Hey guys! Wasn't as long as a wait this time, was it? ...I honestly can't remember. My memory is not the best ^^; Anywho! Here's another chapter for you awesome people. I hope you like, it's not as long but it's intense and I personally really like it. Hee hee. All right, hope you enjoy!

Remember, I am the only one editing this so it's not perfect.

Song suggestion: "I Was Here" by Beyonce. So good guys. So good.

As ridiculous as it may seem, I do not own Hetalia. Bummer.

Russia was finding more bottles. One at a time. Whoever had hid them had been diligent, but he was growing more desperate. He knew it wasn't good for him, he knew it was weak, but he had sunk low. He knew that even more clearly. He was at his lowest, and drinking helped him forget that. Well, it would if he could find more bottles. Curse his high tolerance. Why couldn't he just have one drink and then be lost in mind-numbing drunkenness?

He also didn't think he deserved more than drinking, he was absolutely horrid. What he was doing. What he was letting be done. It was despicable. He hated himself. Yet he couldn't stop. The horrible things were the only things that made him feel like he had some control, which was pitiful because he wasn't even in control when those things happened. Without those things though . . . he would just be letting his friends go. And he could never do that.

He knew his friends had promised that they weren't leaving, that they'd stay friends with him. He knew he shouldn't be feeling as absolutely betrayed and abandoned as he was. They had promised, and he knew they had meant it. But he knew one thing even more. It was one thing none of the nations could deny, even if they weren't fully aware of it. It was what wise, tired China had said. The nations weren't their own people. When it came down to it, the will of their bosses and their people would overcome their own personal wants. Their people's will would become their own. The nations' wants became their bosses wants, so much so that they thought it was their own.

Let them become monsters or saviors, they became what their people were.

And Russia's bosses made him a monster.

The worst thing about this? The nations thought that they were doing what they wanted, because in a way they were. So when everything was over, or in the brief periods where clarity broke through, all the guilt of their country landed on their shoulders.

The guilt of being a monster was heavy.

The Baltics' people didn't want to be under him, so the nations themselves didn't want to be near him. And so the holes remained just as painful. So he drank.

He downed the last drops of the last bottle he had and then twirled the glass in his hands. It still wasn't enough. This amount started to make his mind hazy, but all the pain was still there. All the hollow holes that now took up his heart still made him ache. That horrible horrible ache. It seemed that that was never going to go away.

He looked down and saw a blurry paper in front of him. Oh right, he was doing some government work of some sort. Hm, he couldn't remember exactly what he had been doing, he just knew that is was important. Something really important. So important that if he didn't get it done soon his boss was going to come and make him do it, and that was never fun, especially with Russia's bosses.

So it was probably pretty important for him to remember what that thing was.

He tried to read the paper, but his vision seemed to be affected before the pain. He couldn't make out any of the words. He sighed, rubbing his eyes with a hand and leaning back. He had almost been finished with whatever it was, so if he could just figure out the last thing to do . . . As he reached up to rub his face something poked his cheek that was not his finger. Blinking with shock he squinted at his hand, and in it he saw a pen. Oh, he had to sign something.

Well that was was simple enough to do. He just had to find the right empty line and put something similar to his name on it. Shouldn't be too hard. He leaned forward, searching for that line on the page in front of him. He did wonder briefly what he was signing for, but he was at the point where he honestly didn't care. He had signed for so many bad things before, and if this was one of them . . . He could regret it later.

He found the mysterious line and shakily signed it to the best of his abilities. It was actually pretty good, considering if anyone else had as many bottles as he had they wouldn't be able to even hold the pen. He nodded to himself, putting the pen aside and leaning back again. He couldn't think of anything else he needed to do, and suddenly the ache in his chest was getting stronger. It got to a point where it felt like something was being torn out of him.

He gasped and bent over, holding his chest and hearing a terrible, deafening screeching in his head. His eyes went wide as it felt like his chest was being ripped apart in several different ways and he couldn't breathe. He tried to gasp, to call out for help, to do something, but everything he did got caught in his chest and was torn apart with the rest of him. The screeching increased until his was sure his skull was going to burst from the inside and he had to squeeze his eyes shut.

Panic began to eat at whatever consciousness he had left. What was happening? Was this finally the end? Was his land finally falling apart after being split so much? Was this what he had wished for for so many months now? Was this what death felt like?

Suddenly, the pain stopped. The screeching went silent. Everything inside and outside of him went deathly quiet. He opened his eyes from where he lied curled tightly on the ground, something was wrong. Now, instead of being torn out of existence, his chest felt empty. His whole being felt completely, horrifyingly hollow. He could feel it eating at him, or what was left of him. The ache from the holes now filled him entirely, as if his entire being was the hole. He was an empty shell. Like the biggest Matryoshka doll with all the little ones stolen away.

It terrified him.

There was nothing in him. Not his heart, not his soul, not anything. He was nothing. Whatever had been keeping him going had just been ripped savagely out of him, and what was left? He didn't know. He couldn't see anything. He began to shake. He was nothing, he was nothing. He didn't want to be nothing. He would rather be torn apart than an empty shell! He wanted the terrible tearing and pieces more than this terrible and overwhelming hollowness. He used to wish to disappear, but not like this. He was someone. He mattered! Didn't he?

"What have you done?" he heard the voice say, horrified.

Relief flooded through him, making him sigh out loud with relief. No, no. He wasn't alone. The voice was still here, the voice was still talking. It couldn't talk to nothing could it? No, of course not. Russia was still here. No matter how many holes were in him he was still alive and living. Everything was—

The voice.

It hadn't been in his head.

It had been outside.

His eyes snapped open and every fiber of him froze. No. No.

"You idiot!" the voice snarled. Russia's heart (Yes, yes, it was still there. Thank goodness) ached. No. "What have you done?"

Suddenly all too familiar boots appeared in Russia's vision. Before he could react hands were grabbing him and slamming him against the wall. Russia's mind was harshly shoved back into sharpness and he saw himself before him. The round face in front of him was set in an angry scowl. Russia did not like to see himself like that. He was terrifying.

"How could you do this?" The voice hid it well, but Russia knew how to read that face better than anyone. The voice was scared. The voice was hurt. Russia didn't know what to think of that. "How could you? You just doomed us both."

Russia had no idea what the other him was talking about. Until, that is, his eyes widened and he looked back at the desk. He could actually see the paper on top now and the words presented themselves clearly before him. His breath stopped. The world darkened. Now was the time to regret.

He had just signed a paper agreeing that the Russian Soviet Federative Socialist Republic adopted a declaration of sovereignty. (1)

The Russian SFSR just declared independence from the Soviet Union.

Standing before him was the Soviet Union.

And he had just declared independence from himself.

He felt something deflate inside him and he slumped under his own hands. His own violet eyes glared at him with absolute betrayal and pain screaming through despite the snarl on his lips. Russia had just abandoned himself. He had doomed the USSR to loneliness. Doomed himself. How could he? Was he so meant to be alone that he even had to do it to himself? He had to tear his own heart apart?

How could he?

He felt the hands gripping his coat trembling ever so slightly. He gazed at the other him with admiration. He was trying to stay strong, despite everything important to him walking away so heartlessly. He wasn't giving up. He was going to fight this loneliness tooth to nail. He wasn't going to lose. He wasn't going to fade. How could he have all that fight left in him? Russia just felt empty.

The Soviet Union thrust him against the wall again, trying to stop his eyes from becoming moist. "You must be truly stupid to think that you can survive without me. Without me you would've disappeared the first time someone stepped on you."

Russia remained silent, staring at the other him's scarf. It was exactly like his, except . . . it looked more worn. The color was a little faded and one of the ends was starting to fray. It devastated him to see it like that, but he couldn't deny what was being said. He was weak.

A small light ignited in Soviet's eyes and his glare increased, becoming demanding. "Take it back."

Russia drew back slightly with shock, blinking a little.

"Take that paper and tear it up," the other him continued, a sick, insistent smile growing on his lips. That smile gave Russia chills. Had he really used it on others? "Don't betray me."

The words grated Russia's heart to little shreds, and he wanted to. He didn't want to betray the poor nation in front of him.

He closed his eyes, not wanting to see the response of his words. "I can't."

The hands on his coat tightened their grip and he could feel that horrid smile crawling on his skin.

"Burn that document," his voice said dangerously.

Russia opened his eyes and stared at his own face in front of him. At the smile he hated and the eyes that lied. It was his face, it was, but it wasn't the one he wanted. It wasn't the one he saw in the mirror at the best of times. This was the face he wore when the grief was too much. This was the face that demanded pain and violence. This was the face that his friends were terrified of.

This face was the reason why he loathed himself.

His eyebrows drew in and his voice was a little harder. "I can't."

Soviet was starting to get angry, desperately angry. He pushed Russia harder into the wall, starting to bruise the chest under his fists. But the smile remained. "You will. You are not leaving me. You can't."

Russia's glare was starting to get harder. Soviet didn't seem so strong anymore, just pathetic and hate worthy. "It's already done. I can't change it."

The other him snarled while still somehow managing to keep that smile. He didn't like that answer. He dragged Russia away from the wall and up to the desk where the guilty document lay. They both stared at it for a moment, the cursed but maybe necessary paper that neither of them could make themselves touch, though for very different reasons. Soviet then grabbed Russia's head and slammed it down on the desk, right next to the document. Russia gasped sharply, wincing despite himself.

"Take it back now," Soviet demanded with the sweetest tone, as if asking the ice cream man for a cone. It scraped up Russia's spine and he had to stop from grinding his teeth. How he hated his voice. If he wasn't being held down he might have strangled himself.

He somehow managed to glare at the terrible him with one eye despite the other being pressed into his desk. His voice came out hissed, but completely vexed. "Nyet."

Soviet took in Russia's new attitude. Russia no longer felt any awe or regret towards himself. All that filled his mind was his utter loathing for all he had done. His hatred for himself filled him to the core, and here was the personification of all he hated right in front of him. He was trembling with his rage. Soviet looked shocked, and, dare Russia think it, scared of the change. Of course, he shoved that feeling down and presented the smile for the world to see, but Russia could see into the blackest parts of that heart. It was the same one he had, after all. They shared the hollow, beaten, scarred heart that somehow kept beating.

Soviet's smile grew until it closed his eyes, disguising the anger and desperation and fear and yet somehow making painfully obvious. He shoved Russia's head closer to the hated paper. "You need me."

And here was where Russia lost it. Hit with sudden strength by his anger, he leapt out of Soviet's hold and replaced it with one of his own. They tumbled to the ground, sending the chair flying with one of their heads, and landed with a crack. Soviet landed on the bottom with Russia's hands around his throat, staring up at the other with huge, frightened eyes that he couldn't hide. Russia held him down and his violet eyes were lost with the rage and loathing.

"This is all your fault!" Russia shouted, feeling hands pressing around his own throat as he wrapped his tighter around Soviet's. "You're the reason why they're leaving. You're the reason why they had to leave! You are the one who ordered the shootings and blockades and violence."

"I had no choice," Soviet tried to snarl angrily, but it was choked by the hands around his throat and by the pain starting to creep up his chest, coming from his heart. Russia's words stabbed and he couldn't accept them.

Russia slammed his head against the ground, feeling a shadow of the pain blossom in his own. "SHUT UP! For once just shut up and listen to me! I do not need you. I am done being weak and letting you decide what we do. Because of what you've done, we're losing everything! Because of you, I am going to be utterly and completely alone forever. You forced my hand. Now even you won't be able to keep me company. I'll be alone in this big house with nothing but silence because of you. Even I have to be free from you. How could you do all of this? How?"

Soviet was starting to wilt in Russia's hands, the fire was going out. Still, some fight was left. Weakly, he still tried to defend himself with the heart breaking truth. "I couldn't let them go."

Russia's voice was quieter and his glare lessened slightly, but his hands stayed around that neck. "So you forced them to tear out our heart and leave by themselves. You made them have to hurt us so they could be free. This is all. Your. Fault."

Soviet stared at himself with huge eyes and something inside him broke. He now didn't care about the fact that tears flooded his eyes. They didn't spill, but he wouldn't have cared if they did. Now he didn't have the strength to hide anything and his feelings presented themselves clearly to the world. All his pain, all the guilt gutting him from the inside, all the devastation of knowing he was going to die and leave himself to the terrible fate of loneliness, it was all plainly shown in those moist, broken eyes.

His voice was shattered. "But I'm you."

Russia's anger drained away when he saw those eyes, his eyes, so utterly broken. He felt it in himself. All of Soviet's regrets and fears and hate and pain cycled through him, mingling and mixing with his own. They were his own. Slowly he deflated, his hands falling away from the other him's throat.

"I know," he stated as they stared at each other. "That's why I hate you."

They stayed where they were, feeling the pain they shared stir between them. Then, as one tear fell, the Soviet Union closed his eyes and faded back into Russia's mind. Russia felt him curl up in his corner and the tears started flowing freely from him. Russia felt those tears puddle in his own eyes and lied down. Slowly he curled up into himself in his cold and lonely office.

And together they cried.

(1) Pretty much what I said. On 12 June 1990, the Congress of People's Deputies of the RSFSR adopted a declaration of sovereignty.

Gah. Russia, you just, dang it. Why you so feels boy? Seriously, he has a sad life. He needs more love :( So this is how I show the difference between the Soviet Union and Russia :D I hope you enjoyed. Don't know when the next one will be up, hopefully soon.

Guys, reviews! They make the world glow and unicorns happy! XD But, seriously, please, tell me your thoughts. Get feels? Hate it? Love something? Cry? Laugh? (Why would you laugh? O.o) Please let me know. I love hearing from you guys. Thank you.

Have a great day! :D