Hello, everyone! It's been almost a year, I can't believe it! Time flies. Anyways, I decided to pick this story back up as my first project coming back. While I may have found another fandom or two to be obsessed with, I will never forget the Hetalia fandom, as it's where I truly got my start. I still love Hetalia after all this time, and I will continue to do so. I'm going to try to be better with my updates this time around. I really like the idea I had for this story, and I want to actually see it through this time. If I don't update frequently enough, please feel free to send me a PM to harass me. Sometimes I need that.

I have an open inbox policy- feel free to PM me about whatever and I will try my best to reply.

One more thing- shoutout to Alison, my loyal harassment officer/motivator! You're awesome! You have her to thank that this finally got posted. Oh, and I appreciate all you reviewers from the last chapter, too! I'd love to hear from you all again!

Disclaimer:I don't own Hetalia, the country of Finland, or anything I may reference at any given time.

Enjoy!

It was an uncharacteristically sunny day for November in the quiet and desolate graveyard. It didn't seem to fit the location, somehow, even though it was a commonly shared belief around these parts that graveyards were not necessarily sad places. Frowning, the tall blonde walked up and softly laid a bouquet of flowers on the dew-kissed grass, tears threatening to fall from his eyes. He knelt before his mother's grave, thanking God for the early morning silence that the cemetery always seemed to hold. It allowed him to grieve in peace. It had been almost three months since her death, but it still weighed very heavily on him, considering he had never known his father or had any siblings. They had always been really close. He wasn't really one to cry, but when he came here, he always found himself unable to help it. It was impossible to visit as often as he wanted, due to distance, so every time still made him feel as raw as the first.

"W'll m'm…'t's b'n aw'le…" he whispered, reaching out to touch her gravestone gingerly. "D' ya l'ke heav'n? I m'ss ya here 'n e'rth…I s're hope y're happier th'n I 'm. t's b'n really hard w'thout ya t' talk t'. B't d'n't w'rry 'bout me, m'm…h've fun in heav'n w'th d'd 'n 'njoy y'r flow'rs. Oh, 'n I brought ya som'thin' else, too."

He reached into the pocket of his heavy blue coat and pulled out a small wood-carved lion, setting it carefully by her graveside.

"I m'de th's 't work one day. M' boss M'thias show'd m' h'w. He's pr'tty n'ce wh'n he's not dr'nk."

Berwald let out a cynical laugh, rising to his feet. He reached out once more to pat the grave.

"I need t' go, m'm. I'll be back soon, d'n't ya worry."

He turned to walk to his car when a group of loud mourners piling into an SUV caught his attention. He didn't catch their faces, but judging by their vocal tones, they sounded young.

'They must've just buried a friend or relative…' he thought to himself, scanning over the graves to see a freshly dug site with a beautifully engraved headstone adorned with bouquet upon bouquet of flowers. He wondered who could have died to attract such attention from younger people. He waited until the group drove off and wandered over to the grave to satisfy his curiosity, bending over to read the black marble headstone.

Tino Väinämöinen

1990-2013

Dear Friend, Greatly Missed

Berwald lowered his head in respect for the young man so close to his own age. Whatever had happened, he suspected the man's end had been a tragic ordeal. A murder or accident victim, perhaps. He knew he had no business snooping into this family's private affairs, so he walked to his car for the long trip home, with one last glace to the mysterious young man's grave, unsure of why this bothered him so.

XXXXX

Berwald blinked his sleep-laden eyes open and unceremoniously pulled himself into a sitting position to get off the freezing ground. Snow was all around him-and quickly soaking into his clothing- in a strange forested environment that somehow seemed vaguely familiar, but he couldn't quite place. Then again, it could've just been his imagination, as such a landscape was not uncommon where he lived. The air was rather tense, oddly enough. Looking around, he couldn't see a single living creature, but he still couldn't shake the intense feeling that something was inherently WRONG.

A sudden gust blew the sound of hushed voices past his ears, and he whipped his head around to locate their source. Through the restored silence, he suddenly became extremely aware of the sound of his own ragged breathing as he tried to concentrate. His cerulean eyes grazed over a slightly rustling tree and, upon closer examination, saw the face of what looked to be a young man in his late teens. He crept closer and saw the concealed forms of three other boys of similar age and a fourth that appeared to be a great deal younger, but spoke as though there was no difference at all. Perhaps he was just short? The first thing that Berwald noticed about them was that they all seemed to have different accents, each more eastern-sounding than the next. It was strange- you could expect this sort of thing in America, but it seemed odd for Finland. Not that there were no immigrants-he himself was from Sweden-but four out of the five boys seemed to be foreign. The Finn-a blonde with striking chocolate brown eyes-appeared to be a leader of sorts. He wore a worn looking rifle strapped to his back and was clothed in a heavy baby blue coat. He spoke in rapid Finnish to his ragtag group, who from time to time would solemnly nod their heads. Berwald wondered what could be going on that all the weaponry was necessary. He listened closer.

"Are you sure about this? Who knows how many of them there will be? We could all get killed before even putting a dent in their party!" A tall brunette exclaimed worriedly. The blonde gave him a look.

"It'll be fine, Toris. Don't worry so much. You know we're the only ones who know about this and care enough to do anything about it, right? If we don't turn them back, nobody will. It's only a scouting party at this point." he huffed, loading his weapon. "Unless you want to see more."

The really small boy beside the supply bags shook his head vigorously. He looked like he was scared to death. Poor kid. Another blonde-a rather feminine looking boy(?) in girls' winter wear-got closer to the brunette, Toris, and nuzzled his neck affectionately, grasping his hand to comfort him. Toris gave the boy a weak smile and rested his head on his shoulder.

"I suppose you're right. I'm just a bit scared."

"Like, we're all scared, silly. But, like, we gotta do this, you know?"

"Feliks has a good point." The Finn said. "We're all scared, but we have to get past it. You remember what the Russians did to your people during the Soviet Union, right? If we don't turn back their scouting parties now, these rebel troops will try to invade Eastern Finland again and start a war between our governments. It's our job to remind them why they couldn't last time. They should be here soon; I hear noises in the distance. Come on, we need to get ready."

Berwald pondered getting up to offer the boys help. After all, he remembered what had happened during the Winter Wars from the stories his grandfather used to tell. Many members of his family had fought to aid the Finns and several had died.

"They d'n't seem t' be able t' see me…come t' th'nk of 't, how did I ev'n g't here?" he mumbled to himself.

He was snapped out of his thoughts by the thunder of footsteps on the snow. He quickly retreated into the bushes, close enough to hear the dialogue of the boys. Silhouettes of soldiers appeared on the horizon, all marching very orderly. There only appeared to be twenty or so of them, but they carried themselves as if they were an army. Turning back to the boys, he saw them loading and aiming their guns. He was somewhat taken aback by the look on the Finn's face, the boy had a determined look about him, but he also had a wide smirk.

"Looks like it's about playtime." He mused.

As the soldiers neared, Berwald could see that they, indeed, wore old Soviet uniforms. Two soldiers stood out in particular-a man who appeared to be a head taller than the rest of them, who he guessed was the commander, and an extremely intense looking woman at his side, who seemed the most frightening of them all.

"Braginski!" he heard the boy hiss.

'They know each other? How curious.'

The Finn pointed his rifle at the man in true sniper fashion, finger twitching anxiously. The other boys had all scattered out of sight as well, readying themselves for battle.

*Bang!*

Berwald woke up with a gasp, breathing heavily and covered in sweat. He brought his hand to his forehead and attempted to calm down and regulate his breathing, still seemingly high on adrenaline. He couldn't recall a time when he had dreamed something that felt so REAL as what he had just experienced, and frankly, it scared him a bit. He felt trapped and helpless-a feeling that as a 6'3" giant, he was not used to and as far as he was concerned could go screw itself. He glanced over to the clock at his bedside. 3:00. Too early to go to work, but too late to get any real sleep.

'Guess I'll just go have some coffee…'

He begrudgingly got out of bed and hobbled into the kitchen to put a pot on, still blinking the sleep out of his eyes. He couldn't stop thinking of his strange dream. As he waited for the coffee to brew, he grabbed a pad of paper from the shelf and decided to pen what he remembered before going to work, having the eerie feeling that he would, for some reason, need it.

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