Russia knew that he should never have kidnapped Washington's son.

Everyone had warned him, but he had not listened, and now, he was sorry.

"Why are you hiding in there again? You're shit at this game," the infernal voice called, from someplace much too near for Russia's liking.

He had locked himself in his study after the boy had spent the past several hours driving him up the wall with his incessant questions. Every waking moment for the past month had been like this. The child was always talking to him, talking. An infernal mix of English, Danish and German was constantly streaming from his mouth. Even the books Russia had gotten for him were not enough to satisfy his inexhaustible curiosity and energy. Not only that, but every single morning, the boy woke up at the. Crack. Of. Dawn. And once his eyes were open, it wasn't long before his mouth was, too.

How did Washington stand it?

"Come ooonnnn, Russia, you aren't playing right," Cascadia said and oh shit he was right on the other side of the door-

The door began to shake with the repeated banging of Cascadia's fists, and finally, to Russia's complete horror, the door was moving. As if it were not made of oak, Cascadia pulled it right off the hinges. He stood in the splintered doorway, looking in at Russia with undisguised glee.

"Found you!"

Russia screamed, but tried to make it seem as if it were all part of the game. Why hadn't Washington contacted him with threats? Why hadn't she called to tell him she was coming to rescue her son and punish Russia?

He thought this was punishment enough.

When she finally got here, he would beg her to take her little hellspawn and he would never bother her again.

"Да, you have found me," he agreed, weakly. "How...lucky for me."

Cascadia loomed even closer. "Now it's my turn to hide and then you find me!"

Oh, God, please no, he begged silently. The last time he had agreed to that, he had easily found the boy simply by following the trail of destruction in his wake. He had forgotten to secure his weapons room and the boy had found an old battle axe that had belonged to Russia's mother. Several rooms in the house had incurred serious damage, and a mirror that had been a gift from Catherine the Great had been utterly destroyed. That had been the worst discovery of all. Russia had thereupon hidden himself in his bedroom and cried. "How about we play a different game, Nikolai? Why don't we play the imagination game?"

Cascadia frowned slightly and looked at him. "What's the imagination game?"

Russia steeled himself to touch the little devil son and began to steer him from the room. He would have to ask Toris to repair the door again, he realized with a sigh. This was the third time in as many weeks. "The imagination game is where you are quiet while I go to another part of the house and drink myself to death," Russia said.

Why aren't you tearing across the fucking Pacific Ocean to challenge me for him?

"I don't want to play that game," Cascadia said. "I want ice cream!"

Oh fucking hell no. "Nikolai, it is not a healthy thing to eat ice cream so close to bedtime," he told the boy, hoping that he wouldn't notice that it was nowhere near bedtime and he still had eight bleeding hours before sundown. Cascadia would not be put to bed while the sun was still up. Russia had made the mistake of attempting this on the first night and he had regretted it ever since. "Look," he babbled, "Toris found some art supplies! Why don't you paint a picture and draw something?" he pleaded, shooting Toris a grateful look.

Cascadia stomped over to the little table Toris had set up and sat down, but he looked over at Russia with wide, irresistible puppy eyes. "After I make a picture can I have ice cream?"

"No!" Russia suddenly realized what it would be like if he gave in and allowed Cascadia to have what he wanted. That very first night, the kid had been so hopped up on something that he had not stopped bouncing off the walls until sometime the next afternoon. The little whoreson hadn't even cried for his mother, which had come as a surprise. But now, Russia was beginning to suspect that Cascadia knew damn well what he was trying to do, and this was his insidious way of making sure Russia regretted his decision. The boy was straight from the very depths of hell. But it looked like the art supplies were the right idea. Russia saw that he was actually drawing a picture. Slowly he felt himself relax as he sank down on the sofa, using a magazine to fan himself. Toris brought a tray with his beloved vodka and he took it immediately.

"Спасибо," he murmured. Toris waited, clearly needing to tell him something. "What is it, Toris?"

"He is quite a handful, isn't he?"

"Да, he is," Russia groaned, wishing for more vodka. But Toris had the stupid notion that being constantly shitfaced drunk around the boy was somehow a bad idea. "He is horrible! I cannot sleep without Klonopin anymore. Hopefully his whore mother is coming to get him soon!"

Cascadia finished his colorful drawing with a huge flourish. "Haha, no she isn't!" he declared, giving them both a strangely triumphant look. "Here! I finished my drawing!" He got up and charged at the sofa, but he merely dropped the drawing in Russia's lap before spying something else to get into. Russia looked down at the drawing in his hands.

"Is it one for the refrigerator, sir?" Toris asked, a hint of a smile in his voice.

Cascadia had drawn a field of sunflowers, with Russia standing in it and Toris in the background. The likenesses were amazing, Russia thought. Now if only the drawn version of himself wasn't being hanged from a giant, bloody sunflower by his scarf. The Toris was holding a bunch of sunflowers and smiling. A grey rainy sky topped the drawing, and it was completed by Cascadia's firm scrawl across the bottom in black crayon: I hatte yuo Russa now give me eiscreem.

Definitely not one for the refrigerator magnets.

A loud bang and several shattering crashes made him clench his jaw. Washington knew that her son was a hellion. She had obviously let him waltz right in and take him. She had made her child this way as punishment for Russia being harsh with America during the Cold War. She was going to simply wait and watch with sadistic glee while the boy drove him utterly mad. "That's it," he hissed. "I have had it! Toris, we are taking him back."

"!What?" Toris stammered. "Right now?"

Russia growled in frustration. "No, not right now, because we need to be ready. I'm not just going to give him back." He glared in the direction of the newest Cascadian disaster area. "I'm going to make her regret ever giving birth to him!"