Warning: There is some violence in this and a small child cries… Cutely, but still cries. The rating is going to be for future chapters.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything, like seriously if I owned Hetalia and it's characters… Just think about that for a while, good and hard, what
would happen if I owned Hetalia and it's characters? Yeah I went there too, so nope don't own anything.
I'm sorry if this is Out Of Character any, i tried.
I know I still have a story uncompleted that I should finish before I start another story but I couldn't help myself! I hope you enjoy this, I really want this to be a multi-chap but I think I should ask you guys first. PLEASE LET IT BE A MULTI-CHAP! Enjoy?
I feel like I'm forgetting something?
000
Anger.
It was a feeling Ivan was most familiar with, most comfortable with.
He brought his fist up and slammed it down, splintering the heavy oak table. He didn't need his pipe this time. An, out of place, pink flower pot was thrown across the room, hitting the wall and splitting into thousands of thick glass shards. His tirade continued, breaking everything and anything he could get his hands on. Broken glass covered the floor like a veil of snow, a bookcase had been thrown onto the ground; the tile shattering and causing spider web patterns to jerk out from under its mahogany wood, there were holes in the walls, all the windows had been destroyed by one thing or another, the gilded chandelier hanging over the dining table had been ripped down; the table collapsing because of the pressure. This was why he couldn't have nice things. The wreckage continued into other rooms and unto other floors of his large mansion.
It lasted for hours.
By the time he had finished his rampage, his breathing had become labored and the calm, cold devastation that Russia was renowned for could be clearly seen from any point in the house. He walked with slow deliberation towards the circular stairwell, the marble still beautiful even with its many newly added cracks and scuffs. As soon as the large doors opened (As all the doors in Russia's domain were large. Who knows why.), the quiet sobbing reached his ears. It was one of the many things he loved about the ominous stairwell; it was a fucking echo chamber.
Almost everything going on in the house could be heard on the staircase and its landing, well almost. Ivan had made sure his personal bedroom could not be heard from anywhere, not even if you were standing right outside the doors. A slight frown fitted itself upon his face in place of his usual eerie smile. As he descended the empty stairs, the sobs grew louder, his boots made loud taps upon the marble. Russia grimaced slightly as a gruesome crunch resonated from under his boot as he crushed broken glass into the wood floor of the first level. Ivan crossed the threshold quickly, the crunches not subsiding until he himself stopped.
He looked down at the figure curled up and sobbing below him. He sighed deeply; this had not been what he wanted. He crouched down, but didn't speak, for he did not know what to say. He knew though, what the miserable creature wanted him to say.
"I'm sorry." He made them as heartfelt and meaningful as he could make them, but Russia's acting skills were only so extensive. He should have watched more soap operas; they would have come in handy at this moment.
The figure lurched upwards, anger and hurt plastered all over his face, he lifted his arms up and attempted to shove Russia away, but it was just an attempt for Ivan caught the lithe arms easily.
"Do not say things you don't mean!" More tears emerged from puffy eyes and rolled down red cheeks. He was so cute when he cried; it was one of Russia's favorite expressions.
"Well than, what do you want me to say?" This time he spoke with a deep calm and true inquiry. He tilted his head slightly to the side.
"Hmmm? Well? Are you going to answer or act like a child further?" The boy's head bolted up, his features scrunching up into an "angry face" but was in actuality a pout.
"I AM NOT A CHILD!" He declared stubbornly. Something swelled inside of Ivan, it was a strange bubbly feeling and before he could identify it or stop it, a low chuckle emitted from his smirking mouth. He blinked, the sensation had been new to him, he recognized it as laughter but it was unlike anything the Nation had ever experienced before.
He had felt an emotion that had dissolved his Anger. For the brief moment that the sound had escaped his lips, he had forgotten his Anger. A foreign and unknown feeling had awakened in his heart. And for once Ivan was not the calm and knowledgeable older Nation, he was as new and naive as the child (for that was truly what he was) in front of him. He did not know how to deal with this newfound emotion and he was not comfortable with it, not like his Anger. He knew Anger inside and out; there was nothing that his Anger could do that he didn't know already. Russia did not like change.
He released the small boy's hands and instead lifted him into his arms.
"Britain will want you back by tomorrow's tea." The boy looped his arms around Russia's neck before mumbling sleepily:
"I know…" He snuggled his face into Ivan's chest, which was surprisingly comfy. All and all Russia was a pretty mushy guy. (A/N: Nobody tell him.)
"You know I think I may have to make you cry more often, if this is how quickly you will go to sleep for me." The murmur was unheard by the small nation that had drifted to sleep the second he had been wrapped in Ivan's rather warm arms. (A/N:Nobody tell him that either.) Russia tip-toed back up the stairs, careful not to wake the sleeping beauty he was holding. Two corridors spanned on either side of the landing, but he turned right. It didn't take long before he was twisting the doorknob and entering a room. Correction, his room. It was perhaps the most conspicuous looking room in the whole manor. It was located directly at the end of the hallway with large glossy mahogany doors and arcane columns looming over Russia and the small little one as if threatening to swallow them whole. To the foolish wandering guest the spectacle would be enough to make them turn tail and, on extreme cases, shit themselves.
The right door swung open, it's ornate gilded doorknob cool to the touch, even through Russia's gloves. He carefully let the door click shut, ensuring the child's slumber continue uninterrupted. A large, mesmerizing four poster bed stood directly in front of Ivan. He approached the magnificent bed and gently laid his sleeping beauty down before climbing up himself. He pulled the thick bed covers up and over them, allowing the warmth of the smaller body to heat up his naturally cold self. He pushed the thought of his clothes to the back of his mind and drifted to sleep. But not before snuggling his face into the nameless, yet to be nation. Something that he would undoubtedly deny to himself in the morning.
000
Please review, it would make me really happy. In fact it might even make my day… Who am I kidding? It would make me so happy, I would be that much closer to uploading another chapter. Which is entirely up to you, I could just keep it this way, but don't you want to indulge yourself in the oh so wonderful world of Hetalia? I have lots of plot bunnies running wild, so unless you want cyber rabbit stew, you should review!(RHYME!) I know that when people review to MY stories I tend to act like someone shot me full of opium and I start to giggle, but that could just be me… XD Tell me what you think of this, whether it was good, bad, or just plain ugly.
Was it just me or was the tiny, nameless, not-quite-yet-there nation (I realy hope you know who that is, cause its not that difficult to figure out. So if you don't know than you're stupid, sorry, but you are. It's America, before he was America.) just a tad bit bipolar towards the end?
~o.o~
I still feel like I'm forgetting something.