Well, hello there. A few things:

If you're a fan of my other fic "We No Speak" I'll be releasing a new chapter sometime in the next week. (I think I've put it off for long enough…)

This fic was written simply because I was like: "I think I'm gonna write a fanfic for Russia." While at my friend's house at one in the morning. So…yeah. I added a bit and proofread, but if you notice a mistake you can always leave a review or PM me. (Also, please keep in mind that I wrote this at one in the morning, so I'm sorry if something doesn't make sense…)

I do not own Hetalia.

Thanks for reading! (This is directed at both you, my kind reader, and my friend who helped me a bit with this.)

The harsh winter wind stung his cheek as he walked in sync with all the other poor souls in the dreary city of St. Petersburg. The smog hung in the frigid air, and many of the workers could be seen hacking and wheezing on the way to their homes, if you could even call them that. One elderly worker fell into the snow face first, but no one made a move to help her. As sick as it was, a death meant an open job, and that's just what people needed. The man walked with the people, and he was accepted by them. Everything from his soot-stained face to his worn tan coat belonged with the people. However, he was obviously different from the rest.

He stood a full head taller than the rest of them, and he possessed hair as white as the lifeless snow that he trampled under his boots. His eyes were a hypnotic lavender, and his gait was strong and proud with just a hint of defiance. He worked alongside the peasants, toiling the same long hours they did, and sometimes even more in the dirty boiler room of the factory. The mysterious man gave off a dangerous aura, and the only ones who ever dared go near him were the children who worked in the factory along with him.

The children loved the man, but even they didn't know him by his actual name. The only name he was ever known to have was a word spoken by only the smallest of children in the factory, and the adults feared to speak it because they thought it was something akin to blasphemy to use that name for such a man. They called him Russia.

Many joked and said that Russia would be a withered old soul if he were human, and even more said that it would be funny if this man was actually their country. He was a strong, healthy young man. If he was their beloved home, wouldn't he have become weak by now? How fitting, for a country to have to work alongside his own people. The laborers all laughed at the thought of this extreme display of socialist values as the young man toiled away in the boiler room.

The workers amused Russia to the point where he had to stop the kols from escaping his lips as he brought his hammer down with a rather impressive thump once again. They all thought they were so clever and smart, but Russia knew the truth. They laughed at the thought of a human representative for a country, and a few had even found it so funny that they started envisioning what some of the representatives would look like. Russia found it hard not to smile when he thought of their rather crude portrayal of many nations, as most of them had been rather insulting and racist. He rather liked America's, but his own was his favorite.

It had been the form of a haggard old man with balding brown hair and pitiful, downcast eyes. His nose had been large and pointy, and he wore the tattered remains of a uniform from the days of tsars. The form had been hunched over, struggling under the weight of his elite. The peasants were behind the form, driving him with whips, torches, and weapons. He giggled at their ignorance as he walked home that day, and suddenly found himself wondering what they thought China's representative would be.

He walked faster at the reminder of the small man. Yao, his Yao. His face became drawn and sorrowful at the thought of his beloved, and his heart ached at the thought of being able to see his little China doll again. He was working as a laborer to earn enough money to reach that goal. Even as a country, his boss insisted upon making sure Russia got the same thing as everyone else. His food was the same gruel at all mealtimes, his clothes were the same tattered rags, and his pay was the exact meager wage earned by every other able worker in his country. He did get a small amount of compensation for being a country, so he lived off of that and saved everything else in the one place he knew he could always hide his treasures.

The doll was one of the few gifts that he and Yao had exchanged before their bosses separated them. It was a China doll with a wise face and painted red smile that made the doll seem as though it contained some great secret or untold wisdom. The doll looked exactly like him. It possessed the same long hair that fell like a sheet of the finest silk over the same almond eyes that could make him melt with one glance, and the doll even carried the same stiff demeanor as its muse. He found himself getting lost in memories as he traced his calloused hands over the rouged cheeks of the doll, and his mind took him back to a time when the person belonged to him and the doll hadn't even been thought of. He sighed as he began unscrewing the doll's head, revealing a meager wad of cash.

Russia was finishing up screwing back on the doll's porcelain head as he heard a loud knock at his door. He rushed to open it and smiled as he saw it was his sister, Ukraine. Her words barely registered as she handed him a small scroll, which he took and nearly forgot to say goodbye to his sister out of his excitement. The parchment meant news from Yao.

He unrolled the thin scroll and began to read the miniscule Chinese characters. He frowned when he realized that the letter was not from Yao, but from the government of the country. He read the words over and over again, but he couldn't seem to focus on anything but one sentence.

"We regret to inform you of the death of Representative Wang Yao."

His entire world froze as he collapsed into a trembling heap on the cold floor.

Yep. Most of ya'll probably hate me right now, but remember: the title is true. *wink wink*

Please review if you want me to continue!

Rawrs and Wubs! :3

~Misfit