Lithuania strode through the halls of Russia's house, alone for a rare moment, away from Latvia and Estonia. He ran a hand along the papered wall, examining the rather sparse decorations Russia used as attempts at warmth. His hand bumped against a shelf rather suddenly, and he stopped to examine the one object upon it. An arrow, fletched with dark red feathers, lay alone on the small shelf, and Lithuania hesitated. Extending a cautious hand toward it, he slowly picked it up, running it through his fingers and feeling its length. The sight of the arrow caused memories to trickle back into his mind, memories of these same arrows flying out of trees to hit him square in the noggin…and others, less violent. His fingers continued to fiddle with the arrow as his mind gamboled through fields of remembrance, and a faint sheen of tears made his eyes smart. Looking at the arrow, he suddenly became aware of another presence at the other end of the hall, and glanced up sharply to see the squarish shape of Russia standing there.

"Russia, I…"

Russia remained silent, glancing from Lithuania's face to the arrow he held.

"I was just thinking about-you remember, a long, long time ago, when you were under the Tartars' rule, and you met me that day in the forest-"

Still stoically implacable, Russia didn't respond.

"-and I-I…and you said-You were so happy back then, Russia."

"I am happy now."

"But you were nice and kind and-and you wanted to be friends with me, but you swore you would become a powerful country first, a big, strong country, so I could be friends with you, but then….then I ended up here. And we are not friends."

Lithuania sniffled a bit, staring down at the arrow in his hand. "Now I'm here in your house, but-I wanted to be friends, Russia, I really did! I just-I can't-" He paused for a moment and quieted, his panicky voice returning to its normal pitch. "You remember my puppy, Russia? My little doggie who went with me everywhere? You met him that day, remember, and he barked and barked-maybe he knew. Maybe he knew what you would do to me someday. And now-he's gone. He's gone, and I'm here. Alone."

"You have Latvia and Estonia."

"That doesn't make up for it. You did become a big, strong country, Russia, but it didn't make us friends. I-I really wanted to be your friend, Russia, but now…"

Russia shifted his weight slightly as he stood at the end of the hall. "I-I do not remember what you speak of. I don't know what you're talking about."

Lithuania didn't reply, but slowly, with trembling hands, placed the arrow back on the shelf. He turned away from Russia and headed back down the way he had come, his body shaking slightly with restrained tears. Russia watched him go, making his way through the hallway, then himself paused. Lithuania rounded a corner and disappeared, leaving Russia alone in the sunny hallway, and he looked down at his outfit, thinking. Reaching up to his scarf, he pulled it away from his neck and loosened it a few inches, allowing him to examine the inner lining. A few scraps of an older, more ragged scarf clung to his newer one, sewn on by an inexperienced but dedicated hand. He fingered the scraps gently, tracing their outlines with his finger, and smiled sadly. With a final glance at the tattered remains of his old scarf, he tightened it around his neck again and turned away, heading deeper and deeper within the house.

Ask if you have questions.

I don't own Hetalia.

I find it hard to write Russia so this will probably be the only fanfiction I have of him.