Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia

Warnings: This will be a gory story, and there will be character death. The genre will play into this chapter. Don't say I didn't warn you.

Russia was once again strolling through his private greenhouse. As the lady in charge had the day off, he'd had to use his own personal key to get in. But that was okay. Everything was okay.

Russia was in a great mood today. His favorite friend was coming to visit him. He would have to leave his sunflowers soon.

You must leave, malenkaya. That boy will be here soon.

He nodded to the voice. He needed to leave. He also needed to remember to introduce his sisters to their dad. He petted the last flower near the door.

"Bye-bye." He waved to them, but for some reason, the flowers didn't wave back like they normally did. Russia pouted, slightly miffed, but then brightened again. "You guys must be in a bad mood, so when I come to visit again, I'll bring all of you some vodka. Does that sound good?" Though they didn't respond, Russia knew- he was always sure of something he said- that they would come around to the deal when he came back. Right now he needed to go home.

When he stepped outside after making sure the greenhouse was secure, the nation noticed something clinging to his jacket. Russia frowned very deeply; it seems an army of little bugs had decided to bug him. He took the time to flick them all off, flick them all of into the snow where they would rest and die.

Lithuania trembled as he sat in the car. The heater of his renter was broken, so the car was just as chilly as the outside, but at least it protected him from any sort of wind chill. It had been the only thing available other than motorbikes. Really, though, who rode a motorcycle in the dead of a Russian winter?

He'd come to Russia's house to calm his fears. Ever since that night with Estonia, sleep had been a hard thing to come by. He hoped a visit to the Russian nation would alleviate his dreads, and remove one thing from his list of growing stresses.

Russia was walking down the path opposite his car; Lithuania assumed he'd been through the nearby town. The Baltic nation stepped out of the car just as the Russian reached his walkway; maybe they could get out of the cold quicker.

"Lithuania! You're here!" Russia's eyes were alight with such childish joy that he found him forgetting his recent behaviors.

Russia was so excited, but something about him caught his guest's eyes. Since when had Russia worn red?

Green eyes widened.

"Russia, are you okay?"

Purple eyes blinked.

"Of course I'm okay, Privet…" What could've possibly alarmed his friend? It wasn't him, right?

Lithuania, despite his previous anxieties, grabbed both of the northern nation's hands. "Your fingers have been cut to ribbons! Think, there isn't some sort of conflict going on right now, right? What did this to you?"

Russia simply stared in silent awe at the blood that stained his gloved hands.

The Baltic gave the cold hands a gentle shake. "Russia?"

He only got a shake of a pale head in response. He hadn't met any angry cats along the way, right? "Shall we go in, then?"

Unlike Lithuania's hopes, the inside of Russia's mansion was cold and- here Lithuania shuddered, for it was far too similar to a recent experience of his- dark and empty. And so very, very empty.

"You know the way to the sitting room, da? I'm going to go clean up the hands." Without another word, the nation disappeared up a flight of stairs.

Lithuania's hand groped along the wall in search of a light switch. Even though he had every square inch of this house memorized, it was nearly impossible to navigate in the dark.

It turns out he found his designated room before he found the light switch. Why hadn't he just gone to the right?

Maybe Russia had gone hunting recently- though it was hard to imagine, even with Russia's predator-like personality- because something in the room had a stench strong enough to send Lithuania reeling. He wondered how he hadn't noticed the smell from the foyer, just one room over.

His hand felt along the wall, this time for a different light switch. Success. The Baltic swept the room with his eyes instead of a broom, searching for the source of the horrendous odor. They found it, and stopped, deader than any man six-feet under. The rest of his body froze with them.

What was that?

He felt rather than heard the other's approach. He wanted to ask Russia something, anything, about that… he couldn't even venture to call that a thing. Chudovischnost',*** That's what he would call it. Only a Russian word could describe this Russian monstrosity.

The words to mention the chudovischnost' refused to come to his lips, so Lithuania choked out one of the other questions floating around his mind. As His green eyes peered into Russia's lavender ones, he feared he already knew the answer. "Aren't you cold?"

The Russian grinned down at his comrade, his childish grin marred by the blood he couldn't wash his hands of. "Not at all, Privet. Why do you ask?"

***This is my own English translation of a Russian word after the internet beyond ticked me off. Sorry for any mistakes I may have made. (Чудовищность)