"I'd rather let you cover all my roads with thorns than with dead roses."
― Nema Al-Araby

"Vanya, are you alright?"

Startled, Russia lifted himself from a blank stare down between himself and a depressing article in the newspaper. Somewhere between mentions of unrest between his country and another's, and disapproval around the world at his leader's actions his mind fogged into nothing. How long he had been like that Russia was unaware. Long enough to have his sister travel through the entire house into his study, apparently.

Shaking his head, he cleared his throat, mumbling a short, "Of course," before crumpling the black and white print into a bin nearby. He disregarded how unconvinced his sister looked to seek solitude in his room upstairs. He didn't want anyone looking at him – not now, perhaps not until he cleared his guilt.

Life went on. Or, at least, Russia pretended – sometimes truly felt – like it did. Meetings came and went and so did Belarus, who joined him after his most recent for a week's time of familial bonding. She wasn't marriage hungry, bless the suns, and the pair enjoyed a rare sibling-only period of exchanging stories, cooking meals, and walks along casual markets. He accommodated with soft candy smiles not reminiscent of the ominous ones he usually wore, and she followed along with her own rare turn of the lips, brightening of her eyes and shine of demeanor. Russia absorbed her love vigorously, so long as it never morphed into more than friendly. He watched frequently if ever her eyes would glint, not for their history but a twisted future of her desires, or how her hands fidgeted to touch somewhere forbidden. It came as a surprise when Russia never spotted that glint or shake of want, and it would be foolish to complain although he couldn't deny being cautious.

There wasn't a need to be, surprisingly.

Ukraine joined them as well, however short her visits were because of political reasons, and brought laughs to the comfortable silences before returning to her country. Belarus left of her own will shortly after, leaving Russia alone to mend routine hobbies and reminisce on how oddly enjoyable being with his sisters was this time; how…peaceful.

He cooked, cleaned, completed paperwork and then visited the sunflower fields for a sack of seeds or two when the overwhelming blanket of habitual numbness finally won and he packed up his suitcase for an extended visit to the Baltics. Even if he terrified one or two of them, being with them never failed to entertain him, and it happened to be during a one-sided game of hide-and-seek with Latvia that Russia realized he was unnaturally happy and carefree recently. Yes, most people would assume he would be by the shine in his teeth as he grinned to allies and alike, but on the inside he would be cold – ever frozen in loneliness knowing full well how many of his 'friends' wanted nothing to do with him.

Except this time Russia felt warmth. Not the fake imitation that he shed across himself like an aging coat, no, but a blossoming buoyancy not felt by him in a long time.

General Winter left him alone for once.

"I will be seeing all of you!" Russia waved enthusiastically as he'd walked from Lithuania's home, ignorant to the fact that from then on he would curse the Baltic's greenery for instilling the demons back into his system.

Ever since his confession regarding a life dream of his, Lithuania kept a handful of sunflowers growing in his garden. He stopped to admire their strength, the way their greens and yellows swayed strong against the chill as if a pack of brethren huddled against one of nature's mighty blizzards. Russia saw himself in those flowers, and in them an unwanted guest far off to the side.

Roses.

Red roses bleeding the yellow around them dry and mutating its glow to accommodate its own beauty. Leeches.

They reminded him of -

Just like that the ominous tingle was back, strong and pulsating like a wayward infection. He ate, he bathed, he slept, only to find an insufferable itch lurking in his mind, urging as if a hungry bee searched for honey but found the hive to be destroyed. He wanted to push the matter far away never to be dealt with again, but it was inevitable that his bloodthirsty deed at the last world meeting would come back to haunt him.

Each minute of the day since he had expected a phone call, bracing himself when the familiar ring would give him seconds to prepare for an enraged boss whom had just received news of war from a long-time adversary. If Russia was honest with himself, he'd expected his house to be raided at least two days after beating the crap out of America. By the third week the idea that said nation chose the smart, peaceful path of humility settled his paranoia.

With his bubble of bliss popped, curiosity consumed him until he all but acted upon them. Doubtful America would concede to a meeting with him anyway, Russia metaphorically thrust his urges aside. Being gone so long had allowed piles of work to overrun his office, and it was time they were dealt with. He retreated to ignore the issue until it became apparent.

After all, no one has to confirm how right they were in assuming I'm a psychopath, he thought bitterly, chastising himself for being so depressing when there was no need to be. Their words were not true. Every nation had shame.

Something most nations agreed with was that paperwork was easier to attack then yearlong doubts and worries. Nose deep in Cyrillic print, the next few months passed dutifully and before Russia knew it another meeting was scheduled in England.

"It will be fun to see everyone again, do you not think?" Ukraine beamed over the phone days before he would be set to leave. Her sweetness sometimes made Russia feel sick. World meetings hadn't been fun since America became a nuisance, and now . . .

"Yes, sister. Da. London is not cold, I do not need that many coats. Da. See you then. Tell Belarus I said hello."

Standing around in the silence of an otherwise pleasant call left Russia feeling empty. Without the bustle of his family his house was just a metaphorical prison, haunting him with memories every nation alive should have settled over with. Even worse, the demons came back full force.

And it had been such a pleasant couple of months, too.

It was only a matter of time until America's boss called, he often thought. But that call never came, so Russia packet the necessities and left a week early, numb to the travel time as he quite enjoyed the silence, and Big Ben's chime awoke him soon enough. Customs were handled much the same way as he was already used to them. The first day in London ended with a graceful descent onto a large, shampoo-scented hotel bed.

That night, Russia dreamt of thorns. Thorns so sharp they could cut down every enemy to threaten their beauty. For whatever reason, Russia stood in the middle of them and watched as the stems they protected swayed in an invisible breeze, soft and graceful at first, but then bending into crisp turns until the sight if blood began and they cut each other into pieces of green confetti. No more was the forest of roses and their protectors, and Russia's eyes widened at the sight of a body lying in the decay, his breath catching deep in his throat when a wisp of yellow hair made itself known from behind the newly made sea of dead roses.

A/N: Err...surprise? Those were some interesting reviews, I must say, and I thank you for all of them.

Apologies for all the mistakes I surely missed writing this short chapter. Yes, I am continuing with this. I've decided to ignore how I've done things before and keep the chapters under 3k words. It just didn't feel right stretching the chapters out for something like this, you know? With that decided I'm hoping I'll be able to update more. That way I don't feel like a total loser for not updating any of my stories in so long.

No America in this chapter, but Russia's guilt isn't going to let him stay away any longer. Stay tuned.