Disclaimer: Hetalia and its characters are owned by Himaruya Hidekaz.

Acknowledgements: Many thanks everyone who reviewed/alerted/favourited and PM'd this story.

This chapter is basically everyone's (well everyone in this particular chapter - not all the Hetalia characters) memories of their first (or almost first) meeting with Russia.

Warnings: Creepiness, Prussia, the usual swearing.

Chapter 26 - Flashback Part I

Thump, thump, thump.

There was no crunching sound, as there ought to be when a man walked on snow; no, only the loud thudding noise one might expect if a pack of bears attempted to climb some steps. That was the sound that announced the approach of the Russian army.

Gilbert and his Teutonic Knights stood their ground, though one of them whimpered a bit. The Mighty Prussia dug his heels into his horse and rode to meet the personification of the icy Nation itself, the great Kingdom of Rus.

A man like a mountain, made as wide as he was tall by the amount of coats and furs he was wearing, loomed onto the battlefield. He rode no horse, and was as tall as Gil regardless. Ivan Braginski loomed over the Prussian, his hard violet eyes turning to purple fire as a matching aura swirled around him in a shape not unlike wings.

"Privet!" Ivan chirped, but there was a dark edge to his greeting – and not just because he spoke Russian. "You can all go back home now, da?"

"No fucking ass wa- hey!" Gilbert stumbled and nearly fell from his horse as his mount reared and tried to back away from the advancing Russian and his army of madmen. With a wave of relief, Prussia saw his men catch him up, organizing themselves into lines behind him with military precision only Teutonic Knights possessed.

"You will go back to your silly home and your sillier brother, little Gilbert," The temperature dropped several degrees as Russia spoke, forcing Gil to drape his cloak around him so he didn't freeze, and eyes that the Prussian could have sworn were purple had taken on an icy blue tint. "Or I will pummel your head into the ground."

Ivan held up a wooden implement which, presumably, was the item with which he meant to carry out his threat, and stepped forward menacingly.

'Holy shit,' Gil thought, and hid behind Big Dave. Before his eyes the deranged Nation sprouted wings of purple eyes and horns of frozen Prussian tears, and the demon of winter made all hell break loose.

"Or something like that, anyway," Gil mumbled, as Ukraine and Poland burst into loud guffaws.

"Demon of winter," Poland gasped out, clutching Lithuania's sleeve in an effort to not fall under the table. "Man, that's like, hilarious."

"Oh Gilbert, you do tell a good story," Ukraine laughed. "It must be all that journal-writing."

"I don't keep no fucking diary!" Gilbert yelled, his cheeks flushing. "Alright then, Big Boobs, what did you think of Russia the first time you met him?"

A dreamy look of remembrance glazed Katya's eyes. "Ah, I've known Vanya since he was only a baby Nation. He was so very little back then..."

"Makes a bloody change..." Gil muttered.

"Let her tell the story!" Belarus snapped at him, her knife shining threateningly.

Kiev stood in the doorway, her scarf flapping in the wind as she shielded her eyes from the gale. Platinum blonde hair flew out behind her like a flag as she struggled against the wind to catch a glimpse of her little brother.

Vanya sat cross-legged on the ground outside, a wolf pup at his feet, which he stroked occasionally. He seemed to enjoy being outside, even when it was as cold as this. "It makes me feel closer to my people, sestra," He told Kiev when she asked him why. "And all the animals are out here."

As Katyusha had half expected, a flurry of snowflakes began to fall from the sky, staining the ground white wherever they fell. One landed on Ivan's head, and he looked up, amazed and confused.

"What was that, sestra?" He called to Katya, as another snowflake found its home on his outstretched hand.

"That is snow, little Vanya," For the first few weeks after Ivan had been born, blizzards had raged outside the big house, so vicious that it was impossible to even contemplate going outside. After that, however, it had snowed very little, and never when Vanya had been outside. This was the young boy's first encounter with snow.

Ivan considered the cold, wet snowflake slowly melting on his hand, hesitated, and promptly burst into tears.

On a reflex reaction, Rodina rushed out of the house like lightning, almost bowling Kiev over in her haste to gather Ivan into her arms, murmuring comfort into his hair.

Katya's skin prickled with jealousy. "She's never been like that with me," The teenage Nation grumbled to herself. "If I cry it's always 'Ekaterina Braginskaya, you are a Nation and Nations do not cry. How do you expect to be strong and powerful if you sob over a broken spade?'"

Rodina stormed back inside, a wailing Ivan still in her arms, and a confused wolf cub in his arms. Katya sighed and strode after her mother, helping her put Ivan to bed. Within seconds, Vanya was sound asleep under his yellow duvet, the wolf cub gnawing thoughtfully on his pillow. Kiev shut the door as quietly as she could, and turned to face her mother.

"You made Rus cry," Rodina accused, those purple eyes that were so similar to Ivan's darkening.

"I did not... wait, what do you mean 'Rus'?" Katya began to panic as realisation dawned on her; the reason why Rodina was so protective of Ivan, but not of her. "I am the personification of the Kievan Rus! I will be a strong, mighty Nation!"

Rodina shook her head, blonde hair bouncing as she did so. "Nyet, my daughter. One day Kiev and Rus will be separate, and you will personify Kiev." Mother Russia patted her swollen belly. "She will have the Polotsk region, and the three of you will come to rule Northern Europe."

"But... but..." Tears came to Kiev's eyes. "Fine, then! But if I don't get to be Rus, then... then... maybe I'll marry Bulgaria!" Kiev stomped down the corridor as loudly as she could, slamming the door to her bedroom behind her and leaning against it.

'I hope I don't actually have to marry Bulgaria now...' she thought as she flopped down on her bed.

"So yes, little Ivan was a cutie but I got some of my land back from him…" Ukraine smiled at the memory. Who'd have thought you could trade a whole tract of land for a warm woolly scarf?

Everyone shivered.

Someone dealt the next hand.

It was Friday night at the Braginski household. Which meant Poker Night and Russia was out on business. His parting, weird sing-song comment was: "Have a good time, kids, I'll be back soon… I just have to go visit my boss!"

Normally, Poker Night meant just the Baltics and some of the Nordics (with Gilbert as well of course) and only when Russia was out. Russia and games of poker did not go well together. He often forgot what he was playing and would shout "Snap!" at inopportune moments and grab all the money and often when he lost he would slam his huge fist through the table… or worse, through someone's head.

Unfortunately though, Poland had turned up, as had Ukraine and with her, Belarus. The latter had been utterly distraught when she found Russia not at home and had had to be restrained from flying out to Moscow to be with her dear brother.

No-one knew why they'd got onto this subject. Who'd started it. When they'd first met Russia, their first memories of the large Arctic Nation.

"The first time I met Mr Russia was here in this house," Latvia said timorously and ignored Gilbert nudging and winking at her salaciously.

"Kesese! Big fat commie bastard almost trod on her… Toris called big balls Raivis here a girl. Toris is a fucking girl…"

"Stop calling my brother fat! He is not fat. It is all muscle!" Belarus shrieked.

"Yeah.. In his fucking head!" Gilbert said and then was chased around the table by Belarus and her knife.

"So when did you first meet Mr Russia, Toris?" Latvia asked, her eyes wide, ignoring Gilbert's cries of "Fuuuuck…. Get mad Princess Crazy off me!"

Toris shook his head, "Never mind…" he said, shivering, despite the central heating being on full.

"Go on, you never told me," Poland said.

"Yeah, go on, Toris… come on, tell your Auntie Katya," Ukraine said, and then added as an afterthought, "Belarus, will you stop chasing little Kaliningrad around the house!"

Gilbert stopped dead, "I ain't no fucking Kaliningrad, Miss Double D…"

"Don't be rude to my sestra, you little…"

But Toris was not listening. He mind sped back over 5 centuries.

The meeting still haunted his dreams and dogged his nightmares. Russia often featured in his nightmares - usually over ten foot tall dwarfing his surroundings bringing with him winter storms and biting cold.

"Go on, Toris… tell us. Was Mr Russia in battle or…"

"… drunk?"

"No… none of those things," Toris shivered.

"Did he tell you he was going to take your head off and give it to his mad Tsar boss as a present?" Gilbert asked, the memory making him shiver.

"No…"

"Or tell you he was going to keep you as a pet?" Finland asked and then took a shot of vodka (he usually rarely drank, only on poker nights with the Baltics), Sweden patted his arm reassuringly.

"No…"

"Oh for God's sake…"

It was a cold winter. There are winters that freeze the ground making it hard for the people to bury their dead, but you know that spring is around the corner. There are winters that seem to go on forever. And there are winters that freeze the blood. It was a long, cold, dark winter.

Toris was walking his dogs on the border of his country. He told them that in the south the sun shone and it was warm and one day it would be warm again (although he didn't believe it at the time). Toris wore so many layers he could barely move. His dogs were good, well-trained dogs - hunting dogs in fact - yet as they approached a bridge they suddenly stopped and would go no further. They began to whine and tremble and then Toris saw the figure at the other side of the bridge.

The figure was of a youngish boy - not much older than himself, not much bigger than himself at that time… He was dressed in rags, a fur hat on his head. He looked as if he'd had a hard time.

The figure approached and Toris realised that this was not just a boy from the next village, there was an aura about him. He was a Nation like himself.

"Are you a Nation?" he'd asked.

The boy had answered, violet eyes lighting up, "Da! I'm not very strong or big at the moment," he'd answered in a strange chirpy high-pitched voice that was completely at odds with his appearance. "The Tartars have not been very good to me… but one day I will be big and strong…"

Lithuania shivered, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up on end, his dogs were practically crawling on the floor trembling to get away from the strange boy.

The boy drew closer and Lithuania resisted the urge to step back. Who on earth was he? Those purple eyes were fixed on him and Lithuania felt as if the marrow in his bones would freeze.

"And when I am stronger and bigger we will be best friends!" The boy said, smiling.

Lithuania had never seen such a scary smile.

"Why can't we be friends before then?" he said, his voice stuttering, he tried again to calm his dogs, and tried to ignore the fact that all the birds and creatures of the forest around them had gone silent. Snowflakes began to fall…

"No we can't… I don't have enough strength. One day we will be best friends and be together forever…"

Lithuania felt as if his blood had frozen. He tried to swallow and couldn't. Why was he so frightened? There was a horrid sense of dread around the other Nation but before Lithuania could answer, the boy had already turned and stepped back across the bridge and disappeared into the wilderness of the forest.

There was a collective shudder around the table as Lithuania finished telling his story. Toris smiled nervously, took a bit gulp of his vodka and gestured to Poland.

"What about you, Feliks?" he asked, eager to deflect attention from himself.

Poland took his time in answering, "Like, the first time I met Braginski was totally the 13th Century. You guys don't wanna hear about that, though. It was mostly a bunch of dudes trying to get the Baltic Nations to convert to Christianity or something… I dunno, I wasn't listening."

"There's a surprise," Latvia thought.

"I guess probably the first time I met Braginski that he wasn't trying to kick my arse was the start of the Great Northern War in 1700."

Toris looked uncertain. Den grinned and shouted, "Hell yeah, man! That was when I was married to Norgie!"

"Hmmm," Berwald grunted and Pol and started the story…

It was the turn of the 1700s and Denmark's hair hadn't seen a comb for at least three centuries. Feliks was wearing his brand-new Polish cavalry uniform; a handmade black jacket that perfectly complemented the white shirt and dark great trousers that went with it, brown soft leather riding boots and…

"Earth to Princess Polska, no-one gives a toss what you were wearing!" Prussia yelled. Ukraine booted him under the table and he yelped and shut up.

"Well… sorreee…" Feliks muttered, affronted. "I just thought it was, like, important to the story, that's all."

Poland was on his way to a war council, which was a complete downer. He sighed thinking about it. "Straight out of one war and into another," he said into empty air. "Honestly! You sign a treaty with the Ottoman Empire and Sweden comes out of nowhere with his little boy king and starts acting like a complete dick."

Pol was last to arrive at the war council. Saxony was polishing his shield with a look on his face like he'd smelled some bad cheese. Denmark was well on his way to being drunk (not that he was ever completely sober). Norway was building a house of cards, and Poland's boss, Augustus, had actually fallen asleep in his beer. Only Lithuania had been waiting patiently, and stood up to meet Feliks with a look of visible relief.

"The Kingdom of Poland!" the messenger announced.

"We know, thanks," Norway said, not even looking up.

"Is that finally everyone?" Saxony demanded, laying down his shield so that he could focus all his disdain on Poland.

"Yeah, Christoph, it is," Toris said, rubbing his temples. Fifteen minutes with these people and he was already starting with a migraine to end all migraines.

"So don't get your frilly pink undercrackers in a twist," Denmark added and got kicked in the shin.

"Just because I have long hair does not mean I wear ladies' underwear!" Christoph shouted, flushing a deep pink.

"Okay good," Lithuania said hurriedly, pulling up an extra chair so Poland could sit down. "Everyone's here, so let's get started."

And then a voice sounded from a dark shadowy corner. A voice Poland had heard many times before and which made him want to grab his sword and run into battle. "Nyet."

Russia stood up. He was a big Nation, and totally uncool. He was fat even then and that greatcoat he wore was totally at least two centuries out of fashion. Poland would have felt sorry for his lack of fashion sense if he didn't hate him so much.

"I think China should be here," Russia said.

Not this again… Poland rolled his eyes at Lithuania.

"China has more sense," Norway mumbled.

Saxony suddenly looked up, "Hang on, Gilbert isn't here…"

"That slacker is probably drunk somewhere," Poland declared.

"Yeah, or he heard Russia would be here and shat his pants!" Den added, and laughed as if it was the funniest thing he'd ever heard.

"Ja, sounds about right!" Christoph said, nodding.

Ivan slammed his hand down on the table. It was a huge hand, Poland noted and the nails were bitten. Poland shook his head. Some of his fellow Nations had no sense of pride. "Don't speak German!" Russia growled.

For a moment, Saxony looked likely to argue, but after weighing up the size of Russia (not literally though, Poland doubted Russia had ever seen bathroom scales and if he had that they'd registered 'error'), he shut the hell up.

Toris managed to draw attention back to himself by opening another barrel of ale (that did the trick). "Gilbert is currently involved in disciplining certain members of the Teutonic Knights," he explained, "And China is not involved in this war."

"Yeah, I bet they were wearing pink undercrackers," Den said with a childish snigger.

Russia nodded (not at Den's comment) and drew away from Saxony.

Poland got impatient, this was a complete downer and nothing was being done, "Look, if anyone isn't here that's their own fault," he began. "So what's the plan, boys?" (some of the Nations around the table winced at the term 'boys') "Are we gonna invade Sweden or did I just wear out some perfectly good boots for nothing?" Feliks put his feet up on the table for everyone to admire. He was very disappointed when Den just burped, Saxony frowned and Russia glared at him in silence.

Without going into the boring details of tactics and battle strategy and provisions (i.e. how much beer the Danish army would need to get them to the Swedish border or how much vodka the Russian troops needed) the gist was yes, they were going to invade Sweden.

"My boss says the little King Charles is only a boy, da?" Russia had said at one point. "With the Russian army coming at him as well as Denmark-Norway and the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth he will not know what to do!" But then Russia had said under his breath, "One day they will all be one with Russia, especially little Lithuania…" But he thought no-one had heard him… creepy dude.

Saxony had mellowed out after drinking a few pints (thank God), "But Tsar Peter himself was crowned at ten years old, Russia," he pointed out with a drunken cleverness.

"Charles XII is not Russian," Ivan pointed out cheerily as if this made all the difference. And on Planet Ivan it probably did.

"He's right there," Denmark conceded.

Christoph drained his fourth pint. "Well, you know me, hic – I'm always up for a good fight," he said.

"And you don't have a choice, because Polska and Lithuania are in charge of you, da?" Russia said giving Saxony a big creepy smile, poured himself another vodka and knocked over Norway's house of cards. Feliks hoped the Swedish army were issued with spare pants.

Back to the present day, Finland looked troubled. "What happened after that?" he asked.

"Oh, I went and did some shopping, got my nails done…" Poland looked around at the blank stares, "Oh you mean the war? Well, Charles XII turned out to be like, tougher than he looked, and he kicked me and Liet all the way back home. Ber forced us to join him and he kicked plenty of arse over the next twenty years."

All eyes panned over to Berwald. His mouth twitched up into a suggestion of a smile, "D'nt mess w'th the Swedes," he said softly.

"And Braginski totes wasn't happy about me and Liet being defeated. His exact words were I will tear you apart from limb from limb, little Polska."

There was a collective shudder at both the words and the eeriness of Poland's uncanny impression, but the Pole just shrugged.

"That was, like, a long time ago. Wasn't scared then, not scared now."

Den was staring at Gilbert, "Punishing Teutonic Knights? Like hell, what were you really doing, man?"

"I was getting shit done!" Gilbert said dramatically.

Belarus shoved Gilbert off his chair, expertly dealt a new hand around the table, picked up her cards and took a swallow of vodka. Her memories of her big brother were many. She obviously couldn't remember the first time they'd met. She'd just been a tiny baby. But she now recalled one of her earliest and as it happened, favourite memories of her big brother.

Mama Russia brought her children up to be strong and independent. She lived like a peasant but didn't have the peasant superstitions. But the natural elements - particularly snow - and wildlife was to be treated with respect. Mama Russia taught her children that one day they would all be strong Nations, that they would have enemies but if they stuck together and helped each other they could defeat anything.

But one thing that scared Belarus as a child was storms. Thunder and lightning - the loud thunderclaps that her mother told her was just the old Nordic God Thor getting angry. Belarus didn't believe in the old gods, but it still scared her. She imagined it was really hundreds of dead soldiers marching in the sky. And she would count as her sestra had told her to do, because the time between the lightning flashes and the thunderclaps meant the distance the storm was from their small, flimsy wooden cottage.

Only her beloved Ivan made it all go away. He alone knew when she was afraid and would hold her in his arms and sing to her an old folk tune. In those days he was her dear brother, she loved him and loved his strong arms wrapped around her and the last thing on her mind would have been marriage. In those days he didn't run and she didn't chase.

One night there was a very fierce storm, it seemed as if the whole of nature was fighting it out over their cottage. The lightning flashed and lit up the whole room in blinding blue flashes. The thunder rolled - it sounded like the older thunder god was fighting. Little Natalya, barely four years old, hid under her blankets. Her mother was fast asleep - strangely the storms never woke her. Her big sister, Katya was out late at some village dance. Natalya was sure there was going to be a big argument in the morning when their mother realised that Katya had climbed out of the window after being told she couldn't go. Natalya didn't quite understand why her sestra braided her hair and was so interested in the local peasant boys. She thought they were silly. She squeaked with fear as another roll of thunder shook the tiny wooden cottage.

Then she felt the mattress sink and a big warm body climb in to her bed. Strong arms wrapped around her. She relaxed and snuggled up to her big brother's pyjama clad chest. He smelled of sunflowers and wolf.

Although Ivan was only six or seven years older than her, he seemed huge to her. He was the one who picked her up when she fell over, the one who held her hand when she was scared of the winter storms that buffeted the small cottage - which happened often, although their mother would just smile enigmatically, her head cocked on one side as if she were listening to a conversation, and the one who put her to bed. As soon as Natalya could crawl she would follow him around the small-holding their mother had, the chickens and goats scattering around them.

Now, Ivan began to whisper one of the many Russian folk tales that had been passed down word for word around the communities for generations. Natalya snuggled down and interrupted, as she often did, "Vanya, can you tell me the one about the giant and the witch who capture that nasty little boy and the big bad wolf?" Natalya always wanted the most blood-thirsty and creepiest tales. In this way, she fell asleep to Ivan's gentle murmuring and dreamed of creepy witches, shaggy wolves and bloodthirsty giants. She smiled, her big brother would always look after her.

"Fucking 'ell, fucking weird. No wonder you grew up the way you did," Prussia exclaimed and took a chug of beer.

Natalya waved a knife at him and was about to say something very rude when someone nudged Denmark who had slumped in his chair, holding a hand of cards (his eyes had glazed over - he didn't like card games, he thought they were boring, anything not involving women or beer was boring). "Hey Den, tell us about your first meeting with Russia!" someone said.

Den looked up. "Man! I was totally awesome! I kicked his big fat commie ass…"

"Except you didn't, did you?" Estonia said quietly, counting his winnings. (He was the usual winner at these games.)

"I fucking did! I'll kick your arse!" Den said.

Sweden frowned at him and 'harumphed'.

Den's, Finland's and Estonia's stories coming up in Part II.

Thank you for your patience guys.