Note: Well, here we are again. I wrote myself into a corner with this one, and this is my way out. There will be no alternate ending, since the original one I was writing was deleted :/ Sorry folks. This is the second to last chapter, please read and review anyway!

America ran for his life.

He felt like he was running through a time warp; the snow bogged him down, costing him precious seconds. If he were in a movie, there would be a dramatic sound score to urge him on. People would be on the edge of their seats, wishing him on. But he wasn't on the silver screen this time. He was in Siberia. After 36 hours the snowstorm had abruptly ceased, although it was all expected to turn to ice that night.

The young nation threw himself against Russia's shed's door, knocking some snow inside as he fumbled with the lock. Hopefully all his decoy trails would keep the Russian man busy for awhile. America thought they were rather cleverly set up. After all, he was a descendant of the master of espionage, Britain! The shed wasn't a satisfactory hiding spot alone, though. Nestling himself behind a few stacks of boxes, the hiding nation prepared himself for a long wait. He heard a muffled shout- what was most likely one hundred in Russian –and smiled. Let the games begin!

Vodka dude will never find me! I'm the hero! he encouraged himself. Taking pleasure in that train of thought, he continued. I'm so the hero of the world. I mean, who has all the awesome, action packed comics? Not that the ones from Japan aren't, like, entertaining, but mine are just so much more badass. I mean, my favorite hero could totally take one of those fem, Yu-gi-ball Z guys. It takes them a whole season to have a decent fist fight! He lost his train of thought, to regain a better one.

So who's my favorite hero? America was actually stumped. Hahahaha! It's got to be Captain America! I'm in the name and everything! But what about Superman? He has way more chivalry and awesome power than the Captain… the kryptonite thing is kinda lame, though. I do like Batman, because inventing things that are good in a fight is totally epic! Spider-man is just to flexible in my opinion. Iron Man is OK. I love his movies, all those explosions!

Then America saw something shiny. He plucked a long, sharp-looking knife out of an open box. It had Russian writing on it, but unfortunately America couldn't make it out. I wonder what it says! Could it be one of Russia's old weapons? The hiding nation expertly twirled the knife around, trying out its weight. It was a good weapon, made to stand the test of time.

Squinting through his glasses, America noticed a thin trail of dried blood on the sharpest edge. His hand immediately dropped it back in the box. Now in full snooping mode – the young nation paid no mind to common courtesy- he dug through the knife's box. Right at that second, the Russian man kicked the door in.

"I found you! Now it is your turn!" He said with a childish smile, poking his head in the door. America dropped the box he had been looking through in surprise, causing the other man to start. America hastily stood as the other walked over, looking at what he had found. On the floor around him lay a bloodied shirt, probably very old, a battered set of black leather gloves (probably women's size, judging by length), an old scarf similar to the one he was wearing now, and an old diary. To America's horror, the childlike quality of Russia's eyes immediately faded, to be replaced by a much darker, older, more sinister shade. This was the Russia that should have been; the Russia tempered by a simplistic and easily pleased nature should have been dead long ago, the innocence pounded out by long years of hardships. It chilled America like nothing he'd ever seen before, and true fear- not the cinematic kind his movie promoted- made his stomach clench. The reality of it hit him; Russia could do whatever he wanted to him out here, and nobody would even hear him scream. Nobody would miss him for days, maybe weeks…

Instead of advancing towards him, Russia pivoted and marched back towards his house. America found himself jogging along behind the giant, despite the other's growing purple aura. Still, Russia slammed the back door in America's face, slowing the other down considerably. Russia was found in his room, throwing things (namely sweaters and bottles of vodka) into a suitcase.

"Russia, man, what happened back there?" the young man asked, standing in the doorframe. Russia didn't look up.

"We are needing to get out of here. Pack now," the man stated, walking to his tiny bathroom to retrieve a toothbrush. The American gulped, noting the Russian's slip from good English back into his World War I heavy accent. This couldn't be a good sign.

"What happened? I'm sorry I was totally snooping, but you don't have to go all weird on me!"

"We talk on plane. It is sixty miles to next airstrip, we walk soon," he said, zipping his suitcase shut. America was glad he hadn't unpacked yet.

"Dude, it's like thirty degrees out there!" Russia stared at America, not impressed. "Oh… right, Celsius. It's like… really cold! We'll freeze for sure!"

"We are countries. We cannot freeze. We live and die with our land, with our people," the man said grimly, eyes distant. "We can't be drowned, hung, stabbed, or… strangled." His voice sounded pained, as if it cost him something to confess this. The comment was shouldered aside. After all, America wasn't one to notice subtly hidden things.

"Just tell me what you're thinking!" The younger country blurted out. He found himself looking up into the indigo-violet eyes of the Siberian nation. He unconsciously took a step back.

"I am thinking of things that should not be thought of. I am thinking about your chance of survival if we stay here one more moment… I can't… I can't being here anymore…. Too dark.." Russia stumbled as his grasp on English slipped. "Ty dolzhna stydit'sya sobstennogo nevezhestva," he whispered to himself. America was distraught at this point. He'd never seen the calm giant this worked up. Although he didn't particularly care to meet the ghosts that haunted his...friend? Ally?... well, haunted Ivan.

"Sit down," America said in his most heroic voice. He hoped it didn't sound as shaky as he felt. Grabbing a bottle of vodka out of the suitcase, he handed it to the big man. "and drink this. I'll get you something… from the kitchen!" With that said, the younger man half ran to the tiny cupboard. What have you gotten yourself into now Alfred? He berated himself, searching for some sort of comfort food. After trying to read the labels on ten different cans, he finally stumbled across something useful. In the back of the closet, someone had shoved a fairly up-to-date prescription lithium-based pills, cleverly hidden inside a peanut butter jar. Alright! Go Toris! Now to find something to put this in…

Getting an idea (they didn't call him "the Inventor" for nothing!) he headed for the refrigerator. He pulled out what he had been searching for- a pint of chocolate ice cream. When he pulled it out, he saw something quite strange. In the back of the Siberian nation's freezer, it appeared there was… a frozen sunflower. Odd. Chocolate, America thought, this guy must be really depressed! Shrugging the thought off, he proceeded to mash three capsules into powder and dump them on the contents of the frozen food. Countries can't get overdosed, right? Unfortunately, the stuff was frozen rock solid, and Russia didn't own a microwave oven, so America turned a burner on low, stuck the carton of chocolate ice cream in a pan over the tiny blue flame, and hoped it wouldn't melt. Russia seemed a bit quieter; America hadn't heard him shuffling around in the last few minutes. Hopefully that was a good sign. Finally the ice cream was somewhat thawed, and allowed the lithium to be folded in. America hoped it wouldn't taste too bad. Expecting the worst, he carried in to his distressed colleague's bedroom.

"Hey, I brought you some ice cream!" the younger blonde exclaimed, taking a seat next to the Russian. The latter didn't move; except for the occasional movement of his eyelashes, he seemed to be frozen in the "Thinker" position… if the Thinker wore a Red Army coat and sported a half-empty vodka bottle in his free hand. Russia turned, slowly evaluating the carton and spoon with his faraway eyes, then moving towards the American. He took the carton like a timid animal and began eating, slowly at first, then picking up the pace until the ice cream was gone. Licking his lips (and totally oblivious to any drugs that may have been administered) he finally spoke.

"You will take me to your house now." America inwardly balked. He couldn't imagine Ivan in his precious New England, or on the Golden Plains, or even the purple mountains "majesty"! Not to mention what his Boss would say…

"My place is awesome, but I'm not sure-"

"You will take me there! Or anywhere. Just get me away from this winter…" he cut America off. "And your place has field, da? We could be planting flowers, sunflowers! It would be warm," he giggled. For a moment his eyes returned to their normal light violet shade, then darkening each second he waited for an acknowledgement.

"Sunflowers? Is that all you want?" America asked cautiously, not wanting to dash the other's childlike hopes. Russia nodded. He sat on pins and needles, remembering the frozen flower in the freezer. It had been rotting; he then thought he knew exactly why the other wanted more sunflowers. The idea was two parts revolting, for some subliminal reason, and one part sweet. Such was the Siberian nation. "Well… I'll see if I can get my boss to plant some flowers while we're here! Where can I make a call?"

"There is station six miles to west. I take you there!" the Russian said, hopping up. Unfortunatly, the vodka and medication had apparently had an adverse reaction; the giant man wobbled unsteadily before collapsing on the floor, unconscious.

Well that takes care of one problem, Alfred thought, breathing a sigh of relief. So I'll just head due west, make a quick call, and then head back before he wakes up. I wonder how long he'll be out for? America pushed the suitcase into Russia's closet, and hauled the other onto the bed. He threw on a blanket for good measure. Shrugging on his coat, he grabbed a map, some heavy boots, and snowshoes. Tucking a small canister of vodka into his breast pocket, America headed into the whiteout.

It was the longest six miles of his life, but somehow he made it to the little station. Good thing us countries have an infallible sense of direction! It was actually a trading post-slash-airport. He stepped inside, trying to remember how to string a sentence in Russian together, when he bumped into someone.

"Matthew!" he exclaimed, embracing the timid nation. " I didn't see you there!"

"Of course you didn't," the shorter one muttered. "I'm here to rescue you from Russia!" America paused. How nice of him!

"He's… kind of passed out back at his place," America explained with a pang of guilt. "I can't just leave him!"

"Sure you can! He's Russian, he lived here for a thousand years before we were even born," Matthew explained, looking a bit impatient. "So are you making me go home alone? You won't get another ride back until spring, at least!" America considered, sighing as he made his decision.

"Alright," he consented, taking one last look at his surroundings. He would mail Russia a sunflower in a few months. "But only if you ride shotgun!"

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I know some of this doesn't make sense, especially Russia's ravings, but I promise it will be explained eventually, in my next story (yet to be titled!), starring a few OC's and him. It will be a bit darker than this chapter, maybe even darker than the next one. Also, my plans for alternate endings are probably going to be canceled. I was going to write one with more fluffiness and innuendo, but I got stuck and lost the plotline, so here you are.

Credits to the medication idea go to Startled Boris. Check The Baltics Secrets (and their sequels/prequels) out!

Ty dolzhna stydit'sya sobstennogo nevezhestva – to the best of my knowledge, this means "You should be ashamed of yourself" in Russian, spelled phonetically of course.

**I find myself in need of a beta! I need someone to proof my stuff, not only for grammar errors, but plot inconsistencies, rambling sentences, misuse of words, clarity, things like that. PM me if you're interested, I will gladly beta in return!