobbed, burying his face into white fur. "Why, Kumajiro? I-I can't…"

The bear submitted to the hug patiently. He had been with his master all of his life, they had shared everything, and even if they didn't always remember each other's names they could never truly forget each other. Yes, he was happy to be a shoulder to cry on.

AN: A warm hello to anyone who has found this story worth reading to the bottom of the page. This is only my first little story, after all, so feedback would be very much appreciated, about anything and please be honest about what you think!