On his fourth day lost in the violent snowstorm, Russia found America.
Before this, he'd been cursing himself, knowing full well that it was his fault he got stuck in a storm and lost. He'd known the storm was coming, he'd predicted it, but he'd ventured out anyways for stupid reason like hunting. He didn't even need to hunt, he had meat in the freezer, but the uneasiness brought by the coming storm and the growing restless it brought him had been what he used to convince himself to head out.
Then he'd gotten lost. He knew, of course, that he should stay still so he could be easily found once the snow storm calmed, but even a country like him wasn't impervious to the cold, and while it wouldn't kill him, the frigid snow and cutting winds might make him wish it would. So Russia had moved out of necessity, looking for shelter. He'd found it, in fallen trees or other fragile windbreaks, and built upon it using snow and his memories of how he used to survive the cold in his youth.
For the first day and a half, Russia had stayed hidden safely in his shelter. After that, he quickly realized the snow storm wasn't showing any sign of stopping, and had made a deliberated decision. Russia could not die. He knew how to survive the Winter's storm, how to evade the chill that freezes from the inside out. He could not stay still and wait the storm out. He was confident that he could not die or fall victim to the cold. Therefore, the obvious choice of action was to keep moving until he found a better shelter. So he did.
On the beginning of the fourth day he felt the encroachment on his territory, a feeling that another being like him had crossed his border into his land. He pointed his feet towards where he'd felt that invasion, and moved on his internal instincts rather than his sad attempts to plot a course in the whitewashed land that he was using before. He'd met the intruder halfway, cocking his gun and aiming as he called out to the fast approaching form.
"Stop! Do not move!"
The dogsled - for that's what it was- slid to a halt almost immediately with a shout from the driver, close enough for Russia to see the bundled form he was pointing the gun at, but the layers of scarves and cloths hid the face of the intruder from Russia, and Russia didn't lower his guard.
"Do not come any closer!"
He warned, and the clothed figure's hands went up in the blowing snow. Bullets wouldn't kill a country, Russia knew this as well as any other country did, if not better, but he also knew the incredible pain that a bullet could still cause and he knew that the intruding country knew it too. He kept his gun steady as he approached slowly.
"Who are you?"
The other country replied, but the snowstorm blew away his answer, leaving only a single syllable floating on the air.
"-a."
Then, seemingly sensing that his voice had been blown away, the other country carefully removed his scarf and snow goggles to reveal his familiar face. Russia froze.
"America?"
The other country smiled awkwardly at him and said something in response, but the snowstorm blew away what ever he said. Begrudgingly, Russia lowered his gun and stomped closed to talk to the intruder.
"What are you doing in Russia?"
The wind continued to howl loudly, and America's response was lost in the wind, but judging on his emphatic gestures towards where he'd come from and which border he had crossed, Russia was able to surmise that he'd seemingly been in Ukraine (for reasons unknown) when the snowstorm hit, and had only wandered into Russia's land accidentally, though Russia took that with a grain of salt, since he didn't trust America at all.
A part of Russia, actually, quite a large part of Russia, was considering shooting America anyways, just for the hell of it, and sending him back over the border to do whatever the hell he was doing in Ukraine. But that sort of stuff started a war, and Russia was tired of wars. Besides, perhaps because he was an idiot, but America's wild instincts were incredible.
He was the sort of person who could randomly punch the ground and uncover a hidden underground spring if he needed water, or stumble onto a horse if he was left stranded if his car broke down. Even in the middle of a raging snowstorm, America's bizarre internal sonar had located Russia, a lone person in a vast expanse of land, simply by luck alone. In short, it was more beneficial to have America by his side, at least until he got to shelter.
Russia formed his face into an unreadable beam, trying to find a way to accept America's help without making himself seem like he wanted America around, just in case America started getting cocky. Surprisingly, America was the one to ask first.
"Should we travel together?"
America had moved much too close for Russia's comfort in order to say the words without the wind stealing them away, and Russia stiffened at the close contact, but nodded anyways, narrowing his eyes at America.
"Da. I cannot let you get into trouble."
America responded with something Russia couldn't quite catch, and then waved an arm to gesture behind him on the dogsled. It took a moment, but eventually Russia understood that America was telling him to get on the sled with him. Russia wasn't in the habit of taking orders from America, and responded with a suspicious gaze. But America gestured again, and reluctantly Russia approached. A dog sled would definitely be a better travel method than his random wandering. Still, Russia hesitated.
"Will be too heavy."
He refuted, unwilling to try the embarrassing act of getting on the sled only for it not to budge. He was close enough now that he could hear America's voice clearly.
"It's okay, Kumadagairo is stronger than he looks!"
For the first time Russia realized the dog sled was being pulled not by dogs, but by a single polar bear. Leave it to a psychopath like America to tame a bear to pull his sled, Russia thought in disgust. Even Russia knew better than to mess with Polar bears needlessly, but the bear pulling the sled seemed unbothered and calm. The snow was blowing sharply in the wind, biting at his cheeks, so Russia quickly stepped aboard, eager to get on the move. As soon as he was fully on the sled, the self took off, dashing over snow at an incredible speed. America's eager actions made Russia suspicious, since he was certain America didn't know where he was going, but when he tried to inquire that of America, the wind blew away the answer, and Russia could only catch parts.
"Shelter... Snow... Die down... Should be..."
Which didn't answer any of his questions at all. Then the snow became to swirl less violently on the wind, and America pulled into a strange kind of clearing in between trees, coasting to a stop, and Russia understood what he'd been trying to say.
"We need to find shelter from the snow. The storm should die down eventually. Should be soon."
Which surprised Russia, since in his opinion America barely had any snow, so he hadn't expected America to be able to predict the weather patterns, although Russia could. He was more surprised when as soon as the sled stopped, America hopped off the sled and began to pull tools from his pack in quick and efficient moves, and Russia began to figure out what he was up to.
"An igloo?"
He questioned surprised as America began to pack snow with record efficiency, but America's only response was to shove some tools into Russia's hands and demand breathlessly, "We don't have much time. Just pack snow as tightly as you can."
Russia knew a lot about packing snow, and though he itched unpleasantly at taking orders from America, he knew the other was right, and immediately began to pack snow too. Arguments could wait for when they were safe and warm. In only a few hours the igloo was almost completed, and America was finishing a separate attached area for a bathroom, and barely in time too, because Russia could feel the wind and howling picking back up. They finished the igloo in what must have been record pace, and Canada hurriedly unpacked his sled and secured it to a nearby tree, releasing the bear from its harness and slipping inside.
"Is that okay?"
Russia wondered, not feeling comfortable with the release of their only transportation. America, oblivious as always, only shrugged lightheartedly.
"It's fine, he likes it better out there."
Annoyed that America had interpreted his fear of getting stranded again as a worry for the animal (which Russia was confident he knew more about than America anyways), Russia reiterated his question.
"He will not run away?"
This time America understood.
"Ah, no he's fine. He won't go far."
America's answer didn't quell the unease rising within him, but with the bear already released and the storm already howling again outside, Russia could only help America block the entrance with packed snow. The shelter and warmth was enough, and Russia would have been more than grateful with just a place to stay out of the wind, even if it was with America, but America wasn't settling for just that. Russia watched with wide eyes as America laid out the caribou skin on the floor, protecting them from the frozen ground, then add the furs on top, to the side, and Russia knew that was to be their bed that night. Then, as Russia's eyes grew wider, Canada began to pull out cooking equipment and start a fire with kindling he'd brought front he safety of a waterproof bag from the sled.
Russia wasn't one to mooch off others, so he offered his assistance.
"How can I help?"
He half expected America to say something about how he didn't need any communist messing with his food and that the hero could handle it, but to his surprise, America only gestured to a container he'd brought.
"Everything is already in there and ready, we just need to heat it up."
And surprisingly, preparations continued without any insults, or jabs, and with a minimal amount of talking. It wasn't until the food was cooked that America finally began to relax and speak, passing Russia a bowl of the meaty stew he'd brought.
"There's only one bowl, so I'll use the pot," He said, sounding somewhat embarrassed, and Russia suspiciously took the bowl, testing it carefully, then, when nothing happened but it tasted good, finally got around to questioning America like he'd been wanting to.
"Why are you in Russia?"
His tone wasn't as wary as before, it was both rude and foolish to be cold to someone who had provided shelter and food in a storm, something Russia would have given anything for when he was younger, but still, America wasn't someone he got along with well, and Russia was still suspicious of America's presence on his lands. America stopped blowing on his stew to give Russia and awkward and embarrassed look.
"Actually, I was trying to camp out in Ukraine but I got lost and accidentally ended up here." America paused, then; "What about you? Why was Russia, the country who boasts the most about dealing with snow, wandering around in this weather? I almost thought you were lost!"
There it was, the condescending jab that Russia had been waiting for. Russia bristled.
"I am not lost. I was surveying land. I only came to investigate suspicious person."
To his surprise, America did not continue on to bully and tease, only shrugged his shoulders apologetically.
"Ah, then I probably disturbed you, eh? I'm sorry about that. Still, I'm glad I'm met you out here."
America was speaking in a strange way, stretching vowels and with an unabrasive tone that put Russia on edge, both because it was odd behaviour from America, and because it made him want to relax, even in his rival's presence. He grunted a response with no real meaning, returning to his meal. A thought occurred.
"I did not know you spent time with Ukraine."
Russia knew that America got along well with his younger sister Belarus, which was reason enough to be wary of America, but what was America doing with his older sister? America smiled, and sent chills down Russia back, not because it was mischievous or suspicious, but because it was a gentle and sweet smile.
"Oh, Ukraine and I are actually pretty close," He explained, "Sometimes she comes to my place too."
Russia was getting an uncomfortably suspicious feeling that America was courting his older sister, and he didn't like it. America was a man with the brain of a child and the attention span of a goldfish, and Russia hadn't forgotten America's passive aggression in the cold war. Russia decided there and then that America could never make his sister happy, and Russia wasn't about to let America break Ukraine's heart. His voice was several octaves lower and even more cold when he responded, warningly.
"You are not dating my sister Ukraine."
He said the words with a gaze that could cut through a glacier, and to his surprise, the normally oblivious America reacted, flinching away.
"No! We're just friends, I promise!"
Russia glowered a few moments more but seeing as America didn't change his story or seem to be lying, he finally accepted it, and beamed instead, and America flinched again.
"Um, I'll take your bowl and wash it."
Russia watched America wash out the bowl in the snow, then America began to unpack items like a toothbrush, and Russia knew he was planning to head to bed, which reminded Russia that he'd have to sleep next to America, something that he'd never wanted to do and didn't trust was safe. America brushed his teeth and spat the toothpaste into the snow in the bathroom area, rinsing his mouth with snow that melted as he put it in his mouth. Russia declined the offer to use the toothbrush, giving America a disgusted stare that he didn't notice, busy slipping off his heavy outerwear to get ready for bed on the furs.
"Do you want the wall or the inside?"
America asked, untying his boots, and Russia immediately chose the option with the best escape route.
"Outside."
America nodded, crawling into the furs against the wall in only his long underwear, and snuggling down into them. Russia hesitated, unwilling to remove his jacket and boots, but eventually gave in, leaving his scarf and rest of his clothes on, no matter how uncomfortable. America may be okay with just lounging about in his underwear, but Russia was not. Even more reluctantly, Russia laid down in the furs next to America, and almost immediately felt warmth surround him. But Russia couldn't relax, not with America lying so close by, and being so uncharacteristically quiet. It made Russia uneasy. However, America still didn't make any of the expected Jabs, only shifting a little to get more comfortable, then settling down as though to sleep. For reasons unknown, America was being tactful, and even more surprising, quiet.
Something about the shadows flickering on the walls of the igloo from the dying fire, or the silence between him and America, or maybe just the warmth of furs and shelter from the storm made a feeling of contentment rise up in Russia's chest. America's words from earlier came to his mind.
"Still, I'm glad I'm met you out here."
It was the first time anyone except his sisters has said such a thing to Russia. The growing sense of gratefulness was shameful to Russia, but Russia wasn't the type to hold back things he wanted to say, even, no especially, to America. If America wanted to suddenly remember he was an asshole and jibe and rub at Russia's ego, Russia knew how to do that too, just as well. And in the case that America might decided to stay this weird considerate person-
"Thank You, America."
Russia said the words, waiting with apprehension for the response. America seemed startled.
"Ah, no, it's not problem! I should be thanking you, actually! Again. I'm so sorry for disturbing you, I didn't meant to wander over the border, but I just got lost and-"
For reasons unknown and somehow just as annoying as America's usual self, America had begun rambling in a way that would almost have been impressive if it had been directed towards someone else, considering that he didn't seem to actually be stopping to take a breath at all.
"Ah, and I'm not actually A-"
"I am glad that it is you America, that I met today."
Russia cut America's ramblings off with a blunt admittance that felt heavy on his tender heart. Russia had shown too much of his true feelings, and America would definitely use it against him.
"Eh? Ah. That.. Y-yes. Right."
Sounding taken aback, America stumbled over his reply, and not liking how honest he'd been, Russia rolled over, showing his back to signify the end of the conversation, and whatever America had been about to say faltered on his lips and died as unsaid whispers. After that, neither spoke, and eventually, Russia heard America's breathing even into that of one who is asleep, and he scoffed under his breath at America letting down his guard so close to someone like Russia. For a brief moment he considered playing a prank on the sleeping America to teach him a lesson, like shoving snow down his back, but seeing as he didn't know when the storm would end and would likely be taking shelter with America until it was over, Russia chose not to burn his bridges just yet. He'd meant to stay awake, but after four days of wandering in a snowstorm with inadequate shelter and a stressed mindset, Russia's body shut down without Russia's consent.
Russia didn't even know he'd fallen asleep until he sat up, ready to snarl barbed insults back at America under the guise of a friendly beam, only to find that the America that had been insulting him was only part of a dream, and the America he was staying with was already up, chewing passively on some beef jerky, and starting when Russia sat up so suddenly.
"Ah, good morning Russia!" America greeted amicable. "Or at least, I think it is, eh."
America chuckled lightly at his own joke, and Russia was struck with the difference between that and the usual obnoxious laugh of America that had haunted his dreams last night.
"Want some breakfast? It's just pemmican though."
America offered him some of the jerky, but something in Russia's head was turning, slowly. Something about how America acted, how he spoke. The quiet friendliness instead of obnoxious attention seeking. The lack of jabs and jibes, the offering of stuff instead of trying to take from Russia. The friendship with his older sister instead of the younger. The differences in the laugh. The bear.
"Russia? Are you okay?"
Concern.
There it was, the thing Russia was trying to figure out so desperately.
The country sharing the igloo with him inched closer, reaching a hand to feel Russia's forehead with a furrowed brow, purple eyes serious.
Purple eyes, not blue.
Russia wanted him carefully as he pulled his hand back, muttering that Russia didn't feel feverish.
"Russia?"
The country facing him was looking really concerned at this point, and Russia forced himself to focus. Instead of answering the question though, he asked one of his own.
"You're not America are you?"
The country's face melted into a sad, sheepish sort of smile, and he looked away as he shook his head.
"Sorry. I'm not."
Strange mannerisms, the strange way he stretched his vowels, these were things Russia knew.
"I didn't mean to lie, it was just hard to correct you."
The country was rambling again, still quietly, half a murmur, but Russia was remembering who this country was.
"I'm actually-"
"Canada."
Russia supplied the name and the country, no, Canada, looked startled, purple eyes widening slightly.
"That's... Yeah. You're right." Canada looked dazed. "You remembered me."
Something occurred to Russia, a funny inside joke.
"Da. You make good chair."
And there was a moment where Russia could see Canada processing the thought, then Canada's gaze turned sharp and he flushed dangerously.
"Wait, you did that on purpose?"
The final confirmation that Russia needed of who the person in front of him really was fell into place, and Russia feigned innocence, tilting his head and widening his eyes.
"Did what on purpose?"
Canada opened his mouth, then suddenly stopped, narrowing his eyes, seemingly realizing that Russia was playing him, something that America would not do. Canada sighed and shook his head.
"It feels like the snowstorm cleared up during the night. I don't hear any howling winds anymore."
"Da."
Russia felt it as well. There was a calming his land, and he couldn't feel the unsettling shivers that snowstorms gave him, running chills down his back. Canada nodded as though this confirmation was all he needed , and began to pack things up into his bag. For a few moments Russia only watched, contemplatively, seeing differences that were so obvious he couldn't believe he missed them, and feeling a sense of security he couldn't get when he thought it was America. It wasn't that Canada couldn't threaten or blackmail Russia, but it was that russia was confident that as long as he kept hockey out of it, Canada wouldn't do so. As far as he could remember Canada tended to be a bit of a pushover - until hockey was involved. But eventually Russia realized that Canada would need to pack the fur he was lying on, and snapped out of thoughts to reach for his coat and boots and pull them back on. By the time Russia was done lacing his boots, Canada had almost everything packed, and Russia began to roll up the furs. Canada noticed his actions and looked flustered.
"Oh! You don't have to worry about that! I'll get it!"
Russia gave him a flat stare. Russia wasn't the type of person who would just mooch off someone without repaying the favour. Maybe if it was America, because America was a selfish idiot who never paid back his dues either. But for a respectable country such as China or Canada, Russia would certainly not be a dead weight.
"Nyet. I will help."
Somewhat flustered, but sensing that Russia wasn't the type to give up, Canada reluctantly let it go.
"Then, all that's left is-" Canada turned contemplatively to the entrance of the igloo, blocked with snow.
Russia , having made an igloo before a few times, wondered what Canada's plan was to get back out the frozen opening, knowing that once it froze over it basically was completely sealed. He'd forgotten for a moment that Canada was a country, and not a weak one. And, judging by the over-the-top solution, might actually be closer to America than Russia had thought. With no warning, Canada drew back his arm and punched the wall, and it instantly shattered, crumbling down around them to reveal the icy and overwhelmingly bright world, coated in snow that reflected the sun's light and blinded them. Canada pulled his goggles back over his eyes, climbing out of the snow to the firmer snow on top, then offering Russia a hand. Russia did not take it, climbing out himself with ease, throwing Canada a side look. See? I do not need any help. Canada blinked behind his googles, then offered a small smile in return, walking to the tree where he'd tied the sled and beginning to unearth it from the snow. IT was then Russia remembered an obvious issue.
"Where is bear?"
He asked, looking around, and Canada stopped brushing snow off the sled and straightened up, realizing Russia was right. Russia didn't particularly have faith in either Canada or the bear, and for a second felt a sense of concern that they would be trapped there without a ride.
"Oh, Right."
Canada put a whistle to his mouth and blew, a loud piercing sound, twice, then put the whistle away and went back to setting up the dog-sled. Russia gave him the side-eye.
"Bear will hear that?"
Canada nodded energetically as he began to secure his belongings to the sled.
"Oh, yeah. He'll be here by the time I'm done setting up. "
With nothing he could do other than trust Canada's words, Russia stayed silent and offered him the furs he was still carrying instead. Canada took them and packed them as well. Canada was straightening out the harness when Russia became aware of the presence of a polar bear right next to him, and he almost jumped, but froze instead, unwilling to show weakness. A Polar Bear wasn't a small creature, and Russia wasn't pleased with how silently it managed to sneak up on him, without him even noticing. The Bear huffed a puff of warm air near Russia, and Canada noticed it.
"Oh! Kumakichi! There you are!"
And the bear wandered over to Canada. Russia had a strange feeling that the name Canada had called the bear by was different then what he'd aid last night, but since Russia didn't actually remember what Canada called the bear, he just ignored it. Canada began to hook up th bear to the dogsled, and once again it occured to Russia how insane it was to use a polar bear like a dog. He felt a twinge of apology towards America, who he had previously assumed was the psycho bear tamer, but not too much, since he knew America played with alligators for fun. Canada, who had gained a new spot of respect in Russia's heart, finished hooking up the bear to the sled and turned to Russia.
"Then, lets go!"
Russia frowned. The storm might be over, but they were still lost in the giant white expanse of his land.
"Go where?" He asked suspiciously.
Canada grinned, gesturing to the bear.
"Kumasaboro has a really god sense of smell. he'll get us to a town and we'll figure it out from there!"
Now Russia was sure that the bear's name was different, but he only grunted in agreement. It was a solid plan, and he could figure out how to get home once he figured out where he was. He stepped onto the sled behind Canada, and Canada gave the command and the sled took off again, incredibly fast. They'd only been riding for about an hour when Russia began to recognize his surroundings.
"My home is that way."
He advised Canada, and Canada nodded, adjusting course. In about another half hour, they arrived at Russia's front door. It was a bit embarrassing to Russia to have been lost so quick to his house, but Canada didn't seem to care.
"Thanks again for everything Russia!" Canada thanked him again as Russia dismounted, "It was fun! And also, sorry again for taking you away from your surveying work."
Russia had forgotten he told Canada tht, and was glad for his past self's clever use of an excuse. He nodded stiffly.
"It is okay. I can finish later. Have safe trip."
Then, painfully, since Russia really didn't want to say the words, but felt he should, he spat out a thank you of his own.
"And Thanks. Was fun for me too."
Canada did not tease or mock Russia for this as America would've, only flipped up his goggles briefly to grin at Russia.
"We should do it again sometime, eh?"
And without waiting for a response, Canada took off again on his dogsled. heading for the Russia/Ukraine border, having determined where it was from Russia's house.
And that was it. The one-night adventure with someone who was not America, but Canada, was just as quickly over. It bothered Russia that he'd actually enjoyed it, between mistaken identities and being on edge. Putting aside the fact he was lost, there weren't many countries Russia could do such winter activities with, and even less who would agree to do it with him. Certainly Canada was a weirdo for not only staying together with Russia for the night, but also thanking him for it. Russia snorted at the thought. Canada was a psycho who used polar bears to pull his sled, and played hockey with the intent to kill, so rooming with Russia was probably the least crazy thing about America's seemingly more passive brother. If only Canada wasn't such a pushover, he might have been scary. And to think he'd said they should do it again! Russia shook his head as he went inside. As if that would ever happen.
He honestly hadn't expected anything further to come out of Canada's offer, more taken as a polite suggestion then an actual plan. Until about two years after the original incident, Canada came up to him casually after a meeting, eyes flashing with excitement. Recently, he seemed to be avoiding Russia sitting on him by having the polar bear on his lap (how it changed sizes to be the size of a small dog, Russia didn't know), and Russia had a feeling Canada hadn't forgotten Russia's teasing that time during the snowstorm.
"Hey Russia, " Canada started, excitedly, "I was wondering if you'd like to get together and camp out in the snow, like last time, if you're interested." Canad faltered, "I mean, is fine if you're not, I just thought I'd ask, and it was kinda fun, so-"
And Canada was babbling again. For a moment Russia froze, not expecting the offer, then calculating the idea. To build a shelter from scratch, set up furs, eat hot soup while it stormed outside, it sounded fun, as long as Russia excluded the part where he got lost this time. So, partly to say it before he changed his mind, and partly to make Canada stop rambling, Russia cut him off with an affirmation.
"Da. Let's do that."
Canada's awkward nervousness split into grin instead, eyes gleaming.
"Really? That's great! When should we go, eh?"
Across the room, America suddenly noticed Russia talking to his brother.
"Hey, Commie! Stay away from Canada!"
Russia beamed his best aggravating smile at America. he was already looking forwards to the activity, but making America upset because Russia was hanging out with Canada made the trip seem even more fun.
"We could go in my land if you want," Canada offered, clearly having heard America, but choosing to ignore him. Then Canada grinned slyly. "Unless you have more "surveying" to do."
Russia froze. Canada met his uneasy gaze with a mischievous smirk.
"Ukraine says you don't usually survey in the middle of snowstorms."
And Russia felt himself flush with shame as he realized Ukraine had seen through his lie and spilt the embarrassing truth to Canada. Judging by the grin on Canada's face, Russia began to feel like Canada might be just as bad as America for teasing and bringing up past mistakes. But Canada only quickly switched topics before Russia got too embarrassed and backed out.
"But anyway, what would a chair know?"
Russia narrowed his eyes, recognizing Canada's revenge. Then, Russia smiled, an innocent beam, and tilted his head.
"I do not know what you mean, friend Canada?"
And Canada laughed at the inside joke, shaking his head.
"Nevermind. Then do you want to go camping at my place or yours?"
Russia, needing the chance to redeem himself from when he was lost, straightened his back.
"Mine. I will show you good place and we can also go hunting."
Canada looked excited.
"I'm looking forward to it!"
Surprisingly, Russia found he was too.