A/N:: I DO NOT know where this came from...But it is a oneshot for now...If people like it, I may continue it as a story (and up the rating while I'm at it XD). Comment freely! :3 Kinda proof I'm not dead, just sucked int another fandom. A translation is at the bottom.

Russia glared out of his window, watching as snow fell to the already snow-covered ground. His solid stance and stone-still face didn't betray the slightest hint of his true emotions, but the raging inner turmoil that the tall Northern country was experiencing burned deep within his violet eyes. His left hand gripped the deep red velvert curtain, holding it away from the window. Russia's every muscle was controlled, held in check with the type of control a country could only attain after thousands of years of experience.

Outside the window, in the snow, a menacing form larger even than Russia's 182 centimeters of height. It floated in a flurry of snow, and Russia betrayed the slightest hint of a frown. Then, the tall, silver-blonde haired country turned from the window, dropped the curtain and turned up the heater temperature.

"взрыв генеральный Зима...*"

General Winter had arrived. And Russia wasn't pleased. He dropped his stone-cold expression, a tired frown appearing on his face. A furrow deepened between his brows, and for once, Russia was glad he was alone. He knew that he looked old. Old, tired. Worn out. He was over 5,000 years old, and it showed. Not in his face, no. His face would never look older than perhaps twenty at the most, but his eyes spoke of the depth of despair that was his history.

Mongolia and his Golden Horde. The rise of the Tsars, and their fall. Bloody Sunday, which he was caught in. The final, crushing proof of his sweet Anastasia's death.

There was more. An invasion by Japan, General Winter's constant barrage of wind and ice and snow. The Cold War against America. Russia was old, and far more weathered that even China could be. China's history was nothing to Russia's if measured in the sheer magnitude of spilt blood. He and America had delivered bleeding injuries to each other on more than one occasion during the Cold War.

"Commie bastard!"

"Capitalist whore!"

"Red bitch"

"Capitalistic pig!"

"Murderer!"

"You will not win this, Amerikan scum!"

Old insults rang in his head, causing him to clap both hands to his temples.

"You're a nothing, little one. Nothing to me. You should be pleased with your treatment."

Mongolia's words, thousands of years old, echoed after the Cold War insults. The memory of the whip striking him after that phrase sliced into him, the old scars on his back throbbing with a near-forgotten pain.

"NYET!" Russia's gloved hands curled into his hair. He knew he looked insane, crazed, nearly ripping his hair from his head. He didn't even notice his door open. A soft voice, uncharacteristically cautious, wove its way through his disastrous memories.

"Ivan? Ivan, what is-?"

He had crumpled to his knees when the first snatch of memory hit him. Now strong arms encircled Russia's broad shoulders, black-gloved hands prying larger ones from his hair. His nose was buried in sweet-smelling leather, the voice's lips brushing his hair.

"Ivan...Vanya, you're all right. I'm here, Vanya."

Russia gripped the leather jacket of the voice's owner. "S-sunflower..."

Plump, slightly moist lips brushed against his forehead. "S'okay, Ivan. We'll make them go away, I promise. I do."

"Nnn...nyet...they'll come b-back like always, d-da." He shook violently in his lover's arms, bloody memories splashed across his mind.

"Tell me what you remember, Vanya. I'll help you."

"Nyet, nyet..."

A sigh. "Vanya, you know you have to tell me eventually. I hate seeing you like this."

Russia lifted his tear-stained face, gazing into the eyes of his love. "R-really?"

The arms tightened, and a bright chuckle reached Russia's ears. "Well, duh! You're supposed to be the strong one, and I'm not the dominant one in this relationship. I wouldn't be here right now if I didn't love you."

Russia smiled then, stealing a quick kiss. "Da, you are right. I-I guess I'll start with Mongolia..."

His love smiled. "Okay, but you need to get warmer first."

Russia found himself being led to a nearby couch, a blanket wrapped around the two of them, and the golden warmth of his love snuggling his way into Russia's chest. A single piece of golden hair, flipped upward, tickled Russia's nose momentarily before the owner of the hair settled his head under Ivan's chin.

"Start from the beginning, Vanya."

A/N:: Shall I continue? I want guesses on who Russia's lover is (Though I kinda made it a bit obvious)!

*взрыв генеральный Зима-Blast General Winter...

Vanya-diminutive/nickname form of Russian name Ivan (pronounced Ee-vahn)

Nyet-No

Da-Yes

WTF am I doing, if you're reading this you probably know most of that XD If you don't know something, ask me and I'll let you know! Also, any Russian speakers out there, I know I'm butchering your language. I am. Don't kill me, just a nice correction for my own education.