I wrote this because, well, sort of wanted to portray Russia as someone nice. Startled Boris helped that.

"Woah, Russia, dude, what happened to Latvia's face?"

Russia giggled, and Latvia blushed. Latvia had been, well, up to something in his room, and Russia had walked in without knocking, startling the smaller nation, causing him to jump, trip over, and bash his face nastily on the side of his bed, hence the bruise along the left side of his face.

"He, uh, tripped." Russia chuckled. He didn't know just how evil his laugh had seemed to all surrounding nations.

Latvia looked down and nodded.

Russia looked away and tried not to laugh out loud, when something hit his cheek and sent him sprawling on the floor.

"You sick bastard."

America had slapped him.

"You twisted little fuck. You think we don't know what you get up to in your house? You fucking monster."

America leaned close to Russia, disgust all over his features. Russia scrambled up and faced him.

"What are you talking about America? I startled Latvia; he tripped, and fell on the side of his bed."

America shook his head. "Don't hide it, we all know how you torture the Baltics you little shit."

Russia looked around, and it wasn't those words, those dreadful words that brought the sting of tears to his eyes, but the fact every other nation minus his dear, dear Baltics, was glaring at him with the same distaste as America.

They really think that of me?

He did not hear the protest Latvia gave, how Estonia and Lithuania swore he never actually hurt them, but instead he bowed his head to the world, and let the tears flow down his cheeks.

He felt a hand on his left shoulder, but then every word America said came back to him, and he saw all their eyes glaring through him, and he shrugged it off, and ran from the building, a sob escaping him.

A while later he looked up, to find himself in an unfamiliar place. A blizzard was raging around him, whipping his hair and cutting at his cheeks, and he could not see his hand when he reached out to feel around him.

Russia shivered, and wrapped his coat tighter around himself. Oblivious to the fact he was standing on a frozen lake littered with patches of black ice, he took a step forward in what he thought was the right direction.

CRACK.

The ice beneath him gave way, and he fell into the freezing water, the cold like a knife on his skin, and he flailed, trying to find a hold on the ice, but it came off in his hand, and he sank beneath the surface, his coat weighing him down causing him to sink like a stone to the bottom.

He tried to swim upwards, but the combination of his clothes and the memories of what America had said fought against his feeble attempts.

"…little shit…"

I should give up.

Russia was helpless.

If that is all they think I should give up.

He gave up, let himself sink. Closed his eyes, and inhaled the icy water, not reacting as it pierced his body.

Russia had already blacked out before the shadow on the ice appeared, so naturally he did not hear the shout of alarm, see other shadows appear, and the splash of someone diving beneath the ice.

Review this please. I will continue it.

...Although flames will be used to stoke your funeral pyre.