I do not own Hetalia, the characters, places, events, people, habits, cooperations, or anything. Hetalia is Hidekaz Himaryu's. Please review! And Happy Mother's Day!

5. In Snow, you will Find…

America stared at Russia's outstretched hand confusedly. There was no escaping it- Russia was now angry (if he could get angry) and he was standing right there. It wouldn't take much for him to squash the daylights out of him, right there and right now, America being so cold and Russia being so…large…

He unbuttoned the coat slowly, and lifted it from his shoulders. "Fine, grumpy," he mumbled, and handed him the coat. Through the grey sweatshirt and jeans, the cold bit more than ever. He squeezed himself tightly, and pulled up his hood as his teeth clenched shut. Anger towards Russia was really the only thing keeping him from turning into a huge Patriot Pop. "H-how f-f-far away is-s-s-s your h-h-house again-n-n?" He shivered, his voice straining.

"I can't quite say," said Russia cheerfully, his head titled and looking up at the sky as the wind tore at his white hair. He draped the coat over his shoulder, not even bothering to put it on. "But I hope you get lost on the way."

Russia grabbed Canada's sleeve and pulled him forward, into the blinding white. The blonde-haired country whimpered to quietly for Russia to hear, though he stumbled along and was desperately jogging to keep up with Russia's long steps.

"It's not that difficult to follow," America mumbled, and trudged after them.

In a matter of moments, he could barely take the cold. Every step stretched his freezing muscles painfully, his numb toes stretched forward and backward in his shoes. His clothes were wet from the snow, and ice was forming around the rims of his jeans. His socks were too short to provide much warmth to his feet, so his ankles were also cold. He was trying to move every part of his body to make sure it didn't fall off, or something. The snow was so deep, but soft and white like a big sheet on a bed. It does look kind of comforting, but that was stupid, he thought. The idiotic sense of trying to fall asleep in a snowstorm would only leave him to freeze to death.

His concern for Belarus was the only distraction. He wanted to keep looking for her, but that was now impossible. She was probably as cold as he was, shivered, huddled under a pine tree, maybe. She still thought her brother was lost somewhere out there, when what he was really doing was trying to freeze his enemy to death. Was she safe? Would she be alright?

Canada was constantly looking behind him to made sure America kept up. He had tried to wriggle free of Russia's grasp, but by now it was no use. He had tried to make pleasant conversation with Russia as well, though he was now either to angered or hung over to make any. Canada wondered how it was possible to smile when you're angry, but he had never tried it. He didn't often get angry, but when he did, it was usually centered on America- though now all he could feel for his older brother was pity. He kept a careful eye on his blonde-haired brother as he marched through the snow at a steady pace, and managed not to fall behind. His face was read and his ears were a gross grey color by the time the house came into sight, the yellow light luminous in the grey. Once they stepped onto the porch, America was only a few steps behind, and jumped up and down for the last few steps, then Canada was dragged up the stairs.

Russia opened the door and let the flakey bits of white fall from his shoulders. Canada rubbed his arms. It was definitely warmer in here. He took in Russia's house- the paintings, the statues, the staircase, and most of all: the sound of a fire, somewhere close. Canada relaxed a bit as his body warmed, tiring itself. Dragging Russia along had really sucked the energy from him, but now that he could freely sit down and relax, he felt much more welcome.

"Lithuania, could you put on some tea, please?" Russia shouted into the house, dragging Canada into the living room with him. He set his black coat on the back of the sofa, draped carefully, then sat himself.

England nearly choked on his tea when Russia pushed Canada into a chair next to France and sat down beside him- stiff as a rod, Russia smiled. "Hello everyone. Sorry I'm late."

The moment of shocked silence was strong enough to make the almost inaudible noises of England twitching next to Russia as loud as a scream. Canada's sneeze broke the silence, and he blew on his hands. "Hi guys. Sorry, my plane got delayed and I found Russia on the way through Moscow-"

France had delicately been clutching a glass of wine before Russia entered the room. Now he jumped up, the red liquid like a faucet into the air, and rushed over to Canada. Russia didn't even flinch as the wine spilt all over the hardwood floor- Latvia was somehow there in a second with a rag to clean it up. In the meantime, France fussed over Canada. "My poor brother!" He cried, taking Canada's face in his hands. "Your face is all red! What happened to you? Are you cold?" He took off his atrocious pink jacket and draped it over him. "Here take this. And have some tea, too. England, you've had enough, my darling brother needs a cup…"

"I'm okay…" Canada said quietly, but he shivered. He looked more concerned about the pink jacket than his health, and started to hand it back. "I'll warm up in a second, but I think we might've locked out America."

Slam! The door opened and shut. The room jumped, China's tea dripped into his lap. Nobody noticed as there was a loud noise of profoundic stammers in a chilled voice. In the hallway, there was a tromping noise of shoes against the hardwood, squeaking with the melting snow on them. America came in the living room like a storm, swinging open the living room door a little more dramatically than what was necessary. The entire room was silent as he stared down every one of the members sitting on the couch, his cheeks flushed, his hair messy, and his grey jacket wet with snow.

Lithuania stopped in the hallway with a new kettle of tea, and froze when he saw the play of events.

"Where's my coat?" America demanded him. "I'm leaving. This place blows, man."

England coughed as Russia simply titled his head in answer to the argument with a smile. "A-America!" He stammered, pulling off the nervousness as laughter. He stood up and gestured to the seat next to him on the couch. "Really, look, we're all here now. Don't get cross. Just sit down and we can finish up this meeting quickly. I'm sure you're cold, and you would like to sit."

America answered by pinching the shoulders of his jacket to dry them as quickly as possible, glaring at England.

"See, Brittan? What did I tell you-he's all flushed!" France laughed. He sat down and crossed his limbs with poise. "And what's got the beetle in your pants about, eh, America? It was silly enough for you to go outside in this weather, and by the looks of it you didn't succeed in your mission to find Belarus anyhow!"

"I would've," America spat. This was very unlike him, England thought, though America did sound angrily offended by something. "But that Communistic ape took his coat back and I had to come back so I didn't freeze to death in the good-for-nothing wasteland."

Estonia came into the doorway as well, calm. He motioned for Lithuania to go back into the kitchen and get America's coat so he left-quickly. "Mr. Russia," he said politely, his hand gripping to doorway to peer around America who stood in the frame like a glorious warhero. "We got a phonecall from one of the country residents saying they found Belarus, I can go get her if-"

"This coat," Russia said with a smile. "Is very important to me. It happens to be my uniform from the Soviet Union- a Communistic ape's coat- Mr. Capitalistic chicken."

America went ridged. Nobody spoke anymore. He twitched a little, realizing he had just walked around Russia in his most hated outfit, and his mouth formed a line. He ignored the name-calling, it was more of Russia's frozen smile and cold stare that bothered him.

"Oh, look at the time," England interrupted shakily. He jumped off the sofa. "France, didn't you say you had some fashion line for a store of mine you wanted to show me? I think we're l-late…" He grabbed France's arm and dragged him out of his chair, jerking America into the hall.

"Ow!" America whined as England grabbed him by the ear. "Hey, that-"

"What're you thinking?" England hissed. He might've been shorter than America by an inch or two, but America knew England could be really frightening when he wanted to be. His bushy eyebrows contorted angrily. "You're on a great start to creating a new Cold War, the way you're acting, America, and I really don't want to be around when it starts."

America shrugged him off, huffing. "I've got it under control. It's his fault."

"I don't care," England sighed. "You've made enough mess. Let's get back home, before you start something horrible."

"I'm not going to "start" something horrible, it's his fault!"

"What's going on-aru?" China said, poking his head into the hallway. "I don't like whispering-aru."

"Nothing," snapped England. China moved back into the room. "You Eastern galoot…" he mumbled after him, and threw on his coat. "Come on France. If you would be so kind to drive me to the airport, I'd be very appreciative."

"Of course," France said. "That will give me plenty of time for you to fill me in of the lovely wedding that took place. Don't you agree?"

"Yes, well," England mumbled, turning up the collar of his shirt. "We'll see about that. The hats some of the women wore were so completely immodest, even for this age…"

America looked into the living room toward a frozen Canada, clutching a cup of tea England had poured for him when France said so. "Come on, Matthew," America said as he pulled his arms through the sleeves of his brown leather coat. "Let's go home."

The use of his real name had Canada out of his seat like snap. He came into the hallway as Lithuania brought Latvia out to say god-bye, just to be polite. Latvia shivered under the watch of Russia from the living room, and Lithuania attentively waved.. America's didn't make him much warmer, he noticed, though when England opened the door for he and France, it made a difference.

America was about to leave with Canada by his side when Canada made a loud choking noise and was suddenly pulled back into the hallway. France and England were out the door and down the steps already. America looked back, and Russia pulled his arms around his younger brother and smiled.

"Goodbye," Russia said. "Maybe next time I see you I won't have the urge to rip off your skin."

America was appalled by the grotesque display of affection Russia was playing on his brother. "Hey, dude, get your ugly hands off Canadia!" America snapped, whirling around, standing his tallest in challenge.

"I'm CANADA!" Canada wheezed, but his eyebrows were going up. He lifted his head to peer into Russia's face so he could hear him. "Russia, I think you can stop hugging me now."

"I'm not hugging you," Russia said lightly. "You agreed to become one with me, remember? I think if that's the case then you should live with us. I'm sure you and Lithuania will get along very well, but sometimes I don't know about Estonia and Latvia, they can be really annoying sometimes."

"What?" Canada squeaked, his voice choking. Estonia and Latvia went ridgid after hearing them being called "annoying." "No, listen," Canada babbled. "That was a mistake I- like my house, I-"

"Let Matthew go!" America snapped.

"Get out," Russia said simply. With one arm, he gave America a shove out the door. "Canada will be all right without you- just like every other country on this planet."

America, stumbling on the stairs, fell backward, and the door shut. He jumped up, the picture of the distraught Canada fresh, and banged on the huge wooden door with his cold hands. He was too occupied to remember the pair of gloves he had slipped in his pockets of the coat, and the hat. He didn't think of Belarus either, or anyone but his poor brother on the other side of the door.

"America, what're you doing?" England sighed while France tried to start his car. The vehicle was elegant and a dark maroon, though no one but he was caring. "Did you forget your dignity in there, because you were acting like a spoiled brat."

"Open the door!" America didn't bother answering England's idiotic question. "Canada wouldn't want to be part of your sucky country, no one does! Let him go!"

"America, stop right now!" England pulled the young country away from the door, which hadn't gave at all. He held him at arm's length by his shoulders. "You're acting like a two-year-old, and that's no excuse for a country that's nearly three-hundred, now pull yourself together or I'll let France do whatever he wants with you for the next ten minutes and play Chopin while he does."

America was completely silent, his mouth pulled together.

"That's better." He pulled his arms around America's shoulders and guided him away from the Russian building. "Now. France is going to drive me to the airport. Why don't you come with me? It's been an awful long time since you and I visited each other, and maybe three or four days staying at my place will do you some good. How does that sound?"

America really didn't want to say how it sounded- for England's sake. What came with England's housing, though cozy, was his disgusting food. Though, England patted America's shoulder in the comforting, brotherly way he had remembered from being raised by the same man, and he slowly nodded his head. Mainly he wanted to get away from Russia, any way possible, and there was a good chance he'd be kicked out by tomorrow morning, the way he and England often got along. There was nothing to gain or loose, and maybe, tactically, it would be a better idea to not immediately return to America, after the things he said to Russia. He remembered during the Cold War that whenever he had seen Russia, screams of insults were shot both ways, and somehow each of them had stormed away from each other without throwing a single fist.

But America and Russia had argued and, by the looks of it, America was going to have to keep an eye on Russia for the time being until things calmed down. He let himself be walk to France's car, which was desperately trying to back up in the half-meter mound of snow that lay on the fields of Russia.

Meanwhile…

Around the world, corruption always breaks it's way to the surface. Arguments explode from the quite pool of peace, fights form the stirred waters of the past. No one can tell the difference between the waters of a peaceful pool between the stormy waves on the sea. But it is still water, it is still the life's necessity. The same is of friendship. A person may know a person as a smiling, happy person one day, but the time between they see each other, it could be moments, and they can turn around to see the blade of a knife.

The world is unpredictable. How long is it, since true, happy peace spread over the Green Planet? World peace- happiness, tranquility. A place where the World Conference can sit around the table, and debate over pointless things, like friends do.

In Austria, Hungary sits on her bed, in agony from the price being in love pays. In another room down the hall, Switzerland calls his younger sister, who talks back to him sadly in the hallway, alone. Austria plays a slow, meaningful tune that echoes through the halls, bringing tears to the eyes of the humans that serve him.

Italy and Germany sit on the couch, Germany absorbed in a newspaper, resting for the next two days before his next match in the game of football, and Italy lazily taking up the other half of the couch, watching a poorly made Soap Opera, and laughing.

In Canada, the people are surrounded with loss, for their sudden alliance with Russia brings fear into their citizens. His leader is unaware what to do- Canada had never done something without telling him.

England, France, and America sit in England's cozy living room, sharing snacks and small conversation. France and England talk about the Royal Wedding with enthusiasm, and America checked his economy through the source of England's poor television set. So far, the blow of Russia hadn't done nothing more than freak out his president- which was all right for now.

And in Russia, a house of fear quietly ensues. Canada had fled the first chance he got straight up the stairs and into a cold bedroom, huddled in the corner. Russia sits alone in his room, his iron faucet laid next to the desk where he sat.

With it, he congratulates himself with concerning Estonia, Latvia, Lithuania, and now Canada.

Ukraine must come back.

In a home of an old man, wifeless, lonely, lays Belarus in the bed that he had slept in alone for almost twenty years. The cold had seeped into her body, and she lays with the quit his wife had sewn for him over her small body. He can't help but being reminded of the daughter that was grown up under this roof, who fled the same roof almost a decade ago, and had grown up while he was blind to see it. She won't wake for a day, but when she does, the one thing on her mind is her brother, that she doesn't thank the man for his hospitality as she flees in the early morning when the blizzard was clear.

And in the cold, dark basement of Russia's home, deprived and starved, lays Prussia, somehow forgotten, somehow dying. Russia had left him there, had forgotten him, and no longer even counted him on his list of "friends."

People don't think about Prussia anymore. The ones that do try to forget.

But they can't, because the clear surface that makes up the mind is easily rippled by a single touch, a single word, of a stranger. Germany wouldn't ever forget his brother- Hungary wouldn't forget her childhood companion, and Austria certainly would never forget his enemy for a couple decades.

Though if Russia continued to destroy, he would waste away. His land had been taken over by Russia- he wasn't even a nation anymore. Was it his culture, or the people who now lived with a trace of his blood in their veins that kept him alive?

He didn't know.

And as he laid in the grime, ignoring the hunger pains, he couldn't help but smiling.

Because Russia had forgotten him.

Because he was awesome to the very end.

End of Part One.

That last part was…deep…

Does anyone else feel kind of retarded when I keep saying "meanwhile" OVER AND OVER? I wish I had another way to include time phases without using that bar or a word (I'm still a little peeved that Fanficiton won't let me use the asterisk, but I'll live). Oh well..

And thus, Prussia comes into the story. We all know he doesn't exist anymore- but he does. Like Rome, or Germania, or the Natives. Still there, but easily looked over. (and lacking appearance) I don't think he will play a huge role, but it's too soon to tell.

And thus, ends part one. Who knows how many there will be, but it is easier in my mind than putting out sequels that people would have to hunt for, or waiting intensely. (this also means this books might get SUPER HUGE XD)

One last thanks to the amazing people who post the pictures that inspire me- I can't name them, but if I did the list would be large. Thank you for inspiring me!

Three chapters in two days. I think I can take a break now.

Please review!