The date was November 30, 1939. It was the day the insanity started...the day her insanity started.
Yes, every country related to the Soviet Union remembers that day extremely well. Those 24 hours acted as a catalyst to further events which none of them ever predicted from "Sweet Little Belarus." Before that day, Belarus was, (for the most part), a gentle girl. She was a bit forlorn, though—detached from the environment and events around her. You could almost say she was a little naïve.
This despondent behavior did, as expected, prevent Belarus from keeping binds of trust between herself and anyone else. But there was one person she proved to be very dependent on—her big brother, Russia. Belarus rarely said a word to her brother, but became easily unsettled when he was off at a conference, visiting another country, or even if he only left the house for a few minutes to take a walk outside. For Belarus, a minute without her brother's presence felt like an eternity, and overwhelmed her with a sense of vulnerability. With Russia, she felt protected and sheltered. She followed him blindly, obedient to whatever command he gave her.
But this one she regretted.
It was another wintry day in Eastern Europe; nothing out of the ordinary. The familiar falling white flakes had lost their beauty and uniqueness over time, simply blending in with the rest of the blank background before resting softly on the ground.
Belarus sighed and watched as her warm breath passed through the frigid air. She studied its path, then closed her eyes and felt the cold against them, chilling them like glass. With her eyes still shut, she hesitantly extended an arm to the side, joining her bare frozen hand with the softness and heat of her brother's sheep skin glove.
"You're sure about this, Russia?"
"Positive," he answered affirmatively, his stare fixed on the foreign country lying below the base of the snow-covered hill where they were standing. "Something monumental is going to happen soon, Belarus. It's my job to make sure the Soviets are a part of it."
"But...how do you know for certain, brother?" Belarus shifted her gaze to follow Russia's. She passably watched as the country of Finland carried on its everyday life beneath them. Finland's inhabitants were considered fools in the opinions of many during that time—fools, perhaps, for rejecting the demands of the Soviet Union.
Now was that really foolish? It was difficult for Belarus to tell. Of course her answer would be biased, being part of the Soviet Union herself, but the more she thought about it, the more she admired the Finnish people. The tag-team league of the Soviets proved to be a very strong-willed and frightening force—a force with which many begrudgingly complied. After Russia repeatedly demanded control of one of Finland's naval bases, he was the only country to stand up for himself and refuse. Maybe that decision wasn't stupid or irrational...maybe it was brave.
But at the moment, Belarus's opinion didn't matter. What mattered was the task at hand: Invade Finland and capture it. More land, more power.
Russia briefly broke his train of thought to face his sister, using an aged dirt-stained handkerchief to rub the bridge of his frostbitten nose. "How do I know for certain? Belarus, look around you." He stepped back and broadened his arm, gesturing to the vast sea of red stationed behind them. "We are the Soviet Army."
Belarus pondered Russia's vague answer to her question for a short time. We are the Soviet Army? she thought. But...what does that mean? Does he really believe that name automatically entitles us to an easy victory? Belarus gazed back up at her older brother, wearing the same awestruck expression that usually crossed her face while doing so. Do I sense...ignorance?
"Bela." The harsh sound of Russia's voice immediately pulled Belarus away from her thoughts—she recognized this tone. She pulled her feet together, arched her back up to the point of a smug-like stance, lifted her chin to look down upon all who opposed, and dropped her shaking hands to her sides, longing for another to hold on to. Her palms became sweaty, and out of nervousness, she grabbed the hem of her scarlet dress to rid herself of perspiration during below freezing temperatures. The bitter weather once again taking a toll on her, Belarus closed her eyes once more, searching for a sign or hope in her mind that everything was going to be alright. She went through this with every battle, and time after time again, Russia had made it out alive, practically unscathed, her worries and fears gone to waste.
A new voice surrounded Belarus now. A language that she couldn't understand pulsated off the mountains encasing them. "The Reds, they're here! Soldiers, hold your ground! Keep your firearms steady!" The Reds. During every fight, that was the one phrase she could always comprehend.
A loud cheer erupted from the Soviet Army as they readied their weapons, shifting uneasily on their feet as they anxiously waited for a signal from Russia. These men were trained fighters, almost like they were born to thrive on bloodshed. The Finns were immensely outnumbered in both soldiers and weapons; that was obvious from the start.
"FIRE!" An unexpected and abrupt bullet shot flew right by Russia's head, leaving even one of the strongest nations in the world momentarily speechless.
...What wasn't obvious was the trouble that would quickly ensue.
"They are...stronger than I expected." This rapidly developed into one of Russia's most popular phrases. It provided absolutely no comfort to his little sister though, who was struck silent after the first battle of the war with Finland.
Russia lay on the brink of unconscious in front of her, covered with dried blood just minutes after another failed attempt to take down the Finns. This became a reoccurring instance with the countries' many quarrels. They were defeats that Russia just wasn't used to partaking in. "This has been going on for far too long." Russia paused to take in a deep breath, gulping down the urge to vomit. "The snow's almost melted...spring is nearing. Tch...so much for the Winter War," he mumbled under his breath.
"I know, brother. I know," Belarus cooed, distracting her trembling hands by fondling her hair bow. "Don't worry; I'm sure we'll turn out victorious soon enough. Remember that lullaby Ukraine would always sing to us when we were young? That always used to calm you down." Belarus rested her pair of soft hands on the sides of Russia's blazing red cheeks. Leaning in close to his face, she serenaded warmly,
"Guarded by angels of crisp winter snow
This land we adore is starting to grow
Shelter, love, and peace are what it lacks
From preventing our nation to start moving back
So shield one another from the pain of today
From the evil and nastiness coming in May
If insanity strikes, should that man have his way
For courage is close, and knowledge at bay."
Russia listened intently to the song; it had been a long time since those words had last reached his ears. After a while, he frowned and rolled over on his side in an attempt to hide his defeated, war-torn face from his sister. "This is truly embarrassing to all of us," he snarled. "Why...why are we losing? It doesn't make sense! The Soviets should have been able to capture Finland in one week maximum! What am I doing wrong...?"
It was then and there, observing Russia's fallen form, that Belarus vowed to herself from then on, she would be the protector. No longer would she rely on her brother for guidance and support; he had done enough. It was now her job to protect him no matter the circumstances, opposition, or time of day. No lengths would be spared, no lines would be drawn, and no limits would be set. There were no exceptions.
This is war, after all.
A/N: Just thought I'd let you all know that this is historically accurate. You have no idea how much research I've been having to do for this fic...is it worth it? Yes.